#ItS got to be in this chapter eventually right?

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (31 - Paradise Calling)

Chapter Summary: After several weeks of looking for her, you do eventually find Wanda Maximoff after she leaves Westview, but not in any way you ever imagined.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: violence, mention of blood and injury

A/N: The story continues in the aftermath of Wanda’s release of Westview. I’m still debating whether to stick with the canon concept of Billy and Tommy’s souls being real but bodiless since I started this story long before Agatha All Along entered the picture. Also, there might not be an update next week as I'll be out of town. Thanks to everyone who still continues to follow this story :) You guys are awesome. P.S. can you guess which mutant attacked y/n? :P // More author's notes here. // gif

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Hex dissolves completely at midnight.

By then, more and more of Westview have become accessible, its walls shrinking like the last breath of a dying storm. Throughout the wait, Monica’s order remains ironclad, which is that no one who isn’t a Westview resident is to step across the boundary.

It turns out to be the right call. Letting Wanda end it on her own terms—without pressure, or interference—is the last mercy anyone can offer. So they wait at the edge of town, in the solemn dark, while those inside slowly begin to come back to themselves.

And when the last of it winds down, Monica gives the signal. The military moves in, not with weapons this time, but with medics in tow. People stumble into the streets, dazed and hollow-eyed, like toys winding themselves up after years on a shelf. Some of them rush to scoop their children into their arms, while others just stand there, holding each other, staring at their hands like they’ve only just remembered what it means to move on their own.

It’s harder than anyone on the rescue team expected. Because how do you assess damage like this? These people aren’t injured in any conventional way. Their minds weren’t broken so much as hijacked. Puppeted. Made to smile and speak and move without their consent. It’s not madness, and it’s definitely not grief that they are experiencing. 

It’s something more…alienating. Locked in the backseat of your own body, watching your hands move and your mouth speak, knowing none of it is you. It’s the kind of trauma that leaves even seasoned therapists unsure where to begin. So the medics do what they can. Blankets for the cold, water for the dry-mouthed, and a hand on the shoulder for those who can’t seem to stop shaking. 

And you—you stay rooted at the edge of the ground where Wanda’s house once stood, silently taking in the aftermath. It’s the first time you’ve really looked at the lot you bought on a whim five years ago. It feels larger than you remembered, and standing here now, it stirs more regret than pride.

“There’s no sign of her,” Clint says as he approaches. He glances between you, Monica, and Darcy. “She’s gone.”

Monica exhales sharply. “Of course she is,” she mutters.

Agent Woo’s already packed up and gone too, reassigned mid-crisis to another urgent matter. Those left behind are burdened to help pick up the pieces.

“I guess she escaped?” Darcy offers.

You wince. “Don’t say ‘escaped.’ She didn’t—” The sentence stalls, the logic collapsing halfway out of your mouth.

Monica catches it and shrugs. “Yeah, maybe ‘escaping’ wasn’t her plan.” Then, more pointedly, “But what did you think was gonna happen? That she’d stick around? Turn herself in? Like you did, Y/N?”

Right. You’re still technically a prisoner. Still walking around on borrowed time, under a conditional release that’s quickly running out, especially now that Wanda’s vanished, and no one has a clue where she went.

You’d been hoping for a moment—just one—to talk to Wanda alone. And now, you’re starting to think your presence never mattered at all. The other you, her you, was the one who got through to her, who helped her bring down the Hex.

All you’ve ever done here was make it harder for Wanda.

“And her children?” you ask quietly, turning to Clint, your voice stripped down to worry.

Clint just shakes his head. “No sign of them. Or your copy.”

Everyone’s face falls at that. They’d all felt so real, the idea that they simply blinked out of existence is hard to swallow even if the theory always seemed to suggest that direction.

Darcy breaks the spell. “Shame, really. I kinda liked that Y/N.” She shoots you an apologetic grin. “No offense to the original, it’s just... we never got our moment.”

You manage a weak smile. “None taken.”

Monica claps her hands together. “Well, I guess… that’s it.” 

You turn to her slowly, frowning. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”

Monica’s hands drop to her sides. “I mean… she’s gone. The Hex is down. Everyone who was trapped is free. There’s nothing more we can do.”

Clint gives a weary shrug. “Sometimes disappearing’s the only thing a person has left.” You shoot him a glare, but he honestly seems oblivious that his words just struck you straight on.

Before you can argue further, a young S.W.O.R.D. tech jogs up, tablet in hand.

“Uh, Director?” He gestures vaguely at Monica. “We found a vehicle just outside the old perimeter. Abandoned. Figured you’d want to take a look.”

Monica glances between you and Clint. “Yours?”

You shake your head no.

“Color?” Clint asks.

“Deep maroon,” the tech says. “Old Volvo wagon. New Jersey plates.”

Clint lets out a low whistle. “That’s Wanda’s.”

You’re already moving before the words finish leaving his mouth.

“Y/N—” Monica calls after you, but you don’t look back.

Clint mutters a curse and follows. Monica and Darcy hang back, letting you go.

You’re desperate for any sign of Wanda, anything that might tell you where she went. You haven’t run this far or this fast in years, and your lungs are burning from the effort. But the thought of her out there, alone and possibly hurt, keeps your legs moving, pushing through the ache.

Soon, just past the edge of the boundary, you spot the Volvo.

You slow as you approach, heart thudding in your chest.

Clint catches up beside you. “That’s definitely hers.”

You nod, already reaching for the handle. It shouldn’t open, but it does. The door gives with a soft click, swinging open without resistance. You slide into the driver’s seat and glance around. 

“She didn’t even lock it,” you murmur.

“The keys?” Clint asks.

You check the ignition. Nothing. Then the cupholders, under the seat, the center console. Still nothing.

“Glove box,” Clint says, leaning in through the open door.

You press the latch. The compartment drops with a soft thunk, and something slides forward: a single manila folder, edges crisp, your name penned in Wanda’s looping cursive across the tab. Your breath catches. Carefully, almost like it might break in your hands, you lift it. It feels like it holds everything you’ve been chasing.

Inside, everything is heartbreakingly familiar. The property deed you mailed Clint weeks ago. Photographs you never had the courage to burn when you first became convinced that Wanda wasn’t coming back. Letters and notes you randomly wrote to Wanda throughout the years she was gone. 

And resting on top of it all, catching the faint moonlight—

Your wedding ring. The one you gave her. The match to the one you still wear around your neck.

With trembling fingers, you turn the band over between thumb and forefinger; it’s still warm, as if she’d only just set it down.

“She left this car here,” you whisper. “Because she wanted me to find this.”

Clint drifts a few steps back, giving you space but not leaving. He folds his arms and waits, giving you time to come to terms with Wanda’s clear response at having found out you lied to her. And it’s not pretty.

After a long, brittle silence, he clears his throat. “So… what are you going to do now?”

It’s the same question everyone’s thrown at you all day, and you still don’t have an answer.

Instead of answering, you whisper, “Did I make a mistake, Clint? Walking away back then, leaving her to sort through the rubble alone, was that when everything started to fall apart?”

He exhales and lowers himself onto the curb beside the car. “We all made mistakes,” he says, rubbing a thumb over a scar on his knuckles. “But no one could have known it would lead to this. We were careless, sure, maybe blind to how much she was really hurting. But this,” he says, nodding at the folder in your lap, “this was Wanda’s pain. Her choice. Not something you could have predicted.”

“I should’ve seen her slipping. I asked you to look after her and—”

“I know,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “And I’m sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t there for her like you asked. I was drowning in my own mess, trying to keep my family together once we got them back… I missed the signs.”

You nod slowly and slip the ring into your pocket. Then, flat and quiet, you say, “I’ve still got about a decade of my sentence to serve.”

“I can buy you more time,” Clint offers. “Tell them Wanda escaped. Technically, this whole thing isn’t over.”

You huff a humorless breath. “It won’t matter. I don’t want to go back.”

Clint studies you for a long moment, brow furrowed. “You mean that?”

You nod again. “The second I saw her… I wanted to take it all back. The deal. The surrender. All those years I spent trying to convince myself that moving on was the right call.”

He sits with that for a while, then says, quiet and honest, “You know I can’t turn myself in either.”

You glance over at him. “I’m not asking you to.”

“I’ve got my family back,” he says. “I’m rebuilding. I can’t walk away from that.”

“I know,” you reply. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

He gives you a sidelong look. “Then what are you thinking? You planning to go back on the run? Because you remember what it was like after the Accords, right? We didn’t end up in the Raft, but we weren’t free either. We were always looking over our shoulders.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Wanda was with me back then.”

He raises a brow, watching you carefully.

“And somehow,” you add, voice soft, almost to yourself, “that made all of it bearable.”

After a long lull, Clint asks, “What were you hoping for, Y/N? When she saw you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a shrug. “Maybe that… that she’d recognize me, at least.”

“She probably did,” Clint says. “That might be why she destroyed the Hex herself.”

You shake your head, hard, unwilling to accept that. “I doubt it was that simple.” 

The idea feels impossible. You remember the look on Wanda’s face: hurt, disappointment, the unmistakable sting of betrayal. You have put that look there before, but this time it was different. This time, that betrayal caused her this guilt she now carries with her for something she’d done out of her mourning you—

When she never should have had to mourn at all.

—

With Clint���s quiet blessing, you slip into the night, becoming a fugitive once again, determined to reach Wanda before the authorities do. It isn’t enough that Wanda released the town willingly; the damage is already done. Westview’s residents remain traumatized and disoriented, and dissolving the Hex doesn't absolve her actions. This is exactly what Tony always fought for—the idea that even heroes, even Avengers, must answer to laws meant for everyone, not just hide behind the duty of saving the world.

You don’t blame them for hunting her. You just don’t trust them to understand her.

So you go first.

You swap your jacket for a plain coat, leave your comms behind, and start reaching out to contacts you haven’t spoken to in years. A woman like Wanda can’t move without leaving a ripple, and eventually, you learn to follow a pattern: unexplained power surges in rural areas upwards north. Clint checks in with you every now and then, but you don’t expect anything more. He’s busy these days—a civilian fully occupied with being a father. 

The first few weeks blur together. Deep down, you keep hoping Wanda will be the one to find you—not because she misses you or wants to forgive, but because she finally wants answers. Isn’t there at least one question she needs to ask? Maybe she hates you too much to bother. Maybe she hates you enough to stop caring about your reasons altogether.

That thought hurts more than you’d like to admit. Still, it’s nothing compared to what you’ve put her through. You don’t know how you’ll face her when the time comes. All you know is that she’s hurting—and a hurting Wanda Maximoff isn’t just a danger to the world. She’s a danger to herself.

Late one evening, while tracking rumors of strange sightings in the forested mountains of Vermont, you feel unease settle in your gut. The trees grow denser, their branches knitting overhead, and the pale yellow moon offers little light. Shadows slither and shift across the narrow trail. You stop, breath misting in the cold air, certain now that you’re not alone.

You hold still and listen. Over the thud of your own unsteady pulse comes a faint rustle in the undergrowth. It’s too careful, too deliberate to be wind or wildlife.

“Who’s there?” Your voice is brittle, an uncertain challenge.

In the dark forest, you know you shouldn’t make a sound. But if it’s Wanda—

A low growl answers, so deep and guttural it sends a chill racing down your spine. You spin, eyes straining through the gloom, just as a shadow barrels toward you. The movement is fast, smooth, and completely inhuman.

It slams into you with brutal force, all muscle and claws—definitely not Wanda—knocking you hard to the ground.

You scramble to your feet, breath ragged, eyes sweeping the darkness in search of your attacker. The figure rises slowly, towering and hunched, its skin a sick, mottled gray. Its limbs are grotesquely stretched, ending in claws slick with fresh blood (yours).

Its face—

No. That can’t be right. Tony’s snap wiped out all of Thanos�� army. This thing shouldn’t exist. So how is it standing here? How did it survive?

“What the—” you gasp, stumbling back.

It lunges again, jaws gaping open with teeth glinting sharp and savage. You swing your arm wildly, and your fist connects with its jaw. The impact jars painfully up your arm, but the creature barely reacts, snarling viciously as it swings one massive clawed hand toward your face. You dodge by inches, claws slicing the air with a sharp hiss.

You stagger back again, trying to regain your footing. Your breath comes out in uneven bursts of fogged air. The creature circles slowly, blocking any clear route of escape. You study it, desperately searching for a weakness, but its movements remain erratic, unpredictable. 

Your combat skills are still there, but you’ve aged some, and it’s not as easy to fall back into your old rhythm and speed, especially when facing such an aggressive foe.

“Stay back,” you warn weakly, your voice trembling despite your attempt at bravado.

It snarls louder, head twitching, neck muscles spasming unnaturally as it stalks closer. You backpedal and your foot slips on wet leaves, throwing you off-balance. You hit the ground hard, skull cracking sharply against something hidden beneath the foliage. Stars burst in your vision.

As you struggle to sit upright, the beast approaches slowly, enjoying this, you realize sickeningly. It flexes its claws, taking its time.

“Wait,” you choke out, tasting copper as blood fills your mouth.

It stalks towards you leisurely as if hearing nothing. It snarls again, lips peeling back to reveal teeth sharp as blades. It raises a hand for the final blow, claws poised high—

And all you can think is how ironic it is. That this is what you craved, once.

Back when you were Ronin.

When death felt like the only honest language left, and violence was the only thing that could answer it.

You spent five years chasing this moment. And now? Now, with Wanda back in the universe. Now, when for the first time in years, you actually want to live.

Now is when death decides to show up?

Of course it is.

You laugh, or try to, but it comes out as a choked breath through blood. The creature roars, the sound tearing through the trees. And as the snow drifts down and your vision begins to fade, you manage one last word, soft as a prayer.

“…Wanda.”

—

You wake slowly to warmth, a fire crackling nearby. Every part of you feels bruised, sliced open, and carefully stitched back together. Bandages wind tight around your ribs, your shoulders, your arms. Your throat burns dry, but you're breathing. Miraculously. 

You push yourself upright, careful and slow. The world sways around you as the blanket slips from your shoulders.

Blinking up at the slanted ceiling overhead—wooden, rough-hewn, beams exposed, nothing familiar about it—you realize you’re still in the forest. The earthy, damp scent of pine needles teases your nose. There’s no electricity, just lanterns, candles, heat from flame and old wood. The furniture is simple, hand-built, and worn from use.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet sinking into a rug so soft it draws a quiet sigh from your lips. You have no idea how long you’ve been unconscious—hours, maybe even days.

Unsteady, you find the hallway, one hand trailing the wall for balance. You pass a small kitchen, simple but well-stocked. A kettle rests near the fire, still warm, like it was used not long ago.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the front door slightly ajar, a narrow strip of gray light slicing into the room, dust suspended in its path.

You drift closer.

Outside, there’s Wanda.

She sits on the porch steps, wrapped in a thick sweater, her back to you. Her hair falls in loose, tangled waves, longer than you remember. Despite the biting cold, she’s barefoot, her arms draped over her knees as she stares into the woods.

You stop at the doorway, saying nothing at first. 

She looks so… peaceful. 

“Wanda,” you say at last, barely above a breath.

She doesn’t move.

You try again. “Wanda.”

Still nothing. You can’t tell if she’s ignoring you, or if your voice is simply too weak for her to hear.

Of course it was her who found you. Of course it doesn’t mean anything’s been forgiven. You take a step back, and the door eases shut behind you with a quiet creak.

You head deeper into the cabin. It’s not large, but in your condition, it feels like a maze.

At the end of a narrow hallway, you find a door left slightly open.

Something pulses beyond it—low and red and constant. Your fingers graze the frame as you nudge it open. 

The hair on your arms rises.

Wanda’s there, too.

She’s floating a few inches off the ground, legs crossed. Her eyes don’t blink. They don’t move. Just glowing red, unwavering and endless.

She’s reading. The book in her hands is anything but ordinary. Its pages shift and shimmer, symbols rearranging themselves the moment you try to make sense of them.

You open your mouth, but your voice doesn’t come. You’re frozen.

Slowly, like she already knew you were standing there, she lifts her head.

Her gaze locks onto yours.

The book snaps shut.

[siriusly-yoongi]

She wants to be saved chapter 21

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

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Pairing: alpha BTS × omega reader

Chapter Warnings: I don't really know what to put for warnings, mentions of self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, scenting, "scenting", reader is held in place unwillingly, there's no sexual content but I don't know what else you call this

Word count: 3896

I really struggle writing filler chapters, I find i have much more motivation and just overall an easier time writing angst and drama.

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YOU

Hoseok calls Namjoon and you can hear how angry he is in his voice. You're not really paying attention though.

After a little while of sitting with Hoseok, Namjoon comes rushing over and upon seeing the state of you Namjoon growls just like Hoseok had.

He pulls you into his arms and cradles your head to his chest. "Where did you go baby? What happened?"

You don't have your phone and you cant bring yourself to speak right now, a broken sob the only response you're able to formulate.

Once you get back to the house, your phone is immediately shoved into your hands and you have 7 alphas looking at you with worry written across their faces.

You sniffle and type out what happened, recounting the events when you first hurt yourself and why you ran. You tell them how you got lost in the woods, how you'd asked that lady for directions. You were honestly quite proud of yourself for talking to someone out in public. You told them how you'd gotten to the beach and taken a break and that guy had approached you. That's where you stopped typing and as your phone read it out, they could tell there was a lot more to the story.

You looked at Jimin, you knew he could get mad easily and you were afraid they'd all get upset, but him specifically. Not necessarily because you thought he would hurt you, by this point you knew he wouldn't. But because angry alphas always trigger you. And you don't know if you can handle any more right now

You move to sit with Yoongi and he pulls you into his lap, kissing the side of your head. Eventually, with enough coaxing, you tell them, in detail, what happened. You tell them about the guy picking you up and using his alpha voice on you. You tell them about the touching and harsh words. You don't go into too much detail about having them actually inside of you, but you explain that it happened. Then you explain the sand. You can still feel the sand inside of you. You explained how to cried and how Hoseok found you and they knew what happened from there.

Youve never seen them look or smell so angry before.

"Come here." Namjoon's voice is soft as he pulls you into his chest, taking you from Yoongi. But you can tell he's angry, seething.

You tuck your face into his neck, letting him hold you. He runs his chin over the top of your head, trying to cover up the other alphas' scents. You feel dirty.

"Do you want to take a shower or a bath? I think you should, it'll help with the sand and it'll wash some of their scents off." Jin suggests. He already knows you'll say no to going to police so he doesn't push for it, even though you know he wants to. Its written all over his face.

You nod, for once you do actually want to. You're willing to risk the water getting in your face. But you're so tired. You obviously didn't sleep last night and you're not sure you can hold yourself up long enough to properly wash yourself. But you really don't want anyone in there. The thought of any of them seeing you without clothes makes bile rise in your throat. You didn't care much before, but now the idea was mortifying.

You end up taking a shower by yourself, the water turned as hot as you can handle, then slightly hotter. You've gotten better with water touching your face, little splashes don't send you spiraling anymore. However if you were to put your face under the sprayer it would make you panic.

You lie on the shower floor and cry, your head away from the spray of water. The water hits your stomach as you lay there, burning your skin. The sting makes you feel a little cleaner. Like it's somehow sterilizing your body from what they did to it.

You don't know how long you lay there but it must be a while because there's a knock on the door. "Kitten?" The door cracks open and you look over to see Yoongi.

He glances at you and its not as mortifying as you thought it would be. Its just Yoongi, you're okay, you remind yourself

You look up at him with teary eyes, making no moves to get up. You're tired. So tired.

He closes the door behind him and sits down on the floor outside of the shower, he doesn't stare at you, he keeps his eyes either on your face or on the floor in front of him.

"You've been in here for an hour jagi." He looks at you with a worried look on his face. You sigh and sit up, reaching up to turn off the water.

You put your arms out to him like a toddler would to their parents, you're too tired to look after yourself right now. You're pretty sure if you stand up you'll collapse.

Yoongi lifts you up and wraps you in a towel. He's cautious when touching you, like he's afraid it'll set you off if he touches the wrong place.

He helps you get dressed and you're practically asleep on his shoulder by this point. He carried you straight down into the den and lays down with you still tucked against him. You feel someone wrap around you from behind, you can tell its Namjoon by his scent.

You sleep for a few hours, waking up around 3pm. You're still tired but you're not exhausted at least.

You feel hollow and heavy, and everything hurts.

The rest of the day you spent curled up in the den, mostly sleeping or getting scented by Yoongi and Namjoon as they try and cover up the other alphas' scents. They were faint by now after your shower, but they weren't gone completely.

Unfortunately the next morning was a Monday so everyone had to go into work at some point. Yoongi went into the studio today but Jungkook didn't have anyone to work with today so he's home with you.

You're out laying in your shed. The tv is on but you're just staring up at the ceiling. You don't find anything interesting.

Jungkook knocks then lets himself in. "Do you wanna go in the pool?" He questions.

Its s hot day, but you shake your head. You want Yoongi and Namjoon.

Jungkook slowly sits down next to you, leaving some space between the two of you. He doesn't say anything else, his eyes focused on the tv.

You notice him slowly inching closer to you, you don't know if he's doing it on purpose or if it's subconscious. The bond has been making you restless lately, urging you to touch your mates. You wonder if he feels the same way.

Eventually he ends up right next to you, your shoulders and legs pressed together as you lean back against the pillows.

You find it lifts that heaviness in your limbs, just a little. He slowly starts to pull you closer until you're on his lap, your shoulder against his chest as you sit sideways against him.

Lilo and Stitch plays on the tv and you find yourself sucked into the movie. Youve never seen it before, Jungkook however was mumbling some of the lines along with the characters.

About halfway through the movie, you start rubbing your chin over his chest. Idly at first, not really realizing you're doing it as you focus on the movie.

He doesn't smell enough like you. Your face scrunches up, showing your dissatisfaction with that. You rub your chin and cheek over his chest and shoulders with a bit more force, forgetting about the movie.

You pull back a little and inhale deeply, still not satisfied the strength of your scent on him.

He doesn't say anything, and you miss the affectionate gaze that's set on you as you pout.

You end up licking over his scent glands, pulling out his scent while depositing yours through your saliva.

Somehow, it ends up with open-mouthed kisses being peppered all over his neck and along his jaw. You're lost in your own little world, not noticing the heat in his face or the way he's staring to squirm as he struggles to hold still.

You let out a squeak as you're suddenly, but gently thrown onto your back, Jungkook's body coming to rest on top of yours, his arms on either side of you as he sits on just above your hips.

The light reflects off of the saliva still on his neck and face, making you giggle to yourself.

You should be scared after what happened yesterday, but for some reason you're not. It's Jungkook, your Kookie. He won't hurt you.

You've never been this close to him before, but you find yourself more relaxed than you thought you'd be. His big Boba eyes and bunny smile put you at ease.

He leans forward and mirrors your actions, running his tongue over your neck and down your jaw. He's hesitant at first, trying to gauge your reaction. You know he'd stop if you told him to. He'd be off of you in a second if you showed any sign of resistance. You haven't been close with him, but you know him enough to know he's afraid of hurting his mates in any way shape or form.

If he hurts someone's feelings even, the youngest alpha gets teary-eyed and apologizes profusely. Even though he's the youngest, you suspect he's stronger than half of the pack. He works out often and he's quite big. He's worried about accidentally hurting you; you've overheard him talking about it before. You trust him enough to let him do this.

When he senses no resistance from you, he switches to pressing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, eventually they turn sloppy and wet, leaving his saliva all over you like you'd done to him. He nips at your scent gland and you bite your lip to keep yourself quiet. You don't want to embarrass yourself by making noise. He's just scenting you, you tell yourself. Knowing full well by the look in his eyes it's much deeper than that to him. You remain in denial.

He ends up sucking on your skin just under your jaw, you can tell it'll leave a mark and you have a feeling that's exactly what he's trying to do.

The "scenting" continues for quite some time. Switching between who's "scenting" who. The two of you never actually end up kissing. Your lips never touch. It makes you laugh a little as you lie on Jungkook's chest. You pull out your phone to take a picture, gasping when you see your neck. You have deep purple marks all over your skin. You take the picture, making sure both your and his neck are visible. You'd left a few marks of your own that you are quite proud of. You don't send it to the group chat. You thought about it, but you're not bold enough for that. Not yet anyway.

Can we go to the store?

You have your phone speak for you, not feeling like trying to speak right now. Using your voice took a lot of effort, a lot of energy. You didn't want to ruin your good mood by trying to force words out.

Jungkook looks down at you for a few seconds before he shrugs. "Yeah, sure. I don't see why not."

He doesn't ask you what for and you don't tell him. He drives you both to the store and you get out. He takes your hand in his and you walk into the store.

You let go of his hand and run to the aisle that has beauty products. You hear him running behind you. You pick up a couple of boxes of hair dye. A bright, firetruck red. You hold them up to Jungkook and he just shakes his head, smiling.

"Oh, Namjoon is gonna kill me." He laughs. "First I mark you all up, then I let you dye your hair. I'm dead."

Jungkook ends up getting some bleach, deciding he wants to go blond.

Once you get back home you run to the bathroom. "Hold on, hold on. You gotta put on an old shirt first."

You end up in one of Jungkook's shirts with no pants on. You didn't wanna risk ruining any of your shorts so you'll be dying your hair in a large shirt and your underwear.

Jungkook puts the bleach in his hair first, then he has you stand in front of the mirror while he sections your hair out and puts the bleach into yours. It takes a lot longer than his did. You have long, thick hair.

You let it process, then he rinses his hair first. He rinses yours next, making sure not to get any water in your face.

He blow dries your hair then applies the red. It takes 2 bottles of dye since you have so much hair. He clips it up to let it sit while he uses some rubbing alcohol to get the dye off your skin in a few places.

He blow dries his own hair and you squeal. You love it.

"What do you think?" He asks with a big smile. You don't have your phone so you opt instead to grab his face and smash your lips into his. You pull away before he has a chance to kiss you back, but you think he gets the message.

He looks at you with a big grin.

Once your hair is done, rinsed, and blow dried, you look in the mirror and squeal. You're so excited.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

You and Jungkook stay hidden away in your shed until around 5:45, when you know everyone will have gotten home. You'd gone back to your "scenting", this time with way more kissing. Okay, it was mostly you two making out.

Jungkook walks in first, you stay hidden behind him.

Jimin notices first and chokes on his drink. Probably due to the marks on Jungkook's neck, not the hair color change.

Everyone looks over at Jimin and you step out from behind Jungkook. Jimin's eyes go even wider.

"It was her idea! She started it! Both things!" Jungkook throws you under the bus and you slap his chest with the back of your hand, playfully glaring at him.

Everyone looks over at you and they all have varying looks of surprise.

"I got to watch her walk around in my shirt and her underwear for 2 hours while I did her hair, and I got rewarded with kisses. I had a wonderful day! How are you guys on this lovely day!?" Jungkook has a huge grin on his face, looking a little smug. He's rubbing it in their faces, and by the soft grumbles he gets from all the alphas, you can tell they're jealous.

You run over to Yoongi, colliding with his chest. He quickly wraps his arms around you, glaring at Jungkook. You know its all playful, no one smells upset or angry. Just a little bit of jealousy.

You're still in one of Jungkook's shirts, a different, clean one though. Not the one you wore when you dyed your hair. And you have shorts on now as well. Pajama shorts.

Namjoon walks over and gently grabs your face, tilting your head to the side to get a better look at the marks on your neck. You struggle not to smile as you can practically feel the jealousy. They may be pack, but they still get jealous from time to time.

You're unaware that underneath the jealousy, they're all extremely proud of you for getting closer to one of them.

He runs his fingers over the marks and you whine when he presses on a few of them, smirking at you when you pout. He lets go of your face and steps back. "You smell so much like Jungkook I can barely smell your own scent." He grumbles as he plops down on the couch.

You just giggle and snuggle into Yoongi's chest.

After dinner, Jin tackles Jungkook and forces him to cuddle so he can breathe in your scent that's still all over Jungkook.

Namjoon takes to scenting the other side of your neck. Jungkook mainly stuck to the one side, and you wont let Namjoon scent the side Jungkook did.

Namjoon repeats the actions of Jungkook for the most part. Licking and kissing up the side of your neck and your scent glands. He's a lot more gentle than Jungkook was, taking his time without the desperate hunger that Jungkook had.

He leaves your face and jaw alone too. He bites down on your scent gland, not enough to break skin and mark you, but hard enough to make you squirm and leave an imprint for a few days. "One of these days baby, were gonna have to mark you permanently, hm?"

His voice is lower and quieter than you're used to hearing and it makes you shudder. He continues to mark up the side of your neck, he's softer than Jungkook sure, but he goes over the same areas for longer periods of time, leaving darker, bigger marks behind. He shifts your position a little bit, leaving you feeling some type of way.

He has your back pulled flush against his chest, one arm down across your stomach, his hand holding both your wrists in place against your stomach. His other arm is across your chest and shoulders. He's effectively pinning you in place.

You take a few shaky breaths, trying to remind yourself it's just Namjoon. That you're okay and you're safe. But images of being held down on the beach flash through your mind. You try and squirm to get free but you can't and panic squeezes in your chest, making it hard to breathe. Your scent has started to turn burnt, it's not super strong but it's definitely there. Tears roll down your cheeks, you can't get away.

Namjoon has long since stopped with the scenting, now he just has his face tucked into your neck. He's speaking to you but you're too panicked to understand what's being said.

Why won't he let go? He can clearly tell you're uncomfortable. You look over at the rest of the pack for help but no one moves to help free you. This makes you panic more. What's he gonna do to you? Did you make a mistake in trusting him? Oh god, is he gonna turn out like your ex?

A broken sob leaves your lips and his grip on you tightens instead of letting go. He isn't hurting you, the position is actually quite comfortable if you're honest. But the feeling of being held down on the sand won't go away. Is he mad that for what you did with Jungkook? Is that why he's doing this?

"Baby, do you trust me?" You hear it but you don't really process the words. You continue to thrash and squirm, getting yourself all worked up and upset.

He repeats himself, "Babygirl, listen. Do you trust me?" His voice is perfectly calm and quiet, gentle, like you're a frightened animal.

You choke on a sob, but nod slowly. You do trust him. You do.

"Good, that's good baby, I'm glad. You trust that you're safe with me right?" You nod again. You vaguely register what he's trying to do.

He's trying to get you to relax in his hold instead of letting you go. He wants you to face this instead of freaking out every time you cant move freely. He isn't going to harm you. You're not in danger. He's trying to help you. You just don't like the way he's doing it.

He continues to talk softly to you, pressing light kisses to the side of your neck once you start to calm down enough.

"Good girl. That's a good girl." He praises softly once you relax against him.

It only took half an hour...

You're still a little bit on edge. But you're safe. You know you're safe. It's just Namjoon. No one else.

He goes back to kissing and scenting your skin, holding you in place in that same position. You're still squirming, but not because you're trying to get away anymore.

Jungkook comes over and pushes your legs apart gently, watching your face the entire time. Like earlier, you trust him. You trust Namjoon too. Neither of them would force you to do something...unless it's for your own good anyway.

Jungkook cautiously nips at the scent gland on your inner thigh and you instinctively try and pull away. He glances back up at you, but finds no indication that you want him to stop. You watch him intently as he repeats his earlier actions on your neck on your thighs. The scent of the other alphas is still faintly there and you're actually glad he's covering it up with his scent instead.

With both alphas scenting you and kissing your skin at the same time you're unable to keep still. Whining softly as you squirm. You don't allow yourself to make any noise beyond that.

You watch as Jin pins Jimin in a similar position to what you're in, but he doesn't hold Jimin's hands down. Jimin actually keeps them down himself, like he'd been taught to do so or something like that.

Jin practically mirrors Namjoon's actions onto Jimin and Taehyung latches onto his other side, occasionally pulling away from his neck to press kisses to his lips.

Hoseok tries with Yoongi. He really tries. But Yoongi pushes him off. You've heard time and time again that Yoongi really isn't the touchy type. That you're the exception. Of course, he lets his pack hold him and scent him from time to time, but he has to be in the mood for it. And right now, he did not seem to be in the mood for it.

Hoseok slumps back, looking defeated. If there's one thing you've noticed about Hoseok, it's that he loves touch.

You don't want him to feel left out. It's making you sad to see him sad. You know that you don't have the best relationship with him, that he's still been rather hostile toward you, but you chirp at him anyway, trying to get his attention.

He looks up at the sound and smiles sadly. You tilt your head toward Namjoon showing the opposite side of your neck to Hoseok. Jungkook's scent is all over your thighs, it's okay if it's covered up on your neck you decide.

Hoseok looks at you, completely shocked. Yoongi has a similar shocked expression on his face. Hoseok slowly comes over and wraps his arms around both you and Namjoon.

Hoseok doesn't kiss or lick at your skin; instead, he rubs his cheek and chin over your neck and shoulders, just snuggling up to you. He's hesitant at first. And you can see Yoongi ready to pull him away if he needs to.

You just hope you aren't making a mistake by letting him do this. Hopefully, this is the first step in you two getting along.

[thecoolsquirrel]

Okay okay real talk here

Do you think Ace’s dream is just Yuu being a real resident of Twisted Wonderland?

LIKE WE ALL KNOW HE IS COPING ABOUT YUU LEAVING SOON

I WILL CRY IF IT IS THAT

Omggg 😭 💔 I cant wait for the next part!! 🙏Im sorry but if Treys dream is next i will be skipping HHSHSH WE GOT BUISNESS

The dream just being yuu being a residant i CAAANT CAMM OMG

[hyunebunx]

˖˙ ᰋ ── i didn't hear what you said, i just want to kiss you

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: this is for all of my perfectionist students lmao. kind of self indulgent and super inspired by hyunjin's latest live. enjoy!! <3<3<3

For years now, your boyfriend has been your favorite study partner. Always patient, kind, and considerate of your needs, helping you tackle every difficult subject with a smile on his face. Bringing you snacks, urging you to take breaks whenever he sensed you needed it but most importantly, never pressuring you in any way. Despite your stellar marks, he always says:

“Don’t stress too much about it. Grades aren’t everything.”

And you believe him, you really do, yet the overachiever part of your soul is always louder, and never lets you rest, yelling in your ear until you comply and spend your whole day cooped up inside, studying.

You need to get the highest grade possible, otherwise you’ll shrivel up and die.

Hyunjin keeps you grounded, that’s why there’s no better person alive than your boyfriend. An angel in disguise who has somehow fallen from grace, lost his wings, and is now trapped on earth, forced to mingle with mere mortals like you.

And mingle he does. But unfortunately for him that’s not enough – he also has to teach you statistics.

“See? The difference between descriptive statistics and inferential statistics is quite simple. It’s easier to tell them apart now, right?”

“I guess…” You yawn, setting your glittery pen aside before stretching your arms above your head. “I need a break.”

Hyunjin cocks a brow, amused. “We just started.”

“Half an hour ago!” You point towards the clock on the far wall, hidden behind endless amounts of bookshelves.

“Exactly, we barely managed to scratch the surface.” He pouts, running a hand over his buzzed head in slight exasperation.

You have to resist the urge of squishing his cheeks together, not wanting to make a scene in public. Cuteness aggression was a real thing you fought with every day. “I’m not going to lie, my love. I stopped listening to whatever you were explaining 15 minutes ago.”

“What?”

You nod. “I didn’t hear anything you said.” Then, you scoot closer, gluing yourself to his side as your voice drops several octaves. “I just want to kiss you.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen slightly at your confession, swiftly looking around to ensure the nearby tables are still vacant. Then, he tongues his cheek in the most attractive way you’ve witnessed, a smirk hanging off the corners of his mouth as he shakes his head.

“After you finish this chapter.” He eventually breathes out, allowing one of his hands to rest on your upper thigh and squeeze in encouragement.

Your head falls back with a groan, frustrated. “Come on, Hyun!” the way you drag out his name has him chuckling lowly, eyes sparkling. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Suffer?” He laughs, poking your forehead. “You’ll only suffer if you fail this test.”

“I won’t fail.” You huff, jerking back. His hand then slips off your thigh and the lack of warmth has you scrawling right back, wounding your arms around his neck to bring him even closer, hoping he’ll cave.

Hyunjin’s eyes fall to your lips, and you know it’s a matter of time before the spell you got him under works its magic. “Of course, you won’t. I won’t allow it.”

Your bright smile snaps his attention back to your eyes, which he seems to get lost exploring, absorbed by the beautiful color. Without missing a beat, you lean forward to connect your lips, eager to taste the cherry chapstick you applied on him when he complained about his lips being dry.

You guess even angels can get dehydrated.

Making out at the library on a Thursday night was never on your bingo card, but with Hyunjin as your partner in crime, you wouldn’t mind doing anything. He makes you feel safe in any situation, but especially when you have to get out of your comfort zone, tackle life head-on when putting things on hold is no longer an option.

You manage to peck his lips, once, twice, and then three times before he brings you closer, big hands sliding down from your waist to your hips and squeezing, needing to feel your flesh between his fingers.

His tongue brushes against your lower lip, and as your mouth opens to allow him access to every part of you, a low moan escapes you both simultaneously. Alcohol was overrated – you’ve only ever gotten drunk on each other.

“We don’t even share a major.” He gasps as he pulls away, and your lips find his jaw.

“I know.” Another kiss graces the beautiful mole under his eye.

With the way you’re kissing him, your lips trailing down his throat, Hyunjin has trouble speaking. “I-I’ve never taken this class before.”

“I know.” You nod, pecking the base of his neck.

A shiver runs down his spine, and his hold on you tightens, almost like he’s ready to lift and place you on his lap, deeming you too far away. “So why do I keep helping you like I’m some dean’s list student?”

“Because you love me.” You finally stop to look into his eyes, heart fluttering at the way his chest is already weaving up and down after a few minutes of innocent kisses. Your touch has always had that effect on him, so you were never confused about his feelings towards you. Hyunjin wore his heart on his sleeve, body reacting faster than his brain could process, never failing to show you how near and dear you are to him. How much he adored every one of your endearing quirks, loving you unconditionally like it was a duty he never wanted to be free of. “As much as I love you.”

With a cocky smirk he barely manages to muster, he replies while tucking some hair behind your ear. “I think I love you a little more than you love me, actually.”

“That’s impossible, Hyun.”

And you were certain of it. Nothing could be bigger than the love you held for this angel.

[syluses]

HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

𓍯𓂃 PART TWO (2) of the stepdad! sylus x reader series

(2) THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND

𓍯𓂃 CONTENT: stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering

𓍯𓂃 SIDENOTE: ayyy finally got chapter 2 out ✨ apologies for the wait!! but i hope u enjoy this one my friends :] 💕 also sorry for any typos PLEASE overlook them i beg :,) i hate the edit/revise process it took SO long but i hope my sleep-addled brain did me decent as i went thru to correct stuff. oh also i made a teeny mistake in part one, but i fixed it and its very inconsequential (used wrong number: 6 changed to 7). but anyway just letting u know if ur very observant & noticed a difference lol!! [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]

It’s hard to be secretive, tiptoeing down the hallway toward the stairs, when halfway through it opens up into the living room’s overhang.

If someone were sitting on the couch, and they heard so much as a creak from above, all it’d take is a glance thrown over their shoulder to spot you with a hand hesitantly placed on the banister, leery of stepping down to the first floor.

Nervewracking.

Perhaps it’s a bit dramatic to compare it to walking into the lion’s den- but you’re not the most talkative of persons, especially not with him, and it does seem daunting in your head to be cornered into conversation. Like prey meeting predator. Small meeting big. One delicate discussion could do you in, but you won’t bet on your demise being brought along so… easily.

To your immense relief, when you you peek around the stone column and survey the area below (mainly the L-shaped sofa, facing the massive wall-mounted TV above the fireplace), you find it empty.

At that, you let out a quiet breath. Some of your courage returns.

If you had spotted the twins, it would’ve been manageable, more so than if it was their dad, anyway.

It was only an hour ago (well, an hour and ten minutes, but you hope they won’t hold that against you— and considering all their tardy slips in highschool, they wouldn’t have the right) that you’d held conversation with them, and it went alright.

It’s a bit harder for you to admit that it was actually pretty nice to see them again.

Cathartic, even.

There’s a part of you that’s vulnerable and girlish- carefully stowed beneath the tough skin you lay on in front of most of everyone else- locked somewhere safe- and yes, it did miss them.

But you’re meant to dislike the three of them. Your meddling stepfamily who slipped into the cracks of your home, your mother’s heart, no different than an invasive species would. Stuck a foot into the door of your life and pressed until the hinge gave.

Once, it was easy. As effortless as breathing.

You didn’t have to think about it, or deliberate on it, or make all the justifications in your head- no, you hated them and that was it.

That feeling was meant to be final. Set in stone.

You thought it was.

For a time you even likened Sylus to Cinderella’s evil stepmother and his two conniving sons to the insufferable stepsisters. Oh, it’s childish, you know; looking back on those moments, you don’t know whether you want to hug the teenage girl you’d been or laugh in the face of her.

As it stands, though, Anastasia and Drizella aren’t half the monsters you’d once liked to believe. Awfully enough, you’ve warmed up to them, maybe even came to love them.

You’re stubborn, not stupid: Luke and Kieran have a special place in your heart and you recognize that.

You’re sure that they do, too. It’s what makes them bolder during every confrontation; brings out the smiles where they once paled. Scared you’d yell or shriek for your mom to just—

Get these two idiots out of my room!

That was then, though.

Things are different now. Changed.

…The ‘Lady Tremaine’ in this picture is still a work in progress. If you’re being honest, you wouldn’t be too terribly upset if it stayed that way—

No. But no, because…

Your mother would’ve been happy if you got along with him. Made amends. It’s a truth as sour as it is undebatable.

“Baby, please- he’s a good man, really. Can you just try, for me? I know you miss your dad, I know you do, I do, too-“

‘Does she?’ To save your hide, you bite that remark down, but listen on just as grumpily.

“-but I think that this can be a good thing if you just-“

Her words echo in the walls of your head. Plangent, bouncing. Like a gunshot ringing out through a canyon, it’s still loud in your conscience, even more so now that she won’t be around to nag you on the matter any further.

—“Smiled.”

If you don’t like Sylus, you’re the bad guy, right? And damn it all if that doesn’t dredge up an ounce of bitterness in you, but—

…For the sake of this trip, for the sake of her no longer being here (and oh, what you wouldn’t give so she could be here), you’ll do your best to swallow down your misgivings about your stepfather.

And you’ll be good.

Two weeks.

Reminding yourself of that for what must be the millionth time, you push off the truffle-wrap pillar to continue into the lofty hall. Starting down the wide, marble staircase in silence.

You’re not so sure where their father is. You definitely have your guesses— A fancy-shmancy meeting or outing that’s called him outside of the estate, or perhaps he’s simply in his study working, running an errand— All of which you hope are correct for the sake of avoiding him.

This late lunch of yours and the twins’ should be just that.

Yours and the twins’.

✦

The further you press into the first floor, the more you smell whatever the private chef is cooking.

Delicious, whatever it is. And no surprise there- the man who hired him demands only the best of the best. He’ll brook nothing less.

As you get closer, the aromas (some too faint to label, others almost dominating your senses: garlic, a pinch of ginger, the mouthwatering scent of meat) blend into a savory potpourri. A cohesive, expertly-made dish, you’re sure.

It’s true that in the past five years since your moving out that your visits have become more sporadic, far and few in between, but meals gathered around a tabletop brimming with tasty sides and entrées will always be a distinct memory you hold of this place.

I mean, you were all but forced by your mother to endure them. Thus, dinner became a special time for you and your stepfamily to bond.

Even Sylus, the endlessly busy CEO of some lucrative company you pretend not to know the name of, made room within his schedule where he could.

However, bonding is not what generally happened.

Teenage you always thought those dinners were stupid. Awkward at the best of times. Smiles too tight to be polite, hands passing around bowls you’d stick your nose up to. Not out of disgust, no, the platters never failed to make you drool- but because you’d take your dad’s homemade roast chicken over your stepfather’s insincere, gourmet trays any day of the week.

To be honest? you’d been mean to them, you’ll admit that much. Cruel even. A big brat with an even bigger bone to pick. You and your family didn’t come from rags, but your origins were infinitely more humble than the twin’s, than what Sylus had— yet you were prissy and rude in a way that they somehow weren’t... Presumptuous.

So upset with the new arrangement you couldn’t think straight.

“Y/n, pick up the fork for God’s sake- can’t you see your father went through all this just to have a meal with us tonight?”

Placatingly, “Honey. It’s alright.”

It’s not quite a snarl that you throw her way, but it’s close. With no one here to spank you, you’re allowed to mouth off a little, be unruly. No one’s here to stop you— your mother’s never had the arm for the paddle and regardless of that, she clearly shouldn’t be responsible over you if she can’t even make good decisions for herself.

To date, her worst decision yet is bringing that asshole around…

Pointedly ignoring the attention that’s gravitated to you, you scowl.

Maybe you are pushing the part of brat a touch too far- a shock, taking your past obedience into play- but how else will you get her to see you? Your hurt? I mean, the twins misbehave endlessly at school and at best, they get a slap on the wrist, no doubt because of their mogul of a father, but you don’t miss the laughs or rueful glances tossed their way.

The positive feedback.

“…Father?” You snip, eyes laser-focused on the woman at the far end of the table. The twins juggle between watching you and their dad with bated breath, half grinning in mischievous delight.

For several moments, the latter doesn’t move.

Sure enough, though, that cardinal gaze finds its roost on you. Not that you’re paying it any mind.

The air shifts when you open your mouth again, rising from the table with a start. The finely-placed cutlery jumps as you do.

“I don’t care if you’ve married him, made him your ‘quote on quote’ husband, that’s not my father and never will be. And these stupid boys that trail me all damn day long aren’t my family, either!”

“Whoa-ho! We caught a stray, bro!”

A beat of stunned silence.

Galileo crosses your mind; mainly what he did when the spotlight fell to him. The point is that there’s still time to recant, the rational part of your brain whispers. To backtrack.

Your cheeks warm. Heart pounding in your chest at the embarrassment of voicing your emotions, making a literal stand. But you can’t stop now. It’s too late to.

“A-And…” A tremble. You’re- You’re trembling, comes the small revelation. Ignoring it, you barely repress a wince, standing there uncertainly.

Finally, your mother- finding her bearings- angrily sputters out your government name.

You almost cow to it.

But you can’t be weak, not now, not in front of them, and-

In a frantic moment, your eyes dart over opposite the table to collide with his, your voice shaking wildly as the twins, at either side of you, snicker.

You swallow down the dregs of your self-consciousness to uncivilly pick up your fork and wave it at him.

“And you! Don’t even get me started on how awful you are! What you’ve done to me!”

All along you’ve done your damnedest to ignore him, only adding in your two cents where it was absolutely necessary. The last month or two you’ve spent under the same roof as him has been nothing less than an excellent demonstration of the cold shoulder on your part. You want the credit for that.

So when you point a literal finger, staring him down like you would prey through a muzzle and furrow your brow as unbidden tears wet your lash-line, his eyes actually double in size. Your stepfather, having forgotten to breathe by the looks of it (albeit, you have too), straightens by a fraction.

Good. That’s...

That’s good, you think.

Something in the back of your mind says ‘heel,’ says ‘don’t poke the bear,’ warns in every possible language you can think of that this is NOT a good idea. He’s rich enough to fill whole swimming pools with cash and powerful enough to move people like chess pieces— probably nudge them out of the game and off the board, too.

But he’ll never be the man of your house. You won’t allow it. So call it sheer stupidity on your end or just a death wish but—

“Y-You’ve stolen everything from me!”

On your right, Luke blinks with hesitant awe, his amusement petering out. Kieran’s jaw shuts. The foot he’d been kicking you with under the table draws away from yours. He exchanges a brief, suddenly sobered look with his brother as everything you’ve been holding back on these past several weeks looses to the surface.

“Y/n-!”

“You took it all! My mother, my dad’s honor, even my fucking house-!”

For the second time, your government name flies across the panel of demurred faces, but you’ve reached your melting point. The watershed where fear and politeness, all the conventional little things you’re supposed to respect and operate by, warps into hot unbridled anger.

This is a cut that originated from your father’s death, one exacerbated awfully by Sylus and his two sly, obnoxious sons- so you think it’s due time to let it bleed.

Bleed, it does.

But then- “You ruined my life, you-“

A breath. Stuttering and shallow and tender. It’s horrifying to realize it came from you.

“Y-You….”

Through the blur is a low, gentle murmur.

Rich and thick. You think even if your ears ceased to work, something in your chest could still recognize it; the bass moves through your ribs and rattles them.

In your periphery, for as fogged as it’s become what with the tears that suddenly speckle the room- the ones you vaguely acknowledge but do all you can to hold, even if just for a few more moments- the silver-haired man sets down his utensil. Nonchalant per usual. With unrivaled class.

It pisses you off.

Without looking at your frazzled mother, he raises a hand to calm her. “Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright. Let her speak.”

Speak…?

Oh- Is that what he fucking thinks this is? That you’ve stood, clinking the side of your glass with a spoon to humbly direct the diners’ attention from the plates spread tastefully before them to you as you prepare a fancy speech of sorts-?

This isn’t an announcement you’re making. This is not even a conversation. It’s just-

It’s just-

The epiphany that every set of eyes is on you including the chef’s (still tucked in the kitchen, as poor as any man could be as he hurriedly cleans up)— and that you are being treated no different than a dangerous animal that needs patience and slow movement to be handled, corralled back into a fucking cage—

It’s so infuriating you go quiet.

Your brain reaches a lapse and you shut up. Lips flattening into a pursed line immediately, you ball your fists and scamper back off to where it’s safest.

Your room.

“Sis, wait, Kieran said he’s sorry for kicking you under the table-“

You’d ignored it all and then you’d cried.

“Kieran,” an unexpected growl. “A word.”

…You suppose time has a funny way of soothing, though, because right now when you recollect the moment, you find the humor in it and scoff quietly.

“Dad, wait, I-I was just kidding around with her!”

Yeah okay, it was a bit embarrassing- you were a bit embarrassing- but you won’t hold that against sixteen year old you. She knew fuck all else how to navigate.

The big house is familiar and airy as you walk through the lower floor, as quiet as you left it.

Even if you’d forgotten the layout, whatever fragrance wafting from the kitchen would be enough to guide you there.

You wonder if it’s some kind of stirfry. A far cry from the humble PB&J’s you’ve been making yourself at home with chips sometimes as a side, but your tummy growls for it all the same.

You haven’t ate since sometime yesterday. As your tongue wets itself in anticipation, you’re made very aware of that now.

You spot the rice cooker on the side counter when you finally walk in and the blurred figures of the twins as they turn to look at you.

Luke, perched on a bar stool to eagerly watch the chef work his magic, hops off just to pull out another one at its right. The look in his eye, glittering, full of anticipation, tells you verbatim to ‘sit right here’. You don’t bother protesting- you’re already some minutes late after all- and climb up onto the seat between them.

Kieran, at your left, scoots closer to sling his arm over your shoulder. You let it happen with a small wince. The chair supporting the other twin gives a short screech when he, too, inches closer to fold his arms on the counter, lean his head on them, and angle his cheek to look at you.

“So, sis, how do you like Linkon so far?”

Not paying them much attention, you quirk an eyebrow.

Between watching the chef as he deftly tosses the pan back and forth (broccoli, you see now, with meat cubes he folds in) and glancing at the archways connecting the rest of the house into the kitchen- eyes peeled for someone- the twins are not your priority right now.

At the top, that list looks something like this: Eat a nice midday meal without any incident involving their dad.

“I’ve lived in Linkon almost all my life, don’t act like this is my first time here,” you poke back, albeit in a somewhat hushed tone. The walls might as well have ears.

Kieran reaches out to run an idle finger down the jut of your shoulder, his chin lazily propped up by his hand.

He looks at you.

“Sis, do you even realize for how long you were gone?”

His voice is light. Conversational. You’re not so deluded, though, by their indifferent, laidback act. You’ve known them not for a decade but not far off from that either, and you’ve learned to catch the whiff of trouble in the air before it blows its wind your way.

When you finally throw them each a gander, hesitantly prying your gaze from the open entries, the delight masked behind each placid set of eyes is absolutely there— just hiding well.

They’re getting much more amusement out of this than they’re letting on.

You’ll give them credit here: they’ve gotten better at pretending they’re not up to no good,… but there’s no bamboozling you.

You think about it for a few seconds before quipping back. “Almost seven months,… right?”

“Right,” Luke chirps beside you, “Seven whole months!” You turn your head to focus on him now.

(Ah, that’s right- you inwardly alert yourself upon notice- no matter who you’re facing, the other will inevitably be in your blindspot… Have to keep on your toes these upcoming weeks if you don’t want them pulling a trick on you.)

He pouts his lips, ever dramatic, to play up the kicked expression and make it all the more impactful as they guilt trip you. “Seven whole months where Kieran and I were left alllllll on our lonesome. Left to fend for ourselves.”

“Oh, you big babies.” With a huff, half-smiling, you lean out to flick his forehead. His hood slips off when he tries to nod away from your attack, laughing softly as wild, red tufts come loose.

“You’re plenty old enough now to care for yourselves. You can’t always rely on me for everything. Besides,” you start, thoughtful, and this is when your already quiet voice slinks into a whisper, one the boys draw in to hear.

Luke’s attention drifting past your shoulder, “you already have the big boss man covering your asses in every sense of the word.”

From the archway, a sonorous voice rings out.

“She’s right, you know.”

You and Kieran snap your heads over to look. The chef (and you don’t why you’re suddenly staring at him, or the ground, for that matter, nervous) gives a little glance his way, dipping his chin respectfully, but doesn’t note him beyond that. A big grin blooms across the lower half of Luke’s face. You’d smack it off if you could.

Beside you, Kieran suddenly lets out a chuckle, both of the twins once more very interested in you- particularly the reaction you’re trying to hide- as you swallow and look away.

Under the broad arch, their stepfather adjusts his sleeves before casually propping himself against the wall, arms folded.

You risk a glance over and instantly regret it when you catch his eyes on yours, a brow quirked teasingly.

…Directed at the boys, you realize when he speaks again. Of course. “You two lean on your sister far too much, don’t you think? I’d say you’re lucky she’s been so patient with you both.”

A huff from one of them. But they’re so similar it might as well come from the other. “Hah, I have the patience of a saint, especially when it comes to her! Don’t forget, dad, how long it took for me to get her to even talk to me-“

Frowning, you open your mouth to argue against that, to defend your past-self’s choices (because she had every reason to ignore the obnoxious pair), but to your suprise Luke beats you to the punch.

“Bro, you have to admit,” he starts with a sheepish laugh, “we were kind of annoying kids… I mean, we were pretty much always trying to find a new way to bother her…”

Curtly, you close your mouth. That deep, rumbling voice sounds out again- light in tone- and your heart skips a beat.

“Honesty’s not a bad start... Kieran, you might benefit from taking notes from your brother.”

“Eh…”

From behind the island, tucked in front of the stove- you swear you hear the cuisiner chuckle.

The pan sizzles. Your mouth waters and you’re reminded of how hungry you are, but the longer the silver-haired man lingers in the entryway the more you’re afraid he’s there to stay.

It was supposed to be just the three of you eating together. Not- Not him. And yeah, sure, this is his house at the end of the day— you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t already painfully aware of that- a fact that’s more obvious than ever now that your only real tether to this place, your mother, is gone— but why did he have to show up now of all times?

As every gripe starts to form in your head-

Two weeks. And then, and then it’ll be over for the last time.

-you silence them.

A moment passes and Luke, still studying you with the ghost of a grin, asks what you all really want to know.

“So, dad, are you staying for lunch?”

A beat. You furtively glance up in time to watch him check his expensive wristwatch, his brow furrowed.

“Lunch, you say?” He chuckles, ruby-red eyes practically sparkling when he lifts his chin, one corner of his mouth curved- though you can tell he’s trying to mask it. “And I guess this is the early bird special?”

“Sleepyhead Y/n here rolled out of bed late.”

You huff, crossing your arms, distracting yourself with the busy chef. “And these two all but barged in while I was still busy unpacking.”

Like clockwork, much of the mirth in his expression wanes. He frowns expectantly, voice neither stern nor flat but something in between. “Boys. What did I tell you about not pestering our guest while she’s still here?”

Luke and Kieran snicker. You bite down on a grin.

“Yeah, boys,” you murmur to be annoying, just loud enough for them to hear. That’s the hope, at least.

Sylus’s little smirk returns with a vengeance. He refolds his arms, adjusting.

“…Anyway, though. I can’t stay. I have a meeting I need to sit in at the main office, unfortunately. I would’ve…” A raking of his eyes between the three of you, interested, and a brief pause, “Enjoyed that, though.”

He hums, saying more to himself now than to any of you, “another time.”

For a number of moments, the air seems oddly tense. A miasma of something unsaid hangs between the four of you, thickening the air between, and in the split second before someone breaks the silence, you’re struggling to pinpoint the root cause.

It’s just the ice from last night, you decide quietly, the bits of it that didn’t break. The friction left over.

You’re still settling in, after all.

…And yet when his gaze finds yours again, something not to be uttered in it as cherry hues zero in on you, his lashes fluttering ever so slightly—

The pulse in your chest trips and picks itself back up again.

You blink, looking down to his chest. When your stare sweeps up again to his face, almost hesitant to find what may be waiting there, he’s addressing the twins and it’s already gone.

“Well. I’m out, then. Boys: don’t drive your sister crazy. And… Kitten…”

Your brow pinches unwittingly. There, again, is that strange yet patient twinkle in his eye and it steals all the breath from your lungs in one fell swoop.

Either side of you, Luke and Kieran trade off between appearing uncertain and then appearing just as eager. Behind the steaming stove, even the chef, cottoning onto the shift in atmosphere, tosses the briefest of looks over his shoulder to assess the situation.

You nervously wet your lip. “Y-Yeah?”

Promptly, your stepfather’s countenance smooths out into an easy, pellucid smile. A whit challenging; a whit encouraging— but not at all reluctant, no, the mite of intimidation in his gaze is a simple result of your clouded thinking these past few days. Nothing more.

“Don’t pull your punches if they do.”

A swallow. “Alright.”

The twins, no different than conspiring, bothersome little rats, slap a hand over their mouths to hide a laugh, and then their dad is skimming between all three of you in your row at the counter. Albeit, his tone is too gentle for them—

“Call if you need something,” he suggests.

And then he’s gone.

A tumbleweed blows through. Kieran turns to you afterward, Luke’s hand idly dangling off your shoulder, the pair far too comfortable with taking up your space- but for now, obedient enough.

“Well, chef, how’s it looking?”

Lunch is served on a silver platter.

Swallowing down your reservations, your typical discomfort with their casual, sumptuous lifestyle, you fold to your hunger and dig in.

Kieran, ever the pest, laughs when you finish before them, shoveling a share of his saucy broccoli onto your plate. His grin is shit-eating, but you can appreciate the generosity laced under his teasing remark for what it is.

“Wow, someone’s hungry, huh? Bet you’re wishing you ate during your flight!”

✦

In the hours after, you trampoline between idling through the massive home, revisiting various memories you hold of each room and long corridor, and sitting down with a hand over your full belly. Thinking.

Maybe all the reflection isn’t for the better, though, as much as you try to keep optimistic by playing dumb to your circumstances.

You don’t blame the boys for being so energetic, even amidst the doom and gloom that’s reared its head in just the past few days— it’s a lot to handle, everything with your mother, sure it is, but they’re known for their mischief, for being nothing but happy-go-lucky. Besides… sometimes grief manifests itself in strange ways. Whether it be through inconvenient fits of laughter or a stone-faced apathy, it’s all of the same brood: an interesting yet no less instinctual coping mechanism.

Considering you’ve been forcefully naive surrounding your reasons for being flown out, you know plenty about those mechanisms yourself.

It’s not impossible that they’re mourning her in their own way, the twins. Behind all the admittedly strange, insouciant remarks and the carelessness around such a delicate situation- tasteless at the best of times- you think you see it, the cracks.

The fleeting blips of unease in Luke’s eyes. The moments where the room goes quiet after a good joke makes its round through and he has to blink something away from his conscience. Or the gelidity of his brother, for that matter. The wide-eyed stare into nothingness before he, too, shakes it away like whatever it is is no more than an intrusive thought to be tossed aside and disregarded.

Not to mention they’re gentler with you. More… chivalrous, almost.

Exhibit A:

The boys approach you closer to sunset in your bedroom, their polite, small smiles and knocks before coming in pleasant surprises each.

Perched on your bedroom’s dormer window, you boredly flip through a book you’ve read at least thrice as they ask if you’ve found a dress yet for the funeral, as respectful as they ever could be.

On cue, your world weathers at the edges. Like paper thinning through after its corner is put to a lighter.

Right, right. A dress. The- The funeral….

You’ve not even been in the Qin estate for 24 hours but you’re already letting these things- these very paramount things- slip from your mind. They should be in the forefront of it, but the more you dwell on them (your priorities: using these two weeks to prepare for the ceremony, finding suitable attire, hopefully going through her belongings once you’re ready enough), the more it hurts, so you just shut it out.

See, all of this— the dreadful knowing that your veritable mother is gone and in terms of blood and bone family, you’re now left utterly alone (that maybe if you’d just- fucking hung around a bit more you somehow could’ve reversed her fate)— has obviously affected you as much as it has your stepfamily if not more- considering they were the ones who found her and all. But the twins, and even their father, are demonstrating a master class in composure, and you don’t know whether to find gratitude in their lack of flying off the handle (in this hell, someone needs to remain coolheaded) or be offended by it.

It almost feels like she was never here.

Like nothing went wrong... But you can’t really blame them for their cool and collected behaviors, because you’re putting up a strong front yourself.

Maybe your mother wasn’t the twins’ given at birth, sure... But they operated as a true family. Even when you were bitter and stuck-up and rude, the four of them were tight-knit, so much so that eventually you felt like the fucking interloper in it all, the outlying number in the equation.

So you quietly understand that there’s hurt involved on their side around her death- whether they’re being loud about it or not- and choose not to tally it against them.

…Perhaps, you think, it’s high time for you to retire your childhood grudges, anyway.

You close the book, smoothing over the cover.

If the five-second rule applies— you use four and a half to pick up your pieces off the floor and formulate a reply, not hiding how crestfallen you are.

“No. I… I haven’t even went shopping yet. I mean, I figured-“

A thick swallow on your end- and an exhale that sounds more like the stirrings of a panic attack and the boys are at your side in a moment. Their softer facets coming through as they join you on the loft window.

Luke takes the worn stuffed animal he almost crushes, dutifully ignoring its matted fur, and places it in your lap to distract you as you struggle to articulate your emotions. Kieran does his best to not scrutinize you too much, knowing you typically don’t like the attention, while you fidget with the plushie and give them an odd show of vulnerability.

I mean, fuck it. They see you as their sister, and you’re tired of pretending to be too tough to rely on them as your brothers, so—

“I- I figured we had two whole weeks, you know? And… And that’s plenty of time to just get a dress later. Have- Have you two gotten everything ready for it?”

“Yeah,” Luke murmurs back, taking your hand in his to swallow it up in warmth. It surprises you but you don’t make a comment. As if wanting to be included as well, or maybe he’s just mad his brother beat him to the punch, Kieran quietly nudges the plushie from your other hand and intwines his fingers with yours.

Your cheeks warm.

Your heart, ricocheting in your chest, whispers something you don’t quite catch as one of them sluggishly props his chin on your shoulder, mumbling a hey, it’s alright as you furiously blink, and you’re inundated with a foreign sense of- of—

Security? …Is that it?

“We went with dad yesterday to buy the suits.”

“Before he picked you up at the airport,” Luke clarifies in a light tone.

At your back, the sun glares over a chilly courtyard, lighting the fountain and iron-wrought gates with liquid, reflective gold. It only makes the near identical visages either side of you look all the more daring and impish— boyishly handsome— as dusk washes its hues over the three of you.

It’s just a little jarring.

A set of knuckles, almost experimentally, caresses your toasty cheek.

…For perhaps the first documented time in history, you don’t bite.

“We can take you, if you want? There’s a place in town that can tailor something perfectly for you. We can go tonight to get your measurements, sis, what do you think? Just get it done?”

It’s… not a bad idea. Far from it, actually.

You’d be able to quiet the restless part of your mind. Accomplish this seemingly easy task that’s become gargantuan in your head all within the span of just one night. To top it all off, it’d be with the added bonus of the twins’ brotherly support.

“A-Actually,” you start, lifting your chin to look at Luke, and then Kieran, voice thin, “I was, um, wondering if you two could take me somewhere else.”

They wait, owlish.

You meekly continue, “I’ve already read all the books I have here. I was thinking if you could drive me to that store downtown, just so I can pick up a few. Something to, um, fill in the time while I’m here, you know?“

Kieran blinks at you, dark eyes examining your face carefully, like he’s taking it in in a new light. You’re sure they don’t know what to make of you right now: for most if not all of your teen years, you played the part of distant stepsister very well, never wore your emotions on your sleeve and hesitated to be open with any of the members of your stepfamily.

Perhaps they think you’re taking a page from their book— setting them up for some grandiose joke so you can cackle in their faces.

Luke, smiling faintly, nudges your shoulder with his and leans in. “Sure, sis. Me and Kieran will take you. I guess you haven’t changed too much while you’ve been gone, huh? You’re still a big bookworm.”

“A big nerd.”

“Alright, you two,” you chuckle lightly, jabbing them both playfully- to which they both offer up a fake, dramatic grunt of pain to- before wiping the tear that almost beads at your eye. You hope they don’t notice. But if they do, they don’t make any sly remark about it. For that you’re thankful.

It seems you’ve all matured quite a bit since pre-adulthood, but it’s somehow more obvious this time around.

This visit is different from the last in more ways than one.

Looking between them both, hardly able to hold their respective gazes as your pulse swings in your throat— “Thank you”— you murmur, gentle.

For as embarrassing as it is to be vulnerable, you let yourself be just a little sweet with them... Considering your mother is gone, and the unsteady grounds you stand on with Sylus especially- the veritable owner of this home- you think you’re less of an inhabitant here and more of a… guest.

Once these two weeks are up and the funeral concludes, you’ll be going away again. Probably for the last time. Nothing will call you back.

(You’d been such a brat. What would want to?)

The twins, unable to hide the little, genuine smirks rippling across their faces, regard you inquisitively when something like sadness flashes across your gaze.

You clear your throat. That thought of finally escaping your stepfamily- your stepfather and all he represented- for good shouldn’t make something in your heart tremble. But oh, it does.

Politely, you brush off their hands and rise to your feet. You’re not sure what’s gotten into you, but you plaster on an awkward yet no less friendly smile and cross your arms.

“So, boys? You ready to go now? Or…?”

Kieran, the utter moron he is, comments something about how he was born ready, jumping up, and then they’re ushering you out the door and into the hall, towards the stairs, in a two-person stampede.

✦

You buy a book.

Three, for good measure, each thicker than the one before. Just something to occupy your mind in the windows of silence you’ll no doubt spend idling around the mansion before the ceremony.

On the way back, the sky is black underneath a cladding of clouds. Ash as far as the eye can see. The stars are hiding, but you lean your cheek against the car window and look up as if trying to spot them, anyway.

Lost in your mind, your own musings holding you close as the bag sits atop your lap, you don’t pay much attention to the boys when they ask if you wanna stop somewhere to eat because they’re getting munchy.

Without looking, though, you do tell them ‘no thanks, you’re getting kind of sleepy’ and Kieran makes the turn home— albeit not without a dramatic sigh.

It’s… pleasant though, surprisingly. Being with them.

It’s like luck is finally shuffling over to your side. Like things are finally looking up- no matter how trife or trivial they seem. For as shitty of a week it’s turned out to be, you need all the silver linings you can get. So (although with some reluctance, some… confusion) you’ll count this time with them as a small blessing.

Maybe, just maybe, this impromptu trip to Linkon is finally taking a turn for the better. Maybe each and every one of your efforts to remain patient and open-minded and mature with your stepfamily have actually begun to pay off. Maybe you won’t be tearfully pulling hair from your scalp after all, driven mad.

The twins’ harmless griping is a backdrop you smile at as the gates of the estate come into view through the woody road.

In the warmer seasons, it’s a monolithic modern thing erected atop rolling lawns striped green. As it stands now, though, the courtyard is a dull, frosted sage, quiet and cold. The fountain will need to be turned off soon before everything freezes, before the snow comes. You vaguely wonder if one of the workers or bush trimmers that come along every week or two will remember before Sylus even gives them the order. It’s likely.

A thud. “Are you sure, sis?” Your door closes behind you.

Hand still on the wheel, Kieran waggles his eyebrows as his sibling hollers from the passenger seat, thinking you’ll take his lilts as an invitation to get back into the vehicle.

“I’m sure,” you murmur fondly, actually stopping at the driver’s window for a moment to hear them out. You adjust the plastic bag in your grasp and throw a look down the rest of the driveway, towards the house.

“You want us to bring something back, at least? We found this cool new place that opened up that has the best—“

A chuckle. “I’m alright, really. We had lunch and dinner together, ‘member?” Then, you give your throat a soft, innocuous clear, scuffing your shoes over the pavement. “By the way, uh… Do you think your dad’s home yet?”

With the garage closed, the path empty and only the lights you left on in the house warmly shining through, it’s hard to tell if anybody else has come by.

Kieran actually snickers at your hesitance, the little bastard.

You reach forward to flick his forehead and he reels away with an excited shout. “Calm down, sis, I didn’t even say anything!”

“Yeah, but I see you laughing you dummy-“

“It’s just cute, is all. You’re always so worried about our old man and what he’s up to.”

You huff at that, maybe even visibly fluster. But before you can say anything, hop to your own defense, a puckish voice overlaps yours. “If you were in a cartoon, you’d have steam coming out of your ears right now.”

“Ugh! You two are unbearable-!”

“Hey, Kieran said it, not me-“

“But you thought it, didn’t you? You two share the same handful of braincells after all!!”

They both laugh, more endeared by your insults than offended- much to your dismay- and you put your tongue in your cheek. Your narrowed eyes drift back to the titanic of a home. Maybe it’s your imagination, but you almost swear you see a shadow flutter by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the bottom level and—

“Did you see that?” You untuck your arms from their weave at your chest and squint. The boys, still sniggering, follow your gaze. “I think he is home.”

A beat of silence passes.

You turn over. Luke faces ahead in his seat, wetting his lip wordlessly, but Kieran dangles his arm out the side of the fancy, sleek car (that his father surely bought for him as a toy) with his eyes set on you.

Holding your gaze with a shake of his head, his smirk is a tenuous thing, but it’s there. “Nah, I’m pretty sure he’s gone, sis.”

If you ever write a guide on surviving the Qin family, the first page would say: step one, do not believe the twins if they utter anything even a stone’s throw from the two words—

“Don’t worry.”

You frown, uncertain.

He laughs at your pouting. “Kieran- just tell me the truth-“

“I’m serious! He’ll be back later tonight, probably midnight. You know how it is. His schedule is spotty.”

A wind sweeps through and you shiver ever so slightly, clasping either of your arms as you hug them close to your body. Your lips are getting that uncomfortable dry feeling but you know it’ll only worsen if you run your tongue over them. So you don’t.

You eye the lavish, yet unassuming front of the home, ruminating. “Kieran-“

“Now go back in before you catch a cold. Dad will really kill me and Luke if he finds out you were standing out in the dark just to bicker with us.”

“I’m innocent in this,” his brother murmurs before exaggerating a yawn.

You analyze the crafty duo one more time before sensing no dupe on their end and sighing, marching up towards the house.

“Fine,” you call over your shoulder, just a little testy. You don’t want to be fooled, but there isn’t a big reason for them to lie about whether their dad’s returned or not- and even if he did make it back already, it’s no major thorn in your side. There’s a fat chance you’ll just casually, quietly, pass him by as you head to your room- and that’s even if you bump into him in the first place. The place isn’t exactly small or conducive to chance meetings.

“But if you’re lying,” you start, before blushing because you can’t quite think of a good threat. “You’ll- you’ll regret it.”

The engine purrs and the car pulls off- thank God- carrying the harmless yet bothersome mocking words of your stepbrothers with it. “Ohhhh so scary! See you later!”

You cluck your tongue, shaking your head at no annoyance of theirs in particular as you hop up the steps and fish for the key in your pocket.

Giggling under your breath. Idiots.

✦

You’re not giggling when you enter the open foyer, locking the door behind you, and spot a figure in the living room, splayed out on the large L-shaped sofa.

No, you’re not even thinking about the boys anymore, just the dilemma laid out before you as you press your lips together in a thin line and turn your feet into feathers to begin making your way through.

God’s hand must be over your life though, because upon closer, very furtive inspection, tiptoeing towards the archway, he’s…

Asleep.

You let out a soundless sigh of relief at that, shoulders slumping.

…And you should take the opportunity- glad it’s even come to you- and go, you know. It’s as good a moment as any to slip off, undetected, and retreat into the privacy of your bedroom.

It’s all but waiting for you.

What you told the twins was as much of a truth as it was a good excuse— you’re tired and it’s encroaching on that time where you want to plop into bed and curl up under the covers.

Not because it’s past your curfew or anything, no- honestly, you usually have a penchant to stay up late- but because you’re still a little jet-lagged from the flight and you’d prefer to sleep instead of loaf the evening through with the unwanted company of whatever thoughts that might creep in.

You’re not… incredibly close with Sylus. Unbidden feelings of safety and peace in his presence nudged aside, you’re not chummy with the guy and you really have no reason to stick around especially when you’re growing tired but—

Approaching the archway, you slowly reach a hand to rest on it, and you watch.

A half-touched mug of coffee sits on the table before the couch. Strewn beside it is his laptop, mousepad and mouse, and one of those yellow, lined notebooks that you quirk a brow at only because it’s deceptively cheap for a man so expensive.

It’s closer to something your own father- your real, now deceased one- would use to mark out measurements for his woodworking projects, or keep on the fridge under a magnet as a note to himself.

…Huh.

A mite amused by the sight of your generally very awake, proactive stepfather, you fight off a grudging smile- all too entertained by the languid display- and rest your shoulder against the wall.

Dim, golden lights fall over him in a gentle haze, but the shadow cut by his bumped nose is sharp.

You know they’re not related, Sylus and his unruly sons. The twins are splitting images of each other, but they mirror nothing of Sylus’s face— so when you heard the casual murmurs between him and your mother behind closed doors one evening about their ‘adoption’ long ago, you shouldn’t have been surprised. Yet you were.

For as much as you disliked him, it was never because he was a bad father.

The opposite, if you’re completely honest.

He’s always been good to the boys. Nothing short of nurturing (in his own indirect way, of course), paternal, and teacherly. Offering a hand of guidance where it was needed but never ironlike or suffocating with how he used it. If anything, he was even a smidgen lax with them- which you’d quietly admire but only in absolute secret.

Every parent has their faults, that’s a given.

Sylus had very little.

A head full of silver (and some grey, albeit it’s hard to notice his age just because he handles it so gracefully, so boldly) tipped against the back of the couch with an arm resting on the side of it- the shaggy throw blanket on his lap with the wintry chill kept in mind— he’s more than just peaceful. He’s…

Domestic. Relaxed.

This is his territory, you’re reminded again.

You’re just passing through it.

A five o’clock shadow dots the slant of his jaw. His lashes don’t even flutter in his sleep; you reckon he’s deep into it. A pen hangs between his fingers, limp.

Interest dashes through you as you quietly observe him.

You’re not… spying, per se, it’s just- You’re just curious, alright? And to be fair, he wouldn’t have any right to call you out on your observation even if he wanted to, because the number of times you’ve felt and ignored his patient, hopeful, or outright (for whatever reason) amazed stare is too high to be logged.

A pair of glasses rests on the tip of his nose, sloping off. There’s no way to tell just when he got home, but it’s obvious he had been hard at work with something on his computer.

Humming thoughtfully, you pull your gaze away before sluggishly pushing off the threshold.

You shake your head at yourself, readjusting your bag as you find the trace of humor in your desultory actions. Why you let your curiosity get the better of you, you don’t know. It’s very possible at this point that something’s possessed you. Either that, or your cold, guarded heart is thawing out at rates National Geographic needs to get an angle on ASAP.

In any case- you really ought to head up for bed now.

Quiet as a mouse, careful lest you wake and alert him to your presence, you pad behind the couch and across the width of the massive living room to the just as opulent stairs.

You look up to them—

Looming. Dark.

In your mind’s eye, so unrealistically steep- so dangerous—

Breath suddenly hitching, you glance down to your feet, planted firmly beneath you- unmoving- and remind yourself of good things. Other, things.

Puppies. Kittens. Rainbows with pots of gold waiting at the other end with leprechauns to greedily guard them- varying flights of fancy.

Awfully enough, in all your attempts to distract and soothe yourself, four portraits pop up into your brain and three of them belong to none other than your stepfamily.

You want to be callous. But it’s not working this time around.

This wound of yours that your mother’s death left behind is too open, too fleshy, for you to pretend that your skin is so hardened.

Reopening your eyes, you swallow down the bad gut feeling that twists like a knife- the inexplicable unease disappearing as quickly as it came- and reach a hand for the railing.

Bed. Bed. Clearly, you need the rest—

“Kitten?”

A groggy voice. That, and a shuffle.

You flip around.

You’re too shocked to even remember you’re meant to dislike him, hand flying over your heart in a trice. “Y-Yeah?”

Your stepfather, looking sideward over the couch at you, blinks away sleep casually.

Oh, God. It’s just him…

“Oh,” he mumbles, “Sorry, Sweetie. I didn’t mean to scare you…” lazily tossing a glance to the unoccupied space around him, even the banister overhead; checking for something, you realize as your heart slowly takes its foot out from your throat.

You sigh out, visibly deflating.

You think you see his gaze drop to the bag in your hand, giving you a once-over, but his ruby eyes are catching the light in a way that makes it near impossible to discern. You can only tell he’s looking at you because he’s facing you.

“Where’s the boys? You left with them, didn’t you?”

Your lashes bounce against your cheekbone, rapid as you collect your bearings. “Oh, they…”

His tone gets a little stern, then, his eyes a little clearer now as he dips his chin and quirks a searching brow. Incredulous, very. “Is… everything alright? They behaved themselves, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, no- the boys were fine,” you shake your head, rubbing nothing from your eye. Fatigue, maybe, as it drapes itself over you. It takes a second for you to remember the events that led you here before opening your mouth to speak on them. “Um, they just wanted to get a snack and I wanted to be dropped off, so…”

He takes a moment to ponder that.

Unconvinced, “But everything went well?” His attention skims over you hastily. You see that, now. The intense glitter in his eye, wholly transfixed, as the dregs of his slumber wear off- however, the gravel in his voice is more stubborn to go.

He sighs, long-suffering. “You can tell me. I won’t let them know it was you.”

You struggle to imagine how that would go, but shake your head in the next moment anyway.

“Really, it was fine. Everything went well.”

“Good.” He hums, then, seemingly satisfied.

He pores over you, curious all over again as a tiny bunch forms between his brow, wrinkling it slightly. “You’re… heading up for the night now, I guess?”

Oh, yes actually, you think to yourself in time with his reminding you of it- but you go to reply and hold off on it when he glances down at what you correctly assume to be his wristwatch, pausing thoughtfully.

“Oh, my. It’s gotten pretty late out now,” he drawls. “Hm. I must’ve drifted off while I was waiting for-”

You quirk a brow. “Ah. Waiting for this spreadsheet to get interesting,” he smoothly chuckles, looking at the screen of his computer and the low battery sign that pops up as a window on it.

Before you can think to respond- “Goodnight then, Kitten,” he lilts as high as his sleep-addled voice will allow, “I’ll see you in the morning. Should I,” a pause again, “wake you for breakfast?”

You swallow, momentarily glancing at the top landing of the stairs. “No thanks.”

“Are you sure?” He breathes.

Persistence is needed in business, you know that; it’s why you don’t hold it against him when his first instinct is to push rather than pull away. His realm is different than yours. And anyway, he’s just being polite— playing the part of the concerned, doting, yet nonetheless hesitant stepfather who is terribly uncertain with how to best handle his grouchy stepdaughter. He does it well.

“You’re not afraid of missing out?”

You offer a mildly amused huff, choosing to indulge him just this once- just for these two weeks. “On my sleep, maybe.”

He chuckles. It’s a full and rich sound. There’ll come a day where Luke and Kieran will coax more of the same out of him, and you’ll give them genuine, congratulatory claps on the back each for the achievement.

For now, though, that feat is yours and yours alone. Not that you’re… exactly proud of it.

“Alright, alright, I get the hint, little miss night owl… I won’t disturb you tomorrow. You have my word.” He smirks just barely. Just safe enough.

“Sleep tight, Sweetie.”

The ice is melting between you both, yes- a phenomenon you both curiously, warily observe— but he will watch his step.

You set your foot on the first stair, “T-Thanks. You too.”

…As will you.

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[carminechrollo]

FROM ME TO YOU | miya atsumu x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: A spontaneous winter break trip to Shizuoka with your friends strains your sanity as you try to keep your uncontrollable feelings for Miya Atsumu at bay.

CONTENT WARNING: college au, slice of life, eventual romance, requited unrequited love, miscommunication, mutual pining, slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, light smut (mdni), suggestive themes, snowboarder!kuroo cameo, fic is set in shizuoka japan, mentioned hinata shoyo, intoxication, alcohol, miya atsumu is an idiot, very self indulgent, not beta read.

WORD COUNT: 22,696

NOTES: this is a repost from my previous blog! originally this fic was a 5-chapter series but i decided to post it as a one shot just because haha. divider: uzmacchiato.

‘You never really know when you’ve fallen in love. One day you just wake up and realise that it’s more than just shallow feelings.’

A phrase you’ve heard countless times growing up. You never really understood it well as a believer of love at first sight, thinking that the cliché ‘time slowing down as you see your lover before you’ was all there was to it to fully grasp the concept of love—kind of like in romantic movies where the camera dramatically pans around the main character after seeing their love interest. Every person around you disappearing until all there was left were the two of you, heart racing a little too fast, the nervousness settling in—the whole shebang.

Unfortunately for you, it wasn’t as climactic as they ought to be in movies—not one soul magically disappeared until it was just the two of you, the time did not, in fact, slow down. If anything, your heart stuttered like crazy, threatening to leap from your rib cage and onto his hands as if they were its home. At least the movies got that one thing right.

It was down right frustrating leading up to the feelings you now had for none other than Miya Atsumu.

Some days were filled with fluttering heart beats, and dreamy sighs—tucking your chin on your palm at the blissful feeling of being infatuated with the blonde male. As if on cloud nine, drifting along the feathery scenery atop a huge ivory cloud, cupid’s bow comfortably pierced right through your heart. 

Other days were extremely unbearable, plagued with the ache of yearning, and unwanted jealousy—painfully digging your nails into your palm at the sight of someone else shamelessly flirting with Atsumu. It almost felt like a curse weighed upon you the day you were born, being smitten with a ladies’ man. On days like these, cupid’s bow uncomfortably dug into your heart like a painful itch—awkwardly poking out from your chest like an unconcealed badge saying, ‘Hey, look at me! I have a crush on someone who doesn’t even like me back. How stupid of me!’

Never mind that because the day it finally settled uncomfortably in your bones—that your feelings weren’t mere infatuation—you felt like you were in deep, deep shit. Absolutely fucked with a capital ‘F’ because suddenly the way Atsumu’s laugh sounded was like a sweet, sweet melody; an external stimuli to get your heart racing. The way his eyes crinkled, lashes kissing his cheeks as he laughed at a funny joke, oh, you were weak in the knees.

Your lovesick gaze unceremoniously bore into his handsome face, blissfully unaware of your raging feelings for him. You knew right then and there that love was what you felt for your close friend.

An uncharted territory that you swore to never step foot on, until now.

“You brought your passport?” Kita stared at the mini scarlet document resting between Atsumu’s slender fingers, brows raised with slight amusement. His expressionless question halted the quiet conversation amongst your group, all turning to look at the flustered blonde—his face now matching the colour of the passport in his hand.

“Y-yeah? Are we not supposed ta or somethin’?” Atsumu looked around at the growing amusement between his friends, except for Kita who only closed his eyes in defeat. The former looked over to you for help, honeyed eyes projecting a mix of slight panic and embarrassment, you could only look away in second hand embarrassment, cheeks heated from the eye contact.

“It’s a domestic flight, dumbass!” Osamu lightly smacked his twin on the back of his head, clicking his tongue at the lack of common sense. Before the two could even start their endless bickering, the line moved, signalling the group’s turn. Kita pulled the latter away with him to the check-in counter, saving everyone else’s ears being talked off with the twin’s petty arguments.

Winter break, a convenient time for you and your friends to get together and de-stress from the pressure of university. If anything, it was a purely spontaneous getaway trip to Shizuoka. The trip included a little pit stop to Tokyo for some much needed splurging—totally not your idea—before taking the train back down for Shizuoka. 

It all started in the group chat with a lone screenshot from Suna, an on-going deal of inexpensive domestic flights from Hyōgo to Tokyo. There wasn’t even a message attached to the picture, just a wordless tactic in hopes to get the group together for an exciting winter ahead. First to see it was Atsumu, who immediately approved of the idea with an unnecessary amount of exclamation marks tied to his message. Then, it became a domino effect where the rest of the group voiced their interests, including yourself.

Next thing you knew, the five of you were holed up in the twin’s dining table—you and Kita sat on the chairs, laptop on the table with a tab of the itinerary opened, and affordable accomodations in Shizuoka. With a quick transfer of funds from one bank account to another, you all looked forward to spending 4 days outside Hyōgo, 379 kilometres away from home. 

Now, the five of you stood in the domestic terminal during the early hours of 7 AM, bound for Haneda Airport. Albeit, a bit sleepy, you were excited, deeming this trip as a little treat for making it through a rather tedious semester.

Sitting in between Suna and Kita, who respectively sat in the window and aisle seats, you took a moment to close your eyes as a muffled announcement from the aeroplane’s captain filled the speakers, the deep hum of the plane’s engines roaring as it moved up the runway, preparing for takeoff. Low murmurs of passengers, and the twin’s deep chatter behind you filled your ears like white noise, focusing on calming your racing heart.

You recounted a few minutes ago where Atsumu had opted to sit next to you, preferably on the window seat before Suna beat him to it, telling the latter that they had designated seats on their ticket, a teasing tongue poking out. ‘Like that matters.’ The blonde muttered, followed by a string of silent curses aimed at his friend before being ushered onto the next row behind by Osamu.

It was always like that with Atsumu and his spontaneity—he had no qualms sitting a row behind when you all had booked your tickets, even saying that he didn’t care wherever he sat as long as he landed in Tokyo in one piece. What drove him to change his mind was beyond your understanding.

Though, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t grasp onto that little hope of possibly sitting next to Atsumu for the whole flight. To your dismay, it dissipated the second you held onto it—all thanks to Suna Rintarou. Nonetheless, you would’ve felt awkward anyway, now that your heart weighed heavy with the burden of being hopelessly in love, and shamelessly pining.

You wouldn’t know how you would’ve acted during the span of 1 hour and 10 minutes; arms touching one another albeit covered in thick layers to fend off cold, and knees dangerously close—your cheeks heated at the thought. Sure, it was nothing intimate but that was Atsumu’s effect on you, and it absolutely drove you up the wall.

It wasn’t like this before, and you felt pathetic.

Gone were the days where you could hold a solid conversation with Atsumu without stuttering, and fidgeting like an idiot—where you were able to freely speak to him without any inhibitions weighing your shoulders. Come to think of it, the last time this probably happened was way back in second-year highschool. You were in second-year college now.

If you were being completely honest, you caught yourself unintentionally placing some distance between you and Atsumu, just a tad bit for the sake of your sanity. Could you really blame yourself? With the way he has been acting indifferent, it did some damage to your poor, poor heart—everyone had their limits and you were bound to reach yours soon enough. Especially with the coming days ahead, seeing him after you wake up, and before going to sleep. All in his glory.

Heavens above, have mercy on your heart.

Suna nudged you awake, head resting on his shoulder for the duration of the flight. You muttered a small apology as he let out a small groan, fingers digging into his padded jacket to massage the tense muscles of his shoulder. “We’re in Tokyo, sleepy head.” Atsumu prodded a finger at your head, poking his tongue out as you turned to face him, as if on cue, your heart stuttered. You could only playfully roll your eyes in response.

Disembarking the plane, and claiming luggages proceeded without a hitch; thankfully, all your hard suitcases were still intact, and not shattered from the rough handling in the airport. After conveniently hailing a jumbo taxi, you were on your way to the heart of Tokyo. Naturally, Kita sat at the front passenger seat, having no trouble exchanging polite conversation with the driver. You and Osamu sat in the middle row while Atsumu and Suna were at the back.

You had to stop yourself from climbing to the back right after Atsumu did so, letting the brunette happily go instead, earning furrowed brows from the former—one that you tried your best to ignore.

The sound of wheels rolling along concrete filled your ears, along with the hustling and bustling of Central Tokyo as the group searched for the nearest luggage storage. A sea of bodies clad in layers of business casual outfits, men and women alike hastily walking to their destinations. The beloved city was adorned with Christmas lights and decorations, radiant hues of red, green, and gold standing out against the dark winter coats locals donned.

That was to be expected, the start of winter break being only a day after Christmas. It always cheered you up in every sense, seeing all sorts of novel decorations put your mind in a better place.

“Alright! Now that’s done, let’s get somethin’ ta eat.” Osamu locked the storage behind him, quickly tucking his hands back inside his trench coat, puffs of white fog leaving his lips with every word spoken. This earned a handful of hums from the rest, without a doubt there was no arguing when it came to eating food.

Atsumu fell into a step beside you, letting out an exaggerated noise as he shuddered from the winter breeze of Tokyo. “Hey. Seems like I haven’t talked ta ya in forever. Y’ avoidin’ me or somethin’?” The blonde teased, all smiles with a tinge of crimson painted on his nose, and cheeks—from the cold, you presumed. The lack of seriousness in his tone put you at a slight ease, at least you didn’t have to start explaining why you were kind of avoiding him.

You shook your head, a genuine laugh leaving your lips as his honeyed eyes met your own, “Me? Never.” This earned a proud smile from your friend, chest puffing in absolute pride underneath the thick layers of winter fabrics. 

“Good. I dunno what I’ll do if ya start avoidin’ me.”

His saccharine gaze lingered on your own a little too long for your sanity, all you could do was blink in response, mind flying off into the unknown as your heart picked up its pace yet again. Atsumu’s velvety stare was intense, it was like standing under the blazing sun on a scorching summer day, making you feel all sorts of emotions from A to Z.

Suddenly, the cerulean scarf around your neck felt a tad too restricting, the puffer jacket you wore became awfully warm, and the crisp morning air of Tokyo seemed too thin. Everything felt weird all of a sudden—your skin prickled under his honeyed eyes, getting lost in them as each slow second passed.

“Oi! Are you two coming or not?” Suna’s voice sharply sliced through the enchanting trance you and Atsumu were under, jolting you both back into reality. The rest of them were already far ahead looking into shops for a quick bite, indicating that somewhere down the line, the two of you had stopped walking just to stare into each other’s eyes. How embarrassing.

The latter cleared his throat, embarrassment settling in upon realising the situation at hand. He muttered a quick ‘let’s go’ before starting a slow jog over to the rest of the group, acting like he didn’t just stare into your soul for god knows how many seconds. Slapping your cheeks, and letting out a puff of breath, you headed towards your friends, navigating through the crowded footpath and making sure not to accidentally bump into anyone.

The next few hours consisted of wisely spending money—per Kita’s words—in the heart of Tokyo. Despite endlessly complaining at first, the twins and Suna were soon sucked into the shopping fever. Though, the four of you had to worry about your luggages back at the storage, resulting in only buying items that you desperately wanted, and essentials. This unfortunately led to almost being late to the scheduled Shinkansen you all had previously booked, the only option was to quickly run back to the luggage storage, and up the train station just in time before the train had to leave.

Everyone did their best to keep their heavy breathing in check, trying not to come off as rude to other passengers as well as saving yourselves from the embarrassment of unsolicited stares. You relaxed on the azure seat beneath, situated between the window and Kita—who sat in between you and Atsumu while the other two were on the next row over.

Your gaze turned to the large window beside you, overlooking the opposing platform as the engine of the Shinkansen quietly whirred, signalling the impending departure. Due to the non-rush hour at the quiet time of 1:57 PM, it wasn’t packed at all, only a few commuters coming in and out of the station to get on with their day-to-day routine. As the Shinkansen slowly advanced to full speed, the outside view quickly turned into a mix of blurred hues; tall buildings decorating Central Tokyo gradually turned into greenery and suburban areas.

The afternoon sun peeked from the winter ivory clouds, seeping into the window to cast a radiant, warm glow upon the three of you. A subtle reflection of Atsumu’s peaceful profile projected on the glassy window, enabling you to carefully trace each and every detail of his handsome features—the slope of his nose, flaxen strands framing his face, and those rosy pink lips you’ve always longed to touch with your own.

Tucking your chin atop a palm, you shamelessly stared at your friend’s reflection through the window—you watched as his honeyed eyes focused on the scenery before him, angling his head your way to get a good look of the view. Atsumu’s lips ever so slightly pursed with pure fascination, his Adam's apple bobbing with awe, you presumed with the speed of the Shinkansen.

Oh, how wrong you were.

“Staring a little hard, aren’t we?” You were met with Kita’s warm gaze as you whipped your head around, albeit, rather quickly as if caught doing something you shouldn’t be. His stare held a hint of mischief—something that rarely ever occurred which caused your cheeks to shamelessly heat up. The man wasn’t even fully teasing you or anything—not that he normally did so—but it roused quite a reaction from you: fidgeting at the hem of your jacket, gaze avoiding Kita’s expectant ones, the slight part of your lips, not to mention the small stutter your heart did but you weren’t going to let him know. Absolutely not.

On the other hand, Atsumu stared out the same window, albeit, not directly at the view outside but rather at the reflection of your side profile on the glassy panel as you animatedly explained yourself to Kita. He couldn’t hear what the two of you were talking about as he resorted to using wireless earbuds a few moments ago, blocking out the white noise.

Atsumu let out a small chuckle—one that was drowned by the hum of the Shinkansen—as he admired you from the window, a subtle smile involuntarily forming at the look of your flustered state. How adorable. Naturally, his eyes drifted down to your plush lips as it moved with every spoken word; Atsumu could only fantasise the feeling of it against his own. The blonde swiped his tongue across his bottom lip before letting out a small huff, and closing his eyes shut—stubbornly depriving himself of your beauty.

More than a few times in the past, Atsumu has caught himself shamelessly wandering along the borders of ‘friends’ and ‘lovers’, brazenly walking along the fine line that split the two territories—as a matter of fact, in his eyes, the line was so damn thin that it almost appeared blurry. Dangerously blurry. But Atsumu was a thrill seeker, and would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to venture out into the uncharted territory called ‘lovers’.

For as long as he could remember, Atsumu has been patiently sitting by this uncharted territory—endlessly waiting for the day where he’d finally be able to cross that line without any hesitation in his bones. It was delusional of him, really, because at the very back of his mind—carefully tucked and hidden—Atsumu knew he probably didn’t stand a chance. That one day, he’d helplessly watch another man effortlessly cross the line.

He could only hope that was him.

Fortunately, the rest of the train ride was peaceful until Mount Fuji came into view from the distance; the stratovolcano proudly stood in all its icy glory, looking over Shizuoka and Yamanashi—its snow-capped tip slightly peeking from a blanket of clouds. The five of you didn’t hesitate to pull out your phones to start taking photos of the famed mountain, all amazed by its conical form.

After a few more clicks of the symbolic Fujisan, with selfies here and there, the train finally arrived in Shizuoka Station—greeted by the city’s skyline surrounded by impressive sights of nature. Hauling your respective mini luggages, and shopping bags from Tokyo, the five of you, surprisingly, made it to the hotel—located in the heart of Shizuoka—only a stone’s throw from the train station.

Greeted with a homey view, the hotel’s vast foyer was warmly lit, decorated with artificial plants here and there along with lots of comfortable spaces to sit on. Faint jazz music filled the rather deserted place, footsteps along its marbled ivory floors echoing loudly. Kita, and Osamu made their way to the counter—the latter only trailing behind to inquire about amenities—whereas Suna beelined for the nearest toilet, leaving you and Atsumu on luggage duty.

Great.

The blonde unceremoniously plopped down next to you, cream-coloured couch groaning beneath his weight as he yawned, pairing it with a full body stretch. How cute. It reminded you of a cat stretching right after waking up, face scrunched and all. Atsumu sat way too close for your liking, the heat of his right side spilling onto your left—it wasn’t even a comfortable kind of warmth, no, it mirrored the intensity of a hot, sunny day. Despite the lack of skin contact, his touch lit your body with a searing blaze. You scratched at your neck, the familiar prickling sensation coming back for the nth time.

It was awfully quiet, the crisp winter air turning thick, and awkward as each slow second passed. All of a sudden, the wooden coffee table before you looked rather interesting, eyes tracing its natural surface pattern. It didn’t look this cool a few seconds ago. The faint jazz music still played from the hotel speakers, a mocking symbol of the lack of conversation between you and Atsumu.

The latter awkwardly cleared his throat, hand coming up to rub at his nape—a nervous habit he’s picked up, and you knew that too. He turned his mind upside down, and inside out to think of anything just to clear the somewhat awkward air between the two of you but his thoughts fell short. For the first time in a while, Atsumu was rendered speechless. When did it get like this?

“We should do a bike tour. I saw an ad for one outside just before we came in.” Suna strode over to the two of you, hands snug inside his pockets. “I think it's like a 3-hour tour, though.” He muttered before pulling his phone out, mindlessly scrolling on it.

“Won’t it be snowy?” Osamu replied from behind with Kita trailing closely, room keys and a pamphlet in hand. “Shizuoka has very little snowfall. I think we’ll be fine.” The ivory-haired male interjected, earning a hum from Suna. Before the group could further discuss today’s plans, you spoke up, “I can’t even ride a bike.”

“Ditto.” Atsumu groaned. “Well. Technically, I can. Jus’ a bad experience from childhood. Haven’t gotten on one since then and not about ta start now.” The male beside you shrugged whereas his twin chuckled at the recollection. Must’ve been quite a memory for the two, you presumed.

You shook your head, reassuring the group, “Don’t mind me. I can rest up a bit while you all go out.” It wasn’t much of a big deal, anyway. Plus, a good 3-hour nap sounded like absolute heaven to you right now, especially after waking up early this morning. It was only the first day of the trip, and there were more planned activities ahead with the group so you didn’t mind.

The door to the hotel room opened up to a cosy, expansive suite inspired by traditional tearoom elements in Japanese-style—gasping at the intricate vases and traditional scrolls that decorated the room. The suite included two Tatami rooms—excluding the small kitchen, and living room—adorned with cosy futons. Overlooking the vast city of Shizuoka, it gave a sense of luxury amongst the homey vibes of the room.

A few shuffling here, and there, the group agreed to part ways for a bit, and reconvene for dinner—Suna, Kita, and Osamu headed for the bike tour whereas you and Atsumu stayed behind for a much needed peaceful rest. If peaceful was even the word to describe it.

“We’ll see ya at dinner. Have fun.” Osamu shot his brother a look, one that made you stop in your tracks. A subtle smirk was plastered all over the former’s face which looked just like the usual smile Atsumu gave, it didn’t help how Osamu looked exactly like him. What the hell?

A resounding thud reverberated throughout the walls as the door shut behind the silver-haired male. There was a slight pause, a heartbeat of silence before Atsumu turned to you, hands on his hips, mirroring the smirk his brother gave just a few seconds ago. You gulped, meeting his honeyed gaze.

“Looks like it’s just me and ya with three hours ta spare, huh?”

Three hours with Miya Atsumu. Alone. How convenient.

“Anyone notice the weird tension between those two or is it just me?” Suna shuddered, rubbing his gloved hands together in hopes for extra warmth. Shizuoka wasn’t graced by deep snowfall but the afternoon temperatures still dipped low enough to have locals dressing thick enough to brave the winter breeze.

The brunette recounted the moment in the hotel lobby where he found the two of you situated side-by-side on the couch, looking rather on edge—the slight bounce of Atsumu’s leg, and the way you nibbled on your bottom lip. 

Osamu snickered, cheeks blanketed with a tinge of pink from the iciness of the city,

“Maybe yer jus’ imaginin’ things.”

Clearly it was a sarcastic remark, his tone dripped with irony that it—almost—eerily sounded like Atsumu. For a brief moment, Suna thought so too, and did a quick, discreet glance at his friend just to make sure it was the correct twin. Being a nonchalant character, Suna had developed a habit of looking up from his phone whenever one of the Miya twins spoke just to make sure he wasn’t conversing with the wrong one—the twins loved to play that prank.

“Best not ta interfere whatever is goin’ on between ‘em. They’ll sort it out like mature adults.” Kita spoke up, tucking his hands inside his pocket. Curious as he was at the odd situation between the both of you, he didn’t want to meddle—it was something you and Atsumu had to deal with, alone.

Mature adults, huh.

Two options. Your mind came up with two options to choose from, albeit, not really sensible: 1. Stay holed up in your own room for the whole three hours, and steer absolutely clear from Miya Atsumu, and that weird look on his stupidly handsome face. 2. Or leave the shared suite to explore the heart of Shizuoka on your own, leaving him all alone.

But, there was a secret, third option: Face this situation like a mature adult, and act like civilised people for goodness sake.

Your mind scolded you—or was that your heart?

“. . Yeah, guess so.” You awkwardly cleared your throat, tugging at the ends of the fluffy cerulean fabric wrapped around your neck. The room was way too quiet, each mocking tick of the ivory wall clock filling the growing void between you and Atsumu.

“So. .” “Hm . . ?”

The blonde shifted his weight from one leg to the other, caramel gaze never leaving your own. “What do ya feel like doin’?” He continued, a hint of unsureness in his tone. Atsumu was rarely unsure but he didn’t know when he had started questioning every single action he did when it came to conversing with you—it almost felt like the blonde was walking on eggshells, not because he was afraid of your reaction but the fact that in his mind, he seemed like he was bothering you even if he knew he wasn’t.

It’s scary to think how one’s mind worked absolute wonders to not only self sabotage but also to re-think one’s actions, especially if it involved love.

The day Miya Atsumu realised his feelings transitioned into something deeper—unlike you—he welcomed it with open arms, and no regrets; as if he was able to foresee what the future held, the blonde knew this would eventually happen, and he accepted it in a heartbeat despite being fully aware of the fact that his feelings may not be reciprocated.

It was a rather quick realisation.

Naturally, whenever Atsumu’s admirers approached after another tough match to congratulate him, he’d bask in their endless strings of praises, effectively inflating his ego, and pride as a volleyball player. It became second nature to him at this point—hands on hips, honeyed eyes closed, head nodding along to every single word thrown his way.

But after a particular game back in third-year highschool, it didn’t feel the same anymore. Atsumu’s ego, and pride didn’t blossom inside his chest, no sense of accomplishment engulfed his body despite the high praises—inside one ear, and out the other. He didn’t pay attention nor relished it for even a second because all he needed after a tiring game was your validation, and praise.

Atsumu didn’t just need it, he yearned for it, and didn’t dare question what his heart wanted. Instead, he came into terms with the enclosed beast inside his ribcage, the feeling of uncertainty looming behind his back like a fox waiting to pounce.

“Mhm. Not too sure, you?” You replied, awkwardly stretching your arms above your head, feigning calmness. In reality, your heart pounded like crazy, praying it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear it.

For a split second, Atsumu thought keeping to yourselves might be the best option for now but the idea dissipated as quickly as it formed—he wasn’t about to chicken out. At the end of the day, your friendship came way before he developed these stupid feelings for you. So he thought of a different idea, 

“How ‘bout we explore a bit? Y’ down for that?” Atsumu really hoped that you’d say yes to him—in every sense of the word—because it’s been quite a while since the two of you spent alone time together, and he missed the good old days where feelings didn’t complicate the situation. Not to mention your strange actions as of late, albeit subtle, Atsumu was one to always notice a slight shift in a person’s behaviour—especially when directed towards him.

Oh, he’s noticed the way you slightly held back from conversing or even standing next to him—the hesitancy laced in every action, each a careful, calculated move as if navigating through a field of mines. It raised concern in Atsumu’s mind; what if you somehow found out he loves you more than a friend, and distance was your humble way of showing him you didn’t feel the same?

He hoped that wasn’t the case. Atsumu held hope that maybe you liked him back too, and it was your way of navigating through those feelings. Fingers crossed.

“Sure. I don’t feel like staying holed in here, anyway.” Liar. That was the first idea you thought of.

Atsumu could almost jump for joy when you agreed but instead, he shot you a warm smile, deliberately ignoring the way his heartbeat picked up as soon as you nodded; he could already imagine the two of you falling into a step along the chilly streets of Shizuoka as the sun slowly dipped into the horizon—hues of oranges, and pinks decorating the winter sky.

Okay, maybe, the first thing you thought of was to help your poor heart, and avoid Atsumu until dinner but that didn’t mean you were immune to him—who were you to turn down the opportunity of getting some alone time with him? As scary as it sounded, you found yourself looking forward to it.

Engulfed by the cold afternoon breeze, you shuddered, burying the bottom half of your face beneath the azure scarf wrapped around your neck as you fell into a step with Atsumu, the hotel’s automatic glass doors closing behind the two of you. The latter instinctively moved closer at your response to the cold—clothed arm brushing against your own.

You didn’t say anything nor moved away, instead, you let him come closer despite the raging butterflies in your stomach, and a thundering heartbeat. If anything, the small gesture put Atsumu’s heart at ease.

Today’s destination for the next few hours was Sumpu Castle Park—after some thoughtful decision with Atsumu—paired with a little pitstop to a local convenience for some much needed sweet treat. Despite the dropping temperatures of the late afternoon, the blonde next to you had made his ice cream cravings known. Truthfully, he’s so lovesick that even walking next to you got his body burning with unspeakable emotions, thus the need for a cold treat.

After returning a polite greeting to the clerk, Atsumu beelined for the self-service ice cream, a hint of urgency laced in every step, determination engraved in his caramel eyes. It made you chuckle a bit, clearly oblivious to the reason.

“You should put more.” You spoke, watching the way the vanilla soft serve swirled onto the paper cup Atsumu held, the other hand carefully pulling onto the lever. The latter looked over his shoulder, honeyed eyes tinged with slight tease as he found your gaze, “It’s priced by weight, ya know. Why? Ya wanna share this with me?” A slight smirk painted his handsome face, and boy was that enough to render you speechless.

Just the thought of sharing an ice cream with Atsumu made you all warm inside. There may or may not have been an imaginary scene in your mind where the blonde happily gives you a scoop from his own spoon—god, you felt dizzy. It took all your willpower to keep the corners of your lips in check, making sure they didn’t curl up at his words.

“No, I meant. .” You trailed off, voice dissipating into the thin winter air, wracking one’s brain to find any appropriate sentence that came into mind—one that didn’t peek into the untouched emotions you had for Atsumu.

The blonde let out a velvety laugh, brows shooting up in amusement at your flustered form. Adorable as always. He didn’t say anything else, instead, he turned back around to decorate the treat in his hand with toppings, lightly humming to the faint music of the convenience store. On the other hand, you stood rooted on the spot—mentally facepalming, unsure as to what even brought about the sentence earlier.

With the awkward situation forgotten, you and Atsumu were en route to Sumpu Castle Park—of course, he didn’t live it down for the first few minutes, asking if you wanted some ice cream with that teasing look on his face, “Sure ya don’t want any? Seemed like ya were really eyein’ it back at the store.” You playfully rolled your eyes in response, gaze lingering a little too long on the spoon he held.

As tempting as it sounded, you held yourself back.

The two of you walked along the streets of Shizuoka in silence, occasional hums from the blonde next to you as he relished the saccharine soft serve melting on his tongue. The only difference now was it wasn’t as awkward as your mind thought it would be—the silence was comfortable. Blending into the quotidian noises of the city as each step neared the destination; the low hum of cars passing by, distant conversations of the locals, birds singing atop leafless trees—you let it comfortably engulf your senses.

It was silly to think how love blinded you in ways you couldn’t comprehend, most importantly, forgetting the fact that Atsumu was still your close friend. The friend who didn’t hesitate to console you after your first bad grade in university, the friend who listened to all your rants, the friend who accompanied you in the library whenever he had time.

Love had twisted your perception so much to the point where you were almost running away from Atsumu, ignoring the fact that he’s still your friend, after all. It was silly, really, and this little moment between the two of you made you realise how foolishly blind you’ve been acting.

But then again, it was a double-edged sword. If you let yourself get too comfortable with Atsumu, you’d possibly end up with a broken heart. On the other hand, if you distanced yourself too much, it’d heavily strain the friendship.

Which risk you were willing to take was something you’ve been pondering.

Sounds of Atsumu’s laughter filled your ears, it pulled you out of trance, the city’s noises muted, as if left far, far behind.

“Samu and I didn’t even go ahead with the plan but we got a heck of a scoldin’ from Kita!” You looked to the side, watching as the blonde tipped his head back to let out a hearty laugh, reminiscing the old highschool days. The low afternoon sun casted a golden shadow on his side profile, illuminating his caramel eyes, and flaxen strands.

The citrine glow gently traced Atsumu’s features—from his thick brows, all the way down to his rosy lips, and everything in between. For a brief moment, you envied the winter sun for brazenly kissing every bit of his face before you ever could. 

You subtly shook your head, snapping out of it before your gaze fell on the corner of his mouth, a smudge of ice cream lightly coating it.

“You have a bit of ice cream here.”

Atsumu raised his brows, eyeing you point at the corner of your mouth, a hint of amusement in your gaze. The former darted out his tongue, lightly licking at the spot in hopes to wipe it away. You watched for a few seconds as he struggled to reach the spot, a small smile forming on your lips—Atsumu looked absolutely silly but you’d have to admit, he was still devastatingly handsome.

Sighing, you grabbed the serviette—that he got from the convenience store—tucked between his fingers, and angled his face right before your own, mere inches apart. Both hands absentmindedly cupped Atsumu’s jaw, gaze fixated on his mouth as you carefully wiped the ice cream off his face.

The blonde froze, his jaw taut beneath your hands. You were close, too damn close that you took up his field of view—not that he was complaining. It felt like time slowed down, and he could only hear his short breaths, and thumping heart; Atsumu watched your gaze beneath your lashes, the way your lips pursed in concentration.

As you pulled away, suddenly everything came back to him—the soft murmurs of Shizuoka, the wintry breeze, the cup in his hand. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, a puff of ivory mist clouding his view for a second as he composed himself—or at least tried to. Your searing touch lingered on Atsumu, he could almost blindly trace an outline of your hands from where they were a few seconds ago.

A clear of his throat sliced through the growing silence before he muttered a small ‘thanks’. You could only nod in response, not trusting your voice.

The rest of the walk turned a bit awkward but thankfully not for long as the castle grounds came into view, earning gasps of awe from the both of you—the ice cream incident long forgotten, and Atsumu’s finished cup thrown in the bin. The historic ivory walls, and coal-black Kawara tiles was definitely a sight to see—greeted with a wooden bridge situated atop still waters that led to the Higashi Gomon Gate.

After paying for the admission fee, you and Atsumu didn’t hesitate to explore the castle grounds—you two were greeted with snippets of Shizuoka’s great history; the statue of the honoured retired shogun, replicas of his armour, and clips & information about the castle’s materials.

Soon, you found yourselves outside, surrounded in vast winter greeneries, a lake situated in the middle of it all. Despite being in the middle of winter, Momijiyama garden was unique for its seasonal displays—endless trees filled with hues of pinks, and reds from camellias decorated the traditional garden.

Atsumu glanced sideways at you, eyes sparkling with awe as you scanned the entirety of the serene place. Your expressions were infectious, a small smile forming on his face as he stared at you longer.

“D’ya want a picture? I don’t mind takin’ some. ‘M no Suna but I’ll try m’best.” The blonde offered, jutting his arms out for your phone.

You hesitated for a bit before giving him the device. Sure, there were no problems when it came to posing for pictures, it was the fact that Atsumu was the one taking them. The latter positioned himself to get the best possible view of the garden—all of a sudden, you didn’t know how to smile naturally; everything felt stiff, and awkward.

He let out a hearty laugh, honeyed eyes glued to your miniature form on the screen. You looked awkward as hell but Atsumu found it absolutely adorable.

“W-what? Why are you laughing?” You let out a huff before turning away, trying to cover yourself from any more photos, clearly flustered at his sudden reaction.

“Ah, hey, don’t go hidin’ yer face now! I was jus’ tryna make you smile.” Atsumu waved a dismissive hand, a big smile plastered on his handsome face as he kept taking photos.

You shook your head and posed accordingly, ignoring the fact that your heart hammered on your chest, and the way Atsumu’s smile widened in your cooperation—caramel eyes sparkling with adoration.

After a few more clicks, a much needed rest was due. The two of you sat on a bench near the lake—Atsumu scanned the view before him while you mindlessly scrolled on your phone, checking the photos taken mere minutes ago. Most of the photos were of you looking away, clearly camera shy, and stiff but ones that caught your eye were pictures of you smiling at the camera—at Atsumu.

The expressions on your face were genuine, and relaxed. You took a mental note to post those ones later.

The time spent with Atsumu enlightened your heart a bit, it made you realise that he was still your friend despite the way your chest tightened around him—that it was unfair for him to be cluelessly met with distance from your end. After all, you weren’t teenagers anymore.

Something had been weighing heavily in the back of Atsumu’s mind, and he didn’t know how to bring it about. The blonde stared at the mixed hues of green before him, as if looking to the trees would somehow tell him how to start the conversation.

Ah, fuck it. “So, how’s it goin’ with that special someone?”

Looking up from your phone, you furrowed your brows, wracking your brain for context—ah, right. One drunken night, after a particularly dreadful exam, you’d accidentally told Atsumu about having feelings for a certain someone. You thanked the heavens that you didn’t start name-dropping but it got the latter way too curious fir your liking—little did he know, that was about him.

“Hm? Ah, you know . . Same old same old.” Your heart raced, wishing he didn’t pry any further. Atsumu noticed the way you fiddled with your fingers, so he remained silent, an invitation to either let the topic drop or carry it on at your will.

“I do have this crazy idea, though . .” A whisper, enough for Atsumu to hear. He nodded, all ears, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. “I’ll probably confess to him with rejection in mind. I know he doesn’t have feelings . . Plus, I’m doing myself a favour so I can finally move on.” You let out a puff of ivory mist, heart weighing heavy at the thought of rejection.

Rejection from the very man who sat next to you.

Atsumu slowly nodded, trying his best to comprehend your thoughts. He’s never heard of that before—confessing just to move on from one’s feelings. Usually, when one confessed, they had a relationship in mind. He opened his mouth, not really knowing why or how this question came to be,

“Hypothetically, what if they say they like ya back?” Atsumu angled his torso towards you, a strange glint in his honeyed eyes as he met your gaze—was it desperation? Curiosity? You’d never know.

“Mhm. I don’t know. I don’t even think I’m ready for a relationship.” “So . . yer jus’ gonna confess for the sake of movin’ on? Even if he likes ya back?”

You nod.

What a liar. 

It was far more complicated, really. Sure, it would’ve been easy to have feelings if it was some random stranger from a lecture but this was Miya Atsumu you were talking about—a close friend you’ve grown to love platonically, and romantically. Just the mere fact of confessing could strain the friendship, so you had to tread carefully.

Even if it meant selling yourself short.

The possibility of having your feelings reciprocated weren’t exactly zero to none but you also didn’t know if getting into a relationship with Atsumu was something you should be doing. In all honesty, you were scared shitless.

Atsumu nodded once again. He took a mental note of your words, not knowing what to make of it.

The walk to the agreed restaurant was silent—the sun fully dipped into the horizon, leaving hues of blues, and pinks in the winter sky of Shizuoka City. Warm lights slowly filled the darkening streets as locals began heading home, some opting to eat dinner out.

Atsumu seemed to be eerily quiet, and in deep thought for the duration of the walk. You, on the other hand, were busy conversing with Suna on the phone—who had been asking your whereabouts. You chalked it up to tiredness since you all had an early morning, and explored nonstop.

“An’ here I thought ya both got lost on the way.” Osamu waved the two of you over. The three of them stood just outside the restaurant, patiently waiting in the cold. “Ya could’ve jus’ went inside ya know.” Atsumu snickered.

The five of you were ushered to your booth, conversations of today filled your ears as Osamu filled his brother in about the bike tour with occasional photos shown by Suna.

Atsumu was the first to slide into the booth, meeting your gaze for a brief moment. You saw that as an invitation to sit next to him but as you were mere seconds from doing so, he spoke up, patting the wooden bench beneath—ignoring the way you looked at him.

“Suna, come sit ‘ere. I wanna see more of yer photos from the tour.”

Oh.

Sliding next to Kita on the opposite bench—followed by Osamu—you awkwardly cleared your throat, a very weird feeling settling deep in your chest after the odd encounter.

Surely it was nothing—you hoped it was nothing but somehow, you didn’t believe yourself.

Engulfed by the warmth of the restaurant’s heater the group patiently waited for dinner to be served. Low murmurs of fellow customers, the rusty bell at the door sounding with every new person coming in, and the sounds of utensils surrounded you.

Atsumu, and Suna were engrossed in a conversation about the bike tour earlier whereas the other side of the booth—Kita, You, and Osamu kept to yourselves, either by mindlessly reading the menu or scrolling on your phones, tiredness taking over your bodies.

Placing your phone face-down on the wooden table beneath, you let out a small sigh before rubbing at your eyes, gaining one’s silvery gaze.

The little interaction with Atsumu earlier could pass off as nothing but your mind worked in a different way—it worked hard to make every day a little inconvenient for you, whether you liked it or not.

Maybe, he just didn’t want to sit next to you anymore because the two of you spent the last three hours stuck together. A totally valid reason but why was it eating you away? You couldn’t help but feel a sense of oddness to it.

Unaware of your natural habit to stare at Atsumu through your lashes, you carefully watched his face—the way his expressions changed to mirror the topic at hand, the scrunch of his nose, the twitch of the corners of his lips, the shallow dimple on his right cheek whenever he smiled, the flaxen strands that kissed his forehead accentuating his face

All of it was seared in your mind. Funny how he was sitting next to Suna yet it was as if he faded along with everyone else—a distant whitenoise long forgotten.

God, you could look at him all day.

A subtle, involuntary smile formed upon your lips, eyes gleaming beneath the warm lighting of the restaurant as if there were heart-shaped sparkles in them.

As if by instinct, you snapped out of the trance, a burning gaze boring into the side of your face. Looking over to the right, you were met with Osamu’s steely gaze, his brows slightly furrowed—his stare weighed heavy with questions, ones that you probably didn’t want to answer.

Amusement was written all over his face as he narrowed his silvery eyes at you, his pupils scanned your panicked face—the way your brows rose, eyes widened, and lips parted. The corners of Osamu’s lips twitched with smugness. He had a knowing look on his face, one that you absolutely didn’t like; each silent second passed with your thrumming heart, feeling small under the twin’s judging gaze. Osamu wasn’t born yesterday, he knew exactly what your expression conveyed, an expression that he’s seen countless of times whether it was directed to him or his twin brother.

“You need something?” You asked, feigning nonchalance.

God, it was painfully obvious that you were trying your best to act indifferent, even the tone of your voice betrayed you—it was airy and awkward. The younger twin stared at you for another heart beat before shaking his head, letting out a light chuckle.

Osamu dropped it at that as he returned to the device in his hand for entertainment, leaving you sitting there in total confusion. Though, the feeling dissipated as quickly as it settled as your mind slowly pieced the situation together.

Oh my goodness. He totally caught you staring at Atsumu with heart eyes.

You sat there, between Kita and Osamu as embarrassment pierced through your skin, and into your bones—an unsettling feeling that was all kinds of wrong. Suddenly, the warm atmosphere of the restaurant uncomfortably prickled at your clothed skin, hands eager to claw at its itchiness as the air turned heavy.

The thought of telling someone about your feelings for Atsumu was already a complete nightmare, and you could only imagine how much of a disaster it would be if his twin knew. Not only would Osamu probably tell him but would most likely tell the other guys as well—something called bro code? 

You were always aware of the fact that the four were closer to each other, and shared ‘guy secrets’ with one another but you weren’t one to complain. Sometimes, they couldn’t understand your gossips & rants, and vice versa; after all, their thought process worked very differently from yours.

Endless thoughts raced through your mind as you stared at the wooden table in front, the white noise slowly fading into nothingness as each chaotic thought filled the corners of your head. 

He absolutely figured me out, right? Now he knows I have feelings for Atsumu, and then he’ll probably tell him and Atsumu will probably know, and then—

“Thank you for the meal!”

The loud exclamation of your friends sliced through your train of thought, not even realising that the meals ordered had already been set atop the wooden table. With the unpleasant thoughts tucked neatly at the back of your mind for later, you dug into the hot meal before you.

The whole table remained quiet, except for sounds of chewing, and slurping as everyone filled their stomachs with food. It was understandable, everyone had a long, tiring day of moving from one city to another—not to mention the duration of each trip.

You quickly glanced over at Atsumu who was busy chowing down his own noodles, forehead creased with concentration as he chewed, cheeks bulging with food.

Oh, the sight alone did numbers to your heart. If only you could pull out your phone, and snap a photo of his silly face right then, and there.

“Don’t forget ta sleep early tonight. We’ve our snowboarding first thing in the mornin’.” Kita pointedly looked at the twins who only bowed their head in response, eyes glued to their own food as if it was the most interesting thing they’ve seen all day.

The decision to try out snowboarding was something out of the blue, despite all five of you having no snowboarding experience. You all decided that doing a new activity during this trip would be fun since everyone was on the same boat—you were already looking forward to tomorrow which would no doubt be full of falling, and slipping down the snowy slopes.

As the five of you fell into a mellow conversation, the pink winter skies of Shizuoka City slowly turned darker, and darker until lone stars decorated the night sky. The streets were now fully illuminated by warm hues of oranges, and yellows, devoid of any people.

The walk back to the hotel sobered you up a bit from the warmness of the restaurant, the frigid night air engulfing your body the minute you walked out the doors.

The twins fell into a step ahead of the group, bickering about who gets to shower first, which unsurprisingly turned into a racing contest where the winner would be graced with being the first one to hit the warm waters.

“Ugh, I don’t get how they still have so much energy.” Suna groaned, tucking the lower half of his face beneath the fuzzy scarf wrapped around his neck. You chuckled in response, looking up from your phone to gaze at the twins as they ran ahead into the night, reduced into nothing but silhouettes.

The brunette leaned closer to you, staring at the device in your hand, “Oh, the place looks cool. Atsumu was telling me about it.” He hummed, watching you scroll across each photo that Atsumu took earlier. Before you could reply to agree, Suna opened his mouth once again, and pointed a gloved digit to your screen,

“Woah, you look really happy on that one.” He chuckled.

Out of curiosity, Kita also leaned in to get a good look of the picture Suna was talking about—you were facing the camera, background showing the stunning hues of Momijiyama garden; a bright smile plastered across your face.

“Atsumu took that picture?”

You hummed, earning a slow nod from the older male, as if hinting something. God, Kita always looked like he knew something and nothing at the same, and it drove you up the wall. Ever since this morning, he had been acting a little off, albeit subtle, you caught on. You were starting to think that maybe you weren’t so secret about your feelings for Atsumu after all.

You gave yourself a few moments to really take in that particular photo—it tugged at your heartstrings.

Did you really look that happy in Atsumu’s presence?

A few minutes later, the three of you were greeted with a red-faced Atsumu who unceremoniously lay on the couch, legs spread wide open, and arms atop his stomach. The faint sound of running water from one of the rooms could also be heard, most likely Osamu taking a warm shower.

“You lost the race?” Suna snickered, plopping himself on the floor, in front of the couch. The blonde, grunted in response—he acted such a sore loser whenever his twin beat him in something.

Clearly old habits die hard.

You remembered each time Osamu came out as the victor every time the twins challenged one another back in highschool. Atsumu would have the biggest frown on his face, thick brows tightly knitted together, and to top it off, a sour mood that none could handle except his other half.

The first time you witnessed it with your own eyes, you thought of how childish his behaviour was. Though, that quickly grew into something you loved about him—Atsumu’s own little charm; the way his bottom lip ever so slightly jutted out into a pout, velvety voice coming out in whines.

Adorable would be an understatement.

Who knew that the behaviour you used to find annoying could turn into the one you loved the most about him?

“You can use the shower in my room. . I don’t mind waiting.” You spoke up, sitting on the wooden dining chair, feigning nonchalance. For the first time that night, Atsumu’s honeyed gaze met your own.

You didn’t miss the way his brows subtly rose, and the tinge of pink on his ears. Oh god, Atsumu didn’t know why his mind wandered all the way to . . shameful thoughts—you weren’t even suggesting anything, just plainly telling him that the shower in your room was available. So why did he just picture the two of you—

The blonde squirmed atop the sofa, shaking his head, “‘S okay. I don’ mind waitin’ for ‘Samu.” He shrugged, completely avoiding your eye gaze by pulling out his device.

Nodding at his reply, you retired to your own room to take a shower and prepare for the night ahead. A soft thud filled the room as you closed the shōji behind you, blocking out Atsumu’s voice as he conversed with Suna, and Kita. The room faintly smelled of grass, and straw, a scent of nostalgia embracing you like warm rays on a sunny morning.

You weren’t going to lie, it felt a little lonely to occupy the room all to yourself knowing that the four were going to be sleeping side by side on their respective futons. Nonetheless, this was your safe haven for the next few days—a space where you could unmask the hidden feelings that lay deep beneath, and be alone with your thoughts.

To say that hiding your feelings for Atsumu didn’t affect you at all would be a sweet, sweet lie—keeping one’s emotions at bay around him almost felt like a sport, and you weren’t winning at all.

After taking a much needed warm shower to clear your mind, and rinse away the unwanted feelings of today, you tucked yourself beneath the ivory kakebuton, and settled for the night—the mellowed hum of Shizuoka City lulling you to sleep.

The dream you had was weird—it was about Atsumu; everything was hazy, and incoherent, as if a distant memory neatly tucked in the back of your mind but you knew one thing, it felt like home. One minute the two of you were laughing about something—head tossed back, and face angled to the skies above, the next minute you were confessing to him.

Unfortunately, you never got Atsumu’s answer as you were gently awoken by Kita who had probably been whispering your name for a good minute now.

As you came to, he leaned back, and sat on his haunches. Warm light seeped from the parted shōji, illuminating the side of his face. Hushed conversations from the living room filled your ears, soft footsteps padding to, and fro around the suite.

“We’ll wait for ya t’ get ready, ‘n then we’ll all grab breakfast downstairs.” He gave your drowsy state one last look before sliding the shōji behind him, leaving you alone—darkness occupying your room once again.

You were greeted with your friends scattered around the living room; the twins were busy having a push-up contest near the hallway to the door, Suna was on his phone sprawled on the couch, angling the device towards the twins—without a doubt, taking a video of them—whereas Kita leaned on the wall, also occupied with his phone.

Everyone was clad in much warmer clothes than yesterday due to the activity ahead but you all ditched the trench coats, and opted for waterproof puffer jackets. You noticed the raven beanie Atsumu donned, bits of flaxen strands peeking from beneath the knitted accessory.

Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat at his boyish appearance.

After a warm, hearty complimentary breakfast, the five of you were enroute to the ski area after briefly waiting for the shuttle. It was the early hours of 6 AM—Shizuoka was still asleep with the dark sky watching over the city. Occasional sounds of early birds humming, and crickets chirping engulfed you along with the frigid breeze.

It was a calm, still morning.

Though, you felt weird inside—it was like the feeling of the calm before the storm. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about but it involved a certain blonde twin.

You had your suspicions during breakfast back at the hotel—albeit, not a concrete conclusion—where Atsumu was quieter than usual. He was surprisingly reserved, and meek, keeping to himself as the group around him conversed about anything, and everything; he wore a weird expression, as if he was trying his best to hide the true emotions that lay beneath.

Normally, no matter the time, Atsumu never ran out of words to say—even when he had to attend the dreadful 8 AM classes back in first year university. Though, you just chalked it up to tiredness or maybe he didn’t sleep well.

Not that you were worried or anything.

As the engine of the bus hummed along the dim winter streets, you looked outside the foggy window on your right, the views of the sleeping city slowly faded into icy, deserted roads—the ivory blankets of snow rested atop mountain peaks in the distance gave a picturesque view.

The raven-haired stranger who sat beside you didn’t hesitate to pull his phone out, a hushed question coming out of his lips. Apparently, he wanted to take a picture of the mountains outside but doing so would require him to squeeze in a bit closer to you. Upon nodding, he gave you a smile before leaning over to take a couple of photos. To give the man ample distance, you pressed your back into the plush backrest, eyes wandering over to Atsumu who already had his honeyed gaze on you.

You sucked in a breath. He quickly looked away.

The blonde sat on the same row after the aisle—next to Kita—whereas Suna, and Osamu sat on the row behind, leaving an empty seat next to you; hence, the handsome raven-haired man. You thought he looked like a professional with the iridescent snowboarding goggles in his hand when he had politely asked if he could sit next to you.

Nonetheless, the rest of the ride went smoothly as the bus carefully ascended further up the snowy mountain.

The endless views of ivory, crystalline snow glimmering beneath the first rays of the peeking sun welcomed the five of you—everywhere was covered in pristine white, blanketed with a thin fog that completed the prospect. The air was crisp, and a white mist formed with every word spoken, and breath taken.

You all basked in the serene landscape for a moment, taking in the milky slopes before heading into the ski resort to grab rented gear, and start today’s snowboarding lesson.

Sitting on one of the benches, you struggled to fasten the black snowboard boots on your feet—it had several parts to it with a rather long string attached inside which you were absolutely clueless about. Kita seemed to easily get the hang of it—were you really surprised? No—and was now helping Suna, with the twins closely following along.

Before you could voice for help, a tall figure stopped right in front of you,

“Hey, did you need help with tha—Oh! It’s you, again from the bus. Did you need some help?”

You looked up at the owner of the voice—which also caught your friends’ attention—it belonged to the man from earlier, the one who sat next to you on the bus. 

He donned a red uniform gear, you noticed the word ‘Instructor’ written in white, bold letters right beneath the company logo; the iridescent goggles he held earlier were on his head, secured around a black helmet. Oh, so he worked here.

“Hey! Yes, please. ‘M not quite sure how to fasten it.” A humourless chuckle left your lips, cheeks slightly heating in embarrassment.

Was your cluelessness that obvious?

He nodded, kneeling down before you, and gently circled his gloved fingers around the hem of your snow pants, folding it upwards to your knee. “Your first time snowboarding?” He asked, briefly meeting your gaze before focusing on the task at hand.

You hummed in agreement, “My friends and I are headed for a beginner’s lesson.” You sat there in a silent awe as the ravenette skilfully fastened your boot, and onto the next one. There was nothing to be fascinated about, really, this was probably second nature to him.

��Yeah? Same here. Well, as an instructor, of course. Who knows, maybe I’ll be assigned to your group.” He gave you a warm smile, looking up from under his lashes—you didn’t miss the faint snort that came from where the twins sat, earning a quick glance from you,

Osamu was nowhere to be found, leaving you with a very obvious answer as to who the sound belonged to. Atsumu’s gaze briefly met your own, and you swore there was a subtle crease between his brows but it disappeared before you could even process it.

Shifting your attention back to the raven-haired man, you mirrored his smile, thanking him for his kind help. “Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou, by the way.” Before you could say your name, he was already walking away, slipping into a conversation with a fellow staff.

Atsumu tried to be very normal, and nonchalant about it. About the way the rest of his friends shot teasing remarks for having some guy on his knees for you—literally, and maybe figuratively. Okay, so what? He worked there, that’s what he was supposed to do. What the hell is the big deal? He just fastened your snowboarding boots for you.

Nonetheless, it bothered Atsumu. Even just thinking about it planted a burning seed of jealousy within the pit of his stomach, it gave an uncomfortable, fiery feeling whenever he moved around. Something Atsumu did not want to get familiar with.

As if the universe beyond the skies were against him, it turns out Kuroo was the assigned snowboard instructor for the group. Atsumu noticed the smile you donned at that information, it would’ve had his knees buckling if it wasn’t aimed towards the stupidly tall, raven-haired instructor.

A whole day to spend with the man Atsumu already despised, how great. Not to mention how Kuroo was a snowboarding expert while Atsumu could already see himself falling, and tumbling down the slopes—god, he’s already at a disadvantage.

Whatever.

The beginner’s lesson with Kuroo started off fairly smoothly—he gave a thorough explanation of the snowboarding basics while being very attentive to each of you.

There were a couple of laughs here, and there as the group attempted to get used to balancing on the snowboard—90% of the time, your gloved hands were met with iciness from slipping, and falling. You were sure Suna had at least a few embarrassing shots of each of you, either face planted on the snow or in the midst of unceremoniously falling down.

Though, you weren’t really afraid to be off-balance since the snow beneath was soft, and inviting, despite its coldness.

As the lesson progressed further, you caught your gaze wandering over to Atsumu more often than not—you just couldn’t help yourself, not when a weird aura was emanating from him. The funny thing was, Atsumu seemed to be mirroring your actions because whenever your eyes shifted to him, his honeyed gaze would already be on you.

During the first hour of the lesson, your eyes met for a total of 12 times. Not a single word spoken, just the intimacy of eye contact. You were always the first one to break eye contact since it did more damage than good to your poor, poor heart. Though, his caramel eyes didn’t seem to tug at your heartstrings the way it did.

His stare mirrored his behaviour—empty, and distant.

It worried you. A lot. Atsumu was clearly acting this way to distance himself from you, without a doubt—he was indifferent towards Suna, and Kita, still the same old Miya Atsumu that everyone knew, and adored. So, why was he suddenly acting this way with you?

By the final hour of the lesson, your head was already filled with a million possible thoughts, and scenarios of why Atsumu was acting weirdly, and none of them were pretty. It got to the point where you couldn’t even hear Kuroo’s velvety voice anymore as it plagued your mind. 

Suddenly, it felt like you were the only one atop the mountain—all alone in the endless snowy fields where distant murmurs, and laughter were replaced with harsh, frigid winds. As if you had travelled inside your own mind—cold, harsh, and devoid of any happy things.

During the walk back to the building, you fell completely silent—zoned out—and not engaging with the group’s conversation. With the amount of times Atsumu had been glancing at you, he didn’t miss the way your behaviour changed, and he knew damn well it was because of him.

The transport back was awfully suffocating due to the fact that Atsumu was sitting next to you—albeit, not by choice. There were more passengers that boarded the bus which meant someone had already taken the seat next to Kita, leaving Atsumu to awkwardly settle into the seat beside your own, after sparing you a side glance.

Both of you were as still as snow that decorated the mountain caps, careful not to touch each other’s clothed arm as the bus swayed with every turn taken. Despite the weird tension, you couldn’t help but feel oddly relaxed—maybe it was from snowboarding all day or maybe it was because Atsumu radiated warmth like no other. Even though he was centimetres away, the warmth of his body was inviting, as if wrapping two mellow arms around you.

You could almost just . . drift off to the land of dreams . .

“Wake up. We’re here.”

The sound of Atsumu’s muffled voice slowly filled your ears as you came to, you were greeted with orange, and pink hues of the afternoon skies outside the window. His gloved hand rested atop your knee, gently shaking it. The bus was half empty now, a small line of passengers down the aisle waiting to get off.

Fuck, did you actually fall asleep?

Upon fully sobering up from sleep, your body stiffened after realising that your head was comfortably resting on Atsumu’s right shoulder. You quickly sat up, awkwardly straightening your back which earned a rather quick glance from the blonde. Heat uncomfortably prickled your skin, something you’ve grown very familiar with.

“Sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep on you.” You rasped, awkwardly rubbing your nape in embarrassment. Atsumu dismissed it with a lazy wave of his hand, and a forced smile,

“‘S okay.”

That was all he said before getting up from his seat to leave the bus, not once looking back. Your heart sank, and once again, your mind was clouded with unpleasant thoughts. 

You hated how easy it was for Atsumu to build a wall between the two of you.

Though, you didn’t have the time to mope around when Kita called out your name. He rested a hand on your shoulder as he walked behind you to the front of the bus—it gave you a sense of security, as if to remind you that he’ll always be there for you. A wordless reassurance.

That night, you tucked yourself under the kakebuton, hoping that tomorrow, and the coming days would be somewhat different from today.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Naturally, you enjoyed the remaining two days of the trip—On the third day, the group had the opportunity to enjoy a leisure cruise around Shimizu Port which offered breathtaking views of Miho-no-Matsubara in front of Mount Fuji; a view you’d only seen on the internet back then.

With the salty, winter sea breeze engulfing your bodies, the five of you took hundreds of photos with the picturesque background which was surely one for the memories.

Somewhere along the cruise, as the boat glided across the still waters of Shimizu, you, and Atsumu were left alone outside on the open deck. You looked over at the blonde who quietly stood beside you, flaxen strands gently dancing in the winter sea breeze, caramel eyes locked on to the azure waters below—his brows were furrowed in concentration, lips slightly pursed.

You didn’t know which was more breathtaking, the exquisite views of Mount Fuji or Miya Atsumu.

“Can I talk to you?”

It was quiet, and unsure but loud enough for Atsumu to hear over the gentle winds of Shimizu. He looked at you with the same gaze—not the one that made your cheeks heat—before giving a nod. You stared for a moment, studying the way his honeyed eyes shone beneath the winter ray, endless pools of sweet caramel drawing you in.

“Are we . . okay?” You could almost laugh at your pathetic tone, chest tightening with uncertainty. There was a brief pause, the purring of seagulls filling your ears as Atsumu contemplated. He contemplated. That alone was enough to put a crack in your heart.

As if the universe wanted you to break more, he gave you a forced smile, and lied through his teeth,

“Of course we are.”

Both of you were aware of how absurd that lie was but none dared to speak. Instead, you gave a silent nod in response before heading inside to sit with the rest, leaving Atsumu to his own thoughts.

On the fourth day—the last day—the five of you did some last minute souvenir shopping before boarding the shinkansen, en route to Hyōgo.

The purpose of this trip was to have fun, and enlighten one’s mind but you couldn’t believe that you were leaving Shizuoka with a heavy heart—memories of the past four days weighing you down more than it’s supposed to. All because of a certain blonde. You didn’t know what to make of it—what would happen next.

It scared you to even think about drifting apart from him.

The thing is, you expected to come out of this trip closer to Atsumu than ever but it turned to the complete opposite, and you didn’t know what the reason was. He was a different person when the second day rolled around—he never spoke to you, instead, you were only met with his honeyed gaze, though, it was anything but saccharine.

That same night—after parting ways with your friends—you twisted, and turned beneath the ivory sheets, heart racing, and palms sweaty. Even though your body was exhausted from travelling, your mind kept you awake.

Though, only one thought resided in your head.

With your phone in your hand, you clicked on the conversation with Atsumu, a thread of past messages greeting you. Your chest tightened at how close the two of you used to be.

You figured that Osamu must’ve told his brother about what happened back at the restaurant—how he caught you staring at Atsumu. The former was already suspicious of you since then, it only makes sense for him to tell the blonde about it.

About how you might have feelings for him.

That was the only reason you could think of, and it seemed plausible enough. It surely didn’t feel like a coincidence with the way Atsumu’s behaviour shifted after that night. You chalked it up to his way of gently letting you down, a wordless way of telling you that he, in fact, doesn’t feel the same way.

Why else would he behave weirdly, and avoid you?

The time read 1:30 AM. December 30th. 

With a heavy heart, you gathered several thoughts from your heart, and mind before typing out a lengthy paragraph containing a confession of your feelings, and the expectations of rejection.

Confessing to him wasn’t going to change the fact that he didn’t like you back but you needed to hear from Atsumu that he, indeed, didn’t reciprocate your feelings—one last closure to rest your pining heart, and then you could move on. Easier said than done but not entirely impossible.

After a heartbeat, you send the message to Atsumu.

It was quarter to two.

The mellow hum of Hyōgo’s early winter morning settled into Atsumu’s bones like a pair of invisible shackles, holding him hostage between the borders of sleep, and sobriety. On other nights, it lulled him to slumber without any problem but not tonight, not when his mind was plagued with thoughts of you.

Out of all times, his brain decided to recount every single moment with you from the trip. First, it was the happy, mellow memories of the first day—stolen glances full of yearning, his crimson-tinged cheeks, and fluttering heartbeats, and then came the uncomfortable haze that drove a wedge between the two of you. God, Atsumu didn’t even want to think about that moment on the boat.

Atsumu was fully aware that you knew his response was a complete lie but could you really blame him? What difference would it have made if he said ‘yes’? At the end of the day, what he felt for you was one-sided, nothing was going to change the fact that you only viewed him as a friend.

In fact, maybe this wall between the two of you was the cure to his yearning heart—a space to help him move on, and forget the familiarity of loving you.

As Atsumu’s caramel gaze bore into the ceiling above, tracing the moonlit glow that seeped from the window, his phone illuminated the dark room for a brief second, a tinge of blue catching his attention.

Mindlessly reaching for his device that lay on the wooden nightstand, he let out a tired sigh, honeyed eyes squinting at the sudden brightness that invaded his vision. Letting his eyes adjust, Atsumu carefully read the notification banner on the lock screen.

It was a message from you. His heart violently stuttered. Thank goodness for the tight grip he had or else his face would’ve been aching from his phone falling on it. 

As if on instinct, Atsumu sat up, clearly sobered up from the fact that you texted him at almost 2 AM. Were you perhaps also having trouble sleeping? Atsumu wondered if your mind was also filled with thoughts the past few days—thoughts of him. He could only fantasise.

The blonde positioned himself against his headboard before clicking onto your message with a shaky digit, and a thundering heartbeat.

It was an absurdly long paragraph.

‘hey. i know you’re asleep right now, and you’ll probably see this in the morning but whatever :)..’

Atsumu swallowed thickly. For some reason, he felt oddly nervous about this message but at the same time, anticipated the context behind it. Maybe you were trying to salvage whatever was left of the friendship? Or maybe you just wanted to cuss him out with a long, detailed message. 

Nonetheless, Atsumu kept on reading,

‘…i’m not going to beat around the bush or anything so i’ll get straight to the point. i like you. i’ve had feelings for you since highschool and i know it’s cowardly of me to confess over text but i don’t mind being called one.

god, i cannot even remember the feeling of my heart acting normal around you. my heart is so painfully familiar to yearning for you that it hurts. whenever i see you, i just can’t seem to act right. i hate how my heart stutters, how my cheeks heat, how my body suddenly doesn’t know how to act normally. it’s bittersweet because i feel guilty for falling in love with a close friend but also i’m not ashamed of it because you’re so amazing, and caring.

i cherish you a lot, tsumu, i really do and i know you do too but i don’t think it's in the way i want you to. i’m not pressuring you for an answer or anything because i already know you don’t like me back but that’s okay. i don’t know what will happen after this but just know that i really admire our friendship.

like i said before, you don’t have to reply to this. i just really needed to get all the pent up feelings out of my chest so i can finally move on :) just give me some time to be myself again.’

One word. Speechless. Miya Atsumu was speechless.

There were so many goddamn emotions that ran through every single fibre of his body to the point where his brain couldn’t process it all. Atsumu didn’t know whether to be ecstatic with the fact that—holy shit—you reciprocated his feeling, or to be frustrated with the fact that you thought it was one-sided.

His heart hammered against his chest, the pounding of it reaching his very ears. He was so fucking nervous that he breathed through his parted lips, honeyed eyes re-reading every single word you typed. The winter chill that filled his room went awfully warm, mirroring the crimson tinge that painted his cheeks.

So he was the one you were talking about back then; that drunken confession where you told him you had feelings for a certain someone.

Atsumu didn’t know what to do—didn’t know what to respond.

In all honesty, you put him in a very tough spot. How was he supposed to respond after confessing your feelings but also stating that you did not, in fact, sought an answer. Not to mention how you practically put words in his mouth.

Who were you to decide if Atsumu reciprocated your feelings or not?

The blonde took a deep, shaky breath, palms sweating as he gripped the device. Atsumu knew he needed to respond with a calculated mind—as tempting as it was, he wasn’t going to let his heart lead this time.

Not when his mind painfully reminded him of the conversation you two had,

“I don’t even think I’m ready for a relationship.” “So . . yer jus’ gonna confess for the sake of movin’ on? Even if he likes ya back?”

He vividly remembered the way you solemnly nodded to his question, a sad, subtle smile lingering on your lips as if to reassure yourself that you’ll be okay.

Atsumu closed his eyes, letting the sounds of crickets chirping outside consume him. The gears in his head turned, and turned, working overtime to come up with a response. He had to be sensible, whatever he replied was surely going to change the course of your bond, forever.

Though, there was only one thing he knew—to respect your decision.

The morning came rather quickly, early rays peeked through your window, mellow hues of yellow, and orange painted the ivory walls of your room to cast a warm, inviting glow—a reminder of the impending day ahead.

As you reached for your device to check the time, you were greeted with a black, unlit screen, your sleepy reflection staring back. Oh, that’s right. You had turned it off right after sending that risky text message to Atsumu, wanting nothing to do with it.

Vivid memories of last night came flooding in, filling every corner of your mind. All the words you typed down, the feelings that came with it, the hammering of your heart—it came back to you, and now, you were twice as nervous. You wondered if Atsumu had already read your message, even more curious about his response—if he did send one back.

Just thinking about it made your head dizzy. There was a ray of hope tucked neatly at the bottom of your heart, it wasn’t big but you held onto it like it was the most precious thing.

You let out a sigh, and tossed the device on your bed before getting ready to brave the winter day ahead. There were four more days before the new year rolled around—how you were going to spend the last two days heavily depended on Atsumu’s response.

It was inevitable. Every now, and then, your eyes mindlessly wandered to the device that lifelessly lay atop your sheets, its blackened screen inviting you to turn it on. You turned your room upside down for anything to distract you from the silent beckoning of your device—from re-reading manga to blankly staring at the ceiling above.

There was even an urge to read a syllabus from one of your new classes this coming semester.

Four hours. You lasted four dreadful hours before curiosity settled into your skin like a painful bite—no matter how much you ignored it, it seemed to worsen.

And with a hammering heartbeat, and sweaty palms, you turned it on. Patiently waiting, you watched as it displayed the brand logo, and then a few seconds before it loaded your lock screen. A heartbeat passed as the device showed several notifications from last night, and this morning. Disregarding them, you scrolled straight down until Atsumu’s message notification came into view.

You sucked in a breath.

The thread of messages between you two quickly popped up as you clicked on the notification. Bracing yourself, your eyes wander down to the start of his response—god, it was equally as long.

It was sent at 2 AM. It made you even more nervous after realising that Atsumu was indeed still awake when you had sent the message.

‘hey :) first of all, i’m very thankful that you had the courage to bring this up to me so please don’t call yourself a coward, i know how hard it is to try and confess to someone. i find it admirable, really. i think it’s brave of you to decide something like this.

secondly, i am over the moon after finding out you have feelings for me. it feels such an honour to be loved by a close friend so thank you again for letting me know. like you said, i, too, cherish our friendship. i don’t know what will become of our bond after this but just know that i am very glad to be friends with you. 

thirdly, as you’ve mentioned in your message, i don’t feel the same way..’

You stopped reading to stare at the ceiling above, a foolish smile plastered upon your lips—it conveyed anything but happiness.

Oh.

Oh.

So, you were right. Atsumu didn’t feel the same way.

That little bundle of hope deep inside your heart disappeared, dissolving into nothing but what seemed like distant memories—memories of your saccharine moments together.

God, you already had a feeling he didn’t like you back but why did it feel like a hard slap on the face? As if reeling you back into dull reality after a haze of fantasy. This was what you wanted, right? To confess with rejection in mind so you could finally move on. But now that the answer lay right before you on a silver platter, why didn’t you want to move on?

You mustered every single bit of your strength to read the rest of his message, vision becoming blurry as tears slowly formed.

‘…you’re such a great friend. don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful both inside and out but my feelings for you are just platonic. i’m really sorry that i don’t reciprocate your feelings. i don’t know how much this will affect you but just know that if you want me to stay away, i will. it’s the least i can do to help you move on.

you’re an amazing person, and there are a lot of other guys out there who deserve you so much but i am not one of them. again, thanks for letting me know.’

You didn’t even realise hot tears started rolling down your cheeks until it hit the screen with a soft sound, one by one, droplets of tears scattered the surface of your device as if to wash away all of Atsumu’s words

A weird feeling blossomed in your chest, extending its sharp roots down to your stomach where it painfully planted itself. The grip on your phone tightened, other hand clutching—clawing—at your heavy heart, wanting to take it out from the confines of your ribcage and mend it with your own shaky hands.

Everything felt completely still, birds that hummed their usual morning song were no more, mellow sounds of the city became distant as you let yourself wallow in complete sadness.

It was odd, you felt nothing, and everything at the same time—the ugly feeling in your chest, the sting behind your eyes, the impending headache from your stuffy nose. Atsumu’s words repeated inside your mind, plagued it like an invasive plant which invited more pain to your strained heart.

I don’t feel the same way. My feelings for you are just platonic.

It wasn’t just cupid’s stupid arrow agonisingly digging into the core of your heart, no, it also felt like he had wrung your heart dry with his bare hands, and he was laughing about it.

You felt like a fucking fool. Especially for hoping that somewhere down the line, Atsumu felt the same way.

The last two remaining days of the year were a complete haze, navigating through the last moments with a clouded mind, and an unmendable heart while putting on a brave face. And as the clock struck midnight on the 31st, you put on the happiest smile you could muster in front of your parents, and welcomed the new year with uncertainty. You tried not to think about Atsumu’s words but they were seared into your mind, a mocking reminder of your unreciprocated feelings.

It wasn’t long before the first morning of the new year greeted you with clear skies, and warm rays, paired with an early call from Suna. You already knew the reason for his call—of course, one cannot celebrate the new year without hatsumōde.

“It’s a surprise you picked up my call, you haven’t been answering my texts. Anyway, the twins, and I are visiting the shrine, coming?”

“How about Kita?” You asked. “He’s going with his grandmother tomorrow.”

With a sigh, you hesitantly agreed. It's only been two days since the confession, and you could already feel the awkwardness, and pain seeping into your bones. You knew you weren’t even ready to face Atsumu yet but you’ve never turned down a shrine visit from your friends, especially on new years.

Before you knew it, the crisp winter air engulfed your body. Clad in thick layers of clothes, you walked the quiet footpath to the local shrine, heart hammering against your chest with every step taken closer to your friends—to Atsumu.

His flaxen locks were easy to spot, standing out amongst the crowd of people with raven strands. Your heart violently stuttered but you kept your eyes on Suna, putting on a bright smile to greet them. They stood just before the grand torii gate which led straight to the shrine itself.

“Glad ya could make it.” Osamu greeted you with a hug, followed by Suna.

Throughout the whole exchange with the two men, you could feel Atsumu’s burning gaze on the side of your face, and god, was it an extreme sport to ignore it. The two didn’t notice the way you, and Atsumu awkwardly greeted one another—a tight-lipped smile, and a brief eye contact. You felt small, and naked under his honeyed gaze but it wasn’t anything intimate, you guessed this was the consequence of baring the contents of your heart two nights ago.

Tugging at the neckline of your clothes, you began to grow uncomfortable at the awkwardness that made itself known.

You weren’t going to lie, Atsumu looked devastatingly handsome as ever, and it pained your heart even more. Though, he had this familiar expression painted on his face—the one he always wore whenever he was upset about something. It was subtle but you noticed the way his bottom lip jutted out ever so slightly, the light crease between his thick brows.

It was hard not to wonder what Atsumu was upset about.

After showing respect by bowing at the torii gate, the four of you fell into a step. Since it was the first day of the new year, the shrine was packed with families, friends, couples and people alike; some were at the chōzuya—water purification pavilion—to purify their body & mind while others were already lined up to pay respects at the main shrine building.

Keeping to the sides of the main path, You, Suna, and Osamu fell into a mellow conversation—talking about the new year ahead, and the upcoming semester. Surprisingly, Atsumu didn’t join in the conversation, hands tucked deep inside the pockets of his jacket, he stared hard at the concrete beneath.

It shouldn’t bother him but it did.

You were the one who got rejected so why was he more upset about the situation? Why were you able to easily slip into a cheerful conversation with Osamu, and Suna while acting like nothing happened two nights ago? Atsumu half expected you to not even turn up today, he had to practically stop himself from overreacting after the brunette stated that you’d come.

Well, it was good that you were already moving on but whatever. Atsumu decided shoving away the weird feeling in his chest was the best option.

After doing the ceremonial purification rite at the chōzuya, the four of you headed at the back of the line for the main shrine. It didn’t take too long until it was your turn, Suna, and Osamu went ahead first which left you, and Atsumu to pair up.

Watching as your two friends prayed at the shrine, you dug your nails into the plush of your palms, awkwardness eating away at you. It felt like everyone’s eyes were burning holes on both your’s, and Atsumu’s backs—as if they all knew what happened between the two of you a couple of nights back; it also didn’t help how you could practically feel Atsumu’s not-so-subtle stares from the side.

Sighing, you spoke to him for the first time since that moment at the boat, “If you’re uncomfortable with me, I’m more than happy to do it alone.”

You didn’t dare look at him, even when he fully turned to face you. It was dangerous, one look into his gaze, and you’d be a sobbing mess.

“It’s not that. It’s just . .”

Atsumu’s sentence trailed off as he noticed you walking up to the shrine. He closed his lips and silently followed, heart weighing heavy with every unspoken word that plagued his mind.

The two of you did the customs as usual: ringing the bell, tossing a 5 yen coin into the wooden saisen-bako, bowing twice, and clapping twice before praying. You, and Atsumu stayed still for a moment, eyes closed, and palms glued together to wish for good luck in the new year ahead. Ending the prayer with another bow, the two of you joined Osamu, and Suna.

“I saw ‘em distributin’ amazake. Wanna go grab some?” The younger twin pointed a thumb over his shoulder. His brother, and Suna agreed rather quickly, their throats bobbing at the mention of the sweet treat. 

Feigning a yawn, you spoke up, “I think I’ll head home now. I didn’t really get much sleep last night.” This earned a unison of disgruntled sounds from Suna, and Osamu whereas Atsumu wordlessly looked over your way.

It wasn’t like you were lying, you really didn’t get much sleep, especially after waiting for the clock to strike midnight but it wasn’t like lack of sleep bothered you, no, it was the growing feeling in your chest the longer you spent time in Atsumu’s presence.

Bidding your friends a good bye, you headed home, each step taken away from Atsumu somewhat eased the strain in your heart.

Never in a million years would your old self believe that the feeling of being away from Atsumu brought a sense of comfort, a tranquillity in your heart. Albeit, not easy—nothing ever was when you’re taming a yearning heart—there were days where the urge to bask in his presence were strong, and there were days where you felt fine without Atsumu around.

Safe to say, your year started with the much dreaded new year blues.

Ever since the new semester started, you’ve busied yourself with assignments, weekly quizzes, and whatever else that allowed you to make several excuses just to not see Atsumu—whether it be movie nights at the twins’ apartment, afternoon library sessions, or simply just coffee runs with the group, you had an excuse

Before you knew it, it had already been a little over two weeks since you’ve confessed—two weeks since you last saw Atsumu at the shrine. Two weeks, and your feelings never wavered for him, not even once, that was the stubbornness you were dealing with.

“Whatever, I’ll come by your place tonight, and drag you out if I have to.”

You groaned, “Suna.” He said your name with an equally serious tone, his dulcet voice spilling from the speakers of your phone.

“You’ve been holed up in your room since forever, and we haven’t seen you that much. I miss you, the twins miss you, and Kita misses you. It’s just a few hours to let loose.” 

“Isn’t it a bit too early in the semester to party? Also, Kita’s coming?” You tried your best to ignore the fact that your heart stuttered at the mention of the twins missing you. Atsumu missed you? Before you could pick Suna’s words apart, he spoke into the line,

“It’s not a party, just a small gathering with some familiar faces. And, no, he isn’t. He needed to work on an assignment.”

“I do, as well!” “Bullshit. I’ll see you at eight.” With that, he ended the call.

And that’s how you ended up in the twins’ apartment, lazily sloshing the alcoholic contents of your plastic cup. You don’t recall the amount of drinks you’ve drank but it sure was enough to have your head spinning.

There were familiar faces here, and there—which you took time to greet every single one—and some foreign faces. You presumed most of the people here were Atsumu’s teammates from the university team with how close they were with the blonde.

In all honesty, you had absolutely no idea as to why the twins were even hosting this gathering, it was so out of the blue. Though, you did hear an orange-haired male loudly exclaim to Atsumu at how much of a genius he was for organising a gathering this early into the semester.

So, it was Atsumu’s idea all along.

“Y’know, you can just talk to him, right?”

Suna’s slurred voice unceremoniously pulled you out of your trance, shifting your attention over to him. “What do you mean?” You coughed, cheeks heating, trying to hide the fact that Suna just caught you shamelessly staring at Atsumu who conversed with the orange-haired male. He sat beside you, body far back into the couch, narrow eyes fighting the sleep that slowly overtook him.

You didn’t like how your mind instantly agreed with his sentence.

The brunette let out a humourless chuckle but didn’t elaborate further, instead, he pulled out his phone to mindlessly scroll on it. Narrowing your eyes at him for a brief moment, you shifted your gaze back to the blonde, he had a big smile on his face, a tinge of crimson across his cheeks.

God, even under the shitty lighting of their apartment, Miya Atsumu still looked handsome as ever.

You stared at him for a moment, heart hammering against your chest, limbs tingling at the sudden urge to walk up to him. Oh, this was a very dangerous game you were playing, especially with the alcohol in your system. Your mind yelled go, go, go but you knew better than to play with fire, right?

Wrong.

In a heartbeat, you were on your feet, taking slow strides over to Atsumu. The sober part of your mind screamed at you to turn around, and sit back down but the tipsy part of your mind was stubborn—you wondered if it took after your heart.

The sudden urge to talk to Atsumu was fuelled by nothing but liquid courage—all the worries in your mind were magically solved; the weight that pulled your heart down was gone, and suddenly, it didn’t seem like a bad idea to even talk to him.

Deep down, you knew you were playing a very dangerous game right now but you couldn’t care less. Not when your heart pulled you closer to him.

As you neared, Atsumu cut the conversation short with his friend, and stared at you with expectant eyes, brows sky high in surprise. He sucked in a breath as you looked up at him through your lashes, the corners of your lips subtly turned upwards. Heart pounding, he shifted his weight from one leg to another as he waited for you to speak first,

“‘Tsumu, can we talk?”

Atsumu’s knees almost gave out upon hearing his nickname roll off your tongue, an icy shiver running up his spine.

Light. Everything felt light—your head, body, voice, heart.

It felt like all the weight of your shoulders had been lifted, and you could be as carefree as a bird soaring through cerulean skies to be one with the wind. Because right this very moment, nothing mattered at all, not even the fact that you stood before the person you’ve been trying to avoid since the new year rolled around.

Tucked neatly at the back of your mind like a silent reminder, you knew you shouldn’t trust your intoxicated self right now—whether it be your thoughts or feelings but the urge to stop wasn’t there, and you felt extremely optimistic about this—all thanks to the burning alcohol that clouded every bit of your judgement.

Everything felt right.

As you met his caramel gaze, your vision tunnelled, everyone, and everything that surrounded both of you slowly turned into nothing but a mix of hazy hues, upbeat music that spilled from the speakers fading into the distance as you, and Atsumu entered your own world—even the orange-haired male with the bright, doe eyes melted away from your view.

Just you, and Atsumu, exactly how it was supposed to be.

With a bated breath, Atsumu wordlessly nodded, and awaited your next move, as if shackled in a hazy trance. He was fully aware of the thundering heartbeat that rang in his ears, the way his slender fingers ever so slightly dug into the scarlet plastic cup in his hand, cheeks burning with unexplainable emotions.

“Let’s talk somewhere else.”

It took all the effort for Atsumu to ignore the feeling of your bare skin against his, the searing touch of your fingers around his wrist as you hurriedly whisked him away into the intimate space of their kitchen, as if to shield you both from everyone else’s prying eyes. Despite a stained judgement, the blonde was sure no one gave a single damn if you were to talk it out in the living room, everyone was in their own buzz anyway.

Nonetheless, Atsumu let you take the lead, whatever you wanted, he obliged. As though he was floating on cloud nine, his body became lighter with each step taken, head lightly spinning, warmth that radiated from your palm seeped into his flushed skin, prickly, miniature kisses engulfing his body.

“I’m okay now.” Resting your lower back against the ivory granite countertops, you stare up at Atsumu through your lashes, not noticing your lingering fingers curled around his wrist. For a brief moment, your breath hitched, stomach churning at the sight before you. The lighting behind Atsumu made him look like absolute heaven, flaxen strands glowing like the first rays beneath the warm illuminant, casting an ethereal halo at the back of his head. It didn’t help how he stared down as if your eyes held the cosmos in them, completely awestruck.

Whatever, you chalked it up to his intoxicated state. What else could it have been?

For a brief moment, Atsumu wracked his brain for context behind your words, and as the invisible lightbulb atop his head switched on, he was reminded of the situation at hand. It definitely pulled his consciousness into sobriety. Just a tad bit.

“A-are y’sure?” A breathless, almost dainty whisper slipped past his rosy lips. He took note of the way your gaze shifted ever so slightly downwards, eyes crudely lingering on the plush of his bottom lip as his tongue briefly swiped against it.

Atsumu’s Adam’s apple bobbed at your not-so-subtle stare, stomach churning with want. He knew this feeling all too well—it visited him whenever he was alone in his room, mind wandering over to thoughts of you which filled every corner of his mind; sometimes the feeling was too strong, other times he could bear it. Tonight, though, Atsumu wasn’t sure if he was immune to this feeling, let alone erase any impulsive thoughts from his intoxicated mind.

What pulled you into this decision was something you’d never figure out; maybe it was the fact that your yearning heart grew tired of the icy distance between the two of you or maybe you’ve truly come to terms with his unreciprocated feelings—you didn’t know. All you knew was that nothing good ever came out of inebriated conversations, especially when it involved feelings. But this could be an exception, right?

“So . . Does that mean we can be friends again?”

It was weird. Atsumu’s voice brimmed with a sense of hope—as if he’s been waiting for this very moment for the past two weeks—but the strange glint in his caramel eyes betrayed the blonde entirely.

Despite your better judgement, you chalked it up to the warm light that casted a soft shadow upon his features; maybe you were too dizzy to see things clearly, or maybe you were looking too deep into Atsumu’s expression—hoping to find some sort of sadness upon hearing your decision to move on, and accept his rejection.

Atsumu watched as your eyes traced his features, closely observing them as if to find some kind of answer; as selfish as it seemed, the intensity in your eyes gave him a tinge of hope that perhaps you could let yourself pine over him just a little longer because he wasn’t sure what he’d do with the knowledge that your heart would no longer yearn for him.

The situation was a double-edged sword, really.

You let out a puff of breath, “Yeah, of course. We’re friends again.” Friends. That word should have given you more relief than sorrow but could you really blame yourself? It felt like a bitter reminder of cold rejection which resembled salt pressed against an unhealed wound, a searing itch that left your skin feverish.

Even if it meant selling yourself short.

Avoiding his eye contact, you swiftly unwound your fingers from his wrist, mentally cursing yourself for not noticing any sooner. A cold embrace engulfed Atsumu’s wrist, where your fingers were mere seconds ago, he tried his best to ignore how his body yearned for your warmth. He gave a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

For a moment, you stood in each other’s silence like two predators sizing up one another, eagerly waiting for one’s move before pouncing, the silent hum of the fridge making up for the lack of conversation between one another.

How strange, this agreement should have cleared the unsettled air between you, and Atsumu but why did it feel like the complete opposite? As if the air turned into something more uncertain. You both knew you could feel the uncanny tension rising up, up, up but not one dared to address it.

Swiftly burying it under the rug, Atsumu spoke, thinly slicing through your trance, “You’ll find someone better.”

God, he must’ve really matured this new year because he didn’t know how he was able to say that straight to your face. Being one to wear his heart on his sleeve, this was completely foreign for Atsumu—or maybe he just got better at masking his true emotions.

You closed your eyes upon hearing his response, as if doing so would help you brave the weight of his words. It didn’t. That was the last thing you wanted Atsumu to say to you, ‘someone better’, it was brazen of him to think so poorly of himself, as though he wasn’t that certain someone. It was entirely unfair on your end because who was Atsumu to determine which person was for you?

Even just thinking about it had you fuming, rejection was one thing but completely disregarding the reason behind your feelings for him was another because in your eyes, Miya Atsumu was that ‘someone better’; he was the one who understood you the most, the one who always looked out for you, the one you fucking wanted.

And despite your mind telling you to nod along, and suck it up, the alcohol in your body was stronger; so, you opened your eyes, and furrowed your brows at him,

Nothing good ever came out of inebriated conversations.

“But I don’t want anyone better, Tsumu. I want you.”

Atsumu’s eyes widened, the desperation in your voice was something he hadn't heard before, it definitely pulled at his heart, guilt gnawing at his skin for being the sole reason for your drunken actions. He may be drunk but he wasn’t stupid, Atsumu knew you should’ve kept that one to yourself, he could practically see you brimming with temerity but he’d be lying to himself if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat or two.

I want you, too. God, he wanted to say it back badly. The words were lodged in his throat, unable to slip past his lips despite the best efforts to do so.

It dawned on him—right then, and there—the severity of your feelings for him, the immense weight of it. Now, guilt really ate him away; he could only imagine how the past two weeks were for you. Did you cry while thinking about him?

That was the last thing Atsumu wanted.

Though, amidst the guilt, something else blossomed in his chest, it made him feel like he stood upon the highest pedestal. Atsumu didn’t know whether it was pride or greed; as fucked up as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to push the impulsiveness away as though you’ve infected him with your own. His heart hammered at a thought that formed in his mind, even just thinking about it stirred his chest.

Despite Atsumu’s better judgement, he held onto the feeling with a tight grip, and opened his mouth, tongue nervously swiping at the bottom lip,

Nothing good ever came out of inebriated conversations.

“Is . . Is it bad that I really want to kiss you right now?”

You sucked in a breath, heart pounding at Atsumu’s sudden confession. If you were sober, you’d have a million thoughts racing through your mind right now, questioning the feelings he really had for you but unfortunately, only one thing was on your mind—how badly you wanted to kiss Atsumu too.

Dragging yourself further down, down, down the void of uncertainty, you shook your head in a daze,

Nothing good ever came out of inebriated conversations.

“What if I say I want to kiss you, too?” 

Barely audible but Atsumu heard it just fine over the pounding of his heart, over the incoherent conversations beyond this kitchen, over the muted bass music because as long as it's you, he’d always listen, even if it meant drowning out the entire world.

Then, there was a heartbeat, a passing second, a dip of a finger to test undisturbed waters; the funny thing was that even a minute disturbance could cause a ripple effect for miles, and miles, awakening the dormant creatures that lay beyond the azure surface.

It was swift, as though Atsumu had been waiting for this very moment to happen—one second you were locked in a trance, the next his lips were pressed against your own, a shared warmth of intimacy searing both bodies in an eternal blaze like a blue flame that dangerously destroyed everything in its path.

Shy. Warm. Soft. Rosy. Like it was meant to be. The list could go on, and on but it was as though your thoughts came quickly before your mind could register them, leaving you in a white, empty haze. With the plastic cups long forgotten on the counter behind, you closed your eyes as Atsumu’s body eagerly pressed against yours, strong arms coming up to rest on the granite countertop behind you, fingers digging into the material to ground himself.

For a moment, everything was still, lips unmoving against each other, a time to bask in this newfound intimacy—the foreignness of one another’s body. The earth felt like it spun on its axis way faster than usual, as if day, and night merged to become one; hues of late dusk, and early dawn intertwined like your bodies.

Bitterness from Atsumu’s rosy lips lingered on your own; you never liked the taste of beer but oddly enough, you didn’t mind it at all.

Your hands cupped Atsumu’s jaw, fingers gently digging onto his soft skin, eager for more as your lips moulded together. Slowly moving his mouth against your own, you followed suit to match the sensual pace he had set, falling deeper, and deeper between the hazy boundaries of friendship, and something a little more. Low whimpers slipped past between each feverish kiss as a drunken greed gradually controlled your bodies.

The initial softness of the kiss dissipated as each second passed, slowly turning into something more carnal, and passionate—breaths becoming heavier, and faces eagerly pressed against one another, angled in a way to grant more access.

Was this what cloud nine felt like? Exhilarating? Euphoric? As though there was no one else—

“Oh!—Holy shit. Did I interrupt?”

A familiar voice violently pulled you, and Atsumu back into reality, swiftly jumping away from each other’s hold, and looking over to the owner of the voice. Suna. The brunette stared at both of you—looking like a deer caught in headlights, chests heaving—his expression was unreadable, almost like a mix of shock, and amusement. You, and Atsumu kissing in the kitchen was absolutely not in his new year bingo card.

Well, this encounter certainly was enough to strip you into sobriety.

Your head spun a little, lungs severely deprived of oxygen. Shame, and realisation settled deep in your bones—shame because Suna just caught you, and Atsumu almost sucking the soul out of each other, and realisation because everything about this whole situation was so wrong; a million questions formulated in your mind as each awkward second passed.

On the other hand, Atsumu was equally as horrified, albeit annoyed that he didn’t have the chance to kiss you longer. The thrumming of his heart pounded in his ears, his mind trying to come up with anything to say just to stop the thoughts formulating in Suna’s mind—oh, he knows that look on his friend’s face very well.

Your view became obstructed by the expanse of Atsumu’s back, a subtle attempt to block you from the brunette’s gaze.

“W-what the hell, Suna?! Don’t jus’ barge into the kitchen, ya scrub!” Atsumu tried his best to act tough but miserably failed with the shakiness in his voice betraying him.

As if to make matters worse, Suna didn’t back down, a smug look painted on his flushed face as the blonde shamelessly blamed him,

“Well, how was I supposed to know that you two were sucking each other’s faces in the kitchen?!”

Did he have to word it like that?

Atsumu opened, and closed his mouth, trying to think of ways to deny Suna’s accusations but his mind went blank, even with just the brunette mentioning your kiss had him blushing like a mad man. Silence yet again occupied the kitchen, low bass music spilled from the speakers, and incoherent chatters from beyond the space making up for the lack of conversation.

Before the situation could get even more awkward, you spoke up, “I . . think I’m just going to go . . ” This gained both their attention, carefully watching as you navigated past Atsumu, and out the kitchen.

The blonde watched as you staggered past him, and Suna; he wanted to go after you, and talk about what just happened but the soles of his feet stayed rooted on the ground, too heavy to lift, even the words he wanted to say were lodged in his throat.

So, Atsumu decided it was best to let you go.

Monday. 

Everyone’s enemy but also a day to gather around the campus coffee shop with friends, and be productive for a while. The calming aroma of coffee engulfed your senses; low chatter from other customers, faint jazz music, and the occasional hum of the coffee machine filled the table from the lack of conversation. Despite the café’s light ambience, it didn’t do much to hide the growing tension that surrounded the group, specifically you, Atsumu, and Suna.

Kita was the first to notice the subtle shift of aura that emanated from you three, especially after catching a glimpse of Suna’s narrow eyes trailing from you to Atsumu over his laptop screen; though, he had much more things to worry about than to indulge himself in whatever tomfoolery this was. He’d ask questions later.

On the other hand, Osamu was more than curious, especially after his older twin started acting out of character—Atsumu wasn’t one to engulf himself in thoughts to the point where he’d be staring at an inanimate object, in a complete daze but lately, Osamu has seen him behave as such.

The latter could practically feel the weight of awkwardness pressing against his skin as he subtly watched the three of you. Of course, he did his best to pry off information from the blonde only to no avail; Osamu didn’t know why Suna was even caught up in this but he suspected it was from the party a few days ago.

He remembered seeing you stumble out of the kitchen when he was on his way to grab more drinks from their fridge, the younger twin thought nothing of it until he was met with Suna, and Atsumu awkwardly standing in the kitchen. Normally, Osamu would’ve asked questions that night but the alcohol in him couldn’t care less about the situation.

Staring at the untouched document pulled up on your laptop, you ducked behind your screen to avoid Suna’s wandering gaze, and Osamu’s not-so-subtle curiosity. This was hell. You didn’t even know why you decided to turn up today after that shit show at the party—maybe because you thought you could shove down that memory especially after telling Atsumu that you were fine or maybe you craved the closeness you two once had, and now you were here to rebuild that.

As easy as it sounded, you feared it might not be so with the way Atsumu has been avoiding you like the plague. First, it started when you walked into the café at the same time as the twins, Osamu greeted you at the door before heading inside leaving you, and Atsumu outside. Now, that would’ve been fine if the latter didn’t make a show of taking a couple of steps back to let you go first as though you carried some kind of incurable disease.

The second time was when Atsumu realised the only vacant seat was next to your own, thus, asking to swap with Osamu just so he could sit farthest away from you. And the third was when you had asked him if he was alright while waiting in line to order only to be met with a mindless nod before returning to his phone in his hand.

You tried your very best to ignore the blooming pain in your chest; sure, being sad about Atsumu possibly avoiding you was reasonable but then again, you were the one who told him you were okay now—how Atsumu decided to act after the party was beyond your control.

God but it pissed you off. Swallowing one’s pride, and making effort to rekindle a cold friendship was not an easy feat when the other doesn’t do the same. It shouldn’t work you up this much but it did, and now you were second guessing yourself that maybe it was an irrational decision to abruptly tell Atsumu that you’ve come to terms with moving on.

That night at the party, were you lying to yourself just so you could be around him again?

Whatever. It was too late to take it back anyway.

The days ahead were monotonous, and boring; you, and Atsumu remained orbiting around one another, careful not to get into each other’s path of trajectory but it was tiring. Not only did it feel like navigating through eggshells while he was around but the constant questions from your friends tested your limits. Though, it wasn’t their fault for simply being curious, and getting left in the dark about the whole situation but the prying felt like endless jabs of sharp needles along your skin.

From their point of view, you, and Atsumu were stubborn about the whole situation. None dared to speak up about it, acting as though everything was fine, so your friends were left with very little to work with.

It felt like a game of cat, and mouse where you were the feline chasing Atsumu around. The longer the days dragged on, the more thoughts formulated in your mind, and they all involved the blonde in some way or another. And just like everyone else, you had your limits too; you were tired of Atsumu acting like a stubborn idiot.

When you confessed to Atsumu, sure, you expected an awkward phase but this was even worse. There wasn’t just distance between the two of you, it felt like you were strangers.

He was known for brashly saying the sharp truth, so why couldn’t he be straightforward with you? Was he disgusted by the kiss, and deeply regretted it? Did he think you were weird? You didn’t know, but you were bound to find out even if it meant knocking at the twin’s apartment door at 5:45 PM on a cold, rainy Thursday.

With the sun hidden behind the looming grey clouds, the late winter afternoon was even darker; the roads were packed with vehicles while the sidewalks occupied students, and company workers alike trying their best to shield themselves from the heavy downpour. Despite the streets being illuminated with a tinge of warm yellow from cars, and streetlights, it did nothing to brighten up the gloomy day.

Funny, it was as though the universe knew how you felt today.

“If yer lookin’ for ‘Samu, he won’t be back until 8 PM.” Greeted with Atsumu’s shocked face as the ivory door to their apartment opened, you couldn’t help but visibly roll your eyes at his stubbornness. Yeah, like you’d be here at their apartment looking for Osamu—you knew each of their timetables like the back of your hand.

Flaxen strands that sat atop his head were unruly, a sign that he must’ve been taking a nap sometime ago. Atsumu donned a light blue hoodie paired with black sweats; you tried your best not to ogle the man, after all, you were here for a sensible talk.

“I’m here for you, Miya.”

Atsumu gripped the metal handle a little tighter, the coolness of it seeping into the warmth of his skin. He tried not to flinch at the sudden formality of the conversation. Nonetheless, the blonde pulled the door wider, a wordless invite to their humble space. Giving him a small smile before walking inside, you tried not to think about the last time you were here, and how you found yourself drunkenly kissing Atsumu in their kitchen.

The sound of the door closing shut behind Atsumu reverberated throughout the walls of their apartment, followed by a deafening silence. Met with his honeyed stare, you awkwardly coughed, and played with the hem of your jacket, “I’m not going to take up too much of your time . . but I do just have one question.”

There was a momentary silence as Atsumu waited for you to proceed; he had so many questions running through his mind right now, and it took all his willpower to hold them back, and let you speak instead. It was getting harder, and harder to focus as each second passed with the pounding of his heart—Atsumu didn’t know what to expect.

“Did you—Did you regret that kiss . . ?”

Your skin burned as the question lingered in the air, a beat or two before Atsumu finally spoke up, “. . N-no, why’d ya ask?”

Sighing, impatience prickled your feverish skin. ‘Why’d you ask?’  What the hell does he mean by why would I ask? We made out for fuck sake, that’s something friends don’t do! Why is he acting so casual about it? 

“God, this just made it a lot worse. I have so many fucking questions that my mind wants to explode right now,” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you slowly paced back, and forth, the floors beneath silently creaking with each step. So, Atsumu didn’t regret the kiss but he’s acting like you’re strangers—fucking hell, why did he even kiss you in the first place?!

Your mind was a complete mess.

Trying to calm yourself down with slow, deep breaths, you decided to address the elephant in the room first, “Then why have you been avoiding me, Atsumu?—I’m sorry but I’m the one who got rejected, I cannot think of any reason why you should be avoiding me like this.” Atsumu hated that look on your face—the desperation, the sadness, the frustration. He never thought that he’d be the one making you feel all these negative emotions, and it pained him as much as it pained you.

Atsumu let out a sigh, carefully formulating the right words into a coherent sentence, “I’m just . . trying to be careful, okay?” His stomach dropped as your face contorted with more confusion.

Did he say something wrong?

“Careful about what, Atsumu?! You—ugh! It’s so hard to talk to you when you’re giving me all these stupidly vague answers! I’ve already told you I was fine. I don’t care anymore that you don’t like me back. I just want us to be back to normal again.”

Now, it was Atsumu’s turn to be upset. He couldn’t bear the thought of you moving on so quickly, and that’s why he’s been acting distant lately; it annoyed him how easy it was for you to talk to him like nothing happened but Atsumu knew he couldn’t tell you the reason—why couldn’t you just try, and understand his situation? Rejecting wasn’t an easy task to do, especially if it was the person he had been hopelessly pining for.

“Well—maybe things aren’t meant ta back ta normal!”

What?

You stared at him for a second, brows furrowed as you tried to comprehend his words that lingered in the cold air of their apartment. Silence engulfed the two of you, the distant sounds of Hyōgo’s late afternoon rain seeping through the slightly opened window.

“Do you feel uncomfortable around me after knowing the fact that I have feelings for you? Is that it?” “God, no—I could never feel that way.”

It took all of Atsumu’s patience not to wrap his arms around you—he wanted to hold you against him badly; that defeated look on your face broke his heart but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Maybe Atsumu was the coward after all.

“Then tell me what’s wrong, ‘Tsumu!”

“It’s hard f’me as well, y’know?!” “What is?”

Atsumu closed his eyes, the words he’s been wanting to scream at the top of his lungs lodged in his throat, threatening to slip out. A wave of adrenaline rush coursed through his veins, heart pounding like crazy with this newfound high, it made him feel as though he was invincible—as if he could say anything, and everything without a care for its consequences.

Fuck it.

“Fuck—It’s because I like ya back, okay?! I always have! And rejectin’ ya was so goddamn hard f’me because I’m still not over ya. God, I think about ya every single second, and it pains me so much because yer already movin’ on, and ‘m still stuck here.”

What?

Flabbergasted, you stared at Atsumu all wide-eyed, the thrumming of your heart becoming increasingly loud against your ears as each slow second passed. Did he just say he liked you back? As though mother nature was watching, the rain outside poured harder; sounds of droplets of heavy water against the roof filled the silent apartment, pulling you back into reality.

“Then why—If you feel the same way then why did you reject me?”

When you knocked on the door to the twins’ apartment, you expected a sincere conversation with Atsumu, not him confessing his feelings out of the blue. You were absolutely speechless—you didn’t know whether to jump for joy because he actually does like you back or whether to massage your temples from pure confusion.

“Back then during the trip, ya told me ya weren’t ready for a relationship yet, and that ya only wanted ta confess ta get rejected n’ move on. I wanted ta respect yer decision, so . .”

Flashbacks of said conversation from the trip quickly came into mind, and how you told Atsumu about not being ready for a relationship yet.

Oh.

Oh.

The weight of frustration from your shoulders slowly dissipated, the pent up annoyance you held in your heart was gone too. Suddenly, you weren’t so frustrated anymore after learning about the whole truth behind the situation. You were able to breathe better with the bad air finally cleared between you, and Atsumu.

Looking at it now, you felt absolutely silly. The whole situation turned out to be one big misunderstanding, it was almost laughable—now, you truly understood the essence of communication is key.

You let out a humourless laugh, “You’re so stupid, you know that?” Taking a few steps toward the blonde, you leaned your forehead against his chest, a hand coming up to curl into a fist to lightly hit it; a faint scent of his musky cologne lingered on the fabric of his hoodie, effectively invading your senses. Atsumu didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your torso, pulling your body flush against his before resting his chin on the crown of your head.

For a beat or two, you, and Atsumu remained in each other’s hold, basking in the cosy atmosphere. 

“Would I be more stupid if I tell ya I want ta pick up where we left off at the party?”

Before you knew it your lips were sealed in a searing kiss—this time, it felt raw, all things passionate, and eager. Hands impatiently roaming each other’s unexplored bodies, sounds of wet kisses slowly filling up the apartment. The atmosphere shifted from cosy to something more sensual, light groans, and moans slipping in between each kiss.

Your hands rested on Atsumu’s golden strands, fingers gently tugging at it as he worked his lips down the column of your neck, teeth lightly nipping at the feverish skin. Atsumu focused on a certain spot just below your ear, nipping, and sucking at it which pulled a dainty whine from your lips.

“‘T-Tsumu—Ah!” You gasped, his tongue leaving trails of goosebumps beneath its sinful licks against your skin. He cursed under his breath, the dizzying tone of your voice awakening the slumbering carnal beast that resided in his core. With each dulcet moan that slipped past your swollen lips, Atsumu became greedier, he wasn’t going to settle for mere kisses on your skin—he needed to hear more.

Pulling away from your intoxicating scent, Atsumu looked down at you with parted lips, and hooded eyes, caramel gaze clouded with nothing but pure desire. “I think we should take this ta my room.” He panted.

Nodding at his proposal, hurried footsteps padded over to his room as though each second wasted was crucial. As soon as the door behind Atsumu slammed shut, his lips were on yours once again, strong hands deftly working on the layers of clothing you wore, slowly slipping them off of you one by one; Atsumu could practically feel himself shaking with nervousness, and excitement.

Discarding your top on the wooden floor beneath, Atsumu stared wide-eyed at your torso, both hands coming up to cup your breasts through the fabric of your bra, earning a low moan from you. The air of the room felt cold against your skin but Atsumu’s touch was enough to ignite you.

“So beautiful . .” He absent-mindedly gasped, a lovestruck look in his honeyed eyes.

Hands eagerly tugging at the hem of his hoodie, Atsumu swiftly pulled the fabric off his torso in one movement, golden strands tousled from the action. Goosebumps formed upon his sun kissed skin, bare torso met with the cold winter air; your eyes raked Atsumu’s physique up, and down, shamelessly ogling his muscled chest in all its naked glory. God, you used to just fantasise about this, and now it was served right in front of you on a silver platter.

You decorated each other’s skin with endless love bites, sinful hues of dark red, and purple peppered along your chest, and neck. Atsumu took his sweet time to savour every bit of you—your taste, your scent, your sounds, everything. He made sure to bask in your serene beauty, the gentle glow of your bare figure before utterly devouring you like a starved animal, ravaging your purity with carnal desire.

Atsumu let himself go at the raw intimacy of your bodies, the feeling of your sweet warmth brought tears of pleasure in his eyes as he pushed, and pushed towards the newfound ecstasy you both shared. The chant of his name slipped past your lips like a sinful melody, mere fuel to the relentless drive of his hips. But Atsumu held you dearly against his naked body through it all, fingers intertwined with your own as he keenly chased both your pleasures, choked out moans of your name whispered hotly against your sensitive skin.

And as you both tipped over the edge, Atsumu didn’t fail to tell you how much he loved you in between each pathetic moan as he painted your insides white, the dizzying pleasure contorting his handsome face in pure ecstasy. You held him in your arms, nails digging crescent-shaped marks on his skin, whispering saccharine praises to him as you let go, and emptied the words of your heart.

As the gentle aftermath of the passionate exchange rolled around, Atsumu held you in his arms, hearts beating as one, and lulling you both to sleep. The last thing you heard was a faint ‘I love you’ before passing out from exhaustion.

“‘Tsumu, what did ya want for—Oh my god! What the fuck?!” 

A familiar voice abruptly pulled you, and Atsumu out of your sleep, followed by the loud bang of his door slamming shut. Muffled expletives from outside the room could be heard as you both stirred beneath the ivory sheets. “‘Tsumu, what the hell?! Ya should’ve warned me before I went into yer room!” Osamu yelled from the other side of the door.

Atsumu groaned, rubbing his face before turning to the door, “Shut yer trap! Ya should’ve knocked!” At his twin’s silence, he let out a sigh, and slung a heavy arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his naked body before closing his eyes once again.

You let out a soft chuckle, “We really need to stop getting caught. First, Suna, and now Osamu.” Atsumu hummed in response, too sleepy to even think or form a coherent sentence. Snuggling closer to him, you closed your eyes, and went back to sleep as well.

Oh, you could get used to this.

Winter slowly turned into spring as March rolled around—the end of the academic year.

Trees that were once bare slowly blossomed with flowers, hues of yellows, and browns were replaced with endless greenery, and frigid air became more welcoming like a warm embrace. Most importantly, the cold distance between you, and Atsumu no longer existed, instead, it was replaced by fluttering heartbeats, and fluffy moments that hinted at a sweet forevermore.

“There he is! How does it feel to be a fresh graduate!” Suna whistled as Kita walked over to the group, clad in a black academic gown with a matching trencher propped neatly on his head, the golden tassel on the cap swayed with every step taken; he donned a warm smile, one hand holding his well-deserved degree.

The buzz of excitement outside the venue was high, the graduation ceremony having finished just a few minutes ago. You were all surrounded by graduands, all with heartfelt smiles on their faces as they conversed with family, and friends alike. 

As your friends fell into a merry conversation, a warm hand interlaced with your own, giving your hand a comfortable squeeze. Atsumu. Looking up at your boyfriend, he cheekily leaned into your ear, whispering an ‘I love you’ before slowly blinking at you, mirroring a cat’s action. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at his antics.

“Are you two lovebirds done, now?” Suna coughed, pulling you back into reality.

Met with amused expressions plastered on your friends’ faces, you, and Atsumu returned a sheepish smile before joining in their conversation. “Anyway, we were talkin’ about how we should celebrate Kita’s graduation. It can also serve as a treat for us for makin’ it through another academic year.” Osamu explained, earning a hum of approval from you, and Atsumu.

“How about a spring trip to Kyoto?”

[aleese1111]

Continue the seongje and baekjin one shot, plss 😭 I love your writing btw

three wolves, one flame three | geum seong je x union!reader x na baek jin

summary: she disappears for three days. the group chat stays active, but her silence buzzes louder than the messages. when she comes back, no one asks for an apology—but some things still need saying.

warnings: [slow burn] violence, blood, emotional repression, miscommunication, bruises, language, toxic coping, mild angst, vulnerability, references to mental strain, unhealthy attachment .

author's note: this is lowkey boring . next chapter i will end some fights, maybe . requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , .. two .. three .. ??

she didn’t show up the next day.

or the day after.

she didn’t say anything in the group chat either, just read messages and left them on delivered. the trio thread kept lighting up—seong je sending blurry photos of some idiot who thought he could run with their stuff, his bruised knuckles front and center in half the shots. baek jin replied with deadpan sarcasm as usual:

you get off on sending crime scene selfies or what at least wipe the blood next time, dumbass.

she left no reaction. no thumbs-up. no eye roll. just silence.

seong je didn’t say anything about it, but every time the chat buzzed and her read receipt popped up, he stared a little longer than he needed to. his replies grew shorter. more photos, less commentary.

baek jin didn’t press her either. he already knew where she was—texted once, got a vague “need space,” and left it at that.

by the time she walked into the office again, three days had passed.

the air smelled like microwave ramen and disinfectant. the arcade outside was still warming up—machines humming, half-lit—but inside the office, baek jin sat alone at the desk, mechanical pencil in one hand, a half-solved sudoku in the other.

she didn’t say anything at first. just walked in like she’d never left, dropped her tote bag by the couch, and moved to the filing cabinet near the wall.

baek jin didn’t look up. “you look like shit.”

“thanks.” she pulled open the drawer, flipping through documents with more precision than necessary.

silence.

“you okay?” he asked, quieter.

she paused. “eventually.”

he nodded once. “fair.”

she didn’t look at him. “did you keep the delivery records from last week?”

“top drawer. labeled in red.”

she found them, tucked them under one arm, and started organizing them into the accordion folder she’d abandoned three days ago. her movements were stiff—robotic, almost—but her eyes didn’t have that wild look anymore. just tired.

“i saw the chat,” she said suddenly, still facing the files.

baek jin raised an eyebrow. “yeah?”

“seong je’s still trying to impress us with his selfies.”

“he’s consistent, i’ll give him that.”

she didn’t reply. just clicked the folder shut and slung it under her arm like a shield. “i need to take these to the garage.”

baek jin leaned back in his chair, watching her go. “try not to set it on fire.”

“i’ll try.”

she left without another word.

@ . !

the motorcycle garage still smelled like sweat and oil, like time hadn’t passed since the last argument cracked through its walls.

seong je was slouched on the couch in his corner, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, doing whatever it was he did when no one told him not to—probably scrolling, probably brooding, or both. his school shirt was off again—just a tank top now, stained with grease—and his hands were already a mess of oil and old blood, wrapped haphazardly in gauze.

he heard her before he saw her.

she walked in with the folder hugged to her chest, eyes scanning the shelves for the logbooks that matched her records. she didn’t acknowledge him. not at first.

seong je didn’t move, but his eyes tracked her. “didn’t die after all,” he said flatly.

she didn’t look up. “sorry to disappoint.”

“you ghosted.”

“i needed air.”

he let the silence stretch. then: “baek jin knew?”

“of course he did.”

his jaw tensed. “right.”

she moved to the shelves, tugging out a binder, flipping through it like she was looking for something worth fighting about. but her hands were steadier than before.

“you mad at me or just at the world again?” he asked, not moving from where he stood.

she glanced at him—finally. her face unreadable. “if i was mad at you, you’d know.”

“that a threat?”

“no,” she said, softer now. “a fact.”

the silence that followed was brittle, but not sharp. just... unsure.

he watched her for a second longer, then went back to the caliper, voice quieter this time. “i thought maybe something happened. something worse.”

she froze for just a second before kneeling beside the lower shelf, pretending to search again. “why would you think that?”

“you left. no word. that’s not you.”

“it is when i’m not interested in a second breakdown in the span of a week.”

he didn’t respond to that right away.

then, voice low: “you don’t have to disappear to handle your shit.”

“i do when it’s loud.”

“...was it me?”

she blinked at the shelf. slowly. “you didn’t help.”

“good,” he muttered, tone sharpening. “because i’m not gonna play nice just ‘cause you cry once.”

“didn’t ask you to.”

“good.”

she shut the binder.

they stared at each other again. neither moved.

then—somehow gentler—seong je spoke. “i didn’t mean to scare you. that night. i just... i get stupid when i think we’re losing something.”

she exhaled slowly, standing back up. “then stop getting stupid.”

he smirked faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

she moved toward the desk near the corner, setting the folder down. her posture eased a little, like the fight had already drained out of her. like whatever she’d been holding in those missing days had been emptied somewhere between baek jin’s silence and this garage’s stale heat.

“i’m not mad,” she said finally.

he didn’t reply. just nodded, once.

“and i didn’t cry,” she added flatly.

he snorted. “sure. must’ve been rain indoors.”

she rolled her eyes and flipped open the folder. “shut up and hand me the maintenance logs.”

he passed them over without a word, but when their fingers brushed, just briefly—she didn’t pull away.

@ . !

the garage was quiet. not just physically—quiet in that crawling, weighty way that meant something unsaid was hanging in the air, uninvited and unwelcome.

she finished shuffling through the folders, double-checking figures on her phone with one hand while holding the corner of a page with the other. she didn’t make a sound until she shut the last file closed with a dull thunk against the desk.

seong je hadn’t moved. still on the couch, one leg bent under the other, his fingers idle now, phone dark on his thigh.

she turned slowly, stretched her arms overhead until her back cracked, then walked over. he didn’t say anything, just watched her as she dropped down next to him like it was nothing. like she hadn’t ghosted the groupchat. like she hadn’t gone missing. like he hadn’t noticed.

she pulled a cigarette from her pocket. offered him one, wordless.

he took it.

the first drag was silence. so was the second. the air filled with smoke and something sharp that had nothing to do with nicotine.

“…you good?” he asked eventually, not looking at her.

she exhaled through her nose. “yeah.”

that was all she gave him.

he nodded once, jaw flexing like he was weighing his next words, then letting them drop.

she leaned back into the couch, staring ahead at nothing. the kind of stare that meant her thoughts were somewhere else—untouchable, maybe even to herself.

he lit his second drag. “baek jin didn’t say anything either.”

she glanced sideways at that, just briefly. “he knew.”

“hm.”

they sat there in that stillness for a while, smoke curling above their heads, shoulders brushing occasionally in that too-familiar way that meant something used to be here, maybe still is, maybe not.

“…next time,” seong je said, after a moment, “just send a blank message or something. so i don’t gotta keep guessing if i should start digging.”

she flicked ash into the tray. “you don’t need to guess.”

“still did.”

she didn’t say anything.

didn’t have to.

then, softer—quiet enough that it could’ve been for her or for himself—he added, “hard not to.”

that silence after hit different. not sharp. not cold. just real.

she didn’t look at him. didn’t flinch either. just sat there, smoke slipping past her lips like it didn’t matter.

but it did.

even if neither of them said so.

the cigarette burned low between her fingers. seong je had already stubbed his out, leaning forward with elbows on knees, eyes low, jaw set in that unreadable way of his.

she tapped ash into the tray again. “you ever gonna say what’s actually bothering you?”

he blinked. a beat passed. then he gave a breath of a laugh—more air than sound.

“didn’t think we were doing that now.”

“maybe we are,” she said, voice flat. “maybe i’m asking.”

he leaned back, stretching his arms behind the couch. the motion pulled his shirt tight across his chest, scars visible under the loose neckline.

“…i thought you weren’t coming back,” he muttered. it wasn’t accusatory. just honest.

she didn’t answer right away. the truth sat heavy behind her teeth.

then—quiet—“i almost didn’t.”

that shut him up for a second.

he turned his head to look at her. really look.

“you leaving for good wouldn’t have surprised me,” he said. “but not saying anything would’ve.”

she looked straight ahead. “i didn’t owe anyone a goodbye.”

“but you left us on read,” he said. “that’s worse.”

that earned him a look, finally. she wasn’t angry. just tired.

“you make it sound like i ghosted my high school friends. i needed time. that’s it.”

“you left me wondering if i fucked up,” he said plainly. “and baek jin kept saying nothing. that’s how i knew something was off.”

she pulled her legs up onto the couch, cigarette now mostly forgotten in the tray.

“…baek jin saw something he wasn’t supposed to.”

he arched a brow but didn’t press. didn’t need to. whatever it was, he filed it away behind that quiet demeanor of his.

she tilted her head back against the couch, closing her eyes for a moment. “i’m here now. that’s all that matters.”

“that all?”

she didn’t answer.

a knock echoed from the other end of the garage—a metal-on-metal tap against the doorframe. baek jin stood there, leaned against it, holding two plastic bags.

“you two gonna sit in your own smoke all day, or you want shitty convenience store food?” he asked.

seong je didn’t move. “depends. you get the melon milk?”

baek jin nodded. “one for each of you.”

she stood, brushing ash from her jeans. “then i’m in.”

as she walked past him toward the back table, baek jin’s eyes met seong je’s. something unreadable passed between them.

then seong je stood too, cracking his neck with a quiet roll of his shoulders.

back to normal. almost.

but not quite.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , .. two .. three.. ??

[pandapetals]

Sunlight & Sawdust

Chapter Seven: Hyacinths & Hacksaws previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter. But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop for free. Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

Content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst, and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics. There is some angst in this chapter. Also, thank you all for the support and love. It means so much.

Update: There were only going to be 11 chapters, but now there will be 12. I like even numbers and decided to add a chapter while also rewriting the next one, so the update may take longer. Trust me, the angst won't last long, and smut will be happening.

Monday.

Joel hadn’t been looking forward to the day since he’d left the flower shop on Saturday evening.

Or at least, that’s what he’d been telling himself.

Now, nearing lunchtime, he was almost done with the floor. The final boards were in place, everything sanded smooth, looking damn good if he said so himself.

Which meant today was probably his last day here.

The thought should’ve brought him relief.

He wouldn’t have to keep showing up. Wouldn’t have to keep feeling that ridiculous pull toward you. He wouldn’t have to keep catching himself watching—the way you laughed with customers, the way your fingers skimmed delicately over petals, the way you always ensured Ellie had everything she needed before thinking of yourself.

Wouldn’t have to keep feeling like some part of him wanted to be here.

And yet.

His mind spiraled, reaching for any excuse to keep showing up.

So, as usual, when you insisted he take a break for lunch, Joel sat on the stool by the counter, eating the sandwich you’d made him, and quietly started scoping out the shop.

There had to be something else that needed fixing.

He was a handyman. He could fix anything, and then—there. His gaze landed on the back door, the way it didn’t quite sit right in its frame, slightly uneven.

Bingo.

"Y’know, this door’s got a bit of a lean to it," Joel mused, chewing thoughtfully before nodding toward it. "Probably swells in the summer, right? Sticks a little when you try to open it?"

You paused from where you were cleaning up, glancing over your shoulder at the door before narrowing your eyes at him.

"Maybe a little," you admitted hesitantly.

Joel nodded like he had already made up his mind. "I’ll fix it for you. Ain’t a big deal."

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "Joel, you’ve already done enough. I can’t let you keep fixing everything for free."

"Ain’t about money."

"Then what’s it about?" you challenged, tilting your head.

Joel didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one he was willing to say out loud.

Instead, he just shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. "I like keepin’ busy."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, I bet you do." Then, after a beat, your smile faltered slightly, curiosity flickering in your eyes."Don’t you have, like, a real job? Pretty sure Tommy’s tired of covering for you."

Joel paused mid-bite, chewing a little slower before swallowing. He wiped his hands on a napkin, taking his time as if thinking about how to answer. Then, he stood, stretching his arms above his head, muscles flexing slightly beneath his flannel.

"I do." His voice was casual, gruff. "But Tommy won’t mind. He owes me, anyway."

You raised a brow. "For what?"

Joel smirked, shaking his head. "Long list, sweetheart."

Your lips parted slightly, the nickname catching you off guard, but you pushed it away, rolling your eyes. "You just won’t take no for an answer, will you?"

Joel smirked. "Nope."

You exhaled through your nose, muttering something under your breath before finally throwing your hands up in surrender.

"Fine. Do whatever you want, Miller."

Joel bit back a victorious grin. That should buy him at least another day.

But you weren’t stupid. Joel could see how you watched him like you were trying to figure him out. 

After Joel finished up the last of the flooring, he should’ve been done. Should’ve packed up his tools, dusted off his hands, and left.

Instead, he found himself noticing other things.

The back door didn’t sit right in its frame, the cabinet hinge behind the counter was loose, and the flickering light in the storage room needed replacing.

He made a mental list, adding more and more to it—grasping at any excuse to keep coming back.

So, when he finally stood, wiping his hands on his jeans, he told you about them.

"That back door swells in the summer—oughta get it shaved down. The cabinet hinge in the back is about to come loose. And that light in storage? It could be a wiring issue."

You just stared at him, expression unreadable, before exhaling through your nose. "Joel," you said softly. There was something in your tone—something careful that made his stomach tighten. "It’s really sweet of you to list off all sorts of things wrong with my shop—"

"No, I ain’t mean it like that, honey."

Your lips parted slightly, and Joel could see it—when your breath hitched, and the endearment made your heart stutter, even if you didn’t want it to.

Instead of softening, you tilted your head, eyes searching his face.

"I meant I could fix it for you," Joel clarified, shifting his weight, suddenly feeling too exposed. And that’s when you really stared at him like you were trying to solve a puzzle.

"Why?"

Joel frowned. "What?"

"Why are you suddenly being nice to me?" Your voice was even, but there was something beneath it. Something close to hurt. "For two years, all you did was glare at me and grunt whenever I spoke. Now you’re fixing my shop for free? Eating lunch with me and Ellie? Acting like—" 

You hesitated. "Like you actually care."

Joel stiffened. He should’ve had an answer. Should’ve been able to shrug it off, crack a joke, something. Instead, his mouth opened—and the wrong damn thing came out.

"I didn’t like how you were always so goddamn kind."

The second the words left his lips, he regretted them.

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

"You didn’t like that I was kind?" You said the words slowly like they didn’t make sense—like you were trying to process and fit them into some reality where they could make sense.

But they didn’t. They never would.

"I—" Joel started, voice rough, but you were already shaking your head, arms crossing tightly over your chest like you were holding yourself together.

"You didn’t like that I was kind?" you repeated, quieter this time, but there was nothing soft about it. "That’s what bothered you?"

Joel’s jaw tensed. "That ain’t—"

"No, I get it now."

The way you said it—it wasn’t some quiet revelation, it wasn’t soft understanding. It was sharp, edged with something that dug under his skin.

Your voice wavered slightly, but you masked it with another shake of your head. "You couldn’t stand me because I was kind? Because I was trying to be good to you?"

Joel flinched.

"Because it made you feel something, didn’t it?"

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t because you were right.

Maybe that was what made something in you snap.

"You—" You let out a short, breathless laugh with no humor. "Do you even remember the shit you’ve said to me, Joel?"

His stomach twisted. Because yes, he remembered.

Every glare. Every cold shoulder. Every muttered, irritated, "You never quit, do you?" when you tried to be nice to him. Every time, he made you feel like you were too much for existing the way you did.

"Do you remember telling Tommy I was ‘too damn cheerful’ and you didn’t know how he put up with me?"

Joel swallowed hard, his throat tight.

"Or how about the time I offered you coffee, and you looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘I don’t want anything from you’?"

Fuck.

"You spent years making it clear you didn’t want me around. You hated how nice I was, right? But now—" You gestured wildly between the two of you. "Now, all of a sudden, you care?"

Your voice cracked on the last word, and Joel felt it.

Because you weren’t just confused; you weren’t just angry. You were hurt.

And that did something to him worse than guilt or regret.

"I ain’t—" His voice was hoarse, useless. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to find the words and fix them.

But there was no fixing this.

"You should go, Joel."

It wasn’t a request.

It was final.

You turned away from him, shoulders stiff, refusing to look at him, refusing to let him see the way your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

Joel stood there for a long moment, his body locked in place, his heart pounding with something too big, too loud, too late.

Then, finally, with a heavy exhale, he walked out.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff, @doeeyestoji, @12thatsanumber, @cherrygirl19, @thottiewinemom, @ladynightingale, @doodlebob-mp3, @alitaar, @starwarskawaii, hduuc56, @naniiiii12, @possiblyafangirl, @alienjoel, @leesromanova, @kungfucapslock

[blueberrybirdsworld]

The Cat Distribution System 1/5

Summary:

When a stray kitten adopts Lando Norris, the self-proclaimed cat hater accidentally starts a soft-launch spiral with his secret girlfriend the ballerina Ariana Riverria.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, SMAU

Warning : none, just yeah the kitten will be different in some pictures

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

CHAPTER ONE:

There were two things Lando Norris swore he would never do: touch a cat willingly, and let the internet know too much about his private life. Yet somehow, a sleepy Tuesday afternoon in Monaco managed to unravel both.

It started when he found a kitten.

He wasn’t looking for one. He wasn’t even thinking about pets. But while walking back to his flat from the bakery, a tiny ginger fluffball appeared near a row of parked scooters, mewling with wide eyes and a puffed tail. It looked like a half-toasted marshmallow and sounded miserable.

Lando crouched instinctively, planning to just give it a scratch and move on.

Instead, the kitten climbed right into his hoodie and curled up under his chin like it owned the place.

He stood frozen for a full minute.

“…What the hell,” he muttered, glancing around, hoping someone would suddenly run over shouting, “Oh, thank you! That’s mine!”

No one did.

So now he had a kitten.

When he walked through the door of his girlfriend flat, still carrying the little intruder like it was a bomb he couldn’t put down, she burst into laughter.

“I told you,” she grinned, taking one look at the scene. “The cat distribution system always finds its target.”

“He climbed me,” Lando said flatly. “He literally scaled my chest like a tiny mountaineer.”

Ariana was too busy cooing over the kitten to care. “Look at this baby. Oh, he’s beautiful. He adopted you. It’s official.”

“I don’t like cats,” he reminded her.

“You like this cat.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re still holding him.”

“…I’m being held by him. There's a difference.”

The kitten, as if to emphasize her point, let out a squeaky purr and nuzzled Lando’s collarbone.

He sighed. “This wasn’t how I imagined getting a pet. I had a whole plan. A puppy. A golden retriever. Charlie.”

“Well,” Ariana said, grinning as she stroked the kitten’s head, “plans change.”

@landonorris "He won’t leave."

@lando_kisses: was that a cat ??? 🤔

@mcclarenprincess: why is everyone ignoring the fact he cuddle a literal kitten despite claiming hating cat  lmao

@softverstappen: Lando Norris owning a cat was not on my 2025 bingo card

@racingbabyy: I feel like he’s about to start calling himself a cat dad and I’m scared

@maxfewtrell: never thought I'd see the day

@pietra: he’s literally your child now deal with it

@oscarpiastri: how did this even happen

@maxverstappen1: I always knew he was a cat dad. Just took time to admit it

@charles_leclerc: he looks fast. perfect name would be… Turbo

@alexandralovely: it’s the vibe shift for me

Ariana didn’t post anything at first. But eventually, she gave in to the kitten’s charms.

@arianariverria "Post-class cuddles ✨"

@pliésandcoffee: WHO is that little prince omg

@ballet_babe88: did you get another cat???? WHERE did this one come from?

@kitteninfirst: i recognize that kitten. i know that kitten. 👀

@flexandsaute: he looks like a whole main character fr

@oscarpiastri: he’s already got better posture than me

@maxfewtrell: 10/10 cat. uncertain about the human

@alexandralovely: that’s a very specific shade of orange i’ve seen recently…

Twitter thread by @balletxf1 🔍 Theory: Lando Norris and Ariana Riverria are either living together or sharing custody of a kitten.

[1] Let’s begin: kitten timeline.

[2] Lando posts ginger kitten Monday. Ariana posts same-colored kitten Wednesday.

[3] Check the markings. IDENTICAL.

[4] Also… Ariana said in an interview 3 months ago she already has a white cat named Aria. No mention of a ginger baby.

[5] But Lando literally said he doesn’t like cats? This man once get bit y one on Max's live when he try to hug the kitten. Character development arc???

[6] Anyway, just keeping my eye on this 👀

Ariana texted Lando a screenshot of the thread that night.

Ari 💃:

omg you are so busted lmao

Lando 🧡:

it was ONE story!!!

Ari 💃:

plus the tail in your selfie. plus the purring during your stream. you’re soft-launching the kitten more than you ever soft-launched me

Lando 🧡:

rude

Ari 💃:

facts tho. also the internet already calls you a cat dad now. congrats!

Lando 🧡:

i hate everything

Ari 💃:

no you hate cats. or you did. now you’re a walking cat bed.

Lando 🧡:

he glued himself to me!! i didn’t ASK FOR THIS

Ari 💃:

destiny. fate. toe beans.

Lando 🧡:

if i end up with a second kitten i’m renaming myself to Meow Daddy and quitting racing

Ari 💃:

too late. the transformation has begun. 🐾

He looked down. The kitten was nestled into the corner of the couch, snoring quietly against his leg.

He reached down and scratched behind its ears.

“...Charlie,” he whispered, trying it out. The kitten stirred and purred louder.

Maybe not a dog, but maybe...

Charlie it was.

Part 2

[tsaheylutales]

You weren't supposed to know | Chapter 1

Hello! This is my first Steve Harrington fic EVER so please be kind. There will be a part 2, i just got impatient and wanted to post something. She's an angsty girl, hope you like it! It’s basically a rewrite of season 4 episode 2.

Pairing: Steve Harrrington X Henderson!Reader

Warnings: ANGST, stranger things level threats, mentions of blood and knives, reader is a softer girl so if you don't like that, scroll, Steve and Dustin are very ooc so...keep that in mind. Let me know if there's any more!

Summary: Steve wasn’t always like this, he used to be kind, and caring, and he used to call you every night. But now? He barely calls at all. Most of the time it’s you calling him. Or you visiting him…Or you planning dates…He’s just really busy at the moment…That’s it. That’s gotta be it…Right?

about 2k words

You weren’t supposed to know about the Upside Down. Or the Mind Flayer. Or Eleven. Or interdimensional monsters made of blood and flesh. You were just supposed to drop Dustin off at the mall. That was it. Easy. In and out. But Steve’s your boyfriend. And you hadn’t seen or heard from him in days. So…why not surprise him?

Worst case, he’s dodging you. Best case, you kiss in the backroom of Scoops Ahoy and steal an ice cream on the way out. That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Instead, you and Robin ended up decoding a secret Russian message, discovered a secret Russian base underneath Starcourt Mall, got captured, maybe drugged, tortured a little, and were eventually saved by two kids with an electrified stick.

And then, just when you thought your night couldn’t possibly get any worse, a walking nightmare made out of flesh and bones clawed its way through the mall like it had personal vengeance. Turns out it did but that's besides the point.

Your entire life flipped upside down. 

And Steve, your boyfriend…He had known the whole time. And so did your little brother, Dustin.

And afterwards, everyone else went back to normal, back to school, back to work. They made no mention of the horrors that happened that night. They just moved on. Like you didn’t fight The Mind Flayer. Like Hopper didn’t die in that Russian base. Like Billy didn’t die in front of you all.

You haven’t gone a single night without nightmares since. And it doesn’t help you have no one to talk to. Not anymore. 

You’re not really part of the group. You’re just there.

You’re Dustin’s older sister. You’re Steve’s girlfriend, well, sort of. On a good day, when he remembers to call. 

You joined the fight the same day Robin did. Same nightmare. Same blood-soaked floors. Same mindless terror crawling out of a gate you didn’t even know existed until it nearly swallowed you whole. But somehow…She became one of them. Fast. Seamless. Like she was always supposed to be there. And you…didn’t.

You're the one who drives them sometimes, the one who gets asked, “Hey, can you grab snacks?” before a movie night, ones you weren’t even invited to.

You hear about things after they’ve happened. “Oh, sorry, it was last minute.”  “Did we not tell you?”  “Thought you were busy.”

You’re always busy, apparently. Even when you’re not. Even when you’re waiting by the phone, waiting for someone to call. Waiting for someone to invite you to anything.

You’re not welcome. You’re unwanted.

You try not to let it show. You plaster on your smile. You nod along. You say “cool” and “no worries” and “maybe next time.” 

But it gnaws at you. That hollow, twisting feeling.

“Have you talked to anyone else?” Dustin’s voice is tight, panicked, as he and Max hurry down the hallway. They need to find Eddie, and ask him about what happened last night. What happened to Chrissy. They suspect it's something more evil, covered in slimy tentacles and sharp teeth, or a dark shadow, or maybe a towering monster made of the citizens of Hawkins.

“No. I can’t find Lucas or Nancy, and Mike’s in-”

“California. Shit, shit, shit.” He cuts her off without thinking. His brain is moving too fast, thoughts crashing into each other. Too many questions, half the party missing, half the party on the other side of the country. 

“What about your sister?” She blurts, scrunching up her face.

He sighs, a defeated, frustrated sigh. He treats you like a last resort, you are the last resort but…You know about the upside down so…guess you’ll have to do.

“[Y/n]! Can you take us to Family Video!?” he yells, sharp and impatient.

You peek your head out from your room, wide-eyed. “Right now?...”

“Yes, come on!” He rolls his eyes, tapping his watch.

“Uh, okay. Let me get my shoes-”

“Now! Come on!!”

“Okay-okay.” You whisper, shrinking back slightly.

Max glances at him. “That was harsh,” she mutters under her breath. Dustin ignores it.

Your mom calls out, “Dusty, where are you going?” 

“To see a friend.” His voice comes out stressed. Too panicked to just be ‘seeing a friend’. He’s already heading for the door.

“You heard the news. It’s not safe.” Your mom’s voice waves and it makes you feel guilt. She’s already been through enough. 

“We’ll be careful. Thanks, Mom. Love you. Bye.”

“Bye, Mom. Love you,” you murmur behind him, brushing a kiss to her forehead. 

Max and Dustin take off ahead of you, their sneakers smacking against the pavement as they storm towards the video store. Dustin throws the door open and they both rush inside.

They’re already at the front desk, knocking over stacks of tapes, looking through the computer. They set up a “base of operations,” whatever that means. You just stand there, eyes drifting across the rows of movie tapes, pretending to read the titles you’ve seen a hundred times. You feel invisible. 

You still don’t know what’s going on but, the urgency in their voices, the frantic energy? It’s terrifying. It feels like last year again. Whatever it is, it’s scary…. Fourth of July scary.

Your eyes find Steve.

He’s crouched near a toppled display, restacking the mess Dustin left behind. He doesn’t notice you at first. He doesn’t look up.

You walk over, swallowing the nerves in your throat. Your smile feels fragile, like if you hold it too long it might crack and fall.

“Hey.”

Steve looks up. His face shifts. Not into a smile, into something smaller. Tighter. “Oh. Hey…”

Your heart sinks, just slightly.

“Um…” You try to sound casual but your voice wavers. “You didn’t call. Last night…”

He blinks. Hesitates. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. Had to cover for Robin.”

A lie. You know it’s a lie. Robin was here yesterday. You came in to drop off a tape after school, about an hour before he was supposed to call. “You couldn’t have called from here?” you ask, softer this time.

“Super busy.” He mumbles. “Yeah, it was just…really busy.”

He’s not even looking at you anymore. The bell over the door rings again. A girl walks in, she’s pretty, confident, like she belongs. Steve glances at her, not you.

You bite your lip and clear your throat softly. “I was thinking…” You start, trying to sound upbeat, like this isn’t breaking your heart. “Maybe we could go out this weekend? Dinner, or a movie? Whatever you want.”

Steve exhales. Not a sigh. Something heavier. Tired. Dismissive.

“Yeah, maybe.”

You latch onto the word like it’s a life boat. “Cool! I’m free all weekend, so we could do whatever, whenever, I mean-”

“Look,” He cuts in, voice clipped and distant. “I’ve got a lot going on this weekend. Maybe another time.”

Oh.

Your smile falls before you can stop it, not dramatically, just…falls. Ever so slightly. A tiny fracture. Barely a second of vulnerability before your instincts kick in. You catch it. Forcing a grin even though your lip wobbles.

The smile that returns doesn’t fit right. It strains too much. It doesn't reach your eyes. You nod. Once. Twice.  “Yeah. Sure. Another time.”

Steve gives you a tight lipped smile and turns to your brother, who is still trying to find Eddie. You awkwardly wait by the front desk, picking at it nervously. Steve wasn’t always like this, he used to be kind, and caring, and he used to call you every night. But now? He barely calls at all. Most of the time it’s you calling him. Or you visiting him…Or you planning dates…He’s just really busy at the moment…That’s it. That’s gotta be it…Right?

“Hey,” Max says, her voice breaking your from your thoughts. You blink, startled. “We found something. Are you coming?”

You nod automatically, though the words don’t register. Your body moves before your mind catches up. 

Eddie slams Steve against the wooden wall of the cabin. It’s damp and a little rotten, that’s what happens to things left unchecked. You gasp, moving towards your boyfriend before realising he has a knife. You swallow softly and look towards Dustin, eyes begging him to do something.

“Woah, woah! Eddie, stop! Eddie, it’s me, it’s Dustin! This is Steve. He’s not gonna hurt you. Right, Steve?”

“Right. Yeah.” Your boyfriend breathes out. He gulps, eyes squeezed shut.

“Steve…” Dustin says gently. “Why don’t you drop the oar? He’s cool. He’s cool.”

“I’m cool, man. I’m cool.” Steve echoes, voice shaky and wavering.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie growls, pressing the knife closer to Steve’s neck.

“We’re looking for you!” Robin jumps in. “We’re here to help.”

“Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin, from band? This is Max, my friend who never wants to play D&D.”

Dustin raises his hands. “We’re on your side. I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”

A chorus of, “Yes. Yes, we swear on Dustin’s mother,” echoes around the small cabin.

“Yeah. Dustin-Dustin’s mother,” Steve stammers.

Eddie pauses, and then lets him go. Steve's knees almost buckle as he falls away, and you immediately rush towards him, reaching for his face “Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe-“ You coo.

“I know-I know, god stop touching me!” He shoves you away, leaning towards Robin, who’s sat on the other side of him.

Your eyes widen, and you feel that familiar pit in your stomach. “Sorry. Sorry, I-“ You start, confused, voice wobbling.

Steve gives you a look, one that he’s been giving you a lot recently. One that says ‘You’re really getting on my nerves, please stop talking.’ 

It makes you swallow your apology, and you look down to your scuffed shoes. 

They’re a beat-up pair of converse that you bought back in sophomore year. They’ve been everywhere with you, including some very lovely dates with Steve. Like when you went to the movies, where he kissed you for the first time.  Or like the picnic, where he fed you strawberries and whispered he loved you while watching the stars.

Dates like that feel like a dream. They don’t happen anymore, haven’t in months. Not like they used to. 

For the rest of the conversation, you’re not there. Not really.

[lheesluv]

Please me, baby (l.hs)

You text Heeseung to come over after struggling to get him off your mind and not to your surprise, he shows up, fulfilling your fantasy.

PAIRINGS - brother's bsf!heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE - brother's best friend, smut

WARNINGS - smut (mdni), blowjob, handjob, deep throating, cum swallowing, dirty talking, pet names, Imk if i missed anything!

WC - 1.4k

A/N — hey guys! if this seems familiar, its another smut chapter to my wattpad series "My Secret Lover." if you wanna know what happens next, go check it out at lheesluv on wattpad.

© All rights reserved Iheesluv do not copy, repost, or translate.

You quickly ran downstairs without making a commotion and opened the door for Heeseung. "You came." you breathed out, looking up at him. He smirks and makes his way in.

You quietly closed the door, not wanting to reveal that Heeseung is here. You pulled Heeseung up to your room and shut your door. You turned around and you were surprised to see him so close to you.

You wanted to walk away but your back hit the door. He leaned close to your ear and whispered in the most alluring way, "You want me?"

You know you texted him to come here but you didn't think he actually would. All your confidence died down and you felt shy. You sent him that message without thinking.

"I— uhm... hey?" Heeseung chuckles at you and backs away. "Shy now, aren't you, darling." You only looked into his eyes feeling flustered. Your room was kind of dark. Only the dim light of the sun setting was shining through your window.

"What were you thinking about before you texted me that, hm?" You hesitated to answer him. "Nothing," you quickly said and broke eye contact with him. You heard him hum then felt his presence get closer to you.

"That doesn't sound so promising, darling."

Your eyes that were once focused on the floor looked up and saw his face centimeters away from mine. "Would you like to know what I was doing?" You asked him, suddenly feeling confident.

You got on your toes and whispered in his ear. "I was thinking about doing things with you." You saw his facial expression change once you got back on your feet.

His lips curved into a cocky smile. He placed his hands on your waist, keeping you close. He then leaned into the crook of your neck and started leaving kisses. Your hands naturally reached for his shoulder and held your grip there.

Your breathing got heavy when you felt him tease you. "What were you thinking about us specifically, Y/n." You didn't want to respond but the things he is doing to you right now persuaded you enough without you thinking.

"Giving you a blowjob," you blurt out, sighing at the feeling of his lips against your skin. He met eyes with yours as he softly caressed your waist. "Is that so? That sounded promising."

There was a moment of silence. It was just you two and your eyes talking to each other. Before you knew iit, your lips were on his. Your lips moved against each other with desperation.

He suddenly lifted you up and walked to your bed, not breaking the kiss. He drops you on your bed and hovers on top of you. One of his hands slips under your t-shirt and starts kneading your breast.

You gasped against his lips, giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue in. You kept on making out until you felt his boner against you. He pulled away and looked at you, panting.

"Are you going to fulfill your imagination, darling?"

And with that you pushed him off of you and had him sit on your bed. You got on your knees in front of him and impatiently pulled down his sweatpants — along with his boxers.

You hear him sigh in relief once his hard on is released free. You were frozen for a second. Your eyes never left his length. His chuckle set you back in reality. You looked up at him — who was now sitting on the edge of your bed and blinked a few times.

He stared down at you between his legs with lustful eyes. Your hand was hesitant at first, but eventually wrapped around his hard cock. You heard Heeseung inhale from the unknown touch in the quiet room.

From there, your hand started to pump up and down his length. You observed the head of his cock disappear in your hand every time your hand moved up and down his erection. The tip of his cock was leaking with precum and was red. Oddly enough, it turned you on.

Your eyes then looked up at him. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly opened, letting his heavy pants escape. In this quiet room, all you were able to hear was Heeseung's heavy breathing and the wet sound of his precum in your hand.

Your thumb brushed past his sticky tip as your eyes never left him. His jaw dropped when he felt your thumb brush past his sensitive spot. His eyebrows knitted in pleasure. "Don't fucking tease," Heeseung managed to say, tightening his jaw.

Having him feel vulnerable under your touch gave you a confidence boost. You giggled, "I'll suck you real good, pretty boy."

You stuck my tongue out and let the head of his cock settle on your tongue. You swirl your tongue around the tip, receiving a sigh of satisfaction from Heeseung.

You wanted to tease him more, but one of his hands moved to your head. In a gentle — yet forceful way, he pushed your head down, allowing you to take half of his cock in your mouth.

You heard him let out a shaky breath. You moved your head up and down his length, along with the guidance of his hand pushing your head. You took your hand to stroke the base of his cock, not able to take more of him in your mouth.

"Fuck, Y/n. Keep g-going," Heeseung stutters, his hips involuntarily bucking up. You hummed against his cock, sending vibrations that made him moan.

Hearing him let out such lewd sounds only made you want to satisfy him even more. So, you tried to take more of him. "Y/n— You don't have to— oh shit." And with that you felt the head of his cock hit the back of your throat.

Your gag reflex was triggered and tears welled up in your eyes. Your nails dug into his inner thigh at the feeling. Despite the feeling, Heeseung enjoyed the pleasure that came with it so you didn't care.

You looked up at him with his cock stuffed in your mouth with teary eyes. And honestly...he looked so damn hot right now. His hooded eyes looked down at you. His mouth parted with heavy breathing. His cheeks had a tint of redness. His raspy voice when he tried to speak. And, him. Everything about him just looked so attractive.

His eyes that were filled with lust became even more lustful, if that was even possible. "Fucking hell, you take me so well, baby," he confesses, gripping your hair. "You look so goddamn sexy with my cock stuffed in your mouth like that."

His praises made you moan against his length. You bobbed your head up and down faster until you heard him vocalize in ecstasy. Though you loved hearing him, he needed to be quiet. You pulled away, but kept on jerking him off.

"Shh. You don't want us to get caught, do you?" Heeseung then bites his bottom lip to suppress his moans. Your hand kept on moving up and down his length. It was sticky and wet with your saliva and his precum. The wet noise echoed in your room.

"H-holy shit." He brings his hand back to your head and pushes you down onto his cock. His hips started to fuck himself in your mouth and you felt him twitch. His breathing got inconsistent and faster. His grip on your hair got tighter.

He was getting closer and closer to his high and you wanted him to cum. Now. You sped up your movements that had him gasp with stuttered moans. "Want your cum," you mumbled against his cock and continued deep throating him.

"Oh fuck, pretty, I-I'm cumming," He sputters out in such a way it made your stomach turn and made you wet. You felt his warm cum fill your mouth full, fulfilling your needs. You swallowed his load and pulled away with a string of saliva connecting from the tip of his cock.

You kept on pumping him for a few more seconds to ride out his high. His hand wrapped around your hand that was jerking him off and squished it to stop you from moving. His heavy breathing soon returned to normal and the room was quiet once again.

Heeseung looked at you with tired eyes, but gave you a weak smile. "You look so sexy right now," you confessed and licked the corner of your lips to get the rest of his cum. He chuckled and pulled you on top of him into a hug.

"You did amazing, darling."

[reilemon]

♥︎Amore Immortale♥︎ Ch. 1

Chapter Title ♥︎ Down The Rabbit Hole ♥︎ ch.2 𓂂 ch.3

♡︎ synopsis: A simple foraging trip takes an unexpected turn when you wake up in a mansion hidden deep in the forest. Now four captivating men are nursing you back to health, but their intentions—and identities—are a mystery.

♡︎ pairing: vampire!Xavier, vampire!Zayne, vampire!Rafayel, vampire!Sylus x fem!reader (separately and together)

♡︎ cw: depictions of head injury and fever

♡︎ tags: vampire au, slow burn (-ish), eventual romance, eventual smut, eventual polyamory

♡︎ word count: 4.3k

♡︎ a/n: the first chapter of the sixth and final story for kinktober 2024. I wanted to finish off kinktober with a gang bang, but I got carried away and now this is going to be a multi chapter story. I hope you'll like this one.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

"Poor little bunny." The blue eyed man coos as he find the source of the sudden loud noise - you. The clumsy human probably slipped and fell when the sky opened and heavy rainfall started. He carefully scoops you in his arms, with your head resting on his shoulder.

A small whine barely hits his ears and he catches the moment you briefly gain consciousness. He softly chuckles when he hears your silly question before passing out again. He ignores how a little of your blood is mixing with the rain on the fabric of his coat and starts walking away.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your eyes flutter open, heavy and bleary. You adjust slowly to the dimness around you, the fireplace in front of your bed the only source of light. The ceiling looms high - a ceiling you don’t recognize. The walls are covered in wallpaper, worn and peeling in places. You don’t recognize that wallpaper either. The royal purple catches the dim firelight, a color you could never possibly afford.

You shift against the bed beneath you, the silk sheets cool and smooth against your skin. Over you is a heavy wool blanket, its weight like a comforting presence. A low groan escapes your lips as you rise and rest on your elbow. The room is beautiful, with expensive furniture, but there is this dormant energy to it.

You glance at the thick velvet curtains covering the window. The sliver peeking in the corner shows you a glimpse of the outside world. It’s nighttime, the downpour relentless, drops thrumming against the glass.  

‘The rain!’

You sit up abruptly, a sharp pang of pain zapping through your skull, making you wince and press your fingers to your temple. Your fingers try to rub the pain away as you lean on your other arm to rest. Right, the rain. After closing up the bookstore, you've gone to the forest to search for some mushrooms and sweet chestnuts. A hearty dinner and sweet dessert would be a great start of your two week long vacation. The last visitor commented how their elbow hurt which meant a thunderstorm is coming. You politely smiled and packed up their books. You should've listened to their elbow.

Now, staring around this unfamiliar room, unease twists in your stomach.

‘Where the hell am I?’

Right on cue, the door creaks open, and a tall, raven haired man steps into the room. He pauses in the doorway as his eyes meet yours.

“Hello,” he says, his voice smooth and deep. “How are you feeling?”

You swallow, his presence suddenly making you aware of the mess you must look. Embarrassment prickles your skin, and you rub your temple, trying to compose yourself, only to see his brows knit with concern.

“Um, I’ve been better,” you manage, forcing a chuckle. The grogginess in your voice doesn’t help the embarrassment. You smooth a hand over the blanket, feeling a little exposed. “Why am I here?”

“My friend found you,” he explains, “Out in the forest, just before the storm. You most likely slipped on the mud and hit your head.”

He nods towards your forehead, then reaches for a small, gold hand-mirror resting on the bedside table. The antique metal glints softly as he holds it, and you take it with a hesitant hand. As you lift it to inspect your reflection, you catch a small bruise just above your brow, the skin tender and slightly swollen. Considering the circumstances, you think, it could’ve been much worse.

The man, whose name you still haven’t learned, clears his throat. “I was the one who changed you into dry clothes,” he shifts in his seat, averting his gaze briefly before meeting your eyes again. “For that, I apologize. I wouldn’t have done it if there were any other choice.”

You shake your head with a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine, really. If you hadn’t, I’d probably be shivering with pneumonia right now.”

His expression softens with relief. “I’m glad you understand. I would still like to listen to your lungs, Would you be comfortable with me examining you?” then he adds, “I’ve been in the medical field for quite some time, I assure you.”

Something about his demeanor, calm and controlled, makes him look trustworthy. And considering how thoroughly he must have tended to you—removing every speck of mud, leaving you dry and warm in a comfortable bed—it’s clear he has your wellbeing in mind. You nod. “Of course.”

He gives a curt nod and shifts closer to the bed. “You don’t need to do much, just sit as comfortably as you can,” he murmurs, the calm, low timbre of his voice steadies you. The shirt you wear—a loose button-up clearly meant for a man—hangs loosely over your shoulders, open at the collar. Suddenly, you feel the pulse of your own heartbeat, wondering if he might hear it already. His hand moves lightly over the fabric, as he leans closer, and then he places his ear gently against your chest, just above your heart.

The moment feels both entirely professional and so intimate. You tell yourself that this is completely normal, this is the usual routine. But he is not your doctor, and you can’t shun the butterflies you feel from having a handsome stranger resting his head on your chest. His hair, thick and dark, grazes your collarbone as he listens, his breath warm against your skin. Your heartbeat, which you’re certain must be thudding wildly beneath his ear, betrays you, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks as you try to steady yourself.

“Breathe in deeply for me,” his voice a soft murmur, his cheek brushing against you.

You comply, feeling his presence with every rise and fall of your chest. When he shifts, his head moves closer to your collarbone, the tickling brush of his hair sending a wave of goosebumps along your chest. You’re conscious of every small movement, every slight intake of his breath.

He shifts back a little, his hand grazing your shoulder as he adjusts to press his ear against your back. “One more time,” his tone is still composed, though you’re unsure if you catch a hint of restraint.

You breathe in, slowly, deeply, feeling the warmth of his palm on your shoulder. He holds still for a moment longer, listening intently. Then, he slowly pulls back, settling into his seat with a neutral expression.

“You do have a small fever,” he calmly states. “Although, there are no signs of anything serious.” He offers a faint, almost apologetic smile. “You should lie back down and rest.”

Your cheeks are warm, and not just from the fever. You nod and do as you’re told, sinking under the comforting weight of the blanket. The man briefly explains that you were unconscious for around two hours, and that your clothes are being washed.

You nod again, processing the details. “Thank you… that’s all very considerate of you.”

He offers you a faint smile. “It’s the least we could do.”

He rises from his seat and steps toward the door, his hand resting on the brass knob. “I need to check on my friend in the kitchen. There may be a fire to manage. And I’ll bring you some herbal tea.”

You chuckle. “Well, thank you, Dr…?”

A flicker of amusement lights his eyes as he opens the door, pausing for a moment. “Just call me Zayne.”

You tell him your name in return, and with that, he’s gone with the soft click of the door.

After Zayne leaves, the room slips into an almost eerie quiet. You prop yourself up against the plush pillows, trying to get comfortable despite the persistent ache in your muscles and the dull throb in your head. The room feels larger now that you’re alone. Every detail catches your attention—the thick velvet drapes, the intricate patterns on the worn wallpaper, the faint smell of stale air. You’d get up to investigate the room or try to figure out more about where exactly you are, but your body protests with every small movement. So you have to settle for gazing around the space instead, picking out details you hadn’t noticed before. The furniture is old but well-kept, the kind that belongs in a property far grander than any home you’ve ever been in. This place—it’s not like the humble cottages back in your village. No, this is different. Larger. More isolated. Somewhere far from the familiar streets you walk every day.

A shiver crawls down your spine at the thought of how far away you could be from your home. You’ve never ventured beyond the edge of the forest. You’ve heard stories about the other side. It was always whispered between older folk who’d lived through enough strange events to keep their superstitions alive. Vampires, werewolves, creatures of the night. They’d mention them, always in passing, as though acknowledging them would draw something out of the shadows.

At first, you’d dismissed it. What else could it be but old folklore? Some scary tales to spice up their lives, stories passed down from generation to generation. Something for them to talk about when the nights grew long and dark, to keep the children from misbehaving. Those creatures don’t exist. You were certain of that.

Or, at least, you had been.

You replay the events in your mind, trying to make sense of it all. Zayne said that his friend found you unconscious in the woods. They’d brought you here, tended to your injuries, and kept you warm. His behavior had been nothing but kind, gentlemanly even.

But then, why does your skin prickle as you think of him?

What if he is one of them? The pale complexion, the unnerving quiet, the way he’d moved with such elegant grace. And those eyes... there was something about the way he looked at you. Your pulse quickens. You try to reason with yourself—if this man, Zayne, were a vampire, wouldn’t he have done something by now? You were unconscious and vulnerable. He could have easily taken advantage of that moment, but he hadn’t. He’d taken care of you.

But what if... what if this is all part of some darker plan? You swallow hard, trying to silence the growing paranoia. What if they want to keep you here? What if, right now, they’re simply playing a long game, to coax you to be their little blood doll—

‘Stop.’ You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm your spiraling thoughts. There’s no proof, no reason to believe that Zayne—or anyone else—is anything other than a human.

You glance toward the window. Your body feels like lead at the moment, but tomorrow you will probably be well enough to leave. The storm can’t go on forever.

A sharp knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

"Come in," you manage, your voice wavering just a little.

Zayne steps in, balancing a tray of a delicate ceramic tea set. The gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain brings comfort to your senses. Behind him, another figure slips into the room—a man with handsome, soft features. His tousled, blonde-gray hair looks like it would be soft to the touch. And his eyes, though shadowed by the dim lighting, have a dreamy quality, like someone lost in thought.

A faint smell of something burnt drifts into the room, cutting through the soothing scent of the herbal tea. You can’t help but frown a bit at the scent, but neither man acknowledges it. Zayne places the tray on the small bedside table, the teapot steaming. The air feels warmer now, not just from the tea.

The second man steps forward, offering you a polite nod, “Hello.” he says, his voice silky and mellow. “I’m Xavier, the one who found you.”

His soft smile makes your heart stir. It takes you a beat to find your voice to introduce yourself.

“Thank you… for, well, rescuing me,” you say with a shy smile.

Xavier gives a gentle shake of his head, his smile widening. “Why were you so deep into the forest with a storm on the way?” he asks, his tone feels almost like teasing.

You chuckle nervously as you feel the faintest flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks. “I – Well, I wanted to gather some things for dinner,” you admit. “It’s my first real break from work, and I may have gotten a little too excited.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, as if he’s trying to fully take you in.

“You’re lucky he was done fishing at the time.” Zayne adds as he hands you a cup of tea. His fingers brush lightly against yours as you accept it, deepening the flush on your cheeks. You are lucky to be here. Even though you’re sitting in a room with two men who are strangers, they still have cared for you with such tenderness. You could feel their warmth in every gesture, in every word. It’s hard to hold onto fear when faced with such care. Even now, you can feel yourself relaxing, the tension in your shoulders unwinding.

You take a sip of tea slowly, trying to mask the strange tide of emotions flooding through you. You had been so afraid, so convinced of something dark lurking beneath the surface. But now, in this quiet moment, with the warm tea in your hands and their watchful eyes on you, you feel strangely safe.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The clock on the mantel ticks softly, the brass hands showing it’s almost 1 a.m. The fire burns low, casting a warm, flickering glow over the room. Your eyelids feel heavy now, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in your bones. You turn onto your side, pulling the duvet tighter, forming a cocoon around you. The warmth, the softness—everything lulls you closer to sleep. But your mind drifts, recalling the conversation with Xavier after he’d brought you dinner.

He’d placed the bed tray gently over your lap, making sure everything was within reach. Before he turned to leave, the sound of your voice stopped him.

“Did you manage to catch anything?” you asked, your voice quiet but curious.

Xavier had looked confused for a moment, then his face lit up with a soft smile. “I did. Fried a few, but Zayne didn’t let me serve it to you.” He chuckled. “Said he didn’t want you choking on a bone.”

You laughed too, the sound easing the leftover tension you’ve been holding. That explained the faint burnt smell that had lingered earlier, and why Zayne had to rush to the kitchen.

“And don’t worry,” he added. “I brought back your basket too. Everything’s intact.”

You were about to thank him, but then an image flashed in your mind—a fleeting memory of him, his hair wet and clinging to his face. The moment felt so vivid, so real, that it stopped you mid-thought. You stared at him, squinting slightly.

“What’s wrong?” His voice softened with concern, his brows furrowing.

You shook your head quickly, flustered for being caught staring. “Nothing… it’s just—did I say something to you?  When you found me?”

Xavier hesitated, his lips twitching as though trying to suppress a grin. He glanced to the side, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, but his eyes gave him away. “Oh no…” you said, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “Was it something embarrassing?”

“No,” he replied, though the gleam in his eye said otherwise. “It was cute.” He paused, then looked back to you, “You opened your eyes for a moment, and asked me, ‘Are you my prince?’ Then you passed out again.”

Your heart practically leapt into your throat, your face instantly flushing. “Oh, that’s definitely embarrassing,” you groaned.

Xavier laughed then, his voice soothing. “Don’t worry, I’ve been called worse.”

And just as you wished for the shadows to come alive and swallow you, Zayne entered, saving you from further humiliation. He brought you a bowl filled with ice and a cloth. You thanked both of them, adding that you planned to leave in the morning.

Their faces changed for a heartbeat when you said that, though you didn’t miss it. It wasn’t worry exactly, more like hesitation, as though they weren’t entirely convinced you would be gone by morning. Or perhaps… that they didn’t want you to be.

That thought lingered now, swirling in your mind as your body sank deeper into the mattress. Their kindness, their calmness—they made you feel safe, soothed the fears that had gripped you earlier. Yet, there was something unspoken between the three of you.

A sigh escapes your lips. You can feel sleep creeping over you, warm and heavy, pulling you under. The memory of Xavier’s reassuring smile and Zayne’s attentive gaze lingers in your mind, their faces blurring at the edges as your thoughts dissolve into a haze.

They are both so kind. And so handsome.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

A low whine escapes your lips before you even open your eyes. The ache in your body is heavy and relentless. Every muscle protests as you shift, but you force your eyelids open. The room is warm, the fire crackling faintly in the hearth. Someone must’ve light it while you were still asleep.

‘I said I’d leave in the morning.’ You glance over at the clock—it’s 11 a.m. That’s not really morning, but it is time for you to leave. If only you felt better.

You wince as you slowly, painfully, push yourself out of bed. Your legs feel weak, your body sluggish, like you’re moving through water. Every movement sends a wave of soreness through your bones, but you grit your teeth and push through. You don’t want to linger here any longer than you have to.

Grumbling under your breath, you stagger toward the door, your feet barely shuffling across the hardwood. You’re still dressed in the warm clothes Zayne gave you, though they feel a little too big now. You’ll just ask for your things and be on your way. You’ll return their clothes once you fully recover.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin as you open the door, the chill air of the hallway shocking your senses. It is completely quiet, only the soft creak of the floorboards under your slippers breaking the silence. More doors sit along the hallway, likely bedrooms as well. You glance at them briefly, but you step towards the staircase ahead. The polished mahogany wood gleams faintly, and you internally groan at the thought of making it down the steps in your current state.

You’re about to take your first step when—

“Hey!”

The voice comes out of nowhere, stopping you in your tracks. You freeze, your heart jumping in your chest as footsteps echo from above, growing louder as they approach. Turning, you find yourself face-to-face with a man descending the stairs. He’s tall and moves with an almost feline grace. His hair is gorgeous - messy curls of muted violet and his eyes, an unusual blend of blue and pink, are sharp and full of curiosity. His plump lips are pulled in an amused smirk.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is teasing, though there’s a touch of disapproval in it. His arms cross over his chest, as he takes in your disheveled state.

You blink at him, still trying to shake off the fog in your head. “I - I need to leave.”

He narrows his eyes, looking you up and down. “You should stay in bed,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

He is right, you do feel like you’re about to collapse, yet you can’t help but notice how striking he is. His hair, his eyes, even the way he moves—it’s all captivating. But you force those thoughts away, shaking your head slightly. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He uncrosses his arms, offering a small smile that’s both charming and a little smug. “Oh, right. I’m Rafayel.” His voice dips slightly, your name falling from his lips. “I’m staying here too. Zayne told me what happened.”

You blink again, taken aback by how easily he says your name. You hadn’t expected to meet another guest in the house. “Rafayel,” you repeat.

He nods, brushing a hand through his unruly curls. “Yeah. I took care of your clothes. They’re drying in my room,” he adds. “It’s still raining, though, so they might take a while.”

At his words, you pause and listen. Sure enough, you hear the soft, steady patter of rain against the windows. You’d been so focused on leaving that you hadn’t even thought to check the weather. ‘Of course it’s still raining.’ You sigh inwardly, frustration and weariness settling in your chest.

“What about Zayne and Xavier?” you ask, hoping to at least get some help from them.

Rafayel smirks, shaking his head. “They’re sleeping.”

You frown. “Sleeping?”

“Yup,” he says with a shrug, almost dismissive.

Your mind races. You know why you are up so late, but why are they still sleeping. Your mind is about to wander to that corner again, but you stop yourself. ‘They must’ve been exhausted from taking care of an injured stranger.’

Still, the unease lingers. Rafayel’s gaze flickers over you, his eyes softening slightly as if sensing your discomfort. “Look,” he says, his voice gentler now, “you really don’t look like you’re in any shape to leave. Why don’t you rest a bit longer?”

You hesitate, your body aching with every breath, the fatigue weighing you down with each second. He’s right. You’re not ready to leave yet.

Rafayel’s eyes hold yours for a moment. “You’re safe here,” he adds softly.

Just as Rafayel is about to steer you back toward the bedroom, another voice cuts through the air, deep and teasing, with a velvety edge that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Is that the lost kitten?”

You look down the stairs, and there he is. The man who appears next makes the very air around you seem heavier. He’s taller than the other men, with strikingly sharp features. His white hair is tousled yet elegant, and his eyes - a deep, mesmerizing wine-red, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter.

Before you can even react, the man is standing right in front of you, his height towering over you. You can’t help but gawk, unable to stop yourself from tracing every detail of his sharp jawline, the way his lower lip looks so plump and soft.

Rafayel’s voice, sharp with annoyance, snaps you out of the trance. “You know her name, Sylus.”

But Sylus just smirks. He takes your hand, his fingers long and strong, enveloping yours completely. Your breath catches in your throat as the warmth from his touch sends heat rippling through your body. His hand is so much larger than yours, making you feel almost fragile in his grip.

“My name is Sylus. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name drips from his lips, and he bends forward and presses a tender kiss to the back of your hand. The sensation of his cool lips against your flushed skin sends tingles across your arm. You can’t help but blush under the attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rafayel roll his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “You’re shameless.” he mutters, though there’s a playful lilt to his voice.

Sylus simply laughs, a low, rich sound, before releasing your hand. With a light touch on your back, Rafayel guides you back toward the bedroom, his hand steady and firm against you. Sylus trails behind, watching with an amused expression.

When you’re back in the bedroom, Rafayel’s hands gently but insistently push you down by the shoulders, guiding you to sit back on the edge of the bed. “Seriously,” you protest, exasperated, “I feel better already! I don’t want to be a burden.”

Sylus leans lazily against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a smirk dancing on his lips as he watches the scene unfold. "You look much too cute to be any kind of burden, kitten," he says, his eyes fixed on you.

Before you can say anything else, Rafayel presses you back into the blankets, his firm but gentle insistence impossible to resist. As you sink back into the bed, Sylus pushes off from the door and approaches with an almost predatory grace. The teasing glint in his eyes fades slightly as he crouches beside the bed, his expression softening as his hand reaches out to press against your forehead. His touch is cool—no wonder, since the rest of the mansion is freezing—and the sensation sends a refreshing chill through your heated skin.

“You still have a fever.” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple.

Rafayel shakes his head, giving you a disapproving look. “See? You’re in no condition to leave. I’ll prepare you tea and breakfast.”

Your protests die on your lips as Sylus pulls away, his touch lingering on your skin. Both men turn around and leave before you can say anything else.

The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone once again. You sink deeper into the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion. Your thoughts swirl, still caught in the lingering effect of their presence. You turn on your side, facing the window, staring at the thick velvet curtains that block out the view of raindrops racing down the tall windows. As much as you want to leave, as much as you should leave, you know your body isn’t ready. The fever might not be severe, but it’s enough to weaken you. Slipping away now—especially into the woods with no clear path—feels like a death wish.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips. For now, the best option is to rest and regain your strength. You can’t deny how safe their presence makes you feel, even if you don’t fully understand why. Something about them pulls you in, something more than just their looks.

You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion pull you under.

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Don’t Prove I’m Right - [Part 4]

♥ prev

♥ series masterlist | main masterlist

♥ pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

♥ series synopsis: you didn't think twice about the dj you hooked up with until you found out you were pregnant. turns out the man wasn't just some dj but a famous formula 1 driver.

♥ chapter synopsis: after his reckless decisions, lando attempts to make it up to you. it took some convincing from oscar but you eventually gave in and had a conversation with him.

♥ smau + written - fc: girls on pinterest - none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: its been MONTHS since the last chapter I am so sorry lovelies!

liked by logansargeant, lilyzneimer, lilymhe, and 120,538 more

yourusername ever since @/logansargeant and @/oscarpiastri got camila these plushies she’s been obsessed with them

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yourbestfriend please don’t tell me the deer is being replaced 😔

yourusername camila would never

lilyzneimer shes just too cute to not spoil

user1 haven’t seen lando in any of her posts recently 😕

user3 they did JUST get back to Monaco so I wouldn't be worried

user6 they're not dating either so I don't see why he would be

user4 we need a godfather reveal

logansargeant it’s me

oscarpiastri its me

carlossainz55 … it’s probably not me 😕

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

It had been a couple of days since your last conversation with Lando and a knock on your door drew your attention away from your phone.

A giant box was sitting on the doorstep alone with no sender information. You hesitantly brought it into the living room and grabbed a pocket knife to cut through the clear strip of tape. The box quickly burst open from the pressure of the deeply packed objects—about a dozen jellycats and an apology note placed on top. 

It was clear to you that this package was from Lando, and it was a very sweet gesture. He’d clearly seen the post you made the previous day and was trying his best to make up for his mistakes. You sighed and folded the note up, setting it on your couch. You pulled out a soft pink bunny from the box causing Camila to squeal and hold her arms open. 

You still hadn’t checked your texts from Lando, but Oscar was right. You couldn’t ignore him forever. Lily offered to take you out for the night in order to clear your head. You were extremely grateful for Lily’s support and generosity ever since you met her. She had truly become one of your best friends throughout this experience.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by lilymhe, carmenmundt,, and 102,843 more 102,473 more

yourusername girls night

tagged; @/lilyzneimer

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lilyzneimer <3

user1 we love a self care queen

user2 she’s so pretty

alexandrasaintmleux we should all hang out together <3

francisca.cgomes i second that

yourusername i’m so there

user7 i love that the wags include her 🥹

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

You sat next to Lily with a glass of white wine in your hand, conflicted. Of course you were. Like Oscar said, you had to confront him at some point, but it was going to take a lot for you to trust Lando again. You pulled your phone out of your purse.

You got the response pretty much immediately.

You sighed and turned to Lily, "I'm gonna go talk to Lando."

"Good luck," she said with a smile, and took another sip of her drink.

You picked Camila up off the couch and bundled her up in a small yellow blanket.

-

You were at his apartment in about twenty minutes. You knocked hesitantly, tapping your nails on the case of your phone and jangling your keys in attempt to reduce your anxiety. Lando opened the door in silence, letting you into the room. He sat back down on his couch and you followed, cradling your daughter in your arms and choosing to stand up as you spoke.

“Listen Y/n, I know what I did was-“

"I'm not going to take your child away from you,” you stated, cutting him off. “You said you want to be in her life, but you have to keep that promise."

He nodded and ran his hands across his face. You wanted to get straight to the point with no excuses. You had heard all of his apologies already.

"Lily talked to Kmag and found her a babysitter, so we're good on that end. But, you still have to earn back my trust to be alone with her and if anything like this happens again I won't be nice."

He looked back up at you, “It won’t ever happen again, I swear. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

”I agree.”

There was some awkward silence as you gently sat on the arm rest of the couch.

You looked down at your daughter, “She may not fully get it yet, but you’re her dad and she loves you,” you locked eyes with Lando again. “You chose to raise her with me, so you need to take responsibility.”

He nodded, “I understand.”

"Good," you responded, standing back up and stepping towards the front door. You paused without turning your head back towards him, "Good luck in Imola.”

With that you were gone.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: this was short, I am aware! there was originally supposed to be more to this chapter but I decided to turn it into its own whole part lol :) I've already started working on it so stay tuned!

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@harrysdimple05, @toriiez, @theonottsbxtch, @fastfactory

[mercvry-glow]

My Name, My Undoing | In Another Light (3)

In Another Light masterlist - Jack x Ex!reader

warnings. warnings. age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 27), exes to lovers, slowburnish, jack and reader are bad at feelings, mentions of sex, reader is hinted to have some form of depression and anxiety, death of a child, reader has a panic attack, possible suicidal ideation, jack talks reader off the ledge, more to come as series continues

summary. You couldn't take it anymore, and then jack finds you.

notes. guys they actually talk! are we so excited? I actually love this chapter, and it really shows how jack and reader feel about each other right now so enjoy until next time!

wc. 3500+

You don’t remember how you got to the roof.

It wasn’t on purpose, not really. You couldn’t even say it was by choice. Just motion. Just instinct. You’d moved through the hallways like a ghost, past the flickering lights of the other floors, past the rest of the hospital still stained with echoes of its wrongdoings and failures. Up the back stairwell—where it took you three flights  of stairs to realize you were running.

And now, here you were.

Always here. 

The rooftop of PTMC was still, except for the soft hum of the HVAC units and the buzz of a broken security light above the door. The city sprawled beneath you like it was asleep, distant and disinterested. It was nearly midnight—too late for visitors, too early for any sort of real relief. That strange hour when the hospital turned into something else. When everything you’d been holding back started to claw its way out.

You gripped the black metal of the guardrail with both hands, knuckles white.

Your heart was pounding—too fast. Way too fast.

At first, you thought it was just residual adrenaline. A bad trauma, the worst one you’ve had in a while. Then you caught sight of Jack again after the code, leaning against the supply closet door outside the room like he owned the ER. Like you didn’t just lose a little girl. Like what just happened was normal or inevitable. 

But it wasn’t just that…

Your chest felt tight. Not like in the poetic, sad way. In the real way. Like your lungs couldn’t quite inflate. Like every breath was getting caught halfway down.

You sucked in air through your nose, out through your mouth. In. Out. You’d coached patients through this before. You’d knelt beside stretchers and whispered them through panic, through pain, through the kind of fear that turned people into strangers. 

But now you couldn’t even talk yourself down.

What could you do right? 

Your fingers were tingling. Your vision was dark and swam at the edges. You tried to focus on the skyline, the blinking red tip of the UPMC tower. You tried grounding yourself—five things you could see, four you could touch—but your body was already moving without you. Too far ahead. Too loud.

You tried so hard. 

The air was so loud.

Everything was spinning and you couldn’t get a grip. Couldn’t stop the thoughts from tearing you up inside.

You’d done this before. You’d worked this shift before. You’d lived through worse than losing just one patient.

So why did it feel like you were dying?

Your knees buckled a little, and you dropped into a crouch beside the ledge after passing the railing, arms wrapping tight around yourself like you could hold your tired bones together if you just squeezed hard enough. Your face pressed against the sleeve of your undershirt as the tears came—not gently, not soft. 

Violent.

  Gut-wrenching. 

Shaking sobs that left your throat raw.

And still—your chest wouldn’t expand.

You felt stupid.

You felt weak.

You hated every bit of this.

You hated that you had come back. Hated how easy it had been to step into your old shoes, like no time had passed. Hated how Jack still looked at you like he knew you’d fall apart eventually.

And here you were.

Falling apart.

A sound—distant, metallic—rattled behind you. Maybe a door, maybe a car below, maybe just the wind playing tricks. But you didn’t turn.

You stayed curled up on the rooftop ledge, hidden from the light, hidden from the world, letting the worst of it bleed out of you into the dark August night.

You didn’t need help. You Couldn’t help. 

You just needed space.

Just five minutes to breathe again.

Just five minutes to stop pretending you were fine...

40 minutes earlier

They’d rushed Sophie into Trauma 1 just after 11:00 p.m.—John had been the one to call you in.

"She’s crashing," he’d said. "We need the whole team!"

Sophie. Three years old. Belly pain. Fever. You’d seen her plenty of times tonight, tucked her into her bed with a warm blanket and a quiet promise that she’d be okay. Telling her mother it was probably just appendicitis, and that the scans you were about to present her would tell you more. 

She wasn’t supposed to code.

You weren’t supposed to be losing her.

But by the time you got back to her bedside, she was blue around the lips, more so than she was when she arrived, and barely breathing. Her tiny body limp on the stretcher as two nurses started compressions. The rapid response team was already in motion. You jumped in without thinking—hands moving, voice steady even as the inside of your chest cracked open.

Epinephrine. Airway. Fluids. Chest compressions.

The clock ticked louder than the monitors.

You watched her flatline twice.

You noticed when Jack stepped into the room, silent at the edge of the chaos, watching as you, John, and the rest of the team worked in tandem. He didn’t say anything—just nodded once when the other attending looked to him.

Backup, or oversight. A cold sort of comfort.

Everyone tried for sixteen minutes.

And when Johen called time—23:28—you were the one holding the bag mask still pressed to her mouth, your normally steady hands trembling.

The room emptied quickly. Too quickly. You were left standing near her side, eyes locked on the stuffed bunny clutched in her arm, matted with sweat and betadine.

You didn’t realize how hard you were breathing until the ringing in your ears started. You stood frozen in the middle of Trauma One, the silence around you so sharp it felt like glass. The monitors were off now, the code cart was already wheeled out, and the team had cleared with a kind of practiced sorrow that only came from too many nights like this.

You were still staring at Sophie’s bunny, your fingers curled slightly like you didn’t know what to do with them now.

“Hey.” John’s voice came from your right, gentle, low—carefully measured like he knew how you felt. He wasn’t wearing gloves anymore, and his white sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, forearms still dusted with powdered latex and sweat. His dark eyes didn’t move past your face.

“I’ll talk to her mom,” he said, nodding slightly toward the hallway, toward the quiet room—where you knew Sophie’s mother had been waiting. “You don’t have to.”

You blinked. Swallowed. “No. No, I should—”

“No,” he said again, firmer this time. “I’ll do it. I’ll… I’ll figure out what the hell happened here. Go upstairs or sit down or—I don’t care, just take a second. You don’t need to be a hero right now.”

You opened your mouth like you were going to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You were barely holding yourself upright.

“She liked you,” John added, softer this time. “That kid lit up every time you walked in the room, you didn’t deserve this either.”

That broke something. You let out a shaky breath, looking anywhere but the stretcher.

John squeezed your arm briefly, then moved past you toward the door. “If you’re not gone in five minutes, I’m kicking your ass out of here myself.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a lifeline.

John was good at giving you those.

You stood there a moment longer—just long enough to see the dark haired male disappear down the hall—and then you turned, heart pounding as you walked straight past Jack.

He was outside the trauma bay. Leaning against the far wall where one of the supply closets was, arms crossed. Not smug. Not distant either. Just watching you like he knew what was coming. Like he could see the unraveling starting at your seams.

And maybe he could.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t say a word.

You just walked—through the ER, through the hospital, into the stairwell, and kept going until the weight of it all finally knocked you down.

Present

You curled further in on yourself, forehead pressing to your knees. Your scrubs were damp with sweat and tears, your fingers cramping from the way you’d been gripping your sleeves.

You couldn’t stop seeing her face.

Three years old, with curls stuck to her fevered forehead and those wide, scared eyes that had looked up at you for reassurance in place of her mother. You had given it to her. You had promised her she would be okay.

You lied.

And now a mom was down there somewhere without her baby. Sitting in a quiet room with the weight of the world collapsing on her chest. While you were up here—useless. Shaking. Sobbing. Falling apart because the truth was you didn’t know how to carry this anymore.

The night held a weight the day could never carry.

The door behind you creaked faintly again, metal on metal.

You flinched but didn’t turn around.

Heavy steps crossed the gravel-dusted rooftop. Slow. Sturdy. Hesitant.

And then silence. Whoever it was stopped a few feet back, giving you space. Maybe unsure of whether to come closer, or maybe just unwilling to intrude on a grief this loud.

You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to.

You knew who it was.

Of course it was Jack.

The silence stretched out between you, hanging there like the fog of your breath in the thick air. He didn’t speak. Didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t reach for you like someone who had the right to touch you. He just stood there, a steady presence on the periphery—anchoring you in a way that made you feel both seen and raw.

“I told her she’d be okay,” you croaked out eventually, voice wrecked and hoarse from the sobs. “She was scared, and I told them it was probably just appendicitis. I told her she’d be okay.”

Jack didn’t answer.

You finally looked over your shoulder. Just a glance. He was standing with his hands on his hips, his jaw clenched but not too tight, hazel eyes locked on you—not pitying. Not judging. Just… there, always there. Like gravity. Like he wasn’t going anywhere.

Your breath hitched again, chest spasming.

“She died thinking I lied to her,” you whispered.

This time, he stepped a little closer, but still didn’t cross that invisible line. Just enough that you could feel the weight of him beside you, the way you used to feel it late at night, when the world was too quiet and his presence was the only thing loud enough to hold you together.

“She didn’t die because of you,” Jack said, his voice low and firm. “You did everything right.”

You shook your head, curling back in. “It wasn’t enough.”

“It’s never enough,” he said, after a beat. “But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

The wind picked up slightly, brushing your damp baby hairs back from your face. You were still shaking. Still crying. But there was something about hearing his voice that made the panic in your chest loosen just a fraction.

Not gone. Not better.

But less alone.

And sometimes that was the best you could hope for.

You didn’t ask him to stay, you never have.

He just did.

Quietly. Unmoving.

Like he knew what it meant to come undone in the middle of the night, on the roof of a trauma center, where the only thing keeping you from breaking was the sound of another person breathing just a few feet away.

Like he remembered what your silence sounded like.

And knew exactly what it meant.

You don’t know how long you two sat there—sweat cooling, panic fading into exhaustion. The sobs came less frequently now, worn out by the force of them, replaced by tremors that wouldn’t stop no matter how tightly you hugged your knees.

Jack still hadn’t moved.

Eventually, you spoke again, voice cutting the silence.

“I shouldn’t have come back.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. The silence lingered for a beat longer than you could handle. And then:

“But you did.”

You flinched at the sound of his voice again—more than a whisper now. Real. Solid. Like you couldn’t pretend this wasn’t happening.

He stepped closer again. Still not too close. Still giving you the space you needed. But near enough now that when you finally looked up again, you could see the shadows under his eyes. He looked tired. Not just shift tired, but something deeper. 

You wondered if he saw the same thing in you.

“You shouldn’t be up here alone,” he said. “Not like this.”

That got to you. You laughed, or something close to it—hollow and mean. “Not like this,” you repeated back, wiping under your eyes with the back of your hand, definitely smearing your mascara. “And what would be the right way, Jack? Crying in front of the woman who just lost her daughter? Losing it in front of everyone downstairs?”

His mouth twitched, not quite a frown. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” you cut in. “I know what you meant.”

There was a thick pause between you. Then, quietly:

“This is the first time you’ve said anything to me in over a year.”

Jack’s shoulders tensed. You saw it. Just barely. But he didn’t deny it.

You didn’t mean to look at him like that—raw, vulnerable. It slipped out anyway.

And it was too much.

Too much to be near him like this. Too much to feel everything that had been packed away and ignored and buried beneath a year of silence and pretending you didn’t care. You couldn’t do this. Not now. Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

“Don’t,” you said, voice cracking. “Please, Jack. Don’t do this now.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me,” you snapped, harsher than you meant to, the words burning in your throat. “Pretending like nothing happened. Like we can just—pick up right where we left off, like before we got together and pretend that we’re just friends.”

Jack didn’t flinch. But he didn’t look away, either.

“I’m not pretending nothing happened,” he said. His voice was lower now. Careful. “You know me better than that.”

“Do I? Because I distinctly remember you saying that I didn’t know you at all,” you whispered.

Silence again. And this time it was the kind that cut.

You stood up slowly, every muscle trembling from effort and exhaustion, your heart pounding again—not from panic now, but from the weight of his presence. The sound of his voice. His stupid face. That look in his eyes that still undid you.

Your arms wrapped around your middle like they might hold in the scream rising in your chest.

“I’m not ready for this.”

Jack nodded once. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” you said, voice higher, sharp with panic again. “I can’t do this. I can’t talk about us—not tonight. I can’t breathe, Jack. I can barely fucking think.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m not asking you to.”

You let out a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and turned away again, facing the skyline like it might ground you.

Your voice was smaller when you spoke again. “Why did you follow me up here?”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “Because I knew you’d come up here to suffer alone… and I didn’t want that for you.”

That almost ruined you.

Your throat clenched tight. Your jaw shook.

“I thought you didn’t care anymore,” you said, barely audible.

“I never stopped.”

The words hit you square in the chest. No warning. No soft lead-in. And suddenly it was all too loud again—the wind, your breathing, your thoughts, your past slamming into you like a freight train.

You dropped your face into your hands and shook your head violently. “Shut up! I can’t do this—”

Jack didn’t move closer.

But he didn’t leave either.

So you stood there, falling apart all over again—heart racing, chest squeezing, eyes burning—while the man who broke your heart watched it all happen in silence. Not asking for forgiveness. Not offering a fix.

Just staying.

Just standing there with you.

Because maybe that’s all either of you could give tonight.

“Hey,” Jack said, voice low. “Can we… maybe take a step back from the edge?”

You didn’t answer.

Your knees still felt like they might give out again, and your lungs were tight, your hands trembling from where you’d braced them on your thighs.

“I know you don’t want anyone to see you like this,” he added, softer now. “Least of all me.”

You blinked hard, staring at the roof gravel, the skyline blurring past the haze in your eyes. Jack exhaled, steadying himself, maybe steadying you. “You don’t have to say anything. But just—c’mon. Let’s step back a little, yeah?”

You were quiet for a few seconds too long, until he took a half-step closer and offered his hand—not reaching, not pushing. Just there.

“Can’t have you doing your best Batman impression up here,” he murmured. “You’re way too tired for vigilante hours.”

It was a weak joke, but it landed gently. Your breath hitched in something that could’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t hurt so much.

“You’re not funny,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Never claimed to be,” Jack said, just as quiet.

You finally took his hand.

His grip was warm. Solid. Familiar in the way that made your chest hurt even more.

He helped you to your feet slowly, like he remembered how your body locked up when you were overwhelmed. Like he still knew you, even after all this time.

Once upright, you swayed slightly, and he didn’t let go. Just stayed steady beside you, his hand still loosely curled around yours, like if he let go too quickly, you might fall apart again.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, trying not to look at him.

“I know.”

You swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Probably not,” Jack said gently. “But I am.”

Silence fell again, thick and full of everything neither of you were ready to say.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you finally admitted, the words leaving you brittle.

“I know,” he repeated.

You stared out at the city, your chest aching, your eyes hot. Jack stood close—close enough that you could feel his presence, but far enough not to crowd you.

“Do you wanna sit down again, now that we know you’re not going to hurl yourself off the roof?” he asked. “Or do you wanna go back down?”

In truth, you didn’t know what you wanted. Everything was too much right now. But the one thing you knew was that you didn’t want to be alone, even if that meant your company was Jack.

Not right now.

So you nodded, to what you don’t exactly know.

And Jack didn’t say anything else.

He just stayed. Right there with you, in the quiet. Not fixing it. Not filling the silence. 

Just staying.

Something you didn’t know he could do. 

Eventually your breathing slowed, falling in pace with Jack's own. The sniffles still continued, accompanied by a few quick, short breaths. The stutter in your chest did nothing to dull the overall ache, but for the time being, it was enough to just sit in silence.

You glanced over at him. He was sitting forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, eyes fixed on some far-off point on the floor like it held all the answers he didn’t have. The overhead light cast soft shadows over his face, catching the curve of his cheekbone, the dip in his brow. His salt-and-pepper curls were disheveled, pushed back like he’d run his hands through them too many times tonight. The freckles lined across his nose and cheeks were more noticeable under stars tonight, like faint constellations on skin gone pale with stress.

His hazel eyes were tired now, or maybe they always were and you never took the time to notice. Dull around the edges, just like your own. There was a tremble in his jaw, not quite a twitch, more like tension he hadn’t figured out how to let go of. A few days’ worth of stubble darkened his face, and beneath it all, his muscles tensed beneath his scrubs like he was bracing for impact from you that never came.

The two of you hadn’t said much. Just sat there, breathing beside one another like the old days, holding silence like it was the only thing keeping you two upright. But you didn’t need words. Not when the grief was so visible on him—etched in the tight set of his shoulders, the way his thumb moved absently against the seam of his pants, like he needed to do something with his hands or else fall apart.

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging again. Not because you were alone in this—but because you weren’t.

Because he looked just as wrecked as you felt right now.

And you didn’t know what to say to him. 

[secundati]

Collecting my thoughts on what I know of Xavier’s journey, its impact on the main story, and my guess for what’s going to happen in his chapter in the next update—

For reference:

-Philos is a man-made planet that was ‘born’ the moment earth died. It’s earth, reanimated and kept alive by a powerful artificial source.

-MC is that source, the main story update confirmed she literally has the power of a planet inside her.

-Ever made Philos, or rather in this timeline, is planning on creating Philos.

-Some of the anecdotes and world underneath chapters allude to the fact Ever is watching her, watching her cultivate— she gets more powerful every time she resonates

-they are aware of her connection with Xavier and are choosing not to interfere, because every time they resonate his light evol makes her stronger.

-I’m SICK. He is basically unknowingly charging her up like a battery and they’re just salivating in anticipation, waiting for the right moment to seize her AND him.

-The Backtracker that betrayed Xavier ( Isaiah), is working for Ever. He assassinates Josephine (the explosion) to silence her and steal her observation records on MC. he managed to retrieve something to give to the Ever Raincoat/Agent.

-However Josephine left some files with Zayne before her death. She knew what was coming hid away the most valuable of the information they were after.

-The traitorous backtracker is receiving a drug to keep him from turning into a Wanderer in exchange for completing the tasks they give him. But there’s a substance in it that can make them control him if it works.

-They plan on modifying it to use on Xavier.

-The way the raincoat speaks on Philos is a bit?? As if he’s already familiar. He playfully comments on how a monarchy seems regressive for a futuristic civilization, then jokes as if Ever can interfere with their politics. “Kill Xavier and let Ever crown you as a prince”

-Then the “By seniority, I’m your ancestor.”

-it could be a coincidence, I don’t believe this raincoat has blood ties to the backtracker, but I do believe he’s referring to the fact that since he’ll be playing a hand in the creation of Philos, it basically makes him a “Founding Father”

-He might be delusional here, since he’s not yet in on the “Real Plan” and won’t be until he proves his worth by getting and controlling Xavier. Right now he’s basically flaunting authority he doesn’t even have lol.

-Xavier already knows that Philos needs human sacrifices to sustain itself.

-He knows that wanderers are a side effect of the sacrifices.

-He knows that MC is the perfect sacrifice because of her power but also because she can be reborn after she dies.

-Not wanting to choose between saving the planet or saving the girl he loves

-he scours the universe for a solution, something, anything that can power Philos and save MC from the fate of forever being the planet’s fuel.

-in my opinion, he eventually resolves to just straight up prevent Philos’s inception. Maybe being stuck in the past made it easier to get to this decision.

-This is where things get tricky, because earth finds out about Philos after the deepspace tunnel opens

-How?? Literally how the planet is literally future earth??

-Then there’s this line from one of world underneath chapters (chapter 4 I believe)

-The deep space tunnel created a convergence in which earth got to see its own ‘future’

-Xavier travels through the deepspace tunnel 200 years before it opens up above Linkon City. Could he be inadvertently responsible?

-We know now Sylus arrives through the tunnel and breaks MC out of the Gaia research center amidst the chaos of the Chronorift catastrophe

-He does just enough to free her and leaves again, Xavier rescues her and she ends up at a shelter

-Josephine finds her and decides to be her guardian.

-I’m not caught up on Caleb’s lore but I know his presence fits in here, he was definitely at the shelter with MC and was also taken in by Josephine. He was also caught up in her assassination, which nearly kills him too but he is saved, presumably by Ever.

-I read this character analysis on reddit regarding his dynamic with some other minor characters, but this part sticks out to me

-(IF SOMEONE COULD LET ME KNOW WHERE EXACTLY HE SAID THESE LINES IT WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED)

-but!! A world built on ruins is an illusion. This feels like a reference to Philos and how it’s doomed to fail.

-I think Caleb is aware of the plans for MC

-Back at the shelter, I remember you said that your home was beyond the stars.

-We now know that MC was not born on earth, that her earliest memory is being a child gladiator in some intergalactic arena with Sylus.

-I don’t think MC told him all about her past, but I do believe that Caleb has a vague idea that she’s not really from here or meant to be here, and knowing the fate of where Earth is headed he’s more than willing to take her wherever she’s meant to be, or better yet wherever she wants to be. Caleb doesn’t care about whatever happens to earth because it has always been his intention to just leave with MC if worst comes to worst.

-If Ever is aware of MC’s connection with Xavier, then they’re likely aware of the other LIs, and like with Xavier, every resonance with them makes MC stronger. They are watching her ripen like fruit before they pluck it.

-All the love interests KNOW there are eyes on her and have their own way of protecting her.

-Xavier will keep her by his side, they’d have to get through him to get to her. Sylus wants her to grow stronger and more powerful so that she’d be untouchable. They couldn’t take her if they tried. Caleb is planning an escape route for when shit hits the fan, Rafayel is dropping bodies behind the scenes and Zayne is like single-handedly keeping a VERY spiteful God at bay.

-But the chip in Caleb’s brain, the drug they’re brewing for Xavier, and the anti-matter weapons being made to combat Sylus? Zayne is distancing himself from MC on his own accord and I’m not sure what they have in store for Rafayel. But Ever is literally crafting tools to neutralize the LIs so they can easily get to MC.

-Back to Xavier, though. I ultimately think that his chapter will be his realization that in spite of his efforts, it still wasn’t enough to change the future he was trying to prevent. And that keeping MC by his side won’t be enough to protect her. Is he just going to be stuck in this loop of having to witness MC’s death over and over?

Okay final notes 🗒️:

-I know about the evol suppression device around Xavier’s neck but according to his anecdotes he had it on long before this present timeline. He exchanged his freedom for a Protocore that could save MC (though it was too late) and it’s implied that though Ever couldn’t get it off of him, they were able to tamper with it and increase it’s threshold so he can use more of his evol. (Side note: since he’s had the evol suppression device from the very beginning, doesn’t it mean his attempt to elope to Uluru would have likely failed since they probably could track him through the device?)

-I’m not caught up on all the world underneath chapters and the rest of the LIs lore, so if you read this far and there’s anything I’ve left out or that contradicts my theories please let me know I’m trying to make sense of this so bad 🙏😭

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Do you believe in fate? | Chapter 1

General Masterlist famous!Harry x fem!reader / flowershopowner!reader

Summary: After losing his wife, Harry struggles to navigate his grief, An encounter with Y/N, a kind florist, who shares the same experience.

A/n: Hello, everyone! I’d like to welcome you to this new series. I want to give credit to @harrys-baby —I stumbled upon her page. She’s a bot creator, and one of her openings (I think that’s what it’s called?) caught my attention. I asked for her permission to turn it into a story 🥰. If you’d like, you can check out her bot page!

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Angst, A slightly rude Harry—he’s just mad at life. Mentions of loss and grief.

“Yes, Mum. I just got to the flower shop I told you about. I’ll head to the cemetery as soon as I buy them.”

Harry stepped into the quiet shop, his phone pressed to his ear. A sigh escaped his lips as the soft jingle of the door faded behind him. A long black coat wrapped around his tall frame, his sunglasses still on despite the overcast London sky. He hadn’t realized he was still wearing them—he’d left in a rush.

Today wasn’t easy. It never was.

It was July 25th, 2024—two years since Sophia had died. Two years since his world had shattered.

They’d only been married for a year. Breast cancer had stolen her away fast—too fast. He’d tried to fight time, to pause the tour, to be there—but she’d insisted he finish what he’d started. He listened. And then he lost her.

Harry spent the first year after her death shut inside their home. Curtains drawn. Photos of her scattered across their bed. His guitar untouched. Bottles piling up more than notes written. The world moved on—he didn’t. Therapy helped, eventually. So did silence. And now, slowly, painfully, Harry was returning to life. He wasn’t healed. But he was showing up.

He couldn’t write music yet. But he could walk. He could feel the sun. He could buy the lilies Sophia loved.

On the other end of the call, his mum was reminding him, “White lilies, Harry. You know those were her favorite.”

He barely nodded when a soft voice broke through the silence of the shop.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

It startled him.

He turned—and there you were. A stranger. Calm. Kind-eyed. Something about you made the world pause.

“Are you looking for something specific? Or maybe a bouquet?” you asked again, offering a smile. You knew immediately who he was: Harry Styles. Your sister, a college student, often wondered when he’d return to music. But you weren’t much of a fan—not because you disliked his music, but because you simply didn’t follow much outside of flowers. You were a bit of a nerd that way.

“I’m... I’m looking for lilies,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Of course! Right this way…” you said, leading him to the lilies. “We have pink, orange, and white, or I can make a mix,” you offered.

“White. Only white, please. In a bouquet. Maybe some foliage?” he replied.

“Foliage it is,” you said with a smile. Selecting about twelve white lilies, you moved to another section to pick out foliage. You worked with care, knowing not all foliage paired well with lilies. They were big, open, expressive flowers, so you chose discreet, delicate greenery—small but perfectly complementary.

“I’ll wrap the bouquet over here and ring you up,” you said, walking back to the payment area. He followed silently.

These days were hard for him—hard to breathe, hard to talk, hard to feel safe. But something about your energy calmed him.

You grabbed a piece of branded paper, its subtle pattern adding charm. Your hands moved with practiced precision, as though you could do this in your sleep. A snip here, a tie there. You adjusted a slightly wonky bloom, turned the bouquet, and ensured the heights were balanced. It was clear to anyone watching: you were doing what you were meant to do.

“Like it?” you asked with a smile, your radiant personality shining through as always. You noticed he seemed off, but maybe you thought he was just a very serious guy.

“Perfect,” he replied, his gaze fixed on the flowers.

“Do you want a card?” you asked, flipping through your price book.

“Um… sure…” he said, not giving it much thought.

“Do you want to write a message, or should I?” you offered, glancing back at him.

“Yeah… a message…” he hesitated. His mind was elsewhere.

You grabbed a pen and a card, leaning on the counter for support, then looked at him expectantly.

“Rest in Love, forever yours — H,” he said, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.

That’s when it hit you. You suddenly remembered your sister’s endless chatter about him—how he hadn’t released new music in two years, and how she understood, knowing he’d lost his wife. A knot formed in your throat. Your steady hands felt clammy, and you quickly wiped them on your apron before writing the message.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced back at him. His expression was unreadable, the same stoic mask as before.

“I’m sorry…” you said softly. Was that rude? Nosy? Maybe. But you had your reasons.

And you had a promise to keep.

Placing the bouquet and card in front of him, you said, “It’s on the house.”

He frowned, confusion and irritation flashing across his face. “I don’t need pity. I need to pay for this bouquet,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. He’d had enough pity to last a lifetime.

“Sorry, yes…” you said, feeling a bit embarrassed. You’d had clients like this before, so you knew another way to keep your promise if things went south. Glancing at the iPad, you tapped your way to the final screen. “It’s 34 pounds,” you said softly, your previously confident demeanor now replaced with a shy and anxious one.

“You should mind your own business,” he said, tapping his card.

It wasn’t like him to snap, especially not at a stranger, let alone a woman. But today? Today was different. He knew he could react poorly, even unfairly, and he didn’t care.

“Yes, sir,” you replied almost instantly, your voice small as the room seemed to close in on you. “We’re just… considerate with loss.”

“Loss? Bet you don’t know a thing about loss,” he shot back, his tone cutting.

Your breath hitched. His words struck deep, and you looked up at him, frowning, your eyes narrowing. Anger flickered in you—a rare emotion, very rare in you, but he’d managed to hit the one nerve that could ignite it.

“You’re right,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “What do I know about loss? Maybe you should ask my dead fiancè about it.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.

You both froze, staring at each other. Neither of you was acting like yourselves—this was pain speaking, raw and unfiltered. The kind of pain that left no room for kindness.

The silence stretched, time seeming to stop, until he closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry… I…” He trailed off, his words faltering as he realized just how cruel he’d been to someone who clearly didn’t deserve it.

“As you said… I don’t need pity,” you replied, looking away to avoid letting your tears fall.

“Of course… I said that…” he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. “Thanks,” he added, taking the bouquet without another word and walking out in silence.

The door jingled softly as he left, and you stood frozen behind the counter, staring at the bouquet paper scraps and ribbon remnants on your workbench. You hadn’t meant to snap, but he’d pushed you to the edge—an edge you rarely let anyone see.

With a shaky breath, you turned away from the counter, leaning against the wall as the weight of the interaction hit you. Your chest felt tight, and your hands gripped your apron to steady yourself. Loss. It was such a fragile, devastating thing, and yet today it had been thrown around like a weapon.

A muffled gasp escaped your lips, and you quickly wiped at your eyes. Not here. Not now.

Outside, Harry walked briskly, bouquet clutched in his hand. The lilies were beautiful—too beautiful for the anger he felt. He stopped at the corner, glancing down at the flowers. What’s wrong with you? he thought. He’d seen enough of life to know pain took many forms. He hadn’t needed to lash out at someone trying to be kind. His hand tightened on the bouquet.

But what could he do now? He wasn’t great at apologies—never had been. His words always fell short. Turning around, he debated going back inside, but a lingering sense of shame kept his feet planted on the pavement.

Inside, you finally steadied yourself, your hand reaching for a bottle of water under the counter. As you took a sip, the door jingled again.

Your head snapped up, and there he was—standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“I…” he started, his voice softer now. He took a hesitant step forward, holding the bouquet awkwardly in his hand. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. The anger you’d felt earlier was already fading, replaced by the awkwardness of the moment.

He stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the bouquet as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded. “I don’t have an excuse. I’m sorry.”

You hesitated, the lump in your throat returning. “It’s okay,” you said quietly, though your voice wavered. “We all have bad days.”

He nodded, his hand brushing through his hair. “This is… a bad day for me.”

“I figured,” you replied, offering a faint smile. “Loss has a way of making every day harder than the last.”

His eyes met yours, something unspoken passing between you—a shared understanding of grief, raw and unpolished.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry if I brought up anything painful for you.”

“I’m sorry if I brought up anything painful too”

Neither of you said anything more, but as he turned to leave again, something in the air felt lighter. And when the door jingled shut, you didn’t feel quite so small in your shop anymore.

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻

A few days later, after the strange tightness in your chest had finally faded, you were busy doing inventory. You were organizing supplies, preparing to place flower orders for the upcoming week, and trying to keep everything running smoothly. Claire was there with you—your rock during tough times.

You’d met her a few years ago at a crafting convention, and she’d known Alex before he passed away. When grief had threatened to overwhelm you, Claire had stepped in, making sure the flower shop stayed afloat while you found your footing again.

“I’ll take this to the back,” she said, picking up a large bag filled with dead flowers and other organic waste that needed to be disposed of.

“Sure,” you replied softly, focused on your clipboard.

The soft jingle of the front door caught your attention, and you instinctively turned your head. “Welcome to…” The words froze on your lips as you saw him.

It was him again.

For a moment, you weren’t sure what to make of his expression—it was unreadable, guarded—but you managed to offer a small, sincere smile.

“Welcome back,” you said gently. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m looking for some flowers… and a big apology,” he said, his voice softer this time.

“I do sell flowers,” you replied, “but I’m not sure apologies are in stock.” You chuckled lightly, teasing him just a bit.

He smiled—small but genuine. He could tell you weren’t mad. “Can we start over?” he asked.

“Of course,” you replied softly. “So… flowers? What are you looking for today?” you asked, brushing off your apron with a quick motion.

“They’re for my mother. I’m visiting her, and I want something colorful,” he said, his voice lighter than before.

“Of course. I can make an arrangement with a mix of flowers,” you said, walking toward the displays.

You began selecting blooms, your movements seemingly random to the untrained eye. But you knew exactly what you were doing—each flower carefully chosen for its color, balance, and meaning.

"Is this okay, or would you like something more?” you asked, holding up the medium-sized arrangement you’d just finished.

“Perfect,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he admired the vibrant bouquet.

You nodded, satisfied with his response, and began wrapping the bouquet in your shop’s signature patterned paper. “Your mom must love bright colors,” you said casually, tying the arrangement with a matching ribbon.

“She does,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on the flowers.

“Then I think she’s going to love these,” you said, offering a gentle smile as you handed him the finished bouquet.

He accepted it carefully, as if it were something precious. “Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere. “For this… and for not holding a grudge.”

You chuckled softly. “Life’s too short for grudges, don’t you think?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah, it is.”

“It’s 27 pounds,” you said, tapping on the iPad.

“Sure,” he said, pulling out his phone and tapping it on the terminal.

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke, your voice a little uncertain. “I know it’s totally none of my business, but…” You reached into a drawer, pulling out a small card and sliding it across the counter to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, frowning slightly as he picked up the card. The bold letters across the top read: Potterapy.

“It’s something that helped me a lot,” you said, fiddling with the corner of your apron. “It’s… like a pottery-slash-group-therapy-slash-club?” You gave a small laugh, unsure how to explain.

He looked at the card, then back at you, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “Pottery and therapy?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I know it sounds odd, but it helps”

He stared at the card for a long moment, then tucked it into his coat pocket. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Anytime,” you replied with a warm smile. “And, well, no pressure. Just thought you might… I don’t know, I find it helpful.”

He nodded again, his expression unreadable but no longer closed off. “I’ll think about it.”

The bell jingled softly as he left, and you watched him disappear down the street, bouquet in one hand, card in the other. A small sense of hope flickered in your chest—maybe, just maybe, you’d helped.

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻

The familiar creak of the gate greeted Harry as he stepped into the garden of his childhood home. His mother’s house always smelled of lavender and freshly brewed tea.

“Harry?” Anne called from the kitchen as she heard the door open.

“Yeah, Mum. It’s me,” he replied, his voice soft as he stepped into the warm kitchen, the bouquet of vibrant flowers in hand.

Anne turned, her face lighting up as she saw him. “Oh, those are beautiful!” she exclaimed, walking over to take a closer look. “You didn’t have to, love.”

“I wanted to,” he said, handing her the bouquet.

She took it gently, admiring the vivid colors. “They’re perfect. You always pick the best flowers.”

He smirked faintly. “I had a bit of help.”

As she turned to place the bouquet in a vase, her eyes caught on the small card that had slipped between the blooms. She picked it up curiously, reading the bold letters aloud. “Potterapy?”

“Oh sorry, that’s mine, The florist gave me that. Said it’s a pottery-slash-therapy group or something.”

Anne turned to him, eyebrows raised. “And why did the florist give this to you?”

“We had a bit of a conversation, I found out she lost her fiancé, so we kind of understood each other's pain” He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. “She said it helped her. Thought I might want to give it a try.”

Anne studied him for a moment, her gentle gaze cutting through the walls he so often tried to put up. “And do you?”

Harry sighed, leaning against the counter. “I don’t know, Mum. Maybe.” He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his coat sleeve. “I mean… it’s been hard, you know? I’m trying, but it’s…”

“Overwhelming,” Anne finished for him, her voice soft but knowing.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Anne stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “Harry, you’ve been through so much. There’s no shame in finding help wherever you can. Sometimes, it’s the unexpected things that bring the most peace.”

He looked at her, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. “You think I should go?”

“I think you should do whatever feels right for you,” she said simply, placing the card on the table. “But if you do go, maybe bring me back something you make. I’ve always wanted a new teapot,” she added with a teasing smile.

Harry chuckled softly, the weight in his chest lifting just a bit. “We’ll see.”

Anne returned to arranging the flowers, the bright blooms bringing life to the room. As Harry sat at the table, his gaze fell back to the card, its bold letters staring back at him. Maybe, just maybe, he’d give it a try.

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻

Harry stood outside the small studio, its painted sign reading Potterapy in bold, colorful letters. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, feeling the weight of hesitation pressing on his chest.

“Just go in,” he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath.

Pushing the door open, he was greeted by the warm scent of clay and the faint hum of soft music playing in the background. The space was cozy, with shelves lined with handmade pottery—cups, bowls, and vases in every color imaginable. A handful of people stood around a large central table, their hands working the clay, their conversations easy and light.

“Hi there!”

Harry turned to see a woman in her mid-40s with short, curly hair and clay-smeared hands walking toward him. Her apron bore the same colorful Potterapy logo.

“You must be new,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m Elaine, the guide here. Welcome!”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said, awkwardly pulling his hand from his pocket to shake hers. “I’m Harry.”

“Well, Harry, you’re in the right place,” Elaine said warmly. “No pressure here. Just grab a seat, and we’ll get you started.”

He nodded, his nerves still buzzing as he made his way to an empty seat at the table. A block of clay sat in front of him, along with a small set of tools. He glanced around, observing the others. They were of all ages and backgrounds—some chatting, others focused on their work.

And then he saw you, sitting directly across from him. When you turned around to hang your bag on the back of your chair, your eyes met his.

“Hey, Harry,” you said with a warm smile. “You came.”

“Hi…” he replied, then frowned slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name. I just realized that.”

“Y/N,” you said, still smiling.

Before you could say more, Elaine clapped her hands gently to gather the group’s attention. Both of you turned to face her.

“Alright, everyone, let’s take a moment to check in before we start shaping our clay. If you’re new, don’t worry—it’s just a chance to share how you’re feeling today. No pressure.”

One by one, the group went around, sharing simple updates about their week or their current mood. When it was Harry’s turn, he cleared his throat.

“Uh… I’m Harry,” he began, his voice quiet. “This is my first time here. I’m… not really sure how I’m feeling, to be honest.”

Elaine smiled encouragingly. “That’s perfectly fine, Harry. Sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

The group nodded in agreement, and the check-in continued.

When it was your turn, you cleared your throat. “I’m Y/N, for those who don’t know me. I had a busy week at the flower shop. His birthday’s coming up, so I’m feeling a bit on edge. I hope this class helps me work through those feelings, and I hope the new ones here find some comfort.” You finished, glancing briefly at Harry.

When the check-in was done, Elaine began demonstrating how to work the clay, her hands moving with practiced ease.

“Clay is forgiving,” she explained. “You can shape it, press into it, and if it doesn’t turn out the way you want, you can start over. It’s about the process, not the product.”

She paused, her tone softening as she continued. “Force and strength are crucial virtues here. You have to learn to manage the force within you—how it shapes your feelings and how those feelings manifest in your life. Too much force, and you’ll have to start over. Too little, and nothing changes. Focus on finding that balance.”

Harry listened carefully, her words resonating more deeply than he expected. He picked up the clay, its cool, firm texture unfamiliar but oddly grounding. Slowly, he pressed his fingers into it, experimenting tentatively. The shape that began to form wasn’t anything recognizable, but it was his.

Harry’s hands moved clumsily over the clay, his brows furrowed as he pressed and pulled, unsure of what he was doing. The clay didn’t seem to respond the way Elaine had demonstrated, and frustration began to bubble up inside him.

You glanced at him, noticing the stiff way he worked, his jaw tight with concentration.

“Hey,” you said softly, leaning slightly toward him. “Do you want some help? It looks like—”

“No, I can do this, I don't need help,” he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended.

Your smile faltered, and you quickly straightened up, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. “Oh… okay. Sorry,” you mumbled, turning back to your own clay.

Harry froze, the sharpness of his own words hitting him like a wave. He hadn’t meant to lash out, especially not at you. The way your face fell made his chest tighten with guilt.

For a moment, he sat there, staring at his clay, his hands still. Then he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, uh…” He hesitated before glancing toward you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

You looked at him.

“I just…” He sighed “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I guess I’m a little… frustrated.”

Your shoulders relaxed slightly, and you gave him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. It’s not easy at first.”

He met your gaze, his expression softer now. “Do you think you could show me? I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” you said, your voice warm again as you turned your chair slightly to face him. “Here, let me show you.”

You reached out, showing him how to press the clay gently while keeping the base steady. “It’s all about small, intentional movements,” you explained, your hands brushing his briefly as you adjusted the pressure he was using.

Harry watched closely, following your instructions. Gradually, the clay began to take shape, and his frustration eased.

“See?” you said with a grin. “Not so bad, right?”

He chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away. “Yeah. Thanks”

“No problem,” you replied, turning back to your own project.

As you worked side by side, the air between you felt lighter, and Harry silently vowed to keep his temper in check. He didn’t want to ruin the fragile sense of peace he was starting to feel here—with the clay and with you.

As the minutes passed, the tension eased, and the soft hum of conversation filled the studio. Harry glanced over at you, watching as your hands skillfully shaped the clay. The movements seemed almost second nature to you, each press and pull deliberate and confident.

“So, what are you making?” he asked, his voice breaking the quiet between you.

You glanced up at him with a small smile. “A vase,” you replied. “What else would a florist make?”

He chuckled softly, leaning back slightly. “Fair point. Is that, like, your go-to project?”

“Kind of,” you said, focusing on the curve of the vase as you spoke. “I like making different shapes—ones that aren’t perfectly symmetrical. It’s like every vase has its own personality, you know?”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “Do you use them in your shop?”

“Sometimes,” you said, pausing to inspect your work. “I’ll display a few, but most of the time, I give them away. Customers, friends, anyone who might appreciate them.”

“That’s… nice” he said, his tone softening.

You shrugged, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. I just think handmade things have a way of making people feel special. Like someone put a little extra thought into it.”

He nodded, running his fingers over his own misshapen project. “I get that. There’s something about creating something with your hands. It feels more… real.”

You smiled at his comment, nodding in agreement. “Exactly. Even if it’s not perfect, it’s still yours. That’s what makes it special.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a small smile, and for the first time, he felt a little more at ease. He glanced back at your vase, admiring the smooth curve and unique shape.

“It’s really good,” he said, motioning to your work.

“Thanks,” you replied, glancing at his clay. “Yours isn’t too bad either. What are you making?”

He let out a short laugh. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

You laughed with him, the sound light and easy. “Well, that’s the fun of it. Sometimes, the clay decides for you.”

He smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of comfort in your words. For the first time in a long while, Harry felt like maybe he didn’t have to have everything figured out. --------

General taglist: @hermionelove @mads3502

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