#turns out I have more to say about this series

[kunareads]

how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

actor!satoru x popstar!reader

you and satoru fulfill the prophecy (he picks you up, pulls them down, turns you around).

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wc: 4.7k

satoru "filthy mouth" gojo!!! i had to stop writing this multiple times because of what he does to me. PART 3 VALENTINE'S DAY (comment for taglist)

content: fluff and SMUT! even more tension, you and satoru are once again the subjects of internet speculation, making out, 69, oral (m! and f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, pronebone, cowgirl, he's very much in control here

18+ please i block children <3

+++

the internet does what it does best: fill in the blanks.

neither of you say anything. no statements, no denials, no acknowledgments. but speculation spreads like wildfire.

it started small. the blurry afterparty photos, the red carpet chemistry dissection, the think pieces about hollywood's most unexpected flirtation. the usual.

then you post an instagram story.

nothing special. just a close-up of a wine glass, city lights blurred in the background. no context, no caption. but the fans? they think they know.

twitter erupts.

@/satorumess: not to be crazy but i mapped out their locations based on timestamps and—

@/fulltimeshipper: this is worse than when the CIA redacted half that UFO document

@/ynupdates: y/n posting a cryptic story the same night satoru is spotted downtown… oh we are in the trenches forreal

then, satoru likes a tiktok.

a slow-motion edit of you in your red carpet and afterparty looks, set to some dramatic song, captioned this woman is dangerous, your honor.

he doesn't comment, doesn't follow the account. just leaves one single like. and the internet implodes.

@/fandomedits: nah this isn't pr this is a man down BAD

@/popcultupdates: GOJO SATORU LIKING THIRST EDITS IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT WE HAVE LOST HIM COMPLETELY

@/ynstan: this man saw a slo-mo thirst edit and said "yeah let me cosign that"

but it gets worse.

an old clip resurfaces. a red carpet from last year. you and satoru, near each other but never interacting. a moment that meant nothing—until now.

fans slow it down, zoom in, analyze every tiny detail:

satoru steps onto the carpet, and your eyes flick toward him, barely noticeable.

he glances in your direction.

there's a beat where he exhales, seems to collect himself—something no one caught before.

and suddenly, it's evidence.

@/fathergojo: why do their interactions feel like deleted scenes from a romcom

@/yninvestigator: guys. GUYS. what do you MEAN she looked at him FIRST. what do you MEAN HE TOOK A BREATH AND LOOKED AWAY.

@/stanwars: suddenly i believe in fate. suddenly i understand greek tragedies.

apparently, none of this is new.

you and satoru are just catching up.

+++

+++

satoru isn't good at waiting.

patience isn't exactly his strong suit, but when the reward is this good? he doesn't mind.

you walk in like the last week never happened. like the chaos never even registered.

the rooftop lighting catches the silk of your dress, the shine of your jewelry, the sheen of your lips. it makes you look untouchable.

attention follows you effortlessly. heads turn, backs straighten. someone says something, you smile—polite, charming, distant. you're impossible not to watch.

and satoru watches.

he's become acquainted with the effect you have, but it hits harder tonight than it did a week ago.

because now he knows how you taste.

the glass in his hand is cool, condensation falling between his fingers. he takes a sip, tracking you, cataloging details no one else would catch.

the way your shoulders shift, subtle, as you get closer.

the flick of your gaze toward him before you fully reach him.

you stop beside him, close enough for the scent of your perfume to settle between you.

a pause before you meet his eyes.

"so… how's your week been?" you ask, tone light, a smile gracing your features.

satoru exhales a laugh, tipping his glass like a toast. "surprisingly quiet. you?"

as you talk, your fingers trace the rim of your glass. he watches. you let him.

he leans in when he speaks. you don't move away.

he notices the way the waiter lingers, the way you dismiss it with a polite, distant smile.

you notice the way his expression shifts at that, just slightly. neither of you acknowledge it.

"you're kind of a nightmare," you tease.

satoru grins, unbothered. "funny. some people call me a dream."

you laugh and roll your eyes at him. he takes his time with his next sip, letting the tension settle. you're watching him watch you.

it would be easy to let you play this game, to see how long you can act like you're not as impatient as he is. but he leans in, voice quiet, just for you.

"you gonna make me wait?" low, taunting.

you could, but you don't. instead, you lean in too, meeting him halfway. you set your glass down carefully. he mirrors you.

someone—a bartender, another guest—tries to pull you into conversation, but you don't reply.

you lean into him, your voice calm but sure.

"let's go."

+++

streetlights skim over sleek black paint as the car pulls up, satoru swinging the door open. you barely take a step before his hand finds the small of your back, fingers pressing just enough to guide you.

he grins lazily. "last chance."

you roll your eyes as you step in. "so dramatic."

he closes the door after you and circles the car, the driver pulling off.

the backseat feels too small.

you cross your legs. his knee brushes against yours, and he doesn't move away. his hand rests on his thigh, relaxed, too close to yours. deliberate.

you pretend not to notice, but he knows better.

the silence is louder than words. the city blurs past the tinted windows, neon bleeding into the dark. the hum of the engine, the distant murmur of traffic, the faint pulse of something unsaid.

satoru exhales slowly, gliding his tongue over his teeth, thinking. he pushes a button, the partition rising.

you're both quiet, but it's a silent signal: stop pretending.

the second it clicks into place, he moves. or maybe you do. it doesn't matter. he's closer now, facing you, and you're already leaning in.

a beat. a sharp inhale.

his fingers skim your thigh, higher this time.

"i was trying to be good," you say quietly.

his voice drops, tight with restraint, and your breath catches. "don't."

the second the word leaves his lips, you're on him. a hand finds the back of his neck, drawing him in.

the first kiss is slow, but not reluctant. he drags it out because he can. he tilts his head, deepening it. he hums against your lips when you press closer, pleased.

his fingers tease higher. yours twist into his hair, nails scraping just enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

the car rolls to a stop.

neither of you move. not right away.

satoru's grip tightens, like he's considering pulling you onto his lap. like he could keep you here a little longer, let the city blur beyond the tinted glass while he takes his time.

instead, he drags his lips down your jaw, then lower. he breathes you in before murmuring, "upstairs."

+++

the door clicks shut, sealing you in. no music, no distant hum of the city, just quiet, dense and charged.

neither of you break the silence.

satoru steps in first. the air seems to crackle around him here the same way it does everywhere else.

you hold his stare, challenging. he waits.

a test. a game.

then, finally, you reach for him. his grin is lazy, knowing. like he was waiting for you to break first.

this kiss is purposeful. his lips brush yours—once, then again. a silent question, just the slow press of his mouth, the barely-there slide of his hands down your waist.

your fingers slip under his shirt, nails grazing skin, just enough to pull a slow, amused breath from him.

his hands find your hips, insistent, pulling you in until there's no space left. the shift makes you gasp into his mouth, and he drinks it in, looking smug, like he expected it.

like he's been waiting for this all week.

his grip tenses, like he's about to pull you closer—but then he's gone. his heat vanishes, his lips just a ghost of pressure before they disappear completely.

he barely moves when you chase him a bit, just tilts his chin, smiling. like he knew you wouldn't let him go. like he was counting on it.

you inhale, frustration sparking low in your chest, and you move before you think. your hands find his shirt, tugging him back in—but before you can, his fingers close around your wrists, catching you with ease.

his grin is knowing, his grip firm but teasing. he tilts his head, amusement spreading across his face.

"easy, princess," he murmurs, voice low, eyes flicking to your lips. "what's the rush?"

you arch a brow, fingers flexing in his grasp. "you did haul me out of the car."

his grin widens. "not like you put up a fight."

you push.

you press into him, backing him towards the wall. he lets you. lets you kiss him deeper, hands still wrapped around your wrists but relaxing, giving you room to move.

for a second, you think you've won.

then the world tilts and your back meets the wall with a gentle thud, your head tipping back slightly as he crowds you.

he smiles at you, eyes sparkling, enjoying himself too much. his hands settle at your waist, keeping you where he wants you.

you should be annoyed. instead, you match him and smirk right back.

you like the way he handles you.

+++

his touch is maddening.

his fingertips skate over your ribs, your stomach, but never where you need them. it's intentional and exploratory, like he has all the time in the world.

and he does. his apartment is a sanctuary from the mess of the last week. no prying eyes or a disgruntled kento to interrupt here.

you shift, trying to lead him downward, but he only chuckles, barely making a sound.

"you can be patient for me, can't you?" his voice dips lower, "or are you already too far gone?"

he's mocking you, and reflex kicks in—your thighs squeeze together, and you feel the heat creep up your neck when he notices.

his fingers ghost up your inner thighs, teasing warmth into your skin before retreating. every near-touch is calculated, just enough to remind you of how easily he could give you what you want.

he watches as impatience builds in your expression, as your breath stutters when his hands graze your waist again.

your nails press into his shoulders, a silent dare. before he can smirk, before he can gloat, you roll your hips against him, slow, deliberate. the response is immediate.

his breath falters, a groan through gritted teeth. his jaw tightens like he wasn't expecting you to test him. for a split second, he stills entirely.

you smile at him. message received.

"if you wanna ruin me, do it right, satoru." a taunt disguised as a whisper, just enough to chip at his restraint.

his hold turns bruising, like he wants to leave something behind. the teasing tone vanishes, his smirk dissolving into something darker. your breath catches—not in surprise, but excitement as something kindles in your stomach.

because suddenly, it's not a game anymore.

the realization barely registers before he has you pinned, wrists above your head, mouth at your ear.

"hope you know what you're asking for," he murmurs, hips flush against yours. his voice is different now—rough, heat twisting through every syllable. you shudder at the sound, your body responding. he makes good on his words immediately.

his hands find the backs of your thighs—then, suddenly, you're weightless, gasping, clutching at his shoulders. your legs draw around his hips, heat pooling fast.

a startled breath leaves you, but he's already moving, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing at all.

+++

he drops you onto his bed, grinning at the glare you send him when you bounce.

you don't even get the chance to scold—his hands are already on you, pulling your panties down.

his teeth graze your inner thigh before he bites down, sharp enough to make you whine, hips squirming. he exhales with a smile. "thought so." his tongue follows—slow, indulgent, a promise to ruin you.

you've barely found your breath when he shifts, broad hands pressing into your thighs, spreading you open. his gaze lifts, dark and teasing.

"comfortable?" he asks, lips skimming the inside of your knee.

you roll your eyes, about to retort—but your fingers curl into the sheets instead when his mouth finds your core, hot and devastating.

your hips shift, back arching, and he hums against you, content.

you move the moment he adjusts—quick, decisive, hands pushing into his shoulders. he lets you shift the balance, rolling onto his back, breath catching when he opens his eyes to find you above him.

your fingers work fast, tugging at his belt, yanking it free with a sharp pull. you work on the button, the zipper, pulling the fabric down just enough to free him.

he was so fucking cocky a second ago. now, he's not even breathing right, body taut under your hands. so you stroke once, then twice, then take him into your mouth.

no warning, no reluctance.

his grip tightens on your thigh, breath punching out like you knocked it loose. his head tilts back, jaw tensing, a soft "fuck—just like that, baby" escaping him.

you hum around him, pleased, tongue teasing, and he swears again under his breath. his hands fist into the sheets, trying to ground himself.

but satoru doesn't like being outmatched.

his fingers skate up your thigh, squeezing. and then his mouth is on you, tongue dragging through your folds, slow and deep.

you gasp against him, body tensing, and he grins.

"that's better," he mutters against you, lips brushing sensitive skin before his tongue circles once, twice.

the sound you make is muffled around him, and he groans in response, the vibration rolling through you both.

you try to keep a rhythm, fingers curling at the base as you sink down, but every time his tongue moves just right, every time he sucks at your clit, you falter.

he notices, and he loves it.

his hands tighten on your hips, keeping you still as he buries his face deeper, determined, fucking into you with his tongue, sending you to the edge without mercy.

you try to keep going, try to keep your lips wrapped around him, but every nerve in your body is on fire, pressure winding as you moan around him.

he grins against you. "that's it, princess. lemme hear it."

his fingers dig into your skin, tightening as he licks into you with purpose, drawing desperate sounds from your throat.

it's too much. you pull your mouth off of him, panting, lips slick and hips twitching against his face as the bliss hits all at once, unraveling you from the inside out.

"satoru, fuck," you gasp, the words nearly unintelligible through your moans. you can't do anything but let it consume you, your body seizing before the release finally drives through you.

you gasp, sharp and unsteady, his name tumbling past your lips again, voice cracking into a whine.

satoru doesn't stop until you're shaking, your legs weak, pleasure rolling over you in dizzying, tormenting waves.

only when your thighs twitch, too sensitive, does he finally pull away. his face is wet, and he's breathless. he presses one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before looking up at you, eyes dark and lazy.

"you're fucking perfect," he murmurs, voice hoarse, before flipping you onto your stomach, pressing you into the mattress.

+++

you're still coming down when he lifts your hips, tucking a pillow underneath them.

his breath is warm against your shoulder, steady and grounding. his lips trail down your spine, flirting, savoring the way you squirm. a hand settles on your hip possessively, making sure you don't slip away.

his other hand trails lower, sliding between your legs, fingers pressing in—gradually, unhurried, teasing the mess he left behind.

"fuck, baby—you're dripping for me." his voice is all rough edges and satisfaction, murmured against your ear. you shiver. his fingers slide through your folds, spreading your slick, teasing the spot he knows will make you gasp.

"been thinking about this all week," he mumbles, kissing the curve of your neck. his fingers dip lower, pushing inside, slow and deep. "bet you have, too."

you whimper, and he smirks against your skin.

"should've had you like this that night. should've fucked you right up against that wall."

his fingers move at an unbearable pace, curling, pressing into the spot that makes your knees weak. your hips jerk, but he holds you still.

"needy, huh?" his breath is burning against your ear, teasing, smug. "tell me how bad you want it, baby."

your fingers clutch the sheets, patience fraying. you should fight him— push back, make him work for it—but you're too far gone for games.

"satoru—"

his fingers stall. "mm, not good enough."

"want you," you gasp, growing desperate. "need you inside me."

he groans like you just hit him where it hurts. he pulls his hand away, leaving you empty for barely a second before the thick of him replaces them.

he slips the tip through your folds, slick and teasing, but doesn't push in. "this what you wanted?" he asks, rougher now.

"yes."

"say it again."

your breath stutters, but you give him what he wants. "yes. please," you gasp.

his hands flex against your hips, keeping you still as he pushes forward, stretching you open with an unrelenting drag that knocks the air from your lungs. it's almost too much—almost—but you want all of it. you take all of him.

he moves in slowly, and a shaky gasp escapes as he bottoms out, deep inside you, holding himself there, letting you feel it.

his breath is ragged now, his exhale hot against your skin. "fuck."

his hands slide up your sides, guiding you, holding you where he needs you.

"you feel so fucking good," he breathes, voice dipping into something ruined.

his hips roll, deep and slow, like he wants to feel everything. like he wants to make this last.

you think for a second that you won't survive at this pace.

satoru brings his body lower, pressing his chest flush against your back, all heat and tension, breath ghosting over your shoulder as he sinks in.

his arms slip under yours, palms spreading over your shoulders, drawing you into him. not just pulling you back, but owning the space between you.

hi thrusts are indulgent, stretching, coating himself in you. his breath is uneven, satisfaction humming in your ear.

you push your hips back into him, matching his rhythm.

satoru exhales a sharp breath, fingers digging in. "you trying to make me lose it?"

you don't answer, just push back harder on instinct.

his response is immediate—a sharp, precise thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, ripping a moan from your throat before you can swallow it down.

"thought so," he murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder.

his pace turns deep and steady—controlled, measured. he brings his face close to yours, wanting to watch you react, to feel you tighten around him with every movement.

but you're impatient. you shift, pressing up onto your elbows, angling your hips just enough to take him deeper.

his pace stutters. he swears under his breath, voice raw, and one arm locks around your waist. he holds you in place as he fucks into you now, hard enough to leave you trembling, helpless against the bed.

his name leaves your lips, breathless and desperate.

"fuck—it's so good," he groans, half-choked, messy. his face buries into your neck, hands gripping like he's holding on for dear life. "let me hear you, baby."

you can barely think, barely breathe. his hand slides between your legs, fingers finding that spot, pressing slow, teasing circles.

"satoru—"

he chuckles, low and smug, but there's an edge to it now, a tension in the way his hips stutter, his movements losing their precision.

and then you tighten around him, body seizing, pleasure cresting all at once—

"fuck," he bites out, breathless, grip tightening like he's trying to hold on.

and then—he pulls out.

a sharp inhale, the loss making you gasp, but before you can even form a thought—

he flips you over.

"not done with you yet," he mutters, voice rough, gaze dark as he hovers over you.

+++

and just like that, everything shifts.

his hands find you the second he pulls out—a sharp, dizzying shift as he flips you over, settling beneath you. his hands slide up your ribs, brush over your breasts, then slide back down.

his fingers splay wide on your hips, steadying you, but it's his gaze that pins you in place. "wanna see you like this," he murmurs, voice low, still rough from before.

your lips part, but the way he looks at you makes it hard to tease. instead, your nails drag down his chest, unhurried, feeling his abs tense beneath your touch.

"yeah?" you breathe.

his fingers flex, tightening just slightly. "yeah, baby. show me how bad you want it."

you wrap your fingers around him, stroking once, slow and teasing, just to watch him squirm.

his jaw clenches, but he doesn't push. he lets you take your time, lets you set the pace, struggling to hold back.

you don't make him wait long.

you line him up and sink down, savoring the stretch—the way he exhales, sharp and shaky, fingers digging in.

"fuck," he breathes, watching you, eyes dark, half-lidded, all heat.

one of your hands finds his shoulders, nails scraping lightly as you start to move. the other moves down to where you're connected, feeling just how far he spreads you open.

at first, it's slow—like you're figuring each other out all over again. a careful roll of your hips, tension simmering, teasing at something deeper.

but it doesn't last.

his grip firms, guiding you down, matching your rhythm. he thrusts up to meet you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs.

"you feel me, princess?" he asks, pulling you down harder, deeper.

you answer him with a desperate little whimper that makes him melt.

both of your movements are messy, desperate—like you both know exactly where this is going and you need to get there.

your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping, tugging just slightly, and he hisses, eyes squeezing shut for a second.

his hands slide up your spine, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing to yours, breathing hard.

"you feel so fucking good," he murmurs, almost a whine. "so wet for me, so fucking perfect."

you can't even speak. your thoughts blur, pleasure winding tight, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

he shifts beneath you, angling deeper, hitting exactly where you need him. the sudden jolt of pleasure makes your whole body tighten, makes you let out a sound you didn't mean to make—

a loud, broken moan, breathy, helpless.

his head snaps up, eyes wild, something cracking behind them—like he just lost his last thread of control.

"oh," his breath shudders, grip tightening. "oh."

and then he's gone.

he snaps his hips into yours, his hands gripping, guiding, setting a pace that's relentless, that has you gasping, nails biting into his shoulders.

your vision goes hazy, body tightening, winding up unbearably fast. you try to tell him you're close, but all that comes out is a shaky, broken "satoru—"

"oh, fuck—there it is," he breathes, voice dropping, eyes dark and triumphant. "knew you'd sound so fucking sweet falling apart for me."

his hand finds your clit, pressing just right—teeth gritting as he holds on, watching you break first.

and you shatter.

it slams into you, sharp and consuming, a shockwave rolling through your body. your breath stutters, a broken gasp stumbling free as you tighten around him, locking him in.

he feels it—the way you pulse around him, the way you tremble, how your moans dissolve into something helpless. it undoes him. his arm slides your waist, his other hand finding the back of your neck, and he pulls you closer like he needs you.

he curses as you tremble against him, holding you close, burying himself deep in you as he falls apart.

your name leaves his lips like a prayer, breathless, reverent. he groans against your skin as he finally spills into you. pleasure crashes through him, and for a moment, all he can do is feel **the heat of you, the way you throb around him, the way your body takes him like you were made for this.

for a second, you both stay still; the only sound between you is the sharp, uneven puff of breath.

your hands shake against his chest. his fingers are still locked around your waist.

he exhales a wrecked laugh, warm and lazy against your temple.

"so fucking worth the wait," he murmurs, voice low, sated. he kisses all over your face, palm smoothing down your spine. "knew you'd be perfect for me."

+++

the morning light spills through the curtains, golden and soft, warming tangled sheets and bare skin. everything is still. quiet, but not empty. satoru is warm against you, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. at some point in the night, your leg found its way between his, one of his arms draped lazily over your waist.

you shift, stretching slightly, and his fingers flex at your hip, like some part of him refuses to let you go.

he murmurs something unintelligible, voice low and drowsy. then, with a slow, easy smile against your skin, "stay."

you huff a quiet laugh. "clingy."

"mmm," he hums, voice is thick with sleep. "you're warm."

he still hasn't opened his eyes. he just shifts a little, nestling deeper into you. his fingers pressing idly into your hip, like he's memorizing the shape of you beneath them.

you stay like that for a while.

you steal a button-up from his closet when you finally get up, slipping it over your shoulders before following him into the bathroom. he doesn't comment, just flicks his gaze over you, lips twitching, before rummaging through a drawer. a moment later, he presses a spare toothbrush into your palm.

"definitely took you for the clingy type."

he grins, stretching lazily against the counter. "not my fault you're so soft."

you brush your teeth side by side, bleary-eyed in the mirror. he stands just a little too close, bumping into your arm like he can't help himself.

and when you head back to bed, he follows, catching your wrist just before you climb in, guiding you back under the covers with ease.

"wait." his lips brush your shoulder. "just stay there."

"i am staying," you point out, amused.

"good," he hums, pressing one last kiss to your head before disappearing into the kitchen.

satoru returns minutes later, two mugs in hand. he sets yours on the nightstand before wordlessly disappearing back to the kitchen.

you wait until you smell breakfast, then you get up and follow the scent out to his kitchen island.

he doesn't ask if you're hungry. he just plates your food and sets it in front of you without a second thought.

you steal sips from his juice between bites, and he lets you, just watching, amused, eyes flicking toward you over the rim of his glass.

soft touches happen naturally, thoughtlessly.

his palm finds the small of your back when he moves past you, warm and steady.

your fingers brush when you both reach for the same thing.

his knuckles graze your thigh when he leans back against the counter.

none of it feels unfamiliar.

you stay longer than you expected to. he doesn't call you out on it.

the goodbye is unserious, drawn out in a way that makes it obvious neither of you is in a rush.

"try not to miss me too much," you tease, pulling on your shoes with a grin.

he smiles, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "oh, i will."

his tone is playful, but something about the way he says them makes you hesitate, just for a second.

and as you step out, just before it closes behind you, he calls after you.

"i'll be thinking about you, y'know."

tags (ongoing): @moonchhu @httpstoyosi @lavnder311 @harryzcherry @perkypeony @katecupcakekate @hellicify @oh-my-god-donald @jupiterbinnie @i88b0nten @satxoru @chuuminn @moncher-ire @r0ckst4rjk @flwerie @raendarkfaerie @pinksdump @blkmystery @pearlessance @satoruxsc

[fabuloustrash05]

I will always stand by the fact that Raphael had the best character development in the 2012 series while Leo was kind of an opposite.

Raph learns to open up more about his emotions and feelings instead, I’m just resorting to violence. By the final season, he’s more affectionate with his brothers, openly cares about others without fear of being mocked or looking like he’s weak, gets a girlfriend and has a responsibility as a parental figure to Chompy. His relationship with Mona especially would’ve been very different if he met her in season 1. When everyone finds out Raph has a crush on her and immediately start teasing him, Raph doesn’t get angry or denies his feelings for her. He openly admits it and he’s never once afraid to show how he feels about her in front of other people. If season 1, Raph had a crush, he would’ve quickly denied it and probably punched someone (Mikey) if they even suggested it. Raph learns to be more open and it leads to him having a more happy life, which is why his happy ending in the series is him having the two most important people in his life with (Mona and Chompy).

Leo’s development is more of a reverse. Truly showing that the responsibility of being leader and later sensei of his clan has taken away his ambition and excitement he had in the first season. In season one he’s more open to the idea of bad people turning good but by seasons 4-5 Leo is very distrusting of people. He’s always serious and rarely has moments to be silly and goofy and act his age. April says it perfectly in season 5; “the weight of the world is always on his shoulders”. I pointed this out in another post of mine, but notice how Leo was the only one who doesn’t really have a best friend, just close associates or friends who are closer friends with his siblings. Leo’s role as a leader, and even a parental figure to his brothers, has taken away his excitement that he had in season 1. He went through all of this drama, pain, stress, and mental struggles, and for what? Also, he could be like his idol Captain Ryan.

An ironic thing about of the 2012 TMNT series is that as the show goes on, Raph opens up more while Leo shuts down more.

A bit like this:

Leo liked to annoy him much more in the earlier seasons. Then things got a bit too intense especially post season 2.

But Raph? Raph started out stubborn and guarded, but grew to be more soft and just overall more affectionate with his brothers.

[georgiapeach30513]

Two Good Reasons, Part 12

Summary: Scott finally calls

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings:  language, Scott Huffman, drinking, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 8.4K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“Me pee. Me pee. Me pee,” Suede jumps up from the couch where he had been taking a nap. Ignoring how Andy is chuckling at the little boy sprinting towards the bathroom. Struggling to make it to the bathroom in time.

“Did you make it, buddy?” Andy keeps his laughter light, so his son doesn’t hear him.

“Chess. Me ake it, daddy. More bett-or,” more better always meaning he feels better. Andy returns to his laptop. Getting ahead of next week when he hears the little boy start to walk out of the bathroom.

“Hands, Suede.”

“Ugh,” the dramatic side has to be from Scott. Unless you were a drama queen when you were younger, and he does not think that is even possible. “Me hands cean!”

“No, they’re not. You touched your penis,” you were a bit unsure about the kids knowing the correct terms of their body parts, until Andy explained that there isn’t anything wrong with it, and then there would be no doubt if they need to tell you something.

“Ugh, otay! Me ash me hands,” he stomps up on his stool, starting to play in the water more than wash his hands. His little annoyance is over. He jumps off his stool to dry his hands, and ‘monster walks’ towards your bedroom. Stomping and growling until he stops, and stares at the empty bed. “Daddy!”

“Suedey,” Andy says calmly as the cute little boy walks into the living room. Shrugging animatedly, “What is it?”

“Where my mama at? Daddy, where my mama at?”

“She is in the bed with Audrey taking a nap,” Suede turns to walk towards the stairs, until Andy clears his throat, and Suede turns to face the man that has become his father. “Do not go and wake them up.”

“Me wake!”

“I know you’re awake, but they are not,” Suede huffs before crossing his arms over his chest, and sits on the floor. “You don’t have to be like that. You’re acting all moody. They’ll wake up soon.”

“Me pay,” Suede huffs out, sticking his bottom lip out for emphasis that this is serious.

“You and I can play.”

“You work,” Andy closes his laptop, and sets it on the side table. Returning the biggest smile on the little boy’s face as he jumps up, and runs to get his living room toys. “We pay?”

“Yes, buddy. You and I can play.”

“Mama seep. Audi seep. Why?" His smile gets even larger when Andy sits on the floor with him, so he dumps LEGO bricks onto the coffee table.

“Audrey likes spending time with mama, and mama has what in her belly?”

“Two babieeess!”

“Yes, exactly. And growing babies is a lot of work. So I let mama sleep whenever she gets tired. Audrey thinks she’s going to feel the babies move first. I think that’s why she’s always with her,” Suede shrugs again, and starts stacking brick upon brick. The explanation was enough for him. The more important thing was his daddy was now playing with him.

Before Andy can even start to build, your phone lights up with a call. Andy gives it a bit of acknowledgment before silencing the ring. “Do you like staying at home with mama?” He still hadn’t returned to daycare. You just couldn’t do it, and Andy never pressured you to send him.

“Chess,” is his simple answer. And he scowls when your phone lights up from another call, and the same person. Andy silences it again, sighing when he tries to pay attention to Suede. “Who dat?”

“Someone calling to talk to your mama,” he says, regretfully having to silence it again. He finally gets a moment of rest, until a text comes through. He shouldn’t snoop, but this is from a man that you have called so much in the past couple months. A man you have begged to call his daughter. It’s not snooping, this is scanning the message before you.

’I wish you’d pick up so I can talk to you about seeing my daughter.’

It shouldn’t bother him that Scott didn’t mention Suede at all. He’d terminated all rights to the little boy, and Andy is well on his way to adopt him. Making Suede legally his. Just like you are now legally his wife. A ceremony can happen after the twins are born, but he didn’t want to take any chances with Scott trying something stupid for a bit more control.

Not that he doubted who the twins belonged to. But Andy doesn’t want you to have unnecessary stress. A stress free environment is what you need, and he’s going to do his damnedest to make sure that happens, and these phone calls, and the text should not be happening. Especially since Audrey has quit asking for her dad, for now.

Audrey has been resilient. Almost accepting that her father didn’t want to see her, and the announcement of you being pregnant helped. She always wanted to be with you. Always wanted to help you. She would even bring you things without asking. Watching your water bottle to make sure you stayed hydrated. Needless to say, becoming a big sister again is something she truly wanted.

Andy knows it’s just a distraction at the moment. He knows bedtime is the hardest, and she would ask him or sometimes you about her dad, and when he was going to call, or see her and Suede. She wanted to know when she could tell her dad about you having two more babies. She wanted to tell him what she got for Christmas, even quit asking what she thought he would get her. She is protecting herself by not bringing up Scott, but she is curious.

It’s the one thing Andy truly didn’t understand. The thought that Scott has the ability to get her every other Saturday, currently overnight stays were not allowed until he went through an anger management class. Scott’s ego had been bruised, and instead of being a man, he’d pretended that he didn’t have kids. You warned Andy it wouldn’t last. Once his mom started to ask about the kids, especially her little lawyer, he’d start playing the game again.

Game.

Too many things make Andy sick about Scott, but the way he treats his flesh and blood is the most abhorrent. Andy doesn’t want Audrey to be out of his sight. Wants her to be right here under this roof where he knows she’s safe. She deserved to be home and with people that she loved, and loved her equally back. Not used her as a reflection for his own ego. Scott loved her as long as she was making him look good. And ultimately he determined Suede never would.

Disgusting. There is no other word for a father who can be away from his children like him. Andy missed seeing his family on a daily basis, and it was only for a few hours while he worked. He couldn’t wait to come back home knowing all three of you were waiting on him. Soon it would be all five of you. The difference is Andy always wanted this life, and with you.

“Daddy, my yuv oo,” Suedey smiles up at Andy, scooting just a little bit closer to the man.

“I love you, too, Suedey. To the moon.”

“And yack!”

—

You brush back the baby hairs off your daughter’s forehead. Leaning forward to kiss on the top of her head. You let the sweet tear drift down your cheek as you sniffle. Since telling her you were pregnant, she didn’t want to leave your side. Sweetly demanded that you take naps in her bed with her. You don't care. You love these frozen moments with her. A reminder that she’s still so little and young.

Your sweet amazing little girl is growing up too fast. She may be tiny, but she is mighty. You couldn’t have asked for a better big sister to her brother, and soon more siblings. She is more kind and patient than you could have imagined. Protective and the most loving little human you’ve ever met.

If you could have had her with a different man you would have. Thankfully she has Andy to fill in that empty space her daddy has left. You wipe a tear off your cheeks as you just watch her sleep. She’s so beautiful. The baby that made you a mom, and you could not be more proud.

Here at her home she gets to be the bubbly princess of her dreams. Her imagination here has changed dramatically. Her stuttering has slowed down. And much to Andy’s surprise, she was drawing unicorns, fairies, and castles with his and your help.

“Mommy, your tears are getting me all wet,” you softly laugh as Audrey sits up in her princess bed. The cozy throw still covers the both of you as she stretches, and yawns, “Why are you crying anyways? Is it bad? Are you hurting? Did the babies kick!?” her voice goes higher at the last question. She wants to feel them kick so much.

“I’m just so happy that I’m your mommy,” Audrey gives you a sweet smile before leaning towards you, and hugging you, while snuggling into you. You inhale the soft smell of her sweet pea shampoo, and pull her on top of you.

“Mommy! Am I going to hurt the babies! Oh no!”

“Audrey, if you were going to hurt them, I wouldn’t have done this. Just give me a big ole hug,” she does. Burying herself deeper into your body. “What are we going to have for supper tonight?”

“Daddy said mush, but you said it was going to be chicken and rice with carrots and broccoli. So can we have that instead?” You love hearing her call Andy daddy. One day it just naturally turned into that. You knew it might not stick. That there was this part of her that needed to have a father in her life, and Andy fills that void. He’s always present, and always there for her and Suede. You know that his relationship with your baby boy is such a comfort to Audrey.

“Yes, my darling, we’ll have chicken and rice. Mmm,” you groan, sitting up and stretching. “Shall we go check on your brother and…”

“Daddy. Yes,” she interrupts you, and starts to crawl out of the bed. “You can call him that for me, you know?” It’s the first time that she ever told you that it was okay to acknowledge Andy as her daddy.

“You’re sure?” She nods her head. “You’re really sure?” Audrey giggles, nodding her head more. “You’re completely positive I can refer to Andy as your daddy?”

“Suede calls him that, and the twins will, too, so why can’t I?” You can’t argue with that logic. You didn’t care about Scott’s feelings anymore. May his balls smell and itch, and Taylor doesn’t want to have sex with him. “I think daddy suits him.”

“Me, too,” you answer with the utmost sincerity. Being a father is the sexiest you’ve ever seen Andy. “Come on. I think you and Suede need to play in the living room, while daddy and I get dinner going. And I’m cooking this all in the oven, so when it’s in there, we get to play with you, too.”

“Yes!” She screams, darting to the door. Her little feet pad to the stairs too quickly for Andy’s liking.

“Princess, don’t you run down those stairs,” you hear your now husband tell her, and her footsteps slow down. No screaming, and no condescending tone. Stretching again, you get her bed back in proper order before heading downstairs yourself. The quicker you get dinner in the oven, the quicker you get to spend time with your family.

Lazy Sundays are your absolute favorite. Until you’re met at the bottom of the steps by Andy. Instead of his warm smile, his brows are lifted, and the lines in his forehead seem deeper, “I just woke up. I don’t…”

“Scott called,” you gulp, looking to the living room to see Audrey and Suede happily playing with toys out in the open. They are happy. Audrey has dealt with the absence of her father. It hasn’t been easy, but is he wanting to talk to her, and then be absent again? If he’s coming into her life you want consistency. Him being gone almost broke her.

“Honey,” Andy says softly, pulling you in for a deep hug. He holds you so tight against him, rubbing your back as you let the tears of anger and frustration spill from your eyes. “Shh, let's go into the kitchen,” you nod, following him away from the joyous laughter, while you want to scream. Rage.

He lets the door to the kitchen close before issuing the softest kiss to your forehead. “Tell me what he said,” your voice is already flat and hoarse as he hands your phone to you. “He called six times before the text?”

“Well, five times, a text, and then a call again. With a voicemail. He won’t talk to you that way,” Andy’s voice is stern as he glares at your phone. If he could, he’d make Scott disappear forever.

“Scott is going to talk to me however he wants,” you answer nonchalantly. You’ve heard worse, and from him.

“He will not talk to you that way,” Andy repeats himself with a much more agitation in his tone. “I get that he has rights to his daughter,” Andy’s nose flares, and his hand resting on the counter top flexes. His knuckles go white as he tries to calm down. “But he will not talk to my wife that way. We can go about this calmly and like adults, or he can go back to supervised visits.”

“That won’t help anything. So he wants our daughter this weekend. I have to give him that access, and then he brings her back home to us at the end of the day?” Andy nods his head, his arm starting to relax. “Can we make him be consistent with this? Every other Saturday always. She just stopped calling Ransom in the middle of the night.”

“We can keep a record of his involvement. But there’s only so much we can do when it’s court mandated,” you roll your eyes, needing to busy yourself with preparing dinner. “Doe, I’m sorry.”

“And how do you think it’s going to go when he takes Audrey, and not Suede?” it’s the thing that had been bothering Andy the whole time he was waiting on you to wake. “She is even more attached to him than ever before. And what about Suede? I think he’s fully accepted you as his father, but he’ll be taking his sister away. And what if he realizes, that man didn’t want me. Ow!” You drop the knife onto the counter. This is why you shouldn’t cut vegetables when angry.

Andy is so fast to react. He’s by your side in a split second, pulling your hand to the sink, letting cold water run over your finger as he kisses your temple, and you can’t control your tears. “It’s not fair to either one of them. It’d be better off if he gave up rights to both of them. I know this is going to be a shitshow, and you’re — you’re telling me there’s n-n-n-nothing I can do?”

“Unfortunately,” his answer is so somber as he pulls out a drawer that holds a mini first aid kit. “You know I will fight like hell to get all of this resolved legally. And in time, he’ll grow bored of Audrey.”

“At Audrey’s expense,” grow bored of his daughter. How? She is amazing! She’s perfect and growing and changing so much. Scott would rather opt out of the minor hard things because of the inconvenience while also missing out all these small little moments of laughter and love that make it all worth it.

“I know. We have to be patient. If I could do anything, do you not think I would?” He kisses your bandage finger, and looks deep into your eyes. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you or our kids,” Andy emphasizes ‘our’, extending that word to Audrey as well. You’ve never doubted his love and protection towards both your children. You’ve witnessed it. “But we have got to follow the law. We could be held in contempt of court, and that won’t happen. So trust me on this. But I will tell you again, that man will not talk to my wife that way. And I will make it perfectly clear how he will not do that. I don’t want him calling your phone back to back, leaving angry voicemails, or even the texts. One phone call, one voicemail, or one text. And honey, you’ll have to pick up when he calls if you can, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” your face starts softening, and he pulls you in for a bruising kiss. Holding onto your belly as he swirls his hands over your little bump. No wonder you're growing at a faster rate than the previous pregnancies. You’ve got two beautiful babies in there. Beautiful babies that you and Andy created out of the most passionate and sweet love.

“Don’t be cheeky.”

“Yes, sir,” he swats your ass with his free hand before pushing you away from the cutting board. “Dinner!”

“You’re injured. Sit down and watch me or go play with the kids.”

“I do really like watching you,” he rolls his eyes as he smiles, washing his hands to take over dinner prep. “Andy, you know I trust you. This is just the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with, okay?”

“I know,” he responds as you gulp. How did you get so lucky to find this man twice? Two times in your life you got to love him, and he never doubted that you would find each other again. Waited on you because he knew you were the one. He’s better than any man you could have imagined for yourself, but especially for your children.

“Mommy?” Audrey watches you flitter about, packing her a backpack, and you are too cowardly to even tell her why. Choosing to ignore the question in her voice when you slip her iPad mini into her bag. “Mommy, where we going?”

You aren’t sure. Just with her dad. He could take her to his apartment. He could take her to soft play. Maybe to the park. “Is Suede going?” you shake your head no, still unable to fully look at her.

“So is it with Uncle Ann?” Her voice gets so light and excited as she runs to her closet. “He said he was going to take me and to see a movie with Miss Tatum. Can I wear a pretty dress? Make sure to pack my Madeline doll he got me, and a blanket. It gets cold in the theater. Are you and daddy taking Suede somewhere? Uncle Ann said a movie might be too long for him, but he’d take us to soft play with Miss Tatum. I can’t wait.”

“Baby, you’re not going with Uncle Ann.”

“So is this a me and you day?” You shake your head no again, sitting on her princess bed as you rub along the swell of your belly. “I don’t understand.”

“Audi, your dad is going to spend the day with you,” she stares at you a bit confused at the statement.

“But why can’t you and Suede go with us?” The lines of course will be blurred as to who you are referring to. She hadn’t so much as heard from Scott in months, much less seen him. “Mommy?”

“Not your Andy daddy.”

“Oh,” she sits down immediately on the floor as her brows pitch up. Trying to work through her feelings while you just watch her. Giving her some space to figure this out, “But why — why not Suede, too?”

“Umm, your father,” it’s best to differentiate by using that word. Daddy is too sweet of a title for him. A title he never deserved, “He — well, he is going to allow Andy to adopt him.”

“Can Andy adopt me?” There’s a soft smile that tugs at her lip that makes you hurt. You would prefer that Andy adopt Audrey as well.

“No, it’s not that simple.”

“Then how come he gets to adopt Suede?”

“Because your father felt it was in his best interest to not be Suede’s dad,” Andy says in the doorway. You’re thankful that he didn’t leave you to drown on this.

“But I want you to adopt me like Suede. That’s not fair,” her arms cross over her chest and she pouts. “Y-y-y-you said that we do things as a family. And adopting him, and not me, is not being a family. That means I don’t match.”

“What do you mean not match?” You try to keep your tears inside of you. She isn’t wrong, this isn’t fair. It’s confusing. Especially to a child that is intelligent and can piece this puzzle together. Knowing your child she will fixate on this conversation. She’ll come up with a scenario on what’s wrong with her, or what’s wrong with Suede. But the reality is her father is what’s wrong.

“Well, if daddy adopts Suede what will his last name be?”

“Barber,” Andy says stoically. He walks over to Audrey, and kneels down before her.

“And the twins, what is their last name?”

“Barber,” you already know where her brain is going, and it pains you. Scott is beyond selfish, especially where Audrey is concerned.

“And you — your name is already Barber now. So I’m the only Huffman. That is not fair. That is not doing things as a family. And if I go to his house how will I know that Suede is breathing? Y-y-y-you can’t watch him all the time. Where is Suede now? Who is checking on his breathing? I-I-I-I can’t trust you to make sure he doesn’t have an allergic reaction. That that that that is my job as the big sister. And and and and and and,” her cheeks turn ruddy as she tries to catch her breath. The stutter you thought was gone now returning with one mention of her father, and her stress.

Scott deserves to hear these words. He should know the anxiety that he has caused his daughter concerning her brother’s breathing. A worry that she shouldn’t have as a five-year-old.

“Audi, princess, I need you to breathe for daddy, okay?”

“Am I allowed to still call you daddy?”

“I told you, you get to call me whatever it is you want.”

“But my last name isn’t Barber. I don’t like this. I don’t want to go to his house. I want to stay with you. He he he he he didn’t tell me Merry Christmas. He didn’t didn’t didn’t didn’t make sure Suede was okay. And he doesn’t doesn’t doesn’t doesn’t ever tell me he loves me. He never never never never does,” you look towards Andy, begging him without words to not make her go. He never says he loves her. He could not tell you when you were married, but she’s a baby.

“And if if if I’m not here I can’t can’t feel my twins move first. And — it’s not fair! I hate you and I hate him!” Screaming she stands up, and pulls the bag out of your hand, throwing it across the room. “I don’t want to go! Do you not want me?”

“Baby, I want you for always,” you tell her. Struggling to talk yourself. You hate Scott. Hate the emotional turmoil that he has always put your daughter in. “But Scott has a right to see you.”

“Then he should have. But he didn’t. Not even at Christmas. Don’t make me go. No! Mommy is that him? I don’t want to go! Don’t make me,” The doorbell rings, and you watch Suede dart past her bedroom door, followed by Andy who scoops him up before he gets to the stairs. “No no no no, mommy, don’t make me go. What if I miss something here?” Tears trail down her face, and you pull her into your body. Wishing you could change this. A few hours seemed so long. Too long to be away from her family.

“We won’t do anything without you here. We’ll be waiting on you until Scott brings you back later.”

“I don’t have to sleep there?” in a perfect world she wouldn’t even have to go there.

“No, baby. Your father has homework to do before he can keep you overnight. It’s just for a few hours. Okay?”

She nods her head, and pulls away from your embrace, “I don’t hate you.”

“I know you don’t, baby. Come on. Let’s go see your father.”

She grabs onto your hand without a second thought. Holding you almost too tight while you pick up her bag, and walk towards the stairs. Parenting is always going to be hard, but this is a slow torture. It will only be six hours, and yet you feel like you’re going to be without her for an entire year. He’d missed so much, and didn’t even care. Your children were always a leverage to him. You wanted them, and he wanted them to hurt you.

“No!” Suede screams as he shakes his head at Andy. “No, daddy, no. No, ike that!” Andy’s grip on Suede gets tighter as he tries to comfort his son, instead of saying how he knew he didn’t like the man at the door.

“Scott, wanna come in?”

“No,” he answers shortly. Staring off into the distance because he can’t look at his biological son. Andy loathes him. The games he plays at the expense of his children are sick. It’s evil. They are his flesh and blood, and he can be so callous with them.

“Wow,” he says with no enthusiasm as you and Audrey walk into his view. “You sure didn't waste any time, I see. Shocking really. You weren’t supposed to be able to get pregnant. You sure…”

“Yes, the twins are mine. And it was all natural,” you’re not in the mood for a fucking pissing contest. Your first little love is distraught and has mixed emotions, and you were not in the mood for this. You just want to close the door on Scott, and pretend this didn’t happen.

“Audrey, let's go,” he’s so cold. No, ‘hey, I missed you. We’re going to have fun.’ Just let’s go because I lawfully deserve this.

“Do I have to?” She asks, looking up at you.

“Yes, you have to, unless you want your mom in jail. Now, let's go. I’ve got your Christmas presents.”

“Me yoys?” Suede asks, looking at Andy, and you see Scott rolls his eyes at him. Reacting with anger will only make this worse. Audrey needs you to be the strong one, the steady one, the one that she can rely on when her father fails her. “Daddy, me yoys, too?”

“Still can’t talk right,” he wants to piss you off. He wants to be hit. He is provoking both you and ANdy.

“He talks just fine,” Audrey furrows her brows, and steps away from him. “Say you’re sorry.”

“We gotta go. Get out of the house, and let’s get in the car.”

“No!” She stomps her foot, grimacing as she stares at him.

“You need to tell our daughter it’s time to go.”

“And you need to watch how you talk to my wife.”

“Wife?” Scott chuckles, and snaps his fingers at Audrey.

“I am not going with you. Say you’re sorry!”

“I don’t have time for these fucking games. Now get in the goddamn car.”

“Enough!” You scream to everyone in the room. The chaos of the conversation is making your heart race, and your emotions are at their limit. “Scott, you won’t come here disrespecting my home, and my family. That goes for Suede, Andy, and Audrey. She asked you to apologize to her brother.”

Scott hadn’t tried to set foot in the house, leading you to believe that he isn’t going to. He declined the invitation. If this is another one of his games to say he tried to get Audrey, but you refused, you’ll scream. It seems he came here just to start a fight so you would demand he couldn’t take her.

“Audrey is really confused and upset about how things have transpired. You haven’t returned any of her calls or her text messages since her birthday. So you will have to forgive her for her behavior. Everyone here is helping with Suede’s speech, and it’s improved. He speaks in sentences. So you constantly being rude about it doesn’t help. Now everyone, just breathe, and let's do this in a calm manner.”

“You can’t keep her from me.”

“I’m not trying to. I am making sure my daughter feels comfortable when she leaves, and she asked you to right one wrong.”

“I’m her father,” something he’ll never let you forget.

“Then act like it,” you warn him, and give a small squeeze to Audrey’s hand. “Apologize to her brother.”

“Sorry,” Scott gruffs out, and Suede is already playing with Andy’s beard to pay him any mind. “Audrey, let’s go.”

“And do not use foul language in front of her. She’s five, in case you forgot,” Scott only nods his head, holding his hand up for Audrey to take.

“Mommy?” His sorry was pathetic. But you can’t hold her from him. You won’t be the one that didn’t put effort in their relationship.

“I expect you to bring her back here by three o’clock,” Scott nods, wiggling his fingers towards Audrey. “And she has her iPad mini, and some toys. So if you need us, call us. We’ll be there in a second to get her early, or whatever.”

“Three?” You nod your head at Audrey, knowing she’s going to watch her iPad like a hawk now. “You promise to bring me back home?”

“Yes,” Scott answers, annoyed. Why he wanted kids is beyond you. Seeing how he easily can dismiss both of them is appalling.

“Mommy, daddy, Suedey, I love you.”

“Love you, princess,” Andy glares up at Scott as he gives Audrey a hug. A silent warning that he better behave. Scott’s aware of Andy’s influence and power. Andy gives her a chance to hug Suede before she’s reaching for you.

“If you need me, call me, baby.”

“She’s not a baby,” you ignore him. She will always be your baby. Forever will be your baby. And you’ll protect her however you have to. You hope this is the last visit Scott requests. You‘re sure his pride is hit so hard from this, and you pray it’s enough for him to just wipe his hands. Let him live his child free life that he seems to love.

“I will. I’ll call,” she sniffles, and pulls away from you. This is the hardest it’s ever been to let her go. Scott better show her more kindness than he has been. You won’t let him continue to get her. You’ll come up with something. You want her safe, and feel secure in her feelings. Hearing her stutter come back pains you. She is too young to have to deal with these big emotions. It’s too complicated, and she shouldn’t have to try and navigate them. You just hope this is a short visit. Less than the allotted six hours.

You’ll miss her every second she’s away with your phone glued to your hand. She would be okay. She would be okay. And you have to keep reminding yourself until it comes true. She will be okay.

“Has she called Ransom?” Andy hasn’t even got Ransom’s response before you nervously ask again. “Andy?” he looks up from his phone shaking his head. “I’m calling Scott again. He’s thirty minutes late. She is supposed to be Here at three. Andy, what do we do?”

“Audi at?” Suede pouts, stomping his foot. “My Audi at? Oo yie.”

“I did not lie, buddy. She was supposed to be here. Doe,” Andy’s thick fingers rub over his beard as he thinks. “Come on. We’re going to his house, and we’ll go get our girl.”

“Yay! Go to sissy!” Suede sprints towards the garage, and you grab his cup just in case. Ready to start pacing. Scott probably lost track of time. But him not answering his damn phone makes you uneasy. And Audrey hadn’t called anyone from her iPad. This isn’t like her. And something in your gut makes you queasy, and you don’t think it’s the twins.

“He can’t keep her from us. You have the upper hand here.”

“I don’t want to fight about my daughter though. I would be okay if he told me what was going on. But nothing. That, I don’t like,” the two of you walk into the garage, and you can’t help but smile at Suede already in his seat with his straps on, but not buckled. “Let’s go get our princess.”

—

“No! No no! No yike it hewe! No, daddy!”

“We’re not staying, buddy. We’re just getting Audrey,” Suede’s anxious face turns into a fake smile. If there’s one thing you would change about your life it would be leaving Scott before he got caught cheating. You tried to pacify him for too long. Let him get away with playing games with you, and also your children, all because you felt it was the right thing.

“I’ll go get her,” Andy says, leaning over to give you a kiss. You just want to know your daughter is safe, and had fun. You didn’t want to see Scott. Didn’t want to hear him. All you want is her safe with you. Andy could be the diplomatic one, while you’re acting all on emotions due to the pregnancy and the weird urgency you feel to have her in your arms.

He walks up the few steps to the house, a vastly different feeling than the first time he did this. He was supposed to be just bringing your wallet home. He gives the door a knock, and Scott slings it wide open swaying with the swift movement, “What?”

“You missed drop off time.”

“Yeah, well, I went to you to pick her up. Seems fair for you to come here,” he shrugs, doppily he rocks on his feet.

“You okay?”

“You know, Barber, I’m really not okay. My tramp of an ex wife blamed the divorce on me. And yet here she is, married to you, and you fucked a damn bastard in her belly,” Andy growls, glaring at the man. “I didn’t want another child after the fucking mistake of having a second one. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, am I right?” He winks at Andy, and Andy’s anger towards Scott grows. The bastard lied. You weren’t the problem. He was. He got a fucking vasectomy and blamed you for not getting pregnant.

”But you know you ruined everything. I don’t even have someone to carry on my fucking name, and you, you son of a bitch do, and Suede’s not even your fucking mistake. If he wasn’t born, we’d still be together. She changed after him.”

“Audrey! Grab your things, princess, it’s time to go,” Andy wants his daughter, and wants out there. Scott always wants a fight. Low blows. The asshole.

“I’m not finished with you, you prick. I hope you always remember that my wife took me whenever I wanted her. She was a submissive little bitch.”

Andy pulls Scott closer to him by his shirt, getting right into his ear, “You better watch your goddamn mouth when you're speaking about my family. Sober the fuck up. Next time you can’t contain your fucking drinking, call me, and I’ll pick up my daughter. Have I made myself clear?” Andy pushes him off him slightly, but it’s enough to have Scott stumbling backwards before he falls on his ass, and Audrey runs straight to Andy trembling.

Pushing herself tightly against her dad, and he picks her up, letting her wrap her arms around his neck, “Audi, you okay, princess?” He feels her shake her head no, and he continues glaring at Scott who tries to get his wits about him, but instead stumbles again as he tries to stand again. “Taylor here?”

“She left.”

“Slut! She’s such a fucking slut. Spreading her legs for…”

“Audrey, go out to the car, and tell mommy to call the cops, okay?” Her body continues to shake. She might not understand what’s going on with Scott, but she knows it isn’t right.

“Is he in trouble?”

“I just want to make sure someone can babysit him. He looks unwell.”

“He had a bottle with him.”

“Audrey,” he sits the little girl down, and she runs towards the car. As soon as she’s out of eyesight, Andy squats down to Scott, “You done fucked up, you little prick. You carried a bottle around, while you got yourself drunk and my daughter was here with you.”

“My daughter.”

“You’re not even man enough to tell her you’re unwell. All this shit piling up on you Scott, is your fault. Not my wife’s, and certainly not my kids. Drink yourself into oblivion, I don’t care. But not around her.”

“You can keep the stupid one. Oh,” Scott coughs when Andy kicks his side. Not enough to leave a bruise, but enough to get some instant gratification. It takes a very small man to make fun of a child, “He’s not right. He’s nothing but trouble. You’ll see. She’ll always love that kid more than you.”

“See the difference is I know that my kids need her in a different way than I need her. I know that she’ll tend to them because of that need for her. I’m an adult. I don’t need her to feed me, take care of me. I don’t need her. I want her. I cherish her. I worship the ground that she walks on. You had it all. You had the most perfect woman.”

“Pregnancy fucked her body up,” pregnancy made you more desireable to Andy. Your soft curves, the glow on your face, the way you loved being a mom. No wonder Scott went younger. You were the respectable wife, when all he wants is a sex toy with no attachments.

“I think that was you,” Scott’s eyes roll in the back of his head as the lights of a cop car come into view. Just another thing Andy has to deal with, instead of comforting his family. He’ll calmly give a statement. Having a legal document of Scott’s inebriation while in charge of Audrey. “Fuck you, Scott,” Andy groans as he turns to meet the officer. He needs to ease your mind that he’s okay. Let you see that you’re not hurt.

Scott Huffman will regret today. If anything happened to Audrey there would be hell to pay. Supervised visits will be pushed. Incidences like this will not happen again. Scott spiraled and spiraled until he turned to his main vice, alcohol. He’ll regret today. And every day after if he continues to talk about you or the children like that.

“What do you mean she won’t talk to us?” You demand, trying to walk up the stairs to Audrey. “Andy Barber, you let me go see my daughter. Andy! Move, please!”

“She’s asked for Ransom,” you roll your eyes, growling as you try to push past him. “Ransom was going on a date with Miss Tatum.”

“So then I need to see my child,” he’s really getting on your nerves trying to block you.

“And Ransom said that he didn’t mind if she came with them, so he’s on his way here.”

“But that’s my daughter. And she — what happened? What happened? And why did I need to call the police?” You waited for it to be just you and Andy. But you need to know.

“Mama, yook!” Suede holds up a tower of LEGO bricks he built, but you just want to talk with your daughter. You need to hold her, and just show her love and comfort.

“Doe, I think she wants Ransom because you are all emotional,” you huff, trying to skirt past him quickly, but he blocks you again. “I would rather her talk to us. She isn’t physically hurt. She’s upset, and asked for Ransom. Ran is the ADA, and he’ll know the right way to talk to her, and if there’s anything wrong he will call and bring her home. But can you give her this safe space with him?”

You don’t like it, even though Andy is right. She’s willing to talk with Ransom, and getting out of the house and with her teacher could be a good thing. “He’s getting her an hour before picking up Tatum. That way she won’t feel obligated to talk in front of her.”

“Why didn’t she call? She called none of us. Not even Suede. Can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

Andy’s Adam’s apple bobs as he looks from you to the floor. Contemplating if he wanted to tell you at all. It has to be bad, and your mind is going everywhere, and you’re unsure if it’s close. “He was very drunk.”

“Son of a bitch,” Andy pulls you in so tight to his body. Your anger instantly spurring tears. You want Scott to physically hurt as bad as he makes your daughter hurt emotionally. She had to have been so scared and confused. Scott is an angry drunk, and you never would want her to witness that.

“Mama, what ong? Daddy, mama cy?”

“Mama’s okay, buddy. Hey, can you go make me a dragon?” Suede shakes his head no, and pulls at your pants. “Make daddy a really big tower for us to knock down.”

“Chess!” He screams, running back into the family room.

“She wasn’t hurt?” Your voice is so weak. He’ll never see her again if you have anything to say about it. Now you understand the reason for the cops. Andy was documenting that Scott was drunk while Audrey was there. Bastard. The low son of a bitch bastard.

“She wasn’t physically hurt. I think it’s more to deal with her heart. The disappointment runs deep, and she didn’t even want to leave Suede.”

“But my baby,” her sperm donor sucked. You knew he sucked, but this is at an entirely different low than you were expecting. You know Scott drinks, and drank. But to be drunk for the few hours that he got her. And after months of being away. He chose then to subject her to drunken stupidity. And he was always such a sloppy mean drunk. “I hate him so much.”

“But our baby is okay. Let Ransom get her, I’ll put in her seat, and he can try and talk to her. He is her safe space because we’re too emotional. And…”

“Ransom buys her what she wants,” you laugh so weakly as you try and process everything. You knew something was wrong. “And maybe he can find out why she didn’t call. That’s not like Audrey.”

“Andy, you promise that not a hair on her head was hurt while she was there,” you ask as you pull your face off his chest. “I will…”

“Shh, no talking. Just know I had the same exact thoughts. Let’s go see our boy. There’s a baby monitor in Audrey’s room. Here,” you whisper a thanks to him as he pulls you away from the stairs. It isn’t the most ideal thing. But, it’ll do. You hope, pray, and beg that Ransom can find out exactly what happened. And so help you God if Scott drove in the car with her while drunk...

—

“Audi?” Audrey quickly looks out the window, leaving Ransom to only glance at her in the rear view mirror. She’d been fidgeting the moment she got in the car, but never said anything. “Audrey, you want to talk about what happened?”

“I would really like a dog,” Ransom glances back at her again and she’s looking directly at him. “I know mommy has two babies in her belly, but I would like a dog. A bigger one. One that can be my protector.”

“Do you feel you need protection?” Words are important. Kids say a lot even when they’re not saying the thing you think you’ll hear. Audrey mentioning a dog for protection says a lot.

“Suede isn’t allergic to dogs. I asked mommy again. I don’t want a mean dog, just one that loves me.”

“Audrey.”

“If you buy me a dog — I will talk,” of course she would mention something such as this, leaving Ransom unable to say no. She plays him more than Suede does. She knows just how wrapped he is.

“You want our date to be at the dog shelter?” Audrey smiles, but only briefly, and nods her head. “Audrey, you want to tell me what happened?”

“I don’t like him,” she answers, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s mean to my mommy, and — Andy daddy. And he says mean things about Suede,” her brows furrow, showing so much more her age than her size. A little girl who has been through too much in too short of a time. “He was drinking from a square bottle. And Taylor and him started screaming at each other. She told him he was stupid, and he said that he never wanted…”

Audrey’s words stop abruptly, and her face scours up. “If I say it will you be mad?”

“No, baby, I won’t be mad at you for telling the truth.”

“He said he never wanted any fucking kids. He just wanted to make sure my mommy didn’t leave,” she wipes her cheeks off, while Ransom turns into a shopping center. Pulling the car over, and parking before he crawls in the back seat of the car, and letting her out of her seat. The tiny little girl crawls into his lap, wrapping her arms around him.

“What does that mean?”

“It means he doesn’t deserve you, and never deserved your mom.”

“He threw my iPad, and it’s broke, and I couldn’t call anyone,” her tears soak his neck, and he starts rocking her back and forth. Thinking of ways that he could end Scott, even if he has to hire someone. Prick of a man that wants to treat anyone ‘smaller’ than him like that. And his own daughter. Ransom would murder someone to protect your children.

“I hate him so much. He’s so mean. Don’t make me go back there ever again. I can’t. I don’t want to leave my brother, and what if Andy gets to feel the babies move first? I hate him so much.”

The need for her to have a protective dog makes so much sense. But it’s not even that, she needs someone to read her own moods. You have a fear that her anxiety is going to manifest into something stronger. Depression in children is far too common now. Her perfectionist nature already is starting to cause outbursts of frustration. And she’s five! With too much responsibility that her father bestowed upon her.

“Audrey, you know we all love you, princess. And your Andy daddy, mommy, and me, we are going to do everything in our power to make sure you are safe and loved, and with your mommy,” it is in everyone’s best interest that Audrey stay with you. Scott was the scum of the earth. Admitting that he didn’t want children, in front of his golden child…

The man had clearly spiraled after not getting his way. Even at work. His good fortune had run out. And either legally he would be kept from Audrey, or Ransom would have to deal with things his family’s way.

Audrey leans back, sniffling, but smiles up at Ransom. Appearing fine, and okay now, but he knows better. Audrey has a tendency to make sure others are okay, even at the expense of herself. “Can Miss Tatum help me pick out a dog?”

“Yes, princess. I think Miss Tatum would love to help look at the dogs. Are you hungry?” She shrugs, crawling out of his lap and into her seat. “We’ll get Tatum, and have us a small lunch, and head to the shelter, okay?”

“If I have a dog, does that mean I can’t go to — dad’s house?” She looks down at her lap, pulling on her straps, and buckling herself in. “I can’t leave the dog alone, and dad doesn’t like dogs.”

“Yeah, I think that’s possible,” it’s possible for Scott to have his balls ripped off his body.

“And you won’t tell mommy I said that word?”

“No, your secret is safe with me. Does he say that word a lot?”

“He says lots of words when he drinks out of the square bottle. He’s not nice. And I don’t like how mean he is to Suede and mommy. I think he hates daddy, too. He calls him — a, um…a goddamn prick.”

Scott keeps on ticking more and more reasons to hate him. No fear. He will be dealt with. And for Scott’s sake, he better hope the courts deal with him first. “Come on, let’s get Tatum, lunch, and a dog.”

“I want a girl. And she’s my dog, okay?”

“Yes, I think Suede is too little. And I think we need to go to the Apple Store,” Audrey smiles at Ransom as he makes his way to the front seat. “Now, I know that Suede has the mini, but he’s just so little. You’re really into drawing now?” She nods her head, and reaches over for the Madeleine doll she brought for the trip. Giving the little stuffed girl a hug. “I think we should get you something bigger, and a pencil. But this isn’t something for you to tease Suede with okay?”

“Uncle Ann?”

“Hmm?”

“I like that idea, but I don’t want something Suede can’t have. I’ll just take a mini, since I’m getting a dog,” the kindness this little girl has in her pinky is more than most have in the entire world. She is too soft, and deserved to stay that way.

“Okay, princess.”

“And maybe text daddy. He’ll let mommy know about the dog.”

“Good idea,” Andy could ease you into the idea. It isn’t a conversation you as a family haven’t had. You liked the idea of a dog. Your kids have so much space out here it just makes sense.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

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[destinedfordiapers]

Dancing Through Life

This is Part Two of the series I’m writing with @paci-papa, catch up on Part One here!

One thing is crystal clear as you lay there in a soggy diaper, waiting for your babysitters to change you:

It’s going to be a long weekend.

For the last few months, Papa had been your whole world. He made you feel so safe, so secure you never thought twice about becoming his babygirl.

You didn’t mind the wet and messy diapers you wore all day. Or how your adult clothes were swapped for your current infantile wardrobe. You didn’t even mind that your adulthood was a thing of the past, never to return.

Papa was always there to make everything better. To assure you that you were right where you belonged.

It was like the outside world ceased to exist.

“You were so right, babe. She really is better off like this! It’s hard to believe it’s her. No more attitude, no more sass. Just a well-behaved pamper packer!”

Not anymore.

Papa didn’t leave you with just any babysitters. No, you had a history with the two babysitters smiling down at you.

“Well, I wish I could take credit for the docile little thing waiting so patiently for a diaper change! But her Papa deserves all the credit. All I did was put her back in diapers where she belongs!”

Two years ago, before your new life as Papa’s poopy pamper princess, Trevor was your boyfriend. But he could only handle your attitude and immaturity for so long. Especially when your drunken escapades ended with a soaked bed.

“Well, judging by how fast she tinkled through this diaper, it was the right decision!”

You foolishly look up and make eye contact with Liv. Pee trickles into your diaper as you see her condescending grin.

Ugh, you hated Liv.

The woman who stole Trevor from you.

You remember that same condescending grin on her face when Trevor put your nighttime diaper on you before she ran off to bed with him. Or how she’d always check your diaper in her lingerie first thing in the morning.

And the horrible way she’d loudly comment that you made an “oopsie daisy in her diaper” whenever you woke up wet.

Liv stops Trevor as he walks to you with a new diaper and changing supplies.

“Babe, I’m a little concerned about Erica’s tummy. Her Papa says she usually makes a boom boom before lunch, but it’s already afternoon, and she’s only tinkled, poor thing.”

Your face turns a shade of red so bright a tomato would be jealous.

“Honey,” Trevor says, “Are you holding your poopoo?”

You cover your face in shame. “I…I…”

Liv jumps in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Little one, you have nothing to be embarrassed about, okay? We’re your babysitters! Our job is to change poopy diapers!”

You whimper, dreading what’s about to happen. “I…don’t have to…”

“Hmm. Why don’t we help make things easy, sweetie?” Liv says, grabbing your feet, “Let’s do bicycle kicks until you fill your diaper?”

“B-bicycle kicks?” you whimper.

“Yes, little one. They always work on my little niece!”

Before you can react, Liv starts moving your legs back and forth, slowly pushing them towards you before pulling back, cycling each leg.

“Mmmm,” you whimper, doing your best not to mess your diaper in front of Liv like an actual baby.

For a minute or two, the only sounds are your diaper crinkles and Liv's humming. A loud, foreboding gurgle erupts from your tummy.

You whimper, feeling your control dwindling. Every time Liv pushes your legs, you feel your control slipping. You desperately try to fight the inevitable.

Without warning, a loud toot trumpets into the room.

“Good girl, Erica! Get all your toot-toots out!” Liv coos.

It happens slowly, then all at once.

Your eyes go wide as you feel your mess sliding slowly, inevitably, into your diaper, which crackles as you fill it. Nothing you do makes any difference.

Trevor laughs, “Wow, you were right, Liv! Works like a charm!”

You have no control, like the baby you’ve become.

Each time Liv pushes, more mess slides into your diaper. She pushes on and on, your diaper struggling to contain your onslaught.

“Almost done, honey?” Liv asks, inspecting your diaper, “Anymore poopoo and we might have a blowout!”

All you can do is nod your head, too mortified to answer.

“Awwww, what did I say about being ashamed of your stinkies, baby? They’re part of life for you now. Besides, it’s not like waiting would’ve changed anything! Diapers are your potty now, silly!”

You cower as the smell engulfs you, a constant reminder of your new place in life.

Liv pats your diaper playfully. “Such a big mess, too! You musta felt so icky holding all that in!”

“No wonder Papa needs a break!” Trevor adds, “Diaper duty for little Erica here is no easy task.”

“Oh, stop, Trev. Don’t make baby Erica feel bad, she can’t help it. She’s just a baby!”

You look up at Liv with a feminine rage that fizzles out immediately. Liv meets your glance.

She’s taunting you. She knows you’re no longer a woman—you’re a silly baby in a poopy diaper.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, honey. Besides, I like you so much better this way! It was a mistake potty training you, but Papa is fixing that mistake! Your attitude is so much better when you’re pampered.”

Hearing that, you whimper, kicking your feet in shame. But too embarrassed to throw an actual tantrum.

As you kick, your bulging diaper sways heavily, threatening to burst.

“Awwwww, you can say that again,” Liv giggles, “Look at her go! Big girl things like drinking, sex, and work were much too big a responsibility for you. Papa was right taking them away from you.”

Trevor nods in agreement.

“Now all you have to worry about is being Papa’s pretty princess! It’s hard to have a bad attitude when you’re in a loaded diaper, isn’t it?”

Liv tickles your sides, cooing you. “Come on, lil stinker. Let’s get that diaper changed. You’re not getting diaper rash on our watch!”

As Liv changes your diaper, you can’t help but think about your new life—and what it means to be Papa’s pamper packer.

It was so easy to get lost in the silliness of being his princess when it was just the two of you. Papa made everything so perfect, so comfortable, you couldn’t help but want to be his diapered little princess.

But you forgot that you don’t get to stay home all day. There’s a whole world outside your cozy crib and comfy changing table.

And now you know exactly where you fit in.

Pamper packers like you may be cute and adorable, but nobody will ever take you seriously again. Not as an adult. To everyone, you’re nothing but an oversized baby in need of a caregiver.

You used to think of yourself as a beautiful, sexy woman. As Liv grabs another wipe to clean your poopy princess parts, you know those days are long gone.

Pamper packers don’t have sex. They get their princess parts wiped clean before being safely secured in another diaper before being sent off to play.

Later that night, the reality of your new life carries into the guest room. The sounds of Liv’s pleasure breaks the silence of the night.

You listen, imagining that it was you moaning. Getting lost in your fantasy, crinkles erupt from your bed as you desperately hump your pillow to the rhythm of the moans.

A crinkle symphony nobody will ever hear.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 3: Flower District]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, medical stuff, a creepy dude, a special surprise is found in Aegon's office!!!

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You sleep in late and wake to the sound of excited voices out in the kitchen. When you follow them, you find Baela using a pink Click ‘n Flame utility lighter to ignite the candles on a sloppily but lovingly homemade cake, Pillsbury Funfetti according to the blue box left upturned on the countertop, lumpy white icing dotted with multicolored sprinkles. Jace must be responsible. You panic, thinking that you have forgotten a birthday, but no: you quickly recall that Baela is a Sagittarius and Jace is—somewhat improbably—a Capricorn.

“What are we celebrating?” you ask.

Baela looks up from the cake, the candlelight luminescence radiant on her face. She is beaming, she is glowing, she is definitely meant to be an actress. She shines too brightly to belong anywhere but among the stars. “I got the part.”

“Which part?”

“The one in the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie!”

“No way!” you shout, and you rush over to hug her; but already there is a sinking feeling that you are dimly aware of through the rush, and when the revelry is over you will lie in bed alone with these thoughts, treasonous yet true: When will it be my turn? Why can’t this happen to me? “That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you!”

“It’s about the French Revolution,” Baela says when you pull away, still grinning hugely. “I’m getting third billing, my name will be on the promo posters! I’m flying to Paris for filming next month!”

“Wow.” Your smile is frozen on your face. “Wow, wow, wow, I can’t believe it. This is so awesome!”

Then Baela realizes how it must feel for you, and she is sympathetic, rubbing your shoulder as her expression twists into something soft and bashful. “But hey, your luck is turning around too!”

“Yeah,” Jace says. “You got to be in Episode 5,000 of Grey’s Anatomy.” Baela gives him a reproachful glare. “What?” he asks, clueless.

“No, it’s totally cool,” you insist. “I’m really, really thrilled for you, Baela. You have to take a million pictures in Paris so I can see all the architecture and desserts and hot French dudes!”

Jace snorts. “Are French dudes even hot?” He sounds skeptical.

“You can be my date to the premiere,” Baela tells you. Jace gapes at her, incredulous. “We can pose together on the red carpet and you can do some networking! Maybe Yorgos will even like you and cast you in his next project!”

But something about the way she says it makes the prospect sound ludicrous, fantastical, fictional. Baela’s breakthrough is reality, yours is unicorns and mermaids and the Loch Ness Monster. “You are so wonderful, but you should take Jace.”

“Yeah, you should take Jace,” Jace says.

Baela pulls a knife out of the bamboo block on the kitchen counter. Her parents bought it, like they bought almost everything else in the apartment; they believe in her, lots of people do. “Do you want some cake? When’s your appointment?” The appointment you didn’t cancel, contrary to Aegon’s explicit instructions. Technically, you never agreed to, so you haven’t lied to him. That makes you feel better. Baela glances at the calendar and reads the time written there in red ink. “Oh good, not until noon. You definitely have time for cake!”

“Babe, you gotta blow out your candles first,” Jace says. Baela closes her eyes, becomes still and serene, extinguishes the tiny golden flickers of light with one delicate puff. Then she begins cutting the Funfetti cake. You get three forks from the silverware drawer. Jace hands you a plate from the cabinet as he complains about having to go to class today: Music Aesthetics, Analysis, and Philosophy.

“Just a little one, please,” you tell Baela. A moment later, she plops a skinny slice of cake onto your plate. “Thanks, Becca! Wait, no, I mean Baela. Sorry.”

She laughs, still wielding a knife covered in white frosting. “Who’s Becca?”

“Aegon’s fiancée.”

“Oh, your agent’s future wife? The agent that you are definitely not into at all?”

“Yeah, that one, you got it.” You give her a wink and take a bite of cake: frosting so sweet it hurts your teeth, tiny kaleidoscopic flecks of candy like gold in a stream.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So, which one are you liking the feel of?” Dr. Cunningham asks, smiling in a way that is effervescent and yet impersonal, vaguely impatient, a real estate agent type of charisma. He must be in his mid-fifties, and yet his face is nearly entirely purged of wrinkles, smooth and shiny and evenly tanned. His teeth are too perfect to not be veneers. People keep suggesting those to you too; you need more time to wrap your mind around the idea of having your canines and incisors shaved down to helpless nubs.

“Um…” You go down the line again, squeezing all three samples that are arranged on the stainless steel utility table that Dr. Cunningham wheeled over to you. “I walked in wanting the gummy bear implants, and I think I feel the same way now.”

“Excellent!” he says, wearing that same smile. His eyes, very blue, never change; they are alert yet vacuous, like the fatal error screen on a Windows computer.

“And they’re safer, aren’t they? The gummy bear ones?”

“Statistically, yes,” Dr. Cunningham agrees, somewhat briskly, as if he is eager to change the subject. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. I hardly ever see ruptures in any of my patients.”

Hardly ever, not never. “That’s good!” you say spiritedly, like a star pupil.

“As I mentioned earlier, they are a bit more expensive than the other options, but we have several financing options available.”

“My parents are paying, so no worries there.”

“Fantastic.” He’s still smiling. You kind of wish he would stop. “You want to be an actress, I assume?”

“I do, yeah! How’d you know?”

He chuckles as he rolls the small metal table away. “That’s what all the girls are doing out here, right? And if it’s not acting, it’s singing, or modelling, or…what do you call that, when you make money on TikTok or wherever?”

“Being an influencer.”

“Right,” Dr. Cunningham says. “Well, I wish you the very best of luck.” It’s chivalrous but hollow, an echo of the encouragement he’s given to thousands of women just like you, except probably more beautiful and more talented and actually getting some of the parts they audition for.

I got a part, you think, and your mood lifts a bit. Aegon finally found me one. And he believes I’ll get more.

“Is it okay if I take a look?” the ever-smiling Dr. Cunningham says, and your heart begins to pound beneath the gown you’re wearing, scratchy white polyester-blend fabric that opens in the front. But this is all standard procedure, and you knew to expect an exam, and you should not feel like you’re lining up for the firing squad.

“Of course!” you exclaim too enthusiastically; your voice cracks. You undo the tie down by your waist and the fabric across your chest and belly goes slack. Your tan TOMS wedges are scattered on the linoleum floor that’s supposed to look like wood. The sundress you wore to the appointment, patterned with large sunlit palm leaves, is folded on a chair. Your eyeshadow matches: matte green Thorns by Anastasia Beverly Hills, sparkly gold Whisper by Natasha Denona.

As Dr. Cunningham opens your gown and begins the exam, you stare at a framed print of Venice Beach on the wall, and you pretend you are there under the hot glaring daylight instead of here in a frigidly air-conditioned office being prodded and manipulated, measured not to be admired or understood but only to be improved upon.

Dr. Cunningham is saying: “Just so you’re aware, due to how firm a gummy bear implant is, we typically have to make a slightly larger incision in order to insert it. Saline and traditional silicone implants, being more flexible, can be squeezed in through a smaller opening, for example using a transaxillary incision in the underarm. But they’re also more prone to wrinkling and rippling, and they must be replaced more frequently, so that pliability comes at a cost. I think gummy bear implants are a very good choice for you.”

“And…where exactly would the incision be?” Your heartbeat is still thunderous; you can hear the scorching red blood flow throbbing in your ears. Dr. Cunningham either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it.

“We’d go in right here,” he says, skimming his gloved fingers just beneath your left breast, your raw heart just two inches away. Goosebumps prickle on your arms. “It’s what we call an inframammary incision, and it gives us more room to work with to ensure the implant is placed properly, and…”

He loses his train of thought, interrupted by a commotion out in the lobby. Through the closed exam room door, you can hear people arguing and then something being spilled—the jar of pens on the receptionist’s desk? the glass bowl of mints?—and heavy sprinting footsteps. Dr. Cunningham pulls his hands away and you snatch your gown shut just as the door bursts open, and Aegon stands there breathing heavily from the exertion, hair in disarray, white Nike Killshots with a red slash of a Swoosh, dark jeans, salmon-colored t-shirt that’s too big for him, tan sport coat jacket yanked off of his shoulders. His attacker, the elderly receptionist, has chased him to the doorway.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she’s shrieking. She smacks him with a massive leather purse. “You can’t just go barging in on patients! What are you, some kind of druggie? We don’t keep any opioids in this office!”

Dr. Cunningham yells: “Will you call the police, Barbara?!”

“No wait, I know him,” you say, and both Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist stare hostilely at you. You ignore them and look at Aegon instead, stunned. “Hi.”

He straightens his jacket. His eyes, that dark and turbulent blue, are fixed on your face as you hastily retie your gown so it stays shut. “Hi. What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s just a consultation.”

“For a surgery you’re not going to have?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “How did you know I was here?”

“I just had this feeling you weren’t going to cancel,” Aegon says. “So I went to your apartment and you weren’t home, but your roommate told me where you were and gave me the address that you wrote on the calendar.”

“Oh.”

“She’s very nice. Your roommate, I mean.”

“Yeah, Baela’s cool.”

“She offered me a piece of Funfetti cake.”

“Did you take it?”

“No. I was in a hurry to get here.”

“Right.” You remain seated on the edge of the exam table with your hands clasped together in your lap. The receptionist and Dr. Cunningham’s bewildered gazes fly between you and the intruder.

Aegon sighs and nods towards the hallway that leads out to the lobby and the front door of the office. “Come on,” he says gently. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

“I can’t,” you reply.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer; your eyes dart to the print of Venice Beach on the wall and stay there as they begin to water. Aegon crosses the room—the receptionist and Dr. Cunningham shuffle around the cramped space to keep away from him—and stops when he is standing right in front of you, his hands in the pockets of his rumpled tan jacket.

“Why not?” Aegon asks again, very softly now.

You look at him. Your voice is a quivering whisper. “I don’t want to have to give this up.” The city, the potential, the dream.

“Hey,” Aegon murmurs, leaning in close. You can smell the ocean and sunlight and Juicy Fruit gum. Strands of blonde hair, ripped from the sheen of gel, shag over his forehead. “You’re bright as hell just the way you are. You don’t need surgery to be an actress. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And immediately, you are ready to leave. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You wriggle down off of the exam table, check your gown to make sure you’re still covered, and turn to Dr. Cunningham. “I guess I’m not interested anymore.”

“Please never set foot in my office again,” he says.

“No problem,” Aegon snaps. And then to you: “I’ll meet you outside. We’ll get lunch.”

“Sure,” you reply, still a little dazed.

Aegon hurries out of the exam room before the police are summoned. Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist leave too, muttering to each other and casting you appalled glares. When you are alone, you throw off the gown and put on your bra, wedges, and sundress…and as you are smoothing the creases from the soft cotton patterned with palm leaves, you smile to yourself, kind pink heat swirling in your cheeks.

Aegon is in the parking lot and leaning against his white Chrysler Sebring convertible. He has put on his black aviator sunglasses to blot out the intense afternoon sun. Dr. Cunningham’s office is on a busy street in Beverly Hills; you can hear car horns, pedestrians shouting into their cellphones, toy dogs yapping, Shape Of You chiming from a passing Mercedes. Across the street is a series of shops in a row, Starbucks and Neiman Marcus and Gucci. Aegon says, pointing to your 2003 Honda Accord: “I’ll drive you back to get your car later.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Chinatown,” he says, opening the passenger’s door of his Sebring. “And from now on, you listen when I tell you to do something, just like you said you would.”

“I’ll be your best client ever,” you promise, climbing into the car. The top is down, the wind blowing in from the Pacific Ocean to the west.

“I’m here for a reason. It’s not to be ignored. I can be your advocate, but you have to be honest with me.”

“I completely understand. I won’t mislead you again.”

“The Grey’s Anatomy people really liked you, by the way.”

The hope unfurls across your face like dawn over the earth. “Really?”

Aegon gives you a teasing, crooked grin. “Don’t pretend you’re shocked.” He shuts the car door, jogs over to the driver’s side, drives east through thick midday traffic.

At the same restaurant you went to the day you met, seated beside the same large fish tank, you and Aegon place the same orders: moo goo gai pan, boneless spare ribs. The waitress, Lanying, asks Aegon about how his siblings are doing before she speeds off to tend to her other customers.

Aegon watches the malevolent ember-colored oscars for a while, then taps his paper Chinese zodiac calendar, rimmed in red and gold. “Which one are you?”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking. “You already know.”

But Aegon doesn’t smile; he only stares at you blankly. “What?”

“I told you about my zodiac sign. The first time we had lunch here.”

And he looks at you as if his skull is as clear as the transluscent blue-tinged water of the fish tank, all the lights on but nobody home, and for a split second you almost feel as if you don’t recognize him, as if he is a stranger wearing Aegon’s windswept blonde hair and ill-fitting clothes and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Then Aegon repossesses himself and he is flippant, casual. “Oh yeah, right. Totally. I remember now.”

But you have the sense that he doesn’t. You try to hide how much this wounds you. It must not have been memorable. It must not have meant anything to him. “I’m a dragon!” you say brightly, and hold up your hands as if they are claws, opening and closing your hooked fingers.

Now he does smile, a little preoccupied, a little forced. “Of course you are.”

You scan the calendar. “What year was Becca born?”

“Uh…1994, I think.”

“She’s a dog,” you say. You read the description silently to yourself as the tea and wonton soups are brought to the table: Loyal and honest, you work well with others. Generous yet stubborn and often selfish. Look to the horse or tiger. Watch out for dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive at Aegon’s office twenty minutes early, mostly because you miss him. It’s Wednesday, June 25th, and you park your Honda on the narrow sloping street and step out into 80-degree sunlight, ambient dog barking, powerlines crossing overhead. A lady walking her chihuahua waves at you and adjusts her sunglasses. Window air conditioning units whir. The trees, ginkgos and pink trumpets and Victorian boxes and palms, are still in the bright breezeless afternoon. The skyline of Downtown is a mirage on the horizon. From the barber shop across the street, you can hear a radio playing Bailamos by Enrique Iglesias.

When you clop into the lobby in your TOMS wedges, you see that Aegon’s door is closed. At his desk, Brandon is on the landline phone and jotting notes down in his planner, his flower pen scribbling rapidly across pink paper. When he spots you, he covers the phone speaker with his hand. “Hey girl!”

“Sorry, I know I’m early. Is he busy with another client?”

“No, go on in!” Brandon reaches down to dig around in the minifridge and sets a Perrier on the ledge of his desk. You take it, thank him, and go to Aegon’s door. You are puzzled to hear people talking on the other side, muffled indistinct voices. You wear an ocean blue sundress and cool metallic shades on your eyelids: Shellshock by Urban Decay, Strike by Natasha Denona. You open the door.

Aegon has his Nike Killshots up on his untidy desk and is playing the Nintendo 64. Mario is running through what appears to be some sort of underground maze, foggy and strewn with gold coins. The greenish haze must be toxic. Mario’s Power Meter is slowly ticking down; each time Mario snags a coin, it is partially restored. Aegon is watching the screen as he talks to a woman whose back is turned to you: tall, willowy, long dark hair. They don’t realize you’re here.

Aegon is saying as he clicks the transluscent orange Nintendo 64 controller: “That’s great, babe.”

“And the charity thing is on July 19th. I got a custom suit from Tom Ford, it’s powder blue, all you have to do is show up to the fitting.”

He sighs euphorically. “You’re the best.”

She giggles. “I know.”

Then Aegon notices you, and for a moment he seems shaken—not in a good way—and for some reason you feel like you’ve made some horrible mistake. The woman spins around to see what he’s looking at. She is stunning and ethereal and wearing a plain sack dress that hangs perfectly on her, a young Cher, and she smiles at you, kind and dazzling.

“Hi!” you say. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m a little early, I mixed up my appointment time because I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re fine,” Aegon replies, but he’s still distracted. Mario suffocates in the maze and drops over dead. Aegon turns off the game. He clears his throat. “Uh, this is Becca.”

You shake her hand when she offers it. Gold bangle bracelets jangle on her wrist. “It’s so nice to meet you, Becca!”

“And you must be the new client!” she says warmly. “The one from…where was it, Michigan?”

“Minnesota,” you reply.

“Oh, brr!” Becca says, pretending to shiver, and you laugh.

“Yeah, I’m really happy to be here. And you’re getting married soon, I hear!”

Becca beams, clapping her hands together. “Yes! I’m so excited but so stressed. The planning is endless.”

“Are you going to do it here in the city somewhere?”

“Aegon didn’t tell you?” Becca is perhaps a tad disappointed. “It’s a destination wedding.”

Aegon says from his desk, somewhat recovered: “Turk…something.”

“Turkey?” you say doubtfully. An interesting choice.

“Turks and Caicos,” Becca clarifies.

“No way! My sister just got engaged there, she said it was gorgeous.”

Aegon asks you from his desk: “Have you ever been?”

“I wish. Not yet, maybe one day.”

“You’ll have to come to the wedding!” Becca says cheerfully.

“Me?!” It’s ridiculous; you’re a nobody, you barely know her, you have a crush on her future husband.

“Yeah, all of Aegon’s clients are invited. Aren’t they, babe?” Becca glances at him, and then her eyes catch there and they stare at each other, Aegon slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Becca standing next to you, and there are several slow awkward seconds of silence. Aegon gets a piece of Juicy Fruit gum from a pack on his desk and shoves it into his mouth. Becca looks at you and then back to Aegon, who is pretending to organize the clutter on his desk. You notice for the first time that there is a ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples there.

“I thought you didn’t like those,” you say to alleviate the tension that you don’t understand.

“Well, Brando eats them,” Aegon explains.

“That makes sense.”

“And I guess they’re growing on me.”

“They’re really good for you,” you say. “Helps to balance out all the boneless spare ribs.”

Now Becca is studying you, and instead of being warm she is now cold and rigid and perplexed. After a while she asks stiffly: “What are you two up to today?”

“We’re going to the Flower District,” Aegon tells her as he rolls his gum wrapper into a ball between his palms. “I’ll be done in a few hours, I just have to get some current pics of her to send to people. So we’re going to do a quick impromptu photoshoot.”

Becca nods, still scrutinizing you. You open your Perrier and start gulping it so you have an excuse not to talk.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Aegon asks Becca, and she perks up a bit.

“Beef bourguignon. It’s a new recipe, I’m really excited to try it.”

Aegon pretends to drool. “Amazing. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Becca says, and goes to leave.

“It was so nice to meet you!” you call after her.

Becca replies curtly without stopping: “Yup. You too.” You hear the two-inch heels of her gold sandals tapping on the scuffed wood floor and then the rough opening and closing of the front door of the half-duplex.

“What just happened?” you ask Aegon.

“Nothing,” he says, standing from his desk. His shoes match his shirt, a green plaid Ralph Lauren button-up that isn’t tucked into his jeans. His hair is slicked back and shiny with gel.

“I’m sorry, did I…did I do something wrong…?”

He sighs. “No.”

You toy anxiously with your Perrier bottle. You don’t want Aegon to fire you; you don’t want to lose him. He’s the only person who understands. “You should have told me we were going to be taking pictures. I would have done my hair and worn normal eyeshadow.”

He smiles. “I wanted you to look like you.” Then he heads off to his Chrysler Sebring, and you follow him.

The Flower District is on the other side of Chinatown in Downtown Los Angeles. It’s the largest wholesale flower market in the country, six blocks of vendors selling every plant imaginable, from ordinary daisies and tulips to bamboo shoots, ferns, herbs, cactuses, succulents, baby trees, house plants like monstera and ivy. The aroma is overwhelming; when you breathe deeply, you imagine prismatic blossoms bursting up through the alveoli of your lungs, roses and irises and calla lilies and orchids. Aegon weaves through the aisles and frowns at the magnificent flowers, none of them right for some reason. You are endlessly pausing to sniff petals and gingerly graze your fingerprints over leaves. Aegon has to backtrack to find you when you stop to watch a demonstration of a Venus flytrap being fed.

“Here we go!” Aegon announces triumphantly when at last he is satisfied, and he lifts the large bouquet from a plastic bucket for you to see: massive sunflowers, water dripping off the cut stems. “They’re sunny, just like you. You like them?”

“I love them,” you say, taking the bouquet and beaming. Aegon pays in cash.

Outside under the harsh cloudless sunlight, he poses you in front of one of the flower shops, pedestrians walking behind you and a rainbow myriad of blooms out of focus. He uses his phone to take a series of photos, some up-close and some full-body shots, and you had assumed it would be awkward but it’s not, Aegon is making jokes and you are laughing and trying weird angles and spinning around so the skirt of your sundress swishes despite the lack of a breeze.

“Cool, got some good ones,” Aegon says, scanning through his phone. “We’re done.”

“What should I do with these?” you ask about the sunflowers. “Do you want them back?”

“Why would I want them back?”

“I don’t know. You paid for them, it feels weird for me to keep them.”

“They’re yours. Enjoy.”

You inhale the faint floral scent that emanates from the yellow petals. “I’m going to put them in a vase on the kitchen counter and buy them flower food so they live as long as possible. And I’m going to talk to them, because that’s supposed to be good for plants.”

Aegon chuckles. “You are ridiculous.” He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans and sees an ice cream vendor up the street, then gestures for you to come with him. The ice cream is allegedly homemade and only comes in five flavors. Aegon orders for you both. “Hi, one vanilla and one strawberry.”

The vendor scoops the ice cream into two waffle cones. Again, as he always does, Aegon pays in cash. You locate an available bench and you and Aegon sit together with the sunflower bouquet lying between you, watching the pedestrians stroll by with their friends and partners and children and dogs.

“Tastes better when you make it,” Aegon says, licking melting strawberry ice cream from his waffle cone. “I might have another job for you.”

“Really?! Yay!”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but you said you’d take anything.”

“I definitely will.”

“It’s a music video for Maroon 5,” Aegon cautions. “It’s honestly pretty uninspiring and stupid, but it’s work. It’s another last-minute thing, at first the girlfriend of one of the band dudes was supposed to be in the video but I guess now they’re fighting all the time and the guy doesn’t like the idea of having a permanent reminder of her if they break up, which seems likely.’”

“I want to do it,” you say immediately. “When?”

“They’re planning to film the first week in July at a mansion in Beverly Hills. They already have a male actor cast. And you don’t even have to kiss him or anything, you get to argue with him in the first scene and then the rest of it is mostly you just moping around the mansion in designer outfits. Again, it’s super unoriginal. Boy and girl have a miscommunication and split, boy regrets it afterwards, they both secretly and photogenically yearn for each other. It’s very Edward leaving Bella in New Moon.”

“Sounds fantastic! Do I get to meet Maroon 5?”

Aegon is disappointed. “Are you a fan?”

“Well…not really.” You both laugh. “But I feel like it’s always cool to meet celebrities in real life.”

“Yes, you get to meet them.”

You cheer. “You are the most talented agent ever!” You take a lick of your ice cream; it’s almost gone now. You look over at Aegon, serious now. “You’re the only person who doesn’t think I’m absolutely insane for trying to do this.”

He crunches his waffle cone with his teeth. “Your roommate’s an actress, right? She must get it.”

You shrug. “Baela is confident, and magnetic, and she wants to be famous. She’s very obviously meant to be in this industry, and agents and directors respond to her. But I’m not like that. Most people don’t notice me. And that’s okay, I don’t really want to be famous. I just want to be able to be a working actor and get to stay here. If I’m not making significant progress by the end of the year, I have to choose between going back to Minnesota or being disowned and impoverished.”

Aegon watches you, thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “I like you the way you are, sunshine.”

You smile shyly at him. “Thanks. I like you too.”

“And I don’t want you to change. It’s horrible to watch someone disappear.” He devours the rest of his waffle cone. “You know…I think helping you get to where you’re going, and making sure it’s done the right way…that will be the last good thing I ever do here.”

“You don’t have to retire.”

He shakes his head. “Circumstances change. Priorities change.”

“Do you want kids?” If Becca is in her thirties, perhaps now is the time to start planning for that.

“No,” Aegon says, flinching. “Definitely no kids. You’re anti-horse, I’m anti-kid.”

“Then what’s the rush to leave L.A.?”

“It’s the right time.”

“Not for me.” You grin. “I just got here. You can’t abandon me yet.”

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of before I go. I’ll get someone I trust to sign you.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

“The music video director asked to meet you before filming,” Aegon says, deflecting. “It’ll be quick, just ten or fifteen minutes. We’ll swing by his office on the way back to Elysian Park.”

“Okay,” you agree. You take a makeup compact out of your Patricia Nash purse and use the mirror to make sure you don’t have any ice cream on your nose or chin.

“I haven’t worked with him before,” Aegon says. “But I’ve heard very good things and obviously I’ll be there at the shoot.”

You snap your compact shut. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

In a spacious, glass-walled office in Downtown, the director introduces himself as Dan Sacco. He is tall and broad through the shoulders and extremely welcoming, offering you drinks and snacks and asking about your hometown as Aegon stands in the corner of the room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes watchful. Two jobs in two weeks; Aegon is a miracle worker.

When you get home to your apartment, it’s empty. Baela and Jace must have gone out somewhere for dinner. You put the sunflowers in a vase and then scroll through Instagram. Aegon has posted a new story: a photo of you standing with your bouquet and smiling, not sexy or alluring or arrogant but simply happy, and he must be very knowledgeable about filters because you think you look great.

Future Hollywood Walk of Fame star recipient, Aegon has added as a caption. If you want to book her, you know where to find me. He finished with a sunflower emoji. You press the heart button in the bottom right corner of the screen to like the story. Your own heart is racing now in the best way possible, feverish and loud, intoxicated, needful, seams ready to rupture.

You look up Becca’s Instagram, but her account is private. You send her a follow request. She doesn’t accept it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night before the shoot, there is a knock at your door. It’s 8:30 p.m., a strange hour, not early enough for Amazon deliveries or a visit from one of Jace’s eccentric PhD program friends, not late enough for a drunk tenant to have mistaken your apartment for their own. When you open the door, you are at first so shocked you can’t place him. Then you remember where you know the hulking man in the tan suit from. It’s Dan, the director of the music video.

“Oh my God, hi!” you welcome him. You have just gotten home from Cold Stone Creamery and are still in your drab grey uniform. You always drive to and from work now, per Aegon’s insistence. You promised you’d listen, and you’re trying your best. Jace is in Baela’s bedroom banging on his Yamaha keyboard. From the velvet orange couch in the living room where she is watching The Vampire Diaries, Baela peeks curiously over at where your visitor fills up the doorway.

Dan seems pleased by your enthusiasm. “Hello again.”

“Can I help you with something? I know the shoot is tomorrow, I’m really excited. I was about to get ready for bed so I can go to sleep early and be well-rested. There’s not a problem with the music video, is there? Please don’t say it’s cancelled or that I’m fired or something.”

Dan chuckles, a deep slow rumble. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to give you a heads up that we added a scene to the script.” He holds up a thin packet of papers held together by a single staple. “I’m not allowed to leave it in an unsecured location, so I have to take it with me when I go. But I thought you should be aware so you’re prepared when you show up to set.”

“Aw, that’s so thoughtful of you!” You take the packet and flip through it, skimming for an unfamiliar scene. “Did you get my address from Aegon? Or Brandon, his receptionist?”

“It was in your file that they sent over,” Dan says, perhaps a bit guardedly, and before you can ask anything else you stumble upon the scene, and your stomach drops. The actress—me, you think, that’s not some other woman, that’s me—will be lying in a vast empty bathtub, soaked hair, dripping skin, black lingerie, writhing and whimpering as she mourns the loss of her lover.

“Um…the bathtub scene?” you squeak.

“It’s going to be so cinematic,” Dan says, his large hands painting a picture with dramatic gestures. “Sunlight streaming in through a window, your skin glowing, you’ve drained the tub but you’re too heartbroken to get up so you’re just sprawled there, still drenched from the bathwater. Obviously it would make more sense if you were naked, but…we can’t do that in a music video.” He laughs. “But the aesthetic will be divine, like sexy mourning widow. And we’ll get all kinds of shots, you crying, you angry, you pining, you flirting and beckoning the camera closer, and we can get creative, you can just kind of crawl around all over the tub and we’ll see what you come up with.”

You gaze at the script until all the words vanish, imaging a room full of men watching you roll around in underwear, black lace wet and clinging to your skin, no secrets, nowhere to disappear. I can’t do that. But you can’t say no. “Is there going to be a woman on set to…you know, to…like…supervise, or, or something…?”

“You mean an intimacy coordinator?”

“Yes, thank you, that’s the term I was looking for.” Does Aegon know about this? He has to, right?

“Well, it’s not a sex scene,” Dan says rationally. “It’s not even a kissing scene. So we would never pay to have an intimacy coordinator around for this, it’s completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.” I can’t do that. I can’t do that. You feel nauseous; you feel dizzy, like you might stagger if you try to move.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, that’s totally cool,” Dan says. “I get it, a job like this isn’t for everyone. I have a list of backups I can call, and I can find somebody else—”

“No!” you cry out, then give the script back to Dan and manage a smile. “No, sorry, I was just a little confused, but I understand now. Thank you for letting me know about the new scene, and I can absolutely handle it.”

“Great.” He grins proudly. “I knew I could count on you. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Dan lumbers down the hallway, and you close the door when he’s out of sight. Baela asks from the couch: “What do they want you to do?”

You swallow noisily. “Roll around essentially naked in a bathtub.”

Baela nods; she doesn’t seem alarmed. Is this normal? Are you unreasonable? “Bikini?”

“Lingerie.”

“Want to know a trick?” she says. “After you shave, run a Stridex pad over your skin. I have a container of them in the bathroom cabinet, use as many as you want. It’ll burn at first, but it kills any bacteria and prevent razor burn. No bumps or ingrown hairs!”

“Thanks,” you reply weakly.

Baela squints at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” A lie.

“It’s not that bad,” she says reassuringly. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but once you do a nude scene or a sex scene once, the nerves go away and it’s just another day at work. You’ll get through it. You’ll do an incredible job.”

I don’t want to give up the dream. I don’t want to leave Los Angeles. I don’t want to leave Aegon.

“You’re probably right,” you tell Baela, and you pretend to be fine so she won’t worry, or pity you, or be further convinced that you don’t belong here.

You shower, shave, scrub your skin with stinging Stridex pads, and long after you were supposed to be asleep you’re still staring up at your bedroom ceiling, a deep blue shadowscape with no stars.

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier³,

summary. after sam's confession, you can't deny your feelings anymore.

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester ; angsty!

wordcount. 1086

notes. just shocked. heartbroken. going absolutely insane with this series!

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1, part 2 + dean's ending

The bunker feels different now.

You don’t know how, exactly. The walls are the same, the air is the same—heavy with lore books and coffee, gunpowder and old leather. But something about it feels off, like the foundation has shifted beneath you and you don’t know how to walk steady anymore.

Because Sam left.

And Dean? Dean barely looks at you.

The last thing you remember clearly is standing between them, Sam’s confession hanging in the air like an exposed nerve. The way Dean turned away, the way he asked you if you loved Sam, the way your throat closed up before you could answer—

And now here you are. Days have passed. Maybe a week. Maybe more. The time feels meaningless when all you can do is think.

Sam isn’t here. He didn’t take much—just a bag, his laptop, a few weapons—but he’s gone. He left without another word, and you don’t even know where he went. Maybe that should be your answer right there. Maybe if you truly loved him, you wouldn’t have let him walk away. Maybe if you truly loved him, you would’ve chased him.

But you didn’t.

And yet…

You don’t sleep. Not really. Not without thinking of Sam’s eyes, how they softened when he looked at you. Not without remembering the way he always listened—really listened—when you talked, the way he knew when you needed silence and when you needed a joke. Not without thinking about how easy it was to just be with him, to exist beside him without effort or expectation.

Dean loves you. You know that.

But Sam sees you.

And it’s that realization—the quiet, slow, earth-shattering realization—that makes you sick.

Because what kind of person are you, to love one brother while holding the hand of the other?

Dean is quiet when you find him in the kitchen.

He sits at the table, nursing a beer, his jaw tight as he stares at nothing. It’s been like this ever since Sam left—short conversations, no teasing, no warmth. Just silence.

You sit across from him, tucking your hands in your lap. The words sit heavy on your tongue, but you need to say them. You owe him that.

“I think I love Sam.”

Dean exhales sharply through his nose. It’s not a surprised sound. He’s known. Maybe he’s always known.

“I figured,” he says after a moment. His voice is rough, distant. “You gonna go after him?”

Your heart twists. “I don’t know where he is.”

Dean lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Bullshit. If you really wanted to find him, you would.”

And there it is. The truth, laid out bare. You’ve been waiting for someone to say it, and now that he has, it stings worse than you imagined.

“I never meant to—”

“To what?” Dean snaps, finally looking at you, green eyes burning. “Never meant to fall for him? Never meant to lead me on?” He scoffs. “That’s comforting.”

You flinch. You deserve that. “Dean, I didn’t want this to happen.”

“Then why did it?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice breaks. “I didn’t realize it, I didn’t—” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I love you, Dean. I do.”

Dean leans forward, forearms braced against the table. “But not like you love him.”

It’s not a question.

Tears burn behind your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Dean studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he pushes back his chair, standing up without a word.

“Dean—”

He holds up a hand, shaking his head. His throat bobs, but when he speaks, his voice is even. “Go find him.”

You don’t move.

“You want him?” Dean says, jaw tight. “Then go.”

And so you do.

It takes three days to track Sam down.

You follow a trail of credit card charges—cheap motel rooms, gas stations, diners. He’s been moving every couple of days, never staying in one place too long. It makes you sick, knowing he left because of you.

When you finally find him, it’s in a small, rundown motel on the edge of nowhere. His car is parked outside, the headlights catching in the rain-soaked pavement. Your hands shake as you knock on the door.

There’s a pause. Then, finally, the door creaks open.

Sam stands there, barefoot in jeans and a worn hoodie, hair messy, eyes tired. He blinks at you like he’s not sure you’re real.

“Hey,” you whisper.

His eyes widen and you can clearly see you were the last person he thought would be on the other side of the door. “What are you doing here?”

You take a shaky breath. “I think I love you.”

Silence. Then—

“You think?”

Your chest aches. “I know.”

Sam exhales sharply, looking away, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You can’t just—” He swallows. “You can’t just say that.”

“But it’s true.”

His jaw clenches. “And Dean?”

“I told him,” you say softly. “I ended it.”

Sam stares at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, suddenly, he lets out a breathless, almost bitter laugh. “Shit.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until Sam reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek. His touch is hesitant, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You broke up with Dean.”

“I had to.”

Sam shakes his head, but his hand doesn’t leave your face. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and careful.

“You broke his heart,” he says quietly.

“I know.” A tear slips down your cheek. “I never meant to hurt him.”

Sam swallows hard. “But you chose me.”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “I did.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Sam exhales, something breaking in his expression, something raw and aching and real, and suddenly his hands are on you—gripping your face, pulling you in. His lips crush against yours, desperate and searching, and you melt into him like you’ve been waiting forever.

He tastes like coffee and rain and something inherently Sam, something safe and familiar and right. His hands tremble against you, like he can’t believe you’re here, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

But you’re not going anywhere.

When you finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, Sam breathes out your name like a prayer. His hands cup your jaw, his thumbs brushing over your skin.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmurs.

You smile, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Then don’t let go.”

Sam’s lips ghost over yours, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Never.”

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[hwaslayer]

the space between us three (jyh) | six.

⇢series masterlist | series playlist

⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.

⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader

⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

⇢word count: 6.6k

⇢chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language, seora spends time with her uncle mingi, first date <33, yunho opens up about his parents to oc, holding hands, good conversations & just a bunch of cute simp shit, goodnight kisses 🥰, i swear things will get a lil spicier next chap lmao

yunho: goodmorning. 😊

This morning had been one of those mornings. You had gotten up a little later than usual, feeling tired from the exhausting week. On top of that, you turned down Yunho's offer to bring you to work so that you wouldn't have to take the bus over; afraid you'd be asking for too much since he was gonna be driving around later tonight. Had you known the bus would be running late, you might've taken him up on it. But, with it being Friday, you were just excited to get your day over with so that you could hang out with Yunho one-on-one.

It was a blessing and a curse that it was busy as soon as you walked in this morning. A blessing because the day would breeze on by. A curse because you didn't even get a chance to respond to Yunho's cute lil text before jumping right into your task list. Until, your desktop computer decided to be stubborn and stop working properly— setting you behind even more than you already were due to the commute.

you: hi, goodmorning ☺️

you: i'm sorry for the late response! i'm having quite the morning. i have so much to do, but my desktop isn't working now. i feel so incomplet and useless. 😭

yunho: it's okay! not like i thought you forgot about me or anything .. 🥲

you: lol sorry, never!

yunho: wdym it's not working?

you: it won't stay on. keeps going on power save mode even though my settings are adjusted to never go on power save mode.

yunho: interesting. where do you sit in the peds hospital again?

you: 4th floor, M103.

yunho: i'll be over in a sec.

you: yunho?? you don't even support our unit 😭

yunho: and? lol. i have time. brb!

"What?" You mutter to yourself as you set your phone down, a little worried about Yunho getting in trouble or pushing off his work to help you. You shrug it off, scribbling in your planner and working through emails on your laptop until Yunho swings by.

Which, didn't take him long post-reply. He was at your cubicle about 15 minutes later.

"Hey." Yunho says softly.

"Hi." You shyly laugh. "How did you even get in here?"

"IT has access everywhere, believe it or not." He smiles before pointing at your desktop. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Go for it." He pulls up an empty office chair nearby and drags it over to your desk, sitting comfortably as he presses the power button. He presses it a few times and clicks away at your mouse until the screen pops up. 

"Hm." He hums. "Took awhile."

"It's gonna shut down on you."

"Is that what's been happening?"

"Mhm. Just now actually. When I get it back up and running, it'll let me work for a few minutes before it shuts off and goes into power mode randomly." He's click-clacking away on the keyboard, forehead tightly knit as he eventually rests his elbow on the desk— hand hovering over his mouth, with the other on the mouse.

"How old is your computer?"

"I don't know, maybe 8-10 years old? It was passed down from the previous project manager when I stepped into her role."

"Yikes." He laughs. "I'll try a few things, but might also be a good time to consider getting a new one." He starts pulling up the terminal and plugging in some code— language you definitely don't understand.

"Yeah, I know."

"You actively push data or other work to the cloud, right? So you have a backup and can pull it up anywhere?"

"Mhm."

"Good." He gives you a small smirk. "Then, getting a replacement wouldn't be so bad. You deserve it." You laugh.

"Hope the department thinks so."

"I mean, you do need a working computer to get your things done." He sits back in the chair and crosses his arms, slightly slumped in his position. "I just plugged in a code to mimic the movement of your mouse so the computer thinks something is always happening. If you look closely at the pointer, you can see it twitching a bit." You look up close on the screen and manage to see what he's talking about.

"Woah. Okay, genius."

"Not even." He laughs. "If you don't mind me being in your space for a little longer, I wanna see if this keeps your computer awake."

"As long as it isn't taking up unnecessary time and making you behind."

"Never." He smiles at you. "So."

"So." You mimic him. "Where are you taking me later?"

"For me to know and you to find out." You snort.

"Clever. Am I dressed enough for the occasion?" Yunho eyes your outfit, running a finger across his bottom lip while he smirks at you. 

"Yeah, you look good. You always do." You playfully push him on the bicep, making him laugh. "What? I can't be honest?"

"Hey— oh? Oops. Hi Yunho." Noeul gives you a look before slowly walking away. 

"Hey Noeul." 

"I'll come back later." She mouths out as Yunho gives off a small chuckle. Suddenly, he shifts his attention back to your computer when he notices the screen go black, and he's back to sitting up again. 

"Damn." He tries fiddling with the mouse and keyboard again. "Guess that didn't work. I think this is a hardware issue now, but .." He turns to you with the same smirk he was sporting earlier when he was spitting out those compliments. "Since your computer is pretty old, I can't say it won't act up again if you get this serviced."

"So, you're saying a new computer is definitely the way to go." He nods.

"You deserve it." He stands as he reminds you. "You should think about getting a 38" monitor instead of having two. It's basically the equivalent and helps with productivity."

"What are some good ones?"

"I can send you some recs in a bit. I'm sorry you'll have to work from your laptop for now. But, whatever you order, I can help make sure it gets to you ASAP and I'll help set it up."

"Yunho." You slightly pout as he's slowly walking out of your cubicle.

"No but's. I got you." He looks down at his watch. "Anyway, gotta head back."

"See, don't tell me you have tons of stuff to catch up on now because of me?"

"I doooon't." He almost whines with a small laugh. He totally does. He's actually kinda swamped, but he made it over anyway because seeing you is nice. "See you later?" You nod and giggle. "I'll text you when I'm all wrapped up on my end."

"Okay. Thank you again."

"No worries." He playfully sends you a wink before walking off and out of the office area. Noeul finally comes creeping up to your cubicle, squealing at a low tone.

"Stop, he's so into you."

"Don't start." You bite onto your bottom lip as you continue to keep your eyes glued onto the tiny laptop screen.

"Where is he taking you? Did he say anything?"

"Nope. I am completely in the dark."

"Those are the best kinda dates. He's gonna take good care of you."

"I just wanna get out of here." You whine as your place your head down on your desk for a few minutes.

"You will! And the wait will be worth it!" You look up at her and let out a small sigh, nodding your head.

"You're right. Let me tackle all of this so I can get outta here sooner than later."

"And hang out with your man, yes!" She leans against your desk. "By the way, what'd he say about your computer?"

"Oh, this thing is done with. I need a new one. I'm just waiting for Yunho to send me some recs."

"Been telling you that."

"Well, it kept me going for some time." You pat the top of the monitor screen. "It was nice while it lasted."

"I love this for you, you know that? Upgrading your computer, your love life. This era is cute." You chuckle and shake your head.

"Go. I gotta get back to work." You push her along, making her giggle at how obviously flustered you are over the topic.

yunho: some recs for the boss lady!

You see Yunho's Slack message come in, along with links from the IT catalog. 

yunho: this CPU should do you good, along with the 38". 😮‍💨

you: haha, thank you. 😊 i'll place my order right now!

yunho: can you send me your ticket number so i can keep an eye on it?

you: maybe....

yunho: ☹️☹️☹️☹️

you: you have too much other work to worry about!

yunho: including your ticket, yes!

you: you're unbelievable. 😂

yunho: you can always opt out for tonight (ouch) ..... 😖

you: never! lol. i'm excited actually. ☺️

yunho: i am, too. 

You smile to yourself during the brief pause in between messages, unsure how to respond to Yunho without sounding like you're doing too much or saying something crazy. But, the Slack notification goes off again—

yunho: okay, i actually gtg and help jihoon with something.

yunho: seriously send me your ticket number after you're done, pls!

Pause.

yunho: can't wait to spend time with you, y/n.

And all that overthinking goes straight out the window.

you: same. 😌

Seora had a long day at school— her day filled with a bunch of tests and pop quizzes, damn near dragging herself out of the classroom and into the gym afterward. She happily talks with her friends as they change into their practice gear, joking around and being the typical girls they are as they get out onto the floor with their water bottles. After equal wins and losses, the coach decides to continue running and improving plays to push the team forward to the playoffs and hopefully, a championship win. 

When practice wraps up, Seora grabs her things and finds her other favorite uncle talking to some of the parents outside of the gym; sweat still on her face, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. When his eyes finally land on hers, he gives Seora's hair a good ruffle before taking her bags from her.

"Ace!"

"Uncle Mangi!" She copies his tone and laughs.

"How was practice?"

"Tiring. I'm pooped. I can barely feel my legs today."

"Working hard, atta girl. On our way to the WNBA." He tosses her bags in the backseat before hopping in. "Hope you don't mind, I gotta stop at the grocery store really quickly for our dinner."

"Only if I can grab some snacks."

"Course you can. Don't spoil your appetite for dinner, though. I'm gonna make some galbijjim."

"Yum! One of my faves."

"Exactly." He laughs. "How was school today?"

"The usual. Nothing too special."

"Nothing too special? Nothing happened at all?"

"Nope. Too many tests and pop-quizzes. I did get an A on my math test, though."

"That's something." She nods as she looks out the window.

"So, my dad's got another team dinner?"

"Mhm." He hums.

"Impossible." 

"They've been working really hard on a lot of different things across the hospital lately. Helps relieve stress, I guess." One thing about Mingi is that he will never out Yunho the way Seonghwa unintentionally does. If Yunho's got a team dinner, Mingi will stick to the story down to the T. Maybe even throw in his own details and dramatics to make it more believable.

"He barely used to have team dinners."

"Well, maybe their goal was to have more!"

"Are you hiding something, Uncle Mangi? Cause Uncle Hwa accidentally spilled the beans last time and said dad was on a date."

"Why would your Uncle Hwa do that? Should I fight him?" Seora laughs and shakes her head. "He wasn't on a date."

"Uncle Mangi." He looks at her.

"Mhm?"

"Lying is bad."

"I'm not lying!" She continues to squint her eyes at him before finally giving up her case and settling back into the seat. 

"Fine. What about you then, Uncle Mangi? What's new? How was your trip to Japan?"

"Nothing much. But, it was good. Nice to be in different sceneries from time to time."

"Dad keeps saying we'll tag along one day, but we haven't yet. I wanna go soon."

"I'll let him know, don't worry."

"They must have soooo much cute stuff. Don't they?"

"Lots." Mingi pulls up to the grocery store, driving into a spot near the entrance. "You'd definitely love it there."

"Where else have you been, Uncle Mangi?" She follows alongside of her towering uncle while he grabs a cart and heads into the store.

"Everywhere and nowhere all at the same time." She laughs.

"Seriously."

"One place I'll always remember is Switzerland. It's beautiful there. Probably one of my top places I've been to."

"I'm sure. I've only seen it in books, but it looks really pretty."

"It is. Those textbook pics definitely don't do it enough justice." Mingi sorts through the meat packages while Seora quickly wanders off into an aisle to grab her favorite chips and cookies. She drops it into the cart, with Mingi barely noticing.

"I have a random question for you."

"Try me."

"Do you think it's better to lock yourself up in a grocery store like this during a zombie apocalypse or keep it moving?"

"Well." Mingi continues to slowly walk down the aisles, making sure he doesn't miss any ingredients on his mental grocery list needed for tonight's dinner. "I'd say keep it moving."

"Why? You'd have everything in here."

"That's if no one raids the store, which would be impossible at that time. Plus, it can only keep you safe for so long before zombies find their way in or another group comes around. You could quite literally die before you even have a chance to try and survive."

"You'd have to take a break at some point though, right?"

"You could, but always best to keep it moving, ace. Never leave a trail for people."

"Okay, touché."

"Cereal first or milk first?" Mingi suddenly asks as they go through the cereal section.

"Cereal."

"What? No. Did your dad teach you that?"

"What kind of planet are you living on? Isn't that how it normally is?" Mingi stops the cart and looks at her. 

"Warm or cold milk then?"

"For cereal?" Mingi nods. "Cold?!"

"You and your weird ass dad." Seora laughs loudly. "Did anybody want a child? Cause this one is not mine—" Seora pinches her uncle's bicep, causing him to yelp as they push through the remaining aisles.

"You soggy cereal lover." Seora points out.

"That's literally the best way to have it."

"Ew, you're like eating mushed up cardboard." Mingi sighs.

"You're very lucky I love you and that your dad is my bestfriend or else I would've blocked him."

"You're so dramatic." She throws more snacks into the cart just as they're about to head to the registers.

"Any more snacks or you're good?"

"I'm good! I'm excited for dinner." Mingi laughs.

"I am, too. Too bad I gotta cook it first."

"You're a great cook, Uncle Mangi. I always enjoy the food you make." She tugs on his sleeve.

"I do try my best." She helps her uncle load the groceries onto the belt, pulling the cart towards the end to help bag up their things and throw it back in. Mingi taps his card to the reader before helping Seora with the heavier bags. Once they've gathered all their things, Mingi pushes the cart over to the car, loading it up in his trunk while Seora plops into the front seat. "Ready to head home?"

"Yeah, dying to shake a shower." Mingi starts up the car and begins the journey home.

"Yeah, you need it." He teases, causing Seora to lightly punch him on the arm.

"You're mean!"

"Kidding!" He laughs. "So, what's on the agenda tonight? We eat, you do homework. Watch some shows? Talk a walk around the neighborhood?"

"Sure, whatever floats your boat. I kinda have a bit of homework so I dunno about that walk. Plus, I'm pretty sore already."

"Okay, we'll play it by ear then." On the way home, Seora continues to tell Mingi about the staycation her father took her on and the new dog café they visited. She talks to him about her friends and how one of her friends started having a crush on one of the boys in their class. Mingi playfully gasps before lecturing her about boys and how icky they can be [coming from an honest heart]. But Seora laughs it off and tells her uncle that she's not really worried about that stuff.

All Mingi can say in response is 'you better not be.'

When the two finally get home, Mingi immediately sets himself up in the kitchen to get dinner going, while Seora throws her backpack down in the living room and heads straight to the shower. She takes a good, long shower before throwing on her pajamas and brushing through her wet hair. She sits on the living room floor and gets going with her homework while waiting for her uncle to finish cooking dinner.

Meanwhile, Yunho makes his way over to the peds hospital— happily stepping into the elevator to make his way back up to your office. When he gets there, he realizes most people have already clocked out and left for the day, only leaving you and a select few heads working away in the cubicles.

"Hey. Ready?" You smile as you look up at Yunho, sending one last meeting invite for next week before closing down your apps and shutting off your laptop.

"Yeah! I thought you were gonna text me so I could meet you halfway."

"Um, no." Yunho laughs. "I would much rather come get you so we can walk to the car together." 

"That's sweet." You throw on your coat and slide the bag strap over your shoulder. "So, how was the rest of your day?"

"Good. Not too crazy, at least."

"Did the offers go out to the candidates you were planning on hiring?"

"Oh, yeah! They actually signed earlier this week and they'll be starting next week. They were able to get the background checks cleared out in time."

"Aw, that's awesome! You guys will finally get help." 

"Yeah. It'll be busy for awhile getting them onboarded and trained."

"Yunho's gonna go MIA."

"Yunho is not gonna go MIA." He laughs. 

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, of course." He chuckles. "I'll always make time."

"You say that now."

"And I'll say it tomorrow, and the next day, and so on." He pinches your cheeks. "Don't trip." You smile feeling his warm touch against your skin. "Well, I didn't think it'd be so cold this evening. Are you okay with your coat and all? Is it enough?"

"It is."

"Okay, well just let me know. We'll be inside for the most part, but I want you to be comfortable."

"Thank you." You continue to walk alongside of Yunho until you get to his car. You give him the ins and outs of your day besides the whole computer issue that he tried to rescue you from while he grabs your bags and gently sets it in the trunk of his BMW and pops the door open for you. When you slide in and get comfortable, you notice how spotless his car is and how it smells like a hint of his cologne, along with laundry detergent and the fresh car smell. There are a few colorful hair ties lining the bottom of one of the cupholders, along with a hoodie in the backseat and a basketball. Yunho laughs and apologizes for Seora's mess— he also hasn't gotten a chance to bring in her things simply because he doesn't think much of it.

It almost feels like Seora is with him one way or another and he finds comfort in that.

On the drive over to dinner, he asks a bit about what other days look like for you and if you anticipate other big projects to come your way. You talk about a new project that was already mentioned to you by your manager, which involves remodeling one of the levels to a study/meeting area. You also tell Yunho it isn't a high priority, but you've already started the conversation with some of the facilities coordinators that can help rope in the appropriate vendors for certain tasks.

He transitions by telling you a few of the little projects he's been working on with his team, along with figuring out how to upgrade systems and all that jazz. You find that Yunho and his team are constantly working to support so many different departments, and it amazes you how well Yunho is able to delegate and keep himself afloat. You ask if he's ever had to work late because of really urgent issues and he says he's only had to do it once or twice— most can typically wait until the morning.

"Okay." He says, pulling into a tight, narrow street to start looking for parking. "We're here."

"I have no idea where we're at."

"Oh." Yunho laughs. "That's good then. More of a surprise for you. But, please keep your expectations down cause I didn't do much."

"Stop. Don't say things like that. I'll love it either way." Yunho smiles as he turns another corner and finds a spot right away. He parks flawlessly next to the curb, shutting off his car before turning back to you. 

"Ready?" You nod quietly, watching as Yunho hops out and does a light jog over to open the door for you. You give him a smile and tug on your coat while Yunho locks his door and leads the way next to you, hand on the small of your back. The walk isn't too far, the restaurant being down on the opposite end of the street, across the block. To your surprise, Yunho brings you to one of the new conveyor belt sushi restaurants. He greets the host and he immediately takes you back to a little booth near the belt. It's snug enough to fit two people. 

"I'm excited." You look at Yunho and he laughs.

"Same, I could eat. You like sushi, right? Please tell me I didn't fuck up." He looks concerned for a moment.

"No, no. I love sushi. I actually haven't had it in so long." You rearrange your set up so you can eat comfortably, the waiter taking your order for drinks. You both ask for water, but before the waiter can walk off, Yunho suddenly asks for two glasses of hot sake. 

"Thank you." He says, giving the waiter a curt nod.

"Sake?"

"Our little celebration for getting through the week."

"Wow, okay. Touché. I can get behind that." You look at him. "My birthday's coming up. You should come out with Mingi and Seonghwa. We're heading out to the club." You pause before shaking your head. "Or, actually, I'm being forced to go to the club to celebrate."

"Forced, hm?" He laughs. "That sounds fun, though. Send me the details. We'll definitely try to celebrate with you."

"Might be fun. We can be a fun group of people."

"Yeah?" Yunho likes that, you're down for things and he can tell you go with the flow. He likes someone who can just have fun with him. Someone who can just be with him; it wouldn't matter where they go or where their relationship takes them.

"Mhm. And I can tell you guys are fun." You laugh. "Seora must love having you as her dad."

"I hope so." Yunho laughs along. "By the way, feel free to start digging in." He gestures towards the moving conveyor belt and you happily start exploring your options as they come— taking a fresh plate of salmon nigiri to start off. The waiter quickly comes back with two glasses of hot sake, making Yunho smirk at you. He sets his chopsticks down and slides your glass over, raising his while you take yours. "Cheers? For getting through the week."

"Cheers!" You say cheerfully, tapping your glass against his before taking some of the hot sake down your throat. It burns, but the heat brings more warmth to your body on this cold evening. "Speaking of Seora, where is she right now now?" You drink a bit more before taking another plate off the belt.

"Spending time with her Uncle Mingi."

"That's cute." Yunho grabs a few plates and sets them aside while he decides which one he'll tackle first.

"She had practice and I had him go pick her up. I think they were heading to the grocery store to buy some ingredients for dinner before heading home last time he texted me."

"What did you tell her?"

"Mm." He hums. "I hope you don't take it personally or anything, but I told her it was a team dinner."

"No, of course not."

"I just, yeah." He chuckles a bit. "It's just easier to go with that."

"I believe it." The both of you continue to eat away at the sushi, small, empty plates piling up on the side of the table. Small conversations continue about day-to-day life; you and your friends, what you've been doing for yourself lately. Suddenly, you dwell on the fact that you don't know much about Yunho besides his day-to-day life with Seora and work. You know about his friends, his coworkers. But, you don't know anything deeper about his personal life.

His parents.

You didn't wanna be nosy and pry, but you wondered why his parents weren't the ones watching Seora. 

Was it too much of you to ask?

Was this considered a real date if you two weren't trying to get to know each other? What were the boundaries?

"Yunho?"

"What's up?"

"Can I ask you something more personal?"

"Anything."

"I hope I'm not crossing boundaries here, but what about your parents? How come they don't watch Seora?"

"You're not crossing any boundaries." Yunho reassures you, but shakes his head before dipping into his next plate of sushi. "Uh, it's complicated. Things kinda just fell apart when Eunha passed." You slowly nod. "When my parents found out Eunha was pregnant, they didn't want us to continue with the pregnancy cause we were, what? 20 years old when we found out? Still in the midst of college. But, that's not what we wanted. They almost got to Eunha but we pushed through in the end and we had Seora. It was really hard for a long, long time, but Seora was worth every bit of it. My parents obviously didn't like the fact that we went against their wishes, so they kept their distance. It's been that way ever since, even when Eunha passed. I think it got worst, actually. Plus, I never had the best relationship with them from the get-go. They only see Seora once in a blue moon. They're the grandparents that just send the occasional bouts of money, birthday and holidays cards. Seora always wonders about them, but I can never give her an answer as to why her grandparents aren't around." 

"I'm sorry, Yunho."

"Don't be sorry." Yunho smiles a bit.

"W-what about Eunha's parents?" You wanna ask about Eunha too, but you know this isn't the time.

"Uh, they're the same. They—" He pauses. "They cut off ties when she passed because it was too hard for them."

"Oh. Yunho." You say sympathetically, feeling incredibly bad for having brought it up in the first place. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean to be such a debbie downer during dinner."

"No, it's okay. I promise. I've.. gotten used to it at this point. It used to be hard for me, but I've accepted everything."

"Still doesn't mean it doesn't get hard for you."

"I've learned to manage." He gives you a tiny, toothless smile.

"I hope you know you're doing an amazing job balancing everything and for being a great father to Seora."

"Thanks." 

"I'm also glad you have Seonghwa and Mingi."

"Me too." He laughs. "They're a pain in my ass, but they're my bestfriends. I don't think I would have been able to get through a lot without them. And they're good to Seora."

"That's good, I'm glad." You eat a bit more before you feel yourself getting content and full.

"Full?"

"Damn near. I think I ate too fast." You chuckle. "I'm almost done with my sake."

"Bottoms up?" You nod, tapping your glass against his before the both of you take it to the neck. Yunho finishes up a few more plates before he sits back and gulps his water down, causing you to giggle to yourself. "Fuck, I'm full. Overdid it, for sure."

"Was worth every bit of it, though. Maybe we should walk it off?"

"Yeah. Let's head to the next stop. I think you'll like it. And we'll get our steps in." He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, calling the waiter over.

"Can I split with you?"

"Absolutely not." Yunho says, handing over his card directly to him.

"You're already driving me everywhere and taking me to another location after this. The least I can do is chip in."

"Nope. The least you can do is just enjoy yourself with me tonight." He smiles sweetly just as he grabs the receipt handed to him by the waiter, signing off and tucking his own copy swiftly into his pocket before looking at you. 

"Couldn't even let me see the receipt."

"Nope." He repeats and stands. "Ready to go, pretty girl?" You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you stand and nod, leading the way out of the restaurant with Yunho in tow. He answers your questions on the way to the car, giving you hints about the next location. It still leaves you stumped in the end, deciding to let Yunho continue taking matters into his own hands with you. He opens the door like the gentleman he is, slipping into the driver's seat as he rubs his hands together and immediately turns the heat on when he starts the car. "All good? Too hot?"

"Just perfect."

"Good." You sit back comfortably as Yunho sets off for the next destination for tonight. "So, how was the sushi? Be honest."

"It was so good!" He looks at you when he comes to a red light, almost as if he's trying to read you, really read you, and you giggle. "What?"

"Just making sure."

"That I'm not lying?"

"Maybe." You laugh even more.

"I would never. If I didn't enjoy it, I would've given an honest review."

"Mmkay, I believe you." He laughs. "I want you to have a good night with me."

"I am already." You look at him with a soft expression. "And I'm sure the next part to this will be just as fun. If not, more. I trust you."

"Do you?"

"I do." Yunho smiles, wanting to hold your hand so badly while he drives. But, he doesn't. He holds back. He feels like there could be a better opportunity.

One that'll feel right and set the mood for the remainder of the night.

For this entirely.

After a good 20 minutes of driving down south, Yunho exits off the freeway and takes an immediate right down towards a large-sized building with all modern exterior designs. He parks in the lot next to it, doing his gentleman deed of helping you out of the car and leading you towards the beautiful building.

It's one of the city's biggest museums, and the event they're hosting for a couple of weeks is called Spirit House. It focuses on Asian American and Asian diasporic artists that are showcasing art pertaining to horror, spirits, haunted houses, reincarnation, different dimensions and other themes along those lines. You continue to read the pamphlet before Yunho looks at you with a small smile on his face.

"Wanna walk around?" You nod.

"How'd you know I'd be into this stuff?"

"It sounded cool, so why not?"

"You're good, Jeong Yunho." You giggle and continue into the first part of the exhibit. The atmosphere is dark and dim, the artwork on the walls screaming afterlife. Death. Souls. Horror, fear. You're so intrigued that you find yourself slowly moving from work to work; trying to take in all the details of the images in front of you. You didn't even realize Yunho had been watching you from behind, snapping photos every chance he could before moving onto the next room to get a preview of what's to come.

"Hey." Yunho says from behind you. "Wanna show you something in the next room." 

"Okay." You look down at the hand he puts out, waiting for you to take it. You gently slide your hand in his, fingers intertwining before he guides you to the next exhibit and it feels incredibly natural. It's a room full of mini fixtures— almost like miniature set-ups of old fashioned homes and other buildings. He shows you one that has the artist's own adaptation of Junji Ito characters spread across levels of an old, haunted house.

"Oh my god, I love it." You peek down to get a closer look, hand still laced with Yunho's. "I love Junji Ito. And the work in the other room reminded me of Takato Yamamoto. It's amazing."

"Made for you." You chuckle, tugging him along as you both look at the next miniature setups alongside of it. Yunho doesn't even mind one bit. He's enjoying the exhibit, but he's enjoying it even more with you here— holding his hand every step of the way. You snap a few photos of the art before Yunho directs you to stand near one of the exhibits where the lighting falls on you perfectly. He takes a few more photos— more candid ones from behind you especially— just so you have photos to look back at when you wanna reminisce on your first date with him.

The next room of the exhibit is an interactive light show; the  room is completely dark, with different lights projecting things around the room. The background music is mysterious, creepy; fitting the vibe all together. You continue to walk with Yunho while snapping photos of your silhouettes in the mirrors. Yunho gets silly and makes a bunch of poses, making you laugh loudly in the process. At one point, you've found yourself standing near the corner of the room, watching all the lights come together to project a beautiful show onto the walls. Yunho comes next to you, admiring the same view— but you, mainly. You look up at him to tell him how amazing the event is, but he's already looking down at you with fondness and endearment sprinkled in his big brown orbs.

You almost.. wanna kiss him.

But, you shake off the thought quickly by dragging him to the next exhibits— loosely holding his hand throughout the rest of the event.

Too bad he would've kissed you back, had you known.

No, he needs to be a gentleman and he needs to do right by you, Yunho thinks. He can't just kiss you on the first date or else he runs the risk of you thinking he only wants you for one thing.

Like Ara; but, that situation is a little different.

"Yunho! That was so fun." You smile at him the way you do, and it melts his heart. "Thank you for taking me to this."

"Of course. I think it ends after the weekend, so perfect timing." You quickly scroll through some of the pictures you took. "I'll send you the pictures I have later."

"Okay." You look at the buskers on the opposite end of the street, along with a food cart nearby. "Yunho, let's go check it out really quickly!"

"I'm down." He nods, noticing it's only about to hit 10pm. Seora must be waiting for him, but he knows she'll sleep until he gets there and Mingi hasn't made a peep. He feels like he's in the clear.

He holds your hand tightly as you both cross the street safely, stopping near the food cart first while lightly bouncing to the live music nearby.

"Want a snack?" You nod and cling onto his arm.

"I could use one. Museum took up my energy." He laughs. Yunho buys some custard-filled bungeoppang for you two to snack on while observing the buskers. You bounce along next to him and he starts to dance in his own way, making you laugh at how cute he's being with you. You snap a few photos of him that you'll share later, not knowing Yunho had a bunch of your photos to share as well.

You and Yunho sing along to some familiar songs before the buskers end the first half of their performance for a tiny break.

"That was cool. They did really well!"

"They were so good!" You toss in some cash into the guitar case. "And I didn't know you could sing!"

"I— no." Yunho laughs.

"I wanna hear more of your singing." You pout as you tug on his arm on the way back to the car.

"Maybe."

"Yunho." You whine and he laughs.

"I promise you it's nothing that great."

"Very much the opposite of what I think, just so you know." He stands by the passenger door, allowing you to hop in but he doesn't close the door right away. He stands and looks at you and there's something in his eyes that you can't really read.

"I hope you enjoyed it."

"I did. A lot." He licks his lips, and you can tell he's having the same internal battle you had not too long ago in the light exhibit. But, he brushes it off by tapping the door frame before shutting your door gently and hopping into his seat. 

The drive home is as expected; with you and Yunho talking about your similar music tastes this time and Yunho being a bit more open about his vocals. You look at him as he sings a tune or two, explaining that his dad is the one with the vocals in the family. You tease that next time, you two should go to a karaoke bar to end the night and he smirks.

At least you're thinking about next time's just like he is, too.

When he pulls up to your apartment, you find yourself not wanting to part from him. You know he has to go home to Seora though, and it breaks your heart knowing she's been waiting for her dad to come home. You step out of the car and tug on your coat, the night colder than it was a few hours ago.

"Welp, this is me." You both look at the apartment building, with Yunho tucking his hands into his pockets.

"Let me walk you up."

"No, it's okay. I promise it's right there." You point at your apartment before chuckling and turning to him completely. "Goodnight, Yunho. Thank you for tonight. I had a lot of fun."

"You're welcome, Y/N." He watches as you lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek. He blushes, and he loves the initiation, but he freezes. Completely. 

"I'll see you next week, hm? Get home safely." You smile toothlessly at him before turning on your heel to walk up to your unit. Just as you're about to make it up the steps, Yunho is chasing after you with long strides, causing you to turn and raise a brow. "Did I leave something?"

"Mm, maybe." He says with a tiny smirk on his face. Suddenly, his large, warm hands come up to cup your cheeks— lips capturing yours in a sweet goodnight kiss. "Goodnight." You smile up at him as his thumb caresses the surface of your right cheek.

"Night." He steps back, biting his bottom lip to prevent himself from smiling too big. He lingers around until he sees you successfully slip into your unit and hears the door shut close.

What he doesn't see is the way you squeal and dig your face into your hands, incredibly giddy and happy from the turn of events.

You really liked Yunho.

And he does, too.

So much that the smile doesn't even fade when he pulls up to the house, Mingi's car leaving enough room for him to park in his usual spot. Yunho can see the faint flickering of the TV lights through the kitchen window, and he knows Seora is probably on the couch waiting for his arrival.

When he steps through the door, Mingi is placing some food into the fridge before returning his attention to the remaining dishes in the sink. He quietly greets his bestfriend before nodding towards the couch— signaling that Seora had fallen asleep while waiting.

"Has it been long?" Yunho asks lowly.

"A bit, yeah. She said practice was exhausting today." Yunho chuckles before crouching down in front of the couch and brushing her hair back.

"Ace." Her eyes slowly flicker open.

"Oh, finally. You're back." He laughs.

"Let's get to bed, hm?" She sleepily nods, sitting up before walking to her bedroom. "Say bye to uncle Mingi."

"Love you, ace!" Mingi calls out as he watches her sleepily walk across the living room.

"Love you too. Goodnight." She mutters and lazily waves before dragging herself into her room and shutting the door. It isn't long before Yunho sees her shut off the lights, causing him to turn the volume down on the TV before helping Mingi clean up.

"So, how was it?" Yunho smiles.

"Good." He avoids eye contact as he blushes, setting the dry dishes into the cabinet.

"Good?"

"Yeah."

"Meaning?" Mingi rests against the corner before smirking at him. " I have time."

"I really, really like her."

⇢taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @nopension @curse-of-art @thechaotictheoryy @likexaxdaydream @dalsuwaha @enha-stars @yasuraokaa @professormingisglasses @yunyunrin @pommelex @astral-trashcan @laura1399 @domfikeluva @tournesol155 @hwaskookies @yusalterego @hwa-stars @hyukssunflower @chngbnwf @jaytheatiny @lucid-galaxys-world @chaotic-floral @sofkloster @honeyrecommends @hwashua-luv @luvv4bby @spicxbnny @pandyandy71 @sanniesaurus @angel-hyuckie @wolviejex @purpleyou7x

[heartsriki]

SYMPHONY OF US ⌇음악

FLIRT ALERT! series⌇Park Jongseong | Next

pairing ᝰ jay x fem!reader — word count: 4.6k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ college au!, friends to lovers, mutual pining, bantering, song composer x guitarist, fluff, kissing.

synopsis — As music majors in college, You and Jay have always been seatmates in class—passing notes, sharing playlists, and teasing each other between lectures. But when you get paired for the annual Valentine’s Open Mic Night, your usual banter turns into long practice sessions, late-night coffee runs, and a song that sounds a little too much like a love confession.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊Hey Ermmuhh I couldn’t sleep so I cooked this one up and I actually like it. Guys I would do anything for guitar Jay, whos with me.. raise your hand..

The first time you ever sat next to Jay, it wasn’t by choice.

The lecture hall had been packed, students filing into seats with that first-week energy—half of them eager, the other half exhausted. You had arrived late, the only open seat left beside a guy in a coat, his foot tapping lightly against the floor in a steady rhythm.

“Bad day?” he had asked as you slumped into the seat.

You had barely looked at him before muttering, “Bad parking.”

That had made him chuckle. “Yeah, parking’s a nightmare.” Then, as if he could sense your irritation, he slid a packet of sheet music onto your desk. “Here. Since you missed the first part.”

That was the beginning of it.

For the rest of the year, Jay remained your unofficial seatmate. You didn’t plan it—it just happened. Every class, every semester, no matter the time or the professor, there was an unspoken agreement that you would end up beside each other. He passed you scribbled jokes in the margins of his notes, you stole his guitar picks, and somehow, you two had developed a routine that made even the dullest lectures bearable.

So when the Professor announced that the Valentine’s Open Mic Night would be a graded project this year, it wasn’t a surprise when he paired you and Jay together. What was surprising was the flicker of hesitation on Jay’s face when your names were called.

“You good?” you asked as you packed your things after class.

Jay blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had been on his mind. “Yeah. Just… never done a duet before.”

You raised a brow. “You literally performed at the Winter Recital last semester.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He adjusted the strap of his bag, glancing down at his shoes before flashing you a lopsided grin. “I didn’t have to sing with you.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Relax, I’ll try not to make you sound bad.”

And that was it. That was how your simple routine with Jay turned into something a little bit more.

You would think that after almost a year of sitting next to each other, sharing notes, and teasing back and forth, you two would have naturally grown closer. But there had always been a boundary—an invisible line neither of you dared to cross. You weren’t sure if it was because of the way Jay always seemed so effortlessly cool, or because you had convinced yourself that your dynamic worked best when there were no expectations beyond the classroom.

But something about today felt different.

As he turned to leave, you blurted out, “Would you like to get some coffee?!”

Jay froze mid-step at your sudden outburst, then turned slowly to meet your gaze. The smirk that curled at his lips sent a flicker of heat to your face.

“You asking me out?”

Your entire body stiffened. “No! No,” you rushed to say, waving your hands frantically. “I mean—for our music piece. Y’know? So we can brainstorm or whatever.”

Jay tilted his head, pretending to consider it, even though you could tell he was enjoying your flustered reaction way too much. After a beat, he shrugged. “Alright. Lead the way.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting across from him in a small café just off campus, a half-empty coffee cup between your hands. The place was cozy, the hum of conversation mixing with the soft jazz playing overhead.

Jay had abandoned his coat, rolling up the sleeves of his long sleeved shirt as he leaned back in his chair, watching you with mild amusement. “You’re overthinking it.”

You frowned. “What? No, I’m not.”

“You totally are,” he said, tapping a finger against your notebook. “Look at this. You’ve got three different song structures written down, but you haven’t committed to any of them.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “Because I don’t know what works best. I mean, do we go for something upbeat? Or do we lean into the whole Valentine’s theme and make it, like… disgustingly romantic?”

Jay huffed a laugh, picking up his coffee. “You sound like love songs personally offend you.”

“They do when they’re forced,” you muttered, tapping your pen against the table. “I just don’t want it to sound fake, y’know?”

Jay was quiet for a moment, watching you carefully. Then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “So let’s not make it fake.”

You blinked. “What?”

He nudged your notebook toward you. “Let’s write something real. Doesn’t have to be some cheesy love song. Just something that actually means something to us.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. For all the teasing and banter, Jay had a way of slipping in these unexpectedly earnest moments that made you pause.

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “Alright. Something real.”

“Good.” He grinned. “And if it just so happens to be a love song, well…” He shot you a teasing look. “Guess that says something about us, huh?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. “Don’t make stupid jokes.”

Jay just laughed, but even as you refocused on your notes, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, things were changing between you two.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, the low hum of the cafe filling in the gaps as you both stared at your notebooks. Every so often, Jay would absentmindedly tap his fingers against the table, a steady rhythm that somehow made it easier for you to think.

You glanced up at him. “So, what’s something real to you?”

Jay’s fingers paused mid-tap. He looked at you, eyebrows raising slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to actually ask. Then, after a moment, he shrugged. “Music, obviously. Late-night drives. My guitars. Oh, and good coffee.” He lifted his cup in emphasis before taking a sip.

You hummed, jotting down a few words in your notebook. “Alright, so we’re writing a love song about caffeine addiction.”

Jay chuckled. “That’s what you got from that?”

“You said ‘good coffee.’ That’s passion.”

He rolled his eyes but leaned forward, glancing at your notebook. “Okay, your turn. What’s something real to you?”

You hesitated, tapping your pen against the page. It was a simple question, but answering it felt more intimate than you had expected.

“Uh… sunrises,” you said finally. “When you’ve been up all night, and everything’s quiet for a few minutes before the world wakes up. That first breath of cold air in the morning. And…” You trailed off, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

Jay tilted his head, waiting. “And?”

You exhaled, deciding to just go for it. “That feeling when you’re playing music, writing it, and for a second, it’s like… everything just clicks.”

Jay was quiet. When you looked up, he wasn’t smirking or teasing. He was just watching you, something unreadable in his expression.

“Yeah,” he said, voice softer now. “I get that.”

Something shifted then—an unspoken understanding settling between you.

Jay reached for his guitar case beside his chair, flipping open the latches. “Alright,” he said, adjusting the strap over his shoulder. “Let’s see what we’ve got so far.”

You bit your lip, flipping through your notes. “I mean, we don’t have much yet, but…”

Jay started strumming, a simple, easy melody filling the space between you. You listened, letting the rhythm settle in before you hesitantly hummed a melody over it.

Jay’s lips curled into a smile. “That works. Keep going.”

And just like that, the song started to take shape.

Hours later, you were still at the café, empty cups pushed to the side as you sat next to Jay in the booth, your notebooks a mess of scribbled lyrics and crossed-out ideas.

“Alright, what about this?” Jay said, adjusting his guitar. He played a soft progression, nodding toward you. “Try it with the lyrics we just fixed.”

You took a breath and sang the first few lines, the words tentative but starting to feel more natural the more you repeated them. Jay watched you as you sang, his eyes focused—not in the way he usually looked at you when he was about to tease you, but in a way that made something in your chest tighten.

When you finished, he nodded slowly. “That was good.”

You laughed lightly, nudging his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Jay’s grin returned, but there was something gentler about it this time. “Yeah. We still have a lot to work on but.. its good.”

You glanced at the clock, realizing how late it had gotten. “We should probably head back before they kick us out.”

Jay sighed dramatically, strumming one last chord before setting his guitar aside. “Fine. But only because I don’t want them banning me from my favorite cafe.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you started packing up your things. As the two of you stepped outside, the cold night air bit at your skin, and you shivered. Before you could react, Jay wordlessly shrugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

You blinked at him. “Jay—”

“Don’t start,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You looked cold.”

Your heart did a stupid little flip, but you quickly masked it with a playful smirk. “This is just an excuse to save your seat tomorrow isn’t it?”

Jay shot you a playful hurt look. “Wow, you think so little of me.”

You laughed, hugging his coat closer around you as the two of you walked back toward campus, the melody of your half-written song still lingering in the air.

The next few days fell into an easy rhythm—class, study sessions, and sneaking into the music room whenever it was free. You and Jay spent more time together than ever, working through melodies, tweaking lyrics, and getting lost in conversations that had nothing to do with the song at all.

And somehow, somewhere between all of that, the line between “just seatmates” and something more started to blur.

“Okay, one more run-through,” Jay said, adjusting the tuning pegs on his guitar.

You groaned, leaning your head back against the piano bench. “Jay, we’ve done like… twelve run-throughs.”

He shot you a look. “And yet you still mess up the second verse.”

“Hey!” You sat up, pointing at him accusingly. “I wouldn’t mess it up if you didn’t look at me like that.”

Jay smirked. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to laugh every time I hit the high note.”

“I am trying not to laugh,” he admitted, eyes twinkling. “Not because of your singing—your singing’s great. It’s just…” He paused, grinning. “You scrunch up your nose when you go for high notes. It’s cute.”

Your breath hitched for a second.

Jay must’ve realized what he said, because his fingers fumbled over the guitar strings. He cleared his throat, suddenly focused on his instrument.

You stared at him, the warmth creeping up your neck completely unrelated to the heated room. Instead of responding, you exhaled and picked up your lyrics sheet. “One more run-through,” you mumbled.

Jay glanced at you, lips twitching. “One more.”

By now, late-night practice had become routine. But this was the first time you’d ended up at Jay’s apartment.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, tossing his keys onto the counter.

You glanced around, taking in the space. It was exactly what you expected—minimalist, with music posters and a guitar stand in the corner. A few records were stacked near a player, and his desk was cluttered with sheet music and unfinished compositions.

“You live like an actual musician,” you mused, running a finger over a worn-out lyric book on his desk.

Jay snorted. “I thought I gave off business major energy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your gaze landed on the couch, where a soft-looking blanket was draped over the armrest. You raised an eyebrow. “You keep a blanket on your couch?”

Jay glanced over and shrugged. “Yeah?”

You smirked. “Didn’t take you for a cozy guy.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I have layers.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled onto the couch. Jay sat beside you, guitar in hand. The song was almost finished now, just a few refinements left before the performance.

“You wanna run through it again?” you asked, pulling your knees up.

Jay nodded, but he hesitated, fingers hovering over the strings. When you looked at him, he wasn’t smirking or teasing like usual. There was something thoughtful in his gaze, something… uncertain.

Jay’s fingers moved over the guitar strings effortlessly, the melody filling the space between you. Your voice wove through it, soft but steady, carrying the lyrics you’d both spent hours perfecting.

But tonight—tonight, the song felt different.

It wasn’t just words on a page anymore. It wasn’t just an assignment. It was something heavier, something unspoken. Something neither of you dared to name.

When the last note faded, silence settled between you.

Jay exhaled, setting his guitar aside. “That was…” He trailed off, as if searching for the right words.

You nodded slowly, barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved.

You were still sitting cross-legged on the couch, his blanket draped loosely over your shoulders. Jay was beside you, leaning against the cushions, his arm resting on the back of the couch. Close. Closer than before.

The tension hung thick in the air, pressing against your skin.

Jay’s gaze flickered to your lips for half a second—so quick you might’ve imagined it. But then his fingers twitched against his knee, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

And suddenly, you knew.

You knew that if you leaned in, if you closed the space between you, something would happen.

Your pulse pounded.

Jay shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours. He wasn’t smirking, wasn’t teasing—just watching you, waiting, like he was caught in the same pull that had tightened around your chest.

Your breath hitched.

Jay tilted his head just a little, like he was debating something. Like he was giving you the chance to stop this before it went somewhere neither of you could take back.

Your heart was a drumline in your chest.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

You should move. Say something. Anything.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your gaze dropped—just briefly—to his lips. And that was all it took.

Jay leaned in.

Your breath tangled with his, warmth ghosting over your skin. Your lashes fluttered. He was close enough now that you could see the night shine in his dark eyes, close enough that you could feel the slight hitch in his breathing.

A fraction of an inch. That’s all that was left.

Then—

BZZZT.

Jay jerked back, exhaling sharply as his phone vibrated against the coffee table.

The hypnotic spell shattered.

You blinked, heart still hammering, trying to process what almost just happened.

Jay cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. I should… probably check that.” His voice was slightly hoarse.

You nodded stiffly, gripping the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.”

Jay reached for his phone, glancing at the screen. “It’s my friend Jungwon,” he muttered, like that somehow explained the whiplash of the moment you’d just shared.

You took the opportunity to stand, needing space, needing to breathe. “I should—um, I should go. It’s late.”

Jay’s head snapped up. “Wait—”

But you were already grabbing your things, shoving your notebook into your bag. Your fingers still trembled slightly.

Jay stood too, stepping toward you, but he hesitated. Like he wasn’t sure if he should stop you. Like he wasn’t sure what to say after what just happened.

And honestly? Neither were you.

So instead, you forced a small, strained smile. “See you tomorrow?”

Jay held your gaze for a beat longer, something unreadable in his eyes.

Then, finally, he nodded. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

You turned quickly, stepping out of his apartment before you could second-guess yourself.

The night air was cold against your burning skin.

And as you walked away, heart still racing, one thought repeated in your head over and over again.

What the hell just happened?

The Valentine’s Open Mic Night had arrived.

The auditorium buzzed with energy—students chattering excitedly, couples whispering to each other, friends hyping up performers. The warm glow of stage lights bathed the room in a golden hue, casting long shadows against the red-and-white Valentine’s decorations.

Backstage, you paced.

“Stop doing that,” Jay said from his spot on a folding chair, tuning his guitar for what had to be the hundredth time.

You shot him a look. “Doing what?”

“Walking back and forth like you’re about to confess to a crime.”

“I feel like I’m about to confess to a crime,” you muttered, rubbing your arms. “Why does this suddenly feel so intense?”

Jay smirked, resting his guitar on his lap. “Maybe because we wrote a song that sounds suspiciously like a love confession?”

Your heart jumped in your chest. “It’s not a love confession,” you shot back, a little too quickly.

Jay arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

You opened your mouth—ready to argue, ready to insist that the song was just a song, nothing more—but the words didn’t come out.

Because the truth was, ever since you’d started rehearsing for this performance, something had felt… off. Not about the music itself—the melody was strong, the lyrics flowed effortlessly—but about the way it made you feel.

Every time you sang it, every time Jay harmonized with you, there was this undeniable weight behind it. Something unspoken, something too close to the surface.

And the more you listened to it, the more familiar it felt.

Like you’d heard it before.

Like you’d felt it before.

You swallowed, voice quieter now. “…Jay.”

His smirk faded slightly. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, but then the realization hit you so hard, you couldn’t stop the words from spilling out.

“This song,” you murmured, gripping the hem of your sleeve. “It sounds like us.”

Jay stilled. His fingers froze on the guitar strings.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, he let out a slow breath, tilting his head at you. “You just figured that out?”

Your heart stuttered. “You knew?”

Jay’s lips twitched—not in amusement, but in something softer, something almost… shy. “I had a feeling.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Jay shrugged, glancing down at his guitar. “I figured you’d realize it eventually.”

Your mind spun. You thought back to every late-night practice session, every lyric you had painstakingly written with him, every melody that had come so naturally between you. You thought about how easily the words had formed, how every note had fit perfectly.

And then it hit you.

This wasn’t just a song.

This was your song. Yours and Jay’s. A reflection of everything between you—the teasing, the late-night conversations, the moments you’d never dared to name.

It wasn’t a forced Valentine’s song. It was real.

And it was about him.

The announcer’s voice crackled through the mic. “Next up, we have a duet from two of our very own music majors. Give it up for—”

You barely heard the introduction. Your heart was hammering too loudly, your thoughts running too fast.

Jay stood, slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder. But before he could step forward, he turned to you, eyes searching yours.

There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that said, We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.

But the thing was—you were ready.

Because now, standing here on the brink of something terrifying and real, you knew one thing for certain.

You weren’t just about to sing a song.

You were about to tell Jay—in front of an entire audience—exactly how you felt.

Even if you hadn’t meant to.

Even if he already knew.

You took a deep breath, steadied your racing heart, and stepped onto the stage with him.

The last note hung in the air, trembling like a secret waiting to be spoken.

Then, silence.

For a split second, everything stood still—your hands gripping the mic, Jay’s fingers frozen on the last chord, your breaths coming fast and uneven. You could still feel the weight of the song between you, still hear the echoes of every word that had slipped past your lips.

Then the auditorium erupted.

Applause, whistles, cheers—loud and overwhelming. The sound crashed over you, breaking through the haze that had settled during the performance.

Your chest rose and fell, heartbeat still trying to catch up with everything that had just happened. Slowly, you turned to Jay.

He was already looking at you.

The stage lights painted him in gold, catching the softness in his gaze, the hint of something unspoken lingering in the way his fingers were still curled around his guitar.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then, Jay exhaled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head slightly, eyes searching yours.

We did it.

You nodded.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Jay turned back toward the mic, running a hand through his hair before giving the audience a lopsided grin. “Well,” he said, voice slightly breathless. “That was fun.”

A few laughs rippled through the crowd.

You could still feel the rush of adrenaline in your veins, your mind spinning from everything—the song, the way Jay had looked at you, the way the lyrics felt too real.

The host walked back onstage, grinning as he clapped his hands. “Wow. That was… incredible.” He turned to you and Jay, eyes twinkling. “Now, I gotta ask—was that just a performance, or was that something real?”

Laughter and teasing whistles rang through the crowd. Your breath hitched.

Jay glanced at you.

The stage lights made it impossible to see the audience clearly, but you could feel every pair of eyes watching, waiting.

Jay hesitated for only a second. Then, with a smirk, he leaned toward the mic.

“I guess that’s up to interpretation.”

The crowd groaned in playful frustration, but Jay just chuckled, sending you a quick, unreadable glance before standing up and adjusting his guitar strap.

You huffed out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as the host ushered you both toward the wings.

The second you stepped offstage, the noise of the crowd muffled behind the curtain, a strange weight settled in your chest.

Jay stood beside you, shifting his guitar on his back. He didn’t say anything right away, just let out a quiet exhale before turning to you.

For a moment, it was just the two of you again. No audience. No stage. No expectations.

Just you, Jay, and the song that had said everything you hadn’t.

He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something.

But before he could, someone called his name from the other side of the curtain, and the moment slipped away.

Jay hesitated for half a second, gaze lingering on yours—like he was waiting. Like there was something unfinished between you.

Then, with a small, knowing smile, he gave you a nod.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there—heart still pounding, lyrics still echoing in your head, and a quiet, unshakable feeling that whatever this was between you and Jay…

It was just beginning.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

It started slow.

Not because either of you were unsure—because, really, after that song, after that performance, there was no denying what had been brewing for a while between you two—but because neither of you wanted to ruin what was already there.

The playful banter, the late-night coffee runs, the way you always saved him a seat in class, the way he always texted you first whenever he found a song he knew you’d love.

So for a while, nothing changed.

At least, not obviously.

But then there were the small things. The little shifts that made it clear that something was different.

Like the way Jay’s arm would rest along the back of your chair a little longer than necessary. The way his fingers would brush against yours when he handed you a sheet of music, lingering just a second too long. The way his texts became softer—not that they weren’t teasing, because Jay would always be Jay—but now they came with an undertone of something more:

Jay:

Late-night practice? I’ll bring coffee.

Song idea. I need your genius input. Also, your voice.

Are we calling this “studying” even if we just end up talking the whole time?

(Not that I’m complaining.)

And then there were the moments between the music.

Like the first time he reached for your hand without a joke to hide behind. You had been sitting in the empty auditorium after a long practice session, your head leaning against the back of your chair, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs.

Jay had stretched, rolling out his shoulders, and then—without looking at you—he just took your hand.

No teasing smirk. No offhand comment. Just his fingers curling around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it was.

Or the time he had walked you home after another late-night coffee run, and instead of his usual casual “See you tomorrow”, he had hesitated at your doorstep, looking at you like he was thinking about something.

You had raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Jay had tilted his head, lips twitching in amusement. “Nothing,” he had murmured. “Just… realizing I might be in trouble.”

Your heart had flipped. “Trouble?”

“For liking you too much,” he had said easily. “Feels dangerous.”

And you had laughed—because of course Jay would confess something like that with a smirk and a joke—but you had still felt your face heat up.

(And okay, maybe you had reached for his hoodie, tugging him forward just enough to kiss him on the cheek before quickly ducking inside and shutting the door behind you.)

And then there was now.

Sitting in the music room, your back against the grand piano, Jay’s guitar resting across his lap as he absently strummed through a melody you hadn’t heard before.

You tilted your head. “New song?”

Jay hummed. “Maybe.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Another love song?”

He smirked but didn’t deny it. “What can I say? Got a lot of inspiration lately.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered anyway.

Jay’s fingers slowed over the strings as he glanced at you, expression thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think I ever actually asked you.”

You frowned slightly. “Asked me what?”

Jay set his guitar aside, turning to face you fully. “If I can be your boyfriend.”

Your stomach flipped. “Jay—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted with a grin. “It’s kinda obvious at this point. But still.” His voice softened, eyes meeting yours. “I wanna hear you say it.”

You exhaled, shaking your head at him. Hopeless.

But still, you smiled, nudging his foot with yours. “Jay, you’ve been my boyfriend since the moment we wrote that song.”

His expression shifted—just slightly. Just enough for you to catch the flicker of something real in his eyes.

Then, in typical Jay fashion, he smirked. “Oh, so you’re admitting it was a love song?”

You groaned, laughing as you reached over to shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Jay caught your wrist before you could pull away, tugging you toward him. And before you could react, before you could even tease him for it—

He kissed you.

Soft. Unhurried. Just enough pressure to steal your breath, just enough warmth to send a slow, steady hum through your veins.

When he pulled back, he grinned, voice barely above a whisper.

“So, you wanna write another one?”

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[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 15.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of mate marks, trust issues

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: I know, I know... It's been wayyyy too long. What can I say? Live happened. Also, I was super unmotivated to write since I didn't know where this story was going. But... I had some intense thoughts about it. So... voilá!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Carefully, y/n traces the soft pink skin on her neck. She wishes she had a mirror and looks at the scar that Katsuki left behind. She presses her lips together. Right now, she's sitting in the tub washing off the grime and sickness of the past week. Ever since waking up, Katsuki has been uncharacteristically attentive and careful around y/n.

Part of y/n still wants to be angry with Katsuki but she finds it hard to be harsh towards him when he lingers around her like a shy dog who got punished by its owner. She notices how he tries to keep his hands on himself. Only late at night can she feel him touching her gently when he thinks she's already deep asleep.

There's a rustle from the curtain that marks the doorway back into the tent. Katsuki enters the bath hut without announcing himself. Quickly, y/n tries to cover up herself with her arms.

“Nothin' I haven't seen yet, doll.”, Katsuki comments dryly.

It sours his mood that y/n is clearly uncomfortable with him seeing her naked. He thought that after the marking, she'd feel more relaxed and secure around him, but clearly, that's not the case. Instead of strengthening their relationship, the marking pushed them back. Y/n doesn't seem to trust him like before.

He strides over to the tub and holds out some fresh linen for y/n. Hesitantly, y/n takes the cloth and gestures for Katsuki to turn around.

Katsuki turns around in defeat. He tries to suppress the feeling of annoyance rising within him. He promised to take care of y/n, but he also wants them to be happy, preferably together. This also means gaining her trust again and making her see that there's nothing for her to fear.

He hears how y/n gets up and dries herself with the linen. When he turns around, he helps y/n get out of the tub by extending an arm to her.

Y/n waddles into the tent leaving wet footprints behind her. Katsuki watches for a moment how the footprints start to fade before following her.

Maybe I should get her some slippers. The floor must be cold, Katsuki thinks.

When he enters the tent, he sees y/n wrapped in the linen on the bed brushing her hair with her fingers.

She might need a hairbrush for that long-ass hair, too, he ponders.

Y/n looks up and meets his eyes.

“Are there any fresh clothes?”, she asks him and points towards the pile of old clothes on the floor.

Katsuki understands and pulls out a dress he asked one of the older women to make for y/n. He picked the color red to match his eyes and Drami's scales.

Y/n pulls a face. The dress Katsuki is presenting to her is way too revealing. Not in a I-don't-like-showing-off-what-I've-got way but in a it's-way-too-cold-for-that way. Y/n shakes her head disapprovingly. She doesn't fail to notice the disappointed look at Katsuki's face.

“I can't wear that. I'm gonna be sick. Again. Do you want that?”, she tells Katsuki.

Y/n hops off the bed and strides towards Katsuki's closet and starts pulling out more suitable clothes. Katsuki watches her with a scowl. While he finds it endearing that y/n keeps wearing his clothes, he's a bit disappointed that she refuses the dress he had made for her.

When y/n has found everything she needs, she gestures for Katsuki to turn around again. Katsuki sighs and drops the dress on the bed. Adverting his gaze, he starts peeling an apple.

He hears the rustling of clothes. He looks up again when he feels a dip in the bed. Y/n sits there bundled up in way too many layers of his clothes. Katsuki thinks she looks like a drowned rat in it. None of her attractive features are visible in the baggy clothes she's wearing. For a moment, he wonders if that's how her people dress their women but then he remembers the dress she wore when they first met. Actually, where did that dress go? He should keep an eye out for it.

Katsuki sighs and hands y/n the peeled apple slices he cut for her. Y/n happily grabs the plate and starts munching on one of the apple slices.

“Katsuki, you in there?”, he hears Kirishima call from outside the tent.

“Yes, what do you want?”, he calls back grumpily.

After a short moment of silence, Kirishima calls: “Can I come in or are you indecent?”.

Katsuki can feel the blood rising to his face as he gets up from the bed.

“Shut up shitty-face! Come in and tell me what you want!”, he yells back.

Swiftly, Kirishima enters the tent. His eyes fall onto y/n who gives him a small wave.

“The missus is happy, it seems?”, he asks his friend and leader who only gives him a low grumble in return. Kirishima sighs and shakes his head.

“Look, I know you're the leader and everything but let me give you some advice: Spending time with the mate is all good and well. Y/n having a baby would sure be good news to the tribe, but...”, Kirishima starts and Katsuki throws a mean glace his way.

“... but you also should show your face around the settlement. People are starting to question where their boss is.”, Kirishima finishes.

“What are you telling me, Kirishima? That I'm neglecting my role as chief?”, Katsuki barks back.

Kirishima gives him a blank look.

“Yes, Katsuki, that's what I'm saying.”, he answers his friend. Katsuki growls at that and turns around to y/n who almost finished her apple.

“The men talk.”, Kirishima informs him.

“They always do. What do I care about?”, Katsuki answers.

“They talk about you. That you neglect your duties. That this foreign woman bewitched you. That the course we're steering isn't for the good of the people.”, Kirishima says carefully.

“What course?”, Katsuki snaps at him. Kirishima holds his sharp gaze.

“They say that you're in over your head. They think you're afraid and therefore you restrict the tribe's movements. Some even express that the plan of focusing on women probably won't work considering that your own mate almost passed.”, Kirishima explains matter-of-factly.

At that, Katsuki grinds his teeth. Kirishima is loyal, so he's sure the man is telling the truth. But who do these men think they are? They've never led a whole tribe, let alone trying to save one from extinction.

“Fine”, Katsuki says, “Then let's give them something real to talk about.”

~*~*~*~

Y/n watches Katsuki put on his armor. He's been on edge all morning and she doesn't dare to question him about what's going on. He won't understand anyway which will probably put him into an even more sore mood.

Suddenly, Mitsuki enters the tent. She's holding a bowl with a blue paste inside.

“You're a fool.”, she tells his son.

“What?”, he snaps at her while sitting down at the edge of the bed securing a dagger to his side.

“You can't tell me that you think this is a good idea.”, she says but Katsuki only scoffs.

“I'm sure you heard what they say. They start to think I'm an unfit leader. I guess it's time to remind them why I've become their leader in the first place.”, he tells her as he gestures for his mother to

come closer.

Mitsuki only sighs and looks disapprovingly at her son. Then, she steps closer and starts painting stripes and other patterns onto his face and body. Y/n watches intently. She notices that the patterns are different than the ones that were put onto her when she was shown off to the tribe.

“You know I shouldn't be doing this.”, Mitsuki comments.

Katsuki doesn't answer.

“Painting you for war is your mate's task.”, she tells him and Katsuki scoffs again.

“She'll learn in time.”, he replies.

Mitsuki throws a glance at y/n.

“If you say so.”

~*~*~*~

After Mitsuki finishes painting Katsuki's body, she leaves the tent. Katsuki takes a moment to ready himself. Once they leave the tent, it will be all high energy until he returns.

He turns to y/n who is watching him intently. When he doesn't say anything, she tilts her head

questioningly.

Katsuki pats her head and gets up. He grabs his sword and secures it to his belt.

Suddenly, they hear drums outside of the tent.

“The drums of war are calling us.”, Katsuki tells y/n, “Time for us to go.”

He gestures for y/n to get up and follow him outside. Y/n does so without complaining.

Outside, it seems as if the whole tribe is on the street. Y/n sees all men wearing similar paint on their faces as Katsuki. Also, they're all heavily armed.

Y/n looks around alarmed. What's going on? Are they being attacked?

Suddenly she spots Kirishima in the crowd. He's wearing a dim expression. Kirishima makes his way over to Katsuki and y/n.

Y/n oggles at the swirling red patterns that were drawn around Kirishima's armor. Katsuki elbows her roughly and she quickly adverts her gaze.

When Kirishima reaches them, he only says: “You're a fool, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, I've been told so today already.”, Katsuki grumbles.

“I'm not sure if organizing a raid in Todoroki territory is a smart way of securing the loyalty of your subjects.”, Kirishima points out.

“They need to be reminded that I can easily kill them if I have to. The best way of reminding them is to wring a few necks of Todoroki soldiers.”, Katsuki tells him.

Kirishima gives him a long stare.

“I'm sure that's the best way to make your men believe in your leadership skills.”, Kirishima says sarcastically.

A blonde man passes them and gives Katsuki a clap on the back. Y/n remembers that she had seen him before on the day that they arrived at the settlement.

“We're gonna blast these suckers!”, the man whoops and disappears in the crowd again.

“Denki seems to agree.”, Katsuki notes and Kirishima sighs.

“Denki's an idiot. He'd pick a fight with a bear naked and still think he could win.”, Kirishima complains, but Katsuki only shrugs.

“Do you really think we'll have to fight Todoroki soldiers?”, he asks his chief. Katsuki nods.

“Considering the scouts report and the rising military presence even in the outskirts of the kingdom, we need to be prepared to fight trained soldiers with swords instead of scared farmers with pitchforks.”, Katsuki points out.

Now it's Kirishima's turn to sigh.

“Well, your plan for this raid better be good. I'd really hate to die because our chief's a fool.”, Kirishima replies and starts walking. Katsuki gestures y/n to follow him.

Y/n notes how the entire tribe is walking in the same direction. She didn't know that many people lived in the settlement. There are mostly men and some elderly people. However, she also spots some women here and there. When she tries to smile at them, they quickly avert their gaze.

Katsuki tucks at her arm and pulls her forward. Only then she notices where they are going. Towards the gorge where the dragons live.

The dragons are lined up infront of the gorge. Y/n spots Katsuki's dragon almost immediately. The red one is a lot bigger than all the other dragons, even the mean-looking black ones. At least the green one's not here, y/n thinks and shudders.

She watches as some of the men say goodbye to their loved ones and then heave themselves up on their dragons. She sees a man kissing a woman who looks just out of place like herself. She doesn't seem to enjoy the kiss.

“Y/n”, she hears Katsuki say and she turns to him.

Katsuki is staring sternly in the dragon's direction before turning around to meet her gaze.

“I'll bring glory to you and our tribe.”, he tells her. He doesn't know why he does. It's not like she'd get it.

Softly, he traces the side of her face. Y/n looks up to him with big eyes. He grips her hips and pulls her hips against his.

“I'll come back to ya.”, he promises while running his hand through her hair. Y/n steadies her stance by putting her hands on his chest. Katsuki runs his hand up and down her back before placing it in her hair again. Slowly, he pulls her face towards his and kisses her deeply. Y/n's frozen for a moment, but then she kisses him back carefully.

Eventually, Katsuki pulls back. He places a last kiss on her forehead. Y/n watches Katsuki striding over to his dragon and mounting it. The men cheer.

With a mighty gust of wind, Katsuki and his dragon rise to the sky. Y/n watches as the men follow him. The swarm of dragons set off east and the drums are pounded until the dragons look like tiny ants in the sky.

Y/n turns around and watches the remaining people retreat to the settlement. She's a bit unsure what to do next. Most likely, she can return to Katsuki's tent. But then what? Katsuki and Kirishima are gone and it's not like Nadia will be of any help. Speaking of which, y/n hasn't seen Nadia around anywhere. Did she not come to send off her husband? Probably not, y/n concludes.

Suddenly, a cold, strong hand wraps itself around her arm. Y/n whips her head upwards and is met with a pair of ruby eyes. For a moment, she thinks that Katsuki has returned for her. Of course, that's not the case. It's the woman that Katsuki argued with.

Great, y/n thinks, from all the people helping me out, it just has to be her.

Mitsuki yanks her arm and y/n stumbles after her. They walk back into the settlement in silence.

Mitsuki takes her back to her tent. Inside, her ladies-in-waiting are working on a variety of tasks. Mitsuki points her toward an ancient-looking woman who is sewing. Y/n walks over timidly and the old woman pats at a cushion beside her while talking. Obviously, y/n doesn't understand her but when she hands y/n a torn shirt, a needle and yarn, y/n understands that she wants her to help sewing.

Y/n isn't a great seamstress but she's repaired enough clothes to know what she's doing. Her family never had much money, so she's used to repairing things over and over again. Also, it's kind of a meditative task.

For the next few hours, y/n keeps sewing one clothing piece after another while listening to the chattering of the old woman. She has no clue what the woman is going on about, but she doesn't seem to be unsatisfied with y/n work. Maybe she's just trying to make conversation, y/n thinks. Y/n decides that she likes the old woman.

Eventually, the pile of clothes that needed mending is worked through. The old woman puts the clothes into a basket and with a few words to y/n, she's walking outside the tent. For a moment, y/n thinks about following her. However, the woman gave no indication that y/n should follow her.

Maybe I was just supposed to help out with the clothes, y/n thinks. She turns around looking for Mitsuki. Maybe the woman has a new task for y/n, but the woman cannot be found anywhere. None of the other women are paying attention to y/n, so y/n takes a moment to observe them.

There are two older women peeling potatoes. The women are engrossed in a loud conversation. A young girl is sitting next to them cutting the peeled potatoes into thinner slices. She looks timid and doesn't chirp into the older women's conversation.

Best not to bug these two, y/n decides.

On the other side of the tent, there are two other women around Mitsuki's age, sharpening knives. The one with the blonde hair and the black streaks looks kind of brutish. Y/n contemplates approaching them since her father showed her how to sharpen knives before. Before she can decide against it, she forces herself to approach the women.

The women look up when y/n approaches them. They ask her something but y/n doesn't know how to respond, so she only points at the knives. The women exchange a glance but then make some space for y/n. The woman with the blonde hair starts showing y/n how to sharpen the knife, but y/n already knows the procedure, so she simply takes one of the knives and starts sharpening it. The women watch her for a good minute before deciding that y/n doesn't need any help.

The three of them work in silence which y/n appreciates after the old woman has talked her ear off. Also sharpening knives is a more demanding task than mending clothes. Y/n has to concentrate so that she won't slip and cut herself.

She's so deep in concentration that she doesn't notice Mitsuki entering the tent again and approaching them.

Y/n continues her work and when she thinks the knife is sharp enough, she lifts it against the light to inspect the edge of it. When she lets down the knife again, she notices Mitsuki standing next to her.

A shiver runs down her spine. Gods damn it! How did I not notice her?, y/n thinks.

Mitsuki takes the knife from her and inspects it. The other two women and y/n watch her intently. Eventually, Mitsuki lowers the knife and nods. The blonde woman claps her back. Mitsuki barks an order towards the women and they go back to work. Mitsuki swirls around and leaves the tent again.

I guess that's as much approval as I will get from her, y/n thinks taking the next knife.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[It's been so long, I don't know who of you even is still reading this story. So, I'm probably going to reset the tag list.

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[sandwitchstories]

Not-So Malevolent Shrine

Welcome back to more adventures in Mouse's Mini-verse! I just can't get enough of these two together!

For more adventures with Mouse and Dad!Sukuna, check out my Daddy Duty Series on my AO3 - Here! )

If you prefer to read this story on AO3 click here !

Author's Note: For anyone new to my Dad!Sukuna Series, Mouse is Sukuna's, currently, 2 year old daughter with reader.

Summary: Upon hearing Mouse yelling something in the backyard Sukuna heads out there to investigate. As per usual when this father and daughter combo are left unsupervised, hijinks commence.

WC: 1101

CW: reader is referred to as 'Mama' but not described, toddler dad Sukuna, girl dad!sukuna, true form Sukuna (4 arms), it's pretty much just plain Dilf Sukuna fluff and crack, SFW in every way, just family fluff, father and daughter fluff, I love them together, baby's first attempt at curse techniques

“Ma-leb-pu-tent Shine!!! I said Ma-leb-pu-tent SHIIIINE!!!.... Shine please and Thank you?”

Sukuna headed outside, curious just what his daughter was doing and even more curious about who she was talking to. He found her standing in the yard, doing what looked to be the toddler version of his palm sign for Malevolent Shrine. Ah, so that’s what she was trying to say.

“Mouse. What are you doing?” he asked, startling her and watching her whip around to face him.

“I tryin’ to do shine like Papa does but it no want to come for me. I even said please and thank you,” she told him with a frustrated look on her face.

“It is shrine not shine.” He stopped in front of her, towering over the toddler with his arms crossed. 

“I says that.”

“Why do you have a need of Malevolent Shrine, brat?” he asked, lips pursed as he waited for an explanation.

“That,” she turned and pointed behind her.

Sukuna saw the decent sized watermelon sitting in the grass a short distance away. He glanced down at her and asked why she had not done what should obviously have been her first choice before trying to unleash shrine. “Why didn’t you just ask Uraume or your mother?”

“No! Papa! Uhm… they no know…” she scratched her little pink head as she looked up at him.

His daughter may be a thief but at least she did not lie. He smirked down at her, “They told you to wait until after dinner, didn’t they?”

“Yes… but  starving Papa. I no have a tummy mouth but my tummy is empty and hungry, Papa!” She looked up at him with big huge pleading eyes.

Sukuna sighed before kneeling down on one knee. He reached out a hand and gripped her arm, pulling her closer with a gentle but firm tug. He tapped the tip of her little turned up nose when she looked up at him. Time to set her straight. Better do it while she was still young.

He kissed her forehead and turned her around so she was in front of him facing the watermelon. “Since the watermelon is only 1 thing and it has a small circumference-”

“Whats a cir-cub-prince?”

“Circumference. Its how big a circle needs to be. Notice how the watermelon is not very big?” she nodded. “That means it would be better to use a single slashing attack. Now, Do you want slices or chunks?”

“Chunks, please and thank you, Papa!” she said in a tone of victory, cheering her little hands up.

“Alright. Then this is what you want to use. Dismantle!” he moved his hand and the watermelon fell apart into perfect cubes.

“Thank you, Papa!!” Mouse bolted from his arms towards the juicy pile of green and pink contraband. She jumped up and down, squealing with delight before leaning down to grab a piece in either hand and come running towards him. She held up a piece to him. “You have some too, Papa!”

And wouldn’t luck have it that the moment he sunk his teeth in he heard your voice from behind. He didn’t have to look to know your hands were on your hips and your face was pinched in frustration. “What do you two think you are doing? You’re going to ruin your appetites!”

“Uh-oh, Papa!” Mouse said in a loud whisper to him. “She got her stink face on. We in big trouble.”

If you had heard her words or seen his face when she said it, he knew they would both be did. Even if not a single word she spoke was a lie. It was the perfect description for it. “Go get a piece for Mama. I’ll try to smooth it over.”

“Okay, Papa!” she nodded and took off running while he stood to face you. “I came outside to find her trying to use Malevolent Shrine to cut the watermelon she admittedly stole. But don’t worry precious one, I have corrected the error of her ways.”

“Here, mama!” Mouse said as she came running back, holding up a piece for you and eating a fresh new piece in her other hand.

“Oh you did?” You asked him, taking the watermelon from Mouse. You looked down at her and brushed bach hair from her eyes with your fingers. “So Papa already talked to you about how stealing is bad?”

“Nope! Papa taught me that to make little chunks you need to use dibanedele not Ma-leb-pu-tent shine. Because of the cir-cub-prince of a watermelon,” she explained as she held onto your robes with her sticky free hand.

You glared at Sukuna who just shrugged his shoulders. “I told you I corrected her on the error of her ways.”

“Papa is the best Papa!” Mouse laughed happily, blissfully unaware that you were conjuring the image of squashing her father’s head over and over and over again in your mind. She ran off to get more melon. 

“That’s your version of correcting the error of her ways?” you grumbled as he smirked. You shook your head, a small smile tugging at one corner of your lips. “I should have known before I even asked.”

“Mama, Papa! Come have more with me, please and thank you!” Mouse called, gesturing with her hands for you to join her.

You once again found yourself adopting the ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ mentality with a sigh. You grabbed one of his hands and gave it a tug,  “Come on, we better go help her. There’s too much evidence there for her to eat all of it by herself and Uraume will be looking for that watermelon soon.”

“You want to teach her to eat the evidence of her crimes but I got the stink face merely for correcting which technique she needed for that situation?” he arched an eyebrow at you. 

Your eyes narrowed on his face. “Excuse me? Stink face?”

“Don’t be mad, precious one, it describes it accurately.”

You laughed and let him pull you in for a kiss. You cupped his face with your hands, letting him kiss you softly several times before you pulled back. “I supposed my having a stink face pairs well with your being a stinky head.”

“Ouch,” he said, screwing up his face and letting you go.

“Ouch in deed, ouch indeed. Now come, my beloved, we must go assist our little delinquent in covering her tracks.” It was a  life full of craziness that you led, but there was nowhere else you would rather be and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[egalitarian-tomboy]

Sonic, Amy, and the Koco Lovers

In Frontiers, Amy gets Sonic to help her give the Koco closure so they can move on from their haunted shells. One quest in particular revolves around reuniting a Koco with her lover before it's too late. Since they were too shy in life to confess, they might have a chance at being together in the next life.

Immediately this situation reminds the Sonamy fans who've been here from the beginning about the infamous Q&A magazine section where Team Sonic says & I Quote: "Although Sonic is clearly interested in her, Sonic has always been too shy to declare his feelings."

(Image not mine, but it's the highest quality I've found thus far.)

What a coincidence that Sonic and Amy would be helping a haunted love story find its rightful conclusion that so similarly mirrors their own. With Sonic in the past literally running away from Amy's advancements yet undeniably harboring the same feelings for her as she does for him. His pride and private personality often conflicting with his true thoughts about romantic love. We all know how Amy loves Sonic unconditionally and how over time her love transformed from being a girlhood crush to being a mature love.

Amy is far from being shy, but the Koco Lovers' predicament seems like a callout for Sonic about his relationship with Amy being stuck in a romantic limbo. Constantly teetering between friendship and true commitment.

When Sonic tries to get Amy to leave the Koco alone to figure out things on their own, while literally gesturing to the Koco trying to find her lost lover, Amy yells at him that they have to see it through. When she asks if he would leave behind someone in need, when one of the many reasons why she loves him is because he will help those in need, he says no BUT he's also worried about her. All the while gazing at her like THIS:

This is by far the most vulnerable we've ever seen him with Amy in the entire series. BY FAR. He's not the type of guy to give up on anyone who needs help, but he's so worried about her and the fact that she's stuck in a digital limbo that he hasn't made any progress in getting her out of yet. She's so focused on helping others that Sonic reminds her that she can't truly help anyone in her current state. After thinking on his words she agrees and tells him to hurry up and rescue her so that way they can find Tails. He grins and tells her it sounds simple enough.

Little did they know they were about to unknowingly see the heartbreaking reuniting between the ghost shelled lovers. They're given a flashback to the moment when they reunited on the field of a warzone. The romantic surrounding of flowers their final resting spot as they share their first and last embrace. Amy doesn't understand what's going on and thinks it's happening in real time and Sonic has to hold her back from possibly getting hurt herself. When the flashback is over Amy rushes to where the Koco rushed to meet her lover for them to find the ghost shells together at last for their proper rest.

Sonic turns his attention to Amy as she sinks to her knees and softly laments that they were reunited right before their death. Knowing how too close to home this situation was for her, he gazed in silence for a moment thinking about what he's going to say before reassuring her that they were together now. He lets her grieve for a moment while he explores the area around them to look for more clues. But you can clearly tell that the flashback had an emotional impact on him as well.

When he comes back to check up on her, she tells him that they witnessed a love that transcended time and that she knew she wanted to share that love story with the world. Even though it may take them far apart.

*SCREECHING CAR BREAK*

She's no longer talking about the Koco lovers. She's talking about THEM. AS IN HER AND SONIC.

She's telling Sonic that she knows what she wants to do after everything is over and how they might not see each other again for some time until she returns. Who knows where she'll go or how long she'll be gone for. But she wants to journey by herself or with a small group to tell others about the power of this love story she witnessed. When she comes to that painful conclusion she's conflicted and grieved.

That is, until Sonic kneels down and looks at her like this:

And tells her he knows she'll do great and that he wants to hear all about it when she comes back. Smiling at her and giving her a nod when she gazes back up into his eyes.

I DON'T THINK YOU GET IT: AMY BASICALLY SAID "I WANT TO LEAVE TO SHARE THIS LOVE STORY BUT WE WON'T BE TOGETHER AND THAT SCARES ME." AND SONIC'S RESPONSE WAS "NO MATTER HOW FAR APART WE ARE OR HOW LONG YOU'RE GONE - I'LL BE WAITING FOR YOU & I WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR ADVENTURE WHEN YOU GET BACK."

Along with Amy's desire to share the Koco Lovers' story, there's a silent question within her declaration. Unlike in the past where she openly and proudly proclaimed herself to be Sonic's Girlfriend to everyone around her and how he was hers like some kind of trophy, When she says "It may take us far apart." she's asking him if he loves her the same way. Not as a friend but as a Lover.

Now in the rare trigger lines that you can find within the game, there's a moment where Sonic says "Amy...I should've made up my mind sooner." implying his conflicted thoughts about confessing his feelings for her and keeping his "Free as the Wind" lifestyle. But after everything that happened, I believe that he was finally ready to give her a real response.

Which was: "I know you'll do great. I want to hear all about it when you come back."

With the silent answer to her silent question about if he loves her too being: "I do and I'll be waiting for you to return to me."

Which is why you see her eyes grow wide at his response. Because he didn't joke his way out of it or tell her she was talking crazy about calling them lovers. He accepted her, truly accepted her at long last and was ready to give her his heart fully.

It really puts into perspective that Amy's memory tokens were literal HEARTS and the final quest before the big showdown was the Koco lovers.

Sonic's first "Trial" was love. His reward for completing that trial was finally moving forward in his relationship with Amy.

[lynmars79]

Given the strength of so many one shots and short form like Candela over the last few years, not to mention C1 and C2, this "defense" makes no sense and if nothing else admits to the problems of C3.

My roommate's assumption is with so many other ventures going on, expansion of the business, more content and the animated series, on top of still voice acting in other projects, if they just didn't wear themselves too thin and the main campaign ended up as self-indulgent and laid back as a result. She thought it would be a perfectly adequate home game - and I agree, having played in a few that meandered easily (I also learned as a GM myself to avoid some of the mistakes made in C3, like being too nice, not saying no, not following through, etc).

But whatever the reason for it - as again, all we really have are assumptions about what we the public can observe - this campaign turned out very different in terms of party dynamics and resolution than any other content CR has produced.

And if the nicest thing one can say is "well the cast enjoyed themselves" for a publicly broadcast show - NOT a home game - and think that improv is the excuse for professional storytellers, doing this for a decade with multiple acclaimed productions behind them, to not deliver a satisfying story, then it's not even damning with faint praise, it's just damning.

genuinely, no criticism I have about Campaign 3 will ever be as harsh and insulting as people who keep trying to defend it by saying "why do you want coherence or stakes or narrative follow through from an actual play? it's a ttrpg game, you can't expect it to have these things. also, the ending being happy is more important than any of those things."

like, that is the meanest thing you can say about this campaign, the storytelling ability of the cast, and actual play as a narrative form. that you can't expect coherence and stakes and narrative follow through from any it and that personal wish fulfillment is more important to the work than telling a good story.

that "defense" is perhaps the most belittling and demeaning of the show as an artwork and of the cast as storytellers and of the form as a medium I've seen in a while. genuinely meaner and more dismissive than any criticisms of this campaign I've seen.

"it's fine and good because you can't expect it to make sense or be anything other than self-indulgence" Jesus Christ. if a significant number of people tried to defend MY work like this, I'd spend the next several months doing some serious soul searching.

[bennysmiller]

Treat You Better - Part One (Triple Frontier x You)

A new series in which the Triple Frontier boys help you through a breakup, and it changes everything.

The iced latte that sits in front of you doesn’t hit like it usually does and now you’re sure that the worst part about having a broken heart is that it ruins everything for you. You can’t even feed your caffeine addiction without thinking of him.

“So,” Benny starts, hoping to finally get your attention. “You’re looking well.”

You look up at the four men around your table, all of whom seem awkward at the lack of conversation.

“I’m looking well?” You repeat, with a mix of disgust and confusion in your voice, while tugging at your somewhat messy hair and cringing at the bags that sit so proudly under your eyes.

“I mean, considering, you know…everything.” Replied Benny, trying his absolute best to not offend you.

He’s referencing the breakup. Evidently, there is no “post-breakup glow”, your friends had lied to you. You’re a mess. A mess that even coffee couldn’t fix.

“Well, thank you Ben. How charming.”

Frankie clears his throat at this and turns to you.

“What he means, is that you’re handling it a lot better than your last breakup.”

That did not make it any better. You glare at Frankie in response, and this time, Will sits forward, his arms crossed on the table. If looks could kill, Benny and Frankie would be well and truly dead, and Will would be the one holding the gun. That’s shut everyone up, you think to yourself.

“I’ve had enough of this silence. What are we all feeling like doing tonight? Movie night? Something stronger than coffee? Running out into the traffic?” You say, trying to break the tension. After all, you caused it. You invited everyone to the coffee shop just to attend the funeral of your relationship.

No one says anything. Instead, the guys all exchange looks with each other, like they know something you don’t. Like they already have plans they don’t want to tell you about. To your right, Frankie starts playing with his baseball cap and runs a hand through those curls of his. Will is looking at his lap. Benny has a slight smirk on his face, one you know all too well.

The atmosphere between all of you has shifted now. As you go around the table, you discover that Santi is looking at you with a very specific look in those eyes of his. But he looks elsewhere when you meet his gaze, and you know something is up.

“What is wrong with all of you? Has this emotional mess I have become put you off as well?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at them.

“It’s the opposite,” says Frankie, a slight nervousness in his voice. “Benny?”

Now you’re confused. You look at Benny, waiting for him to explain.

He still has that smirk on his face and it’s starting to piss you off. Just a little. It melts you, the way he looks so cocky and handsome and perfect. But he’s being a dick by not answering you, so you shrug at him to further demand a response.

“You think you could ever put us off? You couldn’t be more wrong. We have an idea. A game. We love you, but you have terrible taste in men, sweetheart. We hate seeing you so heartbroken. We think we could change that.”

There is something much different in the air now. It isn’t an uncomfortable tension of awkward silence over bad coffee. It’s an excitement you want to know more about. So for the first time since the breakup, of course it is Benny fucking Miller who has managed to bring the butterflies within you back to life. All you needed was for him to light the spark the last man put out, and now you’re overwhelmed with confidence.

“Go on, Miller. Don’t leave me hanging.”

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 20

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

Chapter 20

“Wow, the view from here is insane. I can’t believe this is just down the street from the house.” Y/n looks out the large glass windows that make up the cafe up on a hill looking over the beach. “And all those boats out there.”

“This side of the island is a pretty good fishing spot this time of year.” Changbin smiles at her as they are waiting in line to order drinks.

“Do you guys like to go fishing?” She finally turns away from the windows for the first time to look at her two dates. 

“Not really.” Jisungs shakes his head. “Main thing is Minho doesn’t like water, so.”

“He seemed to be fine on the ferry we took to get here.”

“It’s because it’s a bigger boat than one you would go fishing on.” Changbin chuckles. “Plus he’s done the trip so many times he’s used to it by now. He hated it the first few times we came down here.”

“Though he doesn’t usually stay in the water for very long, so the fact that he stayed for a while when we had our beach day really says something.” Jisung thinks about it a little. “Maybe it's because of you that he’s getting more comfortable with it.”

“I doubt that.” The omega gives a small snort before finally looking up at the menu board as they are getting closer to the front of the line. “What are you guys getting?”

“Ice americanos.” They two males say at the same time making Y/n laugh when they look at each other shocked. 

“What do you want to drink, angel?” Jisung wraps his arm around her shoulders. 

“Well, I’ve never actually had coffee before.” She continues to scan the menu. “And I don’t want to get one to try in case I don’t like it.”

“You can try ours to see if you like it for next time.” Changbin nudges her shoulder. “Though I feel like you’ll be like Felix and won’t like it. But they do have smoothies if you want that.”

Y/n looks at the smoothies part of the menu and sighs. “There’s so many flavors, how do you choose?” 

“We’ll pick one for you.” The beta squeezes her shoulders. “Are there any fruits you don’t like?”

“Pineapple.”

“Alright, we won’t pick anything with pineapple.” Jisung laughs. 

Once it’s their turn Changbin steps up to the counter to order while Jisung and Y’n stand near the side, the older swaying them a little as they wait for their alpha. 

“Can I get two large ice americanos and one large strawberry banana smoothie?”

Once they’ve gotten their drinks they walk out of the cafe and instead of heading down to the beach like Y/n thought, they lead her across the street to a large park and garden. 

“Here, pretty girl, try it.” Changbin hands her his Americano and she takes a sip only to make a face with a scrunched up nose making both males laugh. “I figured you wouldn’t like it.”

“Made the same face Lixie always makes.” Jisung shakes his head. 

“How’s the smoothie?” Changbin asks after she hands him back his drink and immediately drinks hers. 

“So much better than yours, that’s for sure.” She then looks around as they start walking through the park. “So what is this place?” 

“Jeju is known for having a lot of beautiful parks and gardens.” Jisung grabs her hand that isn’t holding her drink. “This one is one of my favorites and not just because it’s walking distance from the house meaning I can walk here with either an alpha or a beta.” 

“Usually Jinnie takes him so he can paint while Ji walks around the place.” Changbin looks at the beta. “But he wanted so badly to take you here too and asked if this could be our date.” 

“Aww, Jisungie.” Y/n leans her head against his shoulder. “Where’s yours and Hyun's favorite place to go in here?”

“Follow me.” 

Jisung leads the two through the park and into the guarded area. Hundreds of different flowers are blooming and the smells are amazing. They go to a bridge over a small river and they can hear the sound of a waterfall. 

“This is both of our favorite spot.” Jisung points to the waterfall with trees hanging over it, flower petals falling off the branches into the water. 

The omega gasps at how beautiful it is. “Wow Ji, this place is amazing.”

“Look in the water.” Changbin leans into her side pointing just below them. “A bunch of koi fish.”

“They’re so pretty.” 

“Come on, there’s more.” 

Jisung drags the two of them around the whole garden. They would occasionally sit on a bench and take in the scenery. Y/n remembering she has a phone again started taking pictures of everything. She sent a few to Hyunjin asking if he could paint her a mural of one of them on her wall in her room. And the three of them took a few pictures together sending them to the group chat after realizing they need to take pictures with Y/n now as they don’t have any. 

“Woah.” Y/n’a eyes light up as they reach the exit of the garden on the other side of the park where there are trees lining the path, millions of flower petals littering the ground and more still falling. 

She runs ahead of them to go down the path and they follow along smiling at her. 

“You chose a good date Ji.” The alpha takes the youngest’s hand and uses his other to take pictures of the girl. “I don't think we've ever seen her like this before.” 

“I hope we get to see this more often now.”

They reach the end of the path where their omega is waiting for them with a huge smile.

“You’ve got flower petals in your hair, baby.” Changbin chuckles and lets go of Jisungs hand and they both start picking the petals off of her. 

“The next time we come to the island can we go to more of the parks and gardens?” 

“I’m sure we can.” Jisung grins. “Remember, the alphas can’t say no to Lix and I. Adding you in when asking for stuff, oh they’re done for.” 

Changbin hits him on the back of the head, making him pout. “Don’t go having any ideas.” 

The alpha then takes Y/n’s hand and she grabs Jisungs and they start walking through the park to head back to the house. They see some pups playing on the playground and a pack set up at one of the gazebos. 

“Y/n?” A teen beta girl walks over to the three of them and gets excited at seeing the omega. “Oh my god it is you.” She runs up to her and hugs her, Y/n stands in shock letting go of both of her dates hands, before the teen turns and calls to a younger alpha boy. “Kwan, go get grandma and grandpa, it’s Y/n.” 

“No, Nobi…” But Y/n was too late as Kwan has already run off to the gazebo to grab two of the adults and she turns to her two mates after letting go of the teen. “We need to go.” 

“Why are you going? We haven’t seen you in two weeks.” Nobi pouts. “Grandma said you went to visit your dad in Japan. What are you doing here? And who are they?”

“Nobi, I need to go.” She’s getting desperate to leave now and Changbin and Jisung can tell. 

“Let's go, Y/n.” Changbin wraps his arm around her trying to move her past the teen but they weren’t fast enough as Kwan was already back with an older alpha male and a beta female. 

“Y/n, there you are.” The beta gasps and smiles walking up to her, grabbing her from Changbin to hug. Y/n stands still in both shock and fear. “Where have you been? You just ran off and we tried looking for you. Someone found your car abandoned at a park but you were nowhere around and no one came forward as witnesses.”

“But you told us she went to Japan.” Kwan looks at the two adults confused before looking at the omega then at Nobi.

“You two go back to playing with the other pups.” The older alpha tells them both. “You’ll be able to talk and ask Y/n questions later.”

They watch the teens run off as Changbin grabs Y/n pulling her back towards him and Jisung protectively, not liking the situation. The older male sees this, eyes narrowing at the scene. 

“Thank you gentlemen for bringing our omega back to us.” He gives a forced smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “As her pack alpha we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again, we can’t thank you enough.”

“We’re not leaving her with you.” Jisung says out of nowhere, shocking even himself at his outburst as it usually isn’t like him, but he doesn't want Y/n to be taken from them.

“And who do you think you are to decide that?” The alpha steps closer to Jisung causing him to cower which Changbin wasn’t going to allow.

“Y/n’s fated mates, that’s who.”

“Even if you are, she’s still under my pack. I haven’t given her to anyone yet.” The man snarls and roughly grabs the girl's wrist, pulling her to him causing her to whimper. 

Y/n doesn’t know what to do or say as her wrist now throbs from how hard he grabbed her. She feels her phone vibrating in her pocket but is too scared to move.

The older female looks Y/n over as if pretending to make sure she’s okay and gasps when she sees Chan's mating bite on one side of her neck. “You claimed her?”

“You claimed my granddaughter without even talking to me first?” He gets mad and shoves Changbin a little. 

“STOP!” 

Y/n’s grandfather looks at her angrily, questioning if she really just dared to speak. “What?” 

“Stop.” She says again, tears pooling at her waterline. “I’m not coming back with you. I’m going back home, with them.” 

“Y/n, we’ve been worried sick about you, we didn’t know where you went.”

“Then why didn’t you ever report her as missing?” Changbin asks, moving Jisung behind him as he tries to get closer to his omega to take her back. “You say you’ve been worried about her but yet she’s been gone for two weeks and there was never a missing persons report filed, I know because we checked. And if you really cared about her so much then why was she bruised, malnourished, and timid when we first found her?”

“Whatever that bitch told you is a lie.” He growls, hating that his own morals are being questioned. “She’s not mentally sane in the head anyways. Why she needs to come back with us.” He looks at the girl again and eyes narrow on the other side of her neck now seeing Felix and Minho’s bites and scoffs. “Always knew you were a slut, getting claimed by more than one man.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She hisses trying to walk past him back to her mates but he grabs her wrist again and when she tries to pull away he slaps her cheek making her stop in shock. 

Her grandfather moves to grab her again making the omega freak out as she tries to scurry away from him causing her to trip over her feet and fall to the ground. 

“Get the fuck away from her.” Changbin rushes forward grabbing the other male just as sirens are heard along with several yelling voices heading their way.

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[sheeple]

Part two to this. This series also has a title now: John has liked your photo! Hope you enjoy this as much as last time. Does it also show how little I know about kissing?

The second time you and John see each other in a cafe in the city centre. This time it's you who suggests meeting up. It made John feel giddy and like a schoolboy again when your text lit up his phone screen.

Your anxiousness made you way too early — as usual. But not too soon after, John appears in the cafe, also way too early. It makes you giggle.

"What is your go-to coffee order?", you ask while waiting in line, eyeing the menu and the delicious-looking pastries.

John hums, his hands clasped behind his back. "I hate to disappoint you, doll, but I'm a black coffee guy. Or tea."

Turning towards him with your eyes wide, not knowing if it is because of the nickname or the confession to drink coffee with nothing in it. "Not even some milk?"

He shakes his head with a smile. "None. If I'm in shipped out I'm happy to get a cuppa so I got used to the stuff raw."

Now you feel stupid for your usual very sweet coffee order. John sees the subtility in your face and he bumps his shoulder against yours. "Well, you are what you eat. So no wonder you're so sweet."

It makes your face heat up and you stumble over your words, not sure how to get out a response.

The line quickly moves along and John orders his black coffee and you your white chocolate mocha. Before he has time to grab his wallet, you've whipped out your phone and paid for it. You give him a daring smile while giving your name.

The two of you go sit in a quiet corner and wait for the coffee to arrive. You are telling some story about what has happened at work this week and halfway your name gets called out. John holds out his hand so you can stay put, and he grabs the order.

"Sorry, go on", he says with a smile when he returns with the coffees, placing yours in front of you with the ear facing your dominant hand.

"So", you say after finishing your story, "we haven't really talked about what we seek. You know... with dating and such." You nervously trace the rim of the glass, glancing up at the man.

John's leaning relaxed back into the chair, his legs spread wide and a comfortable smile on his face. "Gauging the vibe, doll?"

You can't help but feel your cheeks heat up again as you slink slightly down. "Maybe. Wouldn't want to waste your time if you want something completely different than me." You shrug, trying to play it cool.

That makes him lean forward a bit. "You sayin' that your time's less valuable than mine?"

That leaves you gaping like a fish. And it makes John crack a cheeky smile, showing he's teasing you.

"So do I have to worry about crazy exes or something?", he asks with a smile.

You shrug, putting your hair behind your ear. "Don't have to worry about something that's never been there", you say casually, taking a sip of your drink.

John's eyes bulge out of their sockets. Did he hear you correctly? Have you never dated anyone? How could such a wonder as you not have boys and men lined up and down the street, jumping for just a glance from you?

"Do I?", you ask timidly at his wide eyes and no response.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he clears his throat. Now is the time to come clean. "I mean... not like you have to worry about her, but there is my ex-wife."

"Wife?!" You clasp a hand over your mouth as you said that a bit too loud. "A-and for how long are you divorced? If I may ask, at least."

John smiles at your bashfulness. "Almost two years. We were married just short of a year. It was impulsive and I quickly discovered that being married to her wasn't as great as I thought it would be."

Unconsciously, you reach out and take hold of his hand. You can understand how hard it is to admit something like that to practically a stranger. "It must have been hard, going through that time in your life. Never mind the judgement of others."

He nods. "Something like that. It was more of the pitying glances of my family and their comments that got me at first. Their opinions about her and me and our relationship weren't always the kindest. But you get used to it and after a while, you get desensitized."

As you open your mouth to say something, a call of your name makes the two of you turn your heads. "Oh lord", you mumble as your aunt and cousin come walking towards the two of you.

"How are you, dear? " your aunt smiles widely, pulling you up for a hug. "I haven't seen you in a while! How's school? Oh, right. Your mum told me you quit and are working now. How do you like it? And who is this?" She turns her attention towards John.

The man dutiful stands up and offers his hand to your aunt. "John Price, ma'am."

From behind your aunt, you see your cousin lean over and mouth the words, "Who's that?", to you. "Date", you mouth back. She checks him once over and nods in appreciation.

"Oh mum, didn't you say you needed to go to that one store before it closes?", asks your cousin loudly, pulling the attention from your aunt.

"Right! It was lovely meeting you, John. See you next time, dear." Your aunt kisses both your cheeks as a goodbye before pulling her daughter behind her. You just know you'll get a text from her later on to demand the tea.

"I am so sorry", you laugh as you sit back down, hiding your face behind your hands.

John joins you and shakes his hands. "It's fine. Aunts are kinda my speciality."

"Really?"

"No", he smiles.

The rest of the afternoon goes by with smiles and laughs and good conversation until the staff has to, again like last time, kick you out and you're reluctant to say goodbye to John.

He walked to your car. It cracked him up to see the bright yellow car that lights up when you press the unlock button. Oh, how fitting of you to drive such an eyesore.

You hoover by the door, fiddling with your keys. "I had a really good time today, John." You shyly look up, your cheeks radiating heat.

John slowly inches closer, laying a hand on your cheek. "I did too." His eyes flicker between your own and your lips. You can't help but swipe your tongue over your bottom lip before taking it between your teeth.

"I desperately wanted to kiss you all day. Can I kiss you?"

Looking at him, you nod, searching for the right words. Stumbling out a 'yeah', John closes the distance and lightly presses his lips against yours.

Not knowing what to do, you lean into the kiss and close your eyes. John slides his other hand around your middle to pull you flush against his body. Your hands feel awkward so you replicate what you've seen over the years in movies and TV and place them first on his shoulders before sliding to the back of his neck.

A soft grumble comes from deep within his chest before you pull back, feeling like you are going to pass out if you don't. Either from the lack of air or your first-ever kiss.

Smiling wide, John rests his forehead against yours. "How am I to drive away from you now, doll."

You shrug, still slightly out of breath. "I'm wondering that myself." A giggle escapes you, licking your lips. "But I really have to go through... My parents are waiting for me. We're going to my grandma..."

"Those blasted parents of yours", teases John, letting go of you. "But if you have to go. Text me when you get home safe?"

You nod, opening your car door. "Will do. You too?"

John nods with a smile and watches how you drive away. Dear God. Is he crazy that he could envision the rest of his life together with you after the second date?

[28harryssunflower]

Royal scandal - a mini series: Part 1/4

Royal scandal: Part 1

The grand dining hall of Buckingham Palace was oppressively silent, save for the sound of silverware clinking against fine china. Candlelight flickered off the polished mahogany table, casting long shadows across the velvet-draped walls.

Harry pushed the food around on his plate, barely listening to his mother’s polite small talk with one of the visiting dignitaries. His father sat at the head of the table, regal as always, his expression unreadable.

Then, with a deliberate clearing of his throat, King Edward turned his attention to Harry.

“It’s time we discuss something important,” the King said, setting his wine glass down with a soft clink. The conversation around them quieted instantly.

Harry sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Do we have to?”

“Yes.” His father’s tone was firm. “You are twenty-one, Harry. It’s time you start taking your responsibilities seriously.”

Harry exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. “I am taking my responsibilities seriously.”

The King scoffed. “Is that what you call the drunken outings? The constant presence of your name in the tabloids? The string of women you leave behind without a second thought?”

A muscle in Harry’s jaw tightened. “What I do in my personal life is my business.”

“Not when you are the Prince of England.” The King’s voice grew sharper. “You cannot behave like some reckless commoner with no obligations. Your duty is to this country, to your people. It is time to act like it.”

Queen Anne sighed softly, placing a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “Perhaps we should discuss this privately.”

“No, we will discuss this now,” the King said. “Harry needs to understand the weight of his position.” He turned back to Harry, eyes cold and unwavering. “You will be married within the next six months.”

Harry froze.

His fork clattered against his plate, the sound echoing through the silent room.

“What?”

“You heard me,” his father continued. “You are of age, and it is time you settle down. If you do not find a suitable wife soon, I will choose one for you.”

Harry let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious.”

The King’s expression didn’t waver. “I am.”

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t just force me into a marriage.”

“You are a prince, Harry. This is how things work. A marriage will stabilize your image and strengthen alliances. You will choose a woman of noble standing, someone with grace, intelligence, and the ability to uphold the duties of a princess. No more scandals, no more reckless behavior.”

Harry pushed his chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the marble floor. “And what if I refuse?”

His father’s eyes darkened. “Then I will make the decision for you.”

Harry clenched his fists, rage bubbling beneath his skin. “So that’s it? You’d just hand me off to some woman I don’t even love? Someone who only cares about the title, the money, the power?”

His father’s gaze remained hard. “Love is a luxury, not a necessity.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You already have everything you want.”

Queen Anne frowned, her voice softer. “Harry, I know this may seem unfair, but-“

“No.” He cut her off, his voice sharp. “It’s not fair. It’s my life.”

His father stood, his towering presence only adding to the tension. “You are a prince before you are a man. And you will do what is required of you.”

Harry’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His entire life had been dictated by duty, by expectations, by rules. But this? This was too far.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the dining hall, ignoring the calls of his mother and the murmurs of the guests. He needed air. He needed an escape.

That was how he found himself in the heart of London hours later, dressed in worn jeans and a hoodie, stepping into a dimly lit bar.

The place smelled of whiskey and cigarette smoke, the low hum of conversation blending with the faint sound of a jukebox playing an old rock song. It was exactly what he needed.

Behind the bar, you were wiping down the counter when he approached. You recognized him immediately - how could you not? He was the Prince of England, his face plastered across tabloids and news outlets constantly.

But instead of gawking or treating him like royalty, you simply raised an eyebrow.

“What’ll it be?”

Harry smirked, but there was a bitterness to it. “You’re not gonna bow or curtsy?”

You snorted, leaning on the counter. “You want me to? ’Cause I’m pretty sure you came in here looking like a regular bloke for a reason.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. Most people fawned over him, desperate for a selfie or a conversation that they could brag about later. But you… you didn’t seem to care.

And for the first time that day, Harry felt like he could breathe.

So he told you everything. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way you just listened, nodding along without judgment. You even did a few shots with him, making sure he had a good time. He didn’t have to be Prince Harry here - he could just be Harry.

And when the night ended, it didn’t feel like a mistake when he ended up in your bed.

One night turned into two. Then three. Then a routine.

Harry kept coming back, and you never asked for anything more than what he was willing to give. No expectations, no pressure. Just him.

But that all came crashing down one night when, at nearly 3AM, frantic knocking at your door jolted you awake.

You barely had time to open it before Harry barreled inside, his face streaked with tears, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“I can’t do this,” he choked out, collapsing into your arms. “My father’s going to start looking for a wife for me. I can’t- I won’t… be forced into some loveless marriage with a woman who only wants the title. I just want-“ He sucked in a breath. “I just want to be happy. I want love. A real family. Not something arranged for me like I’m some pawn.”

You held him, running soothing circles along his back. You wanted to say something comforting, but what words could possibly fix this?

And then, an idea struck.

“Harry,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his red-rimmed eyes. “What if… what if you introduced me to them?”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“What if we got married?” You swallowed hard, nervous about his reaction. “I mean, at least we like each other. It wouldn’t be forced. And it’d buy you time - keep you from being stuck with someone awful.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “They’d never let me marry a bartender.”

“Then I won’t be a bartender.” You took a breath. “I’ll tell them I’m in college, that I’d drop out for you. We can make this work - we just have to convince them.”

He stared at you, searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

Then, against all odds, a small, breathless laugh escaped his lips.

“You’re mad.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But so are you for coming here at 3AM crying in my arms.”

Harry let out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, he looked at you again - really looked at you.

“Alright,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s do it.”

The plan was simple.

Well, as simple as introducing a commoner bartender to the King and Queen of England under the guise of being a respectable college student could be.

Harry sat across from you in your small apartment, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as he stared at the floor. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of the world pressing down on him.

“This is crazy,” he muttered.

You leaned back against the couch, crossing your arms. “A little.”

“They’ll never go for it.”

You shrugged. “Not if you walk in there doubting it. You have to make them believe it.”

Harry let out a deep sigh and dragged his hands through his curls. You could tell he was struggling. He wanted a way out of this marriage arrangement, but deceiving his family - especially his mother - wasn’t something he took lightly.

“You know they’ll do a background check on you, right?” he asked.

“Obviously,” you said. “Which is why we have to be smart. I’ll tell them I’m in school, that I study… something impressive.”

“Political science,” Harry said quickly. “That would make sense. It would explain why we met - maybe at some charity event or lecture I attended.”

You nodded. “Right. And we’ve been seeing each other for months now, just keeping it quiet.”

Harry exhaled sharply, glancing over at you. “And you’d really do this?”

You looked at him, taking in the uncertainty in his eyes. This wasn’t just about helping him avoid a loveless marriage. It was more than that. Somewhere along the way, what started as casual hookups and late-night conversations had turned into something deeper. You liked him - more than you should have, more than you were willing to admit.

So you swallowed down the nerves creeping up your spine and nodded. “Yeah. I would.”

His lips parted slightly, his gaze searching yours. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he must have found it.

Because he whispered, “Okay.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparation.

Harry took care of the logistics, ensuring that you were given the right credentials, setting up a believable history of your supposed time at university. He even had someone help polish up your online presence - social media accounts cleaned up, LinkedIn updated with impressive details that made you sound like a brilliant up-and-coming scholar rather than a bartender slinging drinks to London’s rowdiest crowds.

Meanwhile, you practiced.

You memorized details about your “studies,” learned the etiquette of addressing royals properly (even though Harry assured you that his parents wouldn’t expect you to bow or curtsy), and prepared answers for the inevitable questions about your background.

But the hardest part wasn’t the preparation.

It was the waiting.

The night before you were supposed to meet them, Harry stayed over. You sat together on your couch, both nursing glasses of whiskey, the air between you heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“If this goes wrong…” Harry murmured, staring at his glass.

You shifted closer to him. “Then we deal with it.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Maybe it is.”

Harry turned his head toward you, his green eyes filled with something unreadable. His gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest moment before he shook his head and looked away.

“I don’t deserve this,” he muttered.

You frowned. “Don’t deserve what?”

“This. You.” He swallowed. “I dragged you into this mess, and you’re willing to lie to my entire family just to help me.”

Your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t just about helping him.

But instead, you smirked and nudged his shoulder. “Well, I’m not doing it for free. I expect lifetime access to the palace’s wine collection.”

Harry huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Deal.”

Buckingham Palace was even more intimidating in person.

You had never been inside before, and now, standing in the grand foyer with its towering ceilings and ornate chandeliers, you felt very, very small.

Harry stood beside you, dressed in a sharp navy suit, looking every bit the prince he was. He had told you not to be nervous, that his mother would be kind and his father would be fair.

But none of that mattered when the King and Queen of England entered the room.

Queen Anne was graceful and poised, her smile warm as she took you in. She was beautiful, elegant in a way that made you understand why the country adored her.

King Edward, on the other hand, was… intimidating. His gaze was sharp, assessing, his posture rigid as he studied you.

“So,” the King said, his voice deep and measured. “You are the woman my son has been seeing.”

You straightened your spine, keeping your expression polite but neutral. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

There was a pause. The tension in the room was thick, like everyone was waiting for someone to say something that would determine the entire outcome of this meeting.

Queen Anne smiled. “Harry has spoken highly of you.”

You glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched.

You turned back to her. “That’s very kind of him.”

“What is it you study?” the King asked.

“Political science,” you answered smoothly. “I’ve always been passionate about government and international relations.”

The Queen tilted her head. “How did you two meet?”

Harry stepped in. “At a private charity event. We got to talking about politics, and we just… connected.”

The King didn’t seem convinced. He studied you for a long moment before finally saying, “And tell me, if this were to continue - if it were to become official - would you be willing to give up your personal ambitions to stand by my son’s side?”

Your stomach twisted. This was the moment.

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “If it meant supporting Harry, then yes.”

The Queen seemed pleased with that answer. The King, however, remained unreadable.

Finally, he looked at Harry. “A word. Alone.”

Harry stiffened, but nodded.

You watched as he followed his father out of the room, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Queen Anne turned to you with a kind smile. “Would you like some tea while they talk?”

You managed a smile, but your mind was racing.

The moment the King led Harry out of the room, your stomach twisted into knots.

Queen Anne, ever the picture of warmth and grace, poured you a cup of tea with delicate hands, as if this were nothing more than an afternoon social call. You tried to steady your nerves, tried to ignore the fact that just beyond these walls, Harry was being confronted by one of the most powerful men in the world.

You wrapped your hands around the fine china cup, more for something to hold than to actually drink from it.

The Queen studied you for a moment before speaking. “I must say, I was quite surprised when Harry told us about you.”

You forced a polite smile. “I imagine so.”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Not because of who you are, but because Harry has never been one to commit. Not to anything that wasn’t forced upon him.”

Your throat tightened. Was this a test? A warning?

“You must mean a great deal to him if he brought you here,” she continued.

You hesitated before responding. “I’d like to think so.”

The Queen smiled knowingly, but there was something sharp in her eyes, something that told you she wasn’t as easily convinced as she seemed.

You were about to say something else when the doors swung open, and Harry reentered. You barely had time to assess his expression before he turned to you.

“We should go.”

Something was wrong.

You set down your tea and rose to your feet, glancing at the Queen, who simply nodded in farewell. As you followed Harry out of the room, you kept your voice low.

“What happened?”

He didn’t respond until you were outside, stepping into the sleek black car waiting to take you away from Buckingham Palace. The second the doors shut, Harry let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“He doesn’t believe it,” he muttered.

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“My father. He doesn’t believe us.”

You swallowed hard. “What did he say?”

Harry let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He said I’m lying. That this is all an act to get out of my arranged marriage. That you’re nothing more than an excuse.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “So what now?”

Harry turned to you, his jaw tight, his green eyes dark with frustration. “Now? Now he’s going to do everything in his power to prove I’m lying.”

Over the next week, the scrutiny was relentless.

The palace had people digging into your past, scouring every detail of your life, looking for any reason to dismiss you. Paparazzi started sniffing around, and before long, tabloids were already speculating about Harry’s “mystery woman.”

You’d never been under this kind of microscope before. At work, people whispered when they saw you. Your coworkers asked questions. And when the first grainy photos of you and Harry surfaced online - him walking you to your door, his hand lingering on your waist - the media frenzy only grew worse.

But the real pressure came from within the palace itself.

Queen Anne invited you to lunch three days after your meeting, her expression as gentle as ever but her words careful. “You must understand,” she said, her hands folded neatly on the table, “this isn’t just about Harry. It’s about the monarchy, about the future of the country. If you truly care for him, you must be prepared for what this life entails.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge.

And then there was the King.

He summoned you alone one evening, without Harry’s knowledge. The meeting took place in one of the palace’s smaller sitting rooms, the air thick with unspoken tension.

The King sat across from you, his sharp eyes assessing, calculating. “You think this will work?” he asked bluntly.

You held his gaze. “I think Harry should be allowed to choose his own future.”

A small, humorless smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And you believe you are that future?

You swallowed, keeping your expression steady. “I believe I care about him enough to try.”

The King leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “Tell me, how much is he paying you?”

The words struck like a slap. Your breath caught in your throat, but you refused to let the shock show.

“I’m sorry?”

The King’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so cold. “I know my son. He is desperate to escape the obligations placed upon him, desperate enough to go to great lengths to do so.” He tilted his head. “So tell me - how much did he offer you? Money? Status? What was the deal?”

Your blood ran cold.

Your entire life, you had been underestimated, dismissed by people who thought they were better than you. But this - this was the King of England accusing you of being a gold-digger, a liar, a pawn in his son’s game.

And you wouldn’t stand for it.

You straightened your shoulders and met his gaze head-on. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don’t need Harry’s money. I don’t need his title. I don’t need anything from him.”

The King studied you, but you weren’t done.

“I didn’t come into his life looking for a way out of mine. And I certainly didn’t agree to this relationship because of what he could offer me. I care about him. I see him as a person, not just a prince. And if that’s not good enough for you, then I don’t know what is.”

A beat of silence passed.

And then, to your utter shock, the King chuckled.

It was a deep, knowing sound, like he had expected you to break and was almost impressed that you hadn’t. He stood, brushing nonexistent dust off his perfectly tailored suit.

“Well then,” he said. “I suppose we’ll see how long you last.”

And just like that, he walked out, leaving you alone in the vast, empty room.

Your hands trembled slightly as you exhaled.

This wasn’t just a test anymore.

This was war.

When you told Harry about the conversation later that night, he was furious.

“He what?” Harry’s voice was sharp, his hands clenched into fists as he paced your apartment. “He accused you of- bloody hell.”

You sat on the couch, watching him wear a hole into your floor. “Harry, calm down.”

“No.” He stopped, turning to you with fire in his eyes. “He had no right to do that. No right to treat you like-” He cut himself off, his jaw tight.

You stood, walking over to him and resting a hand on his arm. “I handled it.”

Harry’s expression softened slightly, but the frustration didn’t leave his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You sighed. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy. And honestly? I think your dad respects me more now.”

Harry let out a breath, dragging a hand through his curls. “That makes one of us.”

You smirked. “Oh, come on. What would be the fun in this if there wasn’t a bit of royal drama?”

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

Harry exhaled and cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Here we are.”

And as he kissed you, slow and deep, you realized something terrifying.

This wasn’t just a plan anymore.

You were falling for him.

And if this all went wrong, you weren’t sure your heart would survive it.

It had been two weeks since your confrontation with the King.

Two weeks of scrutiny, of whispered meetings with Harry in your apartment, of watching the media dissect every little movement you made. The palace hadn’t officially acknowledged your relationship, but the press had already put the pieces together. Every tabloid ran their own version of the story - some calling you a mystery scholar, others labeling you a gold-digger who had seduced the prince.

And through it all, Harry had been by your side.

He showed up at your apartment almost every night, exhausted and frustrated, but unwilling to let this fight go. You’d stay up for hours, strategizing your next move, trying to find a way to win his father over. But as much as you prepared, you knew one thing - if the King had already made up his mind, nothing would change it.

And that became painfully clear when Harry got the news.

The King had begun the search for his future wife.

Harry stormed into your apartment that night, his face red with anger, his curls a mess from running his hands through them. The moment he saw you, he grabbed your face and kissed you - desperate, urgent, like he needed to remind himself that you were real.

When he pulled away, he was breathing heavily.

“He’s doing it,” he spat. “He’s already selecting candidates. He’s meeting with their families, setting up discreet meetings.”

You felt your stomach drop.

“Harry-“

“I won’t do it.” His voice was sharp, unwavering. “I won’t marry some aristocrat I don’t know. I won’t be forced into a life I don’t want.”

You swallowed, reaching for his hands. “Then we have to do something.”

He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening around yours. “Like what?”

And that’s when the idea hit you.

“An engagement.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

You took a deep breath. “If we announce our engagement first - publicly - then your father will have no choice but to acknowledge us. He can’t force you into another marriage if the world already sees you as taken.”

Harry stared at you, his green eyes searching yours. “That’s insane.”

You shrugged. “A little.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, to your shock, Harry let out a small, breathless laugh.

“You’re serious.”

You lifted a brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He ran a hand down his face. “Because this isn’t just pretending anymore. This would mean… forever.”

Something in your chest tightened, but you kept your voice steady. “Is that really so bad?”

Harry’s expression shifted. He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not if it’s with you.”

Your breath caught.

And then, just like that, the decision was made.

The palace was in chaos.

The moment Harry posted a simple photo on Instagram - his hand wrapped around yours, a stunning engagement ring on your finger - the world erupted.

News outlets scrambled for statements. Social media went into a frenzy. And within an hour, Buckingham Palace was forced to issue a public response.

You sat in your apartment, your phone buzzing nonstop, watching the royal spokesperson deliver a carefully worded statement on TV.

“His Royal Highness Prince Henry has announced his engagement. The Royal Family was not made aware of this decision beforehand, but we offer our congratulations and will provide further statements in due course.”

Not exactly the warmest endorsement.

But it didn’t matter. Because now, the entire world knew.

And that meant the King couldn’t erase you.

Harry had warned you that the palace would summon you soon.

He just didn’t expect it to happen the next morning.

You barely had time to process the news before a sleek black car arrived at your apartment, and suddenly, you were being driven straight to Buckingham Palace.

By the time you entered the grand hall, your nerves were on fire.

Harry was already there, standing tall in front of his parents. Queen Anne looked composed, her lips pressed together as she studied you. But King Edward…

He was furious.

His gaze cut through you like a blade. “So this is how you do things?” he said coldly. “Announcing an engagement without our approval? Trapping us into accepting this circus?”

Your heart pounded, but you refused to back down. You lifted your chin. “Harry made his choice.”

The King scoffed. “A choice? No, this is manipulation. A desperate attempt to back us into a corner.” His sharp eyes turned to Harry. “And you. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice unwavering. “I chose her.”

The King clenched his jaw. “Do you even understand the consequences of this? You think you can just marry some commoner and expect the world to accept it?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Maybe the world would accept it if you did.”

The tension was suffocating.

And then, for the first time, Queen Anne spoke.

“I’d like a moment alone with her.”

Everyone turned to look at her. The King frowned, but after a long pause, he nodded. “Fine.”

Harry hesitated before turning to you. His fingers brushed against yours in a silent reassurance before he followed his father out of the room.

And then it was just you and the Queen.

She studied you for a long moment before finally speaking. “Are you in love with him?”

The question caught you off guard. You opened your mouth, then closed it.

Were you?

This had started as a plan - a way to protect Harry from an arranged marriage. But somewhere along the way, you had fallen. Fallen for his laughter, his late-night rants about music, the way he looked at you like you were the only person who had ever really seen him.

So you took a deep breath and told the truth.

“Yes.”

Queen Anne’s expression didn’t change. “And do you truly believe you can handle this life?”

You swallowed. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.”

She was silent for a moment. Then, to your shock, she let out a soft chuckle.

“You remind me of myself,” she murmured.

You blinked. “What?”

She smiled, but there was a knowing sadness in her eyes. “When I married Edward, I wasn’t what the world expected, either. I was too bold, too outspoken, too… untraditional.” She sighed. “But I loved him. And I fought for my place here.”

She met your gaze.

“So if you truly love my son, then fight for him.”

Your breath caught. “Does that mean…?”

The Queen smiled faintly. “It means I won’t stand in your way.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

She wasn’t giving you full approval. Not yet.

But she was giving you a chance.

And right now, that was more than enough.

When you walked out of the room, Harry was waiting.

The moment he saw you, he rushed forward, his hands finding yours. “What happened?”

You took a deep breath, then smiled.

“She’s on our side.”

Harry’s lips parted in shock. Then, without thinking, he pulled you into his arms, lifting you slightly off the ground.

And as he kissed you - right there in the halls of Buckingham Palace - you realized something.

This wasn’t a plan anymore.

This was real.

And you were ready to fight for it.

You weren’t surprised when the King requested to see you alone.

After all, Queen Anne may have been willing to give you a chance, but King Edward? He wasn’t one to accept things so easily.

So when a royal advisor arrived at your apartment with the summons, you didn’t hesitate. You knew what this was. A test. A final attempt to break you, to make you doubt yourself, to push you into walking away.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

You were led through the grand halls of Buckingham Palace, your footsteps echoing against the marble floors. Every corner of this place reminded you that you didn’t belong here - not yet. But if the King thought he could intimidate you into submission, he was about to be very disappointed.

The advisor finally stopped in front of a massive oak door. “He’s waiting inside,” he said stiffly.

You nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped in.

King Edward was seated in a large armchair near the fireplace, his posture straight, his hands folded neatly over his knee. The room was dimly lit, the flickering flames casting shadows across his face. He didn’t look up immediately, instead staring at the fire as if deep in thought.

You didn’t speak first. If there was one thing you’d learned from watching him, it was that he commanded every room he was in. He expected obedience. Expected people to fold under his silence.

So you waited.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled sharply through his nose and turned his gaze toward you.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

But you stayed standing.

“I’d rather not.”

His brow arched slightly, the first sign of surprise. “Is that so?”

You lifted your chin. “If you called me here just to intimidate me, Your Majesty, I’d rather skip the formalities.”

Something flickered in his eyes - annoyance, amusement, you weren’t sure. He studied you for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair.

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “I think I love your son.”

His jaw tightened. “Love.” He let the word linger in the air before scoffing. “Do you have any idea what it means to love someone like Harry? What it means to be part of this family?”

“I understand more than you think.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Then you understand that this isn’t a fairy tale. You are not a princess. You are not meant for this life.”

You clenched your fists. “Who decides that? You?”

“Yes.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. “I decide. Because I have spent my entire life protecting this family, this monarchy, from people like you.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “People like me?”

“People who don’t understand what this life requires. People who think love is enough to survive it. People who will break under the weight of it.” His eyes burned into yours. “You think you’re ready for this? Ready to be scrutinized, criticized, torn apart by the press? Ready to be hated by the people who don’t believe you deserve to stand beside him? Ready to sacrifice your life, your privacy, your freedom?”

Your throat tightened. You had thought about it. But hearing it like this - so brutally, so coldly - made it real.

Still, you didn’t back down.

“I don’t care what the press says about me,” you said firmly. “I don’t care about the public’s approval. I don’t care about titles or palaces or any of this.” You took a step forward, your voice unwavering. “The only thing I care about is Harry. And I won’t walk away just because you think I should.”

The King’s expression darkened. “You are playing a dangerous game.”

“So are you.” You met his gaze without flinching. “Because if you keep pushing Harry away, you’ll lose him.”

The muscles in his jaw tensed. “You think he’d leave his family?”

“I think he’s already considering it.”

That hit its mark.

For the first time, King Edward looked genuinely unsettled.

Good.

You took another step forward, your voice softening just enough. “I don’t want to take him from you. I don’t want to be the reason he walks away. But if you force him into a life he doesn’t want… if you push him into a marriage that will make him miserable… he will leave.”

Silence.

The King stared at you, his expression unreadable.

And then, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he said, “Do you truly love him?”

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He exhaled slowly, his eyes closing for a brief moment. When he looked at you again, something in his gaze had shifted.

Not acceptance. Not approval.

But understanding.

“Then prove it.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“If you truly love my son,” the King said, standing to his full height, towering over you, “then prove it. Prove that you can handle this life. That you can handle me.”

You squared your shoulders. “I already have.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk but refused to.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked past you, leaving the room.

The moment the door shut behind him, you finally exhaled, your hands shaking.

You had won - for now.

But this war wasn’t over.

Not yet.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before the door finally opened again.

Harry rushed in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. His brows were furrowed, his jaw tense. “What did he say to you?”

You swallowed, still feeling the weight of the conversation. “He tested me.”

Harry stepped closer, reaching for your hands. His were warm, steady - grounding. “What do you mean?”

You met his gaze. “He wanted me to back down. To walk away. To prove that I wasn’t strong enough for this.”

Harry exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Of course he did.” His grip tightened around yours. “And?”

You let out a slow breath. “I didn’t.”

His expression softened, something like admiration flickering in his green eyes. “You stood up to him.”

You gave a small, tired smile. “For you? Always.”

Harry cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “You shouldn’t have to fight for me.”

“But I will.” You held his gaze, unwavering. “If that’s what it takes, I will.”

Harry let out a breathy laugh, but there was something vulnerable in it. Like he wasn’t used to being fought for. Like he had spent his whole life being treated as an asset, a pawn in the monarchy’s game. And now, here you were, standing in front of him - defying the King himself - just to be with him.

His lips met yours, slow and lingering, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken word into the kiss. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you.” His voice was hoarse, like the words had been sitting on his tongue for too long.

Your breath hitched. You had known it - felt it - but hearing it was something else entirely.

You smiled, your fingers curling around his collar. “I love you too.”

A soft knock at the door made you both pull apart.

A royal advisor stepped in, looking as stiff as ever. “His Majesty requests an audience with the Prince.”

Harry frowned. “Alone?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Harry looked back at you, hesitation flickering across his face. You squeezed his hand. “Go,” you whispered. “See what he wants.”

He exhaled through his nose, clearly reluctant, but nodded. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before following the advisor out of the room.

And you?

You stayed behind, your mind spinning.

Because while you had won the first battle, you knew the war was far from over.

Harry returned hours later, his face unreadable as he shut the door behind him.

You stood from the couch immediately. “What happened?”

Harry dragged a hand through his curls before finally looking at you. “He gave me a choice.”

Your stomach dropped. “What choice?”

His jaw clenched. “Stay in the royal family and marry someone of his choosing… or leave it all behind.”

Silence.

Your heart pounded. “Harry…”

His eyes softened as he stepped forward, his hands settling on your waist. “I told him my answer before he even finished speaking.”

You swallowed hard. “Which is?”

His thumb brushed against your hip. “You.”

Your breath caught.

Harry took a deep breath, his voice steady. “I’d rather walk away from the crown than lose you.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His hands moved to cradle your face. “I was born into this, but it’s not my life. It’s theirs. And if I have to give it up to be happy, then so be it.”

You shook your head, emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “I don’t want you to resent me-“

“I could never resent you.” His gaze was fierce, unwavering. “You are the only thing in my life that feels real. And I won’t let my father take that from me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “What happens now?”

Harry’s lips pressed into a firm line. “We fight.”

And looking into his eyes, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren’t fighting alone.

You weren’t going to stand by and let this happen.

The moment Harry told you what his father had said - what he was threatening - something inside you snapped.

You knew the King didn’t approve of you. That he wanted you gone. But to go as far as to force Harry to choose between you and his entire family?

No. Absolutely not.

So while Harry was in another wing of the palace, distracted in a meeting, you stormed through the halls of Buckingham Palace with a fire in your veins. The staff gawked as you passed, but no one dared to stop you. Maybe it was the determination in your stride, or maybe they were simply too stunned to believe what they were seeing - a commoner marching straight toward the King’s office unannounced.

You didn’t knock.

You pushed open the heavy oak doors with more force than necessary, making them slam against the walls.

King Edward looked up from his desk, startled for only a second before his expression turned to cold disapproval.

“You are out of line,” he said sharply.

You didn’t care.

You stepped inside, shutting the doors behind you. “You can’t do this to him.”

The King leaned back in his chair, regarding you with a blank expression. “Do what?”

“Don’t play games with me.” Your voice shook with anger. “You know what. You can’t just kick your own son out of the family because he refuses to be your puppet.”

Edward’s eyes darkened. “You think this is my doing? Harry made his own choice.”

“No, you forced his hand.” You stepped closer, slamming your hands onto his desk. “You gave him an impossible choice: abandon me or abandon his entire family. Do you even hear yourself?”

His jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

Your chest heaved, your voice growing desperate. “You’re supposed to be his father. His family. And instead of supporting him, you’re pushing him away. You’re punishing him for wanting to be happy.”

King Edward let out a slow breath, his gaze sharp. “And what would you have me do? Let him throw away centuries of tradition for a woman who doesn’t belong in this world?”

You clenched your fists. “I don’t give a damn about tradition. What I care about is Harry. And whether you like it or not, he’s still your son. You can’t just cut him off because he refuses to live his life according to your rules.”

The King studied you, his eyes cold. “And why do you care so much? Is it because you fear losing your new luxurious lifestyle?”

Your anger flared so hot it nearly burned.

“You think this is about money?” Your voice rose, filled with frustration. “You think I’m doing all of this because I want a title? A palace? You have no idea who I am.”

The King arched a brow. “Enlighten me, then.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to steady. “I love Harry. Not because he’s a prince. Not because of his wealth or his status. I love him because he’s kind. Because he’s funny and stubborn and passionate. Because he’s the only person who has ever truly seen me.” You swallowed hard, eyes burning. “And I refuse to let you take him away from the people who love him just because he refuses to be your perfect prince.”

Silence.

You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in the air so thick it was suffocating.

But you didn’t back down.

“I will fight for him,” you continued, voice unwavering. “I will fight for his happiness, for his right to choose his own life. Even if it means standing against you, I won’t give up on him.”

For a moment, the King just stared at you.

And then-

He grinned.

A slow, amused grin that made your stomach twist.

“Welcome to the family.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

The King leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “You passed.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

His smirk deepened. “You think I was really going to cast my own son out?” He scoffed. “Harry may be reckless, but he’s still mine. I needed to see if you were strong enough to stand by him. If you’d crumble under pressure… or if you’d fight for him.”

Realization hit you like a freight train.

“This was all a test?” you said in disbelief.

The King’s expression turned knowing. “Did you really think I’d let my son marry someone who wouldn’t protect him?” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Harry is emotional. Impulsive. He needs someone who will stand their ground, someone who won’t walk away when things get difficult.” He gave you a pointed look. “And you just proved that you’re exactly that person.”

You were still reeling. “So… you approve?”

The King chuckled, standing from his chair. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He smirked. “But I’ll allow it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. After everything - every argument, every moment of doubt - he was letting you stay.

You had won.

Just as you were about to respond, the doors suddenly flew open again.

Harry stormed in, his green eyes wide with panic. “What the hell is going on?” His gaze darted between you and his father, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I leave for one hour and suddenly you’re having a meeting without me?”

You turned to him, still stunned. “Harry…”

The King smirked. “Relax, son. Your little spitfire here just proved herself.”

Harry blinked, completely thrown. “Proved herself?”

The King clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “She’s a fighter. You chose well.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Wait- you mean?-“

“I won’t stand in your way,” Edward said simply. Then he turned to you, eyes glinting with something almost… proud. “But be warned, young lady - being part of this family is no easy task.”

You lifted your chin. “I never expected it to be.”

The King studied you for a final moment before nodding. “Good.” He glanced at Harry. “Try not to embarrass me, son.”

And with that, he strode past both of you, leaving the office like nothing had happened.

Harry stared after him, then turned to you. “What the hell just happened?”

You let out a breathless laugh, still processing. “I think… we won.”

Harry blinked. Then, without warning, he grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. You shrieked in surprise, laughing as he kissed you - deep, desperate, filled with relief.

When he set you back down, he pressed his forehead against yours. “You did this for me?”

You smiled. “I’d do anything for you.”

His green eyes burned with love. “God, I love you so much.”

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you knew - this was just the beginning.

The moment the King gave his reluctant approval, everything changed.

There was no more hiding, no more sneaking around. The press exploded with headlines about Prince Harry’s shocking engagement to a commoner, the royal advisors scrambled to prepare the public for the news, and the palace staff suddenly had to make space for you in Buckingham Palace.

And you?

You were caught in the middle of a whirlwind.

Standing in your tiny apartment, surrounded by half-filled boxes, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness.

This place had been yours. A space that belonged to no one else, where you had lived freely, without the weight of the crown pressing down on you.

Now, you were about to trade it all for a palace.

For him.

Harry sat on your couch, watching as you folded a sweater into a box labeled clothes. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers playing with the rings on his hand.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You exhaled, forcing a smile. “Yeah. It’s just… weird.”

Harry nodded, understanding. “I get it. This is a big change.”

You looked at him, searching his face. “Are you sure about this? About me moving in?”

Harry scoffed, standing up and wrapping his arms around you. “Are you kidding? I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time I woke up in your bed.” His lips brushed against your temple. “I want you there. I want to fall asleep with you every night. Wake up with you every morning.”

Your heart melted a little. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you, love.” He smirked before looking around the apartment. “Do you want to keep this place?”

You hesitated.

“I mean… it’s not like I need it,” you admitted. “But it’s the first place that ever felt like mine, you know?”

Harry nodded in understanding. “Then keep it.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

His smile was soft. “You don’t have to live here, but it can still be yours. Somewhere to escape when the palace gets too much.”

Your chest tightened. How did he always know exactly what you needed?

You wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “I love you so much.”

He chuckled. “I know.”

Walking into the palace with your belongings felt surreal.

The grand halls, the expensive paintings, the endless corridors - it still didn’t feel real. You weren’t just visiting anymore. You lived here now.

Staff members were already bringing in your boxes, setting them in the suite you’d now share with Harry. It was massive, more like an apartment within the palace itself, with high ceilings, antique furniture, and a balcony overlooking the royal gardens.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“This is insane,” you whispered.

Harry grinned, leaning against the doorway. “A bit different from your apartment, huh?”

You shot him a playful glare. “Just a bit.”

He walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “You’ll get used to it.”

You leaned into him, sighing. “I don’t want to lose myself, Harry.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “You won’t. You’re you - the woman who stormed into my father’s office and yelled at the King of England.” He chuckled. “Trust me, no palace is gonna change you.”

You smiled, relaxing into his embrace.

Maybe he was right.

The next few weeks were absolute chaos.

Meetings with royal advisors, endless dress fittings, security briefings, and etiquette lessons that made your head spin. There were rules to follow now - how to sit, how to speak, how to wave (yes, there’s an actual royal wave).

Every day was another step closer to the wedding.

And every day, it felt more real.

One afternoon, you sat in the Queen’s private sitting room, flipping through a massive book of wedding venue options. Queen Anne sat across from you, poised and elegant as ever, but her gaze was warm.

“You must be exhausted,” she said knowingly.

You exhaled, nodding. “There’s just… a lot to take in.”

She smiled. “That’s an understatement.”

You hesitated before speaking. “How did you handle it? When you married the King?”

Her smile faltered just slightly, as if she were recalling something distant. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “I had to fight for my place, just like you.” She studied you for a moment. “But I see now why Harry chose you. You’re stronger than you realize.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest. “Thank you.”

She nodded, flipping to another page in the book. “Now, let’s pick a venue before the King takes over and insists on Westminster Abbey.”

You laughed. “God forbid.”

She smirked. “Exactly.”

For the first time, you felt like you truly belonged.

This wedding - this life - was yours. And you were ready.

The morning of your wedding dawned with a golden sunrise spilling through the palace windows. The air buzzed with nervous excitement, and the entire world seemed to be watching.

Today, you would officially become a member of the royal family.