#and half of these things are due before/on Monday

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

Stuck in the endless loop of suffering (have so much homework and a migraine)

[pansy2005]

1am opening my budget spreadsheet trying to figure out how to afford tickets to more fall out boy shows

[abbotjack]

Um i have a request that can go either dr jack or dr robby, its up to you and the people🙌

Him figuring out you're pregnant before you even notice? Like he's so in tune with your body that when he's in you or when he feels you up he notices the subtlest change 👀 and when you wonder why your period is late its the final 1% for him 🤭 now he's 100% sure before you even suspect it

Absolutely, here’s the Jack Abbot version—grounded, intimate, and very Jack-coded.

LIFE WE GREW SERIES MASTERLIST <3

content/warning : pregnancy symptoms, emotional overwhelm, soft marriage vibes, denial, reader in her "i’m fine" era, jack in his "no you're not" era, smut (married, emotionally grounded), pregnancy, food/scent aversion, mild mention of nausea

words : 3,144

You’ve been married to Jack Abbot for thirteen months and a week—but the two of you have been together for four years.

And somehow, you’re still learning him.

Still adjusting to the way he folds his t-shirts into perfect thirds. Still moving his boots away from the front door, even though he always leaves them there. Still catching the way he’ll wait until the lights are off, the blankets pulled up, and then remember one more thing he has to tell you.

You know his rhythms. His moods. The way he kisses you a little differently when he’s worried but won’t say it out loud.

What you sometimes forget is that Jack’s job never really ends—he never really clocks out.

He’s an ER doctor. Which means he’s always watching. Always reading. Always two steps ahead of a problem you haven’t realized is there.

MONDAY – The Morning Slips

The light’s already different when you open your eyes.

Softer. Higher.

You blink at the ceiling, then at the clock.

7:08.

Your breath catches. “Jack?”

You sit up in a rush—sweats and a worn old shirt clinging from sleep—and nearly trip getting out of bed. He’s not next to you. Your alarm isn’t ringing. Your phone is somehow still on Do Not Disturb.

“Jack?”

“Kitchen,” he calls back, voice calm.

You shuffle into the hallway, hair barely brushed, already calculating how fast you can get dressed and be out the door. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Jack looks up from the coffee pot. He’s already dressed—scrubs on, ID clipped, stethoscope tucked in his jacket pocket.

“You didn’t even flinch when your alarm went off. I turned it off after the third round.”

You stare at him. “You let me oversleep?”

“You never sleep through your alarm,” he says, stepping toward you with a travel mug in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. “So I figured something was up.”

You groan. “I’ve got Q1 projections due today.”

“I emailed Rhonda. Told her you were running late.”

You blink. “You emailed my boss?”

“She sent back a thumbs up emoji.’”

Your laugh comes out surprised. “She would do that.”

“I made your coffee. It’s in the mug with the chip you like.” He hands it to you. “No cream. You’ve been skipping it lately.”

You frown. “Have I?”

Jack just nods. “You said it tasted too sweet last week.”

You take a sip. Still feels off—but you smile at him anyway.

“Thanks.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead. “Go shower. I laid out your dark gray sweater—the one you like for presentation days. Pants are on the chair.”

You freeze. “You picked out my clothes?”

“Only because I figured you’d be half-asleep and half-angry. I’m avoiding both.”

“You’re a menace,” you say, but it’s soft.

“You married me anyway.”

He brushes your hair back, fingers lingering a second too long at your temple.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Me? I’m great.”

“You’re looking at me weird.”

He shrugs. “I think I’m just impressed.”

“With what?”

“How well I know you.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re smug before 8 a.m.”

“I’ve earned it,” he says, nudging you toward the bedroom. “Go get ready. Your spreadsheet empire awaits.”

Thirty minutes later, as you’re rushing out the door with your laptop bag and still-wet hair, you find a granola bar tucked into your coat pocket.

The one you always forget you like until you’re starving at 10 a.m.

You don’t remember saying anything about needing one.

But Jack knows.

Of course he knows.

TUESDAY – Heels and Sore Feet

When you come through the door, Jack’s already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, dish towel slung over his shoulder like he’s been home a little while—but not long enough to fully settle.

You kick off your work shoes in the entryway, wincing slightly as you press your toes into the hardwood. “Remind me again why I thought real leather heels were a good investment.”

Jack leans back from the sink and tilts his head toward you. “Because they were on clearance and you were feeling powerful.”

“Right.” You flex your feet. “Power comes at a cost.”

“Come here.”

You shuffle toward him, dropping your tote bag by the counter. He doesn’t kiss you yet—just takes your hand and guides you to sit at one of the stools. Then he crouches, gently lifting your foot into his lap.

“Jack,” you laugh, “you do not need to—”

He starts massaging your arch with his thumb, firm and slow. “You’ve been on these all day. Let me.”

You lean back with a sigh. “This is how you trap me. You pretend to do the dishes, then you pamper me into silence.”

He smiles but doesn’t look up. “Worked yesterday.”

You wiggle your toes and close your eyes. “Feels so good it’s kind of criminal.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

He glances up just once—and clocks the light puffiness in your ankles.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just moves to your other foot.

After dinner—simple roasted veggies and couscous, eaten off the same two mismatched plates you’ve had since your first apartment—he walks behind you and wraps his arms around your waist while you’re rinsing your glass.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says into your shoulder.

“Just thinking about that ridiculous Excel model I have to finish.”

He kisses your hair. “Take tomorrow slow if you can.”

You nod, but your hand rests gently over his where it sits across your middle.

You don’t notice it.

Jack does.

He says nothing.

WEDNESDAY – The Bloat Debate

You’re standing in front of the hallway mirror, poking at your stomach with the kind of exaggerated annoyance only someone married can safely get away with.

Jack walks by on his way to the bedroom, dressed down in sweatpants and a t-shirt, pausing when he sees your face in the reflection.

“You good?” he asks, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You sigh dramatically. “I look like I swallowed a beach ball.”

Jack walks up behind you, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “A small one, maybe. Like a decorative beach ball.”

You shoot him a sharp look. “Jack.”

He holds up both hands. “Hey. You brought it up.”

“I said I feel bloated. I didn’t ask for live commentary.”

He smiles and wraps his arms loosely around your waist, hands resting over the area you were just inspecting. “You’re the one poking yourself like a Pillsbury commercial.”

You snort. “I’m serious. None of my pants fit right this week. I sat down today and my waistband tried to fight me.”

“You’ve been eating the same stuff. Drinking water?”

“Barely. Work’s been insane.”

He kisses your temple. “Could be stress. Could be timing. Or maybe your body’s still sorting through Monday night’s gourmet masterpiece.”

You squint at him. “What masterpiece?”

“The one where you ate dill pickles, white cheddar popcorn, and two spoonfuls of peanut butter. In that order.”

You pause. “…It hit the spot.”

Jack grins. “Sure it did. My stomach was scared just watching.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“I was afraid to interfere.”

You smirk. “You should be.”

He grins. “Noted.”

You shake your head, laughing, then rest your hands over his. “You sure it doesn’t look like anything?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away.

Because it does.

Not in a dramatic way. But he knows your shape. Your weight. The way your body settles against his at night. And lately, something’s… shifted.

Still, he kisses your shoulder and says simply, “You’re still the best thing I’ve ever looked at.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back into him. “Suck-up.”

He hugs you tighter. “Only for you.”

THURSDAY – The Blanket Negotiation

You’re on the couch by the time Jack gets home—already in pajamas, legs tucked under you, remote in hand, a bag of sour candy opened beside a half-finished cup of tea.

He walks in, shrugs out of his coat, and takes in the scene like a man walking into a painting he’s seen every day for four years and still isn’t over.

“You started without me,” he says.

“You’re twenty minutes late. Statute of limitations has passed.”

Jack walks over, leans down to kiss you, and pauses.

He looks at the bag of sour candy. Then the tea. Then back at you.

“That combo feels… bold.”

You shrug. “It’s balance. My body wanted chaos and comfort.”

He slides onto the couch beside you. “Didn’t you say your grilled cheese was ‘too much’ at lunch?

You sigh. “It was aggressive. The cheese had opinions.”

Jack laughs softly. “And now you're chasing it with citrus acid and sleepytime tea.”

You offer him a sour gummy. “Don’t question the system. Just participate.”

He takes one. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jack tries to nudge the blanket to him. You hold your edge tighter. “I got cold first.”

“I just walked in from outside.”

“You’ve got more body heat.”

He squints. “You’re hoarding it.”

“You’re late and you didn’t text. I get blanket privileges and first pick on snacks.”

He laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “I can’t argue with that logic.”

You smirk and finally shift, letting him under the blanket.

Once settled, he rests his hand on your leg—his thumb absently drawing circles near your knee while your attention returns to the screen.

You’re focused on the show.

Jack’s focused on you.

The blanket drapes across your midsection, and he notices the slight pressure you’ve been keeping there all week—how your hand keeps resting just under your ribs like your body’s trying to say something your brain hasn’t caught yet.

He doesn’t bring it up.

Instead, he leans a little closer.

“You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you mumble. “Just tired. I’ve been tired all week.”

He nods. “You’ve been going hard.”

“I haven’t touched laundry all week. I’m down to mismatched socks and silent prayers.”

Jack smiles softly. “Want me to run a load?”

“You did the last one.”

“I’m on a streak.”

You lean your head on his shoulder. “I married well.”

“You did.”

FRIDAY – The Way You Feel Tonight

It starts when you straddle his hips.

Jack’s back is against the headboard, pillows kicked aside, and you’re already skin-on-skin—his t-shirt discarded on the floor, yours halfway up your ribs. You’re in nothing but underwear, palms on his chest, nails dragging lightly across the sparse hair there.

He watches you like he’s trying to burn the image into memory.

“You sure you’re not too sore from the gym yesterday?” you tease, rolling your hips just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Positive,” he says. “Although if I die right now, I want it on record this was worth it.”

You grin. “Noted.”

His hands slide up your thighs slowly, thumbs pressing into the backs like he’s reading your muscles through the skin. Then his touch goes gentle. Palming. Bracing.

But when they move up to your waist, they stop.

His fingers settle across your lower belly, just under your navel. Familiar territory. But it doesn’t feel quite the same.

The curve is a little firmer. Rounder. Not bloated—different.

You keep moving over him, unaware. His eyes never leave your face.

“You okay?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

Jack refocuses. “Yeah. Just... distracted.”

“You can stare later,” you say, lifting your hips to tug your underwear down. “Hands now. Mouth soon.”

“God, I love you,” he mutters.

“Then prove it.”

He flips you onto your back, mouth already at your collarbone, breath warm, kisses slow. He trails one hand between your legs and groans when he finds you wet and ready, slicker than usual.

You pull him down with a hand behind his neck. “Come on.”

But he’s still slow.

Like he’s measuring.

Like he’s trying to feel every millimeter of you, confirm what he already suspects.

You’re tighter. Not tense. Just changed.

You gasp as he eases inside. “Jesus—”

It’s good. So good. His hips rock into you slow, steady, deep. One of your legs hooks over his back, heel pressed to his side, chasing friction.

Every time he hits just right, your hand fists in the sheets. Your moans are breathless, open-mouthed, involuntary.

Jack watches your face like it holds answers. His pace stays smooth, even as you start to beg.

“Jack,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. “Harder.”

He gives you what you want. A little more pressure. A little less space between his body and yours.

You feel full. Stretched. But not uncomfortable.

You feel held.

And when you come—hard, back arching, fingers digging into his shoulder—he follows seconds after, groaning your name into your skin like he’s never said anything truer.

He brushes your hair back, fingertips trailing your temple.

“You’ve been looking at me weird all night,” you murmur.

Jack smiles. “No, I haven’t.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You were studying me.”

“I was watching you.”

“Same thing.”

He doesn’t respond.

He just presses his hand to your stomach again—light, thoughtful, like he’s grounding himself more than anything.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

Jack just smiles.

“I’m already in deep,” he says quietly.

You kiss him once, quick. “Weirdo.”

SATURDAY – The Vendor You Walked Away From

It’s just after noon when you stop by the market. Something normal. Familiar. Something you and Jack do when there’s nowhere else you need to be.

You loop through the vendors casually, fingers brushing the edge of a produce crate, checking for ripeness. Jack keeps pace beside you, a canvas tote slung over one shoulder. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t have to. He’s just watching the way you move.

You’ve always been precise. Sharp, even in small motions.

But today, there’s hesitation.

You reach for a bunch of mint, fingers brushing the stems—then pause.

Jack notices before you say anything.

You pull your hand back, subtle, and move on to the next table without a word.

At the bakery stall, you order for both of you. Jack takes a bite of the rosemary bread. You don’t touch yours.

He watches you stare at it for a few seconds too long.

“I’ll eat it later,” you say finally, tucking the paper bag into the tote. “Not in the mood right now.”

He doesn’t press. Just nods, and walks with you.

Fifteen minutes later, you pass a vendor handing out samples of honey and cheese—something you’d normally stop for. Your eyes flick over the setup, then move away quickly. Not forced. But intentional.

You keep walking.

Jack stays silent until you’re halfway to the car.

“Did that smell bother you?”

You glance at him. “What?”

“The cheese. You looked at it like it turned your stomach.”

You shake your head. “No. I just didn’t want it.”

He nods once. Doesn’t push.

You unlock the car. He loads the bag in the backseat. You slide into the passenger side and adjust the seatbelt low.

He notices that too.

On the way home, the radio’s low. You’re watching traffic, thumb tapping absently against the console.

Jack glances at your profile once. Then again.

“You’ve been different this week,” he says.

You don’t look at him. “So have you.”

There’s no bite in it. Just quiet truth.

He exhales through his nose. “That’s fair.”

You turn your head finally. “Is there something you’re not saying?”

Jack watches the road. His hands stay steady on the wheel.

“No,” he says after a pause. “You’ll say it first.”

SUNDAY – Three Weeks Late

It’s just after 11. The laundry’s done. The dishwasher’s running. You’ve wiped down the counters twice.

You’re standing at the fridge, pinning up a receipt, when your eyes catch the calendar.

Your stomach dips.

You count the days with your finger—slowly, carefully, like you don’t quite trust yourself.

One. Two. Three—

Three weeks late.

Not five days. Not “I think I skipped one.” Three.

You turn your head toward the living room. Jack’s on the couch, half-sunken into the cushions, phone in hand, scrolling through the news without really reading it. His coffee sits untouched on the table. One leg stretched out, the other—his prosthetic—resting beside him like it always is when he’s home and grounded, the kind of settled comfort only the two of you know by feel.

You don’t mean to say it yet.

But it’s out before you can take it back.

“Jack?”

He looks up instantly. “Yeah?”

You stay by the fridge, fingertips grazing the door like it’s anchoring you.

“I’m... three weeks late.”

There’s a long pause.

Jack doesn’t move right away. Just watches you—quiet, focused, already reading every inch of your face.

Then, calmly, he leans forward.

His movements are familiar: practiced, unfussy. He shifts to the edge of the couch, pulls the prosthetic toward him, and straps it on like he’s done a thousand times—smooth, sure, muscle memory in every motion.

You don’t speak. Just watch him move through it with the same quiet purpose he’s carried through every hard season of your life together.

When he stands, it’s quiet—just the familiar click of the prosthetic locking in and the muted slide of his socked foot across the hardwood.

He crosses to you without hurry.

When he stops in front of you, his voice is low. Certain.

“Do you want to take a test?”

You nod.

“I don’t have one.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, you do.”

You blink.

“Top drawer,” he says simply. “I bought one Monday.”

You stare at him. “You—what?”

Jack shrugs. “I figured you’d see it when you were ready.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re not even a little surprised?”

He steps closer, voice low, steady. “You’ve been different. Not in a bad way—just… off your rhythm. You’ve been switching between hoodies in the middle of the day like none of them fit right. You keep standing at the fridge and forgetting what you opened it for. And your leftover curry—the one you swore was better the second day? You didn’t even take a bite.”

You stare at him. “You kept track of all of that?”

“I love you. I notice you.”

You go quiet.

Then reach for his hand.

“Come with me?”

“Of course.”

You sit on the bathroom counter while the test processes. Jack stands beside you, leaning against the sink. Neither of you talk. There’s nothing left to say.

You both look down at the result at the same time.

Positive.

You exhale like it’s the first full breath you’ve taken all week.

Jack rests his hand gently on the counter behind you—not pushing, just there.

Your voice breaks the silence.

“We’re really doing this.”

Jack nods. “We already are.”

You smile—small, but it stays.

And Jack leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[asxgard]

Oooo I can’t stop thinking about Robby noticing symptoms of a serious illness in his partner overtime and getting her the tests and help she needs

Bedside Manner | one shot

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Requested

Summary: After ignoring your symptoms for far too long, Michael is forced to bring you into the ER.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: It took a hot minute to find something I thought could work, I hope you enjoy! This idea might’ve inspired something else down the road👀

Word Count: 1.5k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: illness/sick reader, established relationship, reader is a teacher, mild angst, foul language, age gap, fluff at the end, pet name (sweetheart)

not beta read

You half attributed your cold to the kids you worked with — a sickness was always being passed in the hallways, especially during this time of year when the air began to cool. You had been able to bear the brunt of the week still going into work, convincing yourself it was only allergies and then only a cold. There was a relief in the weekend, knowing you likely only needed to rest — running low on sleep and stress could do crazy things to the body.

You had moved in with your boyfriend, Michael Robinavitch, before the school year had started, and you were thrilled to call the combined space home. You were less than thrilled that not even three months into it and he was already taking care of you. It was sweet, of course, but he spent all day taking care of just about everyone else. He didn’t need to come home and do it again. You appreciated it, and loved how he took care of you on any normal day, you just felt guilty because you were ill. Though, he didn’t even flinch, bringing you tea or meds or soup from your favorite deli.

When he came home to find you still curled up on the couch, something shifted in his eyes, edging closer to worry.

Michael sat at the edge of the couch to feel your forehead, his own creased in concern. “You should be getting better by now.”

You waved him off, eyes flickering from the tv to his face. “Flu’s been going around. Likely just that.”

His frown deepened, “What’re your symptoms?”

You wanted to roll your eyes, “I’m not a patient, I just caught something at school.”

His quirked eyebrow left no room for argument.

You heaved a sigh and winced, “I’m just tired, my head hurts and my muscles ache because of the fever.”

“If you’re not improving by Monday, I’d like for you to—”

“I’m not going to the ER.” You said, eyes heavy with fatigue. “I’ll wait forever and I’d rather just lay here. I’ll schedule something with my PCP on Monday.”

“You say that like I wouldn’t get you seen right away.”

“I’m sure fluids would do wonders, but perhaps just some tea?” You had no energy to go back and forth with him about it.

He relented and moved into the kitchen to do just that. You were asleep by the time he came back with it.

—

You woke up in bed feeling worse. Despite not eating anything, your stomach rolled uneasily, your room feeling like it was spinning. Your head felt like it was in a vice, tension pulling your skull together like it would squish your brain. That wasn’t even getting into the spreading pain you were feeling.

Part of you wanted to roll over and wake up Michael, but you felt guilty for even thinking about it. His first day off in nearly a week and he was likely going to spend it taking care of you. The least you could do was let him sleep soundly.

Through sheer will, you made it into the adjoining master bathroom, moving to sit on the cold tile. Your body was hot, but chills wracked your body, and you winced whenever you moved your head to turn, muscles in your neck pulled taut.

Nothing came up, but you had zero energy now to move, leaned up against the wall. You regretted not waking Michael up. Your stomach gave another lurch — there was nothing in it but bile.

Through your haze of fatigue, you were unsure if hours or minutes had passed while you sat there. Your mind felt completely foggy, too concentrated on the pain in your head or the aches in your bones.

“Hey, hey,” a voice called, the sound making you wince, “How long have you been in here? What’s wrong?”

You blinked your eyes, but found it difficult to focus on the face now level with yours. Michael’s eyes were easy enough to recognize, but your mind kept switching through topics and forgetting he was there.

“I’m okay,” you breathed out, closing your eyes. “I just wanna get back in bed.”

There was a tense silence.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

You whined, “In the morning? Please. I just want to sleep.”

His hands met your face, and there was relief in how cool they felt against your clammy skin. He was gentle, but firm, quietly assessing you.

He spoke your name, making you hum, but your attention wavered.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart. Hey.” There was an urgency in his tone that you had not heard before.

You opened your eyes and blinked at him, vision only mildly clearing so you could see the worry etched into his eyes. His brow lines were prominent, as were the crinkles around his eyes — his face pinched together.

“Just…flu…let me sleep.” You said, words heavy and slurred.

—

Michael had never felt fear like that, watching you come in and out of consciousness on the bathroom floor. He knew it had not been the flu, it had been too long without any improvement in symptoms. Instead, they only got worse. Why had he let you convince him to not take you in right away?

He grunted when he scooped you up, hurrying to get you into his car. He knew an ambulance would take too long when he could just take you himself. Your pulse was strong, albeit just a touch fast, and your breathing was steady. He was confident you would be fine until you made it to the ED, but he was wracking his brain over what the hell you had.

The drive to the Pitt felt like it took eternity, catching every light despite the late hour. He barely had even looked at the time after finding you missing from bed. Worry constricted his heart.

He burst through the doors of the ED like a bat out of hell, looking around and hoping to spot Abbot, or someone with a gurney.

“Robby?” The night shift charge nurse asked, bewildered.

That seemed to catch Abbot’s attention, moving from one of the rooms and toward the charge desk. He took in the sight of you in Michael’s arms. He turned and called for nurses, while he quickly went to Michael.

“What’s wrong?”

“High fever, fatigue, joint aches, slurred speech. Uh, fuck, I think she was nauseous before she passed out.” Michael was panting now, more-so from the anxiety crawling through his chest rather than the fact he was still carrying you.

Abbot waved over the gurney and Michael set her down on it, fear bleeding from his heart.

“Pupils reactive. Responds to pain.”

It was a mess of tests after that, each one blurring into the next, but you stayed unconscious. You would come to long enough to respond to pain or Michael’s desperate pleas, but you looked exhausted whenever you did.

Michael stayed diligently by your side, except the moments he would slip away to confer with Abbot about any new information, or tests he thought might be useful.

Fluids did do wonders for making you feel better, hardly having an appetite throughout the week, though when you came to, you still felt sluggish. Michael’s relieved face, however, would stick in your mind for a long time.

“You scared the shit outta me.” He said, hand curling around yours, squeezing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t really think it was serious.” You said, blinking your eyes slowly, eyelids still heavy.

“I really should have brought you in when I thought something wasn’t right.”

“Do they know what I have yet?”

He shook his head, “Blood tests should be back shortly.”

You pursed your lips, annoyed, “What’s the consensus?”

“That I should probably listen to my gut more often, and not my stubborn girlfriend.”

“You really need to work on your bedside manner.” You scoffed with a grin. “I’m giving you a three.”

“A three? I think I deserve at least a seven.”

“On what grounds?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I brought you into the hospital? Was your knight in shining armor?”

You giggled, “I can be persuaded to give you a five if you get me something to drink.”

He smiled softly, “Consider it done.”

—

After going over your symptoms with Michael, more in detail this time, he slipped out of the room to talk to Dr. Abbot. When he returned, he had a handful of negative tests and a possible answer.

“Lyme’s Disease? Really?” You questioned, eyebrow raised. “I never got a rash.”

Michael shrugged, “They’re confirming it with a blood test now, but 1 in 3 don’t present with a rash.”

You thought back to the hike you and Michael had taken before the school year started. You had always been safe, long pants tucked into tall socks whenever you went off trail, but you had no memory of being bitten or being itchy. You had done a tick check before you got into Michael’s truck and showered when you got back home.

“Well, that’s irritating.” You frowned, “Will I be okay?”

Michael nodded, his face finally having relaxed, “After a course of antibiotics, you should be fine.”

You heaved a long sigh, but relief flushed through you. “Thank you for bringing me in, I’m sorry I scared you.”

He leaned down to kiss your forehead, then your lips. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You smiled, pulling him down for another. “Your score just went up to an eight.”

He laughed.

All Robby Content Taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys

All The Pitt Content Taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera

This became a lot more dramatic than I intended lol sorry if it’s not exactly what you wanted, anon!

Most of the symptoms are based on someone I knew who had Lyme’s Disease before, but I was thriving on the drama so I might’ve taken it a bit too far. I’m not in the medical field, so forgive any errors.

[cacoetheswriting]

Request!!

Eddie walking in on reader fantasizing abt him<3 and ine thing leads to another they are fucking and then confessing each others love. Smut to fluff basically

If not that’s cool!<3

pairing: roommate!eddie munson x fem!reader [modern day au] word count: 3k

content warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, modern day au, friends/roommates to lovers, smut, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, dirty talk, sexual fantasies, masturbation (f), mutual pining, fingering, allusions to sex

Eddie Munson works shifts.

His schedule is scribbled in black marker and terrible handwriting on the calendar stuck to the fridge of your shared apartment — although, it’s not like you needed to double check when your curly-haired roommate was and wasn’t going to be home, embarrassingly enough, you pretty much had it memorised.

In your defence, it’s not overly hard to remember. 

While your hours are standard, Monday to Friday, nine to five, Eddie works at a nightclub in the city centre — The Black Door. He starts late in the afternoon, so as you come home, he’s rushing out the door with a sandwich between his teeth while he throws on his raggedy denim jacket.

“Have a good night, doll face,” he usually says when you pass each other in the hallway. “Don’t do anything I would do.”

You roll your eyes and usually reply with something you think is witty, if you’re not completely enamored by the way his locks bounce and fall perfectly around his face.

“Try not to burn the place down, Munson. You still owe me half of the rent for this month.”

“Tomorrow,” Eddie says with a grin, “Cross my heart.” He mimics his words and winks, before disappearing down the stairs.

When you close the apartment door behind you with a gentle kick, you have to lean against the frame and take a breath to compose yourself because the feelings you’ve recently developed for your metal-head roommate were too much, too complicated. You needed to try and keep them buried deep.

So, like every other night alone, you do the only thing you can think of to distract yourself and whip out your phone. After some doom scrolling and texting Steve for advice — since he’s the one who gave up his room in the flat, recommending Eddie move in — you open the apps. 

Swipe left, swipe right, left, right, left, left, right. It’s not hard for you to get matches, it’s even easier to get messages which lead to many dates. The odd dinner here, the odd drink there. You like to suggest The Black Door because even though you’re doing this to get over their head bartender, there’s a certain thrill in having him watch you flirt with other guys.

Unfortunately tonight’s date — Tobie with an ie not a y, as specified in his bio — texts to reschedule just as you finish applying some blush pink lipstick. 

Tobie: Hamster died

Tobie: (typing)

Tobie: Next time?

You groan in frustration. Nevertheless, you reply to keep the possibility of a next time open.

You: Sorry to hear about your hamster. Next time, for sure.

Then you type out a quick message to Steve, letting him know he doesn’t need to stalk your location since your date just cancelled. 

Steve: Good. He looked like a douche anyway.

Ignoring Harrington’s comment, you lock the screen then move to the couch where you finish the glass of wine you had poured to drink while getting ready. The alcohol is bitter on your tongue and after you swallow, it makes you feel even more lonesome than moments prior.

Spending your evenings alone wasn’t the worst by any means. You liked to think of yourself as an independent woman and there certainly were other ways you could continue to distract yourself — ways that didn’t involve a man. 

A movie perhaps. Some new Netflix releases to binge watch. Catching up on a favourite podcast. Back to doom scrolling for a minute. Or… You glance at the time on your phone. 7:16pm. Eddie wasn’t due back from his shift anytime soon.

Without giving it a second thought, you lay your head down on the throw cushions and close your eyes. You then proceed to slide a hand down your clothed stomach and you don’t stop, even when you reach the waist of your skirt.

Warmth immediately spreads through you. Even more when you hear a certain sultry voice in your mind, ordering you around. “Come on, doll face.”, or “Show me how much you want me.”.

Well fuck. So much for not thinking about your roommate.

He’s there, behind your eyes. Standing at the edge of the sofa, watching you touch yourself. And he’s doing the same. Fingers wrapped tight around his erect member, rubbing intently while he tells you to keep going and what a dirty, filthy, thing you are.

Cloud nine. Or ten. Who the hell cares. 

You’re lost in your own nasty thoughts, lost in the fantasy, completely oblivious to the sound of metal sliding in the keyhole and the click of the lock. Oblivious to the creak of an opening door and teeter of feet. Oblivious to the fact that there was someone now watching you with their mouth agape.

You’re about to reach that complete high. The mountain top. But then someone clears their throat. No, not just someone. Your roommate, Eddie — and not in your dreams.

Eyes snapping open, your heart drops. You remove your hand from its current position instantly, then slide on the sofa into a seated position, horrified and way too embarrassed to meet his struck gaze.

“Sorry, I-I,” Eddie stumbles and if you had enough courage to look at him, you’d notice he was beet red. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“No, no,” you protest and stand quickly, “I’ll ehh, I’ll go and yeah, sorry you had to see that.”

You continue to avoid his brown-eyes as you rush to your room, locking the door behind you for good measure. Then, since you’ve already lost all self respect and probably also his respect, you slam face first into your bed and scream into your pillow.

What you don’t see is Eddie who grimaces as the shrieks reach his ears. 

He honestly didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or anything, but it seems if he told you that now, you wouldn’t believe him. He just felt pervy standing there without your knowledge. And would it make it worse if he said he didn’t mind what he saw? That it was actually really fucking hot? Probably, yeah. He should definitely keep his mouth shut.

But Eddie can’t. Not when it comes to you.

Instead, he drops his backpack to the floor and strides toward your bedroom door. One big breath later, he knocks once, twice. No answer.

“Doll face, can you come out and talk to me? Please?”

“Go away, Munson. You’re never seeing my face again.”

He sighs. “Come on, it’s not the worst thing in the world.” Eddie tries to reason. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t really see all that much. I-I shut my eyes the second I realised what was going on.” It’s a lie, but it’s a white lie. No harm in a white lie.

There’s shuffling inside and the door flies open.

“What are you even doing home so early?” Deflection. Great tactic.

Eddie leans against the frame, stretching his right arm across to pick at painted splinters. “Got into an argument with some weirdo. Bossman sent me home.”

The metal-head must sense your sudden concern because before you can say anything or ask any questions, he says, “And don’t you worry your pretty face about that rent money. I still have a job to go back to ‘cause my actions were in complete self-defence. I was just told to go home and cool off, or whatever.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What did you fight about?”

“Nothing important,” Eddie brushes it off and shrugs after dropping his arm back to his side. “What are you doing here by the way? I thought you had a hot date.”

“Dead hamster,” you say without further explanation, then quickly wonder, “How did you know about my date though?”

“Harrington.”

“Of course.”

There’s a minute of silence. Not awkward, despite everything that’s happened. Quite comfortable actually because that’s how things always are between the two of you.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Eddie asks, another attempt at trying to stir the conversation even further away from what transpired mere minutes ago. “In my room, if you’d prefer that.”

Tried and failed since you glance at the couch and tense all over again. 

There is no way you’re going to sit with him in the same exact spot you just tried to get yourself off to fabricated thoughts of him, all while he walked in on you. You’re probably never going to sit there again, ever.

“We might actually need to invest in a new sofa,” you say, full of shame, and glance up at the curly haired boy.

He rolls his eyes. 

“Would it help if I dropped my pants and—”

“Eddie! Gross!” You screech and smack his chest. “No, it would most definitely not help.”

He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Relax, doll face. I was  kidding.” The grin on his face spreads. “At least we know you weren’t thinking about me earlier, judging by that reaction to my very kind offer.”

There must now be a grimace on your face, some sort of physical reaction that you didn’t manage to contain as Eddie’s joke settles in the air around you, because a beat passes and your curly-haired roommate's gaze goes wide. His lips part and something flashes in his brown eyes that you can’t quite deduce, but one thing’s for sure, he knows.

“Oh. Oh.”

Without saying anything else, plausible deniability and all that, you try to shut the bedroom door in his face. Eddie however, has fast reflexes and his foot is now blocking you from doing so. But you keep trying and you lean against the wood, shoving it with your back.

“Now you can really go away, Munson.”

“It’s not—”

“If you utter the words it’s not that big of a deal, I will jump out of my window.”

On the other side of the door, Eddie laughs. “Don’t be dramatic, doll face. No one needs to be jumping out of anything, okay?”

You sigh, looking up at your ceiling as if it held all of the answers.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one having extremely specific dirty thoughts about your roommate.”

Silence. 

Oddly, now it felt slightly uncomfortable. You sense it immediately. The shift in the air. It’s a little unnerving. Okay. A lot unnerving. Which is why, again without really thinking about what you were doing, you stand straight and open the bedroom door to reveal your roommate’s back. He’s staring at the empty wall, hands on his hips.

“You know,” Eddie starts in a quiet tone and you begin to think the worst, (although you’re about to find out there is really no need). “Before you were my roommate, you were Harrington’s smart, funny, beautiful, hot, city girl roommate.”

“I-I don’t think I’m following.”

Eddie sighs. He spins back to look at you, hands still on his hips.

“Jesus. Okay. Uhm… You’re not the only one with, what is it you said, extremely specific dirty thoughts.” 

You raise your brows in surprise. This is not the turn of events you were expecting.

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

And then, for reasons not completely clear in that moment, you laugh. Loud and clear. Velvety. It’s music to Eddie’s ears, so he smiles, watching you. You. Still that smart, funny, beautiful, hot, city girl he had a schoolboy crush on. Even more beautiful when you laughed. And all those nights he’d invite himself over, back when you still shared the flat with Steve, and he’d talk nonstop about this girl he liked but didn’t know how to ask out (you), well, all those nights finally felt worth something because now he knew you liked him too.

Eddie’s shoulders relax and he drops his arms from his hips, sucking in his bottom lip between his teeth. 

You notice immediately, eyes glued to where his points are digging into the flesh of his mouth, and the laugh freezes in your throat. The realisation of what Eddie just admitted dawns on you fully. He’s gotten off on fantasies of you long before you ever saw him that way. You don't, however, get to ask him what any of it means, or where you two go from here, because Eddie makes the decision for you.

He reaches for you. One hand on your jaw, the other gripping your waist. His eyes race over your face, as if he’s taking every little detail in since you’ve never stood this close together. You’re admiring his features too. Memorising each crinkle and line. Each mark and freckle. He’s attractive, for sure, but this close and personal, Eddie Munson is the most alluring guy you’ve ever seen.

“I think I’d like to kiss you now,” he whispers, brushing a thumb over your lips. “Unless you’re still thinking of jumping out the window.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and between your legs. Your gazes latch onto one another and you tip up your chin, inviting him to stay true to his words.

Eddie doesn’t waste a second. He takes your mouth, causing your knees to buckle beneath you, but the hand he’s got on your waist holds you up in place as his lips interlock with yours. The sweetness of the kiss surprises you. It’s pleasant and you find yourself hoping he’ll kiss you this way again, and again. And when the tips of his fingers trail against your cheek, when they travel to the back of your head, settling in place and pushing you in closer, you part your lips and moan softly into his mouth.

He takes this opportunity to slip his tongue in and intertwines it with yours. The hand holding your waist falls slowly, lingering against your body like a shadow as he drops it lower and lower. When he reaches the hem of your denim skirt, he freezes there momentarily.

“I don’t want to overstep, doll face.” Eddie murmurs against your plush lips.

“Please…” You all but whine in response.

“Please what?”

His hazel eyes go dark. Hungry. It sends a shiver down your spine, knowing that he wants you just as much as you want him, if not more.

“Overstep, please.” You slide your nose alongside his, nudging him slightly as you say, “Eddie, t-touch me. I’d like you to touch me.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore. Swiftly, he pops the button and slides the zipper, letting the garment fall to the ground so that you’re standing in the hallway of your shared apartment with your skirt around your ankles, exposing the black lace of your underwear to your roommate.

Eddie kisses you again. It’s rougher this time, more needy. And while his lips work against yours in perfect harmony, his fingers slide in between your thighs. 

Slowly, Eddie traces your wet heat, teasing with just one finger. Your body is jolting with anticipation. Your skin is soft and warm, writhing under his delicate touch. He can feel tension building as your legs start to tremble and he smirks into your mouth, clearly pleased with himself because he’s barely even touched you. 

Gently, he presses the pad of his index to your entrance, carefully slipping inside as you whimper. He continues pushing in slowly, knuckle by knuckle and you melt around his intrusion. Your arms now pressing your bodies together with all the strength you can muster.

Lewd, wet sounds drift up from between your legs as Eddie begins pumping his fingers in and out of you. Rough. Hungry. He breaks the kiss, crazed eyes looking back to admire your face as you slowly start to come undone. Then you gasp: he curls a finger inside your pussy to mash his palm into your clit, massaging the spot relentlessly.

A moan grows in your throat and your lips part, desperate to let it out. Eddie has another idea though. His free hand clamps over your mouth to muffle the sound. It causes your eyes to widen in shock, but surprisingly to both of you, you lean into it and after a few moments of this treatment, your walls close around his fingers.

You arch your back and Eddie struggles briefly to keep his hand over your mouth. He thinks for a second that maybe he’s being too forceful, forehead to forehead, pushing into you further. Somehow his force only makes you react harder and in a matter of seconds, you deflate, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you cum all over his digits.

Eddie drops his hand from your mouth, grinning. He removes his other hand from between your thighs and you miss him desperately already, though you don’t immediately say because you don’t want to come off as such. He licks his fingers clean then leans down to peck you on the lips as your orgasm haze clears. You can taste yourself on him and it drives you crazy all over again, but when you try to deepen the kiss, your metal-head roommate places his hands on your shoulders and gently pushes you back.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he says simply. 

“Right now?” You pout and manoeuvre your hand in between your bodies to reach for his hard member through his work slacks. “‘Cause I wanna repay the favour.”

Eddie grins then places his hand over yours, intertwining your fingers together. He pulls it out and brings it to his cheek, brushing it softly against his light stubble.

“I am loving the enthusiasm, doll face.” Eddie begins, “But I’d like to try and do this thing right, which means dinner before I further corrupt you, okay?”

“Maybe I’m the one corrupting you.”

“Maybe,” he says with a sly smile, “Either way, the faster we get out of here to grab some food, the faster we can come back and maybe even put that couch to good use.”

You laugh at that.

“So will you stop being stubborn and let me take you to dinner?”

When you nod your head, Eddie’s smile grows even wider. He drops your hand, but only momentarily, to lift your skirt and button it for you. He smooths the material, then once again, he reaches for your hand to lead you out of the shared apartment.

Eddie Munson works shifts.

Only, from now on, whenever he comes home late at night, instead of going to sleep in his room, he stumbles into yours, more than invited.

thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

Please I am obsessed with your loaded roommate max post, hear me about what about loaded boss!Mac and his assistant reader who has to come up with all sorts of convincing ways to get him to do PR??

Anon, I'm obsessed with THIS. Did a little combo of the two, hope you like it

Bring your ?????? to work - Max Verstappen x reader

Whoever said that you shouldn't mix business and pleasure hadn't met or worked with Max Verstappen. You didn't mean to, really. You already lived with him, the two of you having some weird psychosexual back and forth due to the forced proximity. But now the Monaco Grand Prix was nearing, and the Redbull social media team was missing some members, something about Imola airport and strikes. Max was overjoyed on Monday when they told him, visualizing a week without filming stupid TikToks. But you pounced on the opportunity to help out. Taking over would do wonders for your online presence, your freelance portfolio, and your wallet. Everyone would give an arm and a leg to "cook in Redbull's kitchen." Step one was to make a nice presentation of the things you needed to film, scripts, storyboards, and shot lists. You pulled an all-nighter, fueled by manic determination and energy drinks. When you're satisfied, you move on to the next one - getting it somewhere. Max is sloppy with closing his door, still sleeping. You neatly move the covers and grin at the morning wood. You pinch his thigh, hard, and he jolts a Dutch word beginning with K on the tip of his tongue.

"Can I?" You ask, motioning to his hard cock. Max is honestly happy to be alive right now. He needs a peaceful start to the morning. Usually, he'd settle for a coffee, but your mouth would do, he supposed. You want something. He can tell, by your slow kisses to his shaft, the way you're teasing his tip. Max can feel your eyes burning into his shut eyelids. When he looks at you, you moan for him, letting the sound please him. You fucking cup his balls and he's gone. Not coming yet, but on full autopilot. He doesn't seem to be careful anymore, he wants to cum into your mouth. Wants to watch you take him to the base, no matter how. It fucking ruins him to see you gag just a little. He slows down, but you're gripping his thighs, desperate for more. Truth be told, you're enjoying this more than you thought you would. His strong hands holding your hair in a ponytail. His gorgeous blue eyes looking at you in awe. His fucking taste, somehow so fucking good. Whatever his nutritionist is doing, they deserve a gold medal. Of course your thoughts are quickly pulled back to Max when he notices you're spacing out.

"Don't get distracted, darling. Be good and finish what you started." He says, voice still scratchy. You intend to, so you hollow your cheeks and let him move his hips again. Max cums and watches you swallow it. He's barely out to door to clean himself when you ask him about the presentation. Post-nut clarity works in your favor.

Max marks his email as urgent, wetransfer link intact, and not even an hour later, you get the notification that it's opened.You're nervous and you've got half a mind to keep sucking off Max until there is any notification back. Franco might have been onto something with that one out of pocket interview about the sex right before the race. If you simply blew your roommate until he was shooting blanks, that would help him, surely? But before you can test that out, you get a reply back. You're in. They like your ideas, and you're gonna start filming on Thursday with Yuki and the VCARB boys, too. Max would be saved for as little socials as possible. But that simply wouldn't do. You needed him. You knew that people would stop scrolling for Max. The silly audios you've prepped wouldn't pack as much as a punch without him. So you had to resort to some more unconventional methods of convincing him. So be it.

Max didn't plan on being on his yacht 2 days before the Free Practice session. He didn't need the attention, especially now when the fans were crawling around Monaco like cockroaches. But you insisted on it for "training purposes." He didn't want Yuki to complain about "the new admin losing her lunch" in the crystalline waters of the harbor.

"Can't believe you've lived here for months, and this is about to be your first time on a boat." Max says. You hum, busy taking it all in.

You weren't a materialist, but Unleash the Lion was impressive. You want to make a biting comment about the cost of the yacht, and how he still insists that you split grocery bills. But you need to be on your best behavior for your plan to work. "You know, you're partially my landlord, on Thursday and the weekend you'll be my boss and here you're the captain. I sure do have a knack for a good power imbalance, don't I?" You say, teasing him.

"If you're about to reveal a weird kink you have, don't bother. I think I'm already very familiar with what you like." He quips back, already aware of your more submissive nature. "Not all of it. There's the exhibitionism." You reply, with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Maybe innuendos weren't your strong suit. But getting Max's attention certainly was. "And it's time to steer this fast enough to a place where we can dock this." He says, making the boat go as fast as the 2023 Redbull car. You try to enjoy the ride, and all but you're also thinking of the ride that you wanna give Max. You strip down to the tiny, barely there bikini that you picked just for this "cruise". Slip the box of condoms around the strings, ask the driver to spread sunscreen on your back. The whole shebang.

As soon as the yacht docks, Max is on you, fingertips hovering above your bikini strings. A "Please, I need you" is all it takes for him to melt for you. He makes you suck his fingers in your mouth, before he slides them down your bikini bottoms against your clit. You rut against him, desperate for him to be inside you already, to give you everything you need. Max enjoys the scenery instead. The sun, the sea, the soft moans you're letting out. If he could, he'd stay here forever savoring life. But time's arrow marches only forward, and with your ass rubbing against him, he has no choice but to get on with it. So he gets out of your jeans, takes off your bottoms and takes out the condom, tearing open the package with surgical precision. He lines up behind you, pausing to grip and knead your ass. Sex standing up was clearly new for you. You're a bit awkward, not knowing where exactly to put your hands. That's why Max leads you to the railing, making you grip it. He wraps his hand against your waist and pulls you towards him. He's deep inside of you, the angle doing wonders for you both. Max mutters something about the motion of the ocean as he fucks you. He wants to remember this, how you're christening the yacht, no need for champagne bottles smashed. He'd much rather have the visuals of you squirming against him, ass bouncing. He's a fucking nerd, scolding you about "scaring the fishes" with your sounds, to which you roll your eyes. He thrusts faster, making your legs shake as you come. He fucks you through it, chasing his own orgasm. Under the Monaco sun, he gets it. When you've cleaned yourselves up, as good as you could with the wet wipes you brought, you sit half-dressed. You break down what you'll need to him filming wise, and he groans.

"I want you to remember what we just did the entire time we're shooting. When I'm playing at creative director, only you and I will know that I was moaning your name like I'll call it." You ask and hope that it will be enough. Of course, you know you'll sweeten the deal . You'll brush up against him when no one is watching. You'll make innuendos in Dutch, and of course, promises of what's to come when the cameras are off. After all, you hadn't told him about the other 2 Tiktoks in the planning.

[01zfan]

slope

model!anton x camgirl!reader | 8.9k words

contains: minji from njz is mentioned, reader is a camgirl, hookups and previous fwb relationship mentioned, protected sex, recorded sex, sex at the workplace mentioned

Neither of your jobs were fun. There was never any control in the amount of people that came in, no way of knowing when it’d be busy. There were Friday afternoons where there’s no business and Monday mornings when everyone was packed shoulder to shoulder. There were countless shoplifters that could never be picked up by the cameras due to the crowd and their ability to blend in and disappear. 

There was always something wrong with the building itself. The sterile white interior was to hide that last week they found a rat in the food court, and the month before that there was kid missing for the better half of an afternoon. There were several buckets around the mall, picking up water from leaks and wet floor signs that were perpetually propped up. 

Behind your register you spent all day handing gift receipts to customers. Over the years faces started to blend together and at this point in the day, someone only stuck out if they made a particularly terrible impression. If they asked about stock you didn’t have or if they needlessly gave you attitude they’d be on your mind for the rest of the day. At home doing dishes and randomly thinking about the tone of a strangers voice and getting so mad you have to leave to clear your head.

Your coffee always ended up becoming lukewarm because you constantly ended up working by yourself. You never had time to enjoy your coffee at the right temperature, and the corporate curated playlist became the worst type of white noise. Your customer service voice was wearing off, and standing behind the register with nowhere else to go was making you restless. Your knees nearly buckled during your last transaction, and you leaned all your weight against the table that the point of sale system rested on.

When the last customer left the store and people were browsing you finally had a moment to yourself. You had your wasted drink and your phone, tucked away beside the register in the place your manager chided you for. But she wasn’t here—she was never here—and the one thing that freed you from your customer service purgatory was stealing quick glances at your phone. Tiny moments of looking mindlessly at your notifications was what got you through the work day, and the act of defiance made you feel like you were in charge somehow. 

You steal one glance towards the swinging door leading to the back of house. Your shift lead and coworker were back there, one on their break and the other pretending like they were doing work. When you realized neither of them were coming out even if you were screaming for help you pull your phone from its hiding spot beside the register. You prop up your elbows and rest your head in your hands, trying to hide that you’re looking at your phone and not bending down to stretch your body. You reason that it’s only fair you look at your phone, that’s probably what the two of them were doing in the back anyways. No one was in line to buy something and this was the fourth Shawn Mendes song you’ve heard in the last hour. You deserved to scroll around on your apps for a moment.

The time was what caught your attention first. That rush made the worst half of your work day disappear, and your coworker was due to come back on the floor any minute. You had a text from your annoying roommate about something annoying you were going to ignore until you couldn’t anymore. A notification of a TikTok being sent to you, something about threads on Instagram. You kept scrolling, waiting for something else. 

For the past month that’s all that it felt like you were doing. Each time you looked at your phone you were waiting for a text message or a call. You wanted it to be from Anton, who used to work at the clothing store across from where you work. Your arrangement for your breaks was still so engraved in the back of your mind it had become a habit. 

While you stare at your old text conversations with him, you see the swinging door open. You shove your phone into the cubby hole the same time Minji comes out. You relax seeing her, the one person who cares less about this job than you do. There’s no reason to play into the employee-of-the-month persona when it’s just Minji. She’s still finishing the food she got on her break and adjusting her uniform while she comes to you.

You didn’t even know what was happening in the store as Minji stood beside the register. You just looked at her, doing a quick scan of the store before reaching over you to grab her watered down drink. She took one last sip of mainly ice and water before tossing it in the garbage.

“You can go on your break.” Minji says.

You pull your phone from its hiding spot just for Minji to put her phone in the exact same place. She swallows the last of her food just in time for two people to wander. Minji greets them, a superficial hello as you grab the rest of your things behind the register.

Wordlessly you traded off with her, signing out from the system so she could sign in. You slide past Minji and she goes to your spot, standing on the anti-fatigue mat your manager got in response to you two begging for a chair.

After that you moved the fastest you had all day to make it to the back of house. Exactly what you expected was waiting for you behind the swinging door. Your shift supervisor was on her phone, looking at you from the side before going back to the loud video playing on her phone. 

“Going on your break?” She asked.

There was a time when your shift supervisor was the hardest worker in the store. One step below the manager with none of the benefits, but she used to run the store diligently. Now she seemed to always be in the back on her phone, pretending to type something pertaining to business or ordering something else. Now she watches loud videos and was anal about time management, despite spending the majority of her day not helping on the floor.

But you’re not supposed to be focused on work. For the next thirty minutes you are free, nothing is tying you to work. You are trying to be in and out of the store fast, but your supervisor insists on having a conversation. When she pulls away from her phone completely you have to hold back a sigh, knowing you’re about to get a lecture on something unimportant. You were still pissed from when she took a customer’s side over yours last week, giving her a discount on her purchase even though she was in the wrong and rude. You wondered if she even remembered how the customer talked to you when she checked her watch quickly.

“Make sure you’re actually back in thirty minutes.” She says.

“Alright.” You say.

You don’t look at her anymore after you throw your jacket over your shoulder. From your bag you stuff your keys and wallet into your pockets, and you’re done. Your shift supervisor gets to sit in the back on her ass and get paid for it, but you can’t have a grace period with coming back from your break? 

This is the exact reason why you and Minji abuse the fact that no one else wants to work here. You both get to be the worst employees in your own ways. She gives attitude back to the customers and is late almost everyday. You take extra long breaks and have a problem getting off your phone. What matters is that you two are here for every shift, even if you don’t want to be, and you two have been here for a long time. Like this place is purgatory or something worse you can’t escape. So you say okay to your supervisor telling you to come back on time, even when you both know you’re not going to. At the very most she’ll chide you and say something slick about being here on time, and Minji will say something under her breath about being grateful you two are here at all.

“Enjoy your break.” Your shift supervisor says.

“Thanks.” 

You push the swinging door a little harder and clear out of the store a little faster. You don’t even look over your shoulder to tell Minji goodbye, and you don’t think twice about another unpredictable rush of people coming into the store. Minji is too focused on helping three customers at once to tease you about coming back on time. The best time to leave was when it was the busiest. If you were lucky by the time you came back the crowd would thin out. 

You slip out of the chaos, enjoying the peace you’re going to have for the next twenty-nine minutes. You’re able to block out the grating music and Minji yelling for the next person to come to the register.

If this was a month ago, Anton would’ve been in the food court. He would’ve been sitting at the table right next to the yellow wet floor sign to sit at a table facing your storefront. He would’ve had his messenger bag slung over one shoulder and resting in his lap, eating whatever he munched on from the food court while he waited for you. You left your work in such a rush like he would still be there, looking at his phone but paying attention to who was coming in and out. You looked to the left to see the store Anton used to work at, the constant food traffic was something he hated. People going in meant they were messing with the clothes in the display, unfolding them and leaving it for Anton and his coworkers to fix.

When you found yourself stuck too much in the routine of seeing Anton you look up. On the second floor the images of his face and body sporting a luxury brand knocks you out of whatever trance you end up in. Anton from the past would see you before you saw him, pushing his white chair out from under the table until it grated against the linoleum floor. You can still see him accidentally knocking over his plastic cup from Auntie Anne’s in his haste to follow you. Anton from the past would’ve cut through the endless chatter and walked against the foot traffic of everyone else to keep in time with you. But the Anton now models for Gucci and Louis Vuitton, and his pictures are hanging up on the second floor to advertise the brand.

Still though, you can’t help but think about him. You would always look past Anton fixing his jacket and slinging his messenger bag just to fix it again. You liked looking from side to side in fake contemplation, like you both didn’t know where you were heading to. 

Even if Anton isn’t here, you still do some of the same things. You turn on your heel the same way and head towards the exit against the foot traffic of everyone else. You look over your shoulder like he would be there, bobbing and weaving through the crowd to catch up to you. Sometimes you kept a distance other times you two would walk at the same pace, matching strides and everything. Without him there beside you, you imagined him still in the crowd, apologizing to everyone he was bumping into. You could see him vividly mouthing excuse me and sorry while you passed through without saying a word. He’d be moving sideways, trying to be as nimble as you were on your feet. He was too nice. If someone bumped into you, that was their fault. You were on your thirty minute break, everyone else was in your way. 

The crowd didn’t thin out until you made it out of the food court. By the time you made it to the kids play area it was sparse. just the few people coming in from the parking lot or leaving the mall entirely. All the children that were ditched at the indoor playground stared at you walking in such a rush. Their mothers were busy shopping and the toys stopped being entertaining a long time ago, you didn’t blame them. But you kept the same pace when you normally would’ve slowed down for Anton to catch up, trying to make it to your car to maximize on your free time.

You looked up to the upper floors of the mall, the elusive place that had better hours and better pay than the stores on the ground floor. Up there they got hour breaks and a bigger staff discount. They also dealt with a different and more refined clientele, while you and your coworkers dealt with prepubescent shoplifters and adults who acted like children. 

You looked even further up, until you made it to the glass ceiling where all the natural light came through. Moving up on the corporate ladder here meant being transferred to the higher end stores. But work doesn’t matter right now, you’re on your break.

You refused to slow down when you realized time was still ticking away. At this point, Anton would’ve started working up to a slow jog to close some of the distance. Another look over your shoulder and you would’ve seen he was closer, a hand over the strap of his bag and his other hand in his pocket. You zipped up your jacket. You could already feel the chill from the constant opening doors. 

When you made it to your car, you were still thinking about him. You had to stop yourself from crawling in the backseat from muscle memory, and you spent your time in the drivers seat thinking about him. You had a secluded place in the back of the employee parking lot because of him. Your supervisor asked about why you were parked in the back corner of the parking lot all the time. You couldn’t tell her that you were too busy fucking the boy from a few stores down everyday on your breaks so you lied. You didn’t know that saying you had a tendency to bump into other cars would lead to you being quarantined in the back corner. The word spread fast, because even after Anton left and you tried rejoining your coworkers cluster of cars they started avoiding your vehicle like the plagued. So you stayed in the corner and you continued to think about Anton and what you two would do around this time of day. 

Since Anton left there wasn’t anything that gave you that rush anymore. Knowing Anton was a couple strides behind you and he was closing in made it feel like you were young, no other worries beyond getting to your car as fast as possible. Getting closer and closer to your vacant car with the close-to-illegal tint blacking out all of your windows. That moment when it would just be you and him in the parking lot. Hearing his feet drag across the gravel in contrast to your light and quick steps. Not looking over your shoulder that one last time but knowing he was practically right there. Looking at his reflection in the window before you unlocked the back door. Crawling inside and closing the door behind you but leaving it unlocked just for him. That moment when you could see him but he couldn’t see you was always the best. 

heyyyy 

is your number still the same?

Everything else happened pretty quickly. Anton replied within the day and told you that he never left the city, he only traveled to each job. 

But there was no way you could tell Anton the truth initially. Despite your previous arrangement, talking about what you did as a side hustle now felt too vulgar, especially because you were convinced he no longer wanted to be associated with the life he lived working on the ground floor of the mall. But something about Anton was so inviting, you couldn’t stop yourself from telling him that you did streams on the side to try and make extra income. 

Anton surprised you after you told him. He asked if you needed help. Like you were coming to your workplace hookup and part time friend for help on your camgirl side quests. But Anton campaigned to help you, he was adamant that being a model made him a professional in terms of posing and lighting. Within the week you were sneaking Anton past your annoying roommate into your bedroom to help you take pictures and videos for your new Twitter account. 

He was great help. The money started coming in, you gained followers faster than you ever had. You were getting the money finally, and you just needed a little bit more money to finally get a place of your own. The thought of a collaboration came to mind, and when you brought the idea up to Anton he campaigned for himself again, instead of a popular creator you were mutuals with. 

You came around to the proposal quickly. The thought of working with someone you didn’t know already seemed crazy, but with Anton you could do it in the safety of your own apartment. So when he offered you agreed, and then you set time off for the weekend to film and asked your roommate politely if she could make herself scarce for a couple days. 

“What if we went somewhere else to film?” Anton asked the question while you were putting back on your clothes after another photoshoot. He stood with his back facing you as if he wasn’t taking pictures of your naked body minutes prior. “Just to be extra safe? I think your viewers would like that too.” He added.

You told Anton he made a good point and that night he texted you to pack your bags for the cold and he picked you up directly from work at the end of the week. 

The whole ride upstate Anton was adamant about going to a different location. He took his role as your director very seriously. A new location would interest your viewers, everything about it would bring people back. You two decided that a video would give you more money than a stream, and the longevity offered on posting to the platform was unbeatable. 

When you and Anton arrived at the ski lodge you tried your best to not be amazed. You stopped mid-conversation to look at the cabin through the dashboard in amazement. Anton was still staring at you for a moment, and then he followed yours through the falling snow. The cabin was beautiful and laid out in a long line of the other cabins down the road.

“How much was all of this?” You ask when he puts the car in park in the shoveled driveway. 

The thought of a private cabin in the snow and the cost was already piling on your never ending list of expenses. But Anton shook his head, even when he grabbed your bags from the backseat and let you lead the way to the cabin.

“The model money pays well.” Anton laughs to himself. You walk up the steps to the cabin and open the lockbox. “I came here for a photoshoot and they gave me a discount and everything.” He continues

When you open up the door your surprised again. You know that this is a resort, that it’s supposed to be a home away from home. But even with Anton turning on the light and coming in behind you to drop the bags by the door it’s peaceful. No loud roommate, no expenses, no work. There’s a peaceful stillness, even if you’re here under debauched pretenses. 

“I think.” You point towards the common area with the long gray couch and the television hidden away in the entertainment center. “I think here would be a good place for it.” You motion vaguely to the area in front of the head of the couch. Anton walks beside you  “We could set the tripod up there, ya know?” 

When you look to Anton he’s nodding his head, but then he points upstairs.

“We should look at the other rooms too.” With his messenger bag over his shoulder and your backpack on his back he starts walking towards the stairs. You take off your shoes and follow after him. ”Just in case.”

Up the stairs you see the other rooms. To the left from the landing there’s one bedroom, then right next to it is the other. Anton follows you into each one, letting you turn on the lights and walk around in each room. When you turn back you see him waiting in the doorway. He’s already seen the entire cabin, he lets you choose the bigger room and brings your things up before he even thinks about grabbing his own things. 

“Still prefer the couch I think.” Anton nods but still waits in the doorframe. He follows you like a shadow down the stairs, only creating distance when you sit down on the couch. His hesitation makes you pause. Your laptop is in front of you and so is the camera, and the tripod is already set up in front of you. “Once I’m done with everything up we can get started.” You say.

Anton is still off to the side from the couch, staring at you working. It feels like you’re at the mall again, instead of the food court it’s the wooden floors of the kitchen and your workplace is the living room.

You think about pressing further to see if Anton has gotten cold feet. Worse case scenario you can just have him film you, he’s done it before and you brought toys just in case. You shift on the couch and Anton finally comes closer. He sits on the furthest cushion of the couch and you prepare to hear the worst. Anton draws in a deep breath, and you push your laptop away.

“You’re not tired from the drive or anything?” Anton raises his shoulders and then motions outwards, like he’s trying to show you to let go of the burden. “Should we talk a little bit? Maybe get something to eat so we can clear our heads?”

You have to smile at Anton’s avoidance to look at you. The very first time you two met he was anything but assertive. Avoiding eye contact, delivering something for his manager and ending in a laugh when he realized how quiet he was being. He is better at holding eye contact now, but he still has to avert his eyes when he mentions why you two are here.

“Tryna take me out before we fuck, Anton?” You smile and Anton laughs too, breathy and exasperated before he smiles back. You motion towards your ready equipment. “My head is clear.”

The way Anton’s hands grip his thighs tells you he knows you’re lying. But you two haven’t caught up in forever, and you know he doesn’t want to be presumptuous. You cut him some slack, taking a deep breath of your own and crossing your legs on top of the bed.

“We should probably set some ground rules beforehand, though.”

Anton sits up on the couch and nods.

“I’m going to blur out our faces once we are done filming and we shouldn’t say eachother’s names.”

“What about pet names?”

Flashbacks to the sweaty backseat of your car and Anton moaning that you’re his baby into your ear makes you nod your head. It also makes you avoid eye contact, clearing your throat as you try to remember the other rules you wanted to set.

“I’ll ask before I do anything.” Anton looks from his lap to your face. He’s sincere, lips pulled to a tight line as he nods his head. “It’s your video and you’re in charge.” He says.

You knew Anton was different. When you became a camgirl you were exposed to an entirely different type of men. You saw the things they would say in your streams and on your posts, dirty things that had you wondering what they looked like on the other side of the screen. If you dressed pretty for a video they’d only tell you that it was nice like they knew it’d be coming off later. A setup for a terrible joke that you’d have to fake laugh at. He’s been eying you since he picked you up from work; not like he was tearing you apart but like he was trying to figure you out. No one has tried to figure you out since you started chose your profession. 

You would’ve never guessed that Anton was so adamant about having you. Not in the way the other men wanted—he didn’t take you out to a disgusting bar hoping to score by paying the drink tab—but he brought you to a fancy cabin in the snowy hills and offered to take you to a fancy restaurant down the road that you’ve never been to before. He was treating this like a couple vacation. That seemed to be the way Anton wanted to have you. His pseudo-girlfriend, sitting across from him on a couch while you set up your camcorder to film you two having sex.

“Is your manager still an asshole?” He asked.

“Yeah. All she does is play on her phone in the back of house.” You answer.

What you really want to ask is why he hasn’t fucked you yet. 

Like the worlds longest game of chicken, Anton has not made a single move on you. You two crossed over that line a long time ago, sometime between you pulling him on top of you during your lunch breaks. You two already talked about how awful your current managers and his former coworkers were, and he knew exactly how you liked to be touched. There was no reason to play this game, it could even be argued that this was all one big distraction from the task at hand.  

You weren’t ashamed to admit that at this point in your life you had been around. Even if you were faceless in your videos and your streams that still counted as something. You were sure that Anton needed someone to match his outward demeanor. A shy, sweet girl, maybe he could find a model during one of his gigs. But he seemed persistent about you and getting to know you all over again. His doting wouldn’t stop you from making money, you knew he knew that. Sometimes it seemed like he enjoyed your resistance to his courting, that his shy chivalry didn’t have an affect on you. 

Sitting across from him on the couch you still believed it. You were waiting for the moment Anton would start showing his true colors, being a little more like the other people you entertained. You wanted to call him a lover boy and pull at his beanie like you did when you both worked at the mall. You also wanted to tell him that he was doing way too much for you, that being here as his human dildo and photographer was more than enough. You still didn’t know how to possibly thank him for getting this secluded cabin away from your annoying roommate without even having to ask him. 

No one tells you how cool girls who stream have to be. Men could be in this line of profession and do whatever they want. They can have no tact and still get laid just as easy. When you’re a girl who does what you do, you have to be indifferent. You have to treat everything like it doesn’t matter and you care less than you do. But you also have to be an angel, permanently with your customer service voice when you stream or interact with people over Twitter. You have to deny the sweet boys advances and lament that you’re too cool for them, even if you know nothing about them. 

You also have to pretend like you don’t care that Anton hasn’t touched you since he started helping you with your side hustle. You have to pretend like you’re not so depraved by the thought of him and him alone that you start equating everything he does for you to sex. When he picked you up from work today that was sex. Him opening the car door for you and carrying your bags was also sex, and the way he let you take the biggest room was sex too. You had become so desperate in such a short amount of time that you had set up a system, all while dropping subtle hints you were too busy for a relationship.

You considered for awhile that Anton was seeing other people too. He definitely had to have a roster of his own, pretty models who liked his soft voice and gentle demeanor. You told yourself he was in a long term relationship that you didn’t know about and he was just looking to you for some fun, or helping out a friend. You also considered that he got his first model paycheck and needed a pretty thing to throw his extra money at. 

You never asked Anton anything to confirm or deny your suspicions. You were too busy trying to ignore the fact that he hadn’t even touched you before you were searching up his ad campaigns in your free time. No one warns you about how cool you have to be. Treating everyone like another body is all fun and games until the body is young and interesting and kind and funny and hot and familiar and—

“I’m glad we’re here together.” Anton said.

“Me too.”

He closes a little bit of the distance on the couch, coming closer until only a cushion separates the two of you. You think to yourself again why he hasn’t fucked you yet. You would’ve settled for a quickie in the bathroom, or in the parking lot when he picked you up for old time’s sake. You would’ve settled for something as juvenile as grinding and heavy petting, anything would’ve mulled you over. You just needed your fun, that’s what you were looking for and what you were being deprived of because he was too busy treating you like his girlfriend.

Seeing how nonchalant Anton had suddenly become made you even more pent up. Was there something you didn’t know about him, was there something he was hiding? The more you thought about him, the more you realized you knew nothing about him. Just that he used to work a few stores down from you, and he modeled now and you were both pulled from your schedules to be here today. 

Everything he did made you cling to his every move. When he moved even closer to you the camcorder was on the tripod now, and you shut your laptop and put it on the ground to move it out of the way.  

The two of you are just sitting in silence, side by side. Even though neither of you have a time constraint, it feels like you’re running out of time. You should be pulling him on top of you, the longer you took the more footage you’d have to edit out.

“Are you usually like this?” Anton asks the question even though he knows the answer. He’s been recording and taking pictures of you for the better half of the month, and he knows that you’re never scared to film. But now you’re hesitant, it’s Anton who has to take the first step to put a hand on your thigh.

“I’ve never had to wait this long.” You move back to the corner of the couch so you’re propped against the armrest and the back of the couch. Anton immediately follows after you, turning on the couch to face you completely. When Anton covers up your body too much you put a hand on his shoulder, keeping the smallest distance between you two. But his hand moved to cup your cheek, and he’s grabbing at your thigh. “Why are you making me wait for so long?” You ask.

Anton pulls at you again, and he drags you from the armrest of the couch until you’re completely on your back.

“I wanted to treat you nice.” Anton’s hand guides your legs to wrap around his waist. 

“You do treat me nice.” You say immediately. You pull Anton closer by a hand on his shoulder.

“But I also didn’t want you to think I was just around for sex.” Anton looks to the camcorder you propped up in the corner of the living room. The red dot blinks back at him, bright and a stark difference from the warm lighting of the lamp on the tiny table beside the couch. “Will this be in the video though?” 

You turn Anton’s head to look back at you. 

“Just pretend it’s not even there.” You say quickly. “I’ll edit it all out, don’t even worry about it.”

Anton smiles at you, and before you know it he has you flipped over on top of him. He guides you to straddle him completely, and then he’s pulling at the bottom of your shirt. He helps you push it off your body, and he balls up the fabric to throw it somewhere else in the room. 

Even though you and Anton had gone all the way, you have never been put on such a display for him. Despite him recording you in various states of undress for your side hustle, there’s something different about you doing this just for him. Even if your camera records everything, you’re undressed just for Anton, and he’s looking up to you and gripping your chest like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you.

You don’t rush Anton’s hands. You let him be greedy and you let him take his time. You watch how you fit into the palm of his hand, how he wraps around you so easily. 

Anton is holding onto you and then he moves so fast it almost makes your head spin. In seconds his chest is pressed to your front, and an arm behind him is keeping him propped up. He presses his lips to the valley of your chest. A gentle kiss turns into the feeling of Anton sucking at your skin. Your lips part and a tiny gasp slips out, Anton keeps sucking and you wrap a hand in his hair to keep him there.

He pulls away, and you can already tell the patch of skin is going to be ugly tomorrow. Anton is unaffected, instead looking up at you. His lips are still glistening with spit when he pulls you closer.

“Do you think I’ll still be a good fuck?” He asked.

As embarrassing as it was to admit, you knew he would be. Even when you tried your best to not give him all the credit, reasoning with yourself that his height would make him a good fuck on technicality, you knew there was something more to it. Anton had the tendency to be a gentleman, but a specific brand of chivalry that seemed to be an innate part of who he was. He held the door open for everyone without a second thought and he always waited for you to ask for help even if you were visibly struggling. He always offered to pay for anything you laid your eyes on. He knew how to throw his weight around and show off his strength in a way that wasn’t intimidating, but had a way of paying such intimate attention to everyone it made you feel like there was something more between you two. He is attentive, he is kind, he is hot, he is tall, he is strong, and you think about him all the time—of course you knew he’d be a good fuck. 

Anton exhibited his strength again when you felt his hands scratch against your scalp, rough and demanding. As some sort of reprieve from the intensity you tried bringing your body closer to his. He was one step ahead of you—like he always was—and pulled you by your hair. You felt the pinprick sensation on your scalp and the tug made more of your neck and chest exposed to him. You could feel his eyes burn a hole the same place on your chest where there’d be a mark in the morning.

“How many people have you fucked?” Anton asked, eyes still on the angry splotch on your chest. “Since we stopped seeing eachother?” 

He licked his lips and leaned his head towards the same spot before flickering his eyes up to you. The position Anton had you in currently was compromising and he showed no signs of letting go. By the marks on your chest and the numbness of your lips you could already tell that Anton had some sort of problem when it came to possession. He was clearly the jealous type too, evident in the way the word fucked fell from his lips. Like he had to gag the word out, like the simple thought of someone else touching you like this made him want to vomit. 

The way Anton spoke made you think if you told him the truth of how many people you’ve seen there’d be nothing left of you by the time he was done. So you shook your head against the grip he has on your hair, trying to will the bass back to your voice.

“I don’t think you wanna know.” You say.

Your words hitch at the end when his hand palms your chest. Anton’s hands are soft despite the sheer size, but the way he pinches your hardened nipple is purposefully rough. Your sensitive skin is rolled between his middle finger and thumb, before he pulls your tit towards him. You whine from the pain and Anton looks at you eyes narrowed to let you know you gave him the wrong answer. 

The answer to his question is much less entertaining, you couldn’t imagine telling Anton about all of the people who you entertain in your chats on your streams or the people that message you on Twitter. You also couldn’t imagine telling Anton that this was a slow week for you. 

You finally casted your eyes down to Anton the same time he brought your chest back to his mouth. It was entirely too easy to hold you in the palm of his hand, to move you like you weighed nothing. You felt the absence of autonomy and it frightened you almost as much as it made you want to grind your hips on him again. The restriction didn’t stop you from moaning out when you felt Anton’s teeth graze your nipple, or whimpering when he brought his other hand to harshly pinch the other side. 

You already feel an impeding orgasm just from how rough he’s being with you, you can feel your walls seize around nothing as you cause more of a mess on his lap. The feeling churning in your stomach almost made you sick as you looked down at Anton, tears dotting your waterline as it all became too much. He looked up from your chest to see your deep pout and wet eyes. Instead of cooing at you affectionately and asking what he could do to fix it he only laughed at you. With your chest in his mouth and his lips sucking on your skin he laughed. The vibrations made you jump and twist your hand around in his grip, desperately looking for his wrist to push your nails into.

“Were you thinking about me when you were with other people?” He asked. “Thinking about your boyfriend while you were playing girlfriend with other guys?”

You want to tell Anton that he is not your boyfriend and you don’t only entertain men. But once again, the truth seems to be suspended in Anton’s presence. So you nod your head, looking for some sort of reprieve from all the pressure. The fact that you look down at a fully clothed Anton while you’re getting more and more undressed is too much. Your bra came off a long time ago, and when you can get  out of Anton’s greedy grip you try to push down at your waistband. You try to press your chest against his to kill two birds with one stone, but his hand that moved from your hair to your shoulder keeps you in place.

“Aht aht.” You could hear the mocking tone in his voice, your eyes refused to let you look down at the smirk that probably played on his lips. Your body unsuccessfully tried closing itself against Anton’s again, just to have his other hand tug on your hair again. “Don’t be embarrassed.” He coos.

Anton prevents you from pressing your body against his. You feel his eyes rake up and down your figure, again and again and you feel dizzy. You clench around nothing again and you whine, not stopping yourself from shaking your head.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. 

Anton hand released your hair a while ago but you keep it in the same place. You can’t form a thought but the way Anton looks at you tells you he already knows. Still he tilts his head to the side. He gives you the chance to answer, the same way a predator lets it’s prey run away for the sake of the chase.

“Fuck me please.” You say.

When you appear to be the most hopeless, Anton goes for the kill. His hands releasing you completely makes you freeze, like you weren’t fighting against his grasp moments prior. He looks at you looking at him, and then his hands go to resting behind his head.

“Do your thing.” He says.

You reach for the buttons on his pants way too fast. You stand on shaking legs and knees to undo it with hasty hands, completely opposite of Anton’s demeanor. His hands are lax behind him, barely holding himself up while you push his pants down his leg. Your pants are caught like a constricting belt on your waist, the material on your leg rides up more and more with each move you make. You’re unbothered though, more concerned with getting Anton undressed before your own comfort. 

The only way Anton moves is to reach into his back pocket as you push his pants down. He grabs his wallet, setting it on the table beside the couch as you continue pushing the denim down. Anton finally helps by lifting his waist off the couch, his fingers pushing his pants down the rest of the way. You follow suit, finally taking your pants off and letting it join the pile of clothes.

When Anton moved to lean against the back of the couch you went to straddle him again, completely naked while he still kept his shirt on. His hands were underneath your ass, kneading the skin harsher than he ever did before. He lifts you up with ease, and brings you back down until your clit bumps against his dick. There’s already a tiny dark stain blossoming at the bottom of Anton’s shirt from the precum leaking out from his tip. You start pulling at the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head so quickly it ruffles his hair.

“We never got to do this in your car.” Anton whispers it to you so low that you’re not even sure the camera would be able to pick it up. You’re becoming less and less aware of the camera recording you both, if you cared you would know that this was a terrible angle and it was barely picking up what was happening between the two of you. “Feels like the first time.” He laughs.

“It kinda is.” You look down to his lap, and you work the slimy latex of the condom he put in your hand over his dick. You never got the chance to put the condom on Anton, so you have your fun with him. You’re able to draw out a hiss from Anton and make him buck into your hand, and you’re able to make him lean his head back until he’s melting into the couch. “We get to take our time.”

Anton leans further into the couch and he’s nodding his head helplessly. He’s so different from just a few moments before when he was grabbing you roughly and leaving marks on your skin. 

Like you two are desperately trying to make up for lost time you go through everything. You two are oscillating between being dominant and submissive, so quickly it’s almost confusing you both. Something tells you that you should be the dominant one tonight. That’s what your viewers are used to seeing, and technically you are the one on top. But you are at this place because of Anton, he’s the one that called you his girlfriend and meant it, and he was the one that was silently waiting for you to do what he wanted next. He was hard to figure out. He let you continue to jerk him off, letting out tiny sighs as your hand became slick from the lubricated latex.

You look down at Anton just to find that he’s already looking up at you. His eyes keep on flickering down to the mark on your chest, and for a second you think he’s going to lean forward and leave another.

“Can I touch you?” He asks the question while his hands continue to knead your ass. 

You nod anyways, and instantly one of his hands is wrapping around your waist and the other is going to your clit. The sight of Anton’s hand superimposing you is intoxicating. The way he knows to apply just the right amount of pressure behind his hands makes you lose the pace you set with your own. He’s too attentive for his own good you’ve decided. When he lifts his hand up quickly to lick the tips of his fingers before going back down you’ve decided he’s dangerous. He makes you pitch forward, and when he presses a little harder you let go of his dick completely to hold the couch on either side of his head for dear life. When Anton speeds his fingers up your huffing in the crook of his neck.

“I always wanted to do this.” Anton whispers directly into your ear before kissing the shell. When you open. your mouth to reply he applies more force, causing only a strangled whimper to escape your lips. “You have no idea.”

All you could do was nod your head. You felt lost, out of breath as Anton continued working his finger on your sensitive bud. He didn’t stop even when your hand went to his wrist to try and stop his movement but he’s stronger than you. He just looks up at you and bites his lip, smirking when you struggle to keep eye contact.

“Does it feel good?” Anton laughs when he sees you can’t speak. “So good, right?”

You start reaching your hand down to grab his dick, desperately trying to convey what you need physically. 

You’re grateful he gives in without you having to beg for it, because Anton finally takes his hand away from your clit to grab his dick instead. His other hand lifts you from his lap slightly, lining up at your entrance. His fat tip prods against you, and the way you already feel the burn in your legs. You were a seasoned professional, but with Anton looking up at you like you were the cutest thing in the world left you second guessing yourself.

“You gonna ride me?” Anton leans back on the couch and takes you with him, and you answer him by sinking down on him. 

You sigh when you feel him push into you slowly, and when it’s down to the hilt you pull in a sharp breath. You can feel yourself pulsing around him already, and you tilt your head back when Anton moves underneath you.

“Is this for your viewers or for me?” You twist your head to the blinking red light, reminding you that you still are recording every single thing taking place. Anton follows your gaze over your shoulder, bringing you close by a hold on the back of your neck. “I’m your biggest fan, you know.” 

You realize there’s no point in recording anymore, because Anton whispers everything into your ear and your body is blocking the view. The only thing the camera picks up is the wet sound of Anton bringing you down and down again on his dick. You don’t put on a show like you used to when it was just you and your toys, this is the real thing. Anton is living and breathing and warm, taking up all of you and getting you to take all of him again and again.

“I watched everything, by the way.” Anton keeps his hand wrapped around your waist, moving you back and forth on him. “You sound so different now, though.”

“No I don’t.” 

You start moving your hips the same way Anton guides you, doing anything you can to take back control. He responds by changing the pace, and then bringing your chest close to his mouth again. Right next to the mark he already left he leaves another, that’s angry and even bigger than the one before. 

“Yes you do.” It’s pitiful that you squeeze around Anton at the bass in his voice. He’s sincere, and then you’re on your back with Anton looming over you. “I know the sounds you make on your little streams are fake, but you’re not playing it up for me at all.”

The new position lets Anton dig deeper into you, and it lets him go faster and harder too. You’re on display for the camera now , and you’re reaching behind you to find stability in the armrest. Your sounds are unfiltered, slipping through your parted lips. You’re loud and wrecked, and Anton is right. You’ve never made sounds without thinking about them first. Nothing about this is calculated, down to the ferine way Anton is fucking you. He’s crashing his lips onto yours and you’re moaning into his mouth, just when you think you can handle it one of his hands pushes on the back of your thigh.

“See?” Anton is struggling too, his words getting pushed out with each thrust. He looks down between your two bodies where you meet. “You’re never this loud for your fake boyfriends.”

“Baby.” You whimper and he looks to you. The light from the lamp catches the sweat beading at his forehead and the flush on his cheeks. “I won’t be able to use this footage if you keep talking like that.” 

Instead of pulling back, Anton smirks again. He speeds up, making your chest move and making you lose your breath again. He holds onto you tight and brings his body closer to yours, strong and solid over you.

“We’ll just have to film again then.” You scratch his back and you can’t even verbalize that you’re close. Anton’s sweaty forehead is pressed to your chest, keeping you glued together. “I got plenty more for you.” 

You can’t keep it together long enough to warn Anton. You just move your hand to his head, holding him close to your chest as you cum. Anton stills for you, and you pathetically lift your hips again and again to get more stimulation. You squeeze around him and Anton just coos as you, kissing the flaming skin on your chest and telling you how cute you are even if you’re treating him like a human dildo. 

He continues murmuring to you and coaxing you down from your peak until you’re spent underneath him, laying completely flat on the couch until you start melting into it yourself.

Anton’s large hand that was wrapped around your waist moves to your lower stomach instead. Feeling his hand on you causes you to twitch, and when he teasingly applies force you groan and start to writhe underneath him. He laughs at your condition, seemingly unfazed as he backs away from between your legs to sit down on the couch in front of you. The only indication that he’s as wrecked as you are is the way he takes in deep breaths, but even then he is ready while you’re still trying to regain your composure. Anton rubs your knee and smiles at how your limp leg yields to the lightest amount of force.

“I definitely won’t be able to use any of the footage.” You say. You turn your weak head to the camera and Anton follows suit. You playfully kick at his chest with your foot. “I bet the lighting was terrible. And you kept on talking to me all crazy.”

Anton’s hands go to your ankle, wrapping around it. He guides a foot to one side of your body, propping himself between your legs again.

“Well. We do have all weekend.”

[missmarveledsblog]

Dustin's got a sister? ( Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader)

summary : friday where DND nothing would stop that except the discovery of Dustin Hendersons older sister of course which leds to eddie wondering if he was wrong about the whole love at first sight thing being crap .

warnings : fluffy fast burn , mutual pinning , eddie being a simp for sure . picture doesn't represent the reader it was just a fic cover i made

Friday meant one thing to Eddie munson and that was Hellfire night . The club were beginning what he could only describe as his best campaign yet ,the loud roars and cheer or cries filled the basement of Dustin Henderson since the older boys graduated it became the new spot . What Eddie didn't know was that the boys were not the only ones in the house as the music upstairs caused them to halt and look to the owner of said basement in confusion .

 " It's just my sister , ignore her" he shrugged, wanting to continue but the sudden excitement of Lucas and Mike only made the older boy more curious .

" sister since when do you have a sister" Eddie almost challenged. " since my mom and dad you know and then she was born" Dustin's head tilted knowing he'd mentioned her before .

"and She's smoking hot" Lucas blurted out for Mike Wheeler to nod eagerly in agreement.

" How come we've never seen her around?" Gareth asked .

" because she went to a different school and usually she was with her asshole boyfriend but they broke up also she hangs out with Steve and robin, she also busy with college stuff " Dustin looked around the table seeing all their confused faces.

" Wait, I've never seen her when I hang out with them" Eddie looked at the boy .

" that's because she was with her boyfriend ,I literally just said that" he rolled his eyes.

" hey dusty bun you down there .... Oh shit sorry i forgot you had company" all their eyes landed on the woman standing there hair wrapped in a towel and dressed in shorts and tank top .

" hey Y/N" Lucas waved dreamingly . 

" Hey Sinclair," she smiled . 

" Hey wanna join," Mike asked.

" I can't tonight. I got a paper due on Monday, just came down to see if Dustin ate , but now the question expands , "Do you guys want pizza?" she smiled bright towards them, eddie could have sworn he had drool coming out of his mouth .

" yeah totally would eat pizza with you" Jeff chin resting in his hands . " Ok pepperoni would be a safe choice right" she looked, seeing them all nod . " ok i shall call when it's here " she ran up the stairs, cheeks heated suddenly aware of her attire and the eyes of the boys roaming her body . 

" How the hell is that your sister?" gareth asked, totally in awe .

 " Told you , smoking hot" Lucas beamed proudly.

" You asked her to join, why ?" Eddie almost whispered not ready for the answer in fair of his mind short circuiting even more that it was . " because she's the reason that we know how to play" Mike whispered back, sending the group of boys almost into a group of school girls fawning .

 " So you're telling me that the smoking hot goddess of a woman is a nerd like us" .

 " Can you all please stop calling my sister hot?" Dustin grimaced, suddenly regretting offering his basement for the Hellfire club . when the music changed and the familiar riffs flooded his ear drums . 

" Is that?... YOUR HOT SISTER LIKES METAL" Eddie almost roared across the table . 

" Is it too late to quit hellfire?" Dustin groaned.

It seemed the campaign was forgotten about after half an hour of questioning. Dustin Henderson was never more grateful for the pizza man's arrival but when she told them to come up he was almost trampled as his friends tried getting up the stairs .

" holy shit you guys must be hungry , no need to panic i got more than enough " she laughed seeing them pushing each other out of the way . 

" Totally starving" gareth smiled brightly.

" ok well plates are there and help yourself" she pointed to the counter .

" ladies first" Eddie smiled, arm outstretched . 

" Thank you" she moved, grabbing her plate and pizza before heading to the sofa. " I just stuck on halloween if you guys wanna join" she called eyes on the screen not seeing the pushing and shoving happening in the kitchen before eddie smiled victoriously beside her. " I love this movie" he winked . 

" I literally only started it so you all aren't missing much ... wait what about the campaign" her head tilted as they all sighed in content.

" Apparently due to hormones it's over" Dustin grumbled sitting on the other side of her . 

" Shit sorry that was my fault if I'm being too loud I can go to my room" she offered only for a chorus of no's and don't to fill the room . " you're fine, really we can do it another time apparently" Dustin smiled seeing the worry on her face. Before anyone else could say anything the doorbell went off making her run out to see who it was totally forgetting she invited steve and robin over.

" hey if you can find a place to sit" she led the two in.

" Hey guys," the three kids called.

"Hey Harrington man , nice to see you , how come you never mentioned the sweetheart of a sister Dustin had before" Eddie smiled yet glaring at his friend.

" because Dustin told me not to" he shrugged, heading off to the kitchen .

 "Do I embarrass you or something?" She turned to her brother.

" No just you were with that douche before and i didn't want him embarrassing me" he lied easily . 

" That's a good point," Robin nodded .

 " I hated that guy so much" Steve agreed eagerly as he handed Robin her plate as he sat beside Dustin .

 " Ok enough about my ex and let's watch the movie" she huffed, letting her damp nearly dry hair out of the towel . As soon as the lights went out all their attention went to the movie playing well mostly to the movie. Eddie's attention did try to stick to the screen but it often shifted to the girl sitting beside him. wondering how the hell he wasn't a puddle in the chair or if the beating of his heart was audible given how fast it was , was he sweating cause sure as hell felt like it . He watched the light of tv shine on her face, her relaxed state or... shit she grabbed his hand , why was he short circuiting over a girl grabbing his hand . 

" Sorry that part always make me jump" she whispered soft laugh spilling from her pillow plump lips , he could of sworn he saw a blush on her face but wasn't sure giving the limited light .

" if you need to grab it again feel free too" he whispered back smiling so wide showing off his dimples .

" thank you munson" now he was hoping more parts would make her jump . her hand in his throughout the movie it turned out his campaign wasn't the highlight of this Friday after all.

Once the movie ended Dustin hit the lights making them all groan at the sudden intrusive brightness . except the light snores filled out the room making them all turn to see the older henderson and eddie passed out cold her head on his shoulder and his hand holding hers .

 " Awhh that's so cute" Robin cooed, hiding her amusement.

" Damn it, I was gonna ask her out " Gareth growled, making everyone turn to the boy . " I said that out loud huh?" he stood rubbing the back of his neck .

 " Very loud," Steve snorted . "Come on i can drop you guys home" he stretched as the all looked at him wide eyed.

" Seriously "king"Steve Harrington is going to let us be seen with him" Jeff almost gasped out.

" yeah yeah dont cream your pants , come let them sleep" he ushered the gang of still shocked boys out the door. Only for Dustin to slam it shut behind them waking the two .

 "Where is everyone?" she asked, confused.

" yeah i remembered more people being here" Eddie rubbed his eyes . 

" Steve's dropping them home since you two were all cuddled up in sleepland" . 

"Shit i'll go clean up and head out before your mom comes home '' Eddie yawned and stretched ready to head back down to the basement . 

"Just stay, she's not home till Sunday," Dustin yelled, heading down to his own room . 

" If you want to, I mean we can watch another movie," she smiled nervously was he making her uncomfortable or was it something else.

" Yeah i could totally stay, I got some clothes in my van , let me grab them" he beamed with excitement.

" I'm going for a smoke so i'll come out with you" she grabbed her shoes and jacket pulling out the carton of cigarettes and lighter . 

" Lead the way princess" he opened the door letting her walk out first. The night's crisp air hitting them , she stood on the porch as he ran down grabbing the backpack out of his van given his original plan was to sleep at jeff's for the night so wayne could have a night's sleep in his room for once. When he looked back to see she was sitting on what he called the outdoor sofa to rile Dustin up, her eyes looking up at the sky lost in the stars above even then she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen . The slow exhale of smoke and she turned to smile at his approaching figure .

 " You cold, i can give you my jacket" he was already going to take it off pulling out his own cigarettes.

" no it's not too chilly tonight ,it actually a nice night" she mused moving so he could sit beside her.

"So Dustin mentioned you went to a different school. How come" he asked, wanting to know everything and anything about the woman sitting beside him . 

" You don't remember me huh?" she asked, confusing him completely.

" we actually went to the same school til i'd say middle school i changed schools because tommy hagan kinda made my life hell so my mom moved me to a different school since the principle wouldn't do anything about it , i was fat kid with curly ass hair , he called me sparky cause of this'' She shrugged the jacket showing the lightning bolt scar on her arm Making him remember completely who she was.

" shit yeah i remember, i also remember you punching him when he picked on other kids" he mused.

" another reason i had to move schools, the irony of letting myself being their victim and yet seeing ready when i seen them torment someone else " she snorted, tapping the ash of her cigarette . 

" Shit i would've never pictured you and Dustin to be siblings," he chuckled.

" Well back then my parents were still married and I wasn't always Henderson" She pointed out.

" Well that also checks out, still i've always thought that scar was metal , how you get it?" . 

"Wasn't struck by lightning sadly that would of been cooler no i burned it trying to make my own shield" she giggled. "

That's still metal in my books" he chuckled. 

" I guess your right I mean my mom didn't think so in the ER but hey it was good shield think it's still in the garage" throwing the cigarette away , sneaking a quick glance at the most adorable and probably hottest guy she ever met sitting beside her .

" you in college now or ? " he asked .

" yeah just an hour drive away, studying nursing what about you ? " she turned. Her eyes made him completely weak at the knee's .

" apprentice mechanic " she noticed how his smiled didn't quite reach his eyes when he said it .

" well if you ever get hurt on the job call me, I'll come nurse you back to heath " she nudging him playfully there it was a real smile on his pretty face.

" come on we head in or I'll be the nurse when you catch some flu or cold being out here " he stood holding his hand out to help her up .

" wanna was nightmare on elm Street" she asked.

" of course and if you get scared you can hold my hand " he winked as they walked into the house.

" I mean it is scary movie dare I say even terrifying you might get sick of me holding your hand" she teased heading to the other side of the room to grab the tape and a blanket .

" never would I do such a thing " he held his hand over his heart those damn dimples that made her heart skip a beat or the glint of the rings as he held his hand over his heart.

" could you put the movie in , I'll grab the snacks and some drinks " she scurried of the kitchen . Putting the movie on pause before he called to say he was putting some pyjamas on before it got started .

When he came in she had snacks pile on top of each other along with the soda . He could of sworn he caught her checking him out but brushing it off instantly.

" ready" she lifted the blanket up for him to join .

" born ready darling " he hit the lights as the second movie of the night started playing he suddenly felt the,warmth of her palm in his . " just incase I get to scared " she winked now he was one who was grateful for lack of lights cause he was sure he was beet red now.

" better safe the sorry " he whispered his voice almost cracking in the nervous manner of possibly the hottest most beautiful girl he'd met holding his hand ... his goddamned hand . the two say eyes locked on screen itching to look at the person at their side . She inched her way closer as the movie played when jumpscare came on she couldn't help bury her head In his chest . The smell of his cologne and cigarette filled her sense as she felt the vibrations of his laugh as he wrapped his arms around her.

"I'll keep you safe princess " she could feel the almost cocky grin in his words feeling her little plan worked .

" thank you eddie my hero " she cooed looking up through her lashes making his gulp audibly leaning up and a peck to his lips, he was sure to die in his spot . A victory smile she kept her head on his chest while his arm was wrapped around her , she could hear the now steady beating of his heart as he gotten comfortable in the new position his hand rubbing up and down her back . Wasn't long til the two got way to comfortable and feel asleep in each others arms to content to even care .

[honeyslibrary]

I Love You, I'm Sorry | Luke Hughes

Pairing; Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Long distance relationship, angst, not sure what else, edited once

Summary; Reader and Luke get a taste of how difficult being in a long distance relationship is.

Word Count; 4.5k

Authors Note: This is a part one. I’d love your thoughts on what you think the ending should be. I personally love angst, but I know a lot of you love happy endings, so let me know (: As per usual, reblogs are appreciated 🩵 -Honey

It's late, nearly midnight in Ann Arbor, and your room is dim except for the soft glow of your laptop screen. Outside, snow is falling in slow, half-hearted flakes that dissolve before touching the ground, visible only when they drift through the cone of yellow light from the streetlamp below. Your desk is cluttered with notebooks, highlighters with their caps missing, and a half-eaten granola bar that's been sitting there since noon, its wrapper curled at the edges.

When Luke picks up, he's backdropped by the familiar off-white walls of his place in Jersey, hair damp and curling from a post-practice shower. He's wearing that oversized black Kith hoodie — the one he practically lives in, frayed at the cuffs from constant wear — and his voice comes through, slightly distorted by distance and poor connection.

"Hey."

You smile, automatic, muscle memory that hasn't faded despite everything. "Hey."

There's a beat of silence where neither of you rushes to fill the space. It's not awkward. Just... distant. Like the signal is fine, but the connection is still lagging, caught somewhere between Ann Arbor and Jersey, lost in the miles between what you were and what you've become.

"You look tired," he says, eyes scanning your face through the screen.

"Thanks," you deadpan, but self-consciously run a hand through your unwashed hair.

He smiles, a little, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar way that still manages to make your heart stutter. "Rough day?"

You nod, feeling the weight of hours spent hunched over textbooks and lab equipment. "Had a three-hour chem lab and then my professor went rogue and assigned us a ten-page paper due Monday, even though it's supposed to be a five-week course project. So, yeah. Classic Thursday."

"Damn." He leans back against his headboard, the wood making a soft thunk. You can see the edge of a team photo taped to his wall, the corner peeling. "I don't miss that."

"You're telling me," you say, rubbing your eyes until pinpricks of light dance behind your closed lids. "I've had coffee for dinner two nights in a row. My blood is basically caffeine at this point."

He watches you for a second, eyes softening with something like concern or maybe nostalgia. Then asks, quieter, "Is it still like... non-stop all the time?"

You hesitate, fingers playing with the frayed edge of your sleeve. "Yeah. I mean, I guess I'm getting used to it again." The lie tastes stale on your tongue.

Luke nods slowly, a micro-expression of hurt flashing across his face so quickly you almost miss it. Then he glances away for a second, like he's thinking about whether or not to say something. When he looks back, there's something different in his eyes. Not annoyed, just... worn down, like fabric that's been washed too many times.

"I was trying not to bug you," he says, carefully measuring each word. "With the whole settling-back-in thing. Figured the first couple weeks of school would be hectic, so I didn't want to be, like... all over your phone."

You shift in your seat, the old wooden chair creaking beneath you, uneasy. "You're not bugging me."

"I don't know," he says, fingers absently tracing the team logo on his hoodie. "It kind of feels like I am."

You go still. He's not raising his voice. He's not accusing. But it hits anyway, like a door closing quietly but firmly in your face.

"I mean, you barely text me," he continues, voice level but threaded with something raw. "We haven't FaceTimed in... what? Over a week? And when we do talk, it's usually because I called first."

You swallow, suddenly too aware of how quiet your room is, just the faint hum of your laptop fan and the distant bass from someone's music three doors down. "I've just had a lot going on."

"I know," he says quickly, too quickly. "Me too. But... it's been a month now."

You glance at him. His jaw is tight, a muscle working at the corner, and he won't quite meet your eyes, instead focusing on something just past your shoulder.

"I was giving you space because I thought you needed it," he says, voice dropping lower. "But now I'm starting to feel like maybe I'm just... not part of your life anymore. Not really."

Your chest aches, a physical pain that spreads outward like ice cracking. "Luke—"

He cuts in, not unkindly, but with a firmness that makes you flinch. "I'm not mad. I just... I didn't think this would be so one-sided."

You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a pathetic defense: "You know I suck at texting."

He gives a short laugh. Not mean, just tired, the kind that carries no actual humor. "Yeah. I do. But I thought you'd try. Because this is different now. We're not two blocks apart anymore. We're two states apart. I can't just swing by after practice or meet you at Espresso Royale with those stupid chocolate croissants you like." His voice catches slightly. "You're all I've got, and half the time, it feels like I'm not even crossing your mind."

"That's not fair," you whisper, the words hanging in the air between you like frost.

He meets your gaze, and it's the quiet in his voice that stings the most. "It doesn't have to be fair, it's how I feel."

You press your fingers to your forehead, like that'll stop the swirl in your brain, the mounting pressure behind your eyes. "I wasn't trying to ignore you. I've just... I don't know. Everything's overwhelming again. And I guess I thought if I didn't reach out, it would hurt less. Like... not reminding myself how far away you are."

He looks at you for a long second, the blue light of his screen making shadows under his cheekbones. "It hurts anyway."

And there it is.

The truth neither of you wanted to face, finally spoken aloud. Your fingers go cold.

You look at him, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his fingers fidget with the drawstring of his hoodie, twisting it into a knot and then releasing it. You feel like you're staring at something that's slipping through your hands, slow and inevitable, like sand or water or time.

He sighs, quiet, the sound barely reaching your speakers. "I'm gonna head to bed. Early skate tomorrow."

You nod, barely, feeling numb. "Okay."

He doesn't hang up right away, and for a second, it seems like he might say something else, something to soften or backtrack. Offer a lifeline. But instead, he just gives you a small, sad smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Goodnight."

Then the screen goes dark.

And you're left staring at your own reflection, sitting in the silence you built, with only the soft tapping of snowflakes against your window for company.

You wait for a text that doesn't come.

The next morning, you send him a message, something casual about hoping he had a good practice, a peace offering disguised as small talk. Usually, he responds within minutes. This time, your phone stays silent for hours, until finally, mid-afternoon: It was fine. Pretty tired though.

No questions about your day. No follow-up. Just five words that feel like a door closing.

You tell yourself it's nothing. He's busy. He's tired. But the pattern continues. Your texts receive shorter and shorter replies, sometimes hours later, sometimes not until the next day. He doesn't call. When you try calling him on Sunday night, he doesn't pick up, just texts back twenty minutes later: Sorry, was out with the guys. Talk later maybe?

Later doesn't come.

By Wednesday, the realization hits you with startling clarity: this is what it feels like to be on the other side. This is what you've been doing to him for weeks.

Thursday night, you're sitting in the library, pretending to study organic chemistry but really just staring at your phone, willing it to light up with his name. It doesn't. A week ago, you would have been annoyed by the interruption. Now you'd give anything for it.

Your roommate slides into the chair across from you, giving you a strange look. "You okay? You've been staring at that same page for like, twenty minutes."

"I'm fine," you mumble, but your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears.

"Luke?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

You look up, surprised. "How did you—"

"Well, for starters, you've checked your phone approximately eight hundred times in the past hour. And you've got that look."

"What look?"

"Like someone stole your favorite hoodie." She pauses. "Which, by the way, isn't that his Devils hoodie you're wearing right now?"

You glance down. It is. Luke left it with you when he left for pre-season, and you've been sleeping in it for weeks. It still smells faintly of his laundry detergent and that cologne he pretends not to use.

"He's not talking to me," you admit finally, the words feeling strange in your mouth. "Or, well, barely. It's like... he's just gone cold."

Your roommate doesn't look surprised. "Girl, are you stupid? You've been doing the same thing to him for weeks."

The bluntness of her assessment stings. "I've been busy," you protest weakly.

She gives you a look that makes it clear she's not buying it. "We're all busy. That's college. But you don't see me ghosting my boyfriend back home."

"I wasn't ghosting him," you insist. But even as you say it, you know it's not entirely true. You were keeping him at arm's length, minimizing contact, treating him like an obligation rather than a priority.

"So what are you going to do about it?" she asks, closing her notebook and giving you her full attention.

You stare at your phone again. No new messages. "I don't know."

Friday morning, you check your phone the moment you wake up. Nothing. Friday afternoon, between classes, you find yourself opening your photos, scrolling back through pictures of the two of you. Friday night, you cave and call him. It goes straight to voicemail.

Hey, Luke. It's me. I just... I miss you. Call me back?

He doesn't.

Saturday passes in a blur of anxiety and regret. By Sunday, you're sitting on your bed surrounded by unfinished assignments, your laptop open to a half-written paper, but all you can think about is him.

The silence stretches into a second week. His social media offers glimpses of a life continuing without you: team photos, a night out bowling, a video of him laughing at something one of his teammates said. He looks fine. He looks happy. He looks like he's moving on.

It's only when you're scrolling through your calendar to check a due date that you realize what tomorrow is: one month since he helped you move in. One month of being apart. You'd talked about celebrating somehow, doing something special over FaceTime. Now you wonder if he even remembers.

Monday morning, your phone pings with a text as you're walking to class.

Can we talk tonight? 9pm?

Your heart jumps into your throat. You text back immediately: Yes. Definitely.

The day crawls by with excruciating slowness. By 8:45, you're sitting at your desk, hair combed, room hastily tidied, wearing a sweater he once said brought out your eyes.

At exactly 9:00, your laptop chimes with an incoming call. You take a deep breath and click "accept."

Luke appears on screen, looking tired but more serious than you've ever seen him. There's none of the warmth from before, none of the easy familiarity. Just his eyes, steady and questioning.

"Hey," you say, voice small.

"Hey," he replies. Then, after a pause that stretches too long: "So, I think we should talk about what happens now."

You swallow hard, suddenly afraid of what "now" might mean. "Luke, I'm sorry. I know I messed up. I know I made you feel like you weren't important, and that's not true at all. I was—"

"Stop," he says, not unkindly but firmly. "I don't need apologies. What I need is to know if this is even worth fighting for anymore."

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication.

"Because," he continues, voice steady but with an undercurrent of hurt that makes your chest ache, "I can't be the only one trying here. These past two weeks... this is what it felt like for me, for a month. Waiting for calls that never came. Checking my phone fifty times a day. Wondering if I still mattered to you at all."

You feel tears threatening, but you blink them back. "You do matter. You matter so much."

"Then why didn't you act like it?" The question isn't angry. It's genuinely confused, which somehow makes it worse.

"I don't know," you whisper, and then, forcing yourself to be honest: "I think I was scared. Of how much I missed you. Of how hard this was going to be. It felt easier to just... pull back. To pretend I was fine on my own."

He's quiet for a long moment, considering this. "And are you? Fine on your own?"

You look at him, really look at him, and shake your head slowly. "No. These past two weeks have been awful. I hated every minute of it."

"Welcome to my world," he says, but there's less edge to his voice now. "So what do we do? Because I can't go back to how things were before. I won't."

The silence stretches between you, full of all the things you've left unsaid. You know you're at a crossroads. You can make more promises, beg for another chance. Or you can face the truth: that long distance is harder than you thought, that you're both changing, that maybe what you had belongs to a different time, a different version of yourselves.

Luke waits, his expression unreadable. The choice is yours.

"I don't know how to fix this," you admit finally, voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to. I really want to."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it makes your heart ache. "I want to believe that."

"You can," you say, leaning forward. "Luke, these past two weeks... I've been miserable. And it made me realize that I've been taking you for granted. I've been acting like you'll always be there, waiting, no matter how I treat you."

He's quiet for a moment, eyes searching yours through the screen. "Why should this time be any different?"

It's a fair question. One you've been asking yourself all week.

"Because now I know what it feels like to lose you," you say simply. "And I never want to feel that way again."

He looks down, and you can see him weighing your words, deciding whether or not to believe them. When he looks back up, his eyes are guarded.

"I need more than words," he says. "I need to see it. In your actions."

You nod, relief and anxiety tangling in your chest. "I know. I understand that."

"Do you?" he asks, and there's a challenge in his voice. "Because what I need is for you to make time for us. Real time. Not just when it's convenient for you or when you don't have anything better to do."

You flinch at the truth of it. "I will. I promise."

He shakes his head slightly. "Don't promise. Just do it. Or don't. But I can't keep...hoping things will get better. That's the part that kills me, you know? The hoping."

You feel tears threatening again, but this time, you let them come. "I'm sorry," you whisper. "I'm so sorry, Luke."

His expression softens just slightly. "I know you are. But I'm not looking for an apology. I'm looking for change."

You wipe at your eyes, nodding. "So...what now?"

He seems to consider this, then says, "Now we take it day by day. See if we can build something that works for both of us. But I need you to be honest, with yourself most of all. If you can't do this, if you don't want to do this, then let's not drag it out."

The words hit you like a physical blow. "Is that...is that what you want? To end it?"

Luke's gaze is steady. "What I want is a relationship where I don't feel like I'm chasing someone who's always running away."

The silence stretches between you, heavy with everything that's been said and everything that hasn't.

"I'm not running," you say finally. "Not anymore."

He nods, but there's still hesitation in his eyes. "Okay."

"Okay," you echo, not sure what else to say.

"I should go," he says after a moment. "Early morning tomorrow."

Panic flares in your chest. "Wait, can we talk again?"

The question hangs in the air. Before, he would have been the one asking that. The one worried about when the next call would be. Now it's you, and the role reversal isn't lost on either of you.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "I don't know. When do you want to talk again?"

You recognize the test in his words. "Tomorrow? I don't have class until eleven. We could have coffee together. Virtually, I mean."

He considers this. "I'll be up at six for training."

"Six is fine," you say quickly, even though you haven't voluntarily seen six a.m. since high school.

His eyebrows rise slightly. "Really?"

"Really." You've never been more certain of anything.

He studies you for a moment longer, then nods. "Okay. Six it is."

"I'll be here," you promise.

"We'll see," he says, and it stings, but you know you deserve it. Before he ends the call, he pauses. "You're wearing that sweater I love."

"What?" You glance down, feeling heat rise to your face. "Oh yeah."

The corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile, the first real smile you've seen from him in weeks.

Then the call ends, and you're left staring at your reflection again. But this time, it's different. This time, you're not paralyzed by indecision or regret. This time, you know exactly what you need to do.

You set your alarm for 5:45 a.m. Then you open your calendar and begin to carve out time, real time, for the person who matters most. Not leftover minutes between classes or half-attentive late-night calls when you're too exhausted to really talk. Actual, intentional time.

It won't be easy. Nothing worth having ever is. The distance is still there. Your schedule is still overwhelming. His hockey season is just getting started.

But as you close your laptop and get ready for bed, you realize something: you're not just fighting for Luke. You're fighting for yourself, too. For the person you want to be. Someone who knows what matters and acts like it. Someone who doesn't take love for granted.

You curl up under your blankets after changing back into his Devils hoodie. Outside, the snow continues to fall, covering everything in a clean, white blanket. Like a fresh start.

Morning will come early. But for the first time in weeks, you're looking forward to it.

The blaring of your alarm cuts through your dreams like a knife. You groan, blindly pawing at your phone until the noise stops. Your room is dark, the sky outside still black. For a moment, you lie there, disoriented, wondering why on earth your alarm is going off at this ungodly hour.

Then you remember. Luke. The call. Six a.m.

You force your eyes open, squinting at your phone screen.

7:28 a.m.

Your stomach drops. No. No no no.

You bolt upright, suddenly wide awake, heart hammering against your ribs. How did this happen? You set your alarm. You remember setting it for 5:45.

But the evidence is right there on your screen, mocking you: three missed alarms, all snoozed in your half-conscious state. And worse, two missed calls from Luke.

"No," you whisper, panic rising in your throat as you fumble to call him back. It rings once, twice, three times. Then his voicemail.

You try again. Straight to voicemail.

Your hands shake as you type out a text: Luke I'm so sorry. I slept through my alarm. Please call me back.

Nothing.

You try calling once more. Voicemail again.

Please Luke. I swear I didn't mean to. I set three alarms.

The message shows as delivered, but there's no response. You sit in the cold light of morning, the reality of what's happened sinking in like lead. One chance. You had one chance to show him you were serious, that things would be different.

And you blew it.

By 8:15, you've tried calling five more times. Each time, straight to voicemail. Your roommate finds you sitting cross-legged on your bed, still in his hoodie, staring at your phone like you can will it to ring through sheer force of desperation.

"Whoa," she says, taking in your expression. "What happened?"

"I messed up," you manage, voice hollow. "I was supposed to call Luke at six this morning. I slept through my alarm."

She winces. "Ouch."

"He won't answer," you continue, feeling tears build. "He probably thinks I just... didn't care enough to wake up."

Your roommate sits on the edge of your bed. "Did you explain?"

"I tried. He's not responding."

"Give him some time," she suggests. "He's probably at practice anyway, right?"

You nod weakly. She's right. He's probably on the ice right now, skating through drills, trying not to think about you. Or worse, thinking about you too much.

"What do I do?" you ask, hating how small your voice sounds.

She considers for a moment. "You wait. And then you try again. And you don't give up after one mistake."

The words echo in your mind as you drag yourself through your morning routine, as you force yourself to attend your classes even though you can barely focus on what your professors are saying. By late afternoon, you've checked your phone approximately a thousand times. Nothing from Luke.

At 4:17, just as you're leaving your last class, your phone finally buzzes. You nearly drop it in your haste to check.

Can talk now. Call me.

Your heart races as you find an empty bench outside your building and call him with trembling fingers. He picks up on the second ring.

"Luke—" you start, the relief of hearing his voice almost overwhelming.

"Are you kidding me?" His voice is tight, controlled, but you can hear the hurt beneath it. "Seriously? After everything we talked about last night?"

"I know," you say quickly. "I know how it looks. I set the alarms, I swear I did. I even set three of them. But I must have turned them off in my sleep. I never even heard them."

"Right." His tone is flat with disbelief.

"It's true," you insist. "Luke, please. You have to believe me. I wouldn't do that to you. Not after last night."

There's a long pause, and you can almost see him pacing in his dorm room, running a hand through his still-damp hair, trying to decide if he believes you.

"You know what the worst part was?" he says finally. "I actually got excited. I set up my laptop on the kitchen counter while I made breakfast. I thought... I actually thought this time would be different."

The quiet disappointment in his voice is worse than if he'd yelled.

"It will be," you say, desperate. "It is. Luke, I messed up. I know that. But it was a mistake, not a choice. I wanted to talk to you this morning. I was looking forward to it."

Another silence stretches between you. Then, quietly: "I think we need to take a break."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. "What? No. Luke, please—"

"I can't do this anymore," he says, his voice oddly calm. "I thought I could. I thought if we just talked it out, if you just understood how I was feeling... but this morning made it clear."

"It was one mistake," you plead, tears filling your eyes. "One morning."

"No," he says, and the gentleness in his voice somehow makes it worse. "It's not just this morning. It's every morning. It's the fact that I keep hoping things will change, and they never do. It's the fact that I'm constantly disappointed, and I'm starting to think that's just... how it's going to be with us now."

"It won't," you whisper.

"Maybe not," he concedes. "But it's how I feel. And I can't keep feeling this way. It's killing me."

You press a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle a sob. "So what, we're just... done? Just like that?"

He sighs, and you hear so much exhaustion in that sound. "I don't know what we are. I just know I need some space to figure out if this is even worth fighting for anymore."

"Of course it is," you say, voice breaking. "Luke, I love you."

"I love you too," he says quietly. "But right now, that's not enough."

The finality in his voice sends a chill through you. "How long?" you manage to ask. "How long of a break?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I need to focus on hockey. On myself. And honestly, maybe you do too."

You want to argue, to fight, to promise him that you'll do better, that you'll be better. But the words stick in your throat because deep down, you know he's right. You haven't been the person he needs. You haven't even been the person you want to be.

"Okay," you say finally, the word barely audible.

"I should go," he says after a moment of heavy silence.

"Luke—" you start, not ready for the call to end, not ready for whatever comes after.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" he cuts in, voice soft. Then, almost as an afterthought: "Keep the hoodie. It looks better on you anyway."

Before you can respond, the call ends.

You sit there on the cold bench, phone clutched in your hand, tears streaming down your face. Around you, students rush to classes, laughing, talking, completely unaware that your world has just imploded.

Eventually, you make your way back to your apartment. Your roommate takes one look at your face and opens her arms without a word. You collapse into them, the sobs you've been holding back finally breaking free.

"He's gone," you choke out. "He's gone and it's my fault."

She holds you as you cry, stroking your hair, telling you it will be okay. But you know it won't be. Not for a long time.

That night, you curl up in your bed, still wearing his hoodie. You know you should take it off, that it will only make things harder, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not yet. Outside, snow is falling again, heavier now, erasing footprints, covering everything in blank whiteness.

Your phone sits dark and silent on your nightstand. No goodnight text. No plans to call tomorrow. Just emptiness where there used to be him.

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[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 1 | jjk

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers / fluff / angst / smut (in later chapters)

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 7.5k

chapter 1 ► when i open my eyes to the future, i can hear you say my name

There was virtually not a single person left on the entire fourth floor of the company building, despite it being a Monday afternoon. Normally, two other managers worked in offices adjacent to yours, so the noise in the hallways never settled below a pleasant hum: producers, promoters, and publicists – the three cursed Ps – shuffled in and out, heels clicking urgently against the marble floor.

This funeral silence was unusual, but you knew it was only a calm before the storm.

Rated Riot were going on their first-ever European tour in two days to promote their sophomore album – named aptly, “ready, set, RIOT” – and today was the final day of meetings. Evidently, the executives at Jett Records assumed that the band deserved to have a whole floor to themselves, so everyone else got a half-day, leaving you and the Floor Administrator, Rue, all by yourselves until the band got here.

This unsettling silence was exactly why you heard them arrive as soon as the door of the building opened four floors below. Rated Riot lived up to their name by making themselves heard before they were seen.

As soon as the sharp ding! of the elevator reached you in your office—your door was always open on meeting days, because the four members of one of the most promising rock bands in the world at the moment lacked any sense of direction—you could immediately feel the atmosphere lighten, the previous silence long gone.

“Rue! The apple of my eye!” Hoseok, the drummer and the de facto mood setter of Rated Riot, exclaimed as you listened to the familiar sounds of the band as they exited the elevator and, based on the repeated clicking of shoes in the lobby, momentarily got disoriented.

“Always looking good, Rue!” Jungkook, the vocalist, as well as the new Golden Boy of Jett Records followed after.

“Good to see you again,” Taehyung, the always well-mannered bassist, said. Silence followed and you assumed he shook Rue’s hand.

“Hello,” Yoongi, who was, technically, the guitarist of the band, but, really, played any instrument he could get his hands on, was the last to speak. He’d always been very well-spoken in songwriting, but quieter and more careful in most everyday conversations.

“Welcome, guys,” Rue greeted them. You couldn’t see any of them from where your office was located, but you’ve been in a similar situation countless times before and you could imagine what was happening without needing to witness it first-hand.

Rue would stand up from her seat and point her right hand down the hallway, reminding them—yet again—that they needed to walk down the hall and take a right turn. The members of Rated Riot, in turn, would walk down the hall. At least one of the four of them would turn left instead, causing a pause as the group gathered back together, exchanging confused glances. Then, they would turn back to Rue—who would still be standing there, her right hand extended like a helpful Statue of Liberty. They’d laugh at themselves, nod at Rue, and take the correct turn.

If things were going well, they’d find your office on first try—they’d just need to find the open door and peer inside; your desk was right in front. More often than not, however, they stumbled around, knocking and chuckling to themselves as they continuously interrupted the offices of everyone else, but you.

They were special. Not just because they looked like loose ducklings, separated from the Mother Duck, whenever they entered the company building, but also because, in spite of their own lack of coordination, they still managed to get things done.

And they brightened the day of everyone they came across. Which was almost ironic—as you realised by watching the four of them enter your office—considering the effortless rockstar aura that surrounded them.

Jungkook walked in first. That was typical because he usually did: sometimes because he was the only one who remembered where your office was, but usually because the other members offered him as a sacrificial lamb when they went knocking around every office on the floor in search of yours.

He was dressed in all-black—always—adorned with silver chains and necklaces that often gave you a start when you looked up, because he had a very specific way of entering the room: he seemed to make sure to position himself in just a way that the light, coming in from the window behind you, always reflected off his jewellery and momentarily blinded you.

Sure enough, you blinked, cringing into yourself as the brightness hit your eyes, and when you opened them again, he was already grinning.

“Hi,” he said and the rest of the members followed in after him—a brighter palette of colours.

Even Yoongi, who was the only one who could have given Jungkook a run for his money if you had to count which one had more black items of clothing in their closet, was wearing a beige, loosely buttoned shirt.

Despite that, however, you could tell they were rock artists as soon as you looked at them—all tattoos, piercings, intense eye make-up behind sunglasses, and old band tees—and you stood up, excited to let them know that, finally, every last loose thread had been found and tightened. They’d get to introduce their artistry on a different continent, and you’d make sure it’d go smoothly.

“We’re leaving for Prague tomorrow morning,” you told them once the five of you settled down at the round table in the back of your office. “So, if you were planning a going away party, I strongly advise against it.”

“We weren’t,” Yoongi said, lifting his glass of lemon water—there was a jug on the table—and giving you a reassuring look. “This is the strongest drink I’m having tonight.”

“Thanks,” you said paradoxically enough, but being grateful when the members of the band you managed didn’t get drunk before an important day was part of the job. “I’d also appreciate it if—”

“Hold on a second, though,” Jungkook interrupted—you’d been anticipating it. “I’m going to a gig tonight, Reconnaissance are in town again. And there’s obviously an after-party—”

Despite Reconnaissance being, arguably, one of the most popular rock bands in the world right now, you were definite when you cut him off, “No.”

“—so, I—wait. No?” he paused. “I never miss their shows, you know that. And I don’t get drunk easily. You know that, too.”

“That’s why you drink so much,” you rebutted. The rest of the band members got their phones out, knowing well enough at this point that this would take a while. “And then I have to come get you out of trouble.”

“You absolutely do not have to do that,” Jungkook insisted. “We’ve been through this.”

“Have we?” you argued. “Because I keep telling you it’s my job to keep you from passing out in a dirty bar bathroom, but you don’t care enough to hear me.”

“Well, you’re not very convincing. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll wake up again.”

You were used to having this conversation with him—you’ve argued about this way before he became a singer and you ended up as his manager. And yet, the lax way he said this made you clench your fists.

Despite being mostly introverted, Jungkook did enjoy getting drinks with friends: even if said friends enjoyed his celebrity status more than they enjoyed the drinks.

“And if you don’t?” you threatened. “Rated Riot’s vocalist gets his stomach pumped. A catchy headline.”

“Yeah, man,” Hoseok interjected, putting his phone screen down on the table and crossing his arms. “Doesn’t go well with the vibe we’re going for. Don’t get your stomach pumped.”

“Fine, I—”

“What he meant was, don’t drink so much that you’d need your stomach pumped,” you clarified because Jungkook moonlighted as a Loophole Finder.

“I never have!” he insisted. “Seriously, you treat me like I’m still nineteen. Have some faith.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the other members of the group look up from their phones. The band had only formed a few years ago, so you were the only person in this room who knew what Jungkook was like when he was nineteen. You never spoke about it – that was likely why everyone was so curious.

In any case, Jungkook was wrong. You did have faith—that’s why you spent so many of your off-duty nights driving down deserted streets to pick him up after his asshole friends convinced him it was a good idea to try the biker bar on the outskirts of town, and he’d gotten in an altercation with a burly redneck that was twice his size.

There was no time for that now, not when he was supposed to be on stage in Prague in three days.

“Well,” Taehyung spoke up. “I was thinking of going to the show as well. Not so much the after-party, I have better plans. But, uh, I could come, after all.”

You appreciated the offer, but you knew that these better plans involved him spending time with his girlfriend, Luna, who was going to join him for a few weeks of the European tour, but after that, the two of them were going to be apart for several months.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, not trying very much to hide the hopeful undertones in your voice. Jungkook’s friends felt intimidated by all the members of Rated Riot; they’d be on their best behaviour if Taehyung was there.

“No, I think it might be fun,” Taehyung said. You exhaled quietly and he could sense your gratitude without words. He turned to his younger bandmate. “Should we go together?”

Jungkook groaned and mumbled under his breath, “not if I have to third-wheel again.”

“When have you ever third-wheeled anyone?” you asked rhetorically, but he was already opening his mouth to reply. Quickly, you added, “be careful, is what I’m saying, okay? I am complaining about having to pick you up from all kinds of holes, but if you need me to bring NDAs, I will bring them. So, ask.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but chose to stay quiet. He knew better now – the one time he did not make anyone sign a non-disclosure agreement after an impromptu, drunken busking session in New York, pictures of him, half-dressed and giving a lap dance to a random, equally as drunk, groupie, were on every rock page on Instagram. Accompanied with detailed retellings of how it came to happen, of course; all of them more ridiculous than the next. Your personal favourite story was that he was recruiting members for a sex cult.

“We’ll call you,” Taehyung gave you a nod, “if we have to.”

“Perfect,” you said, glancing at Jungkook again, even though expecting him to confirm that he, too, would call you if he had to, was wishful thinking.

Every time you reminded him how he needed to start going out with a less destructive crowd, he’d treat his phone like a poisonous snake – and he’d been doing that even before you became his manager. His friends seemed to get their pleasure fix from watching you arrive and rip him a new one, so they were the ones who called you most of the time, always laughing into their phones like true accomplices.

It was funny how Jungkook was the only one who passed out or got so wasted, he ended up on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. His friends always walked away unscathed and, usually, only called you by the time they were back in their bedrooms – “when we left, he was ordering mint and honey daiquiris, you should probably go over there and check up on him.”

It was like they loved pushing him into danger and purposefully bringing the two of you together again, and Jungkook either didn’t realise or didn’t care anymore. It’s been a while, after all.

You and Jungkook had been broken up for almost two years when you got the unbelievable offer to manage an up-and-coming rock band. This was over two years ago now and you were only twenty-four back then. Up until that point, you had worked as an assistant manager for various indie artists, so that offer was massive.

You figured the downside that your ex-boyfriend happened to be in this particular band was worth it, considering the huge leap in your career you’d make by accepting this job.

And, for the most part (excluding the first two months that were pure chaos of repressed feelings), you and Jungkook both made this work, drawing a strict line between your relationship before Rated Riot (back when he still had your phone number saved as “❌”) and after he met you again as Rated Riot’s new manager (ironically, now your name on his phone was “❌❌❌”).

You’ve managed Rated Riot for almost exactly two years now, and if you’d asked the band – which you wouldn’t, partially out of humbleness, but also because you were scared – you’d know that they loved working with you as much as you loved working with them. So, in the end, it all really had been worth it.

“Check your emails for the descriptive itineraries,” you continued smoothly enough. The guys at the table put their phones down and returned their attention to you. “Now, who else is coming with us?”

Technically, the band wasn’t supposed to bring anyone – the label was explicitly clear about that. They wanted the first European tour to go “without a hitch” (meaning, without distractions), but you held a more liberal view here.

You didn’t think loved ones coming on the road were a distraction; if anything, they were a firm support mechanism that made touring easier for the artists.

“I know Luna’s staying until the Barcelona show, yeah?” you asked, double-checking the notes on your laptop.

Taehyung nodded, a small smile on his lips at the mention of the girl. “She flies out the next day, yeah.”

“Okay. Who else?”

“Well, Sid and Jude are coming,” Jungkook spoke up and, after seeing your eyes roll back, added, quieter, “and Minjun isn’t sure.”

The three musketeer-wannabes – Sid, Jude, and Minjun – were on speed dial on your work and personal phones, because if Rated Riot had a performance and the vocalist wasn’t there, it was likely those three who were to blame. They were the only ones who knew Jungkook longer than you did, and they seemed to take pride in the fact that they had successfully been causing you headaches for seven years now.

“Sid and Jude,” you repeated, “aren’t worried they’ll lose their jobs if they travel to Europe abruptly?”

“No, they’re cool,” Jungkook shrugged, not catching the mockery in your voice—both Sid and Jude worked for their families, which really meant that they got paid to occasionally show up at the shareholders’ meetings on behalf of their parents. “I’ll text Minjun right now. Maybe he’ll come when we’re in Poland…”

“I needed confirmation by last week,” you reminded him. “At the latest.”

He glanced at you from his phone and then went back to texting. “So, why’d you ask now?”

“To double-check,” you said. “They’re going to have to book the hotels themselves. Or sleep on the street. Honestly, I don’t really—”

“So, uh,” Yoongi interrupted before another argument could begin, “how many hotels this time?”

“Prague, Amsterdam, and Paris. And some nights in London, depending on our flight time,” you said with an apologetic smile. “Bring your favourite blankets. We’re living on buses for the next three months.”

None of them minded – if anything, you could see a little glitter in their eyes as they listened to you. Being on the road and having to sleep on the tour bus every night was an experience they’d missed. They hadn’t gone on an actual tour in almost a year – as someone who thrived on live performances, they had obviously missed this.

Really, you’ve missed it, too. Rated Riot may have been a riot to look after as their manager – pun fully intended – especially on tour, but they were your riot to deal with.

You liked your job and the challenges that came with it, because, in the end, you overcame most of them: starting with your previous relationship with Jungkook (no one in the band had a problem with it, and the label miraculously seemed not to know about it) and ending with your relatively young age (Jungkook was the only one who had a problem with you being his age, but he had a problem with almost everything).

Hopefully, one day you’d manage to overcome the challenge that was getting Jungkook to open his eyes and realise that the people he surrounded himself with were more groupies than his friends. But all in due time.

“If you have questions,” you said as the meeting approached its’ conclusion, “go right ahead.”

“Wake-up calls,” Yoongi said. “Any possibility of arranging those?”

You smiled – this had been traditional practice ever since you started to work with them.

“I’ll call,” you said and then remembered a particularly frustrating way in which this had backfired. You added, “and keep you on the phone until you’re out of bed.”

Back when you were an assistant manager to a different band, this had been your main task. And, you supposed, if Rated Riot had assistant managers, they’d be the ones making wake-up calls, too – however, the band had only started to live up to their potential now. Before you booked the European tour for them, Jett Records thought they barely needed one manager to begin with.

You’ve made it this far. If the tour went well, maybe you’d get to expand your team as the band gained popularity.

Jungkook felt giddy the whole night. The Reconnaissance show with Taehyung and Luna was a lot of fun, as expected—he’d seen the band five times before tonight, and they never failed to let him down.

When he arrived at the after-party, he was nearly vibrating with excitement—on top of everything, he was going on tour tomorrow and he knew he might lose his mind over it—and this was usually the time when he tended to get reckless.

He did drink a little too much to retain a completely sober mind, but he stayed true to his word and did not wander anywhere or caused any—serious—trouble. You would have said that’s because Sid and Jude weren’t with him, but Jungkook was convinced it was because he simply had great self-control when he put his mind to it.

The only place he went to after the party was his family’s house, so he could say goodbye to his grandma. She probably wouldn’t even hear him—and if she would, then she probably wouldn’t recognise him—but he couldn’t leave to Europe without saying goodbye to her.

He thought he’d take his Katana to the house, but then remembered immediately the last time he got on his motorcycle drunk – his grandma had, literally, smacked him on the back with a rolling pin, yelling about how careless he was. She didn’t say that she hit him out of concern for his safety—that was obvious—and, instead, she focused on how hard he’d worked on restoring the bike after he’d bought it; his first purchase with the money that he made off Rated Riot’s music.

“Don’t you want it to last?” she had said then. She’d been the only person who believed he could bring the bike to life, despite it not having a single properly functioning part, least of all the engine. “You worked so hard on it. Do you want to wreck it in one night?”

Tonight, however, everyone in the house was asleep when he arrived. It was quiet, so he tried to be silent as he went up the stairs to her room—and then knocked over a picture frame after his feet fumbled on the carpet in the hallway. But no one went out to check who was making the noise—which was dangerous, he realised for a brief, semi-sober second; but the house had security, so he figured they were safe from outsiders—and he gently lowered the handle on his grandma’s door, peering inside.

The room was painted in blue hues from the night light next to the bed where his grandma was sleeping. He approached—really trying to be quiet this time—and carefully pulled her comforter up, so she wouldn’t get cold, even though the room felt warm.

It was always warm here and Jungkook had to bite his lip when he realised how much he missed sitting here as a child while dozens of his cousins ran around the house and wreaked loud, childish havoc. How much he missed his grandma reading him books—never children’s stories, he always insisted she read him the thickest, most boring books he could find on her shelves, just so he could stay in her room longer, listening to her soothing voice and feeling her comforting warmth.

Sniffling quietly, he leaned closer to her and brushed a strand of white hair from her face, listening to her soft breathing as she slept, unaware of his presence.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised in a whisper as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She didn’t wake. “We will talk again then.”

He knew he’d keep this promise even if she didn’t hear it, even if she didn’t remember. But leaving her room felt painful and he was far less excited now. The alcohol had begun to wear off and heaviness settled in his chest instead. This happened sometimes when he was left alone with his thoughts, especially after he visited his grandma.

He'd come back, he knew he would. But as he glanced at his grandma’s sleeping frame one more time—remembering how she hadn’t called him by his name in months; not one glint of recognition in her eyes when she’d see him—he wondered if he’d have anyone to come back to.

Surprising exactly no one, Jungkook was the only one who did not answer your wake-up call the next morning. Having foreseen this, you’d already called Hoseok, Yoongi and Taehyung – in that order, because the first two took the longest to wake up, and by that time, Taehyung was already awake on his own – and only then attempted to reach the one remaining member.

Fifteen minutes later, you were already dressed and ready to drive over to his house and personally wake him up with an icy bath in bed. And just then, your phone rang – his name as the caller’s ID.

“Look who—”

“Okay, okay,” Jungkook’s groggy voice cut you off before you could greet him with the appropriate sarcastic remark. “I’m awake. Halfway in the shower.”

“I don’t hear running water.”

He responded with a groan first, then shuffling. You waited patiently, balancing the phone on your shoulder as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Finally, you could hear the water start running on the other end of the call.

“Happy?” Jungkook asked, always the brightest of all rays of sunshine in the morning.

“Ecstatic,” you replied, equally as enthusiastically. “Sending a car to pick you up in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

“I can drive myself—”

“No driving when you’re hungover,” you said, not for the first time. “In fact, don’t even go near your Katana.”

He considered several ways to respond to you; first and foremost, defending his beloved, navy-coloured Suzuki Katana with a matte coating, custom-made leather seat covers, golden rims, purring engine, and—anyway. He ended up choosing to respond with a question, “how do you know I’m hungover?”

“I’ve known you for almost ten years,” you replied. “If you go out drinking the night before, you’ll wake up hungover.”

“Well, how do you know I drank that much last ni—?”

“Listen,” you cut him off, hoisting your suitcases over the threshold of your front door. You fixed your phone against your cheek and continued, “how about you take that shower, and we’ll resume this nice little Q&A at the airport?”

“No,” he replied and, in a purposefully exaggerated breathy voice said, “I simply can’t stop talking to you.”

“Hanging up now.”

Jungkook laughed as he listened to the beep, indicating the end of the call. Putting his phone on the side of the sink, he took his shirt off and was about to continue undressing when his phone vibrated and nearly fell off the sink.

Scrambling to catch it, he smacked it against the cupboard and exhaled in relief when he saw that the screen hadn’t cracked. He was expecting a text from you – a threat, in case he’d go back to bed – but it was actually Sid, asking for the time of his flight.

His friends were taking a separate flight out to Prague – they weren’t happy about it and neither was he, but at least they’d get to hang out in Europe eventually – and, obviously, they wanted to know what time they’d meet up and where.

He double-checked the itinerary you’d emailed him, got confused about the time zone difference and texted Sid back.

“Gonna be there the day before the show,” his text said, “jetlag. Sleep. Maybe beer? Catch u there.”

Sid was, of course, delighted to hear the mention of beer and Jungkook snickered to himself before he resumed undressing for his shower—knowing from experience that you wouldn’t be above shipping him to Prague in the cargo section on the plane if he was late to the airport.

As it turned out, for the first time in his life, Jungkook was so terribly jet-lagged, that he did not feel like doing anything – not even drinking with friends – but sleeping.

He slept through the whole layover in Paris – and, consequently, through Taehyung and Luna’s stories about the 5 minutes they got to spend in front of the Eiffel Tower before rushing back to the airport (never mind that it was about 2 AM) – as well as the flight to Prague.

He only woke up on the bus ride to the hotel when he felt something nudging his lips and opened his eyes to find an open bottle of Coca-Cola in your hands as you held it by his face.

“Did you just—” he started to say, but his voice sounded brittle, more a croak than a voice, really. He cleared his throat and tried again, “did you just wake me up by making me sniff soda?”

“It worked,” you replied, nudging the bottle at him again. “Drink. You need sugar. You didn’t eat anything on the plane here.”

“I had that bagel on the flight to Paris,” he mumbled, but sat up properly and took the bottle from you.

“That was a croissant,” you clarified. It was almost cute to see him barely awake. “And I warned you about flying with a hangover. You did this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he replied after taking a big gulp of coke. “Not sure which day it is, but other than that, I’m perfect. Do you have anything for headaches?”

Snickering, you nodded. “Yeah, give me a second.”

You went to fetch your carry-on bag and returned with ibuprofen, which allowed him to go back to sleep until you arrived at the hotel. The other members were also in and out of slumber, but that was their own fault. You and the other girls on this tour, which, really, only meant Luna— Taehyung’s girlfriend—and Maggie—the tour photographer—had planned ahead and taken sleeping pills as soon as the plane took off. Meanwhile, every man on this trip thought too much of himself.

By the time you arrived to the hotel and checked in, it was already lunchtime. If this had been your first time travelling with Rated Riot, you would have been beyond surprised to see what effect food had on them: they looked like they'd just returned from the most refreshing vacation in the Caribbean. Lively conversation and cheerful laughter echoed around the table – no one would have guessed that they’d just spent over 13 hours on airplanes. Their recovery was nearly always miraculous.

And, naturally, since they were feeling better, they wanted to do something as soon as the first rehearsal was over. You had far too many things to do before the show tomorrow, so you couldn’t babysit them – again, an assistant manager would have been life-saving – but you knew you’d still have to keep an eye on them.

Taehyung and Luna went sightseeing, but they were the sort who kept you updated on their adventures through pictures, which you were endlessly grateful for. There was never a reason to worry here; if you were a teacher who had to pretend not to have a favourite student, Taehyung would be the student you were pretending about.

Yoongi and Hoseok, initially, went to a record store together, but then split up – one of them returned to the hotel for a nap, and the other one went café-hopping. Those two were also fine – they usually took some members of the crew with them anyway, so you knew that in the worst-case scenario, you’d still have several people you could call to reach them.

Now Jungkook was going to meet up with Sid and Jude, both of whom had, most unfortunately, successfully landed in Prague. The Diabolical Duo would take him out drinking, you had no doubt about it – and this was where you’d have to step in with another warning. You weren’t the angry mother, dragging her children by their ears, but you felt it necessary to remind Jungkook of what was at stake if he allowed his friends to be their usual, obnoxious selves tonight.

However, you didn’t want to ask, so you had to figure out where to find them yourself. You didn’t even have to use the seven years that you’ve known them to deduce two logical, universal-for-all-assholes things: one, Jungkook’s friends wouldn’t be nearly tired enough not to want to drink. Two, they’d be too jet-lagged to look for their usual hole-in-the-wall spot that sold drinks. Therefore, they’d have to settle for the bar of the hotel.

And when you exited the elevator on the ground floor later that night, your assumption was confirmed – you could hear their laughter from where you were standing in the lobby.

You’d texted Jungkook as you arrived, hoping he’d leave his friends and come see you at the back of the bar for a minute, but unfortunately, Sid and Jude noticed you and waved you over with loud cheers.

Embarrassed as the people in booths around you began to turn to look, you swallowed and walked towards the front where Jungkook and his friends were sitting by the bar.

“Wow, it’s been so long!” Jude exclaimed as you approached. In your opinion, it wasn’t nearly long enough, but you only lifted the corners of your lips and did not comment.

“Jungkook, a moment?” you said instead.

“Let’s get you a drink!” Sid suggested as though you hadn’t spoken and extended a hand, clicking his fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey! Can we get some Margaritas here?”

You cringed watching this, but, again, restrained yourself. They could behave like pricks all they wanted; it wasn’t their reputation that you had to protect. Someone else would, hopefully, teach them a lesson.

“Sure,” Jungkook said to you, sliding off the stool. He seemed sober enough to walk without any sort of waddling or stand without swaying, but you could tell by the relaxation behind his eyes, that he was already tipsy.

His friends patted him on the back and whistled as he followed you to a quieter spot in the back of the bar. He shook his head at them—but had a grin on his face, and for that alone you wanted to punch him.

“Can I count on you to take it easy?” you asked, once the two of you were out of earshot. “Not because you’ll make my job much harder if you don’t, but because you have a rehearsal tomorrow at eight, and that’s hard with the jet lag alone, but add a hangover into the mix, and—”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, but you’ve heard this song many times before. It was one of his top hits. “I’m actually tired, so I might have a few and then go straight to bed.”

“Okay,” you said, choosing to believe him, because that was easier than making him sign a contract, swearing not to wake up in a dumpster. “Can you text me when you’re back in your room? So I know you’re not lost somewhere in Prague with Dumb and Dumber.”

His lip twitched in an almost-smile at the nickname, but he resisted – a loyal friend, even if they didn’t deserve it – and gave you a nod.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll text you. And I won’t get lost.”

“Okay—” you started to say and then squinted your eyes at him, realizing. “I meant don’t go wandering the city streets while drunk.”

He snorted and placed a hand on your left shoulder. Gazing into your eyes, he enunciated very dramatically, “I will not get into trouble. Promise.”

You pursed your lips. “You’d better not.”

“I realise what that would mean, believe it or not,” he said, straightening. “Tomorrow is an important day. I’d never do anything to ruin it.”

“I know,” you said. “I trust you to make smart choices. I don’t trust them.”

You pointed at the twosome by the bar – both of them watching you like you were the entertainment of the night – and Jungkook turned to look. Sid and Jude both immediately waved at him. Jungkook waved back and, when he looked at you again, he was smiling softly.

Clearly, he genuinely enjoyed hanging out with those two. You’d never believe that there was anything about them that was bearable—let alone enjoyable—so Jungkook’s weird attachment to them had to come from some sort of weird destructive force inside of him.

“I’ll keep them in check,” he said and then, possibly prompted by the skeptical frown on your face, he felt the need to explain, “they help me relax. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be shaking from anxiety all the time. Kind of like you are.”

He winked as he said that last part, grinning at his own wit, but you rolled your eyes in response.

“Goodnight,” you said then. “Don’t forget to text me.”

“Are you going to stay up late waiting for my text?” his tone was humorous and it stopped you from leaving.

“Hopefully not,” you said, ignoring the flirty comment that was obviously meant to rattle your composure. “But it’d do you well to remember that I can make life very difficult for you if you disobey me.”

He lifted his eyebrows at this, but did not lose the grin. “Oh? Will I get punished if I—”

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you said again—louder—and turned away.

You glanced over your shoulder when you reached the archway leading to the lobby and caught him watching you leave—he was still beaming, but he composed himself and nodded when he caught your eye. You nodded back.

Maybe he really would be fine tonight.

And, truly, Jungkook had meant what he’d said – he couldn’t wait for tomorrow and there was nothing he’d do to ruin that. Not even if the smirking faces of his friends prompted him to laugh as soon as he returned to his seat by the bar.

“What do you want, assholes?” he asked, punching Jude on the shoulder as he walked past his friends. As soon as he sat down, leaving Sid in the middle, he took a big gulp of the beer he’d left waiting; only his third one tonight.

“We don’t want anything,” Jude said, still smirking. “What did she want? Another moral how you’re not being a good boy?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “No—”

“I was always curious,” Sid interrupted. “Was she like that when you dated, too? You know, always in charge?”

Even before you and Jungkook had settled into a steady enough rhythm of working with each other, neither of you spoke to others about your relationship. Not while you were dating, and not after you broke up. So, all your friends—real friends and whoever the hell Sid and Jude were—essentially knew nothing of your relationship.

And there was nothing he’d tell them now.

It’s been four years since you broke up—plenty of time to move on. Not to mention, you were both (trying to be) professionals. There was no point to bring back the past; there never had been.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jungkook teased, managing to keep the banter going without revealing how the question irked something inside him.

“I would. That’s why I asked,” Sid replied, laughing haughtily. A few heads turned his way. Sid sounded very much like an entitled heir—or an elephant high on helium—when he laughed, especially when there was nothing funny going on. “I mean, you never talked about her to us. Was it getting rid of her that made you who you are today?”

Jude snorted, slapping Sid on the back in a half-supportive, half-warning manner. Jungkook knew that the level of your patience for his friends ranged from Sid (no patience) to Jude (case-by-case), to Minjun (bearable)—and he could see why.

“I didn’t get rid of her,” he said, an edge to his voice. “We broke up and moved on. Did you hear from Minjun?”

Sid laughed again—even louder than before; the glasses behind the bar seemed to clatter.

“Look at him, trying to change the topic!” he wheezed, looking at Jude over his shoulder.

“Leave him be, man,” Jude said and nodded at Jungkook. “So many girls around us and this dumbass is still hung up on your ex, huh?”

Jungkook finished his beer and held the liquid behind his cheeks for a second before swallowing. He caught the bartender’s eye and lifted his empty glass, indicating a refill.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s hung up,” Sid said with a very knowing look in his eye.

Jungkook looked at him and raised his eyebrows—surprised and momentarily distracted from his drink. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you come to her as soon as she calls, like a puppy,” Sid replied. “So, you tell me.”

“I have to come when she calls,” Jungkook defended. “She’s my manager.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Jude said, slapping Sid on the back of the head this time. “She’s his manager.”

Jungkook suddenly found himself smiling when he realised that you’d probably consider this the reason why Sid acted the way he did sometimes – permanent brain damage from Jude’s incessant slaps.

“Well, then someone,” Sid said, angrily accentuating the word—the anger was clearly directed at Jude, but the pronoun at Jungkook, “has a fucking crush on their manager.”

“I don’t have a crush—”

Sid spoke over him, “I bet you could never get her to go out with you again.”

Jungkook saw the bartender approach to pour him a drink and he heard Jude scoffing, but he could only blink, taken aback by what sounded like an accusation.  “Why—why would I even—why—”

“Oh, see, see?!” Sid screeched, turning to Jude with a triumphant expression. Jude gave him a pitiful look—and looked about ready to give him a black eye, too. “He knows I’m right, it’s why he’s stuttering!”

“Dude,” Jude said slowly. “You are yelling.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, nodding at the bartender as a thank-you and then bringing his refilled glass to his lips. “And I’m not stuttering.”

“You so are, my man,” Sid taunted, patting Jungkook on the shoulder with so much force, the beer nearly spilled from the glass and from his mouth. “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

Suddenly hyper-aware that there were several producers on tour with them right now, Jungkook put his drink down and straightened in his seat.

“I’m not fucking singing at weddings,” he said.

“Not yet,” Sid pointed out, grinning. He knew he'd gotten under his skin.

“Okay, come on now,” Jude interjected, leaning back in his seat to be able to see Jungkook. “You promised you’d sing at my wedding.”

“As if anyone would ever marry you,” came Sid’s snide.

“You shut the fuck up,” Jude snarled, but there was no malice behind his bark. “I have more chances of marrying someone than he has of marrying his manager.”

“He—oh, fuck!” Sid was about to argue, but then burst into laughter—so loud and thunderous again, that the bartender was forced to glance over at the security guards by the entrance to the bar. “That’s good! You’re so right!”

“Both of you are fucking idiots,” Jungkook spoke. The edges of his vision were red. “I could get her to go out with me again if I wanted to.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Sid nodded, wiping invisible tears from his eyes. “Big talk.”

“Jungkook, no offense, my dude,” Jude said, leaning forwards this time. “Let him have this one. Sid may be dumber than box of rocks, but he’s got a point here. Forget about her.”

Another insinuation that had Jungkook throwing his head back in frustration.

“There’s nothing to forget!” he groaned. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I just fucking told you I moved on.”

“So why are you getting all riled up, then?” Sid smirked, more and more satisfied with each curse that he provoked out of him.

Jungkook felt even angrier, because he was getting riled up, but he had a good reason for it. He enjoyed banter as much as the next person, but he did not enjoy mockery at his own expense—especially not the kind that involved you.

He snapped back, “because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

His friends snickered at this – convinced that his irritation only proved the point they were both making – and Jungkook clenched his jaw, annoyed.

“If anything,” he added sharply as he picked his beer up—as if that could somehow distance him from this conversation, “it’s her who’s still hung up on me.”

That was a cheap, childish defence, and everyone by the bar knew it.

“Yeah, right!” Sid cried out, but resisted from laughing again. “We’ve heard her yell at you more times than we can count. You fucking wish she was still hung up on you.”

“Okay, to be fair, Sid can probably only count to five,” Jude added—Sid finally punched him on the shoulder—as he toyed with the paper umbrella on his fourth cocktail; the Margaritas they’d ordered were long gone. “But he’s right, you know? You’d never get her to go out with you again.”

There was pity in Jude’s voice—as if he felt sorry that Jungkook lived in denial, chasing after you and convincing himself that it was only a matter of time before you’d come back to him.

This made Jungkook’s temper vile, his face red, hot, and angry. He slammed his beer back on the table, forcing some of it to spill. “Yes, I fucking would!”

Sid was hiccupping as he laughed.

“Okay, okay, listen—let’s make a proper bet,” he managed. He picked up a napkin from the bar top, then looked around for something to write on it with—not finding anything, he stood up from his seat and leaned over the bar, grabbing a pen before the bartender could notice. “$1000 says you can’t get her to go on a date with you again.”

He glanced at Jude for approval—Jude shrugged.

“I’d suggest $500,” he said. “We don’t want to rob him blind.”

Jungkook’s face remained stoic, prideful.

“Fine with me. But you have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into,” he bit.

“Oh, that’s right, he’s been awfully cocky about the whole thing, hasn’t he?” Sid spoke, addressing his rhetorical question at the bar. He wrote something on the napkin and then lifted it to show the number “4000” to Jungkook. “How about this: Jude and I each pay you $2000 if you win. But if you lose, you give us your Katana.”

Jungkook lifted his eyebrows, the sudden mention of his bike catching him off-guard. Sid came from old money, he could afford fifteen brand-new motorcycles with the change he found in his suitcase, probably.

“How is that fair?” he asked. “Do you even know how much a Suzuki costs these days? It’s not $4000, I can tell you that much.”

“Why should you care?” Sid asked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You were so confident about winning the bet just a second ago. Scared you’ll lose after all?”

In his defence, Jungkook did hesitate for half a moment. But there was a shit-eating grin on Sid’s mouth that he wanted to wipe off more than anything else, and he downed the rest of his beer in one big gulp—a showcase of his determination.

“Not at all,” he said then. He wasn’t sure if he was lying as he said this, but he had no time to figure that out. He extended his hand at Sid. “Get your money ready.”

Here, he was putting up a front – this wasn’t about the money at all. It was more a thing of pride; they were teasing him, purposefully making fun of him—and he wanted to prove them wrong, regardless if they were actually wrong.

Smirking, Sid shook his hand—cementing the bet between all three of them, as Jude was busy finishing off his cocktail—and was about to say something when Jungkook jumped off his stool.

“Have to go now,” he said, always a show-off with his overly creative comebacks when he was tipsy. “My horoscope predicts a date and a big fortune in my near future. Got to prepare.”

chapter title credits: sleep token, “rain”

special shout-out & thank you to @eleni-cherie who delivered the much-appreciated kicks in the ass, so that i would keep writing. the odds were really against me, so if it weren't for you & our in-depth fanfic discussions, i definitely wouldn't even be writing this note right now, let alone finally starting this story 💜

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[justliketoreadsowhat]

Not So Simple 𖣊

𖣊𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞

𖣊𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.

---------------------------------

College is hard enough, early morning classes, late nights spent studying, countless hours of being on campus, eyes glued a to computer screen with a sore back and raging migraines. So why do you do it? Why not get a full-time job after high school, move out on your own, and try to make good meaning of your life? It could all be so simple, yet you chose the not so simple route.

“Class will resume Wednesday, make sure you all of our sections 1-4 and come back ready to discuss” The chirpy behavior seemed so painful to bear at 8 am on a cold Monday morning. A cringing realization that this profession will soon become your reality, teaching.

Standing to your feet with all the feeling rushing back through your veins that had fallen asleep hours ago due to inactivity. Slinging on your bookbag slowly making your way into the empty halls of the Education Department. The fresh morning sun beamed through the tinted windowpanes with a poorly faded decal of the infamous UConn Husky mascot plastered in each corner. By the time the rusted elevator reached the lower level, there were exactly 10 minutes left to arrive to your next class “Identity and Communication”

This was another hard stop in the hard you’ve solemnly adjusted to after finding out you had to take a graduate class as an elective in order to graduate next year. Nevertheless, the class only had an underwhelming total of 15 students with little to no excitement. Granted it was only week 3, yet it felt like years had passed.

Within 5 minutes to spare, you sat in the middle row as you do every day, causally observing the students dragging their feet through the doorway. The professor never really left his desk unless he felt like actually teaching us something besides numerous PowerPoints. As the slideshow went along you found yourself getting lost in the coloring app you used religiously on your iPad, since nobody sat behind you, there was no use in hiding it. Picking out your next color carefully, a cold breeze moved past you nearly sending your Apple Pencil flying to the ground. Looking up in annoyance you were met with nothing. Swiftly turning your head just enough to look behind you, you were met with a pair of blue irises glossed over, accompanied by a shade of purple glasses that framed her face to near perfection.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your uh.. coloring thing” her eyes darting to your screen on full display. A small smirk formed across her face “What app is that tho? I might need to download it”

“It’s called um- Color Rouge” answering softly to hide the sheer panic rising through your blood. Out of all the years you’ve attended UConn, not once have you seen their star-studded player, at least not this up close and personal before. Social media doesn’t give her enough justice.

“Bet say less” She nodded, sitting back in her seat, spreading her long legs, knees slightly pushing the back of your seat. Her slim veiny hands pulled out an iPad similar to yours, except hers was much bigger, fitted with a lavender-purple case. You didn’t dare let your eyes wander further down, shifting your attention back to the front of the class, no longer interested in the content being shown on the screen, or your “coloring thing”

How have you never seen her before in this class?

You’re not the greatest when it comes to paying attention but surely you wouldn’t miss someone like Paige.

An airdrop notification appeared on your screen, the name PB starred at the top. Slicing your thoughts in half as you accepted it without thinking twice. The notes app opened as it read “do you happen to have a charger?"

Your eyebrows raised as you searched through your bag, praying you had remembered to grab it this morning. Eventually grabbing the cord that was accustomed by bright pink protectors to keep it from tangling, Turning back to her figure you placed the charger in her hands, softly grazing her fingertips unconsciously.

Paige's eyes wandered across your face shameless before dropping her gaze to the cord "Everything's gotta be pink huh?"

She had already observed your pink iPad case, pink phone case, pink water bottle, and of course, your pink bookbag. Usually your nails would be coated in a shade of pink but, in honor of the fall season, you decided to go with a deep shade of mocha brown with gold accents swirled on your ring fingers.

"Yea I love pink, you don't like pink?" you prodded in confusion, more so amused by her way of conversing so easily with a stranger.

"No I like pink but, Ion think I'll ever achieve your level of favoritism", I appreciate it though"

Her tone was hard to read, you couldn't tell if she was being smart or if it was just her. To make matters worse, you kinda liked it.

"You're welcome, y'know you could've just asked me instead of sending me a note" you voiced, now completely facing her.

"Nah there's no fun in that" shaking her head “I jus wanna make sure I keep your attention pretty girl”

Oh She had it, easily.

This was going to be a long semester

[ellswritings]

Brand New

Gunther (Walter Hahn) x reader

TW: Y/N’s ex is a jerk, but the rest of it is just fluff. Btw Y/S/N name in this means your son’s name.

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

Being a single mother isn’t an easy task. When Y/N first got pregnant with her son, she couldn’t have been happier. She was in a loving relationship with her fiancé at the time, or at least she thought she was, and she was at a stable enough place in her career to where she could take some time off to have a child.

However, what she wasn’t expecting was her fiancé to have a complete personality flip the moment she got pregnant. For the longest time he made it seem like all he wanted was to start a family with her, but the moment that became a reality, everything about him changed. He became distant, cold, harsh, and hated everything she did. He always had a criticism on everything.

So it didn’t come as a surprise to her when he cheated a month before their son was born.

Y/N had wanted her son to grow up in a home with two loving parents, but she also had enough respect for herself not to stay with a man who clearly didn’t want to be with her. They had called a quits on their relationship and Y/N ended up delivering the baby with her best friend Pam Martinez in the room instead of the baby’s father.

It wasn’t that she purposefully kept him out of the room, it’s that he didn’t show up until well after their son, Y/S/N, had been born. He had been out drinking with his friends and showed up to the hospital completely trashed. Y/N didn’t know where this sudden surge of recklessness came from, but she couldn’t have been more grateful to have gotten out of it.

Now five years later, her and Y/S/N are better than ever. She got full custody of her son, but due to the kindness of her heart, and wanting her son to know her father, she allows visitation. Every other weekend from Friday morning to Monday night she allows her ex to take their son out.

Thankfully, when he has Y/S/N, he seems to put a stop to his bad behavior to take care of his son. He may have mistreated her, but at least he’s willing to straighten up and play pretend for Y/S/N.

But there were still times, more often than not, that he dropped the ball when it came to their kid. Like this weekend for instance. He said he would be a day late in picking up Y/S/N, saying he was coming back for a business trip. Y/N was understanding, but she needed him to get Y/S/N before Sunday because she had to be in Chicago by Monday for Raw. Unfortunately a day late turned into him not showing up at all.

She found out his ‘business trip’ was actually a buddy of his having a bachelor party in Vegas. Y/N was furious when she saw him taking a shot off some stranger’s body when he should have been picking up his son.

She couldn’t spend time being angry though. She had a flight to catch and a venue to get to. So she bought a last minute ticket for her son, her usual sitter not being available due to the last minute circumstances.

Everyone was super understanding. Pearce didn’t have a problem with it in the slightest, even giving Y/S/N a quick little tour of the backstage area when he could. Josh and Rami were the first ones to find him, both of them being deemed his uncles when he was born. Y/N was never worried about raising her son because she had a family like this waiting in the wings to support them.

Still, even with all the support, doing her job while simultaneously trying to keep her five-year-old under control was proving to be an extremely difficult task.

Y/N exhales sharply as she turns a corner, her gear only half on. She’s still in the sweatpants she arrived in, her top being the only thing about her that’s ready. She had just gotten her makeup done, getting ready to do her hair when her son decided to take off. One minute he was sitting happily playing on the learning pad she got him, and the next he was giggling and running out of the room.

“Y/S/N!” Y/N calls out frustratedly. “Y/S/N, I don’t have time for this,” she huffs. “Mama’s gotta get ready.”

Panic starts to set in as she continues searching, asking some of the stagehands if they’d seen him as she passes. All of them say no. She tries to keep her breathing in check, knowing he wouldn’t leave the building. He knows better. So he has to be somewhere in this maze of hallways.

As Y/N takes another sharp right, she lets out a yelp when she collides into a solid chest. She looks up, getting ready to apologize, but she comes face to face with Joshua Fatu.

“Woah mama,” he places his hands on her shoulders to slow her down. “What’s got you runnin’ round here like you train in’ for a 5k?”

Y/N still tries to look around frantically, taking deep breaths so she can calmly answer his question. “Y/S/N ran off,” she tells him, eyes brewing with a storm of concern. “He didn’t tell me where he was going, just ran. And now I can’t find him.” She shakes her head, running a hand through her hair. “God, if that asshole would’ve just showed up instead of being a flake I wouldn’t have to be runnin’ around here worried my son got himself stuck in a production crate.”

Josh immediately knew she was referring to her ex. He rolls his eyes, jaw ticking at the mention of the man he, and everyone in the locker room hates. Everyone knows what happened between them. It’s safe to say he will never be allowed at a WWE event for the rest of his life. Not while Y/N’s in the company.

“Hey, it’s aight, okay?” He rubs her shoulders softly. “Breath wit me. In one… out one… One more time mama, c’mon.” Y/N breaths along with him, finding herself calming down slowly. “Okay, I’m gonna go get Rami and we’ll help you look for him. He couldn't have gone far or nothin’. Kids got tiny ass legs.”

Y/N chuckles, her eyes still a bit teary, but feeling a little better. She nods, “All right. Holler if you find him.”

“You know I will,” he winks at her before walking off to recruit Rami for their search party.

Y/N skids around the corner so fast she nearly wipes out on the concrete, breath hitching when she hears that familiar little giggle echo down the hallway. She zeroes in on it like a hawk, boots pounding the ground.

“Y/S/N!” she calls, trying to keep her voice calm — but there’s a frayed edge to it, worry and exasperation all tangled together.

She rounds a stack of road cases and freezes.

There he is. Her son — perched happily on a production crate, sneakers kicking against the metal, mid-story about who knows what. And listening — actually listening — are Ludwig Kaiser, arms folded elegantly across his chest, head tilted in polite amusement, and Gunther, who towers at his side like a wall of calm authority, championship draped over one broad shoulder.

Her heart drops from her throat to her stomach.

“Oh my god,” she mutters under her breath, half horrified, half relieved. She pushes a stray piece of hair off her forehead, drawing in a shaky breath as her son spots her and beams.

“Mama! Look who I found!” he squeals, pointing an enthusiastic finger at Gunther’s title. “He’s got the biggest shiny belt ever! It’s so heavy!”

Gunther shifts his attention to her, posture composed but eyes kind. His voice rolls out smooth, steady, carrying that quiet command that always settles a room. “He has been keeping us very well informed. About dinosaurs… robots… and the secrets under your couch, apparently.”

Y/N feels heat crawl up her neck. “Oh god. I— I am so, so sorry.” She crosses the distance quickly, cupping the back of her son’s head. “I swear he’s usually so good about staying put. He’s just… excited to be here and— I’m sorry he bothered you both—”

Ludwig lifts a hand, dismissing her apology with a graceful flick. “Please. He is no trouble at all. Quite the opposite — he’s more interesting than half the locker room, I assure you.” He glances at Gunther with a faint smirk. “We were overdue for some fresh conversation anyway.”

Gunther nods once, the barest hint of amusement softening his serious expression. “He is very proud of you. He told us you are stronger than all of us.”

Y/N lets out a breathless laugh, hugging her son closer to her side. “Did he now?” She raises a brow at the boy. “You’re not supposed to go bragging about Mama to the entire roster.”

Her son shrugs, utterly unbothered. “But it’s true! And Uncle Josh says I’m gonna be strong like you and Mister Gunther!” He gives Gunther’s belt a gentle tap, eyes wide. “I like your big shiny belt.”

Gunther lowers his chin, almost solemn. “Thank you. It takes much work to keep it. You must be strong here—” he taps a finger gently to the boy’s chest, “—and here.” Another tap to his temple.

Her son beams, puffing out his chest in exaggerated pride.

Y/N hides a smile, brushing a bit of lint from her son’s hair. “I really am sorry, though. His dad was supposed to take him this weekend, but…” She trails off with an exasperated sigh, not quite meeting Gunther’s eyes. “He just didn’t show. Again. So now we’re improvising.”

Gunther’s brow furrows — not harshly, but enough that she feels her stomach twist under his quiet scrutiny. “He left you alone to manage this?” There’s no judgement in his tone, just a steady disapproval that somehow feels protective.

She shrugs, her laugh more tired than amused. “Yeah, well… It’s not the first time. He’s great at promising, not so great at doing.”

There’s a stretch of silence. Gunther shifts his title higher on his shoulder, gaze drifting from her to the boy and back. He says it without malice, but the blunt honesty cuts deep:

“He is not worthy of you.”

It’s so matter-of-fact that she nearly forgets how to breathe. Her mouth opens, then closes again as her face warms. “I— Um— That’s—” She clears her throat, suddenly aware of how close they’re standing. “Well. Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”

Gunther blinks at her like he doesn’t understand why she’s flustered at all. “It is not nice. It is true.”

She looks away, biting her lip to keep a helpless smile from spilling out. Her son, oblivious, tugs Ludwig by the hand toward the vending machine down the hall. “Come on! I want a snack before Mama wrestles!”

Ludwig lets himself be dragged off with a dramatic sigh. “I see how it is — replaced by gummy bears…”

And just like that, it’s quieter. She adjusts her hold on her boy before setting him down, letting him scamper off with Ludwig for a moment of sugar mischief.

She catches Gunther watching her, his hands calmly resting on his championship, a quiet steadiness about him that makes her shoulders drop a fraction of tension she didn’t know she was carrying.

“You’re very good with him,” she murmurs, surprised by the softness in her own voice.

Gunther shrugs once. “Children are honest. I respect that.” He lets the faintest trace of a smile ghost across his face. “Besides. He is proud of you. It is easy to be good to him.”

She breathes out a shaky laugh, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve to hide her flush. “You know, you have a way of saying things that—” She gestures helplessly, flustered all over again. “—you just say them so plainly. And it’s… it’s nice. It’s just… nice.”

Gunther tips his head, studying her with a quiet curiosity that makes her pulse skip. “Is it so rare for people to tell you the truth?”

She hesitates, then admits, softer than before, “Sometimes.”

He hums low in his chest — not quite a laugh, but close. “Then they are fools.” He says it simply, without heat, but it makes something warm unfurl in her chest anyway.

Before she can respond, her son comes barreling back with a pack of gummies half-open, Ludwig trailing behind looking only mildly scandalized. “Mama! Look! Ludwig says these are his favorite too!”

Gunther’s expression relaxes further, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to make her stomach flutter. He rests a gentle hand on her son’s head, steady and sure.

“You will cheer for your mother tonight, yes?” he asks, voice low but warm.

Her son nods fiercely, cheeks sticky with sugar already. “I’m gonna yell so loud everyone will hear me!”

Y/N laughs, scooping him back onto her hip with an affectionate grunt. “That’s my boy.”

When she glances back at Gunther, he’s still watching her — steady, unbothered, and so effortlessly solid it makes her chest ache in the best way.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, hoping he knows she means more than just the hallway conversation.

Gunther inclines his head, his eyes soft but unwavering. “Any time.”

Y/N adjusts her son on her hip again, nose brushing his temple as she catches her breath. Gunther shifts his title higher on his shoulder, watching her quietly for a moment before he speaks — voice low, but certain as always.

“You are doing very well.”

She blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

“As a mother.” He nods once, as if it’s an obvious fact that doesn’t need sugarcoating. “It is clear in how he looks at you. And how you care for him. You do well.”

For a second she can’t find words. She laughs it off, but her voice comes out softer than she means. “Coming from you, that… that means a lot. Thank you, Walter.”

Ludwig lets out an exasperated sigh as Y/S/N waves him over. Marcel drops to a crouch but before he can even register what’s happening, Y/S/N reaches forward and sticks a gummy bear to his cheek with mischievous delight. “Oh you little devil,” Ludwig deadpans, peeling it off and flicking it back at him. “I don’t talk to you for two minutes and suddenly I am sticky. What an honor.” He chuckles.

Y/N chuckles as her son darts off again, Ludwig rolling his eyes fondly before standing. “I will keep him busy, yeah? Someone must keep him from scaling the production crates again.”

“Good luck with that,” Y/N teases, and Ludwig answers with a dry little salute before wandering after the boy, pretending to groan when he’s pelted with more gummies.

It leaves her and Gunther alone again, standing just off to the side, a pocket of calm in the hallway’s buzz. She fiddles with the hem of her sleeve again, catching his eyes once before dropping hers, then looking back because she can’t quite help it.

“You know,” she murmurs, nodding toward her son where he’s now tugging Ludwig to show him a poster on the wall, “he really likes you.”

Gunther lifts a brow, like it’s news to him. “Hm?”

“He does. He has a hard time with new people sometimes — especially men.” She shifts her weight, a quiet honesty creeping into her voice. “But with you… it’s like he’s known you forever. He’s just comfortable. I really appreciate that. And you.”

If he’s warmed by that, he doesn’t let it soften the iron in his posture — but there’s a flicker in his eyes, a subtle shift that says he hears her. “He is a good boy. Easy to respect.”

She smiles, the tension in her shoulders uncoiling just a bit. He watches her son a moment longer, then glances back at her — his tone unexpectedly gentle.

“He looks like you.”

She freezes, stunned. Her laugh is soft, almost a breath. “Most people say he’s the spitting image of his dad.”

Gunther’s brow furrows slightly. “They are wrong.” He says it so plainly, so certain it nearly undoes her right there. They stand like that for a heartbeat — close enough to feel the quiet pull of something that neither of them names. “He has your eyes… and you heart.”

Her chest tightens, but she breaks the eye contact first, glancing down the hall where Ludwig is now being dragged by the sleeve to look at something else entirely. “God, I don’t even know how I’m gonna do my match tonight and keep him wrangled at the same time. My head’s spinning just thinking about it.”

Gunther hums thoughtfully. “I have only one small segment with Joshua to film. After that, I can watch him — if you wish.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide. “Wait. You’d really do that?”

He lifts a broad shoulder, calm as ever. “It is no burden. He listens to me. He will be safe.”

Emotion wells up too fast to hide. She presses a hand to her mouth, then laughs shakily. “I— You don’t know how much that helps me. Thank you, Walter. Really. Thank you.”

She calls her son over with a soft whistle and he darts back, gummy bears clutched in a sticky fist.

“Hey, buddy. So, Mama’s gotta go get ready for her match, okay? Mister Walter’s gonna hang out with you for a bit after he talks with Uncle Josh. If he has to do anything important, you go find Josh or Uncle Rami. Got it?”

Her son nods so hard his hair flops. “Got it! Mama, can I show Mister Walter my dino roar?”

Gunther’s lips twitch — the closest he gets to an actual grin. He tips his chin down to the boy’s level. “I would like that.”

“Yay!” her son squeals back, and they share a high five that makes Y/N’s heart feel like it’s about to burst.

She looks up at Gunther one more time, the air between them thicker than it has any right to be. She opens her mouth, closes it again, then breathes, “Thank you. Seriously.”

Gunther holds her gaze steady, the faintest flicker of softness in the steel. “Go do your job. We will be here.”

She nods, eyes darting to his lips once without meaning to, then back up to his eyes. She forces her feet to move before she does something reckless, flashing him one last grateful smile as she turns to head toward gorilla position — heartbeat thundering all the way.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

The low hum of the monitor fills the corridor, a constant pulse behind the distant roar of the arena crowd. Marcel’s voice echoes faintly around a corner — instructions to a tech, a low laugh — but he’s left them alone for now.

Gunther sits still as a statue on the rolling road case, posture deceptively casual, massive hands folded loosely between his knees. Y/S/N’s warm weight leans against his side, tiny head resting on the crook of his arm as he watches the screen with wide eyes.

On the monitor, Y/N drives her opponent into the mat with merciless precision, her face a mask of grit and exhaustion.

Gunther has seen her like this a hundred times. A warrior, a technician, a presence that demands respect. He has spoken with her backstage, shared ring space, watched her command crowds bigger than some countries. But somehow — shame creeps in at the thought — he never truly saw her. Not like this. Not through the eyes of this child who sees her as everything.

He hears the boy whisper it again, voice a sleepy mumble at his ribs: “She’s my hero. Even when she’s tired. Even when Daddy says mean stuff to her. She’s still happy with me.”

Gunther’s brow furrows, a fissure of cold anger threading under his ribs. “Mean things?” His voice rumbles so low the boy almost misses it.

Y/S/N’s small shoulders lift in a half-shrug. “Daddy yells sometimes. Says she’s not good enough. Says I’m bad too. But Mama always hugs me after. Says I’m her best thing ever. I don’t listen to Daddy. He’s not nice sometimes. Usually when he’s around her.”

The muscle in Gunther’s jaw flexes once. Twice. He fights the urge — the deeply trained, iron-forged discipline not to show more than he must. But inside, something unfamiliar sparks and claws its way up his chest: an echo of protectiveness that is almost personal.

He glances at the monitor just as Y/N’s hand is raised, the lights catching the sweat on her brow like a crown. For the first time, he does not see an opponent, or a partner on the card, or another name on the roster. He sees a woman — one who stands her ground while the world tries to knock her down behind closed doors. A woman who wakes up each day and chooses to fight again, not just for herself but for the boy pressed trustingly into his side.

He thought he knew what strength was. The cold, merciless kind — the champion’s iron spine, the Ring General’s iron rule. But she reminds him there is another kind: the kind that bleeds and still smiles for someone smaller. The kind that bends and bends and does not break.

He leans closer, his deep voice so soft it hums against the boy’s curls. “He was wrong, you know. Your father. Your mother is more than enough. For you. For this place. For anyone with eyes to see.”

Y/S/N peeks up, blinking sleepily. “Did you see her just now?”

Gunther allows the faintest nod. “I see her much clearer now.”

He means it in ways the boy cannot understand.

The child shifts, curling tighter against him like a sleepy cat. “Mama says people forget to look. They see what they want. Not what’s real.”

Gunther huffs a breath, almost a laugh but edged with truth. “Then your mother is wiser than most.”

He settles his palm carefully on the boy’s small back — a rare gesture from a man whose touch usually means destruction. There is no steel in it now. Only an unspoken promise he does not fully grasp yet.

“She is a champion in every sense,” he says at last, each word weighty, deliberate — an oath to the empty corridor as much as to the boy drifting to sleep on his arm. “In this ring, and outside of it. Do not ever doubt that.”

He lifts his eyes back to the monitor — to her figure disappearing behind the curtain, her shoulders still squared even in exhaustion.

How many nights has she stood alone like this? he wonders, for the first time tasting an unfamiliar bitterness that it was not him standing guard at her side. He tells himself it is unnecessary. She does not need pity. She never did. That is why she is who she is.

But deep in his chest, where the discipline falters for no one, something roots itself quietly:

If she ever asked — if she ever let him — he would stand there anyway.

Not because she needs it. Because she deserves it. And for Gunther, that is the only reason that has ever mattered.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

The arena has quieted to a low hum, the crowd long gone, the crew packing away the chaos piece by piece. Backstage, the sterile hallways look softer in the late hour, shadows clinging to corners that feel strangely intimate after the roar of thousands.

Y/N adjusts the weight on her shoulder — her son, limp with sleep, his cheek smushed against her collarbone. She’s bone-tired, half running on adrenaline, half on the warm sweetness of his little breaths ghosting her neck.

She says her goodbyes to Rami and Josh near catering, earning two gentle ruffles of her boy’s hair and a quiet, “Proud of you,” from Rami that makes her chest ache in the best way.

She turns the corner toward the back exit and nearly collides with him.

Walter.

Gone is the pristine Ring General who barked orders earlier — no tie, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a faint crease at the corners of his eyes that comes only with exhaustion… or maybe something softer. He looks human in a way that feels dangerous to her sense of composure.

They stop a breath apart, the boy shifting against her shoulder but not waking.

“Sorry,” she whispers, shifting her grip. “Didn’t see you.”

He studies her, head tilting just slightly — an animal assessing if it should let itself be gentle. Then he lifts one massive hand, and for a fleeting second she thinks he’ll touch her face. Instead, he brushes a stray strand of hair off her brow with his knuckle — barely a touch at all, but enough to make her pulse skip.

“No apology needed.” His voice is quieter than it has any right to be, rough edges tucked away just for her. “You did well tonight.”

She lets out a tired laugh, eyes flicking to the floor so he won’t see the heat climbing her neck. “Thank you. I had good motivation.”

His eyes darken, flicking to the small boy in her arms — then back, locking on hers so deeply she has to remind herself to breathe.

“You endure so much more than what happens out there in the ring,” he says, low but steady, as if saying it makes it undeniable. “Most people… they show their strength when the world watches. You show yours when no one sees. That is rare.”

Her throat tightens, stung by the honesty in his tone. She wants to deflect — to joke, to lighten it — but can’t find the words because something in her chest twists warm and unguarded under his gaze.

“I don’t always feel strong,” she admits, softer than she means to.

He studies her face as if committing it to memory — the shadows beneath her eyes, the gentle clutch of her child’s small hand at her collar.

“That is how I know you are,” he murmurs. Then, almost as if it’s for himself: “You do not pretend. You survive. And somehow, you keep… giving.”

He glances at her son, who shifts, mumbling nonsense in his sleep before tucking in closer to her warmth. A corner of Walter’s mouth twitches — not quite a smile, but the shape of one trying to exist.

“He knows it too. He trusts you with everything he has. Children do not lie about these things.”

For a heartbeat, the hallway feels impossibly small. She wonders if he can feel how fast her heart beats under the weight of his words — words from him carry a gravity that lingers long after silence returns.

She shifts her son higher on her shoulder, swallowing the flutter in her throat. “Well… goodnight, Walter. And… thank you. Really.”

He nods, slow, deliberate — the Ring General even now, but something softer carved into the edges.

“You are more than you believe you are,” he says, quiet but so certain it leaves no room for protest. “And he is lucky. To be your son. As we are… to stand beside you.”

Her breath catches, and for a split second she wonders if he knows exactly what he’s doing to her composure.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he finishes, his voice dipping just enough to wrap around her name like a secret.

She lets herself linger for just a heartbeat longer — lets herself really see him: not the stoic king of the ring but the man who notices the tiny cracks in her armor and does not think less of her for them.

“Goodnight,” she whispers, her voice softer now, nearly fond.

She turns, walking away with her entire world snuggled to her chest — her steps echoing faintly in the hush behind her.

Walter watches until she’s gone.

Not far off, Rami elbows Josh with an obnoxious grin. “Man’s finished. He just doesn’t know it yet,” Rami mutters.

Josh snorts, eyes still fixed on the empty hallway. “She’s gonna be the best thing that ever happens to him. Just wait.”

And in the corridor, Walter stands alone, an unfamiliar warmth settling behind his ribs — an ache and a promise both, one he has no name for yet. Only that it has her face.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

The living room is littered with building blocks and plastic dinosaur armies — the battlefield of a five-year-old mind at play. Afternoon sun spills in through half-drawn curtains, catching on the toy clutter and the faint dust motes drifting lazily through the warm air.

Y/N leans against the doorframe, a half-empty coffee mug in hand, and watches her son conduct a dramatic rescue mission involving a T-Rex and a fleet of matchbox cars. It’s silly and chaotic and perfect.

“Hey, bud,” she calls softly, careful not to break the spell too harshly. “Come here a second.”

Y/S/N makes a series of engine noises, parks his imaginary convoy, then scrambles over, curls an arm around her leg with that little-boy possessiveness that never fails to melt her.

“Your birthday’s coming up, mister. Have you thought about what you wanna do this year?”

He pulls back just enough to look up at her, nose scrunched, considering. “Ummm…” He taps his chin, eyes darting to the toy chaos behind him as if inspiration might be hiding among the dinosaurs.

Then his face lights up. “A wrestling party!” he announces, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/N laughs, warmth blooming deep in her chest. “A wrestling party? What does that even mean, huh?”

“It means…” He starts counting on tiny fingers, brow furrowed in concentration. “Uncle Rami and Uncle Josh have to come. And Uncle Jon. And Aunty Trinity and Aunty Pam! And —” he pauses dramatically, “— Jayden and Liam and Tommy from school. And…”

He trails off, mischief flickering in his grin as he bounces on the balls of his feet. “Mama — you have to invite Gunther too!”

Her hand freezes mid-sip, coffee forgotten as heat rushes up her neck. “Gunther?”

“Yeah!” He giggles at her shocked face, tugging at the hem of her hoodie. “He’s my friend. He played dinos with me, ‘member? And he said I was brave. He should come! Please, mama? Please?”

She tries to hide the blush creeping to her cheeks by setting her mug down and ruffling his hair, but it’s no use — her mind flashes back to Walter’s text the night after the show: You did well. Rest tomorrow. Let me know if you or the boy need anything. And then the next day: How is he feeling today? Sleeping well? And her answering at midnight when she couldn’t sleep either.

She clears her throat, gently tugging her son’s hand from her hoodie. “Are you sure you want him to come, baby? He’s busy, you know.”

Y/S/N pouts dramatically. “I like him. He’s nice. And he smells like soap and candy canes. He should come. Please?”

She laughs, giving in like she always does with him. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask him.”

She fishes her phone out of her pocket, thumb hovering over the recent call list where Walter Hahn sits pinned near the top. Her stomach flips — stupid butterflies she doesn’t have time for — but she taps Call anyway.

It rings only once before his deep, unmistakable voice rumbles through the speaker. “Y/N.”

The way he says her name still does things she doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“Hey,” she says, smiling despite herself. “Sorry to bother you. I’ve got a certain tiny person here with a big request.”

He hums, and she can almost hear the faint smile in it. “Yes?”

She crouches, phone on speaker, wrapping an arm around her boy’s middle. “Tell him, baby.”

Y/S/N leans in close to the phone, his little voice bright and certain: “Gunther! It’s my birthday soon. You hafta come to my party. Please? Mama said to ask you nice.”

There’s a pause — not quite silence, but the kind that feels deliberate. Then Walter’s voice, warmer than she expects: “Your birthday, hmm? Well, I cannot refuse such an invitation, can I? I would be honored to come. Thank you for inviting me, little one.”

Y/S/N squeals, turning to bury his face in her shoulder. “He’s coming, Mama!”

She bites her lip, fighting the grin in her voice. “You really don’t have to. He just— he really likes you.”

“I will be there,” Walter says simply, no room for argument. Then, a touch softer: “Thank you for asking me. Truly.”

She swallows around the sudden warmth in her throat. “Alright then. It’s settled. I’ll send you the official invitation a bit later this afternoon when I finish designing it.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he says, her name brushing the end like a promise. “See you soon, Y/N.”

She ends the call, her heart doing somersaults she pretends she doesn’t feel — while her son barrels back into his dinosaur battlefield, already planning which toys to show Gunther first.

And she stands there a moment longer, phone clutched to her chest, wondering when exactly this man slipped past all her walls — and why it feels like she might not mind at all.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

Y/N was more than satisfied with how the decorations for Y/S/N’s party turned out. She managed to set up their own backyard wrestling ring, his cake mimicking the same squared circle from the WWE performance center. Small championship belts that connect in a streamed-esque way cascade down from the ceiling. Different decorations like Money in the Bank briefcases, as well as mini ladders and chairs decorating the tables. It had taken a while to find all the specifically sized things, but when she did, it all came together.

People should be arriving at any minute, the only thing seemingly missing is the birthday boy himself. Y/N can hear rustling from upstairs and a small smile takes over her face as God only knows what that boy is up to.

“Y/S/N!” She calls out playfully. “It’s time to come down, buddy! Everyone’s already almost here.”

“Coming!” His little voice calls out.

Y/N chuckles as she hears his little feet scampering down the stairs of their home. She leans up against the banister as she waits for him to finish his journey. Once he comes into view, her heart practically melts at the sight.

His eyes are covered in his own ‘Yeet’ sunglasses that his Uncle Josh gave him when he took Y/S/N down with him during his entrance a couple months ago. The pants he’s wearing are a mini version of Rami’s with the signature SZ engrained on the side. And his shirt is one that she knows well. It’s one of her favorite merch shirts that the company ever created for her. Mostly because she had a lot of input on what went on the design.

He looks absolutely chaotic, but in the best way. Y/N’s grin turns into a full blown smile, “Honey… what are you wearing?”

Y/S/N giggles at the question, jumping down to the floor from the final step. “I’m wearing all my favorite wrestlers!” He says happily. “Now I just gotta wait for Gunther and then I can put his belt on.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow, “And what makes you think he’ll let you wear it?”

Y/S/N skips past her and over to the door so he can be ready to greet all his guests. “Becauseeeeee,” he drawls. “He likes me,” he states like it’s the only fact he knows.

Y/N shakes her head right as the doorbell rings, “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

Y/S/N beats her to the door, swinging it open to reveal and the house fills in an instant with laughter and greetings. Jon is the first to pull Y/N into a one-armed hug, his deep chuckle vibrating in her ear.

“You outdid yourself, mama bear,” he teases, eyeing the tiny replica wrestling ring in the yard.

Trinity laughs as she hands over a big, gift-wrapped box. “I told him he’d want one just like it at his next birthday — don’t let him steal your ideas.”

Josh is next, sweeping Y/N into a warm, crushing squeeze that makes her laugh. “Where’s my twin?” he demands, looking for Y/S/N.

“Already terrorizing the snack table,” Y/N says, flicking her eyes toward the backyard where Y/S/N steals a handful of candy before doing a somersault into the ring’s bouncy ropes.

Sure enough, the moment Jeyce, Josh’s son, spots Y/S/N, he launches himself into a clumsy but enthusiastic dropkick. The backyard erupts with tiny warrior cries.

Next through the door is Rami, all crooked grin and wide arms. “Okay, who let this party happen without me?” he jokes, dropping a bright gift bag at her feet. His son darts past him, high-fiving Jeyce before tackling Y/S/N into the grass in a fit of giggles.

Y/N watches the boys roll around, her heart squeezing at the chaos.

“Thanks for coming, Rami,” she murmurs sincerely, hugging him tight.

He kisses the side of her head, big-brother affection warm in every word. “Wouldn’t miss it. He’s my boy too, you know.”

The next wave brings Colby and Becky, little Rioux perched on Colby’s shoulders, eyes wide at the homemade ring. Becky snorts when she sees the decor. “This is absolutely mental. She’s never going to want a normal party again.”

Y/N laughs, hugging them both. “Good thing you’re all used to being tackled for fun.”

“Ok Rioux! Go pin those boys. Show ‘em who’s boss!” Colby shouts, setting the boy down with a gentle shove toward the backyard. The toddler charges in, arms out like a tiny beast.

Cody and Brandi follow not long after, Liberty clinging shyly to Brandi’s leg until she sees the other kids, then takes off squealing. Y/N hugs Brandi tight, both women grinning as they watch the backyard ring devolve into the world’s cutest battle royal.

“I give it ten minutes before someone’s crying,” Brandi jokes.

“Five,” Y/N counters, both laughing as Jeyce somersaults into Rami’s son, sending them both toppling.

Tommaso, Johnny, and Candice arrive next, each herding their own pint-sized mini-me into the fray. Willow and Quill run out to join Liberty forming an unexpected tag team that gangs up on poor Y/S/N until he squeals for mercy.

Y/N flits between guests, refilling snacks, passing out juice boxes, catching up on stories. Every few minutes she pauses at the patio door, heart swelling at the sight of all these people she loves gathered for her son — who beams every time he catches her watching.

She’s just setting a stack of extra paper plates beside the cake when she hears the door click shut behind her. The low murmur of kids wrestling and parents laughing drifts in from the yard — but right now, she feels the hairs on her neck stand up for an entirely different reason.

She turns, wiping her hands on her jeans, and nearly loses her breath.

There he is. Walter Hahn — Gunther, the indomitable Ring General — standing in her hallway with a neatly wrapped box in his massive hand, sleeves rolled up, shirt collar open. The late sun catches on the faint sheen of sweat on his throat, and for a moment she has to remind herself to actually speak.

“Hey,” she breathes, a shy smile lifting her mouth as she steps closer. “You made it.”

Walter inclines his head, eyes flicking briefly over her shoulder, taking in the noisy backyard. “I would not miss this. He asked for me himself, yes?”

She laughs softly, crossing her arms as if to hide how much the sound of his voice makes her stomach flutter. “He did. He was convinced the party wouldn’t be complete without you. So… thank you. Really. For being here. For everything, lately.”

He considers her for a beat, that unreadable stare softening just enough at the edges. Then, without ceremony, he shifts the present to his left hand and closes the small distance between them. One arm slides around her back, the other braces lightly at her waist — careful, deliberate, warm.

The hug catches her so off guard she doesn’t even breathe at first. His chest is solid and unyielding, but the way he holds her — it’s protective, almost gentle.

“You do not need to thank me,” he murmurs against her temple, his voice a low anchor in the quiet entryway. “I should thank you. For trusting me. For allowing me here.”

She feels her cheeks flush. Her fingers brush the crisp fabric at his bicep before she pulls back just enough to see his face. “Well. I guess you’re stuck with us now.”

He lets out the faintest huff of laughter — an impossibly rare sound that makes something warm unfurl in her belly. “I would not call it being stuck. I enjoy spending time with you and your boy. I promise, I would not be here if I did not want to be.”

She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand, and he watches her for a moment longer than necessary — the kind of look that makes her forget her exhaustion entirely.

In the backyard, the small commotion of wrestling kids and barking dogs continues, oblivious to the quiet moment blooming by the door.

She nudges his forearm playfully. “Come on, tough guy. Before your number one fan body slams Rami’s kid for stealing the last cupcake.”

“As you wish,” he rumbles, following her with that slight, amused curl to his lips that only she seems to pull from him lately.

Out on the patio, Trinity leans her elbows on the railing next to Jon, eyes narrowed like a gossip-hungry hawk as she watches Walter gently clap Y/S/N on the shoulder and get dragged straight into a messy backyard brawl with the kids.

“Okay,” she says, squinting at the two adults catching each other’s eyes across the yard, “when did that happen?”

Jon snorts, arms crossed. “Right? Since when is the big man Mr. Family Gathering?”

Josh, sipping from his red Solo cup, tries and fails to look innocent. “I mean… it’s been a thing. Kinda.”

Rami nearly chokes on his drink. “A thing? Bro, it’s practically a Hallmark movie now. They’re both just too stubborn to notice they’re the leads.”

Trinity swats his arm. “Spill it! I feel like I missed six months of tea in one day.”

Josh grins, leaning conspiratorially between them. “All you need to know is: kid loves him, she trusts him, he’s low-key wrapped around both their fingers and doesn’t even know it yet. It’s beautiful. And we didn’t have to do a damn thing but watch.”

Jon whistles low, shaking his head with a grin. “Man’s a tank in the ring but soft for her? Unreal. I’d pay to see that match.”

Trinity smirks, raising her cup in a mock toast. “Well, if it happens, I’m getting my popcorn. And front row seats.”

They all clink plastic cups, laughter echoing over the backyard chaos — the secret best-kept secret of the day: that something real and quiet and rare is growing just behind all the noise.

Y/S/N spots Walter just as he finishes greeting the adults, his eagle eyes catching the familiar shape by the door in an instant. He abandons the makeshift backyard ring with all the stealth of a stampede.

“GUNTHER!” he shrieks, barreling across the grass so fast even Jeyce can’t catch up.

Walter barely has time to brace himself before fifty pounds of boy collides with his thigh, arms wrapping tight. It jolts a quiet grunt out of him, but his giant hand steadies the kid’s back easily.

“Hello, little warrior,” Walter rumbles, the deep edge of a laugh hidden in his chest. He pretends to inspect the boy’s sunglasses and mini title belt, as if it’s serious business. “You look ready for battle.”

Y/S/N beams up at him, cheeks flushed with pure excitement. “We were fighting in the ring, but now you’re here so you gotta wrestle us! Please? Me and Jeyce against you and Mama!”

Y/N crosses her arms from where she stands by the cake table, fighting a hopeless smile. “Oh, he’s got plans, huh?”

Walter glances at her — and there’s that quick flicker in his eyes again, the quiet softness that says more than he’ll ever admit aloud. He gives a tiny, helpless shrug, still kneeling so Y/S/N can drape himself over his broad shoulder.

“I believe I have been conscripted,” he says dryly, but there’s warmth there, unmistakable. “Shall we give them a show?”

Y/S/N whoops loud enough to wake the neighbors. Jeyce scrambles back into the ring, bouncing on the rope in pure glee.

Minutes later, the backyard crowd has gathered, laughing and recording as the “main event” kicks off.

Walter steps carefully into the roped-off square of soft mats and tape with Y/N at his side — their ‘team huddle’ just him bending slightly to murmur something that makes her bark a surprised laugh.

“You know,” she teases, pushing his shoulder playfully, “you’re about to lose to a pair of tiny tornadoes. Think your reputation can handle that, big man?”

He lifts a brow, smirk faint but lethal. “For him? I will endure.”

The match is pure, joyful chaos. Y/S/N launches himself at Walter’s leg while Jeyce tries to pin Y/N with dramatic wrestling moves he learned from watching Uncle Josh. Walter ‘staggers’ under Y/S/N’s tiny elbows, his deep rumble of fake agony making the kids cackle.

At one point, Y/N ducks behind Walter and taps his side, mouthing, help me, when Jeyce drags her down by her arm. Walter only laughs — a real, warm laugh — and scoops Jeyce up like a sack of potatoes, flipping him gently onto the mat to squeals of delight.

Finally, after a heroic ‘finish’ — Walter dramatically flopping onto his back while Y/N gets ‘pinned’ by Jeyce and Y/S/N standing triumphantly on his chest — the boys declare themselves the undisputed tag champs of the entire backyard.

Walter sits up slowly, brushing stray grass from his shirt. Y/N drops beside him, catching her breath, both of them laughing so freely that the parents on the sidelines trade knowing looks.

“Who would’ve thought you were such a graceful loser, Hahn,” she teases, nudging his arm with her elbow.

He turns to her, eyes flicking from her smile to the kids dancing around them. There’s something honest and soft in his next words — low enough that only she hears.

“It is easy to lose, when the victory is theirs.”

She stares at him for a second too long. Her pulse skitters in her throat. He clears it first, pushing himself to his feet with that graceful power that never fails to draw her attention.

As she gets up, brushing grass off her jeans, his hand finds the small of her back — steadying her without thinking. She tries not to lean into it, but fails completely.

Y/N and Walter drift back toward the patio where everyone’s clustered around the big outdoor table — laughter and stories flying as the kids tear through cupcakes nearby. Becky and Colby have settled on one side, bickering lovingly over Rioux sneaking a second soda. Cody’s halfway telling an outrageous story to Brandi, who’s rolling her eyes at every dramatic hand gesture.

Y/N slides in beside Becky, brushing her shoulder in greeting, while Walter stands just behind her, an easy sentinel presence that no one misses.

“Hey, there she is!” Colby crows, flashing that trademark grin. “Your kid’s officially undefeated, you know that, right? Rioux is gonna be emotionally scarred she lost to a five-year-old and a preteen.”

Y/N laughs, flipping her hair out of her eyes. “I’ll take her out for a spa day as an apology.”

Becky points at Walter, brows arched in mischief. “And you! You didn’t even try to win, you big softie.”

Walter lifts a single brow — that subtle kingly disapproval that makes even Colby snort into his drink. “He deserved his moment. I will not rob him of that.”

“Aw, you hear that?” Brandi nudges Cody with her elbow. “You could learn something about sharing the spotlight, mister quarterback.”

Cody clutches his chest dramatically. “You wound me. I live to put people over—”

Josh cuts him off with a fake cough. “Lies.”

Everyone bursts out laughing, the easy camaraderie wrapping around them like a warm blanket in the late afternoon sun. Y/N glances over her shoulder, catching Walter’s eyes — the faintest curve of a grin playing on his lips just for her.

He dips his head close, voice pitched so only she can hear above the chatter. “Next time, I expect you to carry the team better. Your performance was… questionable.”

Y/N’s jaw drops, a delighted bark of laughter tearing free before she can stop it. “Oh, you did not just bury me at my own son’s birthday party.”

He fights the grin threatening to break through, mouth twitching at the corners. “Next time, study more tape. You may stand a chance.”

Becky squints at them, suspicious as ever. “What’d he say to you?”

Y/N tries to control her giggling, swatting Walter’s arm as he feigns innocence. “Nothing. He’s just—” She smiles brightly, “So cocky.”

Walter only hums, content to let her fluster herself, his hand resting lightly on the back of her chair — a small, subtle claim that none of them can ignore.

Across the circle, Cody and Colby exchange a knowing look over their drinks. Becky elbows Brandi, who’s hiding a grin behind her cup.

Josh leans toward Rami, stage-whispering, “Yeah. They’re gone.”

Rami snorts into his beer. “About time.”

And amid all the teasing and half-hidden glances, Y/N tries not to think too hard about how easily Walter’s quiet warmth has begun to slip into the spaces of her life she didn’t even know were empty.

The two of them stay l tucked in by the fence line for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company. They both chuckle as Tommaso allows Willow and Rioux to take him down at the legs.

Colby yells for his daughter to keep beating him up which makes everyone cackle loudly, especially when Tommaso lets out a defeated yell. However, Y/N’s laugh fades on her lips as the sliding back door creaks open behind them.

Derek, her ex-fiancé, steps out like he owns the place. Even dressed casual — designer jeans, crisp polo, smug grin — he looks out of place amid the backyard clutter of streamers, cupcakes, and plastic championship belts.

He doesn’t announce himself. He doesn’t have to. The atmosphere shifts on instinct alone: Josh stiffens where he’s pouring juice for the kids; Rami’s grin turns razor-sharp; Trinity and Jon exchange a quick glance that says here we go.

Y/N feels her spine lock, every muscle remembering old, unwanted tension. Beside her, Walter’s warmth transforms — no longer soft and private, but a fortress braced at her side.

Derek takes his sweet time stepping off the deck, eyes sweeping the yard like a petty king inspecting subjects he’s certain are beneath him.

“Well, look at this,” he drawls. “Aren’t we just the perfect little family barbecue? Hope I didn’t miss the puppet show.”

Josh sets the juice carton down with enough force to make the table rattle. “Funny, Derek. Didn’t think you even knew where your kid lived these days.”

Rami smirks, arms crossed. “Yeah, traffic must’ve been crazy — what, took you almost two weeks to get here?”

Derek ignores them both, eyes sliding instead to Y/N — lingering where she stands, half-shielded behind Walter’s broad frame. His grin widens, oily and practiced.

“Hey, sweetheart. Miss me?” He says it loud enough for everyone to hear.

Walter shifts before Y/N can answer — just enough to block Derek’s direct line of sight. It’s subtle but unmistakable: a wall planting itself between a wolf and what he wants.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Y/N says, voice neutral but tight. She tries to step forward — Walter’s hand hovers low at her back, a silent promise she’s not alone. “You never actually responded to the invite I sent.”

Derek clicks his tongue, pretending hurt. “Aww. Don’t look so surprised. I’m still his father. Wouldn’t miss my own boy’s party — even if I had to crash.”

He doesn’t even glance at his son, who’s still across the yard wrestling a foam ladder away from Jeyce and Willow. Instead, Derek lets his gaze rake over Walter.

“And you must be the new muscle, huh? Gunther — that what they call you on that silly tv show? Cute.” He doesn’t even try to hide the sarcasm dripping from the name.

Walter says nothing. He doesn’t have to — his silence is a blade that makes even Derek uneasy.

Josh clears his throat, stepping forward. “You got five seconds to quit acting tough, man. Or I’ll help you back into your car myself.”

Derek laughs. “Oh, relax, Fatu. I’m just saying hi to the happy family. Right, sweetheart?”

He says it again — sweetheart — and that’s when Walter’s hand drifts lower, finding Y/N’s hand where it clenches at her side. He links their fingers together without looking at her — a move so confident, so unyielding, that her heart stutters behind her ribs.

Rami catches it. His grin curls like a snake ready to strike.

Across the lawn, Y/S/N looks up from the chaos, spots Walter — and doesn’t even acknowledge his father. With a squeal, he barrels across the grass, shoes squeaking on the fake ring mat, and launches himself straight into Walter’s arms.

Walter catches him easily, the only sign of effort a slight flex in his arms as he lifts the boy high above his head — drawing a delighted giggle that melts half the guests on the spot.

“Hi, buddy,” Walter rumbles, warmth seeping back into his voice as he brings the boy down to nestle against his shoulder.

“Hi, Gunther! Did you see me win? I won the Money in the Bank!”

Walter nods solemnly, ignoring the burning glare drilling into him from Derek’s direction. “I saw. Very impressive. Now that you have the briefcase, you can cash in on me whenever you want. Then you’ll be the true heavyweight champion.”

Y/S/N beams, curling his small arms around Walter’s neck. Derek watches it all, eyes narrowing to slits, rage bubbling beneath his smug exterior.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” he snaps, voice suddenly sharp. “What, you gonna tuck him in tonight too, big man? Maybe tell him a bedtime story about how you stole his mom?”

Josh loses it first, stepping forward with his fists clenched. “Hey — you better shut your damn mouth—”

Walter’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightens — a silent not yet. But his eyes lock with Derek’s, cold and unblinking, voice low enough to make the back of Y/N’s neck prickle:

“You insult her or her boy again, and I will not be as polite.”

The casual, accented threat snaps something in Derek. He scoffs, flicking his gaze to Y/N — who still hasn’t let go of Walter’s hand.

“Look at you. God, you’re pathetic. Clinging to this overgrown bodyguard? Letting him pretend he’s daddy so everyone here pities you? You always were desperate for attention—”

Something inside Y/N snaps.

She steps forward, ripping her hand from Walter’s only to jab a finger square into Derek’s chest, her voice calm, icy, lethal:

“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Yard.”

Derek barks a laugh, though he flinches at the venom in her eyes. “Or what?”

She smiles — a slow, dangerous curve that makes even Walter glance at her like she’s wielding a dagger.

“Or so help me, Derek, I’ll make sure you never see your son again. You forget, your visitation is a privilege I give you, not a right. You don’t deserve to be around Y/S/N — or me. So if you have a problem with who I trust with my son — tough shit. I trust Walter. Y/S/N trusts Walter. And you? You’re nothing but a disappointment in discount cologne.”

She lifts her chin, shoulders squared like she’s back in the ring under blinding lights. “So get the hell out. Before I call the cops to drag your sorry ass off my lawn.”

Silence.

Rami whistles low. Josh’s grin splits ear to ear. Trinity mutters, “Queen shit,” under her breath.

And Walter — Walter just watches her, eyes blazing with a rare spark of something feral and proud, his free hand finding her back again like he can’t not touch her.

Derek glares one last time — at Y/N, at Walter, at the small boy still nestled safe in the Ring General’s arm — before he spins on his heel and stalks back into the house.

The door slams so hard a streamer falls from the ceiling.

Y/N sags — but only for a breath, because suddenly she’s enveloped in Josh and Rami’s laughter, Trinity’s conspiratorial grin, and the quiet strength of Walter’s hand pressing firm at her lower back, grounding her exactly where she belongs.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

A few hours later, the backyard looks like the aftermath of a small, joyous hurricane. Paper plates stacked, stray balloons tangled in the fence, tiny championship belts abandoned in the grass where the kids dropped them mid-battle.

Near the back gate, Y/N stands with her son propped on one hip, hugging Trinity goodbye as Jon wrestles the leftover cupcakes out of Josh’s grip. Rami bumps fists with Y/S/N, murmuring something that makes the boy giggle through a yawn.

“Alright, champ, you’re gonna crash any second now,” Josh teases, ruffling the boy’s hair one last time before pulling Y/N in for a hug that’s half bear squeeze, half brotherly headlock. “Love you, sis. And about earlier? Damn proud of you.”

She squeezes him back, voice muffled against his shoulder. “Thanks, Josh.”

One by one, they slip out the gate — Trinity calling, “Text me later!” — Jon tossing back, “Lock the doors behind us, just in case he tries to slither back in!” — and Rami, winking at Walter with a grin that says I see you.

And then it’s just the three of them again.

Y/S/N wiggles in her arms, sleepy and sticky-faced. “Mama… can I watch cartoons?”

She kisses his temple. “Go on, baby. Living room.”

He bolts inside, footsteps thumping up the porch steps. Y/N exhales a soft, exhausted laugh — only now realizing how quiet the yard feels without the swirl of family and laughter and cake.

Behind her, Walter still stands near the porch — a quiet anchor among the chaos. His sleeves are rolled past his elbows, the crispness of his shirt softened with the hours. There’s a hint of sweat along his collar, a smudge of dirt on one knee from when he let Jeyce and Y/S/N pin him during their tag team match. And yet he looks as composed as ever, something about him still so impossibly still — until his eyes meet hers.

“Thank you again,” she says, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “For everything today. I know this isn’t exactly your typical Saturday.”

Walter doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, he steps down from the porch and crosses to her slowly, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“It was better,” he says simply, his accent thicker now with the wear of the evening. “More honest. Real.”

Y/N lets out a tired chuckle. “Yeah, well… ‘real’ is basically all I’ve got to offer these days.”

His eyes never leave her.

She fidgets, suddenly aware of how exposed she feels in the quiet — her hair a little messy, makeup faded, T-shirt untucked. But when he doesn’t look away, doesn’t even blink, she forces herself to meet his gaze.

“You didn’t have to stay after Derek showed up,” she says softly. “But you did. And you— you made me feel safe. Not a lot of people can say that about someone they’ve only known a few weeks.”

Walter tilts his head slightly, brow furrowing as if her words settle into a deeper part of him than she intended.

“I didn’t stay for obligation,” he says. “I stayed because I care. For your boy. For you.”

Her breath catches a little. She hadn’t expected that level of honesty — not from him.

“I never really… expected anyone to fight for me like that,” she admits, not even realizing how close he’s gotten now. “Not without a catch. Not without making me feel small for needing help. But you—” She falters, eyes searching his face. “You made it feel… okay. To not be okay.”

There’s a silence between them then — heavy, loaded, but not uncomfortable.

Then, softly, almost without thinking, she adds, “And honestly… it was kinda hot watching you put Derek in his place.”

That’s what makes him move.

Not aggressively, not suddenly. Just that slow, measured step forward that brings him within arm’s reach. One of his hands lifts — big, calloused fingers brushing a lock of hair from her face, then lingering at her cheek. The touch is feather-light, reverent even.

Her eyes widen, caught in his. And for the first time, she realizes how many colors live in his gaze — stormcloud greys, steel blues, all wrapped in quiet gravity.

“You deserve someone who would move the earth to protect you,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “Not someone who tears it out from under you.”

Her lips part slightly, a breath caught somewhere in the middle of her chest.

And then he kisses her.

It’s not rushed, not demanding. It’s careful. Like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he presses too hard. But it’s real. His palm cradles her cheek as if it’s something fragile and precious. The rest of the world drops away.

When they part, she keeps her forehead pressed lightly to his, her fingers now curled into the edge of his shirt, grounding herself.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” she whispers.

Walter’s voice is lower now, rumbling beneath her skin. “Neither was I. But I do not regret it.”

She pulls back just enough to meet his eyes again. “Me neither.”

A quiet beat. The moonlight glints off the edge of the ring still set up in the grass.

“I know we haven’t known each other long,” Walter says, thumb grazing her cheek in a motion so gentle it nearly undoes her, “but I’ve grown… attached. To you. To your son. And if you’d allow it… I would very much like to be part of your world. Not just for a moment, but for as long as you’ll have me.”

She stares at him, eyes glossy but bright.

“I’d love that,” she says, her voice small but steady. “God, Walter… I’d really love that.”

He leans in again — another kiss, this one less cautious. She melts into it. Not because she needs to be saved. But because, for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t have to carry everything alone.

Inside, the faint sounds of cartoons echo from the living room. But here, in the warm hush of a backyard still littered with balloons and streamers, something new blooms quietly between them.

Not a storm.

Not a spark.

But a promise.

And this time, it’s one she believes in.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

Y/Nwwe

liked by gunther_wwe, wwerollins, samizayn, and 653,289 others

tagged: gunther_wwe

Y/Nwwe: …so this is love?

view all 25, 986 comments

Gunther_wwe: There is strength in many forms. This is mine. Thank you both for bringing such joy and purpose into my life. 🖤✨

wwerollins: Look at these two! This makes my cold little heart warm.

BeckyLynchwwe: Our kids are basically siblings now 😂 Love you both ❤️

Americannightmarecody: You two are disgustingly cute. Y/S/N is the real MVP though.

SamiZayn: I TOLD Y’ALL. I CALLED IT. Look at my family go 😭🙌

jonathanfatu: About damn time y’all made it official. 👏🏽💪🏽

trinity_fatu: This is the soft launch to end all soft launches 😍🖤 So happy for you, sis!

ciampawwe: Okay but can Walter babysit Willow too? Asking for a friend.

candicelerae: This is what happiness looks like. So proud of you, mama ❤️

RomanReignsNo1: NO WAY. MAMA IS WITH THE RING GENERAL?? MY HEART IS FULL 🥹🖤

SuplexQueen89: Protect this family at all costs. 🫶🏽

GermanPowerhouseStan: Walter with her kid?? I’m in tears. He’s Dad material, period.

KayfabeChaos: This is the most unexpected soft launch in WWE history and I support it 100%.

WrestleTeaDaily: Okay but who do I have to thank for this real-life power couple?? I am unwell 🫠

BrawlinBrutesFan: Aye aye aye this is the cutest timeline I’ve ever seen — we won today, folks.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + nearly breaking a rib from cumming so hard 😘

Thanks for this one! I kinda went left field but it's fun!

Pay Up

Summary: your lot fees are due and your land lord isn't in a good mood.

Warnings: dubcon, coercion, extortion, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.

Please leave comments and reblog.

The door shakes as someone pounds on it. You groan and hide your face under your arm. It’s eleven AM, who the hell is bothering you? You groan and stay as you are, hoping they just give up. 

They bang again. This time harder. You sigh at the voice that comes from the other side. 

“I know you’re in there, sunshine.” Lloyd calls through. 

You snarl. How many times do you have to tell that sleazeball not to bug you before noon? Shady ass landlord. 

You swing your arm down and hit your hand off the wall. You sit up groggily and look around the trailer. You hang your feet over the edge and nearly kick over the vodka bottle with a swig left in it. You grab it and finish it off as you stand. You fling the empty plastic and go to the door. 

The strap of your leopard print camisole slips down your arm. The door trembles against his battering and the lock threatens to give. You slid back the latch and push it outward. Lloyd stumbles back as it hits his shoulder. 

“Calm down, you’re gonna break the thing,” you snarl and cross your arms as you lean against the frame. 

“Lot fees,” he rubs his shoulder, “now.” 

“I told you, I’ll have them next week.” 

“They’re due today,” he jabs his finger toward you, taking a step closer. 

“Well, you’ll just have to wait.” 

“Listen, sweetheart, you don’t make the rules,” he growls. “So give me my money.” 

You scoff and look him up and down. He’s a con man like all of them. They wear their fancy suits and grease back their hair and think you can’t see through it. 

“Don’t got it,” you shrug. “So wait until Monday or kiss my ass.” 

He snorts as you go to shut the door. He catches it, lodging himself between it and the frame. He crowds you as he looms over you. 

“I’ll call the fucking police. You signed a lease, doll face.” 

“I don’t got it. You hard of hearing?” You sneer. “Look, I got half. I’ll give you that and you can take your hoity toity loafers and come back next week.” 

“Half?” He echoes. 

“Yeah, half.” 

He stares at you then raises his hands to rub his fingertips together. You let go of the door and spin. You stomp over to the bed and search around for your wallet. It’s somewhere here. Always falls down when you fold in the table and pull out the bed. 

His footsteps scuff behind you and you feel his weight in the floor. 

“I didn’t invite you in,” you snip and turn to him with the bills. “Here.” 

You shove the money at him and he catches your hand. He pulls it above your head and glares at you. 

“Late fees. You’ll pay in full on Monday,” he grits. 

“Fuck you. I don’t got that much.” 

“Not my problem, honey pie,” he taunts. “I’ve been pretty fucking lenient. I’m done waiting on what’s mine. You are going to pay me. One way, or another.” 

He tugs up the strap and lays it over your shoulder, tickling your skin. You snarl. 

“Get the fuck off of me,” you snatch your arm away and push his chest. 

“I know how you got all this,” he thumbs the money then tucks it away. “I am willing to cut a deal for your services.” 

“I’m not a fucking hooker,” you spit. “Get out.” 

You try to shove him again and he grabs your wrists. He tuts and squeezes as you bare your teeth at him. He snickers. 

“Coulda fooled me. Ah, come on, a few minutes of heaven and I’ll waive the late fee,” he drawls. 

“As if. Get off--” You writhe as you try to twist free of him. “Look, you filthy old perv, stop touching--” 

He lets go of one arm and grips your shoulder, spinning you to face the bed as he twists your arm behind you. You whimper as he forces you against the frame. You bring your other arm back into his side and he grunts. 

“Hey!” He swats your skull, “look, you bend over and I won’t even ask for the other half.” 

“Are you that fucking desperate?” 

“Nope, but I wouldn’t mind shutting you up,” he chortles. “Come on, I’m sure you’ve had worse.” 

“You’re disgusting,” you tug on your arm and it strains in your shoulder. You whine. 

“Ow, fucker. Give me the money back and I’ll let you get the worm out,” you scoff.    

“How about you take the bottle of whiskey in my backseat? Top shelf shit, not like that piss you got all over.” 

He kicks the empty out of is way. 

“Get it over with, idiot,” you reach back with your free hand and hook your thumb under the top of your shorts. 

“I knew you were fucking easy,” he snarls. 

He lets go of your arm and you whimper. You bend and catch yourself on the mattress. You push back against him. 

“I don’t want to see your face,” you shake your head. 

He chuckles and pushes down your shorts until they fall to your ankles. 

“All the better,” he slaps your ass and sinks his nails into your skin. You hiss. 

“Hey, don’t leave any fucking marks,” you growl. “What’s the matter old man? Need time to get it up?” 

He spanks you again, “shut your fucking mouth.” 

He grabs your head and forces it down to the mattress. You grunt and swing your arm back at him blindly. He laughs under his breath as his fly unzips. You shudder and brace yourself. You’ve done worse, he is right about that. 

He bends his knees as you feel him pumping himself. You curl your lip and close your eyes. He presses his tips between your cheeks and lingers along your puckered ring. You twitch. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” 

“Really? Woulda thought you’d prefer it,” he slides further down and pushes against your cunt. 

“Limp dick like you used to going in dry,” you rasp. 

You snake your hand down and rub your clit as your cunt burns at his prodding. He leans into you, pushing his tip in with his thumb. You drone and flick your fingers faster. He stretches you around him and you snarl. 

“Fuck, goddamn,” you rub harder. “Can’t wait till I get fucking--” 

You gasp as he thrusts. The force behind it brings you to your toes as his fingers curl into your scalp. You grit your teeth as he buries himself to his limit. He’s not small by any means. Fucker. 

He shakes as he slides out. You swallow and gather what’s left of your pride. Your fingers slicken as he dips back in. 

“You fucking suck,” you spit. 

“And you’re a fucking slut,” he spanks your ass. His hand slides up to grip your hip as he finds his tempo. “Look at how your fucking taking me.” 

His flesh claps against yours as he slowly bends forward. He drags his grip from your head and loops his arm around you. He tears the camisole down beneath your chest and gropes your tits. He snarls and bites your ear. 

“God, you fucking smell like rich dick,” you sneer. 

“Sure as shit, baby,” he ruts as your toes slip on the floor. 

“Disgusting.” 

“Takes one to know one,” he puffs. 

“Ugh, I fucking hate you. You make my insides crawl--” 

“I can feel that,” he pounds harder and your legs fold as you land on your stomach. “Squeezing me all fucking desperate for it.” 

He crushes you again the thin mattress, his hips bucking wildly as he pants into your hair. You can only just swirl your fingers enough to get yourself to the edge. Your thighs tingle and tremble. His deep groans roll into your ears and his breath dampens your scalp. 

He pulls his hand from beneath you and pins you with his forearm against your shoulders. He pushes himself up as he slams against your ass. You snarl and reach back to touch his hip. Jesus fucking Christ. He didn’t even put a condom on. Fuck. Fuck. This is what happens when you’re woken up before noon. 

“You better not fucking blow--” 

“Shit!” He gurgles and spasms. You feel the gush inside of you as his rhythm turns erratic. You curse again and smack his thigh. 

“What the fuck!?” 

He keeps going, fucking his cum deeper and deeper, rumbling and rattling as he empties himself. Jesus. How much does he got? His grunts turn to squeaks. 

“You had to fucking say—ah, shit, shit--” his voice fizzles out as he pulls out and flips onto the top of the mattress, his legs hanging over the edge as he writhes. 

You roll away and sit up, shoving your fingers into your cunt to scoop out his cum. You wipe it on the blanket and snarl. “You dumbass. Why the hell did you do that?” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he sounds as if he can’t breathe as he hugs his ribs. His dick twitches over his pants as he groans and reaches for you. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you slap him away. You reach out and smear cum across his fancy jacket. “Jerk off.” 

“I... I...” he inhales, little by little, and wheezes, “I think I cracked a rib.” 

“What?” 

“When I... finished, it just...” he touches along his ribs, “feels like a knife--” 

You laugh. You cover your mouth with your clean and snicker. “Are you serious? You pulled a fucking muscle, you geezer.” You get off the bed and grab a towel, wiping between your legs. “We made a deal, not get out.” 

“I... can’t.” He groans. 

“Get out or I’ll actually break your rib,” you bark. 

“Fucking christ,” he sits up with a whimper, “you’re fucking cold.” 

“And you’re limp,” you retort. “Out.” 

He stands, hunched over as he keeps his arm across his middle. He limps toward the door. 

“Same time, next month?” He stops at the door. 

You push him out, “no, you’ll get the money on time.” 

[lovecla]

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, nico hischier x you.

FAKE IT ‘TILL YOU MAKE IT, final phase.

<last chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: oral sex (f. receiving), brief arguing.

➴ word count: 2.6k

💌 from me to you: and this, my loves, is the end of fake it ‘till you make it (for now!!). thank you so much for supporting me and my stories and thank you for this playlist that got me through this chapter. anyways, i’m so excited for you all to read the rest of this universe that i’m going crazy. hope you enjoy!!!! xxx

𖧷

nicohischier

liked by njdevils, nataliebrooks, _quinnhughes and 29,103 others

nicohischier #Life 😌😁

View all 2,083 comments

user1 What does this even mean

user2 Nico are you cheating on me

user3 TOLD YALL THEY ARE LITERALLY MARRIED WITH KIDS

emmaroberts when did you even take that 😓

user4 Cap got his first hat trick and a girlfriend in less than three months

elladavis em looks sooo cute 🥹

user5 I thought i could keep convincing myself they were just friends but this ?????????

user6 Captain Dimples has a girlfriend (and she’s not me)

user7 the “#life 😌😁” is killing me

user8 user7 Like he really said Idgaf and went to sleep

user9 user8 beside emma

𖧷

YOU GRUNTED, almost throwing your phone away when you entered Nico’s apartment, which was basically your second house now.

There were tiny, somewhat insignificant things around his place that reported that you two were together, things like your hairbrush in his bathroom, your toothbrush beside his, your books and phone charger on his bedside table.

Or maybe the fact that he keeps buying the sweets he knows you like, or when he changed the brand of softener he used because you once briefly mentioned that it made your nose itch.

You won’t deny that you’re happy with the fact that he seems pleased to have you around, but you’re still not sure if you want to move in with him— your story already sounds crazy and fast paced enough.

Still, you enjoy spending your days off with him, especially when he’s also at home, which is tonight’s occasion. He’s sitting on the couch watching The Godfather when you enter the house, but you don’t even have time to properly greet him before Richard starts talking again.

“Technically, it wasn’t due until 5 p.m. today. So, no need to get your... keyboard in a knot.”

You scoff. “My keyboard in a— what?! Richard, I was waiting for your notes last night so I could approve it. I guess I didn’t factor in your busy schedule of... what was it? Two hours chatting up Emily from graphics?”

“Oh, come on,” he laughs, like he didn’t delay a week’s worth of work. “It wasn’t two hours. More like 45 minutes. And anyway, building relationships in the office is important, Emma. You should try it sometime.”

“Building relationships? Is that what we’re calling shameless flirting now?” you ask, voice filled with rage. “Good to know. Next time I don’t meet a deadline, I’ll just say I was networking over cocktails.”

“Listen, Emma—”

“No, you listen,” you say, finally tired after thirty minutes of arguing with your colleague. You place your bag on the coffee table, and almost lose your arguments when you find Nico’s puppy, almost scared eyes looking at you. “Jake, who’s a father of two adorable, sweet girls, had to stay at work way past his work hours, re-writing half of your article. Not to mention Melissa, who also had to stay late because your inspiration left her waiting for the graphics requests you didn’t submit.”

“Ain’t that awesome? That’s what I call a real team.”

“A real team?” You almost shout. Usually, as the editor-in-chief of one of the most important sports magazines in the US, you’d try to keep your cool and act professional. But you’ve been handling Richard’s bullshit for the past two months and now you’ve had enough. “I can’t do this anymore. I want you in my office on Monday so we can discuss your leaving.”

This time, Richard doesn’t have an immediate bratty remark for you.

“Was I clear?”

“M-Mrs Roberts, I—”

“My. Office. On Monday. At half past seven.”

“I’m sure we can figure this out and—”

You look at the clock sitting on Nico’s desk and smile, even though you know Richard can’t see. “Oh, would you look at that? It’s seven p.m. which means I’m not on my work hours anymore. So, we should probably just talk on Monday.” You use your best, fake happy voice. “Have a nice weekend, Richard.”

You don’t wait for his answer before hanging up on him and sighing loudly.

“Hi, baby,” you finally say, leaning down to give Nico a brief kiss. “I’m sorry for this.”

“I’m somewhere between proud and scared,” he smiles, getting up and wrapping his arms around your tired body, as you lean closer to his chest and rest your head on it. “Proud because you’re actually standing up for yourself, scared because I have never seen you talk like that.”

You shrug. “I mean, he did make Jake go home later than he’s supposed to, several times, and I’ve met his kids, I just… if it was just me, I wouldn’t be this upset but—”

“You don’t need to justify your actions, schatz. Not to me, not to anyone,” he smiles softly, and you just lean closer to his chest. He smells like home and violets. “And the guy is an asshole.”

You laugh, reluctantly pulling away from him.

“I guess you’re right,” you said. “I need a shower though. This ‘standing up for myself’ thing is tiring and nasty.”

“Better hurry, then,” Nico whispers against your mouth. “I ordered food from your favorite place.”

You moan loudly as you make your way to his bathroom. “Fuck, I’m going to have your kids.”

His laugh is loud enough for you to hear and you smile, closing the door behind you.

𖧷

YOU’RE ALMOST falling asleep on the couch when you feel it.

It’s light and sweet at first, barely noticeable. Nico had been resting his head on your belly, while you played with his hair and tried to keep up with the last episode of The Summer I Turned Pretty.

But you probably snoozed for a few seconds, and Nico saw that as the perfect opportunity for him to bury himself in the middle of your thighs.

“Baby,” you call him, and he hums back, barely paying attention to you. “What are you doing?”

“I miss you.” Was all he said, before going back to kissing your naked thighs.

You just chuckled, looking down at him, and feeling somewhat shy as he inhales your skin, probably smelling the hints of lavender your body wash left behind.

He keeps kissing you, taking his time. It’s barely anything, yet it has you throbbing under your panties, which makes you blush. It’s embarrassing how fast you melt under his touch.

He gets up, sitting on his heels, looking down at you with lustful eyes. “You’re stressed.”

“I am,” you smile.

“I want to eat you out.”

“You do?”

“I do, yeah,” he plays with the hem of your shirt, slowly moving his finger down, all the way to your black panties. “What do you think?”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve had in a while,” you bite your lips, hiding your grin.

He doesn’t hide his, smiling widely as he quietly drags your underwear down, lifting your hips just enough to remove them from your body.

“You have such a pretty pussy, babe,” he muttered, spreading your legs, until your bare, smooth flesh mercies the open air. “I can never get enough.”

Before you can even start to feel shy about your nakedness, Nico dives in, licking a long stripe up your pussy, not paying attention to your most sensitive part, not just yet— it had you moaning anyway, though.

He attaches his warm mouth to your core, tongue messily gliding over your lips and entrance. His movements are precise and smooth, like he was born to do this.

The tip of his tongue finds your hole, dipping inside you slowly, then, he finally licks your clit, moving his wet muscle from side to side while you trash under his touch, holding onto the couch with both of your hands.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he says, voice hoarse and silvery. “Dripping, actually. And all of that for me.”

You’re about to answer when he dives into your core again, this time focusing on your clit only. He grabs both of your thighs and pulls you towards him, licking everywhere. The sound of him eating you out filling up the room, louder than the boring show you had on.

The room’s barely illuminated yet you can see him staring at you as he licks, eats and satisfies himself with your taste. He doesn’t even blink, trapped between your legs, sucking your most sensitive part.

“Ngh.”

He stops messing with your clit just to smirk and say: “C’mon, love. I know you can be louder than that.”

And then, he dives into you again, giving you all he can. And his all has you pulling his hair and moaning loudly, even with your left hand covering your mouth.

Your release builds fast, as it always does whenever Nico decides to do whatever he wants with you. The tension in your lower belly comes faster each time you both have sex, and even though you can’t explain why, you’re not bored by it, not at all.

“Nico, I’m gonna come,” you manage to say, rolling your eyes, only to close them afterwards. “F-Fuck.”

You’re rutting against his mouth, not caring that your sweet spot’s feeling overstimulated. It’s like a feral feeling, taking over your body and mind, and your only goal is to come.

You feel lucky, so fucking lucky, to have a man like him to make you see stars, and when you come inside his mouth, it’s without warning or coordination.

You’re seeing white and you’re gasping for breath as he continues to lick you, digging his short nails into your flesh so he can keep you in place— even though you can barely move, your limbs are too weak to do anything.

“N-Nico,” you whisper, gently pushing him away because you’re sure you’re about to disintegrate if he keeps going. And also because you know he’ll be there for hours with no end if you don’t push him away. “Shit.”

He smirks, and you’re sure he’ll never look this hot again. His hair is glued to his face, and his chin is shiny with your come, but so are his lips and the tip of his nose. But what really does it for you it’s the way his chocolate eyes are shining and looking at you like you’re everything.

You grab his shirt and pull him down, kissing his lips right away, tasting yourself on his tongue. It’s nasty and new, but you don’t care; you just want to feel him, be close to him.

“There’s no one else,” you tell him. “It’s just you, and it will always be just you.”

He smiles, his dimples stealing the spotlight because they make you want to live inside his cheek forever. “Hope that’s a promise, baby.”

“Oh, captain,” you hum. “It is.”

𖧷

YOU’RE SITTING on Nico’s lap when you see her.

She enters the bar with her chin up, holding her Gucci purse under her arms and softly clicking her fingers against the phone she’s holding.

She doesn’t immediately look your way, and even though you’re not sure if she knows you and your people— Mia, Ella, Luke, Jack and Nico— had chosen this specific bar to celebrate the Devils winning streak, you can’t help but feel aware of her presence.

Nico brings you back to the present moment, squeezing your waist lightly, just enough to make you look back at him.

“What does Em think of this?” you hear someone, Luke, maybe, ask, and you shrug, trying to hide the fact that you don’t know what they’re talking about.

“Keep my girlfriend out of your useless conversations, please.” Nico says, saving you once again. You give him a brief cheek kiss, taking care so you won’t smudge his cheek with your red lipstick.

“Please, you’re so pussy-whipped it’s sad to watch.” Jack says and Mia rolls her eyes at him.

“As he should.” she grins, winking at you.

“I only asked her if she thinks the last Fast & Furious movie is boring or not,” Luke argues. “I mean, Natalie almost killed me last time I mentioned it.”

“She hates those goddamn movies,” you laugh, remembering how angry she’d get whenever someone tried to make her believe that that whole franchise is good. “You should’ve known better.”

“I guess,” Luke pouts, toying with his beer bottle and Ella smiles at him. “I lowkey miss her, is that weird?”

“It’s not weird to miss your friends, Duke,” Mia fake punches him. “I miss her a lot, too. And Quinn.”

“We should visit them once the season’s over,” Ella suggests and you all agree, making plans for your next trip to Vancouver.

The conversation makes you forget about the fact that Nora is in the same place as you, and your insecurities are set aside so you can enjoy your evening with your friends.

You’re caught up with laughing and dancing with Mia and Luke when Nico reaches for you and tells you he’s going to the bathroom, and you just nod and give him a peck, before following Luke and doing the dumbest dance moves ever, making Mia laugh and curse at both of you.

You end up knocking over Luke’s bottle of glass all over you, and even though it’s hot inside the bar, you know you’ll have to dry your shirt before heading out again, otherwise it’s certain you’ll catch a cold.

“I’ll be right back, guys,” you tell Mia and Luke before looking around and trying to find the bathroom sign. Once you do, it’s a sixteen step walk until you’re standing in front of the door that leads to the bathroom hallway, only to find Nico standing there with—

Nora.

They don’t see you, and Nora’s the first to speak again. “It’s just that… you kind of just vanished after that night at my house, and you did unfollow me on Instagram. Did I do something wrong?”

“Well, Nora, you see: you did do something wrong. You kissed me even though you knew I had a girlfriend. That’s not really cool.”

You can tell by his tone that he’s upset, and the Angel sitting on your right shoulder is telling you that you should trust your boyfriend and leave the two of them alone but the Devil speaks louder and you stay right where you are.

“But…” she’s pouting and you feel the urge to punch her. “I didn’t know you and Emma were serious. If I had known, I’d—”

“You’d what?” he scoffs. “You’re still here, even after knowing that Em and I are serious, and have been for a long time now. You followed me all the way to the bathroom just to ask if I was upset with you for kissing me even though you knew I was dating.”

“Nico, you’re being too serious. Emma doesn’t need to know what we did—”

“She already does,” he crosses his arms in front of chest and leans against the bathroom door. “And even if she didn’t, I know, Nora. If you can sleep at night knowing you kissed a compromised person, that sounds like a you problem. I love my girlfriend and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t bother me anymore.”

Nora’s silent for a few seconds before she remembers Nico’s probably expecting an answer.

“I’m not saying you don’t love her, I’m just saying that I understand if you can’t talk to me because of he—”

“It’s not that I can’t, Nora, I don’t want to,” he scoffs again. “Emma is my girlfriend for a fucking reason. I love her.”

Nora’s face is red, and her hands are shaking slightly. She nods before running out of the hallway like her ass’s on fire, only stopping when she almost runs into you.

You don't do anything besides winking at her, watching as her face becomes even redder and angrier. It’s funny how she stomps her way through the bar and leaves without a single word to anyone else.

When you look back to the hallway, you find Nico staring at you, a beautiful smile decorating his lips.

“Looks like you got yourself wet, baby.” He says, pointing to your shirt.

You smile, following him to the bathroom. “Hell yes I did. But it’s about to get worse.”

[coupsiedaisee]

jump then fall | issue 02 | c.sc

when trying to unearth hogwarts' resident Golden Boy™ choi seungcheol's secret girlfriend, leads to the proposition of a lifetime

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: hogwarts au, fake dating au, fluff, angst wordcount: 7.9k masterlist

BREAKING NEWS! LOCAL CLAW EMBROILED IN SCANDAL WITH BELOVED LION?

To say this was going poorly would be an understatement.

One week. You had been following Seungcheol for one week, and nothing. You had nothing to show for it.

Oh, you had photos, two whole rolls worth. 

A snap from the back of Transfiguration. Seungcheol sported a bright smile as he turned a raven into a textbook. His partner, a quirky Hufflepuff by the name of Claire Dobson, sat next to him, clapping enthusiastically. 

A click from behind one of the suits of armour lining the hallway. Seungcheol leaned up against the wall, listening to fellow Head Girl, Mythili Mahendran, as she spoke fervently, her arms waving about with each word. He had a reassuring grin as he nodded along, eyes never once leaving her face.

“The only thing this kid is doing is buying a one-way ticket to Burnt-out-Ville,” you say, slipping the last bit of film out of the developer potion and hanging it to dry. 

On it, a clear snapshot from behind a shelf in the herbology section of the library. Seungcheol’s draped over Joshua’s shoulders, eyes crinkled into half moons as he bursts out laughing, his pearly whites on full display. Jeonghan sat across from them, a disgruntled sneer on his face.

“Maybe he’s sneaking off somewhere at night?” Soonyoung leans against the wall of the dark room, the deep red light reflecting off his face. 

“Where,” You shake your head, “Or even better, when? I’ve been following him day and night like his bloody shadow! Golden Boy couldn't even take a piss without me knowing.” There had been hardly enough time for you to finish most of your assignments this week. Not to mention, the 2 feet on Unbreakable Vows you hadn’t even started.

“I’m telling you Hosh,” you start unclipping the dried photos, sorting them into piles. Seungcheol in class. Seungcheol at the library. Seungcheol in the Great Hall. “Perhaps Raveena’s got it wrong.”

“Impossible,” Soonyoung scoffs. “Pudding’s the best there is.” 

You shoot him a look, “No one is perfect. She was bound to pick up a weird rumour eventually.”

“She’s never gotten a tip wrong.” An unspoken yet hung in the air. 

Raveena was a capable girl, there was no doubt about that. But, you knew a lost cause when you saw one. Soonyoung, despite being as stubborn as a bull, would eventually come around. 

Right?

Soonyoung chews his lip before pushing himself off the wall. “There’s always tomorrow I suppose.” He was halfway out the door before it registered.

“Tomorrow?” You ask.

“Did you forget?” Soonyoung feigns surprise, and you dread his next words.  “First Hogsmeade weekend, no better time or place for lovely couples to have a cute little date.”

You resist the urge to drown him in one of your tubs of developer potion. 

“I haven’t even begun to research that Defense essay that’s due Monday. Not to mention, the ten million other things we need to study.” You slam the canister you were holding down onto the counter, exasperated. “Or did you forget we’ve got N.E.W.T.s this year?”

Soonyoung pouts, shaking his head. He fiddles at the chipping wood on the doorway. “Come on Wallflower, I’ve even got disguises for us!“ 

You loved your best friend. Truly. With all your heart. Yet, at his core, Soonyoung Kwon was a Grade A schemer. A Slytherin through and through. 

“I promise, I’ll help you with your essay when we get back,” says Soonyoung. He turns on his puppy dog eyes for extra effect. “I’ll even throw in sweets from Honeydukes! Whatever you want, it’s on me.”

You were running low on sugar mice and you did eat your last pumpkin pasty during Seungcheol’s prefect rounds the other night. 

“Fine,” you grumble, drying off your hands. Whipping around, you stab a finger in his direction, “But this is the last! If we come out empty-handed, you’re going to drop it. Promise?” 

Soonyoung put his hands up, “Swear on my Nan’s grave.” He makes a crossing motion across his chest and points up at the ceiling, sending a wink your way. 

He dodges the towel you chuck at him, before bidding you a good night, leaving you alone to ruminate on a certain Gryffindor Captain and Head Boy. 

Soonyoung waits for you in the entrance hall the next morning.

You curl your lip, looking him up and down. He wore thick brown robes with a gold monogrammed “SK” on the chest, a stark contrast to your plain, faded, and navy ones. On his head, sat a matching brown deerstalker, his blond bangs poking out from underneath.

“What's with the hat?” 

Soonyoung grinned, sticking out a small bag. “Disguises!” 

Inside, you found some sunglasses, a couple of stick-on fake moustaches, and a cheap-looking wig. 

“I wanted you to have the first pick,” Soonyoung says as you decide on a pair of matte black sunglasses and a bushy chevron moustache. 

He grabs a handlebar moustache and brown tortoiseshell sunglasses for himself, “How do I look?”

“Like you’re about to solve a murder,” you say dryly. “All you’re missing is a magnifying gl–” 

“Do not underestimate your friend so.” He fishes in his robe pockets before pulling out a gold-rimmed magnifying glass. 

Holding the glass flat in your direction, he presses down on a hidden button in the handle. A bright light flashes along with a loud clicking noise. You throw your arms up to cover your eyes.

“Merlin,” Soonyoung scratches his head, peering at the glass befuddled. “I thought I’d turned that off.”

Snatching the device from his hands, you weave an arm around his. “I’ll fix it on our way. We’ve got to get a move on if we want to get to Hogsmeade while he’s still there.” 

“You’ve got your camera?”

You scoff as you pat at your chest, where there is a barely visible small bump under your robes. “Of course, I’m no amateur.”

The path up to the small wizarding village is free of any students. Most tend to head up earlier, wanting to make the most of their rare reprieve from school. 

This was fine with the two of you though. It allowed Soonyoung to ramble about a few other stories the team was working on that week, while you fixed his magnifying glass.

It’s easy, nothing a few modified silencing charms and an expungement charm couldn't fix. As for your own camera, all it needs is a well-placed disillusionment charm, and it’ll disappear against your chest.

“So, where shall we begin?” you say, as the two of you enter the village. “You think he'd have taken her to Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head? I'm leaning towards Three Broomsticks, less creepy, more casual.”

“I think I know exactly where they would’ve gone,” Soonyoung says with a terrifying twinkle in his eye.

There was absolutely nothing that could’ve prepared you for Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop.

Bright fuschia painted the walls of the small teahouse, burning into your irises along with the hot pink paper lanterns and tinsel hanging from the ceiling. 

The two of you find an empty table in the corner, huddling around a purple lace-covered table. 

While you sat with your back to the shop, Soonyoung had a perfect view of the front door, as well as the massive window next to it, allowing a full view of the main street through Hogsmeade.

Despite the overwhelming crowd in the tea shop, Seungcheol was nowhere to be found.

You watch as a couple walks past the window, bundled in warm robes and holding hands, before turning back to Soonyoung. “Shouldn’t we try to go and find our Golden Boy?" It was sweltering inside, as though there were one too many heating charms in place. "Rather than just, waiting around for him to show up?” Your mustache itches and you refrain from ripping it off.

“You wouldn't be aware Wallflower–," A server comes by, setting down two hot pinks mugs filled with a questionable brown liquid. Soonyoung smiles a soft thank you before nudging you under the table with his foot. He tips his head towards the server with an expectant look, but you can’t stop staring at them.

It was Seokmin Lee, a 5th-year Gryffindor, wearing the most atrocious outfit you'd ever seen. He's got on a mauve velour muggle tracksuit and, over it, a hot pink mug costume, much like the mugs he’d just set down. 

Soonyoung kicks you under the table again, this time harder. You yelp at the pain shooting through your shin, quickly recovering though, and wince out a meek thanks. An eye-crinkling smile graces Seokmin’s face, coupled with a bright chirpy you’re welcome as he sashays away.

Soonyoung takes a sip of his drink, and you mirror him, only to gag immediately. It tasted like someone had poured developer potion down your throat.

"You wouldn't know, Wallflower," Soonyoung starts again, "but this is the cool and hip place to take your dates.”

A golden cherub flies past, throwing pink confetti in your direction. Some of it falls into your drink. “Hoshi, if anyone took me here for a date, I’d probably drown them in the great lake.” You grimace as the couple next to you starts snogging.

He wasn’t wrong though. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d gone on a date.

Soonyoung starts to say something else when his eyes widen at something, or someone, behind you. “Over there! Over there!” He shakes a finger at the front window and you turn to see Seungcheol walking past, flanked as usual by Joshua and Jeonghan. This time though, they’re joined by a fourth boy, dark-haired and lanky, with thick-rimmed glasses.

Soonyoung scrambles to get up, digging through his robe pockets for some sickles before throwing them on the table, and dragging you out of your chair. 

The two of you hurry out, following them down the mildly crowded village path. Hiding behind other students and in nearby alleyways when necessary. 

"It looks like they're heading into the Weasley’s joke shop." You're crouched behind the postal building with Soonyoung nearly sitting on top of you.  The two of you peer around the corner, watching as Seungcheol and his friends file into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. “Come on then, let’s go get our Golden Boy.”

It’s loud inside the joke shop, and you lose the boys amidst the sea of brightly coloured merchandise and robes.

“Let’s split up?” You suggest. Divide and conquer. Soonyoung nods in agreement, slinking away and disappearing behind the love potions. You take your camera out, giving it a silent tap. It turns invisible against your chest.

Ambling up the stairs to the second floor, you pass the small section of muggle magic tricks and turn the corner into the sweets section. There, you find your Golden Boy past the Canary Creams, perusing the Skiving Snackboxes. He’s got his back turned to you, giving you a full view of his deep russet robes, and not much else.

Quickly, you hide behind a cardboard display filled with edible dark marks. Peeking out from above, you watch as Seungcheol bends down and picks up a snackbox, pushing his wire-rim glasses further up his nose.

He reads the side of one of the boxes before reaching into his pocket and taking out a piece of paper. Slightly leaning over the display, you crane your neck trying to get a glimpse. Before you know it, you lose your balance, tipping the display over and sending yourself flying to the ground.

“Shit, shit, shit-”

At the sound of the loud crash, Seungcheol spins around, immediately running over when he sees you on the ground.

"Are you okay?" Seungcheol peers over you, concern written all over his face. 

You lay surrounded by the edible dark marks, not making a move to get up. All you wish for at this moment is for the ground to split in half and suck you right in. 

"Here, let me help you." Seungcheol holds his hand out to you, expectant. For a moment, you’re compelled to take it. But then you think of his skin touching yours and you start to feel your heart speeding up, your breath quickening, and the feeling of panic crawling up your throat. 

Merlin, not here. Not now.  

You lean up on your elbows, staring at his hand, hesitating. He looks so worried though, with his eyebrows furrowed and his forehead wrinkled. So, you push down any feeling of trepidation, and you take his hand, letting yourself be pulled up. You don't think about how warm and calloused his hands feel and you definitely don’t think about how equally warm your cheeks were getting. 

This could not be happening to you right now. Did he see your camera? Feeling the weight of it around your neck, it takes everything in you to not peek down and see if the disillusionment charm is still in effect. 

Soonyoung's sunglasses sit askew on your nose and the moustache was beginning to slowly peel off as the adhesive charm weakened. You must’ve looked like Hogwart’s resident basket case about now. The next coming of Moaning Myrtle. 

"You alright there?" Seungcheol asks. All you can do is nod dumbly in response. You could feel your heart thumping loudly in your chest, the erratic beating pulsing in your ears. 

He bends back down to pick up the fallen display and candies while you hastily fix your glasses and moustache, willing the other half to stick back on. 

This is just your luck. Three years of following people around and this was the first time you'd ever been caught. You were going to kill Soonyoung. This was, after all, his grand idea. 

Actually, no. You were going to do something worse than avada kedvra him. You were going to stick his precious gobstones set into a cauldron of boiling–"Are you sure you're okay?"

You snap out of your premeditated murder planning, "What?"

Seungcheol’s looking at you, his eyebrows still furrowed. "Did you hit your head when you fell?"

"What?" You repeat like an idiot. "Oh, no, yeah, I'm good." You smooth down the top of your hair, "Haha, see! No head injury!" 

If you were hoping this would ease Seungcheol's worry, you don't think you were succeeding. New creases appear on his forehead the longer you speak. 

“Look, I am as fine . . .” You search for the right words, the ones that would make his worry go away, “ . . . as a flobberworm," you finish lamely.

The fake moustache slowly starts peeling off once more and you fight the urge to rip it off and incendio it into a pile of ashes. Instead, you plaster a smile on your face, putting two thumbs up as a consolation.

However, it did not have the intended effect. Somehow, Seungcheol Choi managed to furrow his eyebrows even more. He stood there staring at you with his arms wrapped around each other as if you were a child and he was wondering what to do with you.

At this point, you were wishing you’d had hit your head. Much better explanation for all this than, you were just like this. 

Finally, Seungcheol nods, seemingly satisfied. "Be careful then, and watch where you're going." He reaches out to you, taking your sunglasses, and pushing them up into your hair. If you weren't frozen out of embarrassment, you might've flinched. "Let's keep the sunglasses for the sun, yeah? You could've seriously hurt yourself." 

Your mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, no sound coming out.

Seungcheol puts his hands on your shoulders and you swallow hard, tensing up as he pats your shoulders down. "I'll see you 'round then?" You nod back, feeling much like a bobblehead today, and Seungcheol turns around, heading back down to the main floor.

You just stand there, unsure of what to make of what had just happened, and give yourself a moment to get your heart rate back to an acceptable one.

Downstairs, you find Soonyoung by the pygmy puffs, chatting with a short red-headed boy. You grab him by the collar of his robes, dragging him outside and tossing him into the cold air.

“Woah, Wallflower,” Soonyoung stumbles a little, trying to find his footing. “Is everything okay?”

Ripping off your moustache, you push it forcefully into Soonyoung’s chest. It sticks for a brief moment before falling to the ground. “I’m keeping the glasses as commission,” You snarl, yanking them off your head and stuffing them into your robe pockets.

“What happened?” Soonyoung still looks bewildered. “What's going on? 

“My luck. My wonderful luck is what happened.” You curl your fingers into fists before releasing them along with a deep breath.  

Soonyoung still looks perplexed. “Did you find-”

“Oh, I found him all right.” You mutter, fluffing up your robes. “Whatever, it doesn't matter.” You clear your throat. “You promised me anything from Honeydukes and it’s time for you to cough it up, buttercup.” 

You start walking towards the sweet shop as Soonyoung stomps behind you, grumbling something about you eating him out of house and home. 

Honeydukes was your second favourite place in the world (your precious dark room being the first). The air smells sickly sweet as you walk in, a mix of baked goods, chocolates, and sugary goodness. You grab a basket by the door and begin perusing the aisles. Soonyoung needed to pop over into another shop, leaving his coin bag with you.

Soon enough, you've filled up your basket. You were currently contemplating whether to stick the Fizzing Whizbees you’d grabbed for Soonyoung on top of the basket, and risk crushing the pumpkin pasties, or just hold the box under your other arm. You decide on the latter, but the basket still ends up being heavier than you’d expected. 

Maybe you’d gone a little overboard with the extra box of sugar mice and maybe the third box of licorice wands was unnecessary, but when Soonyoung was indebted to you like this, you couldn’t help but take advantage

You hold the Fizzing Whizzbees under one arm, groaning as your other arm trembles under the weight of the basket.

“Need some help with that?” says an all too familiar voice from behind you. You nearly drop the basket on your foot.  

This couldn’t be happening to you. Not again. Not so soon.

Familiar russet robes flash in the corner of your eye and Seungcheol’s before you, grabbing the heavy basket out of your arms like it was a cloud. You trail behind him like a lost puppy as he leads the two of you into line.

Seungcheol lifts the basket up and down like a dumbell. “What’s in this anyways? The whole store?”

You hold the Fizzing Whizbees box closer to your chest like an emotional support item before shaking your head. “Just restocking. Hosh–Soonyoung owes me. Some pumpkin pasties, licorice wands–" you start listing off, counting on your fingers, "–chocolate frogs,  jelly slugs, exploding bonbons, sugar mice–oh bludgers, I meant to grab sugar quills!” You look behind you, forlorn. 

There were quite a few late nights coming up for you this week and you weren’t sure how you were going to get through them without your favourite sugar quills. 

“Did you want to go grab some?” Seungcheol asks, eyes following yours to the back of the store. “I’ll hold your spot in line.” 

"No, it's alright," You say dejectedly, tightening your hold around the whizbees. “This is probably more sugar than I should be allowed anyways.” Seungcheol nods, nudging his glasses up with his knuckle. 

The two of you finally make it up to the front counter where he sets the basket down. As the cashier starts to take items out to bag, you dig your hands in your pockets to fish out Soonyoung's coin pouch.

Seungcheol chats with the cashier while they finish bagging your items into two bags. You don’t follow their conversation as you search through Soonyoung’s coin bag for some galleons, catching only mentions of Quidditch and Gryffindor. As soon as you pay, Seungcheol grabs both bags.

“Oh you don’t have to–” You try taking the bags back from him, but he holds them away from your hands.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue at you, “Now, what kind of Head Boy would I be if I made you carry this all the way back to school?”

You frown, “It wouldn’t be all the way to school. I’m meeting Soonyoung at the Three Broomsticks.”

“Even better, that’s where I’m headed anyways.” Seungcheol starts down the road without waiting for your response, leaving you to jog behind to catch up. 

Inside, the inn’s warm and toasty, a fire burning in the corner. Seats were already filling up with students finishing up their day. Seungcheol finds you an empty booth in the corner for you to wait in for Soonyoung. He puts the bags on one side, motioning you to slide into the other.

“Thanks again Seungcheol. You really didn’t have to–”

Seungcheol chuckles softly, adjusting his glasses, “It was my pleasure.”  He sticks his hands in his robe pockets, lightly rocking back and forth on his feet. For a moment, it seemed as though he looked shy. “I hope you enjoy your sweets, I’ll see you ‘round.” And with that, he left to go join his friends, seated on the other side of the inn.

By the time Soonyoung comes strolling in, you’ve already downed two hot chocolates. Now sipping on a third, you’re fiddling with your camera to pass the time. Trailing behind Soonyoung was Raveena, sporting a bright blue beanie and her usual coke bottle glasses. 

“Kneazles, what’ve you got in here Wallflower? The entire shop?” Sooyoung takes your sweets haul and sets them under the table so he and Raveena can slide into the booth.

You sip the last of your hot chocolate, before reaching into your pockets and tossing him his coin bag, “You said anything, and I took you for your word.” 

Soonyoung catches his coin bag with a gasp, “It’s so light, I’ve been swindled!”

“Hoshi here tells me you two almost caught–” Raveena looks shifty-eyed across the inn before lowering her voice, “–Seungcheol, with his girlfriend this morning.”

You give Soonyoung a pointed look, “He told you wrong. We’re about as close to getting a photo as catching a pixie in a knapsack.”

The three of you glance over across the room to where Seungcheol sits with his friends. He has an arm slung over Jeonghan's shoulders as the two of them were open-mouth laughing at something. 

You’re filled to the brim with a fourth warm hot chocolate when you excuse yourself to grab another drink. “You two want anything?” They both shake their heads.

As Madam Rosemerta finishes up with another customer, you feel someone come up next to you at the bar.

"Fancy seeing you here,” drawls a familiar deep voice.

You turn to see Seungcheol sliding up to you at the bar. He’d shed the robes and was wearing a green Holyhead Harpies hoodie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

You squint up at him, “Do I know you?” 

He drops his mouth open in fake aghast, glasses sliding down his nose. “Have the last seven years meant nothing?” he says, holding a hand up to his heart as if you’d shot an arrow at it. 

You stifle a giggle behind your hand and a cheery smile spreads on Seungcheol's face. 

Madam Rosemerta swishes past, juggling multiple empty goblets, “I’ll be with you two in just a mo’!”

“Not a problem Rosie!” Seungcheol calls out. He leans back against the bar, elbows resting on top and showing off his sturdy forearms. 

You cast your eyes elsewhere, wondering if Seungcheol was aware of just how attractive he was. No longer was he the bumbling little first year you'd met seven years ago. After all, there's a reason a photo of him with a rumoured beau would be the scoop of the paper. 

You glance as he adjusts his glasses and runs a hand through his hair. 

“How're the first weeks of classes going for you by the way?” he asks, crossing his arms. Ever the Head Boy. 

“It’s N.E.W.T.s year, obviously you know how it is.” You sigh dejectedly, “I haven’t even outlined that massive defense essay.”

“Oh yeah. I mean, three feet? On Unforgivable curses?" he says, sounding exasperated. “As if we don’t have eleven other classes to do work for.”

“That’s what I said!” Very few students take all 12 N.E.W.T.s. There are four in your graduating class. At least, used to be four. You’d almost forgotten about Jake Sim dropping out of Arithmancy this week, making it three: Yourself, Seungcheol, and Mythili, the Head Girl.

The conversation settles back into a comfortable silence.

Madam Rosemerta comes up to the bar, “Alright dears, what can I get you two?” 

“Can I get a round of warm butterbeers for the table? And whatever the lady wants," He tips his head at you. 

You already had so much hot chocolate, now you wanted something different. And cold. “I want something colder but I’m not really feeling butterbeer?" 

“I know just what you need," There’s a glint in Seungcheol’s eyes. "Get 'er one of my usuals, please.” 

“Of course! Let me know where you’re sitting dear and Lysander will bring it over to you” She gestures at the silver-haired barback behind her.

Seungcheol throws a couple of sickles down on the bar, “Thanks Rosie, these are for hers too.”

“What? No, Seungcheol–” you stutter, but he just shoots you a cheeky wink.

“Just make sure you enjoy it.”

You got back to your booth and not soon after, Lysander comes by with the reddest drink you’d ever seen. “Cherry soda?” You raise a shy hand and he sets it in front of you “Anything else I can get for you?”

“I think we’re good here. Thank you!” 

The drink came in a glass goblet with a small paper umbrella sticking out on top. You take a sip, humming with a shiver. The ice felt good, and it was just the right amount of sweet versus tart.

“No hot chocolate, Wallflower?” Hoshi says, chewing on a fizzing whizbee. 

“I just wanted to try something new.” You say, taking another sip. “Seungcheol recommended it.” 

Raveena perks up, “Did he now.” She leans forward in her seat. “He’s not onto you, right? He wasn’t asking about why you lot were stalking him?”

“Following, Raveena!” Soonyoung exclaims. “We were following him, not stalking.” 

Raveena scrunches her face, “Mm, yeah, that’s not really any better Hoshi.”

“Fine, we happened to be in Hogsmeade, in the same shop, at the same time as him.” Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “As was like, half the school. So really, we were doing nothing weird.”

It seemed Soonyoung wasn’t done there though, turning to face Raveena. “And you know what, I don’t like what you’re insinuating Pudding. Not very team player of you.”

“Ooh, someone’s a little touchy about this. You’re awfully defensive Hosh. One would even say you’re project–”

“Enough you two. You–,” you point at Hoshi, “it was stalking. We were stalking him. What we do is honestly kind of creepy. We should really be called The Creepy Whistler. And you–,” you point to Raveena, “Don’t egg him on. We both know I’m the one who won’t hear the end of it.” 

You pick up the paper umbrella, twirling it in your fingers. “He was just asking me about classes. We’re both taking the same N.E.W.T.s after all.”

“Good, that’s good,” Raveena says. “He’s not onto us. Means he’ll put his guard down, eventually. We’ll get our moment.” Soonyoung pops another whizbee in his mouth, nodding along.

“I know today was a bust. But, I have something that might cheer you up.”

You were back at Hogwarts, sharing a table at the library with Soonyoung, who had promised you he’d help with your essay for DADA.

He digs into his bag, coming out with a can of something.

Upon closer look, you nearly shriek, "You did not!"

"I did!"

 You grab the canister, "You did not!"

"I did!" He says gleefully. Someone two tables over shushes you guys.

You turn the canister over in your hand, eyeing the back excitedly. It’s lime green with black text made to look like it was sprayed on. The text reads Glow Ho! Camera Flow and attached to the side, a small cylinder of film.

"This has been sold out everywhere." Not to mention expensive. But if anyone could afford it, it would be Soonyoung. One of the many perks of being the heir to  Madame Kwon’s Publishing Company. They publish most of the textbooks used at Hogwarts, not to mention the international best-selling series, Madame Kwon’s Magical Adventures. 

"How did you manage to get your hands on one?" You narrow your eyes at him. “Hoshi, why did you get me this?”

"You've been putting a lot of work into the Whistler, on top of having way more N.E.W.T.s to study for than me." He continues when you don't seem convinced. "And I know you've been barely sleeping, following Seungcheol around–"

"But that’s what the Honeydukes was for." You set the canister down on the table, pushing it away from you. "What is it that you really want?"

"Look,” Ah, there it was, “I know we're both super busy, but I wouldn't ask if I wasn’t desperate.”

"Just spit it out. What. Do. You. Want?"

He sighs, "You know how I take photos for the Quidditch teams?" Of course you do. You were the one who taught him how to work a camera specifically for sports shots. Something you did so you wouldn’t be tasked to do so.

"Yeah? What about it?" you say, not liking where this was heading.

"Could you take over for me for the next few weeks?" You groan as he goes on. "Both the gobstones club and the chess club increased their meetings and between that, N.E.W.T.s, the Whistler, not to mention the ten million apprentice applications I have to do, I just don’t have the time. Oh please, Wallflower? Please, please, pleaseeee," he pleads. 

You wince and try to stop him as he starts vibrating in his seat. "Merlin, okay, fine. So what, just take some photos at their games?" Hoshi grimaces. "No, no, no! No more!” you hiss. “What else could I possibly do for you?" He was already asking for so much.

Yet somehow,  you end up on the grassy quidditch pitch at dawn the next day. 

It is cold, it's wet, and it is foggy as hell. You could not fathom why on earth the Ravenclaws were practicing at this ungodly hour. The morning fog mists on your cheeks like small pinpricks.

"How did they turn out?" asks Olivia Prewett, a tall, broad gal who is Ravenclaw’s team captain and sole keeper.

You pop the film out of your camera, sticking it in its temp-controlled tube. "I think they should be good. I'll let you know when I figure out my schedule to do the team photos." You stick the tube into your bag before popping another roll of film into the camera.

"Sounds good, just keep me posted." She gives you a faint smile before turning to look at the hubbub across the field. "Looks like Gryffindor's taking over next, you gonna be good?"

You nod, body shivering as a gust of wind blows through. On the other side of the field, the Gryffindor team was starting to set up for their practice as the Ravenclaws cleared out. 

Seokmin Lee runs by, yelling, "Prewett, Prewett, let's do itttt!" He shoots finger guns at Olivia as a boy behind him struggles to carry both their brooms, nearly slipping a few times on the muddy pitch, "Aw Boo, don't get my broom muddy man."

Seungcheol jogs up to the two of you. “Prewett,” he nods.

Olivia nods back, “Choi.” She turns back to face you, "Make them look bad for me, will you?" You smile back, nodding.

"Alright?" Seungcheol's wearing the same green Holyhead Harpies hoodie from yesterday.

"H-hi Seungcheol," You say, teeth chattering. The thin jumper you had on does nothing for the windchill and you rub your arms trying to warm up.

"You seem a little cold there." Seungcheol looks you up and down as you tremble a little.

"I-I'm f-fi–," You clear your throat before trying again, "I'm f-fine."

Seungcheol pulls his hoodie off over his head, mussing up his hair, before holding it out to you, shaking it when you don’t move to grab it.

You tentatively take it from him. The sleeves fall further past your own arms and you have to scrunch them up by your elbows so you can hold your camera.

Practice goes by pretty quickly, and by the time Seungcheol lands in front of you again, hopping off his broom, you almost forget you can no longer feel your fingers. 

“Got what you needed?” 

“Yup, this should do it,” you say, popping the film into another temp-controlled canister. “I'll let you know when me or Soonyoung are free to do the team photos.” 

You grab the bottom of Seungcheol's hoodie, intending to pull it off, when he stops you, putting his hands on yours. 

You flinch, taking a step back and Seungcheol yanks his hand back, like he touched fire. He rubs the back of his neck abashedly, “You, uh, you can keep it.” His cheeks were rosy, from the cold, or something else, you weren't sure. “It's not warming up anytime soon, you'll need it if you're photographing the ‘Puffs” 

“Oh.” You grip the edges of the hoodie, fingers clenching at the soft fabric. “Um, thank you?” 

Seungcheol throws you a sheepish grin, before turning around and running to join the rest of his team. 

When you wake up the next morning, you feel tired and groggy, shoulders aching a little. 

Seungcheol's hoodie sits washed and folded neatly on your bedside table. You eye it apprehensively as you get ready for class, deciding to shove it down into the bottom of your book bag on your way out the door. 

You meet Soonyoung down in the dungeons. He’s leaning against the wall, at the end of the queue of students waiting to be let into your double potions class. 

“Morning Hosh,” you stifle a yawn behind your hand.

“Morning Wallflower. Didn't think you were going to make it.” He says, pushing off of the wall and handing you a small thermos. A strong scent of Nocturna Brewery’s coffee wafts through the air. “Missed you at breakfast this morning.”

“Was up all night finishing that defense essay.” You take a sip from the thermos, humming as the bitter taste zings through you, waking you up a little. “You didn’t think I’d leave you stranded in potions without me, did you?” It was your strongest subject, the only N.E.W.T.s Soonyoung was taking where he’d barely scraped by. 

As the classroom opens up and students file in, you and Soonyoung try to find an empty table, heading into the back of the room. You ignore Seungcheol and his friends as you pass by them in the front row, the green hoodie weighing heavily in the bottom of your bag. 

The two of you squeeze into a table along with Tabitha Heathcote, a Gryffindor girl with a strong aversion to you, and her friend. Mary? Minnie? 

There’s a small tussle as Soonyoung tries to set his bag on the table where Tabtiha’s got her elbows spread wide out, one that Soonyoung eventually wins. Tabitha scoots over with a grunt, disgust never once leaving her face.

Tabitha has never liked you, especially since the incident in your fourth year. While being in different houses helped you avoid her a good amount of the time, being the same year meant you were forced to see her in class on the daily. There wasn’t a moment she was around that she wouldn’t make clear how much she absolutely abhorred you. 

You get settled, pulling out your books and setting up your cauldron and scales. Already on the board is today’s potion assignment and it doesn’t take long before you two get started making it. 

“I know you said not to bring it up anymore–,” Soonyoung starts.

“Soonyoung, if you don't want me to stick your head in this cauldron, I suggest you don't finish that sentence.” The cauldron in front of you bubbles in agreement as you pour crushed red beetles in.

Soonyoung throws his hands up in defence, “No need to get violent, Wallflower.” He leans sideways against the table, "I just think we should review what we have, to make sure we've followed every thread and haven't missed anything."

You sigh, cracking your neck. “Hoshi, unless Seungcheol’s secret partner is Jeonghan, Joshua, or that sixth year that's always with them, then I haven't missed anything. I was on his ass for days. If he was meeting someone in secret, there's no way I wouldn't have caught it.”

He paused to think before asking, “What about Mythili?”

“Mahendran?” 

“You had a lot of photos of him talking to her.”

“Of course I did,” you say, irritated. “She's Head Girl, you dolt. I'd be worried if he wasn't talking to her.”

“See!” Hoshi points accusingly, “It’s the perfect cover for secret dating."

“Yeah, it would be,” You crush a sopophorous bean dangerously close to Soonyoung's fingers and he yelps, pulling his hand away, “If only she didn't have that on again, off again thing with that sixth year, Seokmin.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Soonyoung leaves for a moment to go grab more crushed beetles as you stir your potion absent-mindedly. Your eyes wander to Seungcheol, sitting two rows ahead, in his own bubble of a world with his friends. 

Joshua’s lounging in the chair next to him, as Jeonghan dangles dead flobberworms out of his nose, pretending they were bogies. Seungcheol is the only one diligently stirring his potion. 

Soonyoung comes back with a small vial of crushed beetles, shaking it in front of your face. 

You pour it in, stirring counterclockwise as the potion turns a pretty lavender hue.

“Did you get any photos of him when we were in Hogsmeade?”

Your mind flashes back to the accident inside Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. You shake your head, huffing, “No, nothing.” 

Soonyoung purses his lips, “Was there no one who he seemed to spend more time with?”

You sigh, exasperated now, “Hoshi, unless Seungcheol is dating me, there was no one else.” 

There’s a loud scoff from the other side of Hoshi. Tabitha’s stirring her potion, a look of disgust still on her face. “As if anyone would think you were dating Seungcheol,” she sneers.

Soonyoung and you share a look, silently electing to ignore her. But Tabitha seemed to have other plans today.

“After all, why would Seungcheol want to date someone like you?” Your fingers tighten around the ladle as you continue stirring. Two stirs clockwise, five stirs counter-clockwise.  

“You're not much to look at–,” You don’t want anyone to look at you. And certainly not Seungcheol for that matter.

Tabitha continues, “–you have no friends except for that half-wit,” waving a hand at Soonyoung. He puffs up, ready to send a fiery retort back. You shake your head with a small don’t, and he deflates. 

“–not to mention, I don't think he'd want damaged goods." You freeze, ladle paused on your fourth and a half counterclockwise stir. 

Soonyoung sucks in a breath, and Tabitha’s friend gasps. There’s a buzzing in your ears as your mind goes blank.

They say hindsight's 20-20. You’ll look back on this not being your brightest moment, nor your proudest. 

"And what if I was?"

"What?" asks Tabitha, confused. 

"And what if I was?" you grit out again. Your ladle’s been abandoned in its cauldron. Hands on your hips, you fully face Tabitha. 

Tabitha lets out a laugh as if she can’t believe you, “Was what?”

"Dating Seungcheol" You sound petulant, like a child not getting what they wanted, but you don’t care. A myriad of hexes danced on the tip of your tongue. You don’t even remember picking up your wand. Soonyoung watches, mouth agape and head turning quickly between you two like he’s spectating a quidditch match. 

"Fat chance." Tabitha spits out, voice laced with venom.

"Well, I am," you snap. At this point, you have some forethought to whisper,  hissing quietly, "I’m Seungcheol's girlfriend."

Soonyoung, however, did not receive the memo, losing all sense of decorum. He shrieks, louder than Moaning Myrtle, his voice echoing through the classroom, ricocheting off the walls, "You're dating Seungcheol?"

Time stops for a moment as a blanket of silence falls over the classroom. All the students stopped talking, and all you can hear is the quiet bubbling of the cauldrons. 

Then there’s an uproar as chattering breaks out amongst the students.

Your eyes widen at the realisation of what you'd just said, whipping past Soonyoungs to connect with two equally wide dark brown ones at the front of the classroom.

Soonyoungs hands fly to cover his mouth, having surprised even himself. 

He goes to shove your shoulder lightly, as if to ask mate, what the fuck?, and you lose your balance, knocking into the table. 

It happens faster than either of you two could react. 

The cauldron wobbles before tipping over and spilling itself all over the table and onto your arm.

You yelp as the lavender potion bubbles over your robe sleeves, seeping through the fabric and onto your skin. Squeezing your eyes, you cry out. The pain’s searing as the unfinished potion burns through the top layer of your skin. 

Soonyoung starts panicking. "Augmenti! Augmenti!" he wails, but the water spurts out of his wand in all directions but onto you. Tears gather in your eyes as you start to see white, and you can feel your head beginning to pound as the pain takes over. 

Suddenly, someone is guiding you. Two firm hands lead you around the table and out of the classroom, one on your back, and the other helping to hold your arm up. You let yourself be blindly led down the corridor as tears stream down your face, letting out sobs as the pain in your arm increases.

Your unknown saviour gently pushes you along, all the way to the infirmary. 

They sit you down on what you assume is one of the hospital beds as Madam Pomfrey rushes over, immediately fussing over your injury. She conjures up a salve for the burn and forces a tonic down your throat for the pain, or your nerves, you weren’t sure. 

Soon after, the pain starts to dull and the tears begin to slow. You hiccup from the crying, slowly rocking in your seat.

Feeling better, you turn to thank your classmate, who you were clearly traumatising and would probably never be able to face ever again, only to be met with the worried doe eyes of Seungcheol Choi. You don’t know why, but it makes you crumble and your eyes start to well with tears again, lower lip trembling intensely and threatening to let out a low pitched wail.

Seungcheol falters. "Hey, hey, it's okay, you're okay," he reassures you with the softest voice you'd ever heard him use. "Does it still hurt? I can go get more salve from Madam Promferey." He made to get up, but you shook your head vigorously, not wanting an audience for what was seemingly going to be your downfall. 

He seems to hesitate for a moment before asking, carefully, "Is it maybe what Soonyoung was yelling about? Before the accident?" This only sets off your waterworks once more, and you start blubbering.

"I don't know why, o-or how. It just came out. I swear, I didn't mean–oh merlin, if I could take it back–don't know what I was thinking–" You start to hyperventilate, your chest heaving up and down, breathing becoming ragged.

"Hey! Hey, it's alright," He was rubbing your back now, in a soothingly slow up-and-down motion. You'd almost forgotten his hand was even there. "I'm not mad. I promise I'm not mad."

Seungcheol was too nice. Much too kind. It only made you cry harder though. What were you thinking?! Telling Tabitha you were dating Seungcheol. Where did that even come from? If you weren't absolutely positive Seungcheol was not currently dating anyone, you'd feel doubly dreadful about what you'd done.

Rumours spread like wildfire in this godforsaken school. 

You hear the class bell go off and your stomach drops. There was no stopping it now. Your classmates would move on to their next class, and a few minutes of passing time would be all it takes for everyone else to find out what had happened. You know Seungcheol knows this, yet here he was, still being so sweet to you. 

Maybe it’s because he knew. Knew that when you'd eventually have to reveal the truth, you wouldn’t be able to even lift your head at this school for the rest of the year. 

Your lower lip still trembles, but you’d reduced your blubbering to just quiet sniffles now. You take this moment to glance at Seungcheol, who’s still rubbing softly at your back. It was surprisingly soothing. Any other time, it would've made you flinch, moving as far away from him as possible. Worry fills Seungcheol's big brown eyes, his eyebrows intensely furrowed.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. Seungcheol begins to pat softly at your back, like he’s calming a baby, and he pauses for a moment. 

"Hmm, what’s that?" 

You cast your eyes away before saying with a hiccup, "I-I'm sorry." You use your good arm to wipe away at your runny nose and your tear-streaked face.

He hums, thumb softly stroking you. 

"What if–," Seungcheol takes a deep breath, as if what he was about to say was the most important thing you'd ever hear. 

“What if,” He starts again, ”I had a mutually beneficial proposition?"

You whip your head to face him, furrowing your brows in confusion. 

Seungcheol takes another deep breath, as if bracing himself. "Look, you're a reasonable girl, I'm a reasonable guy. You look like maybe you need some downtime from the Whistler, and I would love it if my, ah . . . admirers, would get off my back for two seconds so I could focus on what really matters."

"What really matters?" You shake your head in disbelief, eyes widening, "And how do you know about–"

"Quidditch," Seungcheol cuts you off, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Also, you and Soonyoung are not nearly as subtle or discreet as you guys think you are," he says with a small knowing smile. A faint dimple creases his cheek. 

He runs his free hand through his hair, "Look, I need to focus on school this year, you understand that better than anyone." You did, 12 N.E.W.T.s were no joke.

The only problem is, Seungcheol is starting to sound a lot like Soonyoung before one of his schemey schemes. 

You narrow your eyes at Seunghceol, the same way you would if you were with Soonyoung, "What exactly is this proposition of yours?"

Seungcheol clears his throat before revealing his earth-shattering proposition.

"Let's date."

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