#If I forget to do something or don't message back for a while it's probably because I forgor 💀

[milatiny-xx]

starry eyes | p.sh

pairing: park seonghwa x gn!reader summary: it's not like hwa to be distant or distracted. he keeps canceling on you last minute. things are bad, and you're starting to get suspicious. when he calls you by the wrong name during an argument, it feels like the end. how will your star make it up to you? (requested) warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, happy ending! wc: 3.1k a/n: i bought 2 versions of golden hour part 3 and GUESS WHOSE photocards i gotttt. i did get a sannie pc and a yeosang credit card sticker but EVERYTHING ELSE was seonghwa like relaxxxx mother. he's coming for yunho's spot ig. also this photo of him??? criminal.

⊹₊⟡⋆ masterlist | taglist ⊹₊⟡⋆

You blink away tears as you stare down at the message. You read it over and over again, as if your desperation would magically change the words.

Your dinner reservation is in less than an hour.

It's the third time this week he's cancelled a date on you last minute. The fifth time this month...you think? You're starting to lose track.

It's very unlike Hwa to act like this. He's always so organized, put-together, almost annoyingly so. His room is spotless, his legos and other decorations dusted and displayed neatly. He's never late. He's never dirty. He never forgets anything when traveling. Cancelling a date in general is not something he normally does. Backing out last minute? He hates schedule changes like that.

It's that stupid model. You know it. You were practically told that by KQ.

Of course, you were overjoyed for Seonghwa when he told you he had the opportunity to model and walk in a show for Dior. Nothing in this world could have made you prouder. You want him to do it—you really do. It's just...

The campaign he's modeling for requires a variety of couples shoots. There's one model in particular that he seems to be spending a lot of time with. And, of course, that model is one of the most gorgeous people you've ever seen. You know he would never cheat on you or hurt you intentionally in any way.

But it's not easy when he shows you the proofs of him grasping a woman's nonexistent waist or trailing a finger down a man's sharpened jaw. As always, he looks absolutely radiant and totally chic in every shot. You just wish he had more solo photos.

To make matters worse, he's been insanely busy. With his new modeling responsibilities on top of his already jam-packed ATEEZ schedules, he's barely had time for you recently.

Part of it is his busy schedule. The other part is KQ's doing.

A blurry photo of you and Hwa holding hands while leaving a restaurant had raised some attention on social media. Not viral level but enough that Hwa was catching some heat online. KQ suggested that he spend some more time working and interacting with other celebrities publicly. Just until the rumors died down.

Like a professional, Seonghwa had done exactly as they asked. He went to work and came home, sneaking time with you at odd hours here and there. You didn't like it, but to protect him, you'd do anything.

That had started three months ago.

You weakly raise your thumb to like his message. You don't know how else to respond. You could say "okay," but it doesn't feel okay anymore. It hurts.

Okay...so no dinner tonight. You'll have to figure something out and will probably be eating by yourself. Again.

By the time you've gathered the energy to get off the couch and shower, it's late. You're not even hungry anymore. You aim for the bedroom and curl up into the sheets, preparing for more doomscrolling. Your eyes are starting to blink closed until a headline catches your attention.

ATEEZ'S SEONGHWA SPOTTED OUTSIDE A-LIST RESTAURANT WITH MYSTERY PARTNER

You scramble up in bed, heart pounding as you click through the article. Your eyes move rapidly across the screen, frantically trying to digest the words.

Then, the photo—two figures in masks walking side by side, shoulders brushing. It's partly obstructed by a building, so it's hard to tell who it actually is. But it does look like Seonghwa. You zoom in as far as you can, groaning when the photo gets too pixelated to see clearly.

Something in your gut lurches when you notice a dainty silver bracelet on the wrist. It's him. Hwa has a bracelet exactly like that. A gift. From you.

You feel sick. Exhausted. Betrayed. Most of all? Enraged.

You don't even feel like crying, you're so angry. With shaking hands, you gather your blanket and plant yourself firmly on the couch, turning off all the lights. Then, you wait.

Three hours later, at two in the morning, the front door softly clicks open. You slowly turn your head toward the sound, gritting your teeth and flattening your lips. Seonghwa's thin frame slips through the crack in the door, and he quietly puts down his things. He flips on the light and turns. A yelp escapes his throat, arms frozen halfway through shrugging off his jacket.

"Oh my god, Y/N," he says, holding a slender hand to his chest. "You scared me half to death. What are you doing up? It's so late, my star. You should be in bed."

"Couldn't sleep," you deadpan.

"Oh no, really?" his eyes soften, and he moves toward you. "Why not? Bad dreams?"

"You could say that."

He kneels in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. He smiles up at you, softly, gently, and so handsomely. It only makes your heart burn more.

"Well, how about I change my clothes, and then I'll snuggle you until you can fall asleep."

You clench your jaw, tears already threatening to spill. You feel so sick. Your blood is boiling. How could he act like this, like everything's fine and dandy, when he's been treating you like this? Canceling your plans just so he can spend time with someone else... Your anger must be evident on your face, because Seonghwa's smile drops. Concern floods his expression.

"What's wrong, darling?" he asks quietly, eyes searching your face. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

He reaches up to touch you. Instinctively, you jerk away.

"Oh, I don't know," you snap. "Why don't you tell me?"

You shove your phone into his outstretched hand.

He fumbles to grasp it, glancing up at you with knitted eyebrows. You watch his gaze flick back and forth as he scans the article. His eyes widen, mouth dropping open in disbelief. You cross your arms over your chest and try not to cry. Seonghwa shakes his head.

"Oh no. No, no, no," he mutters. "No, this isn't right. I...this isn't true." His eyes catch yours, round and panicked and glassy. "Jagi, please, you have to know this story isn't true. It was just a company dinner."

"I don't know. You look pretty cozy in the photos. Oh, let me guess, next, you're going to tell me that's not even you."

He hesitates, long enough that you know it is. He was outside that restaurant. With them. Rage beats through you. You pop to your feet, moving to step around him. His hand lunges out, circling around your thigh.

"Y/N, my star, please listen. It wasn't anything. It was nothing, I swear. We didn't do anything. It was just a company dinner, that's all. It was last minute, and I...please, what can I do? How can I fix this? I-I'll never go out to a company dinner again if-"

"It's not just that, Seonghwa!" you explode, pulling back your leg. "It's everything! I barely see you anymore. You never make our dates. You always cancel, and you don't even have the bravery to do it in advance. These days my plans are always changing last minute. And then I see you out there with these other people? What am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to trust you?"

"You can. You can trust me, I promise. I-I haven't done anything with anyone. I don't know how to...to prove it. But please just listen to me."

You shake your head.

"No, I don't want to anymore. I'm tired."

He sighs frustratedly. As you stomp toward the bedroom, you can hear him raising his voice to try and keep up with you. Your heart is beating so loud in your ears that you have no idea what he's saying. You're in the middle of slamming the door closed, when his hand launches out to stop it. You gasp, glaring up at him. His expression has turned angry, aggravated like how it gets when you mess with his legos while he's trying to build something.

"You're being so unreasonable," he says through gritted teeth. "You won't even let me try to explain-"

"No! I shouldn't have to listen to you! You're obviously a liar anyway, and I-"

"Just give me five seconds, Alex!" (if your name actually is alex, so sorry i was trying to pick a GN name and this was the first one i could think of LOL)

Your breath catches in your throat. You can feel your heart cracking into a hundred tiny pieces. You blink at him, mouth quivering. It takes a moment before the realization hits him. He called you by someone else's name...

His anger melts immediately, replaced with desperate panic. He shakes his head, falling onto his knees in front of you.

"Y/N," he says your name—correctly this time—so quietly, so softly that it hurts. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..."

You just shake your head, tears overflowing and streaming down your cheeks.

"Go away. I can't..." your voice chokes. "...be around you right now."

His eyes grow glassy, lips trembling. He reaches out for you, but you back away. Hot tears slip down your face as you stare at him, helpless and desperate on the floor. He's crying now, too. His mouth opens as if he's going to say something but closes. He stands slowly, avoiding your gaze, and backs out of the room. Before he closes the door, you catch him through the mirror, looking pathetically back at you as you crawl into bed.

"I'm sorry..." he whispers.

You pretend not to hear.

Seonghwa closes the door softly. You bury yourself under every blanket and pillow you can find. You don't even bother to take your socks off. You just lie there, enraptured in darkness and pain. You cry and cry and cry until your nose is so stuffed that you can barely breathe. Then you blow your nose and pull the cover over your head. You don't even know when you finally pass out from exhaustion.

The first time you wake up, it's still dark outside. You feel groggy and confused. You have no idea what time it is. You stay awake for a few moments before fading back into sleep.

The second time, the sun is up. You lazily glance at the clock. It's after noon. Nothing in the room has been disturbed. It doesn't look like Seonghwa has tried to come in. You wonder if he's been at the door, if he's tried to say anything. You reach for your phone just to check. Nothing. Your heart aches. It's so quiet in the apartment, you wonder if he's given up. Your stomach grumbles, but you ignore it and bury yourself deeper into the covers. Sleep takes you again.

The third time you wake up, it must be only a few hours later. A soft knock on the door brings you out of sleep. You can hear Seonghwa's soft voice asking if you're hungry, pleading with you to eat. You ignore it and bite away more tears.

The fourth time, it's dark again. When you go to turn over, something under the door catches your eye. It's a bowl with something inside. Looks like ramen. Probably cold. There's a note beside it that you don't bother to read. The room has been tidied slightly, the fallen pillows replaced on the bed, the blanket straightened over your body. You wonder how long ago he snuck in to do all of this. Your heart aches. You wish this fixed the hurt in your heart. But it doesn't.

The fifth time you wake up, it's because Seonghwa is gently shaking you. Despite sleeping all day, you're exhausted. When his face comes into view, your heart cracks. You sigh frustratedly and move to turn away. He catches your shoulder. You glare back at him, heart totally shattered at the sight of his adorable little boba eyes.

"Please, don't ignore me," he says quietly. His voice is raspy, strained like he's been shouting. No...crying. He's been crying. Even in the dim light spilling from the hall, you can see the red rings around his eyes.

"I know nothing I say can make up for what I did," he continues, "how I've been acting and treating you. But...I have something I'd like to show you. If you let me."

You shake your head and open your mouth to say no, but he interrupts, "Please. I'm begging."

Even though you're still angry, your heart swells. You love him. God, you love when he looks at you like that. Like you're everything. You nod.

"Fine, but make it quick," you reply. "I'm exhausted."

His face breaks into a smile, the relief evident across his delicate features. He carefully helps you to your feet and leads you into the bathroom. You fight him the whole way. You wash your face, and he turns away while you change into a clean set of pajamas. Once cleaned up, he wraps a blanket around your shoulders and guides you into the kitchen where he hands you a warm mug. You sniff it and smile slightly.

"It's my favorite," you muse quietly.

"I made it just how you like it. I thought you might be thirsty."

You feel angry suddenly. Why is he acting like this makes up for everything? Like he can just make you some tea and bring you pajamas and cold ramen and suddenly everything's fine. You flatten your lips.

"So...is this it? Because if so-"

"No, no this isn't it," he blurts, eyes widening. "No, please, come this way. It's out here."

He gestures to the balcony. You raise an eyebrow but let him lead you out of curiosity.

The string lights he'd hung across the balcony when you moved in are lit up. They cast a gentle golden light over the small space. Positioned in the middle of the balcony is a telescope that you don't remember seeing there before. You glance back at him, and he nods.

He leads you to it and straightens it for you. You stand in front of it stupidly, wondering what he wants from you. He slides in behind you, his breath warm on the shell of your ear as he whispers, "Look."

You point at the telescope, and he nods again. You peer down into it, adjusting your eye so that you can see whatever he's trying to show you.

"What am I looking at? It's...a bunch of stars," you say dryly.

"Do you see the one in the middle? The really bright one?"

"Yeah, sure. What about it?"

"That's Y/N."

You pull away from the telescope, looking back at him confusedly.

"What?"

"That star, it's name is Y/N."

"What are you talking about, Seonghwa?"

"You're my star, my guiding light. I wanted to give you something to show you that, to show you how important you are to me. So, I bought that star and named it after you."

Your heart swells. He's always called you his star. That's his special nickname reserved only for you. You don't know how to react. So many emotions are swirling around your head at the same time. You just stare at him blankly.

"A-and I got you this, too," he stutters, rummaging behind one of the chairs.

When he comes back up, he hands you a little navy box with a silver thread wrapped around it. You glance up at him before taking and carefully unwrapping it. You can feel his eagerness as he watches you like a hawk, his eyes flicking between your face and the box. Your breath catches when you lift the lid.

It's a small silver necklace with a star pendant. You look back at him again. His eyebrows are lifted in hope. You gently pick up the necklace to examine it. The pad of your finger scrapes against something on the back. You flip the pendant. The words My star are engraved in Hwa's handwriting with your anniversary date inscribed below. Your lip quivers.

When your gaze lifts, Hwa is on his knees—when did that happen?—staring up at you with his hands clasped. Wound around his fingers is a matching necklace.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he says. "I never, ever meant to hurt you. I would never want that. I know I've been busy, distracted, disrespectful to you. I know I can never make up for it. I know those photos looked bad. But I promise you, it was just a company dinner, nothing else. I should have made time for you, and I will moving forward. Please, don't leave me. Because if you do, every time I look at that star, my heart will break all over again. I'll wear this," he gestures to the necklace, "every day of my life. Everyone will know I'm yours and that you're mine. I'll carry you in my heart every second of every day, because you're my star. Always and forever."

As soon as the last three words escape his lips, you crash onto your knees and throw your arms around his neck. He teeters backward but rebounds in a second, arms wrapping around your waist. He drops his head into your neck. His panting breath heats your skin. Tears stream down your face, soaking his shirt under your chin. His hands roam everywhere, over your back, shoulders, neck, hair. He clutches you like if he were to let go, you would vanish into thin air.

"Oh, Hwa...I'm sorry," you mumble. "I'm sorry I was so harsh. I shouldn't have been so angry. I know you're busy, and I want you to succeed. I want you to have all of this. I'm so proud of you, and I should have said it. I should have trusted you. I know that. I was just...I was so scared of losing you."

Somehow, his grip tightens even more around you.

"You could never lose me. I'm here, forever and always."

You pull back, sniffing and wiping your tears messily. But you smile when you see his sweet eyes staring back at you. You reach up to wipe his tears from his cheeks.

"I'll be better," you say to him quietly. "I promise. More supportive, more understanding, more trusting."

He smiles, sliding his palm onto your face. He gently moves your lips to his, savoring the taste of your kiss. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead on yours, his fingers gingerly brushing your hair back.

"I'll be more attentive, more present, and I'll never, ever cancel on you last minute. I promise."

You smile, nudging your nose against his.

"I love you, Hwa."

"I love you too, my star."

taglist: @rileylovescats @wooyoungsbrat @estrnrea @strawberrymars98 @elunicornus

[seeminglyunconcious]

My Muse (your smile, our time)

Pangi falls away from the world as Youtube and Streaming work don't come together. Statistics fall in sync with his expectation and emotions. Luckily, with a quick call from his sister, someone comes to do an impromptu wellness check!

tw: depressive symptoms Also, if you want listen to "My Muse - Owl City" on the part where it describes a cascade of tears. The song ambushed me whilst I was writing the end... still haven't recovered.

Once again, inspired by Skam and peoples request for more fluffy times for these two.

Read below or online!

It hurt Pangi for Lukey to see him like this; broken, weak, disgusting… incompetent.

—

He’d been in a rut for a while now, imposter syndrome, but then it got worse and worse as the videos he put out didn’t hit expectations or completely fell through. The symptoms started off with late meals and missing the walks; usually opting for his sister to take Binky for a walk instead of him. Before long it all started adding up: he sent Tertel a termination letter, constant headaches, and the once vibrant calendar fell empty to endless hours stuck in bed.

His sister called their mom over out of worry, but he played it off well as a quick fever from overworking. With empty promises to eat properly and getting more rest she left to Pangi’s relief, which then turned into daily acts of pretend with his sister as he swallowed food, but regurgitated it in shaking fits after. He felt empty. A fraud.

Multiple times he left messages from friends on read and calls unanswered, feigning sleep and illness to pacify their overt worries. The lies kept adding up as the days went on and eventually tangled up to a point with a surprise visit from probably the only person he least wanted to see him like this. Lukey.

—

Pangi’s room had pretty much been shut off from the rest of the world. The doors always remained closed, windows slightly open, and the curtains drawn only enough to let a sliver of light through. Up until the door was opened and the familiar scent of apples invaded his senses.

“Hey…” It was a careful greeting, quiet and to the point, yet Pangi could tell it held the heavy weight of concern. “I’m not gonna lie, I almost didn’t believe your sister when she said you’d locked yourself up here. But- well nevermind, it’s nice seeing you again Pangi.”

Lukey stood by his door, slightly hovering between entering and leaving. He wore an all-white sweater and sported a fond smile. It would be a lie if he admitted that the scene didn’t give him butterflies.

Pangi closed his eyes nonetheless, exhaustion washing over him followed by guilt which killed any other rising emotion.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse and rapped from disuse.

There wasn’t a response, only the silent padding of footsteps and the sinking feeling of the bed’s edge before a slightly-cold palm lightly touched his forehead.

“Well, good to know you aren’t sick with fever.” His tone was shaky.

Leave me alone…

“At least everyone can chill out, ya know they were all worried right? I had to hold them all back with the promise I’d visit and take care of you.” Lukey narrated his trip slowly, a hand finding its way to Pangi’s shoulder- his thumb gently petting him: from the people worrying about his health, Tertel’s concern, a call from his sister, and then booking an overnight flight over— it almost seemed like some shitty movie plot.

Why do you care? Why do they care?

Pangi covered his head with the abundant blankets around him. He wanted Lukey to leave and forget everything he saw. He wanted to apologize for being a burden on everyone. He wanted so desperately to be the Pangi they all knew and loved, but he couldn't. He just wanted– wanted…

To die?

“I’m fine, you should go. Don’t you have a movie you’re working on or something?” The words came out faster than he’d thought, sharper than he’d intended.

Please don’t…

Lukey sighed and chuckled lightly, “It’s not your call to make, mister. You’re stuck with me, this is what you get for ignoring me for 17 times in a row.” 

That’s not true–! I wouldn’t ignore… I would. You did.

Although Pangi couldn’t see what was going on from under the covers, the shift in weight and temp suggested that the other boy had chosen to stay true to his word and laid down beside him. No sooner, he felt an arm lay over his waist and reached around until Lukey found his hand that wasn’t hidden under the blanket cocoon and held it.

“I’ve got you.” It was a muffled whisper just for him to hear.

Pangi grasped the hand and pulled it closer to his chest as tears silently spilled down his cheeks.

Thank you…

They spent the rest of the day like that undisturbed.

—

To Pangi’s surprise, Lukey was serious about sticking to him. It’s been three days since he’d arrived from out of the blue and for most of it, he was the one next to him: silently taking care of him and chatting about the nonsensical things he’d missed.

To which was usually met with silence. The nagging voices in his head had slowly quieted down a lot since then though.

The older gentleman never pushed him to do anything, only ever offering suggestions and riling him up in some sort of rage baiting fashion to get him to eat small amounts of food that he’d otherwise disparage.

At one point, they got into a super heated argument which resulted in warm soup spilling over Lukey’s sweatpants he’d chosen to wear that day. Pangi was then met with one of the most terrible moments of his life, Lukey’s disappointed glare. He quietly finished a bowl of soup without complaint that evening.

This continued on for about a week, all the while Pangi only ever offered small grunts  of approval or silent objection to most forms of interaction. Yet, the ever present Lukey was patient throughout it all. It warmed his heart that a friend would do so much for him, but the guilt also became overbearing as time passed between them…

One-sided conversations became the breeding ground for those dark thoughts that never left.

“Ya know Tertel and Aimey are the most worried about you? They actually call me every now and then when you’re asleep and ask how you’re doing.” Lukey was folding some of his laundry, another hard fought battle of wills to which Pangi listlessly gave up on. Turtle is probably better off with someone more successful to work for….

Lukey was absently scrolling through videos on his phone one day and attempted to show him a fancam of them two with a light laugh. “Everyone misses you Pangi. You have no idea the amount of messages I get asking if you’re okay. Seriously, how did they even know I’m with you?” They probably don’t care. They only care if they get their stupid gay yaoi. It’s not like that anything was real….

“Look, I bought a new shirt! Your sister was nice enough to suggest some new colors for me.” Lukey came into his room wearing an off-white button up shirt, on the chest where a pocket should’ve been was a stitched in pattern of a cornflower. Why… Why do you torment me with glimpses of what could never be..?!

It was the evening of whatever day- Pangi had lost count- Lukey had convinced him to watch the sunset from his window with him with the promise that they wouldn’t have to go out to the dining room for dinner. 

“Kinda romantic if you think about it,” the older boy said between bites of lasagna. “We’re here in your room, alone, watching the sunset and eating the same food we had for our first dinner date on the realm, remember?”

Pangi watched him in silence as he almost choked mid-laugh to the memory. His own plate had long been empty, Lukey was kind enough to never give him portions that would be too daunting.

Romantic?

Do you even think Lukey would ever have those sort of feelings to someone so pathetic? 

He has models and movie stars as friends, you’re nothing!

Lukey couldn’t ever lo—

“Pangi!” Warm hands had cupped his face and a gaze filled with concern watched him. “Ar- Are you okay?” It was barely a whisper yet it shook the regretful feelings crowding his chest, agitating them even more. He tried to turn his head away, but he didn’t realize how strong the young producer was.

LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

“You zoned out and weren’t responding to anything. I didn’t mean to yell...” Lukey apologized in a soft voice and pulled him into a hug, nothing tight, but he could feel Lukey’s quickened heartbeat.

Please… I don’t want you to see me like this… please……..

They sat there, letting the silence speak in their stead, just finding the comfort in being so close.

“I-” Pangi’s voice faltered and his shoulders started to shake, “I feel like a failure…”

And before he knew it he couldn’t stop.

“The cha- channel wasn’t doing well. I had to drop Tertel as an editor… everything feels like it’s falling apart and I just couldn't—” His voice broke as the words escaped him.

“I didn’t want to be a disappointment- I didn’t want to drag him down with me- nothing was going right- everything was just— and you, I feel like y-you…”

“Shhhhhh…” Lukey interrupted him, guiding him to his shoulder, “It’s okay…”

A cascade of liquified fear, worry, and guilt came bursting forth in waves, followed by shuddering shoulders and deep gasps for air. Pangi was drowning, yet he was also in the safest place in the world.

Pangi wept, he wanted to stop, he really did. Yet everything kept pouring out onto the shoulders of his best friend; it was quiet, torturous, and everything hurt. He didn’t notice when the arms around him shed the blanket that held him together, when they rubbed slow concentric circles on his back, or when they pulled him close enough to hear the whispers of someone who’s heart was breaking to see him like this.

“We can take it slow, ya know? Small steps.” Lukey’s voice cracked, “I’ll be there with you every step of the way. Just- don’t ever think of yourself that way again. Please…”

—

It was midnight when Pangi awoke all crusty-eyed from the dried tears that overwhelmed him before. He found himself wearing a new shirt, pajama bottoms, and— a familiar blue flannel… it smelled nice, comforting, safe.

Beside him was the boy who’d stayed with him at his worst, wearing a standard white tee and black pajama bottoms. Typical. One arm strayed across the small gap between them to his hip, the other tucked beneath the pillow which his messy head lay. A little bit of drool quietly pooled out the corner of his mouth.

Pangi held back a laugh. He wished he had his phone with him, it was rare to see Lukey so open like this and so close. But he couldn't even recall what had happened the day before, yet he felt… free.

He settled back in the blankets that covered them, opting to close the distance that had split them before. To his surprise, Lukey’s arms pulled him in a secure hug.

“Don’t ever leave me…” A groggy mumble broke the quiet.

Pangi felt a warmth drift through his stomach, climbing higher. “Why would I do that?”

“Mmmmm good,” the arm around him grew a little tighter and he felt the warm breath against the nape of his neck. “I promised you and you said yes.”

“What did I promise?” He really couldn’t remember, his own fingers played with Lukey’s. He opened his hand and threaded theirs together, putting it against his chest.

“We’ll deal with everything together. One step at a time.” Lukey seemed to be waking up now, the slurred speech from before had become more coherent. Pangi could feel the change in his heartbeat.

“That if it was too much, we’d take it day by day. And if that is too much, hour by hour. Minute by minute. Second by second, and so on until we get through it together.”

I would. I want to. I will.

“Really? I promised all of that… that doesn’t sound like me man.”

He was met with a low, extended groan. “Pangi, pleeeease…” There was a pause, “you also promised that you’d eat downstairs tomorrow and eat anything I give you.”

Pfffft. Liar! 

He held a laugh back, smiling into their intertwined hands as he shook his head. “Minute by minute, I like that.”

I love you.

“Mmmmmm… I love you too.”

[joffyworld]

Do you have discord? :^

-🥭

I do! I made a discord specifically for my whole Joffy thing when I joined a server I got invited to by some people on here!

Anyway, my Discord's just "jofffyyy" if anyone wants it. Idm posting it publicly, I can always delete this post later if it gets too much lol

Feel free!

[cherie-doll]

LADS: When You Don't Give Them A Kiss

༻ Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb ༺

₊˚✧ Xavier loves his goodnight kisses. Won't be able to sleep right if you don't give them to him. Which is why he immediately frowned the moment you turned away from him after only saying good night. He had already leaned in closer for you to kiss him when you had cut him off. He's frozen in place, surprised at seeing you laying your head on your pillow without a care in the world; ready to drift off to sleep. But how can you do that to him? Surely you aren't forgetting something? I mean, it's custom by now, you do it every night. It's embedded in his brain to do this, so why are you suddenly being so forgetful. He hesitates but eventually moves in closer, nuzzling into your neck as his arms come around your waist. You complain that it's too hot for him to be doing this, but his response is something along the lines of "too bad". You forgot something important to him so now deal with the consequences; he'll be all up on you throughout the entire night.

₊ ೀ Zayne has a strict routine as a doctor. He wakes up early despite having prepared everything the night before, and as organized as he is, he cannot leave without first feeling your lips on his. It's literally his number one priority every morning before he leaves. He can go the day with forgetting his lunch, or even combing his hair properly, but can no longer wait until he gets to you later that night. Sometimes you'll sleep in and not wake up to give him a kiss and he'll try hanging back hoping you awaken before he has to walk out the door. He's sat at the edge of the bed, his work clothes on and everything ready but just clinging to the hope you remember. And no he won't wake you up, he isn't careless and he'll feel bad if he does. As a hunter, you need that rest and he prioritizes that before his selfish desires.

༄༢ུ࿓ Rafayel will actually do his job for once and go to an art exhibition that Thomas has arranged for him if you give him a kiss. Sort of like a good luck type of thing that makes him feel like things will be tolerable if he remembers the warmth of your lips on his. But this time he's stuck waiting by the front door, tapping his foot against the floor as he impatiently waits for you to return. He brings out his phone to reread the message you had sent, you had gone out and were expected to come back in time to accompany him to art exhibition. But it seems you're running late and Rafayel isn't in the mood to meet up with you there. You call him and are immediately greeted by his attitude. You can hear the slight whine in his voice when he asks why you're not there yet. Truthfully, you feel a little bad to hear him be so distressed. Perhaps you'll make it up to him later.

ᨳ᭬ Sylus isn't letting you off the hook so easily. You came up to him while he was relaxed to tell him you would be going out. As usual, you come up to his spot on the couch and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You tell him you'll be back later and he hums, acknowledging what you've said. But he furrows his brows, his smile disappearing when you just leave to grab your bag. He looks up from his phone to see you ready to take off when you catch his gaze. Oh, if he were more gullible he'd believe that "what's wrong?" face of yours. But he knows you better than that. You can sense the amusement in his voice when he asks "Aren't you forgetting something?". You cock your head trying to keep up the act a little longer before you give in. He had a smug look on his face, knew you wouldn't actually dare to leave his place before properly saying goodbye to him. Plus you would never hear the end of it if Luke and Kieran found out.

❦ Caleb would probably believe your act for a minute max before realizing you're teasing him. After not seeing each other for a couple of days due to your busy schedules, surely a hug isn't all he's getting... right? Your bright smile won't distract him from what he's really after. You feign confusion when you realize his grip on you isn't loosening as you try to pull away from his embrace. You call out his name, annoyed as you make more of an effort to push him away. You're secretly fighting a smile from forming when he only pulls you closer. You huff, telling him to stop teasing you, but he swears it's you who's doing the teasing. He sways side to side with you in his arms, you think about how ridiculous you must look and catch some people staring and hear them exclaim about what a cute couple you two are. Finally, when you no longer want to deprive him you stand as straight as you can to reach his face and give him a kiss. He lets you go after and looks at you, "was that really so hard to do?"

[izadi234]

Forget me not

-Warning: Contain yandere themes, neglected! gn!reader, mention of low self-esteem, the writer's first language isn't English.

Yan! Batfamily x Gn! Reader

Chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 (You're here)

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 5

"Hey Dick" Bruce called to his oldest son when he saw him in the kitchen while he was preparing a bowl of cereal

"Yeah Bruce?" Dick answered but his attention was still on his cereal

"Have you heard from (Name)?" the eldest asked

"Uh..." he kept thinking, remembering who you were until something finally clicked in his mind "Oh yeah! No, I haven't heard from them, maybe in their room?" he suggested, not giving it any importance

"Yeah, that would be the most logical answer if they hadn't moved" Bruce sighed

"What?" for the first time Dick turned to look at him surprised

"Yeah... They've been gone for a while now" Bruce explained

"But why?" Dick asked

"Well... I have to admit that I haven't been the best father to them..." he said a little embarrassed

"Oh Bruce..." Dick was about to start scolding him

"I really don't need you to scold me right now" Bruce growled

"Fine..." Dick sighed and stood up "And why are you looking for them?"

"I need to talk to them about everything" he explained "And... and apologize to them for all these years"

Dick didn't like to see any of his family sad or stressed like Bruce.

And yet he never noticed you

So he put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed him a little to try and comfort him.

"I'll help you look for them. Have you checked their room yet?"

"Yeah I already checked it and there's nothing, literally speaking" Bruce sighed

"Well maybe you missed something. You're not the only one in the family who's a detective" he smiled and the older man smiled back

"Thanks, chum" he patted him on the back affectionately

"You're welcome, old man" Then both men separated to look for the missing family member

Dick pulled out his phone and sent a message to the chat group he had with his brothers.

In which you were not included of course

Asking for a quick little meeting, that way, if everyone helped look for you all this would end quickly and they could make it up to you. Even though Dick didn't say it, knowing that you had left and hadn't told anyone and adding the fact that he now felt guilty because he paid you a lot (nothing) of attention.

"Let me understand Dickhead so..." Jason spoke "You called us, saying that this was urgent just to tell us to help you and Bruce look for (Name)?"

To tell the truth, everyone thought it was silly that Dick called them, you were a teenager, most likely you were doing something outside the mansion, you would return home soon.

"I'm sorry to tell you this Dick but, I think you're exaggerating" said Tim

"For the first time I can agree with Drake" said Damian "I have more important things to do than looking for them"

"I know, I know, but this is urgent not only for Bruce but for me too" said Dick "And why are you looking for them?" asked Stephanie

"Look..." Dick sighed "They... they... they left the mansion and Bruce Is nervous"

"They left? Why?" asked Tim

"Did you call them?" asked Cassandra

"Bruce tried but it seems they changed their number" Dick sighed

"You didn't answer Tim's question" said Jason "Why did they leave?"

"Perhaps because they never felt part of this family, Master Jason" said a voice behind them, it was Alfred who had been listening to the little meeting

"Huh? Why do you say that Pennyworth?" asked Damian

"Oh it is probably because you just decided to ignore them since they came to the mansion" said Alfred as if it was obvious

"Hey! That's not true, I used to spend time with them" Jason defended himself

"And then what happened, Master Jason?" asked Alfred and looked at him a little irritated

"Uhh... I died and then came back from the dead...?" laughed Jason nervously

"Nonsense" said Alfred and then left Jason sighed and stood up.

"How do we help, Dick?"

Jason felt like a complete jerk. How could he have pushed you aside? You were still a child for God's sake! And yet he didn't care and pushed you aside when he came back from the dead, being more focused on his revenge against Bruce and Tim. He also felt a little proud, proud that he was always the closest to you, even if it has been a while SInce then. He remembers how you looked at him in admiration in his days as Robin, how your eyes lit up when he did a stunt and how you followed him around the mansion like you were a duckling. Alfred had even taken a picture of you following him around. The simple memory made him smile. He should ask Alfred if he still has the photo. He was in your room, inspecting it like it was a crime scene but he had to admit, you were Bruce's child. This room was completely clean and it looked like no one had lived in it for years if it weren't for the fact that the walls were painted (f/c). It was like If you didn't want to be found. That made Jason let out a small chuckle, you would have been a great vigilante, if only they had given you the chance. He shook his head, trying to get those negative thoughts out of his mind and focus on his search instead. He checked every corner of your room and nothing. It seemed like you just vanished.

"Shit!" He slammed his fist on the floor as he crouched down, checking under your bed. "Where the fuck are you?”

"Keep checking their room, Master Jason?" said a voice behind him, it was Alfred who was looking at him with the same neutral face.

"Yeah," Jason sighed and stood up.

After a few seconds of silence, Jason turned to look at Alfred and asked:

"Alfred... Do you happen to have the photo you took of (Name) and me when we were kids? The one where they followed me like a duckling?”

"Yes, I have the photo, Master Jason, but I can show you more. Please follow me," said the butler as he turned around and left the room.

Jason looked at him in surprise, but without saying anything he followed him. They reached the attic of the great mansion. There were millions of boxes in that place in which they had different things that belonged to the inhabitants of Wayne Manor. Alfred began to move some boxes until he took out a specific one that had your name on it.

"What is this?" Jason asked.

"This is a box, Master Jason" Alfred said as he handed him the box.

"And it contains some things that used to belong to (Name)”

Jason looked at the box in amazement, it didn't weigh much but it didn't weigh little either but it seemed well preserved despite the time.

"Thank you Alfred" he said and then came down from the attic with the box in his arms.

Jason walked into the living room so he could see the contents of the box without any problem. He didn't know where to start but decided to grab a long but thin book. When he saw the cover his eyes widened in surprise, because that book was a photo album.

On the first pages of the album there were ultrasound images that started from the third month. There was even a 3D ultrasound in which you could see the baby's face. Jason smiled at the image and ran his fingers over the photo. He remembered your smile, it was tender and warm and always relaxed him after a hard mission or a fight with Bruce.

On the next page there was information about your birth, your weight and height and other information. There was also a compartment in which there was a small sock that would only fit a newborn baby. The young man smiled more when he saw that small garment that used to be yours, he put it back in the small compartment of the book and continued exploring. From that page, there were photos, the first ones were of your mother and another man, your mother was sitting on the hospital bed with the man next to her while he held you. Both adults looked completely happy while you slept. In another picture you were in the arms of your mother who looked tired but no less happy, the background of the picture seemed to be a baby's room. And in a third one you were in the arms of that man again, he was lifting you up in the air while you laughed, the man laughing in the same way. Jason could imagine the sound of your laughter at that age and it just made his heart beat a little faster.

He kept looking at more pictures of you, your first steps, playing with some pet you had back then, eating (although it was actually a mess but he found it cute) and then there was the picture of your first birthday, you were still so small, but you could see the excitement on your face when you saw the candle on your birthday cake, next to you your mother and that man again. He should have Tim investigate who that man was.

Jason kept looking at pictures of your first years of life, your first Christmas, your first Halloween, your first day at daycare, your first friends. Throughout the album you could see how you were growing up full of happiness, well that was until you got to the photo of your fourth birthday. From that photo on, your mother and that man didn't appear anymore, but instead there were photos of your arrival at Wayne Manor.

At first there were only photos of the great mansion and its hallways, the beautiful handwriting that was written in the previous titles was replaced by that of a small child. Throughout the following pages there were only photos of the property and the animals and there was only one photo where you appeared but now with Alfred, both smiling. You got to the photo of your fifth birthday, thinking that it was Bruce or Dick in that photo but it seems that wasn't the case. You were five, six, seven, eight years old and in your birthday photos there were only you and Alfred, that didn't seem to change despite time. On the next page, Jason was surprised to find pictures of him and you, it was when he had just become Robin and spent a lot of time with you, from photos where Jason was training, cooking with Alfred, reading, and even him teaching you how to fight. Even though those photos were extremely beautiful in his eyes, his favorite had to be the photo in which he appeared with Alfred and (Name) at his 9th birthday party. He smiled at the photograph and took it in his hands, being honest, he didn't remember that until he saw the photo again and your smile made Jason's heart flutter again. With more energy he began to look at the album and each time he appeared less in the photos until he reached your 10th birthday, but he was no longer there, again it was just Alfred and you.

"What...? No no no no no..." Jason muttered agitatedly as he looked through the album

He wasn't in any pictures anymore, nor was his family, it was just you and Alfred again and on more occasions it seemed like more people he didn't know, probably your friends.

"Fuck!" he yelled in frustration and put his face in his hands

Did he really just push you aside so foolishly? No... He had to fix it.

After all HE was your favorite brother

And HE was going to make it up to you

He was going to make it up to you for all those years he left you alone

And he was going to find you, after all, he was trained by the world's greatest detective.

How hard can It be finding you?

Hello! First of all... HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope you all have a wonderful 2025! And of course I wanted to thanks to all of those people that have supported this story even If it has been just a couple of months.

Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. Personally I think it was kinda short but to be honest I didn't had a bunch time to write but oh well.

If you have questions about the story, a comment (respectfully) or even ideas I would be more than happy to know or answer them in any case.

I send all of you a big hug!

-Izadi <3

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[yoongelectric]

On your own - lando norris

— you can do it on your own while you’re looking at me

genre: smut (just a little bit of angst and fluff)

warnings: switch!lando, switch!reader, pet names, make up sex, p in v, mutual masturbation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, they just can’t resist each other

The first rays of sun of the day interrupted your sleep, and after a lot of useless shifting around the bed you finally accepted that you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, as you reached for your boyfriend to say your good mornings and cuddle for a bit before getting up, you were surprised to find only empty and cold sheets. confused by his absence you checked your phone in search of any signs of his whereabouts, but you didn’t find a single message.

As you got up, the cold winter air brushed your bare legs, and as you walked to the kitchen, the empty house made you feel more and more needy of affection.

Hours passed and you still had no news or messages from Lando, you understood that he didn't have to spend his vacation glued to you and that he was probably having a good time with his friends, but you felt neglected, he wasn’t answering any of your phone calls and he hadn't even woken you up to tell you that he was leaving. and the worst part was the internal battle between your anger because of how thoughtless he was being, your worry that something might had happen to him, and the need for touch that was growing in you was killing you.

Just as you were about to call him again you heard the sound of keys in the door, indicating that Lando had arrived home

“Hi, honey” he said trying to kiss you, a kiss you were quick to dodge as you stood up from the couch and walked to the room giving him the silent treatment.

“how mature y/n” you thought to yourself, you knew this wasn’t the right way to solve this problem but sometimes a girl just wants to be showered with attention, so you just waited in your bed for Lando to come beg for forgiveness

you heard your boyfriends hurried footsteps before he appeared at the door

“baby, i’m so sorry, i meant to text you but my phone died as soon as i left, i didn’t mean to get you worried” he said carefully sitting on the bed next to you

“You could have woken me up to tell me where you were going, I don't even know where you were all day”. You were trying really hard to keep up your angry appearance but having him next to you after waiting for him all day was getting to you.

“y/n, i really am sorry, i didn't wake you up because i know how tired you've been these last few days and you looked very peaceful sleeping, i didn't have the strength to wake you up, my love. Max asked me to go with him to buy a gift for Pietra’s birthday, then we went to have lunch, i guess one thing led to another and I lost track of time”

You decided that was enough anger for the day and you gave him a soft smile “did you only buy gifts for Pietra?” you said half jokingly

Lando laughed, holding your face in his hands and taking that kiss he had wanted so much since he had arrived at your home

“you know i never forget about you, beautiful” He said, handing you a bag you didn't know where he had hidden. You carefully opened it, finding the dress you’ve been wanting for months, it was on your wishlist since it came out and every time you went shopping with Lando you looked at it for so long, too embarrassed to ask him to buy it for you.

“how did you know i wanted this?” you said unable to hide your joy

“i just know you so well, baby” Lando said kissing you again, this time much bolder and confident

You melted in his arms, with no hope of being able to resist him for another second, sometimes you get angry at yourself for how much at his mercy you are. but this time he had really screwed up, you couldn't just let this happen, that’s you felt like a light bulb had gone on in your head.

You straddled him, grabbed his hair and kissed him with the same intensity, until you felt him tense under your touch, you began to move your hips slow and hard on him and when you felt his erection grow beneath you, you mumbled on his lips “i see you missed me too, love” going down to kiss his neck

“mmhm baby, i need you so bad, been thinking about you all d-ay” He was having trouble putting his words together and that gave you the signal that it was time to play with him a little

“you know it’ll take a little more for me to forgive you, right?” you stood up and started taking of your top, surprising him with your bare chest since you weren’t wearing a bra

“i know, pretty, come here i’ll make it up to you i promise” he said taking his pants off and pulling you so you would sit in his lap again, and oh god how tempting it was to just give in

“you don’t deserve that, Lando, i’m afraid you won’t get to touch me today, baby, so just touch yourself” you saw how Lando opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out “go on, love, do it for me”

Seeing him hesitate, you licked your fingers slowly and started to play with your nipples, just the way he would, it didn't feel as good, but just to turn him on more you started to moan softly, moving your hips back and forth on the bed.

you were teasing and touching yourself but even though it felt good, what was really getting you worked up was seeing him fight against touching his painfully hard dick

“y/n please, don’t do this baby, i want you so bad please just touch me” he was starting to get desperate and to push him further to the edge you started giving him wet kisses up his thighs, very close to where he wanted them most but without getting there “fuck, you’re gonna kill me one day” he finally gave in, wrapping his hand over his swollen member

You watched him go up and down with his hand, you heard his moans and grunts and they only turned you on more and more. You were finally seeing in all its glory the effect you had on him and you were becoming addicted to that feeling. As you were feeling brave, you decided to experiment, so you leaned over him and spit on his cock just to see his reaction. Lando had to gather all his strength not to cum in that moment, his entire body trembled and tensed at your action, you were driving him crazy and although he wasn't going to admit it, maybe he was enjoying this more than you.

this was probably the most turned on you’ve ever been and when you couldn't take it anymore, you decided to take off your shorts and show him how wet you were “i want you to fuck me so bad, baby - a moan escaped your mouth- it’s a shame that you were so bad to me today”

“y/n fuck fuck fuck- you saw the tip of his member, angry red, and you swore you were drooling- don’t do this to me baby, i’ll make you feel so good, let me taste you please, i need you” he was just so close to cumming but he had to hold it, he needed you, he didn’t care if it was your hands, your mouth or your wet and warm pussy, he wanted you and only you

you fingered yourself and played with your clit at the same time and with how turned on you were you pushed yourself over the edge embarrassingly quick, there was just one problem, you just couldn’t cum, you never had that problem, when lando was away you did what had to be done, but watching him so needy in front of you, all sweaty and bothered just for you, just for watching you, was making it impossible for you to finish without him

“fuck, love, please, i’m gonna cum” you heard him say, pulling yourself out of your thoughts, you saw him squeeze his eyes shut, mouth slightly open and you felt so bad but you just had to interrupt him

“no, you won’t” he opened his eyes, his face a mixture of pain and disbelief, you slapped his hand softly so he would let go of himself and straddled him again, sitting on his dick in one swift motion, you were grateful that you didn’t have any neighbours nearby because the moan the two of you left was sinful

“love, i hope you had fun with your little game because you’re gonna be so sorry” he said grabbing your hips hard and slamming you against him without mercy, so delicious, just the way you liked, it felt so good you couldn’t think, you didn’t even hear yourself, the only thing you knew is that you were screaming his name again and again

You don't know when or how, you didn't even feel it building, but from one moment to another the two of you were reaching your climax stronger than ever in your lives, as you came down from your high you heard your boyfriend whispering sweet nothings and compliments in your ear, you were ready for a long session of aftercare when you felt him flipping you both so he was on top of you

“did you think i was done with you, princess?”

and with that you knew he was making up for all the lost time.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the anniversary. l Joel Miller

Summary:  he forgot about a very important date for you

Warnings:  +18, smut, angst, unprotected sex (don't do that), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), cum play, breeding kink or just talking about kids

 A/N:  somehow it came out the same way. I hope you like it. Thank you for every feedback, it means a lot to me.

The car quietly pulled into the driveway and after a moment the engine and the lights were turned off. He didn't get out right away, he just reached for the phone lying on the passenger seat and glanced at the last message Tommy had sent him.

He cursed quietly under his breath. This renovation had been causing them problems from the start and they wanted to finish it as soon as possible, but Joel's blood pressure rose every time he saw or heard that something would extend their work again. This time it was the same.

"Fuck." he hissed under his breath, resigned.

His gaze rolled over the quiet area immersed in sleep. It was already around midnight. Once again he had spent way too much time at work.

The car door slammed shut and his steps headed towards the door. The lights inside were dimmed, you had left them on just enough so he could safely move around the interior.

His gaze wandered to the couch in the living room, he was probably secretly hoping to see you there, but it was so late that he knew it was a foolish hope. You worked too, and you looked after the house and were there for Sarah while he was at work, which was... for too long lately.

His legs took him to the kitchen and the fridge, but when he opened the door he froze for a moment. There were several containers full of food on the shelves, and he definitely hadn't seen them there this morning. The cardboard box from your favourite cake shop looked completely untouched. And that bottle of champagne.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. Joel swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten and a heavy stone sinking into his stomach.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

More pieces of the puzzle started fitting together in his head. Fresh flowers in the living room, candles standing on the kitchen counter.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

When his eyes stopped at the calendar hanging on the wall he knew he had fucked everything up.

His hand went to his hair and he ruffled it wondering how angry you could be at him. Joel would probably rather you were angry because the disappointment in your eyes would kill him.

He couldn't hide in the kitchen forever though so he headed upstairs. He glanced through the ajar door to Sarah's room. Her bed was empty. That's right, for a few days you both told him that she would be staying at a friend's.

Another stone fell into his stomach.

The bedroom you shared was dark, but a small lamp was on by the bed, your silhouette was outlined under the sheets. This view was one of his favorites. You were sleeping quietly breathing.

Joel took off his shoes and shirt, throwing it towards the laundry basket. He climbed onto the bed and gently kissed your shoulder, then once again until you purred quietly.

"J-Joel?" your voice was quiet and sleepy "Is something wrong? What time is it?"

"Late. Midnight or something." he replied, resting his arms on either side of you "Baby, I'm so fucking sorry..."

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands so he wouldn't see your embarrassment. You hoped that this conversation wouldn't happen, that you'd forget and go back to normal. But Joel didn't like unfinished business.

"I felt really stupid." you finally spoke up "For a moment I even wondered if I hadn't mixed up the dates. So I found the marriage certificate…"

"I messed everything up. I remembered that, at least at the beginning of the week."

"Yeah, I know. You worked a lot." your hand stroked his scratchy cheek "At least we have so much food that we don't have to cook tomorrow. And Sarah will be really happy about the cake I bought."

"That's not fair. You worked too, and then you came home, did all these things, and remembered our anniversary."

"Multitasking."

"I told you, you're better than Wonder Woman." you giggled, and that brought him relief "I'm so sorry, baby. I really am. I fucked it all up."

"You fucked up." You nodded, but your smile softened it "But we can still do something about it."

"Yeah?"

A sly smile appeared on his lips as your body settled beneath him. Your hands slid gently over his chest to his soft belly where your nails scratched it pleasantly.

He leaned down and his lips brushed yours, nibbling gently before his warm tongue slipped inside, caressing you pleasantly. A quiet groan escaped your throat.

You couldn't remember the last time Joel kissed you like that. The last few weeks had been quite hard, his late homecomings didn't make anything easier. In the evenings, you both fell into bed and before anything could happen, you fell asleep deeply.

Now, you had time and the house just for yourselves.

"Joel?" you murmured quietly as his lips moved to your neck. "Maybe you're tired, huh? I don't want you to be unconscious at work tomorrow."

A single movement of his hips and the large bulge hidden in his jeans rubbing against your thigh was a clear answer. He kissed your lips again and then sat up, removing the sheets from you.

"Oh, baby..." he sighed seeing that you were only wearing his shirt and panties "Even if I was on my deathbed I would ask for the opportunity to eat you out."

"God! Miller!" you laughed "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You won't understand." his large hands slid down your thighs squeezing them lightly "It's such a man thing."

His fingers reached for the hem of your panties and he slid them down without much trouble. He spread your thighs apart and you felt the heat flooding your neck. You were totally exposed to him, but Joel always made you feel totally sexy and desired even in a situation like this.

He settled himself between your thighs giving them a few kisses and squeezes. It was like a final countdown to what was about to happen. One, slow lick and the air left your lungs.

"So pretty." Joel mumbled and you bit your lip "I'm a lucky bastard."

You didn't have a chance to respond as his mouth closed over your heat. His tongue teased your button.

"Jesus!"

That was all that could escape your lips as you tried to catch your breath and control your body. Joel made sounds like he planned to eat you out completely and leave you barely alive. Unconsciously, your hips jerked trying to break free from the pleasure his mouth was giving you, but his hands held you tighter to the mattress.

"Stay." he mumbled "You're not going anywhere."

One of your hands tightened on the headboard of the bed and the other tangled in Joel's hair. You felt him slide his tongue into your heated pussy, in and out, his thumb making small circles on your clit. You felt his scratchy stubble on your thighs, his hands pressing you down to the mattress.

"I'm so close...so close..."

"I can feel it, baby. C'mon, let go."

His two thick fingers slid into you without a problem, finding the right spot. You clenched your thighs tighter, but that didn't stop him, his fingers moved faster and faster and after a moment, indescribable pleasure spread through your body.

"Oh my God!" you moaned "Fuck!"

Joel didn’t wait, freed himself from between your legs and unzipped his pants, freeing his hard cock. He gave it a few pumps, his hands were slick with your juices. But it was his eyes that were the most hypnotizing. Those beautiful, brown eyes turned almost black. You knew he wanted you so much.

Not a word was said. His cock touched your pussy and after a moment he easily slid into you, stretching your walls pleasantly. Joel lay on you, pinning you harder to the mattress with the weight of his body. His fingers slid into your hair and his lips crushed yours. You only had time to wrap your legs around his waist before he thrust in for the first time.

His cock pushed in harder and deeper. You wanted to catch your breath, but Joel's mouth was swallowing you and it wasn't until he buried his face in your hair, moaning loudly, that you managed to do it.

You loved it when he made such dirty sounds, but living with a teenager, he had to hold back. Now Joel gave you a real concert.

"You're so tight, baby. So fucking good for me." he moaned in your ear. "I missed that pussy so much. I want to fuck you all night long."

You couldn't answer. No grammatically correct sentence was able to form in your brain. Your pussy took over and the only thing that slipped out from between your lips was:

"Harder, Joel… Fuck me harder."

Joel got up and knelt on the mattress. He threw your legs over his shoulders and held them tight, then began to pound into you harder and harder. Every movement was precise and hit exactly where you needed him. His cock moved hard inside you and you felt yourself getting closer to the edge really fast.

"I'm close, baby!" he panted "Cum for me, I want to feel you."

"Joel..."

"C'mon, baby." His thumb found your clit again and rubbed it hard "Fuck, c'mon!"

Your body arched. You could feel your walls squeeze his cock, the muscles in your legs quivering, but Joel didn't slow down. A few more hard thrusts and he filled you to the brim, a groan of pleasure escaping his throat as he tilted his head back.

"Sweet Jesus..." he mumbled, lowering his arms and letting your legs fall onto the bed, "Fuck, I've missed this so much..."

His cock slid out of you, and some of his seed flowed out of you after it. He watched it for a moment, then his fingers lazily pushed it back in.

"You know..." he began as his eyes moved to your face, "We should start talking about this eventually."

"About what?" you asked.

Joel laid down next to you, sliding down his jeans and laying completely naked, still breathing deeply.

"About kids." he replied calmly, turning his head to face you, "I'm not getting any younger, and I'd really like to have a kid or two with you."

"A kid or two?" you laughed.

"Yeah, why not?" his eyes shone so beautifully when he spoke about it "I would like to see your belly grow full of our baby. You will be even more beautiful. Besides, you are a wonderful mother to Sarah, she adores you. Would you like that? Because if you are not ready, baby, we can wait with it. We still have time."

You stroked his cheek, smiling fondly at him.

"I think I am ready, sweetie. It would be a wonderful journey together, don't you think?"

"Definitely."

You moved closer to him and snuggled into his arms. You were happy and you didn’t want to give up this moment for anything in the world.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[boiohboii]

The Twitter Marriage

(Oscar Piastri x fem!driver!reader)

Yn Ln has had a crush on fellow driver Oscar Piastri since their f2 days but she never and will never tell him.... at least not to his face

or

In which Aston Martin driver needed the alcohol to confess her feelings

N.B: rushed a bit cause of finals, but I hope you like it. Also, doesn't follow any timeline tbh. NOTHING IN THIS IS ADDS UP IN REGARDS OF DATES AND CHARACTERS AND STUFF, IT IS JUST FOR FUN.

WARNINGS: REALLY BAD PICK UP LINES, SOME SWEAR WORDS. Probably some spelling mistakes as well. Short fic.

faceclaim: sabrina carpenter

Masterlist

Liked by ynmyworld, f1memes, charliethesinglemom and 168,920 others

Keepingupw/f1: Aston Martin driver, Yn Ln, tweets as she celebrates her p3 in Monaco.... it seems like she has something to say to fellow driver, Oscar Piastri.

username: the entire grid is just having fun with that joke.

username: miss ma'am, STAND UP!!

username: what do you mean stand up? SHE FOLDED LIKE A CHAIR

username: understandably so tbf

username: no but her offering to make Spain Oscar's home race LIKE CARLOS ISN'T LOOKING FOR THAT MAN'S BLOOD.

username: so foul of her 💀

username: her tagging him is insane

username: pr is gonna have a headache tomorrow

username: the fact that she's tweeting this shit while in a club, WHERE OSCAR IS A FEW METERS AWAY FROM HER

username: you know she's out of it when she starts using twitter.

Liked by F1_updates_live, ynmyqueen, oscaroopastryy and 184,710 others

Keepingupw/f1: yn ln on her way back to the hotel last night after celebrating her Monaco podium.

username: she got wasted omg

username: now those tweets make sense

username: where did she even get the shoe box from

username: and where did her shoes go, papers fell out of that thing

username: so are you guys gonna post the video or?

username: what video?

username: there's a video going on twitter where these pics are taken from she was so drunk, she was actually dancing in the middle of Monaco (go queen, live your best life) and then the papers fell out of the box and she immediately went down to pick them up and put them back but then after she was halfway through she kept looking at the ground then at the box and then at her feet, you can see her pouting as she kept putting away the little papers in the box again

username: shut upp!!! I need that video! IT IS A LIFE SAVING MATTER ATP

username: yn ln is gonna be the death of me

yn ln has shared a story

text: when you wake up to a video of drunk you on the streets of Monaco and some tweets that should've gone with you to the grave

yn ln has shared a story

text: self pity and cringe time over, back to our regular schedule of slaying

Sebastian Vettel has shared a story

text: someone tell her that staying with me till the Spanish GP isn't going to make people forget that she exists

yn ln has replied to your story: your kids love me! AND SO DOES HANNA

yn ln has replied to your story: also, please take pity on me, I can't face him again, ever, I will just retire, I can't do this

yn ln has replied to your story: why are you ignoring meeeee!!! Not you too, Oscar is already doing thaaaat, I wanna turn into a worm, I'd die quicker if I was a worm, I wouldn't have to go through this much embarrassment if I was a worm

Sebastian Vettel replied to your message: are you drunk right now?

Liked by pierregasly, wtf1, oscaroopastryy and 268,715 others

Keepingupw/f1: we bring you part 2 of the osyn saga

username: i love this family

username: yn is such a pr nightmare

username: the ACTUAL child of fernando

username: wait, now that you reminded me, I need to update the family tree

username: post the updated family tree you coward

username: anyone who doesn't watch f1 will 100% believe that Charles and Nicole are Oscar's parents

username: hey, don't disrespect charles' heartfelt adoption like that

username: this sport is so fucking unserious

username: I refuse to believe that this is real

Sebastian Vettel has shared a story

Text: huh..... it's not so bad having her here

Liked by OscarPiastri, Charles_leclerc, Arthur_leclerc and 918,037 others

yn ln: let her cook now 🧡

username: yn.... yn..... YN.... WHAT ARE YOU COOKING YN

username: it has started, I can feel it in my bones

username: so she's with Oscar now, good to know (screaming into my pillow as I type)

username: oh so if I wear orange I'm dating Lando now, nice to know ig

username: fuck off away from my replies, I wanna have fun

username: yn pls don't, I can't lose you, you were the only wife left standing

username: PLS TELL ME THAT MY SHIP SAILED

username: if I see that australian's face anywhere on this account I will start biting ankles

username: ok Leo, geez, no need to terrorise your sister-in-law

username: I can't believe she was simping on main for a boy that goes 'wut'

Liked by Ynln, pierregasly, Arthur_leclerc and 890,627 others

Oscar Piastri: let him cook 💚

username: nope, no, nuuh, I see nothing

username: other partner's team colors, matching captions, liking the posts..... yup, they're officially dating

username: we lost her to a mini kimi raikkonen

username: I see that as a win tbh

username: kimi was and is the IT girl of the grid

username: how dare you forget about our very own Britney Spears.... nico you will always be missed

username: you can't prove that they're dating from just that

username: oh boy, the delulu is strong with this one

Oscar Piastri and Yn Ln shared a post

Liked by Charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 903,815 others

Yn ln & Oscar Piastri: I said let them cook 💚🧡

username: YES YES YES YES YES YES

username: MY PARENTS

username: This is why women shouldn't be in f1, wtf is wrong with Oscar? Why would he date yn? And what is this hand placement? Where can I get a yn? Or an oscar?

username: slowly deleting my paragraph

username: had us the first half, ngl

username: yn hide oscar really well during the Spain GP, we leave his safety in your hands

username: THE CURLS OMG

username: MR OSCAR JACK PIASTRI WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOUR WHAT IS THIS HAND PLACEMENT

[fuckyeahisawthat]

There are so many places in the Villeneuve Dune adaptations where he just...takes all the narrative pieces that Frank Herbert laid out and subtly rearranges them into something that tells the story better--that creates dramatic tension where you need it, communicates the themes and message of the book more clearly, or corrects something in the text that contradicts or undermines what Herbert said he was trying to say.

The fedaykin are probably my favorite example of this. I just re-read a little part of the book and got smacked in the face with how different they are.

(under the cut for book spoilers and length)

The fedaykin in the book are Paul's personal followers, sort of his personal guard. They show up after his legend has already started growing (the word doesn't appear in the book until chapter 40) and they are people who have specifically dedicated themselves to fighting for him, and right from the moment they're introduced there is a kind of implied fanaticism to their militancy that's a bit uncomfortable to read. They're the most ardent believers in Paul's messianic status and willing to die for him. (They are also, as far as you can tell from the text, all men.)

In the book, as far as I can remember (I could be forgetting some small detail but I don't think so) there is no mention of armed resistance to colonialism on Arrakis before Paul shows up. As far as we know, he created it. ETA: Okay I actually went back and checked on this and while we hear about the Fremen being "a thorn in the side" of the Harkonnens and we know that they are good fighters, we don't see anything other than possibly one bit of industrial sabotage. The book is very clear that the organized military force we see in the second half was armed and trained by Paul. This is exacerbated by the two-year time jump in the book, which means we never see how Paul goes from being a newly deposed ex-colonial overlord running for his life to someone who has his own private militia of people ready to give their lives for him.

The movie completely flips all these dynamics on their head in ways that add up to a radical change in meaning.

The fedaykin in the movie are an already-existing guerrilla resistance movement on Arrakis that formed long before Paul showed up. Literally the first thing we learn about the Fremen, less that two minutes into the first movie, is that they are fighting back against the colonization and exploitation of their home and have been for decades.

The movie fedaykin also start out being the most skeptical of the prophecy about Paul, which is a great choice from both a political and a character standpoint. Of course they're skeptical. If you're part of a small guerrilla force repeatedly going up against a much bigger and stronger imperial army...you have to believe in your own agency. You have to believe that it is possible to win, and that this tiny little chip in the armor of a giant terrifying military machine that you are making right now will make a difference in the end. These are the people who are directly on the front lines of resisting oppression. They are doing it with their own sweat, blood and ingenuity, and they are not about to wait around for some messiah who may never come.

From a character standpoint, this is really the best possible environment you could put Paul Atreides in if you want to keep him humble. He doesn't get any automatic respect handed to him due to title or birthright or religious belief. He has to prove himself--not as any kind of savior but as a good fighter and a reliable member of a collective political project. And he does. This is an environment that really draws out his best qualities. He's a skilled fighter; he's brave (sometimes recklessly so); he's intensely loyal to and protective of people he cares about. He is not too proud to learn from others and work hard in an egalitarian environment where he gets no special treatment or extra glory. The longer he spends with the fedaykin the more his allegiance shifts from Atreides to Fremen, and the more skeptical he himself becomes about the prophecy. This sets up the conflict with Jessica, which comes to a head before she leaves for the south. And his political sincerity--that he genuinely comes to believe that these people deserve liberation from all colonial forces and his only role should be to help where he can--is what makes the tragedy work. Because in the end we know he will betray all these values and become the exact thing he said he didn't want to be.

There's another layer of meaning to all this that I don't know if the filmmakers were even aware of. ETA: rescinding my doubt cause based on some of Villeneuve's other projects I'm pretty sure he could work it out. Given the time period (1960s) and Herbert's propensity for using Arabic or Arabic-inspired words for aspects of Fremen culture, it seems very likely that the made-up word fedaykin was taken from fedayeen, a real Arabic word that was frequently used untranslated in American news media at the time, usually to refer to Palestinian armed resistance groups.

Fedayeen is usually translated into English as fighter, guerrilla, militant or something similar. The translation of fedaykin that Herbert provides in Dune is "death commando"...which is a whole bucket of yikes in my opinion, but it's not entirely absurd if we're assuming that this fake word and the real word fedayeen function in the same way. A more literal translation of fedayeen is "self-sacrificer," as in willing, intentional self-sacrifice for a political cause, up to and including sacrificing your life.

If you apply this logic to Dune, it means that Villeneuve has actually shifted the meaning of this word in-universe, from fighters who are willing to sacrifice themselves for Paul to fighters who are willing to sacrifice themselves for their people. And the fedaykin are no longer a group created for Paul but a group that Paul counts himself as part of, one member among equals. Which is just WILDLY different from what's in the book. And so much better in my opinion.

[noturfavartist]

Arcane Characters & an S/O with Chronic Pain/Illness

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends, Riot Games, 2021) Core Relationship: Reader x Jinx, Reader x Vi, Reader x Caitlyn, Caitlyn x Reader x Vi, Reader x Jayce, Reader x Viktor, Jayce x Reader x Viktor, Reader x Sevika. Romantic. Genre & Disclaimers: Comfort, Fluff, Second person (you/your pronouns used), contains discussions of disability and chronic illness. Take care of yourself and read at your own discretion <3 A/N: My own chronic pain is kicking my ass and I don't have the brain power to finish the Jinx fluff I've started :') that could also be the co-codamol too though.

Jayce

First and foremost, if you need still need medical investigation, then Jayce is immediately finding the best practitioners to handle your care. No questions or hesitation, just the best specialists in the country.

Of all of the characters in this list, he's probably the best at massages already and knows exactly how to do it to ease your pain if that's something that heps you. He's a mamas boy, and his mama raised him RIGHT - he knows what he's doing.

He talks to Viktor about anything he isn't sure about with your condition first - he wants to understand and help, but he also doesn't want to make you feel like you're spoon-feeding him on how to help care for you and does his best to figure out how to do it himself.

This man is soppy puppy incarnate, seeing you in a lot of pain during bad days/flare-ups breaks his heart and if he had it his way, he'd keep you cuddled up in bed with him. On the off occasion that he can get away with it, he does - he's practically glued to you, keeping you tangled in the sheets and pressing tender kisses to your face as you snuggle.

Uses his smithing and engineering skills to develop and build any mobility aids you may need and goes the extra mile to customise them and suit them to you exactly. Absolutely engraves sweet little messages into everything he creates for you.

Wherever your pain is, he will always kiss you there any chance he gets. If it's somewhere below the belt, obviously, he only does it in private even if it isn't sexual. If it's anywhere higher - headaches, upper back, shoulders, neck - then he kisses those spots any chance he gets regardless of where you are.

While he usually prefers to work late in the lab, the second you complain about any ache or pain at the end of a long day - even breathe in a way that implies you're in pain - then he's off like a rocket and immediately at your side to love on you until you fall asleep.

Vitktor

Y'all are both chronically ill, of everyone on this list he'll understand you and your problems the most. The only issue is balancing who is actually giving the help and who is recieving it.

If you both have chronic fatigue, then the amount of naps you guys take together is through the roof. In the same vein, Viktor seems to have insomnia, so if you do too, then you guys cuddle up and chat all night. If you don't have insomnia, he will talk to you until you fall asleep to the sound of his voice or vice-versa.

No concept of personal space, and I swear it's related - he's comfortable leaning on you to take weight off his legs if need be and allows you to do the same when you need it. He will also rub your shoulders and neck whenever he passes you by or gets close enough.

If you're a wheelchair user, much like Jayce, he will design and build the perfect electric chair for you suited to all your measurements and intended to be as easy for you to use as possible.

If you tend to forget any meds you need to take, Viktor will remember on your behalf. If it's one of his good days, he brings you breakfast in bed alongside your medications.

JayVik Polycule

Double trouble, baby - no neglecting yourself with these two around! Viktor will try to talk you into resting first on his own, but if that fails, Jace comes in and picks you up to drag you to bed for rest.

Work together on the custom mobility aids they end up designing and building for you, it takes them about half as long to make and with two people developing it, it ends up being completely perfect for you and your needs.

If you would usually use a body pillow to sleep, Jayce and Viktor would effectively replace it. You sleep in-between them every night, and both men have found the best way to lie, so all three of you are comfortable at night. Viktor buries his face against you while Jayce kisses your face.

If you have insomnia, Jayce and Viktor will just talk amongst themselves until you fall asleep and absentmindedly rub your sides and back or brush your hair.

Sevika

As much as I love her, I do kinda take Sevika for the type who would struggle to empathise with others if she hasn't experienced something for herself - if you're together before she loses her arm, she really doesn't get your condition at all.

Pre-arm loss, she obviously takes care of you - she's your girlfriend, she's happy to do it and sees it as her job - but while she's helping you to bed or getting your meds for you, she'll rant about you being 'weak' or 'delicate'. She shuts up pretty quickly when you ask her to, but by the next flare-up, she's forgotten that she's not meant to say that.

After she loses her arm, she ends up with some chronic pain of her own - the explosion fried the nerves in her shoulder, and the neuralgia is absolutely awful. Finally, she gets the problem, and she's absolutely shocked that you don't complain more. She definitely has a lot more sympathy for you when she realises how much you really go through.

If you ever consider taking shimmer to manage your pain before she loses her arm, she'll talk you out of it for fear of how the addiction will affect you. After she loses her arm and uses shimmer for herself, she's less aggressive with her disagreement but still tries to talk you out of it.

She's a very strong woman - if your pain flares when you walk or stand, she'll carry you regardless of whatever build you have. She's learnt to read your face extremely well, so she can see every pained microexpressipm and will just lift you into her arms whenever she can see that you've run out of spoons.

She's not the best at massages or being gentle, but she does learn whatever your preferred massage techniques are to ease your pain. She makes a point of doing at least a short rubdown before you both go to bed to ensure your pain doesn't interrupt your sleep.

If she finds you overexerting yourself, she doesn't let that fly for very long - again, strong woman. You're over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes within seconds and being hauled off to bed.

Jinx

Does she understand your condition? No, not really. At least, not before season 2 - before she began to slow down a little bit and begun doing better mentally, she didn't really have the patience to learn about it. Later down the line, after finding and beginning to care for Isha, she apologised for her disregard and asked to know more about it.

If you use a wheelchair and allow her to do it, she would absolutely build a small platform to stand on the back of your wheelchair to ride on the back like a scooter sometimes. Same vein with the wheelchair, she would be obsessed with sitting in your lap constantly.

Regardless of whatever mobility aid or medical device you use - a brace, crutches, a cane, a wheelchair, compression garments, anything - she will absolutely paint on them for you in her iconic style.

Her lab while she was living with Silco and her hideout later down the line weren't the most accessible places in the world, so she ends up making sure the stairs aren't too steep or that there are ramps. She also ensures there are plenty of hammocks and chairs for you to use wherever she works so you can comfortably be with her when she's busy.

If you're having a flare-up or a bad day, she'll handle all your self-care for you - brush and braid your hair if it's long enough, helping you clean your teeth and face, even painting your nails and doing extended skincare in your bed to ensure nothing is missed.

If you use a body pillow to sleep, she will insist she gets her plushies too and claims it's the same thing. It's not something she negtiates on. On top of that, she also insists on falling asleep while cuddling and will try to fit between you and the body pillow to do it.

Vi

If strength training is something that helps manage your pain and condition, she is quick to help you put together a routine and maintain it for the sake of your health without making you feel bad for not being as strong or able as someone able-bodied people.

Frets over any comlaint from you - she knows your tolerance is high, and she knows your pain is near constant, so when you complain, she knows you're really going through it. She would drop everything at the first sign of things getting too much for you.

She does her best to take your word for it when you insist you don't need help - she has a habit of powering through her own struggles and she would hate to make you think she sees you as weak, but she also hates standing aside and watching the person she loves suffer in silence.

Vander taught her plenty of remedies when she was younger, so she always brings you teas and compresses and offers you massages or to press on pressure points in an effort to minimise your pain in the best ways she knows how.

She is hopeless at remembering your meds. She'll suddenly ask you if you've taken them hours after you're supposed to, and if you have, she sighs in relief and moves on. If you did forget, however, she makes a mad dash for the bathroom to get them for you to take.

Gets mildly frustrated if you sleep with a body pillow. She likes to hold you while you sleep, and when she can't, she struggles to sleep herself.

If you have insomnia, she insists that you sleep on her chest and listen to her heartbeat and breathing to help you drift off easier. She doesn't fall asleep until you do.

Caitlyn

Much like Jayce, she wastes no time at all finding the best possible medical personnel in Piltover to see to you and ensure your wellbeing.

Always assumes the worst, especially if your condition is autoimmune - every little complaint has her fretting over a sudden decline or another sickness making you unwell. You always have to remind her that certain aches and pains were normal for you.

If you have insomnia, Cait will let you rest your head in her lap and brush your hair until you fall asleep. More than once, you've woken up to find her sleeping sat up as a result.

If you need a body pillow to sleep, Cait ensures that you have the most lavish and perfect bedding and setup according to your personal wants and needs. You've had to remind her to dial it back and calm down with all the new pillows and bedding because she still needs space to sleep.

Not partcularly good at massages, but sometimes tries to give them for the sake of intimacy on your better days. On your worst days and when you need some more specialised care, she will find the best masseuse she can to take care of you and your pain.

If you wear compression garments, Cait commissions fashion designers to make the medically necessary clothing in the styles you love and wear most often so you don't need to choose between layering up your clothes and looking like a hospital patient in your day-to-day.

CaitVi Polycule

If you sleep with a body pillow, it's perfect for them - Vi tosses and turns in her sleep, Cait lies still, and it gets on her last nerve when Vi flails in her sleep. You act as a perfect buffer for them, so all three of you can happily share the bed.

Collectively fuss over you on your worst days - Vi knows best how to do your hair and make the perfect comfort food, and Cait ensures you get any meds on time and that your responsibilities for the day are seen to so you won't stress over it.

Given the kinds of things they've seen and Cait's own knowledge of Viktor's illness, they tend to get paranoid whenever you fall asleep - more than once, you've woken up to both women lying on your chest to listen to your heart and breathing. Just for peace of mind.

Cait is an early riser, but Vi likes to sleep in - Cait tends to get up early and make sure breakfast is ordered to your room before slipping back into bed with both you and Vi while the two of you are asleep. You typically wake up to Vi still groggy and Cait up and already in uniform as breakfast is being brought in.

[writtenwhalien]

jump then fall (into you) | part 2

banner by the talented @jimilter​ 💖

pairing ↠ jungkook x reader

genre ↠ cruise AU, fake dating AU, best friends to lovers AU | fluff, angst, smut

word count ↠ 52k (pt 2. 14k)

18+ | warnings ↠ swearing, drinking, sexual content: foreplay, oral m. and f., protected sex etc.

summary ↠ bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a years long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?

note. i hope you're enjoying! ☺️ don't forget to interact please + here's a few songs that inspired me and this story (more at the end too!): photograph — ed sheeran i think i fell in love today — kelsea bellerini where are you now — lost frequencies & calum scott 3:15 (breathe) — russ words — alesso & zara larsson jump then fall — taylor swift

part 2

🍉 note. while I have your attention, I would like to divert it to those in palestine as israel commits war crimes against them. Innocent men, women and children are being tortured, degraded, displaced and murdered endlessly — it is a genocide and we are all complicit if we do nothing.

as a minimum, please donate to legitimate organisations + boycott the big 3 — starbucks, disney and mcdonald’s — as well as others. feel free to message me for more information and/or donation links, thank you <3 🇵🇸

You know what he wants you to say, but as you feel his fingers around yo, all you can think of is how wrong they feel — they’re not as long as the ones you’re most familiar with, not as calloused on the palms  or soft from the back. Every moment with Jungkook from the past few weeks buzzes through your mind and it all starts to make sense – you’ve always known Jungkook makes you happy but you never thought about why…

Looking up at Lawrence, you nod slowly. “Yes,” you say, softening the words in the hopes it softens the blow.

It’s a quiet confession, not only because you’re pretending to date Jungkook, but because now you’re no longer sure if your heart is open to anyone else besides him.

Lawrence smiles, releasing a small breath he’d been holding. “I had to ask,” he chuckles.

You’re sure his cheeks are turning pink but with the dim lighting, you can’t be sure. 

Lips pursing, you nod.

There’s another moment of hesitation from him, then he kisses your cheek once before stepping back. 

“I’m glad I asked though, I’d probably regret it forever if I didn’t,” he adds, eyes gleaming as they look over your face. 

You manage to smile despite feeling bad and a little awkward now — it’s not every day someone confesses to your face like this. “It’s okay, I get it.” 

Just while your mind races to find an excuse to leave now, Lawrence’s gaze shifts to behind your shoulder and his eyes suddenly widen, face going somewhat pale. You turn around, eyes following his line of sight and when you see who’s standing there, you’re sure your expression mirrors Lawrence’s. 

Jungkook and Alias stand more than a few feet away by the staircase towards the upper decks, but it’s not hard to see their expressions from here. 

Alias purses his lips and looks at Jungkook before he shifts his weight awkwardly. But it’s Jungkook you’re focused on. His expression is blank and he just stares at Lawrence and you.

How long has he been standing there? Why isn’t he doing anything? And why do you only now realise how close you and Lawrence are still standing while holding hands too? 

You let go, stepping back abruptly too but you know it doesn’t make a difference. 

Jungkook's lips curl into a curt yet polite smile before he turns and disappears around the corner. 

What the hell is happening? 

Jungkook and you aren’t even dating for real for this to be a problem so why on earth does it feel like you’ve actually done something so wrong?

The guilty feeling in your chest grows as you stand still, still looking upon where he was.

“I’m so sorry,” Lawrence apologises immediately. “I can go talk to him, it was all my fault.”

“No it’s fine,” you shake your head, managing a smile. “I should talk to him, don’t worry.” 

He nods and you walk away before he can say anything else.

“Walk with me?” you say as you approach Alias. 

He nods, falling into stride beside you. “What was that about?” he asks, nodding back in the direction of Lawrence.

“Um, he told me he likes me, or at least did,” you wince. 

“Ah, that explains it.”

You shoot him a look. “That explains what?”

Alias hesitates. “Well, he looked like he was about to kiss you.”

Oh gosh. “But he wasn’t!” you exclaim in a hushed whisper. “I wouldn’t do that!” 

“I know!” Alias exclaims too, “But it still didn’t look good. I’m assuming that’s why Jungkook just left.”

“You think he’s upset by it?”

“Well what else could it be?”

Sighing, you slow down. 

Alias looks at you confused. “What’s wrong?”

“What am I doing?” you ask rhetorically, thinking out loud.

Raising his brows, Alias points down the corridor. “Finding your boyfriend to explain what’s happening?” he says almost sarcastically. 

“But that’s just it, he’s not actually my boyfriend so why did he walk off? And why do I feel bad about it?” You feel like you sound a bit helpless but at this moment you don’t actually care, at least not with Alias. 

It’s confusing — first you find yourself having all these weird moments with Jungkook, then Lawrence tells you he likes you only for you to realise that maybe you actually do like Jungkook, and now Jungkook walking off like this…

Could he actually be upset by this?

Alias’s expression softens and he places his hands on your shoulders, squeezing gently. “I think you know why.”

You frown, lips pouting. “What are you trying to say?”

He chuckles, pulling you in for a hug. “I’m not saying anything. You’re figuring this out on your own.” He pulls back and takes your arm in his as he walks slowly down the corridor again. “Now, what are you going to say to Jungkook?”

His question is met with silence, but he doesn’t push any further as you take the time to think. 

You’re well aware of what Alias is trying to say to you but there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to acknowledge it — more like you don’t know how to acknowledge it. 

Maybe you do like him? Or maybe you’re just confused? It could definitely just be lust, or even just loneliness as it has been a long time since you’ve last been with anyone. Or maybe all the pretending has gotten to your head? — that’s definitely a plausible reason for the way you’re feeling. 

Although, it really doesn’t feel like it. There’s a reason pretending to date Jungkook comes so easily to you. Being with him is natural to you because you’ve always felt like you belong together; now you realise you’ve been feeling that romantically not just platonically. Having been so close to him for so many years has created a safety blanket around you, one that you can’t imagine living without and most definitely can’t ever replace. Even the thought of coming on this trip without him felt so wrong. There must be a reason why it doesn’t feel surprising to you that at some point, your feelings crossed the line from friends to something more.

“I don’t know,” you groan quietly. “This is so weird, what does someone say in this situation?”

Alias actually takes a moment to consider this. “Actually,” he starts, pulling on your arm to stop walking. “You need to be sure of how you feel before you say anything.”

He’s right.

“Take some time,” Alias says. “Maybe just address what happened with Lawrence for now?”

You nod. “Okay, I’ll just tell him what happened.”

“Yeah, do that,” Alias nods too. He looks down the corridor but makes no move to walk any further with you. 

Your cabin is only a few doors away so you hug him goodbye, and after he wishes you good luck, you make your way towards it.

Clearing your mind, you focus on the simple goal for now. Just let Jungkook know that there’s nothing between Lawrence and you — what he saw isn’t what it looked like. 

Tapping into your room, you feel your heart race a little faster as your nerves rise. Jungkook isn’t anywhere in the cabin but you can hear water running in the bathroom. 

Taking a deep breath, you mentally scold yourself to get it together. Some of your clothes from earlier in the day are still scattered on the bed so you decide to at least clear these away while you wait. 

It isn’t long until you hear the lock clicking and Jungkook walks out of the bathroom. 

You look up to see him patting his face dry with a towel. He’s already dressed for bed and you note that he’s wearing a top this time. 

When he sees you, his face shows no surprise or even much emotion at all. He simply nods and averts his gaze almost immediately. “Hey,” he says, tossing the towel into the laundry basket. 

“Hey,” you respond quietly while keeping your eyes on him. 

He walks over to the bed and starts picking up some of his own mess. If the situation were any different, you wouldn’t really think anything was wrong by the way Jungkook is acting. But you know Jungkook. 

For starters, he never folds his clothes neatly before putting them away. He usually just roughly puts them together and hides them away somewhere, yet here he is, laying out a shirt and folding the sleeves with much focus.

“Um, Jungkook…?”

He looks up immediately. “Yeah?” There’s no irritation or anger or anything else in his expression. Just the usual concern you’re used to seeing on his face whenever you call him. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, feeling stupid as soon as you ask it. 

“Yeah, of course,” he answers, shrugging as he resumes folding his clothes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” 

“Good.”

Turning away to put your clothes in the drawer, you frown to yourself. You know he knows why you’re asking — him walking off like that wasn’t normal and now him acting like nothing’s happened…

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “You and Lawrence…”

There it is. You turn to face him again. He’s still looking down as he folds his clothes but you don’t need to see his face to know he’s not looking forward to the answer. 

“You like each other?” His voice is steady but you can hear the quiet reservations that come with it. 

“No,” you answer immediately. 

He pauses for a second and you expect him to say something, but he doesn’t. He only nods and carries on putting his clothes away. 

You tell him everything. “We bumped into each other during the game because I was kind of confused about where to go after me and you split up. We just started talking and it came up that I used to have a crush on him way back in high school, and as we spoke…” you watch Jungkook carefully, still unable to see his face as he stays looking down, “… he just ended up telling me how he used to have a crush on me when we were growing up and it apparently never really went away.” 

It’s now that Jungkook finally looks up. He has a small smile on his face — not a smirk, not anything to show you it’s anything other than a genuine smile despite it not being his usual smile that meets his eyes.

“So Lawrence likes you then.” He says it more surely, as though he’s just reaffirming a fact rather than asking a question. 

You hesitate. “Well, yes, he does but he knows I don’t like him.”

As his smile fades a little, Jungkook raises a brow. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you say, feeling something heavy begin to weigh down your chest. 

Jungkook considers this. His gaze is steady as he looks at you from across the room, looking for any clue that might suggest otherwise to him. 

The longer he stares, the more you feel the weight on your chest. You don’t like this — you don’t like that Jungkook could even think for a minute that you like anyone else. Since high school, you haven’t had any real feelings for anyone and as Lawrence made you realise, it’s all because of Jungkook.

“Jungkook?” your voice comes out coarse and quiet. 

He looks away, jaw shifting as he now chooses to roughly fold his clothes together. Then — 

“I think we should stop the whole dating thing, it was my fault so I’ll tell whoever I need to tomorrow.” He says it clearly and decisively. “I don’t wanna hold you back, you should give Lawrence a chance.”

With a scoff, your brows knit together and you frown at him. “I just told you, I don’t like him.” 

“He was your high school crush for years, you’ve always wanted this.”

He says it so nonchalantly now and it makes you angry because you know just moments ago he was upset because of this. Sure, he didn’t say anything, but Jungkook is your best friend and you know him more than anyone else. 

“Well not anymore!” you blurt. “Why don’t you believe me?”

Jungkook looks at you and immediately you can recognise the small signs of him feeling hurt but he does well to disguise it as best as he can. “I saw how you looked at him that night, Y/N. It was pretty clear how smitten you were, anyone could see it.”

Immediately, you’re confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“Cartagena,” he responds, almost despondent. “You came out of the venue together and it was clear from your face that you were over the moon to have him there.”

Now you remember… and devastatingly enough, you realise Jungkook isn’t wrong. You remember how you felt when you initially bumped into him — it was a childish kind of excitement when seeing your crush but that’s all it was. Seeing him just brought back memories and that small part of you came out because it had been so long but since then you know there’s been nothing. 

Jungkook, however, wouldn’t know that. You realise that you must’ve looked how he’s describing and gosh, you can’t even imagine how you’d feel if the roles were reversed. 

Before you can ever try to find the words to explain how you feel, a knock sounds at the door. 

Jungkook is the one who answers it since you’re still too caught up in your thoughts. 

You even remember how you’d stupidly been flirting with him right in front of Jungkook, you pretty much called him ‘tall, handsome and mysterious’ when you were supposed to be “dating” Jungkook– 

“Lawrence.”

You turn immediately at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. Sure enough, Lawrence is standing there in the doorway looking exactly as he was when you left him. 

“Uh, hey,” he says, nodding awkwardly as he glances between Jungkook and you. 

You just stare at him blankly. This really doesn’t help you right now. 

“Hey,” Jungkook says with a smile, resorting to his usual politeness. “What’s up?”

Lawrence hesitates, still glancing between you both. “Sorry, I was thinking about whether or not I should come but I figured the sooner the better… uh…” he looks down, clearly feeling bad. “I just had to apologise, I told Y/N about how I felt and that was inappropriate and stupid of me when she’s with y—“

“We’re not together.”

Lawrence looks up and at the same time, your eyes snap to Jungkook. 

If you thought him saying that was harsh, the blank way in which he says it hurts even more. 

“We never were,” Jungkook says. “Y/N just agreed to help me out by pretending to be my girlfriend because my ex is on this trip.” 

Lawrence’s face changes from confusion to surprise to realisation within a few seconds. But you’re not looking at him. 

Your focus is solely on Jungkook. You can’t clearly describe what emotions you’re feeling. There’s a bit of everything — it hurts, that’s for sure, but you’re also angry at him for so rashly telling Lawrence and you can’t help but feel betrayed. 

Pretending to date Jungkook has been nothing but easy for you and these past few days have taught you it’s because there’s probably a huge part of you that wants this. For Jungkook to just end it so suddenly makes you feel like he doesn’t want you the same way you want him. 

You wonder if it’s naive to think he wants you back, but you do. Alex has told you countless times, heck all the Cirillo siblings have made a remark or something about Jungkook and you at least once every time you’ve met. Even Lawrence has seen it apparently. Though, none of this necessarily means it’s true. 

With the silence in the room, Jungkook looks at you. He holds little emotion in his face but the way his lips are pursed tightly tells you he’s holding back something. 

“Uh,” Lawrence glances between you both, “I’m gonna go. Sorry again for everything,” he adds in a mutter. He closes the door as he leaves and you’re left alone with Jungkook. 

“Why would you do that?” you ask as soon as the door clicks. 

“Because he likes you. I’m not gonna stand in the way of that.”

Your expression falters. Fuck, it’s been a long time since you last wanted to cry but you’ll be damned if you let him see you. Steeling yourself, your jaw clenches.

Despite your best efforts, of course, Jungkook still notices. His own steely expression softens and he almost says something but then stops. For a second, you think he might apologise and even tell you something you want to hear. But he doesn’t. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Jungkook asks softly.

There’s a hundred other things he could do but he chose this — even after you’ve told him how you feel about Lawrence. 

“Fine,” you flare. “Tell everyone.” Without another glance at him, you walk past him to the bathroom and slam the door shut. 

It’s only after a quick shower and some much needed TLC, that you come out of the bathroom. 

Truthfully, you didn’t expect Jungkook to still be in the cabin, but it doesn’t make the feeling in your chest go away when you see he’s not there. 

There’s so many questions going round and round in your head that it hurts. You trudge across the room, slipping into the bed and finding solace with the comfort of your silk sheets that still smell of Jungkook. 

Everything Alex said to you at the start of this trip keeps replaying in your mind — you want it to be true, and sure most of the time it feels true too. But with the way this past hour has gone, you can’t help but doubt it. 

If Jungkook really liked you, he wouldn’t have told Lawrence the truth, would he? It doesn’t make sense, why would he? He should’ve wanted to have kept it up the same way you do. Pretending to date Jungkook is as close as you’re getting to the real thing and that’s something that you’re sure that you want. 

Now though, you don’t even have that. 

It’s not exactly something you can blame Jungkook for. There was no reason for him to keep it up, especially if you haven’t told him why you want to. 

Maybe you should tell him now though?

No. That’s too scary. Sure, you want him to know, but the idea of him not feeling the same way is way worse than anything else. Plus, what if he starts to feel uncomfortable around you, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if he felt that way. 

Releasing a heavy sigh, you sink further into the bed and close your eyes. 

You shouldn’t say or do anything else until things go back to normal. That’s the best thing to do. 

With your mind made up, you try to fall asleep but it proves to be more difficult than normal. With every minute that passes, you wonder where Jungkook is and what he’s doing. It’s only been 15 minutes but you’re already deciding whether or not you should message him. 

It’s always been like this with Jungkook — your arguments never usually last longer than a day and most times you settle them straight away. 

This feels different. 

The sound of the door clicking open simultaneously relaxes you and raises your heart rate. 

As Jungkook makes his way across the room, your heart decides to do all kinds of acrobatics. Inwardly, you curse at yourself for not realising your feelings sooner. 

You can hear the sound of his shirt being pulled off as he changes into his pyjamas. A moment later, he’s carefully moving the covers back on his side of the bed as he gets in slowly so as not to wake you. 

Moments pass in silence and you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then…

“Y/N?” His voice is barely above a whisper and just like that, your heart jumps again. 

Instead of responding, you turn around to lie on your back. As you lower your hands to your side, you accidentally brush his hand. Reflexively, you move your hand to rest on your stomach instead. 

Noticing this, Jungkook turns to look at you. You’re sure he can’t see you very well in the dark but with the white of the ship’s exterior safety lights coming in from the gaps in the shutters, it’s still easy to see fairly well. 

For a brief moment, he doesn’t say anything and you don’t turn to look at him. Then, he looks back up at the ceiling too. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding deflated.

It hurts you to know he’s feeling bad about something that isn’t even his fault. If it wasn’t for the way you’re feeling, you wouldn’t care about him telling Lawrence and you wouldn’t have argued with him for him to be apologising now.

“It’s okay,” you respond quietly, finding it too hard to find the words to say anything else.

“No, it’s not,” Jungkook sighs. “I shouldn’t have done that without asking you, especially since I made you do it in the first place. This whole thing was stupid, I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

“You didn’t make me do anything,” you mumble as his last words play over in your head – this whole thing was stupid. “It was Alex.” Does he really think it was stupid? It never felt stupid to you, it just felt right. 

“Yeah, but it’s because of me it happened and I could've stopped it.”

“I didn’t mind…” 

You feel lame saying it because the real reason you didn’t mind is because it was the closest you’d get to dating Jungkook, but you say it because you don’t want him to feel bad about any of it.

“I know,” he says softly in understanding. “I think it’s just best to tell everyone it wasn’t real.”

You haven’t experienced anything like this before – there’s a heavy feeling in your chest trying to fight its way out. It’s causing the lump in your throat and you can’t tell if you want to cry or just tell him the truth right here, right now. 

But you don’t. “Okay,” is all you say.

He must hear something in your voice – he’s attuned to every frequency of yours and the emotion that comes with it, just as you are with him. You know how sad you sounded just then and undoubtedly he’s picked up on it.

He looks at you, trying to analyse your features in the dark. Then, his hand moves and you feel his palm closing around yours, pulling your hand between your bodies to rest on the bed with your fingers intertwined. “Again, I’m sorry.”

You’re looking at him too now. Have his hands always felt this warm? Have they always fit into your own so perfectly? 

“I know, it’s okay,” you answer, still fighting that feeling in your chest.

His brows knit together. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Gently, he squeezes your hand and his features relax.

That feeling in your throat pushes harder and you realise you want to tell him. Maybe it’s because it’s dark right now it seems easier to let the truth out, almost as though it’ll stay a secret in the dark. 

“Also,” he says, voice suddenly softer, “for what it’s worth, I think Lawrence is an amazing guy.”

All other thoughts come to a halt in your mind and you swallow hard. “Why are you saying that?” 

Jungkook looks back up at the ceiling and when he talks, it’s a little quieter than before. “Just, I know how you used to feel about him and if he feels this way about you now, well, it could be good for you,” he adds with a shrug. 

You’re unable to mask the frustration in your voice.  “I already told you,” you say, “I’m not  interested in him.”

Jungkook looks at you again with his brows furrowed in concern. “I know…” he hesitates with a sigh, “I just…” 

“Forget it,” you mutter, pulling your hand free from his. “I’m going to sleep.” 

Jungkook says nothing as you roll over with your back to him, and you say nothing else either. 

The feeling in your chest has subsided but it’s been replaced with another feeling, more like an ache which you’re determined to sleep away. 

It feels almost impossible as your thoughts stream endlessly through your mind, each and every one about Jungkook and the words that you’ve left unsaid. But somehow, at some point, the thoughts slip away as the weariness of the day takes over and you finally fall asleep. 

It’s hot. 

Jungkook pushes you hard against the wall, his thigh parting your legs as he grabs your waist tight. His breaths are heavy as his nose skims your neck, teasing you before he settles in the sweet spot behind your ear. 

You’re just about managing to hold yourself up though if it weren’t for his grip on you, you’re sure your knees would give way. 

There’s barely any material separating you from his thigh and you’re desperate for some friction down there. With your arms around his neck, you rock yourself against him to find some much needed relief. 

You’re moaning and Jungkook chuckles, a sweet deep sound that makes you want more, and he gives it to you as his hand slips between your legs.

Gosh it’s hot.

It is hot. 

That’s the first thing that your barely conscious mind picks up on. 

It’s the middle of summer–you don’t know why you can feel the weight of the blanket on you. You dimly remember getting under it when you got into bed but normally you always stick a leg out or something before going to sleep. 

You try to move your leg now to push it past the covers and out into the cool air, but it doesn’t budge. 

Something is in the way. 

Still half asleep, you try again as you think it’s just the covers tucked under your leg — only now you realise that’s not the cover, it’s another leg and it’s not yours…

You didn’t realise something was missing when you were falling asleep a few hours ago. Why would you? You were completely preoccupied with other things to have remembered it. 

It’s now that you come to your senses and realise what’s happened — you forgot the pillow. 

You forgot the pillow as a physical boundary between Jungkook and you, and now the exact thing you wanted to avoid is happening. 

Jungkook’s warmth surrounds you from everywhere. His breath is gentle and quiet by your neck, his chest close to your back and his legs are somehow tangled with yours. His arm is draped over your frame, hand resting comfortably by your stomach. 

What’s most obvious to you though, is your ass tucked comfortably against him, no doubt right against his crotch. 

Fuck. This is simultaneously a dream and a nightmare. It feels so good to be this close but you know it’s so wrong, especially after the actual dream you just had which given your situation now, explains why you’re still feeling so needy down south. 

You try to shift slightly again but it doesn’t work — Jungkook sighs softly in his sleep, leg moving to rest on top of yours. 

Great. Now you’re actually stuck like this. 

Eyes closing, you try to think of what to do but as you run it through your mind, you come to the conclusion to stay exactly as you are. 

How bad can it be? With the sun shining through the cracks in the blind, you can tell it’s probably 10 am so all you have to do is pretend to fall asleep again, Jungkook will wake up very soon, he’ll realise and then he’ll just move away. Then it’ll be as though nothing ever happened. 

Besides, it really does feel so good to have him holding you like this. Sure, Jungkook hugs you a lot and in general is pretty affectionate with you but this. Having him softly breathing down your neck as he sleeps comfortably with you in his arms — it’s a feeling that satisfies something you never knew you needed. 

The only problem is it’s more than a little difficult to fall asleep when you can feel the hard outline of his little friend down there. Fuck, life is really testing you right now and it really doesn’t help that your pyjama bottoms are silk so you can feel a lot more of him than expected. 

Groaning internally, you try to scoot away once more but it doesn’t work. Not only that, you actually didn’t just groan internally but out loud. You almost clap your hand over your mouth when you feel Jungkook shift behind you once before going still again. 

Except this time, you can’t feel his warm breath on you for a second… then it comes back, but this time it’s different. You’ve spent enough of your lifetime with Jungkook to know that he breathes heavily when he sleeps and right now, he’s no longer asleep. 

You’re not quite sure what comes over you, maybe it’s the heat getting to your head, or maybe you’re emboldened by the fact that Jungkook is awake and he hasn’t moved away from you… ever so slightly, you push your hips back against Jungkook’s crotch. 

A sharp intake of breath from behind you confirms exactly what you wanted to know. 

You do it again and this time, Jungkook reciprocates in kind. You can feel him even better now and the hard outline of his dick pushing against you makes you let out the softest whine, barely audible but with Jungkook so close to you, there’s no doubt he heard you. 

Fuck. You feel almost dizzy and you’re certain that you’re not thinking clearly right now – this is Jungkook, your best friend… you try to remind yourself of that as you wait for him to do something more, but the only thing that repeats in your head is this is Jungkook. Jungkook, the man you love and adore so much and right now you can only think enough to know that whatever is happening right now, you want it. 

With bated breath, you wait for what feels like an eternity but is probably only a few seconds, then Jungkook’s hand slides from across your stomach to hold your hip.

“Y/N?” 

His sleepy voice so close sends a swirl of excitement through you. 

“Yes?” you answer in a breathy murmur.

“I…,” he whispers, barely audible. His hand slides up your side, stopping below your breast. 

You can tell he’s hesitating to move further so without hesitation, you roll your hips against him which elicits small moans of pleasure from both of you and in response, Jungkook’s hand begins to move again and you’re anticipating the feeling of his strong hands grabbing on to you where you want them so bad–

Knock knock knock knock knock. “Sleepy heads, what time do you call this?!”

– Only to be interrupted by the one and only Alias. 

Immediately, Jungkook withdraws and moves faster than you can even process. He’s out of bed and throwing on the closest hoodie just as you turn around, still catching on from whatever the hell just happened. Despite the dark lighting in the room, you can tell he’s flustered from the look on his face but goddamn he looks so cute with his messed hair and you could not be more annoyed about being interrupted right now. 

He pauses, turning towards you and just as your eyes meet, there’s the loud knocking again followed by Alias yelling whatever it is he’s saying. 

You’re more focused on how Jungkook is looking at you to comprehend anything else. In this split second, he looks like he has a thousand things to say but not a single thing comes out of his mouth except…

“I’m sorry.” He says it so fast that in the seconds it takes you to realise what he just said, he’s already at the door letting Alias in. 

“You’re not even dressed,” Alias says the second the door opens and he sees Jungkook. “And you’re not even up,” he says as he sees you. Shaking his head, he walks over to the blinds, completely unaware of the tension that is still heavy in the room between Jungkook and you. 

You glance at Jungkook again to see him looking at the floor but it’s as though he can sense your eyes on him because he looks up and your eyes meet for the second time. You’re sure your expression must mirror his – flustered, somewhat guilty, but mostly just confused. 

You know why you’re confused – in the last few days you’ve come to the realisation that your feelings for your best friend are more than just platonic and this happening makes you wonder what the hell Jungkook is thinking… is he feeling the same way as you? God, you can only hope… Or is he repulsed by what he’s just done and is completely regretting it now?

“Honestly, Y/N, I’m actually surprised that I’m up before you,” Alias continues as he rolls up the blinds. “You’re usually the responsible one. And Jungkook, you know we were supposed to meet at nine, it’s almost 11 now and we’ll be arriving tomorrow morning and we were supposed to meet with Alex this morning to go through the plans for the weekend, did you forget—?“ Alias pauses mid sentence, turning to look at you with a frown. 

For a second, you think he’s caught on to everything, but thankfully, it’s not that. 

“Why do I sound like my parents?” He shudders, looking at Jungkook too. “I must be getting old.”

Both Jungkook and you laugh, albeit awkwardly. This, however, doesn’t go unnoticed by Alias. His frown changes to something more curious as he looks between you. 

You expect him to say something about it but he doesn’t. 

“Well, Jungkook, he’s still waiting to speak with you, he’s already briefed the other guys.”

“Right,” Jungkook nods, now avoiding your gaze as he grabs his clothes. “I’ll just get ready, I won’t be long.”

“Cool,” Alias says, taking a seat in the armchair by the window. “I’ll wait for you then.”

As soon as Jungkook has disappeared into the bathroom, Alias turns to you. “Did you tell him?” he asks immediately.

Still slightly befuddled, you frown. “Huh?”

“Last night, you said you weren’t gonna say anything about how you feel but why are you both acting so different?”

“Oh.” All of last night comes back to you in an instant. Lawrence confessing, your conversation with Alias and everything else that happened with Jungkook after. “No, I didn’t,” you pause, brows knitting even further together before you look at Alias. “But I think he might know anyway.”

Alias’s brows shoot upwards. “What makes you think that?”

Because he was just feeling me up in bed and if you hadn’t walked in it seemed like it would have gone further. Well, you absolutely can’t say that. 

“I don’t know.” 

Frowning, Alias moves to sit at the end of the bed. “Are you okay?” He reaches forward and puts a hand on your knee.

“Yeah,” you nood, smiling as you take his hand to reassure him. You’re sure you must look like a bit of a mess, not only have you just gotten up but your mind and pulse is racing from what just happened with Jungkook – whatever it was. “Could you just give us a minute though?” 

“Sure,” Alias answers, getting up right away. “Just text me if you need anything,” he says. “I’ll be waiting on the deck for you guys.” He stops by the door, turning around. “But Alex is still waiting for Jungkook too.”

“We won’t be long,” you reassure him with a smile.

He nods once more before leaving the room. 

You’re left with only the noise of your thoughts and the shower running in the bathroom. You can feel your pulse racing as you push the covers back and get out of bed. It still feels so hot in here so you find the AC controller and blast the cool air to help calm yourself down as you try to process what just happened.

What did just happen? Were you and Jungkook really about to do something? Just thinking of it sends butterflies swirling down south but they’re quickly sent off track when you ask yourself what on earth it means?

You know why you were okay with it all happening… if you didn’t have feelings for him, you would never have let it happen, but you do, so you didn’t stop it. Is it the same for Jungkook? The idea of Jungkook liking you is far from foreign – Alex has always been trying to tell you but you just never believed it… this, however, has you in two minds. 

Or, there’s also the other more plausible reason. Jungkook woke up and realised his hard dick was enjoying the fact that there was another warm female body in such close vicinity to him so naturally, he made his move and you didn’t object so he went along with it. You’ve had your own small share of experiences with friends who you ended up doing more with without any feelings involved and so has Jungkook, maybe he just thought that’s what this was…  God, even just the thought of that hurts. 

The bathroom door clicks open and your head snaps up.

Jungkook walks out still scruffing his hair dry with a towel. He’s dressed casually for the day but he still looks as good as ever to you. He pauses after a few steps when he sees Alias has gone and slowly, he lowers the towel and looks at you. 

You feel small because you’re so unsure of where you stand with him right now. Pressing your palms with your fingers, you try to relax and think clearly but it’s hard when your heart is pounding in your chest and wants nothing more than for him to confess he has the same feelings as you do.

Still, as you look at Jungkook, it seems like he feels small too. His fingers are squeezing the towel as he switches it between his hands and he hesitates, starting to say something before he stops. 

You so badly want to say something, anything, but you have no idea what. How do you start? Can we talk about what just happened? Did you like it? Do you like me? Because I like you, a lot. Gosh, if only it was that damn easy. 

“Um,” Jungkook starts but looks away from you. “I’m sorry about what happened…” He loosely points to the bed.

Startled, you just stand there for a moment. He’s sorry?… “You’re sorry?” you repeat.

“Yeah, I, uh, I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“So, you weren’t thinking about what you were doing…?” you echo, starting to feel like a stupid parrot. He regrets it, of course he does.

Jungkook blinks, somewhat confused but you don’t blame him. You’re asking for clarification for selfish reasons – you need to know if he thinks what just happened was a mistake because it was far from a mistake for you. 

“No…” Jungkook hesitates, his face rounding as he looks at you. You’re sure he can tell you’re upset by what he’s saying. “Were you?” he asks.

“No.” It’s not a lie – you really weren’t thinking about what was happening, just that you enjoyed it. 

As soon as you say it, you’re sure you see Jungkook deflate. Did he want me to say yes? No, that doesn’t make sense, he said no first. 

“Right, yeah.” He clears his throat as he fiddles with the towel again. “I’m sorry it happened, I wouldn’t ever want to make you feel uncomfortable.” He says it with such sincerity that your chest tightens.

“I didn’t feel uncomfortable.” The words come out before you can even stop them but you want him to know that, you’d hate for him to feel bad about something like this when it’s far from his fault that you let it happen just because you like him and wanted it to be something more.

Jungkook’s expression is the same as before, eyes rounding and there’s that barely-there pout to his lips as he asks, “You didn’t?” 

“No, I didn’t.” Shit, what are you saying, Y/N? You can hear the blood rushing through your ears and you start to feel sick. “But… it wasn’t supposed to happen?” You mean for it to come out as a question but you have no clue if it did.

“I, no,” Jungkook clears his throat again and he nods. “It was just a mistake then, it won’t happen again.” Now he looks away from you completely as he goes and puts the towel into the laundry basket.

Suddenly, you feel yourself on the verge of breaking. How can he be so composed right now when you feel like you simultaneously want to shout at him to tell him how much he means to you, and cry endlessly because–does he really not feel anything for you?

“Alias is waiting for you upstairs,” you say, walking past him to go into the bathroom. “I’ll meet you later.”

You leave no time for him to respond but just before you close the door, you catch a glimpse of his confused doe eyes and just like that, your heart sinks again.

“Could it really be?” your dad pretends to rub his eyes, blinking a few times as his face morphs into a grin. “Our daughter is here to grace us with her presence, I don’t believe it.”

Your mom laughs, gently patting your hand as you sit down between them. 

“Ha-ha, very funny dad,” you deadpan, throwing him a grumpy look.

“I’m only kidding, honey. I’m just glad you’ve decided to join us for lunch.”

“Of course,” you shrug. “I’ll even make your plates, what do you want?”

Your dad throws your mom a look. “Our princess is spoiling us today.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you head over to the buffet table to prepare two plates for your parents with everything you know they like. Just as you turn back to return to your table, you catch Jungkook watching you from across the balcony.

He’s on a table with Alex, Sophia and a few others. Meeting your gaze, he gives a small smile before looking away. Gosh you never knew a smile could hurt so much. 

Ignoring the pang in your chest, you return to your parents and slump into the seat.

“Where’s yours?” your dad asks, already reaching for a sandwich. 

“I’m not that hungry,” you mumble, taking a strawberry and biting into it. 

Not so slyly, your parents exchange glances. They choose to say nothing for the moment, making small talk as they enjoy their lunch. 

Once your dad is on his second cup of coffee, your mum takes your hand and squeezes gently. Looking up, you take comfort in the smile you see on her face. You know that both your parents are aware that there’s something on your mind – it’s why you’ve chosen to sit silently in their company while they have their own light hearted conversation. You also know that their advice is usually unparalleled to anyone else’s and right now, you could really do with some of their wise words.

“Is there anything you want to eat, honey?” your mom asks.

“The fruit is fine,” you answer quietly.

In response, your dad piles all the fruit into the plate in front of you while your mother gently continues probing.

“You’ve lost your appetite then… that usually happens for a reason, hm?”

You don’t say anything and she continues. 

“Would it have anything to do with Jungkook?”

The rounded eyes you give your mom must give it away immediately as she lets out a small sigh.

“How could you tell?” you ask. 

“He came down ten minutes before you,” your dad answers, “he normally always waits for you. Not to mention the funny look you gave each other just a little while ago.”

Sighing, you slump further into your seat. “We got into an argument last night,” you admit, feeling like a five year old again. 

It seems so stupid to say out loud, especially because you don’t think you can bring yourself to reveal the real reason the argument feels as bad as it does – the reason being your feelings for him – but you don’t really care about feeling like a kid when it’s your parents. They’re the only people you can be this vulnerable with and at times like this, you want their comfort and company the most. You would love to tell them the whole story but there’s no way you’re telling them what just happened this morning so you go with everything else.

“It wouldn’t be the first,” your mom says, still holding your hand as she takes it into her lap.

“No, but this felt different…”

Your mom hums, gently playing with the bracelet on your wrist. Neither she nor your dad say anything, waiting for you to continue on your own.

Closing your eyes, you let out part of the truth. “Lawrence told me he likes me.”

Your mom’s fingers pause briefly before she continues twisting the charms between her fingers. Looking up, you catch your parents exchanging glances, most definitely surprised but they’re subtle about it. 

“He told me last night and I made it clear it wouldn’t work… but I think it looked different to Jungkook and he just kept telling me I should give Lawrence a chance even though I told him I don’t want to.”

“That’s what you argued about?” your dad asks. 

“Mhm.” 

“Lawrence telling you that…” your dad pauses momentarily before continuing, “how did it make you feel?” 

“It was weird,” you admit. “I used to have a big crush on him.” 

“Oh, we know,” your mom says with a smile. 

Despite it being in the past, it still feels so embarrassing — you were such a wide eyed 16 year old with a fat school crush that even your parents noticed. 

“But I don’t now,” you mumble, cheeks warming as you keep your head lowered. “I told him that and I guess I felt kinda bad too. It’s been a while since we left school.”

Your father hums in agreement. “That’s a long time to like someone,” he says, head cocking as he looks at you knowingly. 

“I know.” 

Squeezing your hand, your mom takes over. “And what about Jungkook?”

“Well, when I told him, he was insisting I should give it a try.”

“That doesn’t seem like such a bad thing to suggest,” your dad shrugs. “I’d say the same thing, after all, you said it yourself that you liked him before and Lawrence is a good guy.”

“Yeah but I don’t now,” you reiterate. “I thought Jungkook would know that.”

“You’ve been single since you left college, Y/N, there’s absolutely no reason for him to think your heart is elsewhere…” he pauses, patting your leg, “unless you tell him.”

“Huh?” You look at your dad but he’s already looked away, a smirk on his face as he takes a sip of his coffee. 

“I, what would I…?” you sputter, looking at your mom and seeing the smile on her face, you fall quiet. 

So much for trying to keep this a secret — if your parents know then you wonder if anyone else knows. Although, of course no one else knows you as much as your parents and here they are telling you to tell Jungkook how you really feel but it’s still so nerve wracking to you. 

There’s so many times you can think of that would make you think he likes you as much as you like him, but then there‘s also that voice of reason in your head that tells you you’re reading into it too much. Jungkook doesn’t like you romantically as much as you wish he would. 

Chin lifting, you get up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, “but thanks for the chat,” you smile, giving a quick kiss on the cheek to both of them. 

“Darling, you’ll regret it if you don’t,” your dad says as you’re walking off. 

“No idea what you mean,” you call out with an airy wave of your hand. 

Walking across the length of the deck, you steal a glance in the direction of Jungkook only to see he’s no longer there. Looking around, you can’t see him anywhere. Resigned, you find an empty table that’s out of sight from everyone you know and slump into the chair to be alone with your thoughts. 

No one knows you better than your parents, not even Jungkook and if they’re telling you to tell him then you can’t argue that there’s a big part of you that agrees and even wants to tell him.  How would it feel to have Jungkook as yours? Sure, you have him more than anyone else right now — you share everything together, the good stuff, the bad stuff, and all the days in between… 

It’s something you’ll forever be grateful for because if you can’t have all of Jungkook then you’ll take the little things whenever you can. Still though, you know it’s not the same when all you are to him is a best friend; his response to what happened this morning completely confirmed that to you. In some ways, it hurts more than anything else knowing that as his best friend, you’ll be there when he eventually does find someone to call his own and fuck, even just the thought of that hurts like a bitch. 

Who knows if you’d even still be friends when that happens? It’s only natural that he and whoever he chooses would become closer than ever and you’ll just be that childhood friend considered to be like a sister…

“You’re moping.”

Turning around, you see Alex standing with his hands on his hips. 

“And you’re interrupting,” you grumble, slumping back into the seat.

“Nope, come on, I’m not having this,” he says, coming right behind you and holding your head to look up at him. “The wedding is in three days and you are not going to spend it like this.”

“I’ll be fine for the wedding, I promise.”

Narrowing his eyes, Alex lets go and sits down next to you. “What about tomorrow?”

Tomorrow night is Thalia’s hen night and Alex’s stag night. The cruise will arrive at Porto Cheli around dawn tomorrow and most guests will be escorted to various villas rented out by the Cirillo’s. Meanwhile, you and a few close others, including Jungkook, will be arriving at the Cirillo family home. A grand estate which given its enormous size, will accommodate the tradition of keeping the bride and groom parties separate until the wedding on Saturday afternoon.

Thalia has never been much of a party-goer so she’s choosing to keep things simple with a fine dining evening although you’re sure Sophia has planned for strippers and booze to appear at some point during the night. 

“I’ll be fine,” you repeat, plastering on a smile.

“I know you can fake it for everyone else but I actually want you to have a good time, Y/N,” he says, putting his arm around you.

Your smile turns into a genuine one. “I will, of course I will, it’s your wedding weekend and I’m so happy for you.”

Alex grins. “Thanks, I know you are.” He lets go and turns his chair to face you. “But I also know that you’re not talking to Jungkook right now, which means both of you will be moping until you make up.”

Of course he knows, you think. Well, he doesn’t know about this morning and you don’t know if you can bring yourself to tell him, it feels rather embarrassing for you. “Alias told you?”

“He told Sophia, she told Thalia and Thalia told me,” Alex shrugs.

It’s not like you expected it to stay a secret between your friends. Whenever Jungkook and you aren’t talking, it’s usually pretty obvious to everyone around you, especially your friends. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Alex offers.

“Not really.” Talking to your parents was enough and you already know what Alex is going to say. “You probably think I should just be completely honest about how I feel, right?”

Alex shrugs again. “Yeah, although he should’ve been upfront about it first.”

Surprised, you look up at him and he continues.

“I know I've been telling you for ages that he’s whipped for you, but this kind of proves it, don’t you think?” Alex glances at you, eyes creasing in the corners as he hides a smug smirk. “There’s only one reason he reacted to Lawrence the way he did.”

It makes sense, but it also doesn’t – Jungkook purely could’ve been pushing you to be with Lawrence as a friend who just wants to see you happy. You’d hate to think it’s for the former reason, only to realise you’ve terribly misinterpreted the situation and end up stupidly admitting your feelings to Jungkook when he cares for you only as a friend. “It doesn’t really,” you say, trying harder to convince yourself than Alex. “I mean, he probably just didn’t want me to waste the opportunity.”

“Ha!” Alex scoffs. “Waste the opportunity.” He gives you a look. “Come on, Y/N, why are you fighting every reason that you have to try?”

“It’s not a reason,” you counter. “We’ve gotten into one argument and I don’t think me saying I have feelings for him will change anything–”

“So you do.”

“What?” 

You look back at Alex and see his eyes wide and he’s not even hiding his smile anymore. 

“You do like him,” he repeats.

“I, what…?” Suddenly, you realise you just said it out loud. Opening your mouth, you’re about to try to cover it up somehow but it’s too late.

“I knew it,” Alex laughs, seeming way too ecstatic considering how shit you feel. “This is gold, Y/N, this is it, I’ve always known Jungkook liked you but you liking him too, it’s perfect!”

“Shh,” you hush him suddenly, grabbing his hands as you look around in a panic. “Alex shut up, someone’s gonna hear you.”

“The whole world should know, Y/N,” he laughs happily again. Looking at you, he cups your face in his hands. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long, you need to tell him, Y/N, please!”

The thought of telling Jungkook is terrifying to you, even more so now that Alex is saying it out loud and someone could possibly hear. 

With your expression split between worry and confusion, Alex’s smile fades a little but not completely. “Y/N, this is good, what’s wrong?”

For the first time, you let yourself say the truth out loud. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Alex sighs, his smile softening. “There’s only one way you’ll find out.

Now it’s you who scoffs, pulling away from him. “Yeah, right.”

“I am right,” he insists.

Sighing, you look at him. It’s so hard to hear Alex tell you that Jungkook likes you when youc an only think otherwise after this morning… “Something happened,” you start, watching Alex carefully.

For a second he still smiles but when he sees the worry lining your face, his expression mirrors yours as his smile fades. “Okay… you wanna talk about it?”

You quickly glance around to make sure no one can hear. “You promise you won’t tell anyone,” you say, “not even Alias or Sophia or Tha–” you cut yourself off. Asking Alex not to tell his soon to be wife is like asking him to cut off his hand, you already know that since he couldn’t even keep Sophia’s birthday present to her secret. “Fine, only Thalia.”

“Appreciate it,” Alex nods.

“Mhm, well…” You tell him briefly what happened this morning, sparing him the details but telling him every word of what was spoken after and he listens carefully, not interrupting you once. 

You chose to tell Alex because he’s the one who has always been so sure of Jungkook’s feelings for you, not Alias, nor Sophia, or even Thalia. Sure, the others have hinted at it but only Alex has ever paid attention to everything between Jungkook and you so if anyone knows the whole story and can give you the best advice, it’s him. So, it feels a little alarming to you when once you’re done, he still doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, he purses his lips, grimacing before he finally speaks. “Honestly, that’s a bit confusing. If there ever was a way to confess, this was the perfect window to do it.”

For what feels like the umpteenth time today, your heart sinks. “That’s what I thought.”

“But,” Alex says very surely, taking your hand, “it doesn’t change every single other thing he’s ever done to show he likes you, and let’s be real, he’s probably just worried that you won’t feel the same.”

It’s what you want to hear but it’s still so hard to accept it because what if it’s not true and you make a fool of yourself in front of Jungkook.

“I wish that were true,” you mumble. “But I don’t think I can keep holding onto hope when it hurts like this.”

Alex squeezes your hand. “Y/N, we know Jungkook, he doesn’t exactly play with anyone’s feelings and I absolutely don’t think he would start something physical with you unless he was feeling it emotionally too.”

“I know, but what if it’s just because he was horny.” You’re still mumbling, cheeks going warm as you say it. 

“Look, I think there’s a lot of guys who would sleep with their best friends if they had the chance,” Alex says, “but Jungkook isn’t one of them, he never has been.”

Thinking about it, you realise he’s right. Jungkook wouldn’t. There’s been way more chances in the past for him to have done things with you and you’re pretty sure there’s even been times where you drunkenly made a few moves on him but he never did anything himself.

“Still, I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Alex says encouragingly, “how long have I been telling you he likes you? I haven’t been saying it for no reason.”

“But you have no concrete proof either.”

“Just take a chance, be brave and then you’ll see I was right,” Alex says, raising a brow.

Glancing at him, you chuckle. “This is coming from the guy who had to get drunk to say I love you to the love of his life for the first time.”

Alex smiles and leans back in his seat as he gestures around him. “It worked didn’t it? Look at me now.”

Well, he got you there. Plus, you can’t deny the big part of you that believes it. Jungkook and your friendship does feel more than friends sometimes and you know it’s not all in your head. This morning seemed to confirm that too.

Narrowing your eyes at Alex, you turn away to face the horizon. “Don’t say anything to anyone, but I’ll think about it.”

“Yes,” Alex laughs, hugging you. “I’ll keep my mouth shut,” he says, sounding so excited. “You won’t regret this.”

Laughing, you pull him into your side. “You could start now, half the deck can hear you.”

“Sorry,” he grins, squeezing you. 

Maybe he’s right, maybe you won’t regret it. 

Jungkook comes to a stop at the end of the balcony to watch the sun set behind the sea. It’s been a long day with Alex asking his groomsmen to assist him in all things wedding related and then Alias needed help sorting out the entertainment for tomorrow.

Jungkook hasn’t seen you since lunch. He went back to the cabin while you had lunch with your parents since he didn’t want to make it awkward for you when you eventually came up to finish packing and since then he hasn’t seen you as you’ve been with the girls all day. 

Truthfully, after this morning, he doesn’t think he can bear to see you just yet. He feels like a coward. Not only has he probably ruined his friendship with you, but he also can’t help but feel like he’s hurt you. You looked so timid as you stood across the cabin from him and a part of him felt like you wanted him to say something other than what he said. If only he was 100% sure it’s what you wanted, Jungkoook would shout it for the whole world to hear, but what if it’s not and he really does ruin everything between you. Besides, you called it a mistake. That’s all Jungkook can remind himself of as it takes everything in him not to tell you he wishes that there was something more between you.

“Why the long face, Kookie?”

The voice comes from behind him but Jungkook doesn’t have to be looking to know who it is. 

Valentina appears beside him and leans on the balcony too. She doesn’t even look at him but just watches the horizon ahead as Jungkook was. “Trouble in paradise, huh?”

Jungkook frowns. Of course that’s the first thing she would think of. “Not really,” he mutters. 

As much as he wishes it was paradise between you and him, it wasn’t, none of it was real

and what he finds worse is that he couldn’t even keep up a fake relationship with you – he completely blew it.

“So what then? They didn’t have your favourite bagel for breakfast this morning?” She laughs lightly. 

However, Jungkook internally scowls. It’s annoying that she actually knows him rather well despite the finer details of their ‘relationship’. “No offence, Val, but I really just wanna be alone right now.” 

There’s harsher things he could’ve said, particularly naming her as the least desirable companion right now, but even without that, Valentina seems to get the message from his tone alone. 

The humour in her expression disappears leaving only a small poignant smile. 

Not expecting such a quick retreat from her, Jungkook immediately regrets his harsh tone but at the same time, he really is not in the mood for Valentina and her usual antics today. 

She doesn’t move an inch though. With a small sigh she turns and faces the horizon just as Jungkook was. 

Jungkook does the same; although he’d rather be left alone, he’s definitely not about to make it known again, especially since he now feels a bit bad.

“It’s always been her, hasn’t it?”

For a moment, Jungkook is completely thrown. Multiple thoughts run through his head – What? Valentina knows? How long has she known? Was it from when he was with her? Was he really always in love with you even while he was seeing other people? That must make him a complete dick, right? Has he always made it so painfully obvious that he’s in love with you?

His hesitation seems to give Valentina the answer she was looking for.

She glances at him and smiles before looking away again. “I’m not surprised really, I knew it from when I first met you, I guess it’s my fault for putting us both through everything we went through, it was damned from the start.”

“That’s not your fault,” Jungkook says, the guilt festering.

Valentina just shrugs. “It’s over now, no reason to care.” She says it meaninglessly but Jungkook can only hope she means it.

“So why the long face then?” she repeats, looking at him. “She’s yours, go be with her.”

“It’s not that simple.” 

Valentina laughs, bumping her shoulder into him. “Yeah, you’re right. Pretending to date someone you’re secretly in love with is never simple.”

For the second time, Jungkook looks at her stunned. “How did you…?”

She shrugs, still sporting an amused smile. “I know you think I’m stupid, Jungkook, just a head in the clouds rich bitch like everyone else does, but I’ve gotten this far, haven’t I?”

“That’s not true,” Jungkook corrects her immediately. Sure, Valentina has her unbearable moments and more often than not, she plays dumb and innocent, but Jungkook knows that she’s more than that. “I wouldn’t have dated you if I thought that.”

“Don’t worry, Kookie, you don’t have to try to make me feel better, I really couldn’t care less about it. Now, back to the main issue here, you need to grow a pair and tell Y/N how you feel about her,” she says bluntly.

She’s not wrong, Jungkook thinks. “It’s just not that simple,” he sighs, turning away from her. It feels odd to be having this conversation with Valentina and despite her honesty just now, he doesn’t really feel like opening up to her.

“What’s complicated about it? You like her and she likes you.”

“We don’t know that.”

“You honestly think she doesn’t like you?” she asks, sounding surprised.

Hesitating, Jungkook eventually shrugs. “Sometimes I think so…” It’s true, sometimes Jungkook really feels so sure that you feel the same way, but then something always happens that changes things. He thinks of Lawrence – you liked him for so long and although Jungkook doesn’t know the extent of it, you always had this schoolgirl crush on him, even whilst you were with Alex. “But I don’t think she does.”

Valentina looks at Jungkook like he’s stupid and he’s vaguely reminded of why they never worked out. “Well, you can keep thinking that but it’s kind of obvious she does.”

Saying nothing, Jungkook looks out at the horizon again, leaning his forearms into the balcony. The sun is almost fully set marking the last day of the cruise. They’ll soon be arriving at Porto Cheli and it’ll be even harder to spend time with you once the bride and groom parties are separated. He wants to talk to you and to make things okay between you again, but he knows that he’s upset you and although it’s confusing him, he wants to give you space. 

Valentina sighs, nudging him. “Just talk to her, you don’t want to regret it later on,” she says, straightening up as her usual flamboyance returns. “You know if it doesn’t work out, I’ll always be here for you Kookie pie,” she almost coos, making Jungkook laugh and cringe at the same time. As ditzy as she may act sometimes, Valentina is more smart than Jungkook ever gave her credit for.

She grins, winking at him before she waltzes off like the conversation never happened.

The cabin is dark when you finally return to your room. It’s well past midnight and you expect Jungkook to be here but as your eyes quickly adjust, you can see the room is empty. As you walk in further, you see his suitcase standing packed and ready in the corner of the room. 

Deflating, you trudge over to your own open suitcase on one side of the room. You’re only half packed and you’d hoped Jungkook would still have his to do too so you’d have a chance to maybe talk to him, but it seems he’s already done it while you were busy with the girls. You wonder if he avoided you on purpose.

Pushing this thought quickly out of your head, you press shuffle on your ‘summer ‘23’ playlist in an attempt to cheer yourself up while you finish packing. It doesn’t really work but you at least keep your mind free from running rampant, instead singing along to some of your favourite tunes with no regards for your cabin neighbours, one of whom is Valentina and you’re more than certain she’s not in her cabin because you last saw her walking out of the premium lounge with a tall, handsome stranger whose face you couldn’t see and they went into an elevator going to the cabins on the other side of the ship, barely waiting to let the door close before locking lips.

Must be nice, you think sourly before shaking your head. Not cute, Y/N, you scold yourself. Although you don’t blame yourself for having negative thoughts since you are on the short end of an unrequited love story with your best friend, you’d still rather not be bitter.

Almost three hours later, you’ve packed everything, showered and are already dressed ready for the arrival at Porto Cheli soon. You’ve chosen a simple outfit, a sky blue linen co-ord with jewellery to match. Slipping into the comfiest sandals you own, you move your suitcase next to the door and grab your phone before heading out of the room. It’s almost 5am so there’s around an hour left until the ship docks at the port, marking the end of the cruise and the start of the busy wedding weekend. Most of you took a nap during the day, so deciding you wouldn’t sleep tonight, they all agreed to meet one last time on the cruise.

Despite everything that’s happened with Jungkook and the dampener it’s put on your mood, you’re still excited to celebrate Alex’s wedding. Not only is he dear to you, but you’re celebrating his marriage with so many of the people you love the most, making this whole trip special. It would be perfect if you could end it by fixing what’s happened with Jungkook but you feel like you’ve already made yourself so vulnerable to him and nothing came out of it.

It’s quiet and dark in the hallways as you make your way out to the pool on the top deck. It reminds you of the nights you were sneaking out with Jungkook to meet the other guys for whatever stupid stuff you were getting up to. It makes you miss him now and you subconsciously walk a little faster in anticipation of seeing him now as you all gather for the last time.

You can hear your friends before you see them and you smile at the sound of Alias’ laughter as you climb the steps to the deck. You’re certain any patrolling staff would have heard and they’re either being nice enough to let you all off, or Alias tipped them enough to keep quiet. 

There’s a bunch of familiar faces hanging around all together, all friends of either Alex, Thalia, Sophia or Alias. You smile at a few as you make your way over to Sophia, Thalia and a few others. 

The girls greet you warmly as you approach and Sophia hands you a drink as soon as you arrive. You take it and immediately take a sip. You weren’t planning on having anything to drink but one won’t hurt. There’s an excited buzz in the air, the same you felt on the first day of cruise but this feels special. The sun is rising on the horizon and you’re here with almost all of your best friends. Almost all of your best friends. Jungkook still isn’t here but you try not to focus on it and just have a good time with your friends. 

It works, so much so that you’re mid laughter when a familiar face joins the deck and makes their way over to you, but you don’t quite realise until he pats your shoulder as the conversation progresses. 

Turning around, your smile falters but doesn’t disappear. “Oh, hey.”

“Hey.” Lawrence looks nervous, an emotion you’re not used to seeing on him.

You also weren’t actually expecting to see him but you’re glad he’s here. Throughout everything, he’s still a friend and you’d hate to lose that relationship with him.

“How are you?” You ask, smile widening. You haven’t seen him since that night and you’d hate to think he’s been avoiding you when it’s the last thing you’d want.

“Good, thanks,” he nods. He seems to suddenly relax at your warm response. He glances at the group behind you and you turn too. No one is paying either of you any attention but Lawrence still asks for privacy. “Do you think we could talk?” he asks tentatively. “I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

“Of course,” you nod, following him as he turns right away and walks to the furthest side of the deck where it’s quietest. 

You stop when he does, taking a seat on the bench beside him. It’s easy to see he’s nervous as he glances around quickly before looking down at the drink in his hand. You want to say something to make him feel better but you don’t want to interrupt whatever it is he wants to say.

“How have you, uh, how have you been?” He looks up, holding eye contact for barely a second before looking away again.

“Good,” you answer. It’s not the truth but he doesn’t need to know that.

He nods and takes a sip of his drink. You do the same and you’ve just swallowed when he speaks again.

“I‘m sorry for pulling you away from your friends, I just wanted to talk to you tonight before all the wedding stuff starts and I didn’t know if I’d get a chance.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You lean in a little so he looks at you and smile. “You’re my friend too though,” you say, feeling the need to remind him.

His smile mirrors yours and he nods. “I kinda messed it up though…”

You know this is of course what he wanted to talk to you about and although you don’t think it needs to change anything between you, you know yourself how easily feelings can change a friendship. Not only that, but he deserves an explanation from you too since you did have feelings for him for a good chunk of your teen years and later, plus your conversation ended before it was supposed to that night when Alias and Jungkook appeared.

“Not really,” you shrug. “I think it’s just how we deal with it now, no?” 

“Yeah, if you’re okay with that,” he agrees. “I’d like to.”

“Of course I am. And I’m sorry too by the way.” 

Lawrence looks confused and you don’t wait for him to say anything before continuing.

“I think it must have been confusing for you to be on the receiving end of my feelings for you while we were in college and maybe I even subconsciously made it seem like it after too.”

“Ah,” Lawrence purses his lips. “Well I didn’t really know.”

“I know, you said that before but I still feel like I need to say it. There may have been a few times I was coming off as more than friendly and that was wrong of me.”

Lawrence’s silence serves as an answer.

“So yeah, I’m sorry too. I hope we can go back to how things were,” you say hesitantly.

“It might be hard,” Lawrence responds honestly. 

“I know…” your voice feels small. You know all too well how feelings can change a friendship. “But we’ll try?” You look at him and smile hopefully.

He nods. “Of course.” 

You’re content with that. Of course you don’t know the extent of his feelings for you so you hope it won’t be hard for him to move on – after all, the two of you mostly ever met up at family functions and dinners of the same sort. It’s rare for Lawrence to have joined any of the outings with your friends. It was never his fault since his parents have always pushed for him to do more for their company, especially since he was an only child. It’s something that’s always made you more grateful for your own parents and their completely laid back and caring approach to your career, even all throughout school. The only thing they ever pushed for was your grades but they kept up that same effort in all areas of your life, even your extracurriculars. Sure, sometimes when you were growing up you felt the pressure but you always felt supported by them no matter what the final result was.

Lawrence has experienced the opposite of you to say it simply, and you’re sure that given time, he’ll find the right person for him as he prioritises himself.

“Thanks for talking to me though,” you say, “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too,” Lawrence says, taking another sip. “At least now I don’t have to avoid you all weekend long.”

You laugh, agreeing with him and soon enough, the conversation continues although it doesn’t last longer than ten minutes with Lawrence excusing himself.

You stay seated at the bench as he leaves. You didn’t realise you were concerned about your relationship with Lawrence but the relief and content you’re feeling now tells you as much. You’re glad you’ve cleared everything up with him, now if only you could get yourself to do the same with Jungkook.

Glancing around, you realise that he still hasn’t appeared. He definitely would have known about it so you wonder why he hasn’t turned up. Finishing your drink, you get up and head over to where Alias is sitting with his friends Kelce and Dillon.

“Hey, Y/N,” they all say in unison when you come and sit beside them at the pool. They’re definitely a little tipsy and you don’t need to see the cans beside them to know that. Their goofy smiles say it all.

“Hey guys,” you chuckle, patting Kelce’s shoulder. “Um, have you guys seen Jungkook anywhere?” 

Alias immediately frowns but it’s Dillon who answers. “We were with him a while ago at the lounge.” He looks at the other guys. “When was that? A couple of hours ago?”

Kelce looks at his phone. “Yeah, it was around one.”

You went past the lounge at the same time, that’s when you saw Valentina leaving with that guy… for a split second, your mind goes there – could it have been him? – No. Absolutely no. The idea is absurd. You feel stupid for even thinking that.

“You haven’t seen him since then, Y/N?” Alias asks.

“No.” You ignore the seed of concern that settles in your stomach. You’re certain he’s not with Valentina, but where is he? 

“We were gonna leave the lounge together but he stayed for another drink,” Alias tells you, seeming to share the same concern as you. “He seemed like he wanted to be alone so we left him.”

“Oh.” It’s not like Jungkook to drink alone – if he does, he’s usually upset about something. “Well, thanks for telling me,” you mutter, getting up and leaving the group.

Alias, however, gets up with you. “Hey,” he says, taking your arm. “You want me to find him?” He looks you over and you’re sure the concern in his expression isn’t solely for Jungkook.

“Um…” you hesitate. You don’t want to seem like a clingy best friend, especially not after what happened between you, but if Jungkook is drinking alone then he’s not feeling okay and you would normally be there for him. This time you feel like you can’t be, but Alias can. However, you don’t want to ask Alias to spend his night away from his friends and family.

Looking at him, you smile. “No, it’s okay. I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”

Alias doesn’t seem convinced. “But then he would be here.”

He’s right. “Or maybe he was tired and went back to the cabin?”

“You just said you haven’t seen him since we did.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you shake your head. “I haven’t.”

Sighing, Alias pulls out his phone. “I’ll try calling him but if he doesn’t get back to me in ten minutes we’ll go look for him.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Let me know if he replies,” you say, thanking him too before going back to some of the girls. 

You’re not listening much to their conversation although you try to get involved to take your mind off of Jungkook. 

It isn’t until you receive a text from Alias with a screenshot that your nerves are put to rest. 

[3:01] Me: hey man where r u?

[3:13] JK: hey sorry bro, I knocked out on the balcony.

[3:13] Me: oh okay, it’s all good just wanted to know where u were. Join us now? We’re at the top pool deck. 

[3.15] JK: I’m just gonna check all my luggage is packed first. Will join later.

[3:15] Me: cool see u. 

So he’s fine, he just fell asleep. You still want to see him but you know that’s not going to happen unless you go down to the cabin room and you don’t want to seem clingy so you don’t. Instead, you turn your attention back to the conversation the girls are having and feel the excitement for the weekend to come.

Jungkook doesn’t get drunk often and he had no plans of doing so the last night of the cruise either, and he most definitely did not expect to get drunk with your father of all people…

“You coming Jungkook?”

Looking up from his drink, Jungkook shook his head. “Nah, I’m just gonna hang here for a bit,” he said with a smile so as not to raise suspicions from the already watchful eye of Alias. 

Still, Alias frowned. “You sure?” 

“Yeah, I still got a headache.”

“Alright, well text me if you need anything,” Alias said as he, Kelce and Dillon got up. 

“Get well soon,” Kelce said as they took their leave.

“Join us later, yeah?” Dillon added.  

“Yeah,” Jungkook nodded. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

He watched as they walked out, trying to find the same excitement in him for the wedding as they’re feeling but his head was full of other thoughts. 

Sighing, he looked down at this drink again. It’s true that he had a headache. He even chose not to have anything alcoholic, opting for a mocktail from the extensive drinks menu available at the lounge. He’s not sure where it came from but he thought it’s most likely just because he couldn’t stop his brain from thinking and the lack of sleep didn’t help either. 

Truthfully, he knew he was just moping. He knew what he had to do and he knew it before his conversation with Valentina. Although, the fact that she said it too just made Jungkook more aware of the truth. 

The line between friendship and something more had always been blurry for Jungkook and the past few days only made him more sure of it — he’s in love with you and he always has been for as long as he can remember. 

Every time the thought crossed Jungkook’s mind, it triggered the questions that come with it. How do I tell her? Does she feel the same way? She’ll hate me. What if she hates me? I shouldn’t do that to her? What’s worse, is that now  it had come to the point that being with you was almost painful – not knowing if he could have more with you when all he had to do was confront his feelings, swallow his pride and be honest with you. Even if you didn’t feel the same, it was the point at which he realised he would rather you hate him for admitting his feelings and ruining your friendship, than stay quiet and never know if he can have what he’s always wanted with you.

That said, it still felt so hard to do – he had a lot to lose.

Head lowered, Jungkook tried to figure out the best way to do this when he heard a familiar laugh somewhere behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Valentina walking with a tall, handsome man beside her. Jungkook had seen him around a few times but he wasn’t sure if he was a part of the wedding party. Whoever he was, he sure knew how to make Valentina laugh; she was laughing as he put his arm around her and she raised her hand to hold his fingers loosely when she looked towards the bar. Making eye contact with Jungkook, she stopped and tilted her head.

Jungkook just smiled awkwardly and turned back around. He didn’t want to seem like he was staring even though that was what he was doing but for no bad reason – he liked to see Valentina happy. Despite her shortcomings, deep down she always had good intentions for the most part and making her happy was something Jungkook couldn’t do. However, he would’ve been lying if he said seeing her like that didn’t hurt – not because he was jealous of her, but because everyone around him seemed to be having such good luck in their love lives (whether there’s feelings attached or not) and here he was, unable to find the words to tell his best friend he loves her. It sucked.

“And what are you doing here, may I ask?”

Hearing Valentina’s voice so close to him all of a sudden startled Jungkook. He looked up, eyes wide. She stood with one hand on the bar and the other on her hip. 

“Uh, just getting a drink.”

Valentina rolled her eyes. “I spoke to you less than 12 hours ago, Jungkook, do you not remember anything?”

“I do,” he replied, glancing across at her date who seemed super unbothered as he waited for her a short distance away.

“Then why are you here?”

“I just needed to think some things over.”

“Like what?”

“Just things,” Jungkook said, feeling somewhat intimidated by how serious she was right now.

“You know you’re just wasting time,” she said matter-of-factly.

“She’s with everyone else right now, I don’t want to ruin her evening,” Jungkook says defensively.

“I really don’t think anything you say or do could ruin her evening.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Well, yeah but you’re not doing anything about it so how is that any better?”

She wasn’t wrong but Jungkook was convinced he needed to give you time. “I’m just not ready yet,” he sighed.

Valentina sighed too. “Fine,” she shrugged and turned back towards her date. “But you don’t need to think, Jungkook, you just need to do what needs to be done,” she added with a wave of her hand.

He knew she was right but why did it feel so hard?! 

Getting the attention of the bartender, he ordered a much needed drink, downing it all almost as soon as it came before ordering a second. At least he wasn’t a light weight. He knew this wouldn’t help his headache but it wasn’t like he was helping himself at all by sitting here and thinking endlessly. Endless thoughts of what could go right and wrong trailed through his mind, leaving him conflicted as he accepted that he wouldn’t disturb your night with this.

Halfway through his drink, someone came and took a seat at the stool beside him despite there  being space elsewhere. Looking across, he was more than surprised to see the last person he would’ve expected to see here.

Lawrence only acknowledged Jungkook with a nod before ordering his own drink. 

A multitude of emotions went through Jungkook at this particular moment starting with wanting to punch Lawrence in his perfect face, to feeling sorry for himself for being forced into this situation, then feeling sorry for Lawrence because he knew that he got the short end of the stick – at least Jungkook still has a strong friendship with you —  and oddly, gratefulness because Jungkook knows what he needs to do now and without Lawrence, he wouldn’t have been forced into it and who knows how long he would’ve gone without telling you the truth (though he had yet to do it). 

Saying nothing himself, Jungkook took another sip of his drink.

Lawrence, however, started a conversation. “You not joining the others?”

“Nah,” Jungkook answered quietly. He gave no reason but he didn’t need to. 

Lawrence nodded in understanding but said nothing else. His drink arrived and he stayed seated, sipping quietly beside Jungkook. 

Jungkook really didn’t care for conversation. He came to the bar for some peace and quiet so initiating a conversation is the last thing he wanted to do.

With all that said, Jungkook’s curiosity got the better of him. 

“What about you?” He asked without even turning his head. “You’re not gonna head up there?” 

Lawrence shook his head. “I’ll head up a bit later”

Jungkook nodded, wondering if Lawrence would see you while he was there. He could ask him but that would open the doors to another conversation which he didn’t really want to have.  

Lawrence didn’t owe him any apology since you’re not really his girlfriend. He did seem to cross a line considering he didn’t know that at the time, but there was no reason for him to say it now. 

Just when Jungkook took another sip of his drink, Lawrence put his glass down and looked toward Jungkook, sincerely. 

“Hey, man, I’m really sorry for what I did.”

Although he harboured some slight resentment towards Lawrence for what happened, it immediately seemed to melt away in that moment. Their friendship extended well beyond the past few days and Jungkook has never been the type to hold a grudge, especially not when the other person is genuine. 

“It’s cool,” he responded. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did.”

Jungkook only had to glance at Lawrence to see he looked guilty and felt bad about it. “I was selfish and I wanted to tell Y/N how I felt. I guess there was a part of me that wished she wasn’t with you and that was completely fucked up.” 

“She’s not with me though.” 

It came out slightly harsher than intended, carrying the weight of Jungkook’s own feelings. Lawrence went quiet and Jungkook continued, resigned.

“Honestly I’d say you’ve got a pretty good shot with her, I’d go for it if I were you.”

“Why don’t you?” Lawnrence asked simply, without any curiosity or even peaked interest. His voice held more of a genuine want to help. 

“What?”

“Why don’t you just go for it?”

Jungkook shook his head. “We’re just friends.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“No offence Lawrence, but how would you know?”… Now that did come out slightly harsher than intended. “The last time you even saw us was probably at Sophia’s graduation and even then you were gonna way before the night ended.”

Completely understanding, Lawrence backed up. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Jungkook cooled off. “I’m sorry too.  That came out wrong.”

“It’s alright.” Lawrence sat back in his chair, swirled his drink before taking three long sips to empty the glass. 

“It doesn’t change anything though,” he said, getting up from his stool. “There’s a point at which you can pass friendship and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with treading beyond that line.” He put a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Just do it carefully.”

Jungkook stared at Lawrence but Lawrence didn’t linger. 

“Anyway, like I said, I’m sorry for everything.”

Jungkook watched as he walked away, the words swimming in his befuddled mind.

Lawrence was right. There was a line and Jungkook knew he was straddling that fine line and perhaps now it was too late to step back. Instead, he should be brave and put everything out on that line. It was easy enough to think with liquid courage flowing through him, that and the fact that you weren’t here right now. But maybe he should have taken advantage of the fact that he was feeling more confident now, he should find you, he found himself thinking. He should tell you he’s in love with you and then whatever happens next will happen. He can’t control that and right now there’s already a strain on the relationship that can only be fixed by the truth. 

He should do it, he thought. The thought built up more and more, ushering Jungkook as he pushed himself off the bar stool—

“Where you going, son? I just got here.”

A firm band on Jungkook’s shoulder pushed him back down, contrasting the loving tone with which he was spoken to. 

Your dad took the seat which was previously occupied by Lawrence and Jungkook could only stare for a moment as he called the bartender and ordered two drinks. If it was anyone else, Jungkook would’ve apologised and excused himself to carry out his plan of finding you, but with your dad it was simply not the case. 

“You like a gin and tonic right?” He asked, after ordering. 

Jungkook wasn’t particularly fond of it but he nodded. “Yeah, thanks. “

“How come you’re not with the others?”

Jungkook shrugged, hoping that your dad wouldn’t be able to tell he’d already had a couple to drink. “I just wasn’t feeling it.”

“And Y/N?”

Despite being the only thing on his mind for a while, the mention of you still threw him. “Huh?”

“Is she with the others?” Your dad asked coolly, reaching for some peanuts from the bowl in front of them.

“Yeah, I think so,” Jungkook answered as nonchalantly as he could. 

The bartender arrived with their drinks and your dad took his and sipped slowly in silence. 

Jungkoon was not uncomfortable around your dad, not in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to have grown rather close to him over the years and appreciated the almost father-son bond they shared. Having spent much time with your family, there wasn’t much he had yet to experience when it came to your dad, but this was something different. He’d never been sat at a bar, just the two of them making small talk over drinks. 

Jungkook knew your dad well enough to know that that wasn’t the purpose of this. Your dad is just breaking the ice to another conversation… but what? Surely it had to be about you and that was the only reason Jungkook found his palms unusually sweaty.

After what must’ve been at least twenty more minutes of small talk about the weather and football, Jungkook had emptied his second glass. 

Your dad laughed. “I forgot you can take your liquor, huh?” 

Before Jungkook could even respond, another drink had been ordered for him and Jungkook willed himself to drink this one slower, wary that he was already more than a few drinks in now though he was grateful that your dad was good at keeping up 

“So, what’s the real reason you’re not with the others?” Your dad asked, his own drink replaced with another as well. 

Jungkook shrugged and answered honestly. “Just not in the mood to socialise. I think I’d be a bit of a Debby downer so I’d rather sit this one out.”

“That’s selfless of you.”

“Not really, kind of selfish actually.”

Your dad nodded. “A bit of both then.”

Much to Jungkook’s surprise, your dad emptied his glass faster than Jungkook had and didn’t hesitate to order another. 

“Anything else for you?” he asked Jungkook. 

“Uh, sure.” Jungkook wasn’t sure why he said yes but he did, ordering a whiskey instead.

Your dad pulled his phone out and sighed, muttering an apology about a work issue and Jungkook nodded, not minding in the slightest. But the issue must have been resolved quickly because he put the phone away only moments later. 

“It almost feels wrong to be drinking with you,” your dad said. 

“Why?” Jungkook asked, taking the smallest sip from his glass. “Because I’m younger than you?”

“Partly. I’ve known you since you were so young, it’s hard to believe how much you’ve grown up.” Your dad smiled. “Y/N too.”

Jungkook smiled. “It has been a long time.” He thought back to the first day he first met your dad and you. He was a shy kid, hiding behind his mom and at the time, you were pretty shy at the time too. It was your mom who encouraged you to ask Jungkook if he wanted to read a book with you. He looked at his own mom for reassurance before shyly agreeing and following you to the reading corner in your playroom.  By the end of the night your affinity for him had grown and that was the simple start to your long friendship with more ups and downs than Jungkook could count.

“But at the same time it feels like nothing.”

Your dad raised his glass. “Exactly,” he said, with an agreeing nod of his head. “A lifetime and nothing, both at once. I sometimes wish I could go back.”

“To when we were young?”

“Further back if I could,” he smiled. “Maybe a few years before Y/N was born. Just before I got married.”

“Why then? Jungkook asked, curious. He’d known your dad for so many years and they’d had plenty of conversations about serious stuff and more light hearted stuff, but this was different. He’d not spoken much about his relationship witn your mother, especially not when partially intoxicated. And while Jungkook had seen plenty of the love they shared, he’d not heard much about it except from you.

“When I first met Y/N’s mother—gosh,” he sighed contentedly as though reliving the moment. “She was like no one else I’d ever met. She still is,” he added with a gentle chuckle. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend my days with. I’d give everything I have to be with her. Every minute of every hour, always.”

The smile on your dads face grew, as did Jungkook’s. 

“We were young when we got married, you know?”

Jungkook nodded. “I know. 24 right?”

He nodded, the corners of his lips turning up further into a proud smile. “I didn’t want to waste another day without the promise of having her by my side. My friends said I was mad, too young.”

Jungkook shakes his head, knowing how it felt to not want to be apart from someone he loved so dearly. “I don’t think you were mad at all. You were in love.” 

Your dad turned, now masking the smile that was on his face as he looked at Jungkook with a mischievous glint in his eye that Jungkook hadn’t seen before. “You know it when you feel it. There’s no mistaking it.”

Jungkook knew that now. He felt it more than ever with you now. But more pressingly, Jungkook realised – your dad knew. 

If it weren’t for the drinks he’d had, Jungkook might have felt embarrassed.

In quiet admittance, Jungkook sighed. “I know.”

Your dad smiled. “You shouldn’t let this time get away from you, Jungkook. You’re young with a life to live. Do it with love and without regrets. 

Jungkook nodded, feeling a tumultuous swirl of emotions inside. “I will,” he said, feeling more certain now than he had before, but he knew his head wasn’t in the right place to do this. First he ought to sober up… 

There was a gentle pat on his back from your dad. “Good.” He flagged the bartender down for what felt like too many times to Jungkook. “But first another drink with me.”

“Sure.” Jungkook felt his words slur slightly. Then the cogs in his brain which were turning a little slower raised a question in his mind. his eyes narrowed and he turned to your dad. “Wait, is this a test?”

Your dad laughed. “I’ve always liked you Jungkook.”

“Me too.” Jungkook smiled though he still looked wary. 

“Good.” Your dad returned the smile with even more fondness. “And no, it’s not a test. Let’s drink.”

So Jungkook stayed.

note. how are you finding it? :) let me know xoxoxo link for part 3 here

more song recs: lose control — meduza & becky hill & goodboys tenerife sea — ed sheeran i'm a mess — ed sheeran so good (stripped) — halsey crazy what love can do — david guetta & becky hill & ella henderson

[earthtooz]

x : AFTERGLOW :*+ﾟ it's all me, just don't go !

in which: rin doesn't realise what he has until it's gone. now that you're gone, he will do anything to get you back.

warnings: 5.2k wc, ANGST TO FLUFF, breakup, toxic relationship towards the beginning, rin is really mean to gn!reader, hopeful ending, rin is devastatingly in love and pathetic, reader and rin are adults + he's a soccer player, other characters make an appearance and are friends with reader, mentions of throwing up, mentions of food, both reader and rin cry, just listen to taylor swift's 'afterglow'.

a/n: FINALLY, THIS FIC THAT I STARTED ALL THE WAY BACK IN APRIL IS DONE. GOODNESS. i have mixed feelings towards this piece, but i cannot withhold it from the world any longer. i'm going to forget i ever wrote this and move on! this literally took three drafts to finish.

you don’t know when your relationship with itoshi rin began to crumble since it isn’t an event that can be pinpointed, not a date that can be marked in your calender, and most certainly not a reminder you can set in your phone. 

your friends keep telling you that you need to think back on it, that although it hurts, it was a necessary step in healing and getting over him. the more you reflect on it, however, your heart would only shatter into more fragments, with each one piercing you with the memories of better times. 

when did his expression turn sour? when did he begin looking at you with such disdain? when did he decide he didn’t need you anymore?

when did rin’s chips of insecurity wedge themselves between you?

the only memory that serves as an answer occurred at 7:00 pm one regular night. if you think hard enough, you can remember how the plush couch cushions sank under your weight, the clicks of the clock that had a second hand minutely too fast, and the sinking feeling of premonition in your gut. 

the latest rin ever comes back is 6:00, and if not, he would have let you known why he wasn’t home.

so where was he? the takeout you bought for dinner is getting cold and your stomach is growing louder and more impatient by the second. you didn’t want to eat without him though since it’s something you did daily; eating together as a way of debriefing and letting go of the stress that the day brought.

after an onslaught of unanswered phone calls from you, at 7:15, rin merely texts a ‘won’t be home for a while. eat without me’, and although rin was naturally curt and straightforward, the text had a depravity of… him, somehow. either way, his message causes a swirl of emotions in your stomach; unpleasant ones that begin to grow a nauseous shade of green.

you put rin’s takeaway in the fridge regardless, sending him a quick text telling him to be safe and that you’ll see him soon. 

he probably got caught up with something. you’re sure it’ll be fine. 

you shouldn’t have ignored that sinking feeling of premonition. shouldn’t have pushed down the unease swirling in your stomach when shutting the door to the refrigerator before stalking over to the kitchen island with slow steps as you prepare to eat in silence. no one to keep you company except your own thoughts and the ghost of rin’s presence.

and when rin does come home almost two hours later, he stills calls your name as usual, you still go to him as usual, he greets you with a tired smile as usual, you hug him as usual, he doesn’t kiss the top of your forehead, though. you ignore it, pushing your thoughts aside because he was home. he finally came back. you’ll wake up tomorrow and this uneasy feeling will sort itself out.

except it doesn’t.  

from that night onwards, rin changes. slowly, but surely, the cracks of change manifest in your relationship and through it all, you choose to cast a blind eye, plastering over it with sightless belief in your love. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the queasy feeling in your gut never stills. it fades at times when your mind is busy with other things, but it inevitably gets drawn back into the whirlpool of concern regarding your lover- or, rather, rin.

you think you’re still in a relationship, but you don’t really know anymore. you haven’t seen him in a while. the only indication of his existence that you get are the stray bowls he leaves on the kitchen counter whenever he’s done eating, the lessening weight of his protein powder containers, and the decrease of various food items from the fridge that you restock here and there.

it feels like you’re living with a ghost.

some nights, when it gets the most lonely, your mind betrays you, completely eliminating any and all trust you had in rin. 

you wonder if there’s another person. another lover that he feels more passionately for. another lover that his heart had gravitated towards, abandoning yours in the process. perhaps that is the explanation behind his absence. 

but no evidence points towards that conclusion. there has been no suspicious deduction of bills from his bank statement that would suggest infidelity, his location is constantly at the sports stadium whenever you check, and there are no traces of a lover on him- not even you. 

it is not totally blasphemous to assume that itoshi rin wouldn’t be engrossed in soccer to the point that he’d spend unhealthy and obsessive hours into honing his abilities, but it feels a little traitorous that he could forget about life outside of the sport. it isn’t just you he’s neglecting. his mother and father have been constantly asking when he’ll come over to spend some time together, his teammates have been asking you about rin’s whereabouts and when he’ll be free and what’s worse is that you never know how to answer every time. 

it’s embarrassing to be seen as a lover that is forgettable enough for rin to dismiss, so you lie and lie and lie, telling everyone that you’ll tell them later, that he’s fine and just busy, and you lie to yourself. you tell yourself that rin will be home soon so you two can talk about it, and then everything will return to normal.

(your reflection looks through your facade, disheartened and worried.)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“why are you late?” 

you jump at the voice that greets you when you step foot in the apartment and the sight before you causes you to wonder just how tired you feel, because rin is in your apartment, where he’s meant to be, for once. not only that, but he’s leaning against the couch, adorned in loungewear and slippers, and the sight is too foreignly domestic for your comprehension. 

coming home to a house with someone there feels nice. 

he’s lost a little bit of muscle and fat, but his frame is still as intimidating; shoulders broad and built, just the faintest indicator into the athletic body he’s developed over the years. his hair is a little longer too. 

“oh, rin, hi.” you mutter, surprise evident in your tone.

“hello.”

“since i got a promotion,” you respond simply. rin makes no move to approach you, no initiative to take your bag and put it on the couch for you. instead, he stays rooted in his position leaning against the couch, arms crossed.

the air around him feels hostile, and suddenly you’re almost afraid to speak. “and does that promotion change your work hours or something?”

(he doesn’t congratulate or celebrate your achievement.)

“i work with flexible hours now but the office is further and the commute is so bothersome.”

rin uncrosses his arms with a thoughtful hum, gaze glued to the floor, mind occupied. you approach him slowly, pulling your bag off your shoulder and setting it in the entrance near the genkan with a thud, the sound sobering to him.

when he looks back up, you don’t want to acknowledge the emptiness in his icy eyes, barren of the usual determination that defined itoshi rin. but if you knew that that day would be the beginning of the end, perhaps you would have done something about it.

when you opened your arms for him, perhaps you would have hugged him a little tighter, a little longer, strained all the stress out of his shoulders.

perhaps you would have protected him a little harder from the cruelties of his own mind; shown him that the world was not out to get him, and that there was a place for people like him in the world (people who can’t see their own value and instead, berate themselves for their waning self-worth because they cannot see the light behind them).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“i’m going to shower,” rin declares once the moment both of you step in the safety of your shared home.

“no, you’re not! not before we talk,” you demand, hurriedly taking off your shoes so you can face him before he slips out of your grasp. the dark-haired turns to look at you with an unamused expression, the way tonight seemed to drag on obviously taking a toll on him.

“you’re gonna stop me from taking a shower, really?”

“yes because what the fuck was going on with you tonight?”

he narrows his eyes into slits, the pure intimidation that rin naturally emanates almost threatening you into submission. however, for the humiliation you’ve had to endure tonight, you won’t budge.

“i don’t understand,” rin says monotonously. you roll your eyes.

“you don’t understand? what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i don’t know what you’re getting mad over.”

“the fact that you didn’t even try to talk to me- let alone look at me, once this entire night?”

your partner looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. “that’s an exaggeration,” he huffs.

“no it’s not!” you recall the looks of pity sent your way when rin sat beside you unmoving and unresponsive to any conversation you tried to make. “would it have killed to show you some sort of interest?”

“would it kill you to not receive attention for one night?” he retaliates. 

“it’s not about that-”

“really? sure feels like it. i don’t have time to shower you with all my attention, y/n, there are other things i have to do.” 

there are a million things you want to say to rin, a million emotions that you have felt whilst he’s been absent, a million examples of how he’s been leaving you behind and how you’re now fed up of keeping these millions to yourself. yet, not a word leaves you, too stunned by the stranger in front of you to voice it all out. 

rin, however, takes your silence as defeat and turns to leave.

“you’re being dramatic. i’m going to shower before i waste anymore time with this lukewarm conversation.” 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the night your relationship officially fell apart is one you still remember vividly, because it only happened a few days ago.

in your memory, the night was nearing 9pm, yet rin had still not come home. 

your heart takes you to him because as much as your relationship with him has caused you nothing but pain recently, you know itoshi rin. you know him because you’re soulmates and where he goes, there’s a fragment of your heart that follows. 

the drive to the practice pitch is nothing but heavy. heavy with your anticipation and stress, you feel your chest constrict and tighten, especially when you pull up into the very empty parking lot. 

“rin!” you shout for the fifth time and only then, does the dark-haired look up at you from where he’s doing dribbling drills. he almost trips over the ball from your interruption. 

“wha- oh,” he turns away just before you can catch the roll of his eyes, the snarl of frustration (one that lovers should never bare at each other). “what do you want?”

you pause a few feet away from him, utterly gobsmacked with the attitude your partner was showing you. after driving all this way, the least you’d want is a little concern, but alas.

“it’s time to go,” you stand your ground. “i’m here to pick you up.”

“yeah, right, i’m not going home.”

“that’s ridiculous! are you not tired?”

“no.”

“rin. c’mon, that’s enough, you need to rest.”

“what the fuck do you know about being enough?” he asks.

the silence is deafening and most hurtful. 

you stammer out the only response you can, “wh-what?”

he doesn’t give you anything. unrelenting, he is. rin has always been the embodiment of stubbornness served cold. not finding much productivity in his silence, you continue speaking with a wavering voice. “let’s go home. please, you shouldn’t be working yourself like this-”

“-leave me the fuck alone!” he finally comes undone. “can’t you see that i don’t have time to deal with headaches like you?”

the thread keeps unravelling.

“fucking lukewarm. i can’t deal with this right now, i don’t need you here.”

“fine,” you murmur. rin has his back turned against you and he prepares himself to kick another ball. “i’ll leave then since you don’t need me.”

when rin arrives home that night, he reasons the unease churning in his stomach on the physical exertion of practice as nothing is out of place. the apartment is as kept and tidy as it typically is, the lights are off because you’ve gone to bed, and there is a meal on the kitchen counter sealed by plastic wrap.

he won’t eat it because he’ll want to throw up otherwise, so rin tucks it neatly into the fridge, not thinking twice about the emptiness on the shelves, right where your favourite drinks are normally kept. 

the athlete washes up quickly and efficiently, a good night’s rest sounding too appealing for his battered body that felt as heavy as lead. 

that night, sleep takes rin and lulls him into a temporary sanctuary, protecting him from the reality that he would wake up to. because when morning comes, he will turn and find that you are not beside him like he expects you to be. your side of the bed is untouched, devoid of any warmth or indicator that you were there.

he checks the bathroom- you’re not there. he calls your name in the hallway- you don’t respond. he scans the kitchen, the study, the living room, and finds nothing but loneliness in each room. there’s no text from you indicating that you were elsewhere.

you’ll return, though. rin’s sure of it.

except you don’t, the hours pass by with rin anticipating your return, and his confidence slowly dwindles with each minute. by the time it’s been 24 hours since he last saw you, his patience runs thin. finding your contact, rin presses the ‘call’ button and is surprised that it does not go through, stopping him after only one ring when an automated voice says ‘this caller is unavailable’. 

the dark-haired stares at your contact in contempt, furrowing his eyebrows when all of his following attempts receive the same treatment, but rin continues stubbornly because you couldn’t have blocked him, right?

was it because of what he said? he didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean to blow up on you like that- how is he supposed to say sorry if he can’t even reach you?

checking his private accounts on various social media, he sees that you’ve blocked him there too. running in to the master bedroom and checking the closet, half of your clothes are missing, and the bag you keep on the shelf is missing too. the bathroom lacks some of your products, your laptop and various chargers are gone from your study space, and the heaviness of your absence hits itoshi rin like a train.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you never did come around to collect your stuff. rin finds a little bit of pain in that fact.

he feels like a ghost, haunted by the trinkets of you that remain littered around his apartment. he doesn't have the heart to throw them out, not when they're the closest thing to you he can get.

a few times rin sees you in his dreams. a few times he sees you in his nightmares, looking completely hurt and run-down by his recklessness and neglect, but most mornings he wakes up feeling emptier, no one to turn to on your side on the bed. not anymore. there’s no body to hold when he needs it most, there’s no one to keep him company whilst he eats dinner, there’s no love. not since the day you left.

you, on the other hand, find it odd to live life without a second person in the periphery. you thought rin was the one for you, you never had any thoughts about what life could be without him because you were certain that it would be him that you spent the rest of your years with, so learning to accommodate without him is gnawing you away, the little bug of loneliness festing on your newfound independence. 

you’re seated on the floor of your best friend’s living room when reo texts one day, interrupting your apartment hunt.

reo: Are you still coming to my party?

you scrunch your eyebrows at the text, unknowing of where it was coming from.

y/n: not anymore. what’s up?

reo: Why not :( reo: Please it’d be so fun

y/n: don’t you know that rin and i broke up?

reo: Ok but he’s definitely not coming reo: It’s Rin, he doesn’t have a life so you’re fine. Pls say you’ll come

reo: Plus he’s been all mopey ever since so I don’t think he’s in a party mood

you dutifully ignore the last part of reo’s statement. after a little more coaxing, he finally manages to get you to agree to come, but not without a feeling of apprehension settling in your gut. still, it would be a shame to miss out on an invitation from a friend because of it. 

besides, reo’s bargain of offering to buy your outfit was too tempting to let go. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“practice was rough,” bachira murmurs, flopping on the sides of the soccer field with a sigh. his sweat causes his hair and clothes to cling to his skin, and isagi takes a seat on the bench beside his best friend, tossing the dual-tone haired his water bottle.

wiping the sweat off his forehead, isagi agrees with a hum. “i know. i just want to go home.”

“i don’t know how rin does this, staying overtime and all of that.”

“he’s insane. it only got worse after his breakup and everything.”

bachira frowns, looking over to where the dark-haired in question is standing. “i feel bad for rin-rin, seems like he’s not taking it well at all.”

a beat of silence passes before bachira speaks again. “you know y/n’s coming to reo’s party this weekend?” 

the black-haired wipes his mouth before setting the water bottle down. “really?”

“yeah. reo told me.”

“that’s nice, it’s been a while since we’ve seen y/n so it’d be nice to catch up.”

“i wonder if rin knows.”

“i doubt it,” isagi reassures, “he hardly goes to parties like the one reo’s throwing.”

“maybe that’s why y/n agreed in the first place.”

“probably.”

a cold voice suddenly cuts the two from their conversation “y/n’s going to reo’s party?” 

isagi feels his blood cool over before looking up. there, stands itoshi rin, who has a frazzled, yet equally determined look in his eyes, one that isagi has not seen in a while (not since you left). “what? no! where did you hear that from?” 

bachira laughs nervously, “you’re hearing things, rin-rin!

but they are soccer players, not actors or professional liars. “shut the fuck up, asshats. y/n’s going to reo’s party this weekend?”

the two exchange a look and their silence is the only answer rin needs. 

“hold on, you’re not thinking of going, are you?” isagi asks, accepting defeat and now switching tactics.

“why wouldn’t i? my partne-” he pauses. “y/n is gonna be there.”

“yes but-”

“-you can’t stop me from going, so don’t even think about it.”

without another word, rin is gone, stalking away with a scary determination that was previously dormant. 

“what did we just do?” bachira mumbles. “should we tell y/n?” 

“nah.”

“agreed.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you should have never come to this party.

how stupid and foolish of you, but how utterly cruel of the universe to let you hurt like this, to let the same pain that has walked all over you for the past few months return; this time ramming into you with the ferocity of a bull, knocking the air out of your lungs

“y/n!” comes the dreaded call of your name. you walk a little faster, breaking into an-almost sprint.

“y/n!” 

“for fucks sake- y/n!” this cry of your name is broken, rasped and pathetic, and your chests clenches from how pained it sounds. like a howl from an injured wolf, it is broken enough for you to pity it, luring you into a trap that will inevitably end in chunks being torn from your heart, but you don’t have much left to spare, so you keep running, no matter how badly you want to give in.

except it’s not enough to deter rin, nothing ever be when there’s a goal in sight, especially one so close that he can taste it.

“y/n, please, i need to talk to-”

“-go away, rin!” you cut him off, hugging yourself tighter to shield yourself against the cold and rin’s pleas from piercing you. 

“not until you listen to me!”

fury powers you, igniting you with the courage to turn around and finally face him. you don’t look him in the eye, keeping your gaze elsewhere, but he shuts up nevertheless, awestruck by finally being able to see you face-to-face after being so long away from you. all words die on his throat, withering away to nothing as his eyes slightly widen in shock.

you’re just as beautiful as the day you left; perhaps even more so.

rin wonders if your radiancy was birthed by his absence, and if the answer is ‘yes’, he might wither away on the spot.

“it’s always about you isn’t it?” you shout. “always about what you want and never about what others want. you said you wanted me to leave, so i did! what more could i possibly give?” 

he gulps, utterly entranced as his heart makes itself known in his chest, racing wildly and vividly; the first indication that it was alive and hadn’t been replaced by a gaping hole in your absence. he hasn’t felt this human since you left. 

“i didn’t mean for you to actually leave,” rin confesses shakily. 

“well, it didn’t seem like you wanted me to stay either.”

“no, that’s not-” he falters. “it’s… not the same without you.”

you hug yourself tighter. “i don’t believe you, you’re just saying that now that there’s nobody to warm your bed.”

“no, it’s not like that- i don’t like living without you,” the athlete continues, admitting something so heavy with such airiness.

“you can’t just say that after so long. not when you’ve been living without me months before we broke up.”

there are a million and one things that rin wants to say to you, but none of them break through the whirlwind that is his thoughts, rattling around in his brain on overdrive and overwhelming him with the intensity of them all. one thing he knows for sure is that you are the single muse behind all of them, the only thing that is keeping him sane amongst the flurry of disturbances.

then, you shiver from the chilly breeze of the night, and the whirlwind is silenced into oblivion to awaken a dormant instinct of his instead. one that commands him to fulfil a duty that he’s not inclined to do anymore.

quickly, rin takes off his jacket and holds it out to you, as if expecting you to take it. 

he drops it when you don’t, hope dwindling in his stomach.

swallowing weakly, he then asks “would you ever give me a second chance?”

“you’ll hurt me again,” you glance away, the street lamps highlighting the melancholy in your profile as rin observes you closely. his eyes outline the curves of your face, each divet and slope that he used to trace with his hands now out of his reach. “you take and you take, but you never give and i’m so tired of it.”

“don’t say that,” he pleads, voice barely louder than a whisper as the dark-haired takes a heavy step towards you. “you’ll break my heart.”

“i shouldn’t love you anymore, you’re bad for me.”

“then i’ll be good- i’ll become whatever you want me to be-”

“-we won’t work like that.”

“we’ll work as long as i’m yours again, just, let me fix us, i’ll do whatever it takes. i’m not giving up like this.” 

the first tear makes herself known and paths the way for your downfall like a tsunami, washing away whatever you had built up during your time away from itoshi rin; the good and the bad. the hurt and the healing, all undone by a singular, stray tear. in your vision, he becomes nothing but a blur, a kaleidoscope of colours that you once loved.

a kaleidoscope of colours that you still love, much to the chagrin of your broken heart. 

a hand wraps around your wrist, a warm shackle that grounds you to rin like he’s your lifeline. no matter how bad you want to push him away, something in you will always bend to him. 

“don’t cry,” he pleads, voice airy and breathy. “i’m sorry, please don’t cry.”

please don’t cry because of me.

“i don’t want to be with you if it means i need to go through all of that again.” you whisper, slipping out of his grasp like sand and wiping away your own tears, rejecting his callous and prickly touch. 

rin’s world dims as panic seizes his throat. “please don’t say that, you don’t mean it.”

“i do though. you left me first, don’t you know?” 

“-i do.”

“and now i’m not yours to care about anymore-”

“i know, i know,” words are merely spilling out of his mouth without much purpose at this point, because he’ll do anything just to delay you leaving, to push back the possibility of you turning around and never seeing you again. why did he have to break who he loved so much? 

still, he pleads for another chance, desperation shining in his eyes as pure longing fills him. you have always been too good to him, he knows, but like the tumultuous tides and their inability to stray too far from the shore, rin will come back to you with his undying devotion. 

even if he thinks you should find someone better than him, that you should be adored by someone who could love you so much better, he can’t let go. to let you go is to let go the one good thing that came to him in life, 

you exhale shakily. “we’ve loved each other for too long.” 

“what do you mean?” he stutters, eyes widening helplessly. 

“i have loved you too much for too long, rin,” you choke, “there has to be an end to us somewhere in sight- you need to accept that.”

“no,” his look of absolute devastation causes a physical recoil in your stomach. “no- not long enough, it’ll never be enough, fuck- even forever won’t be long enough, i can’t let you go like that.”

he crosses the distance between you in the blink of an eye. you can’t see him clearly under the dim light of the night, but you can feel him, so close and so overwhelming, but so cold as his hands come to grasp yours. his grip is firm, not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel his determination. 

tears dance along his lashline. 

“please, tell me you’re still mine,” begs the dark-haired. rin’s tears are diamonds, in which they are precious, but they also crumble into a precious waterfall that rolls down his cheeks, tempting you towards his beautiful ruination. 

words continue to tumble out of him, each one sharpened to pierce your defences. “tell me that we’ll be fine, that i’m all you want, please. i’m so fucking sorry for hurting you, but please don’t leave me. 

i’ll fix us, i’ll become everything you need, i’ll be good.”

the dark-haired’s hands find their way to your face, cupping each side of your jaw with a scary gentleness; one that you’d never expect from someone as ragged as itoshi rin. 

“i love you,” he declares, so raw, so full of passion that it makes you sick. the rin you know never lets his heart on his sleeve like this. 

you cave. “how will you fix us?” 

slowly. he’ll rebuild everything that you have given him.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

first, rin takes you out on dates again. calls you beautiful and really means it.

second, rin leaves practice at regular times, and listens when you tell him that he needs to take care of himself. because for you, he will. 

third, rin picks you up from work. his practice ends a little earlier than your job, so he always goes the extra mile to be there for you at the end of the day. even if you tell him that he doesn’t need to go out of his way to do so, he’d rather see you get home safe than only receiving a mere text of confirmation. 

plus, it gives rin more time with you.

fourth, rin sends you regular gifts. from bouquets, to random items that he just knows you’d like, they all get left at your door at the best times. 

fifth, rin lets you set the pace. you wanted things to go slow so that you two didn’t have to force anything back in place. no point recreating something that’s in the past, you reasoned, so might as well try again.

sixth, rin takes his time in welcoming you back into his space. it’s a few months after you two have reconciled, and majority of your items are back where they belong (you poked fun at him for not being able to throw away the stuff you did leave, and he just mumbled something indecipherable, all embarrassed, before moving on). the life has been restored in his apartment, now filled with more remnants of you loitering around his space: your various chargers and laptop, your products, your clothes, they all sit beside his things like that’s where they are meant to be.

and you are back in his arms, because it is where you are meant to be (more for his sake than yours).

rin stirs awake one morning under the gentle light of the morning sun and you’re there beside him, occupying the space that he has left devastatingly empty. mattress still curved to your frame as he never dared infiltrate it, in hopes that you would return.

now that you have, you feel too warm, too familiar, too unreal that he wonders if you’re just another dream of his. 

then, you stir, and press yourself closer against his chest, face to face with the heart that only beats for you.

a stray tear rolls down rin’s face; a salvation for the utter relief he feels, as well as the overwhelming amount of adoration that he stores for you. his ‘i love you’ is sweeter than the chirping of the birds outside, and certainly more meaningful as he wraps more of himself around your sleeping figure, hoping to attach all of him to all of you. 

you’re home. he won’t let you leave again.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[sulumuns-dootah]

Can we have the kings and any side characters you want reacting to mc being deaf?

WHB kings (+ Astaroth, Andrealphus) w/ deaf reader

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Added Astaroth and Andrealphus bc I thought it would be interesting to see their reaction given their philia/disability ^^

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

His first thought when he encounters you is that you're ignoring him on purpose

Only when Sitri courteously tells him about the extent of your diasability, he'll calm down

Though, if you are only hard of hearing, he'll have no problem to scream at the top of his lungs at you x.x

Actually, I kinda feel like he wouldn't seem as intimidating without hearing how deep and rumbly his voice is so you probably don't even get how he can be scary to some

Also, he will probably forget from time to time, so expect to be yanked back by his arms randomly out of the nowhere

       ༺☆༻

Surprise surprise

This man knows sign language

And what's more, all the movements of his hands and fingers are just as smooth and seductive like his voice

Surely, these skills translate elsewhere, right?

Either way, I don't think being deaf would really change something for him

Astaroth has fully mastered the art of self-expression and doesn't actually need his voice to get you down bad

       ༺☆༻

Now Mammon doesn't know but the moment you become his master, he's not only learning sign language, but he's also learning to do it with those golden hands he can summon

So yes, you could be walking somewhere in Hell and suddenly it bursts out of the ground and signing at you some sweet message

Bc texts are too boring

You'll also get a private interpreter to help you get around

And no, it doesn't matter that you're fine on your own

You deserve the luxury of having one

No discussions

       ༺☆༻

Oh Levi actually kinda hates this

But not in the way you think

Bc Levi loves walking up to people from behind and have them react to his echoing footsteps

But you don't

You're blissfully unaware of the menacing presence behind you

Sadly, this may also lead to you behing hung seemingly out of nowhere

The only really good way to remedy your situation is that you learn to recognise his presence from the subtle shift in the energy and temperature

       ༺☆༻

On the other end of the spectrum...

Beel has way too much fun with you

For example, he'll walk behind you and slowly get closer and closer until you notice him

(So far his record is two steps behind you)

Though, you can usually tell that he's around bc of how the energy around you shifts and you suddenly feel a presence

Buuut! If any other demon teases you in a similar way, he'll immediatelly jump into defense mode

You're his human and only he can tease you like that

       ༺☆༻

Belphegor takes a while to notice

Mostly chalking up your lack of responses to laziness (relatable)

And then he eventually sees Beleth using sign language with you and makes a mental note to ask either one of you after his nap

This actually repeats a few times until he actually remembers

Beleth is kinda stunned, thinking Belphie knew bc he always talks slow around you, as if letting you read his lips clearly

       ༺☆༻

Having a conversation with Andrealphus is a bit of a challenge if you're also mute

Thankfully, you still do have ways to adapt, like text to speech or, Andre's favorite, writing onto his palm with your fingers

Body contact is important do Andrealphus, so he enjoys when you communicate with him through it

Out of all the demons, he understands you the most when it comes to having and overcoming a disability so he can even give you some good tips on what you could look out for

       ༺☆༻

"Need help reading lips? Lemme show you"

Yeah... What would you really expect huh?

Though, if you somehow manage to pacify the horny Asmo, he'll immediatelly be replaced by dad Asmo

Making sure nobody sneaks up on you and scare you, makes sure everything is accessible to you

Has everyone start learning sign language and even sets up classes for it all across Hell

(Let's not talk about how the lessons usually end)

       ༺☆༻

Lucifer is actually the only one who knows what to do since he's a doctor

Everyone already knows how to accommodate you so there's no issue

Also, if you ever feel like venting about your disability (or anything else, for that matter), he's there for you 24/7

Thinking about it... Lucifer's voice could also be the only one you could hear if he used his hallucination power on you

[floodflameschosen]

BURNING OUT.

Summary: During the first week of December, a postcard arrives—no name, no return address, just a drunken confession from a stranger who appears to be as lost and lonely as you are this holiday season. Pairing: Noah Sebastian x F!Reader CW: grief, mental health issues (mainly depression), alcohol consumption, open ending Word Count: 11.4k

The postcard arrives on a Tuesday.

You almost miss it at first, tucked between bills you don't want to open and catalogs addressed to someone who no longer lives there—because no matter how many times you informed the magazine that their client’s address has changed, they keep sending the goddamn catalogs every month.

It's only when you're ready to place the pile upon the kitchen counter, intending to just leave the papers there to cluster the space until you eventually muster the energy to toss it all out—as you've been doing with pretty much everything else lately—does the cheap cardstock fall loose and land face up on the floor.

The words are scrawled in messy, uneven handwriting:

“Hey,

I used to live in your house. I’m drunk in Virginia, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays.”

You read it once.

Twice.

Then again.

There’s no name. No return address. Just a half-hearted message from a drunk stranger who probably won’t even remember sending it.

You should just throw it away.

You should roll your eyes, crumple it up, and move on. But you don't.

Instead, you stand there at the counter, holding it between your fingers, staring at the ink until the letters blur.

Outside, the streets are alive with Christmas lights and half-melted snow, with couples walking around wrapped in scarves and mittens, and with families cramming into local restaurants for holiday dinners.

The world is vivid and bright, covered in a soft winter glow. But not for you.

For you, the season is nothing but cold. Empty. A reminder of all the things you've lost this year.

You used to love this time of year—both of you did. The decorations, the ugly sweaters, the way laughter filled the air like a song you could hum along to.

But now? Now it’s just another month to survive. Another string of days where you pretend the silence in the house doesn’t feel heavier with each passing hour.

The postcard lingers in your hands much longer than it should.

Because someone out there—some stranger with messy handwriting and a bad habit of sending drunk mail, of all things—felt lonely enough, lost enough, to reach out to a place they don’t belong to anymore, like it was all they had.

And you understand.

God, you understand.

So, instead of tossing it straight in the trash and forgetting all about it, you set it down on the counter, smoothing your thumb over the words one last time before turning around to walk straight back to bed.

You haven't got a clue who the person behind the postcard is. But right now, for some unknown reason, you really wish you did.

You don't leave the house for the rest of the week.

Haven't, really, in days. Not unless you absolutely need to.

You're used to the routine by now: waking up too late, then staring at the ceiling for too long, and forcing yourself out of bed only when you can't stand the thoughts any longer.

Once up, you go down to the kitchen and make coffee that goes cold before you remember to sip it, and you eat standing over the sink, not tasting the food.

It’s been like this for a while.

Today, somewhere, someone is laughing—one of those deep, belly-aching laughs that used to live here too, filling this same house, rattling the walls.

Not anymore. Now, the space is quiet. Still. 

Grief is a terrible monster. It doesn’t come the way people say it will. It’s not a sudden, crashing wave that devastates you all at once.

No, grief something quieter. Slower.

Grief is a parasite that settles into your bones, feeding on your memories until they're tarnished and rotten, growing stronger by the day, pressing its weight against your chest until it gets hard to breathe and your limbs feel too heavy to move.

It clings. It whispers. It does not leave.

And the worst part? It makes you still. Frozen. Like you’re the one who’s died, while the rest of the world keeps moving.

You think about that sometimes—how the world doesn’t stop for mourning. How people still go to work, still go to school, still go on dates, still adorn their houses with Halloween and Christmas decorations as if nothing had ever happened.

You think about how someone could have walked past him that day, just another stranger on the sidewalk, not knowing it was the last time he’d ever be anywhere.

It doesn’t seem right.

Neither does the silence left behind.

You used to hate how loud he was sometimes—how he filled rooms like he owned them, always going on about something, drumming on countertops, humming, tapping his fingers against door frames.

Sometimes you thought that he laughed too loudly. Talked too much.

Now, all you have left is the silence he's left behind, and it's unbearable. You'd do anything to hear that obnoxiously loud laugh again.

Most days, you still expect to hear his keys jingling in the lock, his voice calling out something stupid as he kicks the door shut behind him.

You still catch yourself turning toward the couch when you pass it, waiting for him to be there, sprawled out with a controller in his hands, feet on the coffee table, because he never listened when you told him not to.

But he’s not. And he won’t ever be again.

That should be enough incentive to make you leave this place, to get out of this house, to push yourself back into a life that isn’t just waiting for him to walk through the door.

But it isn't, and you don't.

Instead, you stay right where he left you and you exist through your days, which by now are all the same.

You consistently wake up late and spend too long staring at the ceiling. Your coffee still runs cold before you remember to sip it, and everything you eat still tastes bland.

Nothing ever changes.

Except for the one new ritual added to that routine: you, sitting at the kitchen table, staring at that anonymous postcard, every day since you got it.

And you wonder why it won’t let you go.

It’s been days, and you still can’t stop thinking about the damn thing.

Maybe it’s because it came at the right—no, the wrong—time.

When the house felt particularly quiet, when the weight of December and the first holiday season without him was pressing in on you, when you felt more like a ghost haunting your own life than a person still meant to be here.

Or maybe it’s because you just want something to care about again. To keep your mind off of things you wish you could just forget.

Whatever it is, it's enough for you to want to know more, and it starts with looking up the brewery it was sent from.

That’s easy enough to find.

A quick Google search, an address in Charlottesville that isn’t too far from you, a website with pictures of the place, and a list of upcoming events—live music, comedy nights, trivia.

No way to connect it back to whoever sent the postcard whatsoever.

Maybe looking up the place should be enough to satisfy your curiosity, but it isn't. So you decide to check the place out for yourself, in person, and maybe look for some additional clues on who this mysterious sender might be.

You shower for the first time in four days.

The hot water stings against your skin, like it’s scalding away something you haven't had the strength to scrub off before now. You stand under the spray longer than you need to, watching steam curl around you, letting it fog up the mirror before stepping out just so you don't have to see yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Once you're out of the shower, you dress without thinking at first—putting on sweats, an old hoodie, your everyday uniform at this point.

Then you pause.

For the first time in months, you reach for something else. Something nicer. Nothing special, but still. A sweater that isn’t stretched out and worn thin. Jeans that fit. You even brush your hair.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

You take the bus to Charlottesville. Miss your stop. Walk the rest of the way.

The streets downtown are slick from last night’s rain, neon lights reflecting off the pavement. Christmas decorations are everywhere—red bows tied to lampposts, wreaths hanging from shop doors, and fairy lights woven through windowsills.

You keep your head down, ignoring all of it, hands shoved deep into your heavy winter coat pockets.

The brewery is bigger than you expected, warm and crowded, smelling of hops and wood and something fried. People laugh, clink glasses, lean in close to be heard over the music playing from the speakers.

You can't help but think that this is stupid—a dumb idea.

Still, you force yourself forward, inside, toward the bar where a bartender with tired eyes and a half-smile leans in to hear you.

“Hey,” You swallow, glancing at the shelves of liquor behind him like they might guide you on what to do next. “Do you guys, uh—get a lot of people passing through here?”

You wince as you ask the question, knowing how stupid you sound.

The guy behind the bar raises a brow, not expecting that.

“Yeah, I guess.” He says, a little unsure, wiping out a glass. “Why?”

You're not sure how to explain this, so you pull the postcard from your pocket, smoothing out the crease you've made from folding it too many times.

“I got this in the mail, from someone who used to live in my house. I don’t know who they are, but—” You lift it slightly. “I figured maybe they come here?”

The bartender takes it, giving it a quick once-over. His mouth twists like he’s trying to place something, but after a second, he just exhales through his nose and hands it back.

“Doesn’t sound like a regular.” He says as he shakes his head.

You frown.

“No?”

“Nah. This is the kind of thing someone writes when they’re passing through, not when they're planning on sticking around.” He wipes condensation off the bar, nodding toward the postcard. “That whole ‘lonely, final goodbye’ thing? Sounds like they were already gone before they even mailed it.”

Sounds like they were already gone.

You swallow.

“The best I can tell you,” he continues, “is to check the event calendar. Look at the performers who passed through in the last month, maybe? See if anything sticks out.”

You should leave—that’s what any normal person would do. Just thank the bartender for humoring them and walk away.

But instead, you glance past him, toward the framed calendar hanging by the register, packed with names and dates in neat little rows.

You hesitate, then sigh.

You've already come all this way, so might as well.

“Can I see that?” You ask, gesturing for the calendar.

The bartender steps aside, letting you lean over the counter to take a better look.

You squint at the tiny print, scanning through a month worth of events—live music, open mics, stand-up comedy. Some names sound like bands. Some are just initials or one-word stage names.

None of them rings a bell, because of course they don’t.

This is stupid.

Still, you take out your phone and snap a picture of the entire thing. For later—not that later will change anything. After that, you tuck your phone away and thank the bartender, finally leaving before you can embarrass yourself further.

Outside, the cold night air bites at your skin. You exhale, watching your breath cloud in front of your face.

Suddenly, you think that he would probably call you crazy for doing this. You can almost hear him now, laughing, amused, and exasperated all at once.

“Jesus, you’re really doing detective work over some random postcard? You need a hobby.”

You swallow hard, throat closing up, because it sounds so real. Like he’s right there beside you, shoving his hands into his pockets, giving you that look—the one that always meant, I love you, but you’re a little insane.

But he isn’t there, and he never will be again.

Your chest aches.

You need to get your shit together.

If this is how you spend your time now—zooming in on a blurry photo of an event calendar from a random brewery, thinking about googling up strangers just to ask them if they perhaps sent drunken mail to anyone lately—it’s clear you don't have much of a life to begin with.

Maybe you do need a hobby.

Walking back to the bus stop, you think about the bus ride here—how you stared out the window as Richmond faded behind you, the hour-long trip to Charlottesville passing in a blur of trees and highways.

How, for the first time in months, you had to exist outside your usual orbit, existing among people who didn’t know you, who weren’t looking at you with pity or concern or asking stupid questions such as “How are you holding up, dear?”

For a second, you almost feel like a normal, functioning person again. The feeling goes away soon enough, though.

The house is too quiet when you get back.

It’s always quiet now, but after the low hum of voices at the brewery, the music, the clatter of glasses and footsteps, this silence is almost unbearable—it presses down on your shoulders, heavy, suffocating.

You take off your shoes, drop your bag by the door, and exhale as you lean against the wall.

You should feel better after getting out, right? That’s what people always say—shit like fresh air, movement, distraction, they're all supposed to make you feel lighter, right?

But instead, it feels like you've aged a thousand years in just a few hours, like the simple act of leaving and returning has drained you of everything.

Or maybe you feel like this because you're here again. Maybe the house itself is sucking you dry.

You rub a hand over your face, pushing away the exhaustion pooling in your limbs, but it doesn’t help. Nothing ever does.

And then, suddenly, you feel it—something ugly, something sharp and cruel, festering under your ribs before you can stop it, because you're miserable.

You're exhausted. You're lonely. And it feels like this is all his fault.

You hate yourself the second the thought creeps in, because what kind of person even thinks that? What kind of person blames the dead for, well—dying?

You do.

Even if just for a split second, you do.

You blame him for leaving you here in this silence. For turning this house into a tomb. For dying and taking everything with him—every sound, every heartbeat, every warm moment that made this place feel like a home instead of just four walls and a roof.

As the thoughts creep in, you press the heel of your hands against your eyes, tears burning behind closed eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

To yourself. To him. To the empty, hollow space left between you.

But the silence doesn’t answer.

It never does.

You tell yourself you’ll stop at number five.

Five quick searches, then you’re done.

It’s not obsession—it’s just curiosity. And curiosity is harmless.

You sit on the edge of your bed, knees pulled up, laptop glowing against the dark of your room. The picture of the event calendar is open on your phone, the names blurry from where you zoomed in too much.

You pick one name at random and type it into Google.

The first act is a local band. Their website is an abandoned Tumblr page, and their two songs on Spotify sound like they were recorded in someone’s basement with a single, malfunctioning microphone. No mention of a solo traveler sending drunken postcards, of course.

Next.

The second is an indie-folk duo. Their Instagram is filled with aesthetic black and white photos—sunsets, coffee cups, grainy shots of them performing in tiny bars.

You scroll through, looking for anything—posts about being on the road, about traveling alone, about missing home.

Nothing.

Next.

The third is a singer-songwriter with a meticulously curated social media presence. He posts inspirational quotes under every video, smiling like he has never known a bad day in his life.

You click out of his page immediately.

Next.

The fourth is a stand-up comedian.

Big mistake—you watch exactly thirty seconds of a YouTube video before slamming the laptop shut.

He’s the kind of guy who thinks being loud is the same as being funny, the kind who makes jokes about “cancel culture” and “snowflakes” while wearing a t-shirt with a terrible pun on it.

It's so bad you give up before search number five.

Jesus Christ. This is pointless.

You exhale sharply, tossing your phone onto the bed.

The bartender was right.

This person—whoever they are—is probably long gone, leaving behind nothing but a wasted postcard and a stranger wasting their time on it.

So you shove the postcard into your bedside drawer, and that’s the end of it. You're done playing detective.

Days pass.

Or maybe it’s the same endless day, repeating over and over, like a tape stuck on loop.

You wake up. You shower when you manage to conjure up the energy. You eat when you remember to. You sleep when you can.

The cold settles deeper into the city, pressing against the windows, making the streets feel haunted. The nights stretch longer, swallowing the days whole.

Nothing changes.

You don’t check the drawer. You don’t think about the postcard. Not really.

But sometimes, when you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you wonder—did they ever make it home, wherever that may be? Do they even remember sending it?

Would they care if they knew a stranger was looking for them, holding onto their words like they meant something?

You don’t have answers, of course.

And you won’t find them, because you’re done looking.

Two days later, you wake up to the sound of something scraping against the semi-frozen ground outside.

It drags and scrapes, again and again, rhythmic but uneven—like someone is digging.

For a long moment, you lie in bed, mind heavy with sleep, not sure if you’re still dreaming or if your mind is simply playing tricks on you.

The house has been so quiet these past months, an unbearable kind of silence, like you're stuck in a soundless limbo.

You’ve spent so many nights staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the heater and the occasional creaks of the old house settling, that you're used to the weird noises.

But this—this is different.

You slowly sit up, ears straining, head foggy and pulse sluggish. Then, there it is again. A dull thud. A scrape. A pause. Then another thud—someone is definitely digging.

You push back the covers, shivering as the cold air bites at your skin even through your hoodie. The clock on the nightstand glares back at you—3:14 AM.

Who the hell could be outside your window, digging, at this hour?

Heart hammering, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and move toward the window, peeling back the curtain just enough to see outside, breath fogging up the glass as you scan the yard below. The dim light of the lamp post isn't much help, but you strain your eyes and focus, and then you see it—a tall, dark figure crouched near your dying garden, a shovel in hand.

Your breath catches, rage and fear flaring hot in your chest. There is a stranger outside your house, messing about in the yard.

No—the garden.

His garden.

He’d spent so many mornings out there, drinking his coffee and pulling weeds, talking to the plants like they were old friends. He loved that garden, and you haven’t touched it since he died.

The frost has taken over, creeping along the dead stems, claiming the once vibrant space. And now—now some stranger is out there, digging around in it?

You let the curtain fall back into place and spin around, adrenaline buzzing beneath your skin. You don’t even hesitate—just head straight for the bedroom door, movements sharp and purposeful.

You don’t bother turning on any lights as you make your way downstairs. Your fingers hover over the switch near the front door, but you stop yourself. If someone’s really out there, and if they happen to be dangerous, you don’t want to alert them of your whereabouts.

Instead, you leave the lights out and reach for the baseball bat that still rests behind the entrance door, untouched for months. It was his idea to keep it there—“Just in case,” he used to say, grinning as he twirled it in his hands.

He would laugh if he could see you now, clutching it in your freezing fingers, about to walk outside and confront some lunatic who apparently decided your yard was prime real estate for digging.

You crack the door open, bracing against the rush of icy wind. The porch light flickers on automatically, its dim glow illuminating the yard, causing the man to startle so hard he nearly falls over, dropping the shovel with a dull clank against the frozen ground.

He turns to face you, hands raised in surrender, eyes wide.

And, okay—what the hell?

He’s tall. Ridiculously tall. And covered in tattoos. Dark ink snakes up his hands, his arms, disappearing beneath the pulled-up sleeves of his black hoodie. You can also see ink all over his neck.

His long, messy hair falls over his face, and even in the dim porch light, you can see the wide-eyed panic in his dark eyes.

“Shit—okay, wait—listen,” he stammers, stepping back. His breath curls into the air in white plumes, and he sways slightly, unsteady on his feet.

Is he drunk?

“You have ten seconds to explain before I start swinging.” You say as you tighten your grip on the bat, jaw clenched.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“Okay, look, this—” He says, gesturing vaguely toward the considerably large hole in the ground. “This isn’t as bad as it looks.”

“Oh, really? Because it sure looks like you’re desecrating my yard in the middle of the goddamn night!”

“I—yeah, okay, that’s fair,” he says quickly, slurring his words a bit. Definitely at least a little tipsy, then. “But I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

He swallows hard, hands once again raised in surrender, palms out. His fingers are freakishly long.

“I used to live here, alright? A long time ago. And, uh…” He yet again gestures vaguely at the hole he was digging. “When I was a kid, I buried a time capsule here. Like, a treasure box? And I just—I don’t know, I wanted to see if it was still here. Get it back, hopefully.”

You stare at him, disbelief mixing with irritation.

“You’re telling me you broke into my yard at three in the morning, in the middle of December, to dig up some childhood treasure chest?”

He shifts on his feet, looking uncomfortably sheepish.

“Yeah, but—look, it’s not just some stupid thing. It’s important. You have no idea how much it means to me. I… I need to find it. It’s—” He glances at the hole again, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. “It’s the last thing I have left. It’s all I have left.”

His voice cracks at the end, and it stops you in your tracks. For a moment, everything goes quiet, save for the wind whipping through the trees.

You feel it—a tug in your chest.

It’s the edge in his voice, the kind of desperate longing you’ve been trying to ignore in yourself. The kind that made you search for something, anything, to hold onto after everything you knew went to shit.

And maybe he’s drunk, sure. But the look in his eyes—the hollow look of someone trying to cling to some sort of lifeline—makes you hesitate. You’ve seen that look before in the mirror. You’ve felt that look before.

And then it clicks, because—he’s the one, isn't he? He’s the person who sent the postcard.

For a second, you freeze, your heartbeat quickening, a wave of emotion crashing over you. You stare at him, that realization creeping in, and suddenly, you’re not so sure how to handle this anymore.

You blink hard, trying to shake off the weird emotions, and raise the bat higher as you try to remind yourself that, no matter how desperate they might look, this is still a stranger who's trespassing and ruining your yard. You shouldn't be willing to let him get away with this.

“You really think I’m gonna let you just dig up my yard because you need to find a damn child's box? It’s not happening. Get off my property.”

His expression falters, but he stands his ground.

“I’m not leaving. Not until I find it. You don’t understand—it’s more than just some kid’s memory. It’s—” He runs a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “I’m not crazy. I swear. Please, just let me—”

You hate that you feel that tug in your chest again, harder this time, and something in you shifts. You know what that desperation feels like.

Hell, you’ve been drowning in it yourself.

So you lower the bat just a little, just enough to show him you’re considering it, your eyes narrowing.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? For the… You know. Grave robber vibes.” He tries again, and his eyes soften, just a little. “But just—please. I really need this. I swear I’ll go as soon as I find it. Please.”

God, this is fucking insane.

“Fine!” You snap. Even as the words leave your mouth, you can't believe you're agreeing to this. “You can look for the damn thing. But if you turn out to be a serial killer who’s in fact digging my own grave there, then you fucking suck, 'cause I’m being really nice here.”

He lets out a startled laugh, the sound coming out too easily for someone who was just moments ago pleading to keep digging in your yard like a madman.

“A serial killer?” He repeats, and for a second, it seems like he’s genuinely amused, the corners of his lips pulling up while his eyes glint with humor. “That’s a new one. But don’t worry, I’m not the homicidal type.”

He pauses, then looks at you with something else shining in his eyes now, his expression turning oddly sincere.

“Thank you. Really. You don’t know how much this means to me.” His voice carries a weight that makes your skin prickle. It’s enough to make you uncomfortable, the way he looks at you like you just saved his life.

Like this random act of kindness is everything to him.

You clear your throat and take a step back, trying to shake off the feeling.

“Yeah, yeah. Just keep looking, 'cause you’ve got thirty minutes. After that, you’re out. Don’t make me regret this.”

He nods quickly, the gratitude still heavy in his eyes.

“I won’t, I swear. Thank you.”

You watch him go back to digging, his hands moving with determination now, and you still don’t lower the bat completely. You just stand there, freezing under your hoodie and sweatpants, your mind racing, unsure of how you ended up in this bizarre situation.

He digs like his life depends on it.

His breath comes in short puffs of white against the night air, his fingers dirt-streaked and trembling from what you guess is more than just the cold. You watch, arms crossed, shifting from foot to foot to try and warm up, waiting for the inevitable moment when he realizes his stupid box isn't there anymore and he’s wasted his time.

But then—

“Oh, shit.”

His entire body stills.

For a moment, he just stares down at the hole, his chest rising and falling quickly from exertion, and then he’s dropping to his knees, pulling something from the dirt with both hands—a wooden box, old and weathered but miraculously intact.

You expect him to open it carefully, but no—he pries it open with frantic hands, as if he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he hesitates even a second longer.

His breath shudders out of him when he sees what’s inside.

“Holy shit,” he exhales, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s all still here.”

You don’t say anything. You just watch as he sits right down on the damp, semi-frozen grass, and lifts out a photograph, brushing dirt off the edges with the care of someone handling something sacred.

“This—” He says as he turns it toward you. It’s an old photo, slightly faded, showing a familiar house and a young-looking couple posing together in front of it.

Even in sepia tones, you recognize it instantly. The porch, the windows, the yard.

It’s your house.

“My grandparents,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “They bought this place before I was even born. Spent their whole lives here.”

He pulls out another photo—this time, it shows a little boy grinning between that same couple, older now, a backpack almost too big for his small frame draped over his back.

“That’s me,” he says. “First day of school. My grandparents walked me to the bus stop down the street every morning until I was, like, twelve. Embarrassed the hell out of me, but…”

He trails off, running his thumb over the edge of the picture, voice growing softer. “I get it now. They just wanted to hold onto me for as long as they could.”

Something in your chest aches.

He looks different like this—like the weight he carries has been lifted, even if just for a moment. Like, for the first time tonight, there’s some light in his eyes. It tugs at something inside you, something buried so deep it feels like it shouldn’t still be there.

Because you wish—God, you wish—you could do the same. You wish you could dig somewhere and unearth something that could bring back the light in your eyes. Something that could pull you back to who you used to be before everything happened.

But there’s nothing left for you to dig up, is there?

For one crazy, fleeting second, the thought slams into you with enough force to make your breath catch: if digging something out of the dirt is all it takes to bring back a lost part of yourself, then why can’t you just go to the cemetery, dig up your best friend, and demand he comes back?

The thought is so absurd, so horrifying, that your stomach twists violently against it. But the feeling lingers, even as you shake your head, even as you try to push it down.

Because the truth is, if you could, you would. If you thought it would work, you would.

You clear your throat, trying to rid yourself of the weight pressing down on you, and shift your stance. He’s still staring at the photo in his hands, lost in something only he can see.

Then, as if suddenly remembering you’re there too, he glances up.

“Come here,” he says, patting the grass beside him without hesitation. “You gotta see this.”

And you should say no.

You should turn around, go back inside, lock the door, and leave him to his nostalgia.

Better yet, you should ask him to get the fuck out of your property now that he's found what he was seeking.

But you don’t, because that small light is still in his eyes. And you think—just for a moment—that if you sit next to him, maybe some of that warmth will reach you, too.

So you turn around, step inside for a moment, and drop the bat near the door before coming out again and making your way over to him.

He barely even acknowledges you moving, too caught up in what he’s unearthing from the past.

The ground is freezing as you lower yourself beside him, the cold seeping through your clothes immediately, but you choose to ignore it.

He pulls out a tiny Lego man next, dusting him off with an amused huff. “I was obsessed with this guy. Had this whole elaborate storyline for him. He was, like, a secret agent with a double life. Normal guy by day, total badass by night.”

You huff out something that almost resembles a laugh.

“What a nerd.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees, grinning, but then his expression softens as he pulls out another object—something small and round that you can’t quite make out right away. He turns it over in his palm.

“My grandpa used to carry this around,” he says. “A pocket watch. It broke, like, years before I found out about it, but he kept it on him anyway. He used to tell me it was a magic watch, that it could stop time if you knew the right trick.” He shakes his head. “I spent so long trying to figure it out.”

He laughs under his breath, but there’s something wistful behind it.

“I put it in here because I thought if I buried it, I’d come back and it’d be fixed. I dunno. Kid logic.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just let him keep talking. And he does—more than you expected.

He tells you about his grandparents, about how his grandma smelled like oranges because she swore by some old family superstition about rubbing citrus peels on your hands for good luck. How his grandpa used to sit on the porch every morning with his coffee and newspaper, humming the same tune under his breath that no one ever recognized.

He tells you about how the house used to be filled with music, with warmth, with a life that’s long since been swallowed by time.

And you listen.

You listen because, for once, it doesn’t feel like you’re just existing. For once, the world isn’t so heavy, so empty, so cold.

And you know it won’t last.

In a few minutes, he’ll run out of things to reminisce. He'll close the box, the light will fade from his eyes, and the weight will return to both your shoulders.

But for now—for now, you sit beside this stranger in the cold, watching the past come alive through the objects in his hands, through the words leaving his mouth, and you glimpse into a life that was never yours.

You don’t know how long you sit there, knees pulled to your chest against the cold, listening as he pulls each tiny relic from the past and brings it back to life with his stories.

There's a marble.

A single, tiny, blue marble, its surface cloudy with age.

“Used to think it held the whole sky inside it,” he murmurs, rolling it between his fingers. “Swore I could see clouds moving in there if I stared long enough.”

There's a folded-up note, edges crumbling with time.

He hesitates before unfolding it, smoothing it out carefully on his knee.

“A letter to my future self.” His lips twitch up when he speaks. “Bet it’s something stupid.”

It is.

The handwriting is messy, barely legible. He squints at it in the dim light, clears his throat, and reads it aloud:

“Dear Future Me,

Are you famous? I hope you got us into a cool band like I planned. And do we have a dog? Our own house? Did you manage to leave town, or are we still in Richmond?

I hope you didn’t turn out lame. If you did, just lie about it.

(P.S.: If you have a wife, don’t be a dumbass. Tell her you love her. That's what grandpa always says, and he's usually right about that stuff.)”

You don’t mean to laugh, but the way he groans and drags a hand down his face makes it impossible not to. He crumples the letter back up, tossing it inside the box.

“God, I was a little shit.” He mutters, but there's amusement in his voice.

He keeps going, explaining trinket after trinket. Sharing fragment after fragment as he pulls random things out from his little treasure box.

You don’t say much—instead, you just listen.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, it doesn’t feel like you’re drowning in silence.

But eventually, inevitably, he runs out of objects and stories, and starts putting things back. Your chest tightens as you watch him tuck each piece of his past carefully into the box, securing the lid, brushing away the dirt.

He’s leaving.

You shouldn’t care. You barely know him. You don't know him.

But the thought of this moment ending—of him leaving and taking the momentary warmth away, of being left alone in the silence again—makes your stomach twist.

So, before you can overthink it, you clear your throat and blurt out the words: “Where are you staying? While here in Virginia, I mean.”

He glances up, like he wasn’t expecting you to ask.

“Charlottesville.” He nods vaguely down the street. “Took the bus here earlier, figured I’d just go to the bus station and wait for the first bus back in the morning.”

At that, something in your chest twists even tighter, and you don’t know why.

Maybe it’s because you know how miserable the bus station is at night—cold, empty, barely more than a fluorescent-lit limbo. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t sit right with you that he’s just going to disappear into the dark, back to whatever life he’s been wandering through before this.

Or maybe—maybe you’re just simply not ready to be alone again.

So, against all logic, against every instinct that should be screaming at you to let him go, you say, “You can stay here.”

He blinks.

“What?”

“Just for the night,” you say quickly, before you can change your mind. “You can crash on the couch. It’s freezing, and you’re kinda drunk—no, don't deny it, I can smell the alcohol in your breath.”

The words make his cheeks darken enough that you notice it even in the dim light, but you don't comment on it.

“Waiting at the bus station for hours sounds like hell,” you shrug. “But it's up to you.”

He just looks at you, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake—if you’ve misread the entire situation, if he’ll think you’re weird or crazy or too much. But then—

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “Yeah, okay.”

And just like that, you’re bringing a stranger into your home.

A stranger who sent you a drunken postcard.

A stranger who just unearthed his childhood from your backyard.

A stranger who, for some reason, doesn’t feel like a stranger at all.

Inside, the warmth of the house seeps into your freezing skin, making goosebumps rise all over your body, and you realize just how truly cold you were outside.

You shut the door behind you, locking it out of habit, then glance at the man as he steps further in, his eyes sweeping the space carefully, like he’s making an effort to commit every detail to memory.

There’s something oddly hesitant about the way he moves around the room, like he’s walking through a dream, a place he only half remembers.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just takes it all in—the cluttered bookshelves, the old coffee table, and the worn sofa that doesn’t quite match the armchairs sitting opposite it. As you watch him, you can’t help wondering what he thinks about it all.

“You changed the layout so much,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

His fingers skim the back of the couch absentmindedly, and when he speaks again, it's louder, like this time the words are actually directed at you.

“The walls used to be a different color. Furniture was all pushed against them, too. My grandma had this old ass china cabinet right over—”

He gestures vaguely toward the far wall, but his words trail off, his attention shifting elsewhere, thought forgotten. You follow his gaze, and that’s when you realize what he’s looking at.

The pictures.

They line the wall, sit over the fireplace—snapshots of moments frozen in time. In every single one, you’re there, smiling, laughing, caught in moments that will never exist again.

And beside you, always, is him.

You feel the question coming before he even says it.

“Oh, is that your boyfriend?”

It’s such an innocent question, and yet, it slams into you like a fist to the chest.

He doesn’t notice your reaction at first, still looking at the photos as if they’re the most interesting things he's ever seen.

“Is he sleeping?” He presses, voice lowering to a murmur, as if it would make a difference after all the noise he's made by digging about outside. “Shit, sorry if I—”

“No.”

Your voice comes out sharper than you intend—too cold. Too final.

“That’s my best friend,” you say, forcing the words out, as if it costs you greatly to explain this. And it does, you realize, as you try to keep your voice steady. “He doesn’t live here anymore.”

Silence.

You can feel him looking at you now, trying to put the pieces together and make sense of what you mean, but you don’t meet his gaze. You keep your expression blank, keep your shoulders squared, keep yourself from folding under the weight pressing against your ribs.

“Got it,” he says after a moment, voice quieter now. Gentler.

Just like that, the conversation ends. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry, just nods and keeps moving as he looks around, but the air between you feels heavier now, thick with something left unsaid.

You exhale slowly, trying to shake it off. Then, before the silence can stretch any further, you blurt out, “What’s your name?”

He blinks, caught off guard.

“What?”

“Your name,” you repeat. “I just let you into my house, and I don’t even know what to call you.”

“Oh. Right.” He huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—Noah. My name’s Noah.”

Noah.

The name settles into your brain, into your chest, into the walls and the floorboards and the space between you.

You nod once.

“Okay, Noah.” You say the name out loud, trying it out, testing the weight of it on your tongue. “Are you hungry? I can fetch us something to eat.”

And then, without waiting for a response, you turn and head for the kitchen, pretending the sound of his name doesn’t linger in your head—on your tongue—a little longer than it should.

You hear his footsteps follow, and when you reach the kitchen, he steps in right beside you. When you look at him, you can see he’s scanning the place, taking in the details, like he’s once again trying to piece together what’s changed since the last time he was here.

You move toward the fridge, but before you can open it, he steps forward.

“Oh, please—let me.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“You want to make your own food?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I want to make our food. It’s the least I can do after waking you up, trespassing in your yard to dig around, and then keeping you up to talk about my—” He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh as he gestures vaguely with his hands. “—my stupid childhood stories.”

His words make something protective flare in your chest, though you’re not sure why. It doesn't make any sense.

“They weren’t stupid,” you protest immediately.

Noah just gives a noncommittal shrug.

You shake your head but don’t argue. Instead, you lean against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest and watching as he opens a cabinet at random.

“Not that one,” you say, and he pauses.

“Where’s the bread, then?”

“Cabinet to your left.”

He adjusts, grabbing the loaf and setting it down. Then, without looking up, he asks, “Plates?”

“Top shelf.”

“Silverware?”

“Drawer next to the sink.”

Noah follows your instructions without hesitation, pulling things together with an ease that surprises you. You don’t know what you expected—maybe for him to be more hesitant, more awkward in a space that isn’t his—but he moves through the kitchen with confidence, his hands steady as he unwraps the bread and starts making the sandwiches.

You find yourself watching his hands.

They’re big—really big—but oddly graceful. His fingers move with precision as he spreads mustard onto a slice of bread, and something about the motion is… calming. Strangely comforting.

The repetitive, familiar sounds of food being prepared fill the quiet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there isn’t suffocating silence in your house.

“So,” he says after a moment, “what’s your verdict?”

You blink.

“On what?”

“Me being a serial killer.” He says as he quickly glances at you, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Have I redeemed myself of that first impression?”

You snort, shaking your head.

“The jury’s still out.”

“Damn. Tough crowd.”

“You did dig up my yard in the middle of the night.”

“I did,” he agrees, nodding solemnly. “And yet, here I am, in your kitchen, holding a knife while making you a sandwich and definitely not stabbing you. If that’s not proof of good character, I don’t know what is.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.

Noah doesn’t seem to notice—he’s too focused on what he’s doing, stacking slices of ham and cheese onto the bread like he’s making the most important sandwiches of his life.

Then, without looking up, he says, “I used to make these for my grandparents all the time.”

You blink. The shift in conversation is so sudden, so casual, that it catches you off guard.

“When I was a kid,” he continues, “they both worked a lot, so I’d try to help out however I could. I wasn’t much of a cook, but I was a master at peanut butter and jelly. And sandwiches. Lots and lots of sandwiches.”

There’s fondness in his tone as he sifts through old memories yet again.

“They never complained, even when I sucked at it, coming up with terrible new combinations,” he says, a small smile ghosting across his lips. “My grandma used to say that a sandwich made with love tastes better than a five-star meal. Which, looking back, was probably her way of trying to make me feel better about putting way too much mustard on everything.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“So should I be worried?”

“About what?” He sounds genuinely confused, and it's adorable.

“The amount of mustard, of course.”

“Nah,” Noah says as he looks up, meeting your eyes again. He grins. “I’ve perfected my craft since then.”

You huff a small laugh but don’t look away. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you—something warm, something open—that unsettles you in a way you don’t quite understand.

Instead of dwelling on it, you shift in place and say, “And just so you know… I really meant it when I said your childhood stories weren’t stupid. I liked hearing about them, and about the house, too.”

For a moment, Noah says nothing, and just stares at you with those unnerving dark eyes of his—eyes that make it feel like he's looking right into your soul.

After what feels like forever, he clears his throat and looks away, sliding a plate toward you.

“Well,” he says, voice quieter now, “thanks for listening.”

You don't say anything as you take the plate, the coolness of the porcelain sinking into your fingers, and as you walk back to the living room, his footsteps following close behind, the house doesn’t feel quite so empty.

Neither do you.

You settle onto the couch while Noah takes the armchair across from you. The air between you feels lighter now, easier.

You finally take a bite, surprised at the taste.

“Okay,” you say, chewing, “not bad. Not bad at all.”

Noah scoffs. “Excuse me?”

“You were talking this up like you were some kind of sandwich prodigy, man. I was expecting a life-changing experience.”

He places a hand over his heart, mock-offended.

“I’ll have you know, that is a damn good sandwich.”

You smirk. “It’s edible.”

“Wow.” He shakes his head, taking a bite of his own sandwich, clearly trying to hide a smile. “Ungrateful.”

You let out a small chuckle, and for a few minutes, the two of you just eat in comfortable silence.

Then, between bites, Noah says, “I still can’t believe this house is so different now. Even just the living room. The couch used to be over there,” he gestures toward the opposite wall, “and my grandma had all these little porcelain birds over the fireplace that I wasn’t allowed to touch. But I did, obviously.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I broke one,” he admits. “A tiny blue jay. I was, like, eight, and I panicked. So I tried to glue it back together, but I sucked at it, and it ended up looking like some Frankenstein version of a bird. My grandma took one look at it and just sighed, all disappointed. My grandpa, though? He laughed so hard he nearly cried.”

You huff out a laugh.

“Sounds like your grandma had her hands full with you two.”

“Oh, definitely.” He grins, settling deeper into the chair. “I was a menace, just like grandpa. You have no idea how many times Mrs. Peterson threatened to call the cops on me.”

You nearly choke on your sandwich.

“Mrs. Peterson?”

“Yeah,” he says, giving you a look. “You know her?”

“Know her?” You groan the question out. “That woman was the neighborhood number one gossip. I swear she made it her personal mission to know everyone’s business.”

Noah laughs.

“That sounds about right. She used to sit on her porch and act like the neighborhood security system. If I so much as looked at my bike the wrong way, she’d be yelling at me about how kids these days don’t respect their belongings.”

“Oh my God,” you groan again, more dramatically this time, rubbing your temples. “She used to do that to me, too! Except instead of my bike, she was always getting on my case about my car.”

Noah raises an eyebrow. “Your car?”

“Yep,” you say, sighing. “I used to drive this old, beat-up Toyota, and I was never exactly… gentle with it.”

He smirks. “Define not gentle.”

“I mean, it got me from point A to point B.” You say, waving a hand dismissively. “Who cared if I left empty coffee cups in the back seat or if I never remembered to take it to the car wash?”

Noah just stares at you, blinking. And then—

“Oh my God,” he says with a laugh. “You were the menace!”

You gasp.

“I was not!”

“No, no, I see it now,” he says, pointing at you with his sandwich. “Poor Mrs. Peterson was just a concerned citizen, and you were out there treating your car like a dumpster on wheels.”

You shake your head.

“Whatever. The point is, Mrs. Peterson was obsessed with how I treated that car. Every time I passed by her house, she’d make some comment about how I was ‘disgracing a perfectly good vehicle’ or how I ‘lacked discipline and self-respect.’”

Noah snorts.

“Sounds about right.” There's an amused, teasing glint to his eyes when he says it.

“Oh, shut up,” you mutter.

“Come on,” he says, grinning. “She was kind of funny.”

“Oh yeah, hilarious.” You retort sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “You know she once told people that my best friend and I were actually related?”

Noah blinks. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “She decided that we had to be related in some way because, apparently, a man and a woman being just friends but living together wasn’t believable enough for her.”

“So… What?” Noah looks both amused and confused. “She just declared you relatives?”

“Not just relatives,” you say, pointing at him. “According to her, we were close relatives. Practically siblings. And the only reason we pretended to be just best friends was because we were actually a couple living in sin.”

Noah stares at you for a second before bursting into laughter.

“No way!” He says between laughs.

“Yes, way!” You insist. “She spread that story around like gospel. And you know she believed it too, because every time she saw us, she’d give us these looks—like we were bringing some scandalous shame upon her sacred neighborhood.”

Noah is still laughing, actually doubling over a little, shaking his head.

“That’s insane.”

“You’re telling me.” You exhale, leaning back against the couch, a soft smile on your lips. Then, without thinking, you add, “He actually liked her, though.”

That makes him pause again, tilting his head.

“Your friend?”

“Yeah.” You nod, picking at the crust of your sandwich. “I complained about her a lot, and every time, he would just shrug and say she was probably lonely. That minding people’s business was her weird way of connecting with the world.”

Noah’s expression softens, and it makes your heart ache.

“He used to help her out, too,” you continue. “Cut her grass, help her plant new flowers, and all. He liked doing that stuff—gardening, I mean.” You pause, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat. “He had a way with plants, y’know? Could bring anything back to life.”

Noah is quiet for a moment, just watching you, then he says, “I get that. My grandma taught me everything I know about gardening. We spent every summer afternoon out in the yard together, tending to the plants. She made it feel… Peaceful, I guess.”

Something about that makes your heart ache harder.

It’s a simple thing, but it means something. The way Noah speaks about his grandmother with warmth, the way he understands why your best friend would’ve found comfort in the soil and the roots and the life that comes from them.

“Do you still garden?” You ask.

“When I can,” Noah says, giving you a shrug that's accompanied by a small smile. “It’s kinda hard when you don’t have a real home.”

You stare at him, suddenly aware of just how much he’s been carrying.

You don’t know why, but the thought of him—this person who once had a home full of warm memories—now floating from place to place, with no roots, no permanence… It bothers you.

It shouldn’t. You don’t even know him. And yet.

Something about him—about the way he’s sitting in your living room, eating a sandwich he made in your kitchen, sharing stories that make you feel something other than empty—makes it feel like maybe you do know him now. Even if just a little.

“Anyways,” you say, trying to stir the conversation back to safer grounds. “Mrs. Peterson? That woman lived to stir up drama.”

“I bet she still does,” he says with a soft chuckle.

“She, uh…” You hesitate, all the humor draining from your face. “She passed away. A few years ago.”

Noah pauses.

“Oh,” he says, expression sobering. “Damn.”

You nod, staring down at your sandwich. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Still,” Noah says, softer this time, “I bet she was spreading rumors ‘til the very end.”

Despite yourself, you smile.

“Yeah. She probably told the nurses at the hospital that the doctor was illegally selling organs on the black market or something.”

That makes Noah laugh again, and his laughter makes you laugh, too. It’s been a long time since you’ve laughed like this.

But as the laughter slowly fades, a familiar heaviness settles back in your chest. Because suddenly, he is in your mind again—your best friend, his smiling face flashing through your thoughts like a memory you weren’t prepared for, and it makes you realize: this is the first time you’ve talked about him out loud since he died.

The first time you’ve let yourself share with someone else even a fraction of who he was and what you had.

It should hurt more than it does, you think.

In some ways, it does hurt—like a dull, familiar ache in your ribs. But as you glance at Noah, who’s still a bit flushed from laughing too hard, you realize that talking about him, especially like this, isn’t as painful as you expected.

In fact, it almost feels nice. Like, for just a moment, the weight of grief isn’t crushing you completely.

You’re not sure what to do with that.

After you finish eating, Noah stands up and gathers the plates without a word, surprising you as he walks back to the kitchen to deal with them, leaving you a moment alone with your thoughts.

The open space allows you to watch as he moves around with efficiency, rinsing off the dishes and wiping down the counter, his movements relaxed, unhurried, as if he still belongs in the house.

Watching his back as he stands by the sink, you can almost convince yourself that it’s not Noah you’re seeing—it’s him. For a fleeting second, if you pretend the tattoos aren’t there, or that the strands of his hair are much shorter, you can make yourself believe your best friend is back.

For a blissful moment, you get to pretend the last few months of pain and loneliness and despair had never been real. That it was all a big, horrible nightmare.

God, you wish.

Shaking the thoughts away, along with the sharp sting of pain it brings, you get off the couch and climb the stairs, your steps slow and heavy. At the far end of the hallway stands the closed door of your best friend’s room, right next to yours—a room you haven’t dared enter since the funeral.

For a moment, you consider offering Noah to stay in the room. After all, a soft, warm bed would be much better than a cold, hard couch. But the thought immediately makes something twist in your stomach.

You still can’t bring yourself to step into what used to be his space, the room that holds so many memories of someone irreplaceable. No one else is allowed to disturb that place, much less a stranger, no matter how nice a stranger they might be.

So instead, you rummage through the hallway closet and pull out a couple of extra pillows and a thick, worn comforter—the only items that might turn the living room couch into something resembling a proper, comfortable sleeping space.

When you return to the living room, you find that Noah is still in the kitchen, putting away the condiments he used for the sandwiches back inside the fridge.

Just as he’s about to close the fridge door shut, something catches his eye.

“Huh.” He tilts his head. “You like Corona, too?”

The reaction is instant—you stop mid-step, frozen. Your grip tightens on the blankets. He doesn’t notice the way your face shuts off, the way your body goes rigid.

“Mind if I have one?” He asks, still looking into the fridge, reaching for one of the bottles as he speaks out.

You remember the six-pack you’d bought weeks ago—purchased out of habit, without thought.

They’re not yours.

They’ve been sitting in the fridge for weeks, untouched. You weren’t even thinking when you grabbed them at the store—just running on autopilot, your mind so foggy with grief that muscle memory took over.

He always asked you to grab him beer whenever you went shopping. Always made you double-check that you wouldn’t forget. And so you didn’t.

Even when he wasn’t there to ask or to drink them.

Even when he wasn’t there at all.

A lump forms in your throat as memories of late afternoons spent with your best friend over beer—his gentle smile, his ridiculous humor—flash before your eyes.

You had only realized your mistake when you got home that day, unpacked everything, and saw the six-pack sitting on the counter. Then you cried yourself to sleep at four in the afternoon, only waking up again the next day.

Noah turns to you, still holding the fridge door open, waiting for an answer.

You want to be pissed. You want to tell him to put the bottle back. Tell him to fuck off and just go to sleep.

You swallow hard.

“Yeah,” you manage to say, your voice quiet. Then, to your own surprise, you add, “Grab one for me, too.”

Noah pauses for a moment, watching you closely, as if he can sense something’s off. But instead of asking, he just nods and retrieves two bottles, pops the caps off with the opener on your fridge, and hands one to you when he’s back in the living room.

You take the bottle without another word, then take a careful sip, the cool liquid mixing with bittersweet memories.

This time, as you both settle into the living room, you take the armchair near the window, while Noah arranges the pillows and comforter on the couch. Making himself comfortable, he pulls the comforter over his lap.

He takes a sip of his beer, then glances at you.

“Corona is my go-to, you know,” he muses, tipping the bottle slightly to watch the liquid shift inside. “Reminds me of my grandpa. That was his beer of choice, too.”

You hum in response, taking a sip from your own. You don't have anything to add to that, so you don't.

The mention of his grandfather seems to unlock a few more memories, and he begins to speak again, eager to talk about someone he clearly misses, his tone soft and reflective.

You’re not sure how you get there, but as you drink, he ends up telling a story about how his grandpa always tried to fix things around the house himself instead of hiring someone to do it, and much to his grandmother's amusement and chagrin, somehow always managed to make it worse.

And you listen.

“Don’t get me wrong, he was full of wisdom—always had the best advice for anything you’d throw at him.” He says with a fond smile, but the glint of sadness in his eyes is impossible to miss. “But he was terrible with his hands.”

Noah chuckles, shaking his head. His voice is steady, easy—a comforting sound to accompany the low hum of the fridge coming from the kitchen, and the gentle rustling of the comforter whenever he moves.

“I remember the time he tried to fix a leaky sink. Ended up flooding half the kitchen until grandma had to come in and shut everything down herself. She practically dragged him away, threatening to file for divorce if he didn't call a plumber.”

You listen, each word wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You can picture his grandpa—the man from the picture, determined, wise yet hopeless with a wrench—and the way his grandmother’s stern love would have both scolded and comforted him.

Noah continues, “He was the kind of man who might make a mess of the repairs, but he could fix a broken heart with just a few words. Always knew what to say to make you feel better. I always admired that about him.”

The conversation meanders into lighter topics after that—memories of summer afternoons spent in the garden, laughter that echoed on warm evenings, and the comforting routine of a simple, happy childhood.

At some point, the warmth from the beer seeps into your skin, the exhaustion from the day creeping up on you.

You don’t remember when exactly your eyes close.

All you know is that, for the first time in months, you fall asleep with someone’s voice in the background instead of unbearable silence.

You wake up to the soft glow of late morning light spilling through the curtains, casting long shadows across the living room.

There's a crick in your neck and an ache in your lower back, your body stiff and uncomfortable from the awkward position you must’ve slept in.

Your eyelids flutter open, and as you slowly try to blink the haze of sleep away, the first thing you register is that you’re curled up in the armchair, tangled in a heavy comforter.

Confusion settles in. Why were you sleeping in the armchair?

You push yourself upright, wincing as your joints protest, your brain still sluggish with sleep. You blink some more and look around the living room, trying to piece together how you ended up here.

And then, slowly, things start to come together—the cold night air, the crunch of semi-frozen dirt. The quiet desperation in the eyes of a stranger digging in your yard.

Noah.

Memories flood back all at once—the treasure box, the stories, the sandwiches and the beers in the living room. His laughter ringing through the house. His voice lulling you into sleep before you even realized you were drifting.

Your stomach sinks as you glance at the couch, because it’s empty. The pillows are still there, slightly indented from where he must have laid his head, but Noah himself is gone.

Noah is gone.

A strange, hollow sort of disappointment settles in your chest.

You shouldn’t be surprised. You’re not surprised. He was always going to leave—this was never anything more than a passing moment in the middle of a winter night, a crazy chain of events wrapped in quiet conversation and borrowed warmth.

And yet, something in your chest twists at the thought of him leaving without a word. You don’t know why it stings. He never said he’d stay.

Maybe it’s because, for the first time in so long, the emptiness in this house wasn’t unbearable. It wasn’t suffocating. It was filled—by another voice, another presence, another person simply existing here beside you.

You hadn’t realized just how much his presence had filled the cracks, how much softer everything had seemed with another person breathing in the same space as you.

And now, in the aftermath of that, the silence feels even worse than before.

Sighing, you shift the comforter off—realizing Noah had draped it over you before leaving, and ignoring how that small detail makes you feel—and start folding it, smoothing the fabric between your fingers.

It’s only when you move to place it back on the couch that you notice it: something small, something slightly crumpled, resting on the pillow Noah had used.

A note.

You hesitate before picking it up.

The handwriting is slightly messy, like it was written in a hurry, but still legible:

“Thanks for letting me dig around in your yard and crash on your couch. I owe you one.

If you ever want to fix the mess I made—or if you need help with the garden, since you said your friend was the one who used to take care of it—shoot me a text. I’ll be more than happy to help.

I don't know if we’ll be seeing each other, or even talking to each other again, before Christmas.

If we don't—Merry Christmas. And thank you so much. Again.

— Noah”

He left you a phone number.

You stare at it for a long time, your fingers ghosting over the ink. Something tight presses against your ribs, something stupidly close to relief.

Waking up alone, the comforter around your shoulders like a silent apology, the space around you empty once again. His absence had felt too much like an ending.

But this—this note—felt like something else.

An afterthought, a lingering presence, proof that it wasn’t just some meaningless, passing moment to him either. And yes, sure, the offer is casual. Maybe he doesn’t even mean it, maybe he’s just being polite.

But it’s there.

You don’t realize how long you sit there, the note loose in your grip, until the stillness of the house starts pressing in again. Until the ticking of the clock on the wall reminds you that you’ve already wasted enough time sitting around like this.

You press your lips together, shoving the note into your pocket as you move toward the stairs, up to your room.

You try to tell yourself you won’t text him.

You last less than 24 hours before you do.

YOU: Hey, Noah. I might take you up on that offer to help me fix the garden. Let me know when it’s best for you.

A reply comes less than five minutes later.

NOAH: How does tomorrow sound? Say, 3 PM? YOU: Sure, that works. NOAH: Awesome! See you tomorrow, then. :)

this silly little thing was inspired by this post here. also, some of the grieving parts were inspired by @concretejunglefm's 'poltergeists'. i channeled bubs a few times there, so thank you for the trauma, lexi!! and thank you for beta reading this and being so supportive, if i'm writing again and sharing it, it's mostly thanks to you. i love you.

[robinvomit]

†  all the flags : tim.

⋆˙⟡ “i'm not.. emotionally unavailable. i'm emotionally encrypted. you're just not running the right program.”

⋆˙⟡ request: kal, im gonna need to see the green red and beige flags for your v1 boy ↦ kalico note: ♡ being colorblind is perfectly fine.

↦ GREEN FLAGS. "Christ, I'm in love with a problem."

says "be careful" every time you walk out the door.

gifted you a flashdrive and a note saying "if anything happens to me" and it's just a bunch of surprisingly well written love letters.

your likes, dislikes, soft spots, fears, etc. are all just locked away in his brain.

remembers your first birthday: what you wore, what the weather was like, what music was playing - the moment he realized he fucked up and actually liked you.

has a bunch of playlists inspired by you but won't actively tell you.

asks things like "what's your favorite book?" or "dream vacation?" during patrols.

has your routine down better than you.

stays up all night researching things you've mentioned in passing.

doesn't say 'i love you' but makes it clear in a thousand quiet, understandable, obsessive ways.

knows your go-to orders everywhere.

has a backup plan for all of your backup plans.

he treats your secrets like ancient, sacred knowledge.

respects your boundaries like they're the law.

doesn't offer unsolicited advice, despite wanting to, and waits for you to ask ( aka, need him. )

he's never forgetting a single thing you've told him. even things you don't even remember.

fixes things without being asked.

protects you like his life depends on it.

let's you play with his hair.

holds your wrist when out in public.

won't let you walk near the outside of the sidewalk.

slides you a snack or cup of tea when he notices your upset.

he knows all of your allergies, disorders, health issues, etc. and knows how to handle it if something goes wrong.

he has 100% broken into a vending machine for you.

defends you over the smallest things when you aren't around to hear it.

keeps a photo of you with him at all times - no, you have never seen it.

will never ask you to change. ever. for any reason.

can and will show up at your house at 2am.

can and will break into said house to be there when you get home.

has a box of every single receipt, ticket, note, letter, etc. you've ever given him and/or he acquired while with you.

he keeps the first voicemail you ever said 'i love you' in on his phone, seven different drives, backed up in several places like it could save the world someday.

tugs you by your shirt and kisses the top of your head when you get upset over something he said that wasn't meant to upset you.

he's not great at it and it only works about 20% of the time, but he attempts to watch how he sees things.

does not let you pay for food.

leaves a shirt or hoodie behind for you to find later on.

routinely messages "good morning." every single day.

will not, at any point, let either of you sleep until a fight or argument is resolved. even if he won't admit he's wrong.

↦ RED FLAGS. "God, if I say that's attractive, I probably need therapy."

he will absolutely repress his feelings into oblivion before asking for help.

he doesn't lie to you, per se, but he will omit like.. 87% of the truth.

would rather lose you than ever let you get hurt because of him.

every single person in his life is traumatized because that's simply who he lets in. ( it's red bc it's not always healthy. )

has days where he struggles with who he is outside of the mask.

he has no clue how to deal with unconditional love without dissecting it and giving you reasons to not love him.

believes in hope and redemption for everyone but himself.

he's got a file - mental, but it's still there - of everyone, including you.

copes with sarcasm and cruel comments.

deflects hurt by hurting others.

apologizing is barely something that crosses his mind and when it does, he's shit at doing it to your face.

he solves his problems by disappearing for a week.

texts after that week "what's up" like you weren't thinking he was dead 8 hours ago.

he's not going to tell you he's hurt until you find him stitching or bandaging or wrapping something.

he knows if you lie to him, and yes - he will be a hypocrite and call you out on it.

he has and will emotionally manipulate people for the greater good, even if it hurts the person.

he's not going to fight you if you want to walk away - he'll just nod, let you go, and deal with how he feels on his own.

however, sometimes, he makes it easy. silence, distance, emotional retreat.

if he feels like you're pulling away, he's going to do it first.

there is 100% a tracker on you that you have no idea about.

thinks protection involves keeping you in the dark.

his idea of opening up, early on, is brushing everything off and telling you he's fine and not to worry about it.

will ignore you if he's bothered by something. ( bothered, not mad. )

he's going to apologize more for stupid shit like burdening you or dragging you down before he apologizes for something he did wrong.

he has trained himself to not need comfort. ( he thinks it worked until you come along. )

he thinks he's expendable. which is why he can be reckless if it means protecting someone.

sleep is optional if he has work to do.

he will, at no point in his existence, admin he's jealous. but he will make someone else's life a living hell for it. behind your back.

if he sees you reciprocating anything like flirting, even leaning too close when you laugh, he's gonna up and vanish. for hours.

he does not want to be considered needy, jealous, etc. so, he just won't tell you how any of these things make him feel.

god help if you're in danger and one of the others gets to you first - he will be very quick to cut them off and take over.

self sabotage is burned into his soul.

does have deeply personal information on all of your friends, ex friends, ex lovers, etc.

↦ BEIGE FLAGS. "You're so fucking weird.."

will use outdated slang for shits and giggles - he's said "jazzed" so many times.

all of his electronics have names. yes, he expects you to use them.

you've caught him eating cereal, half asleep, with a fork.

can pick any lock, get through any firewall, dismantle any security system - but lord help if he needs to open a bag of chips or a can of biscuits.

will ghost you - then show up two days later with your favorite take out and a not-really-an-apology apology.

can skate like a pro but will trip over his own feet. ( please look into his early robin training days, it's hilarious. )

he has two forms of flirting:

blunt, straight to the point.

fighting over detective work until you're red in the face and want to strangle him.

buys you flowers often but does not give them to you, just leaves them on a counter or table.

told you he loved you on a mission once, then pretended it never happened.

corrects you, feels bad for the next week.

he has a color-coded sheet for your communication quirks.

will stare you. will blush when caught. will call you crazy if you mention it.

the type to correct things when watching a movie.

will let himself get torn to shreds if it means petting a street cat.

goes nonverbal for hours on end for absolutely no reason. just existing. nodding when needed.

disassociates on the balcony at 3am.

according to him, after being called cute, he's "statistically speaking, i'm not." aka, you're wrong but thanks.

genuinely knows this because of his time looking at data on facial symmetry, global average, basic attractive features, etc.

don't tell him you miss him because he'll never say it back, just glance to the side then be like "i'm right here."

he has mugs, silverware, specific shirts, and jackets that you are not allowed to touch. because they are his.

he will send you a total of 9 paragraphs in a text at one in the morning about something interesting he found.

like everyone else, he has favorite rooftops and spots in gotham; he will get offended if someone else is using it.

makes you watch documentaries with him.

he sent you a cute little thing for your anniversary once. it was labeled "sentiment.archive" - it was a very, very organized timeline of photos and memories.

↦ BONUS. reacting.

i love you. "okay. well.. uh, noted."

you're cute. "do you mean that in a romantic human way, or the manipulative way because you want something?"

i missed you. "i never turned the comms off?"

why do you love me? "because you looked at all the broken, beat down bullshit and still said 'that's mine.'"

your happiness is important to me. "let's settle on functional unless you plan to redefine happiness."

you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. "please aim higher."

you cry in front of him. "hey, tell me what you need - little slower. i'm listening, i'm right here."

i don't want to lose you. ( i'll be nice here- )

v1: "both of us already have. bits, pieces - parts of me. a long time ago."

v2: "you're not losing me.. you won't. unless you decide it's time to go."

you reach for his hand. "hold on too tight and i might not let go."

i hate you, said during a fight. "…okay…. okay."

[mattsundaes]

i wish you would write a proper follow-up to reader and roommate!kuroo's aphrodisiac fiasco because i MUST know what happens next !!!

(continued from)

18+

>>: kuroo........

groaning in frustration as your vibrator dies a pleasureless, low-power death between your legs, you text kuroo before you can think better of it.

your roommate answers faster than you were expecting, the message hovering on your lock screen as you rifle around in your nightstand for a charging cord. kuroo: .........yes

the tangle of miscellaneous cords in your hand falls onto the carpet, and you groan at the hot, swollen ache that pulses below your navel, sending your ability to think straight wholly off kilter.

>>: what >>: the fuck

the typing indicator pops up and disappears several times before he finally answers.

kuroo: am i politely pretending i don't know what you're talking about or are we making this weird

>>: we accidentally ate viagra chocolate my vibrator is checked out and i need you to talk me out of pathetically relapse texting my ex we are past weird

and yet it only occurs to you after you hit send—

>>: wAIT are you >>: nvm

something inside of you burns hot at the thought that kuroo's probably got a hand wrapped around his cock right now. he hightailed it out of the living room before you, after all. he's got to be just as affected—

the typing indicator dance ensues.

kuroo: chances are very high i will punch him if that asshole sets foot in our apartment

>>: bokuto's been replying to all of my selfies with fire emojis lately >>: should i text him

kuroo: this is really effective at killing my boner actually keep going kuroo: but also please don't

>>: i heard lev's back in town

kuroo: please no more have mercy on me kuroo: i'm doordashing you a vibrator

you choke out a laugh.

>>: my knight in shining armor<3 >>: but it probably won’t come charged though so >>: square one

dots. more dots. more dots that appear and disappear.

>>: wait are we sexting right now

the door to your bedroom swings open suddenly, and for a brief moment, you forget that you're lying in bed naked from the waist down, tits spilling out of your tank top, your purple vibrator slick with arousal sitting forgotten on the sheets beside you.

you forget, because kuroo's standing there in your doorway shirtless, hair askew in every which way like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly, face and neck flushed, sporting an erection tented at the front of his gym shorts that leaves your throat dry.

kuroo's eyes go a little wide at the sight of you, but he recovers quickly, approaching the foot of the bed and placing his hands on the edge of it, leaning down to meet you at eye level.

"you're not calling your shithead ex-boyfriend."

you nod.

"and you're not calling bokuto."

you nod again.

"or lev."

you have to stifle a laugh at the last one—you weren't going to fucking call lev.

"you're going to look me in the eye and pick one of two options."

you swallow, a sharp swell of arousal cresting inside of you at the intensity in his gaze as he holds up two fingers.

"you can sit here waiting for your vibrator to charge. and i'm going to politely act like i don't hear you whimpering while you fuck yourself with it once it is—like i do most nights, by the way. like a good rommate. and then i'm going to put my phone on do not disturb and jerk off in peace."

he puts a finger down.

you might pass out.

"or, i fuck you until you're satisfied. with my fingers, my mouth, my dick. whatever the hell you want. until we get this out of our systems. and then we don't have to talk about it ever again."

he puts his other finger down, and your own fingers clench the sheets painfully tight. your cunt aches.

-

four orgasms later, you're too fucked out to think too hard about the way you're more than satisfied, but you're still curled up beside kuroo. still slotting your spit-slick lips against his, whimpering and moaning into his mouth between slow, deep kisses as he lazily fingers your oversensitive cunt, teasing your wet hole until you're trembling through yet another climax.

(he pretends like he's not aware that this is far beyond whatever the chocolate's done to both of you, that every desperate, needy sound you're making now is for him and because of him—and him alone.)

and you're rubbing your slick folds up and down his shaft until he's hard again, climbing into his lap to straddle him and gasping as he slides right back into your messy hole, fucking his cum right back inside of you.