#and ill write down how-to-do instructions for every one of them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

criticallyacclaimedstranger · 9 months ago

Text

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada or Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Duh, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfic #my fic

255 notes · View notes

starlightkun · 1 year ago

Text

➠ word count: 13.5k ➠ warnings: scenes of a child crying if you don’t want to read that (nightmares and stuff), also people are called mommy/daddy in this so if you can’t be normal abt that please skip this one ➠ genre: fluff, angst? but like around them in terms of life not within their relationship, established relationship, parents sungchan/reader, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), part of the buzzer beater series (after freezing the puck, or if you’ve only read buzzer beater & 27jsc, this should still make sense!) ➠ extra info: the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ author’s note: i can’t believe we’re finally done omg. i miss them so much already 🤧 thank you so much to everybody who has followed along with this series! i wasn’t expecting this to be a whole series, nor for so many people to like this fic that i started when i was feeling super frustrated with my migraines. it was definitely something that was super personal and specific to me that i was blown away by how many of y’all liked it and told me you related. so thank you, again!! ➠ series masterlist

“Really? You’re reading Breton lais to our child?” Sungchan’s teasing whisper was barely audible. “He’s going to start school saying stuff like nary and furthermore.”

“Says the man who knew I was reading a Breton lai,” you shot back just as quietly.

“Binnie, are you ready to go see Daddy?” You asked your son excitedly as you unbuckled his seatbelt, helping him out of the backseat and onto the parking lot pavement.

“Yeah!” He yelled out, the small sound echoing impressively in the open area. The five-year-old ran ecstatic circles around you as you walked calmly towards the university’s ice rink. “Mommy, am I skating with Daddy today?”

“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him nicely after he’s done working,” you informed Woobin as he skidded to a half-skip half-walk next to you, grabbing your gloved hand with his.

Walking into the hockey rink that you knew like the back of your own hand at this point, you saw the Raptors still practicing, and guided your son into the bleachers so you two could watch. Woobin climbed up on the seat next to you, standing on it so he could actually see, and you offered a hand for him to keep himself balanced. He used it until he felt stable, then pushed it away insistently. A few of the players waved at you two, and you both waved back, your son as enthusiastic as ever when he got noticed, waving practically with his entire little body.

Sungchan was on the ice, directing two players with his back to you, and as he skated backward away from them for them to line up and continue practicing, he happened to glance over his shoulder and in your direction. You raised a casual hand in greeting, and he waved back. Woobin sent him a zealous, flying kiss with his whole arm, and Sungchan visibly laughed and immediately went to do it back. After the two players that he’d been instructing had presumably corrected the issue, your husband gave them both pats on the shoulder before skating over your way.

Woobin screamed out a “Hi Daddy!” so loud you were sure the entire campus could hear him, and every head on the ice turned around to look. You burst into laughter, rubbing his back fondly at his enthusiasm, and Sungchan covered his face as he chortled as well.

A few minutes later and Coach called practice, the players slowly starting to filter off the ice and into the locker room. You guided Woobin down through the bleachers towards the gate, where Sungchan was waiting for the two of you.

Your husband had already opened the gate to the ice, standing on the flooring just off it, where you and your son were walking. Woobin flung himself at his legs at full-speed, and Sungchan easily picked him up, beaming as he kissed his forehead.

“Hey, buddy!” Sungchan grinned, readjusting your son’s beanie.

“Hi, Daddy!” He chirped back, bouncing in his arms.

“Hi, hon,” he kissed your cheek, and you gave his a quick peck in greeting as well.

“Hey, Channie.” You slipped your arm around his back in a one-armed hug. “Little dude wants to ask you something.”

“Oh really?” Sungchan focused his inquisitive eyebrow raise at your son.

“Can I skate with you? Please? Pretty please? Pretty pretty please?” Woobin immediately put on his best pout and puppy dog eyes, a display that always made you wonder how he wasn’t genetically Sungchan’s. The two of you had agreed some time ago that with your chronic migraines having a genetic component, you didn’t want to risk passing it down, and had looked into fostering initially. Woobin was your first placement at just a few days old, and he never left, the adoption going through right before his second birthday.

“Mr. Coach ended practice early, so we do have a few minutes,” your husband qualified his acquiescence.

“Yay!”

“You joining us, hon?”

“Sure.”

After fetching yours and your son’s skates from his office, Sungchan helped Woobin put his on, then double checked yours as always. Having married a former collegiate hockey player turned collegiate hockey coach, you’d gotten proficient enough at lacing up your own skates, but he wanted be sure every time that you weren’t going to twist your ankle, or have them come untied, or something else unfortunate.

Coach was still on the ice with the current goalie and center on one end, so you and your family kept to the other side. Woobin squealed and yipped with delight as Sungchan half-carried and half-pulled him around on the ice, you trailing behind with a fond smile on your lips as you watched on.

“Mr. Coach!” Woobin suddenly called to the other end of the rink.

“Oh, Binnie, Mr. Coach is working right now,” Sungchan tried to divert him. “We should leave him alone for now, buddy.”

“What was that, champ?” Coach’s gruff voice responded, the older man starting in your direction.

Woobin was absolutely thrilled to have his attention now, trying to pull Sungchan that way. “Mr. Coach! Mr. Coach!”

“I’m right here, kiddo,” he smoothly stopped right in front of your son. “I’m old but I’m not deaf yet. What do you want to tell me?”

“Mommy signed me up for my own hockey team today!” Woobin told him proudly. “Are you gonna be my coach too?”

“I don’t coach every hockey team in the world, you know.”

Woobin looked down at his skates dejectedly, as if he hadn’t considered this possibility before now.

“But… I did let your dad talk me into being his assistant coach for a certain little league team this season. Was that yours?” Coach asked teasingly, making the boy let out a loud gasp of realization.

“Was it, Daddy? Was it?” He looked up at your husband with wide eyes.

“Maybe…” Sungchan replied with a sly grin.

Woobin rounded on you, buzzing with excitement. “Did you hear that, Mommy? Mr. Coach is gonna be my coach!”

“I heard, buddy. Just like he was your Daddy’s coach,” you chuckled. Looking up at the older man, you added, “How does that make you feel, Coach? Teaching multiple generations?”

“Like my back is going to give out any day now,” he groaned and grabbed his lumbar. “Don’t remind me, Y/N, please.”

You laughed, making a motion of zipping up your lips and throwing away the key.

“Anyway, let me finish up with these two,” he gestured to the two Raptors still milling about on the other end of the ice. “Are you locking up, Jung?”

“Not today, got some errands to run before buddy’s naptime,” Sungchan explained.

“I’m five, I don’t need a nap anymore!” Woobin insisted.

“Hey, champ, look at me,” Coach requested, and waited until he had his attention before continuing. “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, like a hundred?”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, grabbing Sungchan’s arm for support as he at least had the decency to cover his mouth to hide his chuckles.

Coach nodded, not breaking eye contact with your son. “Exactly. I’m like a hundred, and I still take naps.”

“Really?”

“Really. You need them to make sure your brain—” he poked the boy’s forehead “—and your body—” he poked his belly, making him giggle “—are at their best. Especially a growing kid like you.”

“So why do you need them? If you’re not a kid anymore?”

“I’m saying you need them extra because you’re a kid. Grown-ups need them sometimes too.”

He pouted thoughtfully for a moment, then pointed up at you. “Mommy takes naps when she has a migraine. That’s when her head hurts really, really bad.”

“There you go. Told you they weren’t just for kids.” Coach stood up straight, cracking his back with a satisfied groan. “I’ll see you all later, okay?”

“Bye, Mr. Coach!” Woobin waved enthusiastically.

“See you Monday, Coach,” Sungchan nodded to him.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him, and he shot you a wink over his shoulder before skating back over to his players, his voice immediately souring as he started barking out orders again.

With the excitement of his upcoming little league team on his mind, your son insisted on having Sungchan show him moves and maneuvers today. You were of course the default practice dummy both for Sungchan to demonstrate, and your son to practice. Which only worked so well since none of you had sticks or a puck or gear of any kind except for your skates, but Woobin was having fun, so you were happy.

Coach eventually finished with the guys at the other end, and as you saw him start off the ice first, you called out to him, “Done for the day, Coach?”

He turned back to you. “I wish! Got some paperwork to finish up in the office! If somebody’s bleeding—call 911, not me!”

You laughed, giving him a final wave as he headed off. About to turn to your family to suggest that you leave to do your errands as well, you spotted the two Raptors players still loitering by the goal, no longer practicing, and yet still not rushing to leave.

“You boys need something?” You asked them knowingly.

“Well, if it’s alright with you, Professor…” the goalie, who had been in your Intro to Literary Theory and Criticism class last spring, began.

“We were wondering if we could see if we could skate with the MVP too?” The center finished hopefully.

“Just for a little! We heard you telling Coach you guys had errands to run before his naptime!” His friend rushed to add.

Woobin’s focus had already started waning on his impromptu lesson from his dad, and as you looked over, you could see Sungchan beginning to wind down on his instructing as he realized this. You checked the time on your phone, then looked back to the two college boys. “Sure, you can ask Binnie if he wants to skate.”

They erupted into celebratory hoots, chest-bumping before practically tossing aside their unnecessary equipment. Suddenly realizing themselves, they collected themselves and turned to you, bowing their heads politely. “Thank you, Professor.”

“You’re welcome, boys,” you replied with humor in your voice, watching as they took off, seemingly racing each other to Sungchan and Woobin.

You could hear bits of their conversation from where you were leaning against the wall halfway down the rink, and watched fondly as your son’s face lit up with enthusiasm, then the Raptors players started pulling him down the ice with them, his delighted laughter bouncing around the rink.

Sungchan leisurely skated over and stopped in front of you. With a great flourish, he bowed and offered his hand out to you. You laughed, placing your hand atop his, and he dropped a kiss to the back of your gloved fingers. He stood up straight again, pulling you off the wall with little resistance from you, before taking both your hands and beginning to skate backwards in front of you, guiding you along with him. Neither of you chose to mention the fact that you knew how to skate just fine, playing along with the fun of the moment as he easily took you around the rink that you were sure he could navigate with his eyes closed at this point.

“Oh, do we have dishwasher pods on the list?” You suddenly asked as soon as the thought popped into your mind.

“We put it on there last night when we loaded the dishwasher and saw that we were almost out,” he reassured you, not even breaking stride.

“Right, thanks.” You smiled, giving his hands a squeeze.

“I also put dish soap on there this morning, by the way.”

“I love you.”

He slowed the two of you down on the far side of the rink, letting go of one of your hands to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you closer. “I love you too, baby.”

After doing a few things out and about, the three of you headed home.

“Hey, buddy,” Sungchan called for your son’s attention, his hands occupied with groceries. “Do you want me or Mommy to help you get ready for your nap? Or are you going to try to do it yourself?”

“Mm…” He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Mommy!”

“Alright, help with the groceries then I’ll help you, Binnie,” you bargained, putting a bag down on the ground in his reach.

As Woobin dutifully put the bags of chips and boxes of gummies on the lower shelves of the pantry that he could reach, you and Sungchan quickly put away the rest of the groceries. When there was just cleaning and other household supplies left, your husband grabbed those and nodded towards your son.

“Go put buddy down, I’ve got this.”

“Thanks, Channie,” you pecked his cheek before turning to your child. “Lead the way!”

Woobin was able to get into his pajamas by himself, so you were really just there to tuck him in and kiss his forehead. You never bought into the “cry themselves out” mindset from the get-go, and to this day would sit with him until he fell asleep if he asked.

Except this time, he didn’t get into bed at all, standing next to the piece of furniture with you and staring at it like you were about to cliff dive instead of nap. He looked up at you, and you already saw his bottom lip quivering.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, Binnie, I’m right here, my sweet,” you promised, kneeling down in front of him so you were eye-to-eye. “What’s wrong?”

He threw his arms around your neck, taking quick, shallow breaths as he very bravely tried to communicate with you. “I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna…”

“Okay, I won’t make you right now,” you promised, rubbing his back. “Will you tell me what’s making you upset? Is it the nap? Going to sleep? Did you have a bad dream?”

But he had already devolved into incomprehensible sobs, and you bit your lip at the twinge in your chest. “Alright, sweet, how about we go to Mommy and Daddy’s room? Hm? And I’ll read you something. If you don’t want to nap, you don’t have to today, okay? Sound good?”

You could feel him nod into your shoulder, and that was all you needed to pick him up and settle him on your hip to carry him out of his room. As you passed by Sungchan putting away new bottles of dish soap and dishwasher pods under the sink, he gave you a concerned look. You mouthed a ‘later’ to him as you took your son across your house and into your room. As you passed by your bookshelf, you quickly selected a book, then sat down at the head of your bed, Woobin on your lap. Pulling your blanket up over you two, you let him get settled in and comfortable, still very much crying all the while.

Holding your book with one hand and resting the other on his back, you started reading. After a while, his sobs died down to hiccups, which petered out to just the occasional sniffle. But you could see that he was still awake, his eyes open and following your place as you read. Then, after a while longer, they started to slowly fall shut and his chin would tilt down, then he’d quickly open his eyes again and jerk his head up. Finally, he couldn’t fight the heaviness of his lids, and he fell asleep. You put your bookmark in where you were just before his eyes closed, but kept reading past that, just in case. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the door handle slowly turn, and your bedroom door inch open before Sungchan peered in.

Your husband pointed to the boy in your lap, then made a gesture of pretending to sleep on a pillow, lifting his eyebrows questioningly after. You nodded, still reading softly.

Sungchan slipped in the room, closing the door quietly behind him as well. Having come to a stopping place, you finally closed your book and set it aside on the one you already had on your nightstand.

“Really? You’re reading Breton lais to our child?” Sungchan’s teasing whisper was barely audible. “He’s going to start school saying stuff like nary and furthermore.”

“Says the man who knew I was reading a Breton lai,” you shot back just as quietly.

“Getting married to a lit professor, you pick up a few things.” He then looked down at Woobin. “What happened?”

You sighed and readjusted slightly to hold him tighter now that you had two free arms. “I don’t know. He couldn’t tell me. As soon as he had to get into bed for his nap he just… broke down.”

A deep frown cut across Sungchan’s face as he stroked your son’s hair, but he said nothing else. He left the room, and you heard him moving around throughout the house as you picked up the other book from your nightstand. Eventually, he meandered back in, sitting on his side of the bed and setting up his laptop to quietly work beside you as your son continued napping on your lap and you continued your book. In addition to doing research at the university and being the assistant coach for the hockey team, Sungchan had picked up teaching a couple of Intro to Biology for majors sections, and you could see him answering emails from his students out of the corner of your eye. You were rereading the material for the Direct Study you were leading next semester.

Eventually, Woobin slowly started stirring, grumbling, yawning, and rubbing at his eyes before burying his face back in your chest with a sigh. You stroked his back, attention still on your book. He turned over in your arms when he finally decided that he was awake, blinking his eyes open and staring off into the middle distance.

“Hey, Binnie, you awake?” Sungchan asked quietly.

He nodded slowly, stretching his arms up, and you had to duck your head out of the way to avoid getting smacked in the face by a stray hand.

“Sleep good?” Your husband kept talking to him.

He nodded again, letting out another adorable little yawn.

“Of course you did,” Sungchan chuckled, gently pinching the tip of his nose. “You got the best seat in the house right there, bud.”

Woobin made grabby hands at Sungchan, and he moved his laptop to the side to transfer him from your lap to his, pressing a kiss to his forehead once he was settled in against his chest.

“Uncle Chenle is going to be over soon,” you reminded your son of your plans for the night. “Are you excited?”

He perked up at this. “Yeah! He said he was gonna bring me back a souvenir!”

“He does love to spoil you,” Sungchan shook his head, ruffling the boy’s hair.

As Woobin busied himself with his toys in his room, the horrors of naptime all but forgotten, you and Sungchan were having a fervent, whispered conversation in your bedroom.

“Should we even go tonight?” You asked, pulling your outfit on.

“I know, I’m worried about bedtime…” Sungchan sighed, nevertheless assisting you with your zipper.

“Chenle’s really good with him, and you know how much he dotes on Woobin.” You paused in front of the mirror, smoothing out the wrinkles. You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or your husband at this point.

“I know, I don’t doubt how much he loves our kid, or how much buddy loves him,” he replied, fidgeting with his tie behind you. “I just… would hate to not be there.”

“Me too,” you replied quietly, turning around to fix his tie yourself. “I can practically feel the stress migraine coming on thinking about it.”

“Okay, well don’t do that, baby,” Sungchan insisted, resting his hands on your waist to pull you closer. “I mean, that didn’t happen at bedtime yesterday, did it?”

“No, it didn’t,” you agreed. “Or naptime yesterday…”

“Who’s to say it’ll happen at bedtime today?” He suggested. “Might’ve been a one-time thing. Or only for naps.”

“Right.” You breathed out, having finished with his tie, and now looked up at him questioningly. “So we’re going?”

“Seems like it.”

“We should still give Chenle a heads-up.”

“Of course.”

Chenle pulled up in his sleek luxury car soon after, and you made sure to greet him at the door while Sungchan helped Woobin put his toys up.

“Whew! Look at you!” Chenle whistled as he pulled back from hugging you, grabbing your hand and twirling you around. “MILF! MILF! MILF!”

You laughed, shaking him off. “Quiet! You’re a menace, I swear. You better be filtering around my child.”

“Of course, of course.” He held his hands up in surrender, and you saw that one held a gift bag. A rather large gift bag.

“And what did you bring him this time? Milan, was it?”

“A model of the Arco della Pace for us to build together, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” You shook your head fondly, but couldn’t stop the worry from overtaking your mood. “Chenle, I do have to tell you something.”

Your friend immediately matched your change in mood, furrowing his brow with concern. “Everything okay, Y/N?”

“When I was trying to put Binnie down for his nap today, he couldn’t get into his bed. He couldn’t tell me what was wrong, he just started crying and saying he didn’t want to. He had to take his nap in our room with the two of us. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I wanted to give you a heads up, in case it happens again at bedtime, since I know you always say he’s really good for you. If it does, just call and we’ll come right back, okay? Don’t feel bad at all, it’s not your fault.”

Chenle listened carefully and nodded thoughtfully as you explained the situation to him. “Okay, yeah. Are you two sure you even want to go? We can all have a really fun hangout with Uncle Chenle and then I can peace before bedtime if that’s what needs to happen tonight.”

You gnawed on your bottom lip, but ultimately shook your head. “We told Ten we were going to be there. I’d like to at least try to see him accept the award.”

“Of course.” Chenle patted his chest. “I won’t take it personally if he starts crying for Mommy at bedtime tonight.”

“When you put it like that I really don’t want to go.”

“Go,” he insisted. “We’ll be fine.”

“Uncle Chenle!” A delighted squeal came as your son ran in, wrapping himself around Chenle’s legs like a koala.

“Hey, Binnie!” Your friend beamed down at him, squeezing his cheeks in one hand. “How are you?”

“I’m good!” His words were a little garbled as Chenle smushed his face.

“Hey, Chenle,” Sungchan greeted him as well, patting him on the shoulder as he walked by to get to your side.

“Hey, Sungchan!”

“Are you ready to go, hon?” Your husband asked you as the other two started an enthusiastic guessing game of what Chenle brought Woobin back as a souvenir from Milan.

“Yeah.” You nodded. Raising your voice slightly to address the others, you announced, “Alright, guys, we’re heading out. Binnie, Daddy and I will be back after you’re asleep, okay?”

“Goodbye and goodnight!” He darted over as you and Sungchan knelt down to each give him a hug, and two more kisses—one for goodbye, and another for his goodnight kiss, since you wouldn’t be putting him to bed. Really, when you came home, you two always checked on him and gave him one last peck goodnight then, but he of course didn’t know that.

The award for Literary Theory Journal Editor of the Year had barely been placed in Ten’s hands when you saw Sungchan’s phone light up in his lap out of the corner of your eye. He squeezed your shoulder in a silent ‘be right back’ before standing from your table and quietly slipping out of the ballroom. You kept your eyes on Ten as he gave a short and charismatic acceptance speech, clapping when everyone else did, though you stayed keenly aware of the empty seat next to you. Your friend got his picture taken and shook lots of hands on his way back to your table, and your colleagues at your table all rose to greet him when he finally returned.

“Congrats, Ten,” you hugged him, your eyes straying over his shoulder to the door that Sungchan had left through.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he patted your back, pulling away still with a wide grin. “I saw Sungchan get up, is everything alright?”

You waved off his concerns for now. “Chenle probably set off the smoke alarm or something.”

Sungchan returned just a moment later, staving off his clearly concerned face for long enough to give Ten his congrats as well.

“You missed my hilarious acceptance speech, Sungchan,” Ten clicked his tongue in feigned disappointment.

“Damn, maybe next year.”

“Ooh, you think I’ll win next year too?”

“Why not?” Sungchan shrugged. “I don’t know how all the other editors could suddenly get better than you in a year.”

“Great point.”

The awards had continued, and everyone took their seats, though your focus was only on Sungchan and whatever that call was about. He leaned over to inform you quietly, “That was Chenle. SOS for buddy’s bedtime, sounds like the same as naptime.”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“I’ll get the car,” he murmured before giving your shoulder a fleeting touch and leaving your table.

You turned to Ten to give him a real reason behind your sudden departure. “Hey, that was Chenle, and Woobin is—”

“It’s all good,” your friend cut you off with a smile, patting your arm. “Go be good parents, you’ve already been good friends. Promise.”

“Thanks.” You could feel the relieved smile on your face. “Congrats again, Ten.”

After giving your hushed goodbyes to the rest of your colleagues, you hurried out of the ballroom. Sungchan didn’t complain about the anxious death grip you had on his hand the entire ride home, simply smoothing his thumb over your knuckles as the fingers of his other hand tapped out impatient rhythms on the steering wheel at every red light you got stuck at.

Finally, you arrived home, and you didn’t even have to go searching for Woobin and Chenle, as you were barely in your foyer and Sungchan hadn’t even had the chance to finish locking the front door behind him when a small form came running in, barreling into your legs. Chenle was a few steps behind your son, entering right after him. Woobin was blubbering and sobbing against you, beyond the point of any sort of intelligible speech. You sighed forlornly and rested a hand on his head, feeling your heart break as you looked down at him, not knowing how to help him.

Sungchan immediately took your purse from your other hand, rubbing your back briefly as he passed by. As he and Chenle went to talk in the living room, you hooked your hands under your son’s arms and heaved him up onto your hip, carrying him into your room with you. You maneuvered to support him with one arm so you could take off your shoes with the other hand, tossing them in the vague direction of your closet door. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you readjusted him so that he was sitting in your lap, crying into your neck, and you gently stroked the back of his head as he shook in your arms.

“I’m right here, Binnie. I’ve got you. Mommy’s right here,” you told him softly, a hard lump growing in your throat. “You’re okay, my sweet. You’re okay. I promise, I’ve got you.”

Eventually, you heard Chenle and Sungchan’s hushed voices pass by, then the front door open and close. A couple minutes later, there was a soft knocking at your bedroom door.

“Hey, that’s Daddy,” you informed Woobin. “Is it okay if he comes in and stays with us too?”

Woobin nodded from where his face was still hidden in your neck. His sobs hadn’t stopped, and at this rate, you were worried he was going to make himself throw up with how much he was crying and hiccupping.

“Come in,” you called out.

Sungchan had already discarded his suit jacket and tie elsewhere, you realized as he slipped into the room. A pained look quickly took over his features as his eyes immediately found the two of you. He set the no-spill cup he’d brought in with him—Woobin’s favorite cartoon characters printed all around the outside—down on your nightstand as he sat down next to you.

“Hey, buddy, it’s me,” Sungchan said quietly. “I brought some water; I thought your throat might be hurting a little.”

You son let out a couple sniffles, as if contemplating this for the first time.

Your husband continued, “Do you think you can sit with me and drink some water while Mommy changes into her jammies?”

“I won’t leave the room, sweet,” you assured him. “I’ll be right here with you and Daddy.”

In lieu of a verbal response, he nodded again and loosened the vice-like grip he’d had around your neck, letting you shift him over into his dad’s arms. Before you could go run and do the fastest change of your life, Sungchan grabbed your hand, pulling you around to look at him. As you gazed down at him, with Woobin bawling inconsolably in his lap, the two of you exchanged a brief, unspoken moment of uncertainty, unknowing, of knowing that neither of you knew what to do for your son. Your hand was shaking—or maybe that was his—as you clutched each other tightly for just a second.

Then you had to let go of him to rush to change, and Sungchan tried to gently coax Woobin into taking a sip of water. You could hear him coaching your son through taking just one little sip at a time and not chugging, or he’d make himself sick. You, meanwhile, were throwing clothes into the general vicinity of where they needed to go as you pulled on new ones. The nice material now had snot and spit all over them, you were sure they’d need to be dry-cleaned anyway, so you didn’t care about the wrinkles they’d garner from being crumpled up on the floor for the night. You then rushed through taking out your hair and brushing your teeth, keeping the en suite bathroom door open all the while.

Back over with your husband and son, you saw that the task of sipping water had forced his crying to slow down considerably, and you took a deep breath to not pass on your stress back to your child. The last thing you needed to do was get him going again just because you were so worried. He also had his favorite stuffed animal tucked under his other arm, the only one that had survived from his infancy to now, a deer plushie. You didn’t even remember seeing Sungchan bring that in with him, your brain was so scrambled.

“Here, Binnie, Mommy’s back. I feel left out, I’m not the only one not in my jammies,” Sungchan joked, which didn’t even earn a giggle from your child as it normally would’ve. “You want to go back to Mommy and I’ll get changed?”

Woobin nodded, and Sungchan let you get into a more comfortable position up by the headboard before depositing your son into your arms. You could at least see some of his face from the new angle of him sitting sideways in your lap, and it was of course red, puffy, and covered in tears. Sungchan must have already cleaned up some of his snot, as you spotted several discarded tissues on the nightstand.

“Did Puck come to make sure you were okay, too?” You asked quietly, gently tapping one of the plushie’s soft antlers. Puck the Buck, as he had been so brilliantly named some time ago.

Another nod and a sniffle.

“That was nice of him.” You stroked the deer’s head. “Thank you, Puck.”

Woobin patted the deer’s head, too, and as you watched more tears fall down his cheeks, you pressed a long kiss to his hair, silently apologizing for not knowing how to fix it all right now. Sungchan came back from the bathroom just a moment later, scooting onto the bed from the other side.

“Okay, Binnie. What do you think? Do you want to watch an episode of your show?” He suggested. “Or Mommy can finish reading you Bisclavret? Or…”

As he tried to think of other options, you gave him a bewildered look over your son’s head at the fact that he apparently knew which Breton lai you were reading earlier. That was something to address later, though.

Woobin shook his head, though.

“No?” Sungchan said questioningly. “No to what? Do you want Mommy to read?”

Head shake.

“Do you want to watch an episode of your show?”

Head nod.

And so you, Woobin, Puck, and Sungchan all settled in under your covers to watch an episode of his favorite cartoon. Except you and Sungchan didn’t have a TV in your bedroom, and both of your laptops were charging across the house in your home office, so you all had to scoot in close to be able to see it on the much smaller screen of Sungchan’s phone. Puck took up a considerable amount of space when crowding around a phone to watch something, and from your vantage point mostly behind your son and the plushie, you couldn’t see a thing past the deer head and antlers, but you didn’t really care about catching up on the children’s cartoon. You were much more preoccupied with listening for Woobin’s sniffles to cease, and watching as his breathing evened out. He was still awake after one episode, but quiet, calm, and Sungchan went ahead and played the next one.

You gently rubbed his back, smiling to yourself when you heard his first yawn of the night. When his second came before the five-minute mark, you knew he wouldn’t last the whole episode. And sure enough, he was out before the halfway point. Sungchan turned his phone off and set it aside. The two of you were curled up on either side of your son, with Sungchan facing him and you.

Your husband reached a hand up, and you thought he was going to stroke Woobin’s hair, but he kept going and gently wiped a thumb under your eye instead, at the fresh tears that had just brimmed there. You placed your hand over his, turning your head just enough to leave a kiss on his palm.

You woke up early in the morning with a stress migraine. When you shuffled into the kitchen to get a glass of water, the stove clock read 3:03. You quickly chugged your first glass of water, then refilled it to take back with you. Walking through to your bathroom, you retrieved your bottle of rescue medication from your drawer. This one was a muscle relaxer, so you didn’t see any point in keeping it in your purse, as you weren’t able to drive after taking it, which you typically needed to do when you were out and about. You knocked back a tablet before screwing the lid back on and putting it away again. After taking a few more sips of your water, you slipped back under the covers with your family.

Your head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, but you still blearily opened one eye to look at your son, watching as his chest rose and fell peacefully. He was on his back now, and you couldn’t help but lay a hand on his front, feeling his even breaths under your palm. Sungchan’s foot tapped yours under the blanket briefly as he readjusted in his sleep, and you smiled to yourself. And then it happened again, and you peered over to the other pillow suspiciously.

In the low light, you could see Sungchan looking right at you. He pointed to his own head, then raised his eyebrows.

You lifted your hand in a ‘meh’ gesture, then held up 5 fingers to rate it out of 10, before setting your hand back down on Woobin’s front. Sungchan found your arm under the covers, gently squeezing your forearm. You tapped his foot in return, a silent exchange, before closing your eyes and settling back in to sleep.

Two hushed voices woke you up for the second time that morning. Well, one hushed voice, and one who hadn’t quite mastered whispering yet.

“What do you think Mommy—”

“Quiet, buddy, remember?” Sungchan’s words were barely discernible from behind the closed bathroom door. “Your mom’s got a migraine, and—”

“—and Mommy needs to sleep when she’s got a migraine,” Woobin finished dutifully, his voice a notch quieter than before. “So her head feels better.”

“That’s right, bud. Now come on, breakfast.”

“That’s what I—” Your son stopped himself as his voice raised with his excitement. He continued, in his best half-whisper, “Sorry, Daddy. I know: We gotta whisper. Quiet. I was asking what Mommy wants for breakfast?”

The two of them were quiet, and you heard the bathroom door open, then one pair of feet quietly tread across your room to open the bedroom, then shut it softly. You could hear their voices slowly fade as they walked further away.

“I don’t know. Why are you asking?”

“Because you always bring me breakfast in bed when I’m sick!” Woobin’s voice was back to it’s normal volume as he tried to emphatically get his point across to his dad. Sungchan must have gestured for him to quiet down again, as he dropped down to a part-whisper once more, “It’s Mommy’s turn.”

“You’re right. Let’s see what we can make…”

When you first got Woobin, you only got a migraine a couple times a year, a significant drop from when you were first diagnosed. The frequency fluctuated over the years and seasons, though, and there was a short period of time after becoming new parents, that you had been getting them weekly. You knew that put a strain on Sungchan, since a spouse with noise-sensitive migraines and a crying baby didn’t exactly mix. You of course would go through any migraine pain to take care of your son, but your husband couldn’t stand seeing you do it if it could be avoided. After some medication changes, you were fairly consistent with one every other month now. When Woobin was a toddler, and couldn’t quite grasp the concept of needing to play quietly when he wasn’t napping, Sungchan would take him on “field trips” while you rested. You’d decided to give him a simple explanation of a migraine to him when he was a little older, so he could easier differentiate between the migraines that you got, and when he might have a headache from a cold, or because his body was telling him he needed to drink some more water. He was also now your designated band-aid picker for your monthly injection, and had a better grasp on when, why, and how to keep quiet when you needed it.

Your head unfortunately still hurt, though your heart was warmed by your kind-hearted kid. There were lots of times where you and Sungchan felt like you had no clue what you were doing—like your current predicament with bedtime—but you figured you were doing a pretty alright job overall.

You contemplated getting up to take another dose. The only plans you had for today were a family trip to the park and some chores at home. Your husband would probably insist on you skipping the park for today, but if the second dose worked, you could probably get some things done around the house at least. Unfortunately, your days of laying in bed all day when you had a low-level migraine were long gone. If you could open your eyes, you usually had something that needed to get done.

But for this morning, at least, for now, you could close your eyes for just a little longer. You rolled over, away from the window where a thin strip of light had gotten in through a gap between your blackout curtains that Sungchan must have pulled closed.

You didn’t quite go back to sleep, but you dozed somewhere in between as you fondly listened to the sounds of Sungchan and Woobin trying to make breakfast as silently as possible. The running of the sink, sizzling of something on the stove, beep of the microwave before it was hastily shut off, fridge opening and closing, Sungchan’s quiet murmured directions to Woobin, and your son’s inquisitive tone in return.

Eventually, you heard someone shuffling up to your bedroom door, sounding much too small to be your husband. The door very slowly creaked open, and he tiptoed over to your side of the bed.

“Mommy?” His whisper had gotten better over the morning, though it didn’t matter much, since he was definitely right in front of your face.

You cracked open one eye, and offered him a soft smile. “Morning, buddy.”

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah, Binnie, I’m awake,” you chuckled, propping yourself up on one elbow and rubbing your eyes.

“Daddy and I made you breakfast, hold on!” And he darted back out of the room.

You looked at the empty doorway fondly, slowly pushing yourself up into a sitting position at the head of the bed. Sungchan and Woobin reappeared a moment later with a tray filled with various breakfast foods.

“Morning, beautiful,” Sungchan greeted you quietly, pecking the crown of your head as he went to set the tray down in your lap.

“Mm, morning, Channie,” you kissed his cheek before he could stand all the way back up. “This looks wonderful, thank you guys.”

In one corner of the tray you spotted a colorful assortment of pills, all of your morning doses plus what looked like a couple of your acute medications from your purse that was definitely in the dining room. You grabbed your water from the nightstand to get that out of the way first.

“We’ll let you eat in peace,” Sungchan declared, patting your son on the head to start to usher him out.

“No, it’s okay,” you stopped them. “It’s not so bad. I want you two to eat with me.”

Woobin’s face lit up, and he wasted no time in clambering up on the bed with you. You held the tray steady as he wedged himself in next to you.

“Alright, I’ll go get mine and buddy’s plates.”

Woobin was still earnestly pointing out each piece of food on your tray to you, explaining exactly how he had helped Sungchan prepare all of it when your husband returned. Sungchan sat down in front of you, and as he handed your son his plate, you noticed that there was nothing on it that could make too much of a mess if it happened to capsize.

“Sounds like you were a big help,” you praised your son, stroking the back of his head.

“He was,” Sungchan agreed. “Breakfast in bed was his idea.”

“Really?” You feigned surprise as Woobin nodded proudly. They didn’t need to know that you’d heard their entire bathroom conversation. “Thank you, sweet, it was a very good idea.”

After a very quiet breakfast, Sungchan took the plates into the kitchen, and you started making your mental list of tasks for the day. No vacuum—you weren’t a masochist—but there was laundry to do, and if Sungchan started the dishwasher before he left, it would be done and ready to put away before they got back from the park.

Just as you had put your feet over the edge of the bed to get up, with the bathroom as your destination, you were caught off-guard by Woobin trudging into your room with an armful of toys. He dropped them onto your mattress before hauling himself up after them.

“Hey…” You greeted him with an air of question. “What are you doing, Binnie?”

Sungchan must have spotted him on his way over, as he poked his head in right then, already laser-focused on your son. “What’s all this, bud?”

“We can’t go to the park,” he said matter-of-factly, beginning to sort out the toys that had gotten all mixed up in being carried over and dumped into a pile. “I’ll be quiet, promise!”

“I didn’t say we weren’t going at all,” Sungchan clarified. “I just said Mommy needed to stay home this time, because she’s not feeling well. You and I are still going. Minha and her dad are going to be there too.”

“I don’t want to go. I don’t like the park,” he declared, a stern pout creasing his face.

“What? You don’t like the park?” You asked.

“No,” he mumbled. “I hate it.”

You exchanged bewildered looks with Sungchan at this sudden development. Deciding to try again, you said calmly, “Binnie, I’ll go with you next time, okay? I promise. You have lots of fun at the park.”

“No. I don’t want to go.”

“Okay, no park,” Sungchan acquiesced. “But it’s such a nice day out, I think a walk sounds good. What do you think?”

“No.” He crossed his arms.

“Ah, you know, my head feels good enough for a walk,” you said brightly. “I think I’d like to go on a walk. Are you sure you don’t want to go, buddy?”

“Well… okay.”

“Alright,” you beamed at him, patting his cheek as he finally looked up at you. “Mommy’s got to shower then I’ll be ready to go.”

“How about you get out of your jammies too, Woobin?” Sungchan suggested.

“Go ahead, sweet,” you sent him off with one more pat.

Your son wordlessly got off the bed and left your room. As soon as he was gone, you look at Sungchan, utterly at a loss.

“What was that?” He whispered, following you into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you two.

“I don’t know,” you whispered back, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“He loves the park! I mean, he loves going to the grocery store! He’s one of the most go-with-the-flow kids I’ve ever met!”

“He was obviously lying about hating the park. But why? His best friend’s going to be there, he’s been talking about it since we planned it at pickup on Friday.”

“You think it’s related to what’s been going with bedtime and naptime?” Sungchan paced in front of you. “I mean, what if it’s like separation anxiety? Or something?”

“But he loves you.”

“I know, I know.”

“He even went through that phase when he was a year old where he wouldn’t let me put him to sleep, it had to be you every time.”

“I know, I know.” He held his hands up. “I’m just saying… we might have hit a new phase.”

“But I could at least take him to the park without you. And he went to daycare. Now…”

“Hey, tomorrow, I’ll drop him off at school,” Sungchan said. “You know, so it’ll be gradual. The two of us at home, then just me, then he’s at school.”

“Channie, he wouldn’t let you take him to the park today.”

“I just think that if your choice is between leaving him crying at VPK or not, you’re going to be getting a new little TA in your classes tomorrow.”

You chewed on your bottom lip before sighing and nodding. “You’re right, you’re right. Okay, we’ll try your way tomorrow.”

“We’ll figure this out, hon,” he reassured you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin over your shoulder. “But not right now in our bathroom while you’ve got a migraine.”

You hugged him back, burying your face in his neck and taking a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s just worry about today right now.”

After your shower, you got dressed in peace and meandered out of your room to find Sungchan and Woobin by the front door. Woobin hadn’t quite mastered shoelaces, so your husband was helping him out. You slipped your own shoes on, and grabbed a pair of sunglasses on the table by the front door.

“Alright, ready?” Sungchan asked, having finished with your son’s shoes.

“Ready!” Binnie chirped.

You offered a thumbs-up, silently reaching to unlock your front door. Woobin went out first, eagerly bounding down the steps of your front porch. You followed after him onto the sidewalk as you listened to Sungchan lock up behind you, then catch up to the two of you with just a few large strides. The sun outside was painfully bright, even with your sunglasses on, and as you held up one hand to cast a shadow over your eyes, you reached your other out to grab Sungchan’s hand. He held yours firmly, even as you squinted and winced against the light, nearly missing a step when you walked in a brighter patch between shadows of trees, keeping you upright and on the paved path.

Woobin was just a couple steps in front of you, seemingly having a great time. He was talking to himself, interspersed with some singing, and of course pointing out anything he found remotely interesting to the both of you.

“Snail!” He yelled out enthusiastically, pointing to said small creature on the ground.

“Cool, buddy,” Sungchan responded encouragingly.

“Worm!”

“I see. Careful, we don’t want to step on him. He’s using the sidewalk too.”

That made Woobin giggle, giving the worm a wide berth as he stepped around it. You stepped over it.

The boy suddenly gasped, and stopped in his tracks as he pointed to a flower in one of your neighbors’ gardens. “Butterfly! Mommy, do you see it?”

You squinted in the direction he was pointing, finally seeing which one he was indicating. A dark butterfly on a bright yellow flower. “Yeah, Binnie, I see it. That’s a swallowtail butterfly.”

“Swallowtail butterfly,” he repeated, slowly to make sure he was pronouncing it right.

“That’s right.” You patted his head with your free hand.

“What other kinds of butterflies are there?” He asked as you continued your walk.

“Oh, lots,” you mused. “Your dad might know a butterfly expert, you know.”

He looked up at Sungchan with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Yeah, Dr. Hwang, one of my co-workers, she’s an entomologist.”

Your son furrowed his brows in concentration. “Entee— enah— innamolologiss.”

“Come on, let’s sound it out, bud: En,” Sungchan talked him through it. Despite his earlier teasing of you reading Breton lai to your son, your husband was just as much to blame for Woobin’s inflated vocabulary, always taking the time to teach him lengthy scientific terms for things.

“En.”

“Tah.”

“Mol.”

“Oh.”

“Gist.”

“Entah.”

“Molo.”

“Gist.”

“Entomologist.”

“Enamolgist.”

“Yeah!” Your husband beamed, holding up his hand for a high five.

“What’s an enamolgist?” Woobin asked.

“A scientist that studies bugs. Like butterflies.”

“Butterflies aren’t bugs!” He insisted.

“They are.”

“But how can they be bugs? They’re butterflies!”

Sungchan laughed. “When you meet Dr. Hwang, you can ask her and she’ll explain it. She can also tell you all about all sorts of butterflies. Okay?”

“Your dad studies fish, remember?” You added. “Way different than bugs and butterflies.”

“And you study books!” Woobin said. “And stories! And reading! And writing!”

“That’s right.” You chuckled fondly. “Way, way different than bugs or butterflies or fish.”

By the time you got back to your house, you could barely open one eye enough to navigate the steps and get through the front door. It felt like you were being stabbed in your left eye, the pain shooting back through the entire left side of your head, and you patted Sungchan’s arm before wordlessly heading off towards your room. You beelined for your bathroom, knocking back another dose of the rescue medication you had in there.

As you clutched your eye with one hand and gripped the bathroom counter tightly with the other, the door was pushed ajar. You quickly went to drop your hand and throw on a smile, then saw it was Sungchan, who put another tablet into your hand, your second rescue medication in the dining room.

“Thanks, baby,” you mumbled, taking that one as well.

He sighed, but said nothing else as he rested a hand on your back. You covered both of your eyes as you turned into his chest, feeling when your fingers quickly turned moist. You took deep, shaking, quiet breaths. One of Sungchan’s hands cradled the back of your head while the other slowly rubbed up and down your back.

“Eye mask?” He murmured, referring to the cooling eye mask you kept in the fridge to help with migraine pain. It could also be microwaved if you wanted it warm instead.

“What’s Binnie doing?” You sniffed.

“Picking a movie for me and him. You’re going to lay down. Do you want your eye mask?”

“Yes, please.”

And so Sungchan grabbed the mask from the fridge for you as you crawled back into bed, handing you your earplugs from your nightstand drawer first.

You tried to refuse, eyes drifting towards your bedroom door. “No, but—”

“I’ve got him, hon.” He opened the case and pushed the earplugs into your hand. “You’ve done plenty, Supermom. Okay?”

You nodded slowly, pushing the earplugs in one at a time. He helped you adjust the eye mask, then pulled the covers up over you. You felt as he stood up from the bed and gave one final pat to your arm.

You woke up to find that the medication and nap had taken the edge off the migraine, at least. There was still a dull ache in your head, and you felt like shit, but it wasn’t the worst that you’d ever felt. You pulled the room-temperature mask off your face and set it on your nightstand before rolling over, fully intending on burying your face in your pillow and going back to sleep if you could.

You weren’t expecting to see Sungchan lying next to you on top of the covers, hand tucked under his cheek. His eyes were open, watching you.

“Hi, Channie,” you said quietly, taking your earplugs out and setting those aside as well.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, voice barely above a murmur.

“I’m alright. Still hurts, but not as bad,” you replied, reaching a hand out towards him. He grasped it, gentle but steadfast. “Where’s Binnie? Down for his nap?”

“Snacktime. I called in backup, though, my dad’s here.”

“I’m—” You stopped yourself before you could apologize, biting down on your lip before mustering up a smile. “Thank you. For taking care of me and buddy today. More than you usually do.”

“I wish I could’ve done more for you, baby,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

“You were making sure our son was okay. He can’t use the microwave, I can manage my ten-thousandth migraine on my own.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.”

“It’s not your fault,” you insisted. “You’ve been Superdad and Superhusband today. So relax, okay?”

“Alright.”

“How long is your dad staying?”

“He brought ingredients to make dinner. My mom’s coming when she gets off her shift.”

You smiled fondly at your in-laws’ kindness, and lifted the blankets up. “Five more minutes?”

Sungchan joined you under the covers, immediately wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. You held him close, savoring his familiar warmth and the comforting pressure of him laying practically on top of you. You curled your fingers in his hair, resting your cheek against the crown of his head.

“Ten,” he mumbled against your skin. “Ten more minutes.”

“Hey Professor, mind if we hang out in here?” A familiar pair of heads had poked into your office, two freshmen Raptors players who definitely weren’t in any of your classes this semester.

“Is there somewhere you should be?” You asked, gesturing to the couch across from you nevertheless. It made no difference to you if two adults decided to skip their college classes, you were more-so just curious. “It’s a bit early to be getting to campus if you don’t have a class…”

“Well, we usually have Coach Jung’s class right now, but he just sent out an email cancelling,” the left wing explained, dropping into one corner as his friend splayed out across the remaining two-thirds.

“And our next class is in this building, so we thought we’d see if you were in,” the right wing finished.

“What class do you have in this building?” You tried to keep a casual tone as you checked your phone for any missed calls or text from Sungchan that would clue you into why he’s suddenly missed his class this morning.

As they proceeded to rant about the 2000-level Grammar class they had signed up for in order to fulfill their Gen Ed requirements, mistakenly thinking it would be easy since it was only a 2000-level, you sent a quick text to your husband.

[you: just checking in. did drop-off go okay?]

Woobin once again slept in yours and Sungchan’s room last night, and though he was a little confused at his dad taking him to school today since you usually dropped him off on Mondays, there was no meltdown when you gave him his goodbye kiss. So far so good, until now.

“What classes are you teaching in the fall, Professor?” The left wing asked you.

“Oh, uh, I’ve got Lit Theory, Direct Study, and I’m teaching a Special Topics section in Contemporary Short Stories. We’ll mostly be focusing on magical realism, surrealism, that sort of thing,” you started rambling, still half-focused on your dark phone screen, waiting for it to light up with Sungchan’s reply. “I know neither of you are Lang majors, but it’s my first Special Topics class and I enjoyed having both of you last semester, so if you have a free slot in the fall, I’d appreciate it if you considered enrolling.”

“Hell yeah, that sounds cool,” the right wing grinned. “Is it going to be like, a bunch of essays, though?”

“There will be a final paper, but it will be mostly Socratic discussion, and the occasional short, one-page synthesis assignment,” you clarified. “No tests, no quizzes. As long as you read and participate enthusiastically, you’ll pass.”

“We’ll be there!” The left wing promised. “We loved your intro class. You’re like, one of the coolest professors ever, that’s why we asked.”

“I’m honored, boys, thanks,” you laughed.

“Coach Jung is cool too,” said the right wing, then he exchanged a mischievous grin with his friend. “But you’re cooler.”

“Oh, I’ve known that for quite some time, I assure you.”

“How long have you two been together?” The left wing asked curiously.

You twisted your wedding ring contemplatively. “Let’s see… We’ve been married for seven years, we started dating our senior year of undergrad, so… fifteen years? Yeah, it’ll be fifteen years this fall.”

“Wow. I didn’t even think you were that old.”

“What? Fifteen?” You chuckled, eyes straying to the picture on your desk of you, Sungchan, and Woobin from the party you held to celebrate his adoption being finalized.

“I mean, like, old enough to have been in college fifteen years ago.”

“Surprise.”

“So you met in senior year—”

“No,” you shook your head. “That’s when we started dating. We met freshman year. First day of classes, actually, if I’m remembering correctly. In one of Dr. Son’s classes, so that tells you how long he’s been teaching.”

“Wow, he needs to retire,” the right wing snorted. “And I mean that with his best intentions at heart.”

“Why are you two so interested in me and Coach Jung all of a sudden?” You questioned, tilting your head and folding your hands over your lap.

“Well, we see you and Coach Jung and our MVP all the time but, you know, we don’t know a lot about you, outside your jobs,” the left wing shrugged. “You two seem cool, you know?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. “Where are you guys from?”

As they informed you that they were both from the same small town about five hours away, you nodded in understanding. Freshmen that hadn’t seen their parents since the holidays, a break that was only made even shorter by their being on the hockey team.

“You two are more than welcome to pop into my office whenever you happen to see me in here,” you reassured them. “And talk to me about whatever you want.”

By the time the players had left to go to class, you still hadn’t heard back from Sungchan, and you had your own class to teach. It was your Direct Study, which usually met in your office anyway since it was just two students. The conversation in this one was student-led, so as they evaluated what they thought the developing themes in the book were, bouncing ideas off each other, you tried to listen and engage earnestly, even as you stayed painfully aware of the lack of response from your husband.

You never forced them to stay for the entire block of time allotted for the class if the conversation didn’t need it, so when they were about done only forty-five minutes into the hour and a half block, you gave them the next chunk of the reading to do before next week, and bid them farewell. Then immediately left your office.

The Science building was across from the Lang building, and you headed for Sungchan's office first. If he was teaching a class right now, you knew it would be an Intro class and, therefore, most likely in one of the large lecture halls on the first floor, but you weren’t going to interrupt his lecture because he hadn’t replied to your message. You just wanted to check to see if he'd made it to campus yet. His office was on the second floor, past some of the teaching laboratories.

When you tested the door handle, you found it unlocked, and pushed it open. His desk lamp was on, illuminating the pictures he had there: one from your wedding day, another of the three of you from a hockey game, decked out in blue and orange Raptors gear, and a third of just you and Woobin from when he was a baby, the exact occasion you couldn’t pin down. He wasn’t in the office, but his backpack was on his desk chair, so he had at least made it to campus.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you looked to see that it was Sungchan calling.

“Hey, Channie,” you answered.

“Hi, hon,” he sounded a little out of breath. “Where are you?”

“Uhm, I’m actually at your office. I got worried…” You admitted.

“Oh, okay. We went to your office but couldn’t find you. Stay put, we’ll come to you.”

“Okay—Wait, ‘we?’”

“Yeah, uh, buddy’s with me,” he sighed shortly. “We'll be there in just a sec, okay? Bye, love you.”

And he hung up.

When Sungchan’s office door opened a few minutes later, Woobin was, in fact, the first thing that came through, immediately running to wrap his arms around your legs. Sungchan stepped through the door a moment later, looking disheveled as he took your son’s small backpack off his shoulder and put it on one of the chairs across from his desk.

“Hey, Binnie,” you greeted your son brightly, despite your alarm and confusion, hugging him back tightly. The harrowed look on Sungchan’s face was enough to let you know that this was something for you two to talk about later.

“Mommy!” Woobin was practically buzzing with excitement. “Mommy, guess what!”

“What, buddy?”

“Daddy said I can meet an enamolgist today!”

“Wow! That’s awesome,” you patted his head. “Did he say when Dr. Hwang was available?”

“I was just about to call her,” Sungchan answered. “We wanted to find you first, hon.”

“I saw some cool posters in the hall, Binnie,” you let go of your son and offered him your hand. “Let’s go look at those while your dad makes his call, okay?”

“Okay!” He took your hand and let you guide him out into the hall, shutting the office door behind you.

The first one you found was a diagram of a wetland ecosystem, taller than your head, and spanned the entire wall between two offices.

“I can’t see it,” Woobin craned his neck to look at the poster. “Can you pick me up, please?”

You hoisted him up by his underarms and onto your hip. “Is that better?”

“Thank you!” He then pointed to an animal. “What’s that?”

“Here, it’s labeled. Do you see?” You showed him the black line connecting the animal to its common name and scientific name. “Can you read that first one?”

“Spotted… sal… uh… man… der?”

“Spotted salamander, good!” You confirmed.

“So this one is a…” he pointed to another animal, following the line to its name. “Green… ana… con… da. Green anaconda!”

“That’s right, Binnie.”

The two of you were still on that same poster sounding out animal names, when Sungchan poked his head out from his office just a few doors down. Woobin was in the middle of a name, so you indicated to your husband to wait a moment before listening to the boy continue to sound it out. Sungchan walked over to join the two of you as Woobin had just finished his first attempt at the bird’s name.

“That was a good guess, it does look like the words ‘her’ and ‘on,’” you said. “But the animal is pronounced heron.”

“Hair-in,” he echoed slowly.

“You got it. Can you put it together now?”

“Great blue heron.”

“Good job, buddy,” Sungchan praised him.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, buddy.”

“Did you get a hold of Dr. Hwang?” You asked.

“Yes, she’s in her office right now and has some spare time.”

“Yay!” Your son cheered, starting to wriggle out of your grip.

The three of you trekked to the third floor to get to Dr. Hwang’s office. Dr. Hwang was an older woman who welcomed you in warmly.

“Daddy says butterflies are bugs,” Woobin said very seriously. “Is that true?”

Dr. Hwang looked at Sungchan very judgmentally, before turning her attention down to your son. “Butterflies are insects, yes.”

“But how? They’re butterflies!”

“They’re just one kind of insect,” she explained patiently. “What’s your favorite fruit?”

“Mm… Grapes!”

“Are grapes fruit?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And fruit is food, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Grapes are a type of fruit, and fruits are a type of food. Does that make sense so far?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s the same thing with butterflies. Butterflies are a type of insect, and insects are a type of animal.”

He seemed to think very hard about this for a moment, then nodded satisfactorily. “How many kinds of butterflies are there?”

“There are about 180,000 different species of butterflies and moths. That we know about.”

His eyes practically bulged out of his head. “Woah…”

“Would you like to see some?”

“Can I?” He then looked back at you and Sungchan. “Please? Can I?”

“Of course, buddy,” Sungchan smiled, then looked up at his colleague. “If it’s alright with you, Dr. Hwang, my wife and I are going to step out for a moment.”

She waved you off. “Of course, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” you nodded to her gratefully. Patting your son’s head, you informed him, “Daddy and I will be right back, buddy.”

As Dr. Hwang directed Woobin’s attention to a book, you and Sungchan stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind you quietly.

“What happened?” You asked him fervently.

Sungchan pulled you a little further down the hall, keeping his voice low when he finally spoke. “He was doing fine until we got into his classroom. Got his arms around my neck, wouldn’t let go… Kid’s strong for a five-year-old.”

“Two of your students ended up in my office after you cancelled class.”

“Yeah, I stayed for the first thirty minutes, to try to ease him into it, but then when I tried to leave again, the same thing happened except worse… Kept asking for you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It was too much of a distraction, we had to leave. He didn’t stop crying until I told him we were going to see you.”

You nodded in understanding, not upset with Sungchan in the slightest. If you’d been in his position, you probably would’ve done the same thing, if not, gave in even sooner.

“Do you think…” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Do you think we should take him to see someone? See if it’s a phase or… something more serious? I mean, even if it is a phase, he’s clearly getting really upset about something…”

“Yeah, I think that’d be a good idea,” Sungchan agreed.

Dr. Kwon Hayoung was a younger woman, definitely no older than yourself and Sungchan if you had to guess, her posture relaxed as she sat in her mustard yellow armchair. Her entire office was colorful, filled with various toys, whimsical artworks, and plush, patterned pillows on the couch that you were currently sitting on with your husband. After lots of research, various recommendations from friends and colleagues at work, and an entire two weeks of Woobin being attached at the hip to one of the two of you, you had finally settled on taking him to Dr. Kwon. After an initial interview with all three of you, then just you and Sungchan (a task that was aided by the fact that Sungchan’s father had come along and occupied him in the meantime), she then evaluated your son, which required several breaks for him to see you. But finally, she had finished with him, and he went back to play with his grandpa while Dr. Kwon brought you and Sungchan back once again.

“There is nothing serious for us to be concerned about,” Dr. Kwon declared, her tone calm.

You and Sungchan exchanged an uncertain look. You cleared your throat, “Uhm…”

“I don’t mean to downplay the problems that your family is facing right now,” the child psychologist promised, readjusting her lavender purple frames on the bridge of her nose. “However, Woobin is developing typically for kids his age, which is good news.”

“Then why is he…?” Sungchan trailed off, his question obvious. Why is he doing all of this? So suddenly?

“You have been very open about him being adopted.”

“Yeah, we never wanted to hide it from him,” you said. “He even gets two parties every year, his birthday party, and we celebrate the day his adoption went through.”

“But he knows that he’s our son and we love him,” Sungchan added, shifting forward as his voice carried a slight edge to it.

“Of course, of course he knows that.” Dr. Kwon’s tone hadn’t lost any of the gentle kindness she began the conversation with. “Both you and he told me about another kid, in his class, who was not so understanding.”

“Yeah, it made buddy a little upset, but he seemed fine by the next day.”

“I do think he was fine. Until he had a recent dream, about falling asleep in his bed and waking up in someone else’s home,” she informed you, and you felt a harsh twinge in your chest as you realized that your son hadn’t even told you about that. “He’s not afraid that you two will give him away so much as he’s afraid that somebody will come take him from you.”

“Oh…” You breathed out, feeling yourself grimace as you thought about how scared your son must have felt since then.

Sungchan reached over to hold one of your hands. “What can we do? What are our options?”

“We can work on his anxiety, coping skills, attachment in sessions. Since it’s affected your daily lives as a family so much, I recommend starting at three times a week, and we can adjust from there. I would like both of you to attend as many as possible.”

“Of course,” you nodded quickly, squeezing Sungchan’s hand tight.

That night, after helping Woobin brush his teeth with his toothbrush and toothpaste that had migrated into your bathroom, you took your nighttime medication, then tucked it back away into the childproofed medicine cabinet. Sungchan was doing some late-night grading in your home office, but you had a five-year-old to put to bed on time, so you had started on that without him.

Woobin clambered up into his place in the middle of the mattress first, and you lifted up the comforter and blankets to slip in next to him. With the thoughts of his nightmare still weighing heavily on your heart, you called out to him quietly, “Binnie? Can Mommy cuddle with you?”

“Of course, Mommy!” He chirped, immediately taking it upon himself to scramble over to you under the covers and wrap himself around your middle like a koala.

You laughed, enveloping him in your arms to hold him to you even tighter. Pressing a long kiss to the top of his head, you then tucked him under your chin. Yeah, this was exactly what you needed. You had his next appointments set up with Dr. Kwon, and she hadn’t told you to change anything you were doing yet. So tomorrow you’d continue your new routine of bringing your son to campus with you and passing him between you and Sungchan—usually whoever was in office hours had him, or if you were both in a class, whoever had the smaller class. You had tried dropping him off at your parents’ house once, but as soon as he realized that you were leaving without him, he wouldn’t let go of your leg, his eyes started watering, and you immediately folded. Preschool was a no-go, as he had a soft, indefinite ban for the foreseeable future until he was no longer going to be a disruption. They were continuing to hold his spot at no charge to you, at least. It had been stressful, and there hadn’t been very long stretches of time in the past two weeks where you had been apart from him, but there wasn’t once where you ever felt resentful towards your son himself, you realized. He’s what you did this all for.

“I love you, Binnie,” you murmured, kissing his hair again. “Love you so much.”

“I love you so much too, Mommy,” Woobin mumbled back sleepily, his words punctuated by a yawn.

You smiled fondly, listening as the sounds of his breathing evened out as he drifted off to sleep. Not much later, and your bedroom door slowly creaked open. Sungchan quietly went about his own nighttime routine before finally shutting the bathroom light off and closing the door behind him. You were a little confused when he walked over to your side of the bed, though, thinking your son’s sippy cup that was sitting there might’ve needed a last-minute refill. Then you felt him raise the sheets and start squeezing himself in behind you.

“You’re going to fall off, Channie,” you whispered, trying to bite back the giggles bubbling up in your chest.

“Then make some room, baby,” he responded, his quiet words even more hushed by the fact that he was pressing his face into your shoulder as he readjusted.

You gently scooted further in on the bed, trying to jostle the child attached to you as little as possible, not wanting to wake him so soon after he’d fallen asleep—if he woke up now, he’d definitely be awake for another three hours at least. Sungchan scooched with you, molding himself around you after you’d gotten settled in again, and burying his face in the back of your neck. He slung an arm over your waist, his hand finding one of yours where it was resting on Woobin’s back, slotting his fingers with yours.

After some time, when you were sure your son was deep asleep, Sungchan spoke again, “I had a student ask me what death of the author is.”

You craned your neck to try to look at his face out of the corner of your eye. “In your bio class?”

“Yeah, I thought it was weird too.”

“Are they… in one of my classes? And thought that you would know because we’re married? And knew that we’re married?” Obviously there were pictures of you, Sungchan, and your son in his office, but since classrooms and labs were shared spaces at the university, professors didn’t decorate or keep personal belongings in there. The average Intro to Bio student wouldn’t have any reason to know that you and Sungchan were married just from attending lecture.

“That was my first thought, too. Turns out he had you last semester.”

You scrunched your nose in confusion. “Then why…?”

“Apparently, in your class, he met this cute Lang major, but she didn’t seem too impressed with him. Thinks he’s a dumb jock.” Sungchan’s chest vibrated with his chuckle.

“Because he doesn’t know what death of the author is? Is he failing your bio class, perchance?”

“No.”

“Did she actually tell him she thought he was a dumb jock, or is he just assuming?” You asked pointedly.

“He seemed pretty convinced.” Your husband grinned and nudged you with his shoulder. “Sound familiar?”

“What are you—Oh my god, you think that sounds like us?” You rolled your eyes. “I did not think you were a dumb jock! I just… didn’t think about you really at all.”

“Ouch.” His pout was still very visible in the dim light of your bedroom.

“Not my fault you opted to pine for three years like a loser instead of talking to me.”

“Words hurt, you know.”

You shook your head. “So were you able to tell him what death of the author is?”

“No. But he’s apparently trying to read along from your Brit Lit I syllabus.”

“So that’s why you knew Bisclavret the other day. He won’t get very far on his own, even translated, Old English can be pretty awkward to get through,” you warned.

“Yeah… So do you have any study guides?” He batted his eyelashes at you, and you once again rolled your eyes.

“Seriously? You should tell him to talk to her like a person. He won’t get anywhere if he’s constantly thinking of both of them one-dimensionally. Him as the dumb jock, and her as the smart Lang major,” you scoffed. “Sound familiar?”

“That’s a no on the study guide?”

“The Internet exists. And you didn’t get me by making me swoon over your knowledge of Breton lais.”

“True.” He clicked his tongue in the back of his mouth. “I’ll ask him if she has any chronic illnesses to tend to.”

“You didn’t stay with me during the Halloween party as some elaborate scheme to get me to date you. At that point, you still thought you were friendzoned. If my memory serves me.” You pointed out.

He yawned and nuzzled his cheek against your shoulder. “Perhaps…”

“You stayed with me because you’re a good, sweet guy, always have been,” you continued, taking your hand that he had been holding back to reach behind you and poke his leg. “That’s how you got me.”

“Aw, you still know how to my heart flutter, baby. Even after fifteen years.”

You smiled to yourself as he kissed your shoulder. “Yeah, you’re easy.”

“And still know how to wound me with so few words.”

“I love you, too, Channie,” you chuckled softly, taking his hand again under the covers.

“Only this easy for my girl.” He murmured, dropping another kiss to your shoulder. “Love of my life.” Another kiss, this one on your cheek. “Can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“We’re already married,” you said humorously, wiggling your entwined left hands pointedly.

“So? I can only talk about spending the rest of our lives together before we sign the marriage papers? Can’t do it while we’re actually living that life together and raising our son?”

“Well when you put it like that…” You turned your head to catch his lips with yours in a soft, sweet kiss.

Sungchan hummed into the kiss, pecking the corner of your mouth when you pulled away.

“I love you, my Sungchannie,” you professed as you’d done thousands of times before, each time thinking that you could never be more in love with this man than you were in that moment, and yet each time it felt like your love had only grown exponentially since the last time you said it.

“I love you too. My girl,” he replied, resting his forehead against yours. You didn’t need him to speak to know what he was thinking. The two of you were going to get through this. Even though right now, you don’t know exactly how, you would.

➠ series masterlist | blog masterlist

159 notes · View notes

antariies · 1 year ago

Text

how to build a chair........... director's cut ∠( ᐛ 」∠)__ this is about to be a very long very self-indulgent post where i just talk about my own writing. i also doodled on all the pages i think it makes the whole thing more fun to go thru. welcome to my ted talk

SIKE before i begin. credit where credit is due, this post was the start of it all. it changed my brain chemistry my jaw was dropped i was in awe i was obsessed and before i even finished it i knew that i would eventually have to make something similar for the commander or else i would be cursed to think about it for the rest of my life. and i Was cursed for like two years every day i would just be like........ is today the day i sit down and draft the commander chair fic of my dreams....... maybe tomorrow......

and then i got accepted as a writer for the gw2 zine ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ the chair idea was actually my backup option in case my first idea didn't pan out, and thank god it didn't, bc this one worked so much better. (still working on my initial idea, just turning it into a full fic! it was wayyy too long to be a zine submission.)

this is the chair i used. i downloaded the assembly instructions and tried out a bunch of different free pdf editors until i found one i liked, which ended up being sedja. if anyone's interested in doing something like this, i recommend printing out the pdf and writing directly on it! it was a lot easier for me to just figure out everything on paper first and then digitalize it after :P here's a picture of my physical copy

okay actually getting into it for real this time !!!!!

1. yeah i could've just erased the ikea logo and left a blank space but then i realized i could turn it into an in-universe joke. and then i ran with it.

2. i ripped this straight from the product description on the website. thanks ikea

3. i'm not sure if anyone went and looked it up, but it's a real item code!

hehe :3c

4. if your commander willingly goes to therapy i'm happy for them but TO ME? you'd have to drag the commander kicking and screaming. it's not that they don't know that something is wrong with them, they know, and they know YOU know. you're just never supposed to talk about it. they don't look at their own psych eval results bc that's none of their business.

5. i normally avoid specifying the commander's race when i write them bc i enjoy the challenge, but for the zine i was assigned to write about a norn commander! as a human main i was uhhhh very ill-equipped. but that just meant i had to study up on my norn lore (•̀ᴗ•́)و i spent hours on the wiki, then went around interviewing norn mains for their opinions, which was great fun :D it all helped me narrow the focus of my piece: joining the war on commander objectification on the side of commander objectification (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡ and no one self-aggrandizes quite like the norn commander!

and to balance that i knew my narrator had to be patronizing as shitttt. they've clearly been following the commander since the beginning and seem to know a lot of intimate details about their life, despite not thinking very highly of them. wonder who that could be :3c

6. i can't stop making references. so the original part number is actually #122620 in the manual but i've changed it here (and on the previous page!) to #082812, as in 08/28/12, the date gw2 was released! no real reason for it, @dalennaugw suggested it for funsies and i liked it. if you're my pal and i show you a wip and you have a cool idea for it, chances are i Will put that shit in. hi dale if you're reading this

7. another thing about me. i loveeee repetition. here the word "over" is repeated four times to match the picture. honestly a lot of the creative process for this piece was just staring at the pages and figuring out how to tie the pictures to the commander in ways that weren't extremely corny or trite. idk why i enjoy writing like this when i could be frolicking in the beautiful prosaic meadows of a word doc instead but. it's like i see a tiny little restrictive box and i'm like OH BOY can't wait to think inside of that thing!!! i like when the format matters just as much as the content and in some cases informs the content. am i making any sense here. well all you need to know is that i'm a virgo and my favorite book is house of leaves

7. aw fuck just realized i wrote 7 twice. whatever i'm not changing it this is 7 part two now. the theme of my piece is glory, what it means to the norn commander, and how far they're willing to go for it.

8. does norn culture place emphasis on seeking individual glory Yes are norn also very community-oriented Also Yes. i think it's common to see norn kids napping together in a big pile, usually after they've worn themselves out playing games outside. it makes sense practically (apes together warm) and socially (pack bonding good) but that's just my hc. growing up i used to share a bed with my cousins all the time so it's normal to me.

a young, naive not-yet-commander, with no real combat experience, has no point of reference to compare a "blaze of glory" to. but the way everyone talks about it, it must be a good thing. a wonderful thing. a reward fit for a life well-fought and a legend hard-earned. so they imagine it must feel like falling asleep surrounded by the people they love, who love them in turn.

9. .........i was playing a lot of ace attorney when i wrote this page. i wish i was joking 👍🏼

10. ohhh shit the truth come OUT this whole chair thing was all a ploy just so i could write about the departing. again.

will i ever stop thinking about her. reply hazy, try again later.

11. out of all the pages, this one has the most emphasis on text placement, like comparing the enlarged picture of the screw to a sword, the numbers counting the screws, and "up up up" being arranged to mimic a wisp of smoke.

i also wanted to lean into the viking/norse mythology influences with my word choice.

12. more nods to norn culture. i didn't know they referred to the six human gods as "spirits of action" until i was doing the research for this piece :O

and the domain of the lost is called a hall of ghosts....... cause valhalla.....

13.

i'm sorry this so funnyyy. SAYS the guy who literally clawed their way back to life for a rematch.

me when i'm in a sore loser competition and my opponent is the COMMANDER!!!

14. arms as in "limbs" and also arms as in "armaments" :•]

15. haha get it because the picture makes it look like there are two mirrored speech bubbles while the text paints two opposing interpretations of the norn commander. one that's selfless and humble versus one that's selfish and vainglorious.

16. and the best part is IT DOESN'T MATTER which one is true bc at the end of the day no matter what their motivation, balthazar is dead by their hand. ofc i'm of the opinion that the most compelling interpretation of the commander is both, simultaneously. contradictions are good for the soul.

17. i could've name-dropped kas, the only person present that would do something like that, but i felt it was better to leave it ambiguous.

18. low-hanging fruit. the metaphor was so obvious here but i had to do it. for the culture

19. the alternate title for this piece was "THIS COULD BE GLORY". "how to build a chair" was only supposed to be a placeholder title til i figured out a better one, but the innocuousness of it grew on me. also i came up with the other one too late and had already advertised under the chair title lol

20. my first instinct was to end it with something more reassuring, like "what you have built so far is enough" but that would've been an ooc switch-up for a narrator who has been nothing but snide and detached this whole time. gotta stick to my guns

21.

obligatory chair joke as the last line. for realsies though it’s meant to be an earnest appeal to the commander to take a break, to have a seat, but it’s also a challenge. are they willing to lean on their friends? are the bonds they’ve forged strong enough to hold their weight? are they willing to put their faith in someone else’s hands? are they brave enough to try? well. only one way to find out.

also guess what that wasn’t even the real last page of the manual. it's THIS

but no way i was letting this be the image we ended on. IT LOOKS LIKE A DICK AND BALLS!!!

and on that note, THANK YOU if you made it this far!! a very special shout-out to @hawkepockets, my lovely boyfriend and beta reader, without whom this piece would not be nearly as polished. i would bring him pages to look over and he would say Scrap half of those lines you can do better than that. kill your darlings. i would complain and argue for a few minutes then we would revise. rinse and repeat until we had honed this thing to perfection. i can't stress enough the importance of having a second pair of eyes on your work throughout your creative process, even better if it's someone who challenges you. i don't even pay him 🫶🏼

and if there was anything i didn't cover that you still have questions about, please feel free to shoot me an ask! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡ thanks for reading! see u later dudes ;P

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #my writing #for once i have nothing to say in the tags bc i already talked so much in the body of the post.#ummmmmmmm meows cutely !

141 notes · View notes

stargazersnz · 8 months ago

Text

Other ways of persuasion

So uhhh this is based around Epic the musical… Poseidon x Odysseus…

This was what I was peer pressured into. It was kinda collaborative thing between me and @dr-ground-zero. The insanity I went through while I wrote this was INSANE. I’m not like super proud of it but it’s the first like sneeze fic writing I’ve done in like over 5 years or something LMAO.

CONTENT WARNING - sneeze, mentions of spray (maybe mess), illness, one mention of injury.

Word Count - 2263

The waves lapped against the shores of Ithaca, home was finally in sight after a long 20 years of torment and sailing he was finally going to touch down on solid ground, fall into the arms of his wife, what more could he want? The closer he got however the swell began to grow, it was getting bumpier and his little raft was getting tossed left and right, something was beginning to rise. The water lumped up until the surface tension finally broke and Odysseus could feel his heart sink at the sight… Poseidon. The waves grew as his island was pushed further away from view, disappearing behind the dark clouds beginning to rise, this wasn’t supposed to happen, he had played the game and followed all the instructions to get home, this wasn’t supposed to happen! As Poseidon rose from the depths of the ocean Odysseus could feel every inch of life draining from him,

“There you are, coward,” the gravel in his voice sounded like it had been scraped across the rocks surrounding Ithaca, it wasn’t his usual gravel though, there was something different, something off. As the waves grew in size, capsizing the little raft that had been barely keeping Odysseus afloat was now at the mercy of Poseidon’s tides, the only thing Odysseus could do was scramble up onto the rocks for safety as the Sea God’s shadow loomed over him before it shrunk down to just nearly taller than the human himself but the ever intimidating presence still felt overwhelming. Poseidon leered at him, pushing closer to him and forcing the waves to rise, smashing Odysseus against the rocks with a pained groan, barely stumbling back to his feet and looking at the God. The ever-stoic figure of Poseidon appeared rugged, rough-looking, off. There was a red rim around his nostrils, deep bags from his eyes, and the occasional flare of his nostrils as he approached Odysseus, a crackle from his breathing as he did. Slowly Odysseus began to piece things together but he was still in disbelief, the God’s could get sick? This was definitely something…

As Poseidon drew closer to the Greek there was an unease in his breath, a small quiver almost as his chest rose and fell with unease, the waves around them starting to swell and crash with uncontrol, splashing up onto the edge of the rock, catching Odysseus with light sea spray.

“You reehh really thought you cehh… heeeh- could hide?” The Sea God asked, his breath catching as he did, the hitches causing a light cough into his clenched fist, his nose wriggling and flaring as he pushed Odysseus up against the rocks face, unable to move any further back. For some reason he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of God's nose, watching how it twitched and scrunched up as he was clearly biting back the urge to sneeze, his face betraying him with his eyes becoming half-lidded, his chest rising and falling with more aggression.

“Hehhh… heh’ERRRSHHU!!” Poseidon’s head snapped off to the side, his teeth clenching down, barely just scraping the side of Odysseus’ face with the spray, the ocean’s wave crashing up against the rocks mixing with the spray from the sneeze. The Greek was frozen in place, unable to react at the sight before him, a God seemingly having fallen to the mercy of a feeble human ailment leaving him more on the level of the one he was fighting against.

Poseidon sniffled thickly as he regained composure, his nose still not seeming completely done yet however he ignored it, his head turning back to face Odysseus who was now seemingly rather quiet and almost nervous. This made the Sea God smirk as he watched Odysseus.

“Are you starting to realize the depth of your situation?” Poseidon loved the nervous look on the other’s face as he leaned in a little closer. Odysseus could practically feel the warmth of the God’s breath on his neck and face. He began to shake softly as he felt his face flush, starting to match the shade of his nose, which was still seeming to be twitching and sniffling as he awaited the response.

“What’s the matter? Heeehh How the hiihhh high and meehhh mighty King of Ithaca has fallen,” He growled softly as his breath began to hitch again. “Wheehhh wheres thahhh that.. Haaahhh… hah’ERRSSHHUU! Ah’IRRSSHHUUUH! Where’s thad quick wit now?” He asked, regaining his composure after barely moving his head away from Odysseus, the spray glistening down onto his chest and chin while the waves crashed, and waves started to wash over their feet with each sneeze. It was slowly becoming obvious that the all mighty God of the Sea was definitely falling down a level, he looked pathetic. The God was sniffling, vulnerable and looking like one strong wave would knock him over and back into the depths. This look on Poseidon made Odysseus have conflicted feelings, it would be so incredibly easy to escape now and make it back to his home.. However this situation was ever so intriguing, he’d been away for 20 years, and Ithaca could wait a little bit longer…

“Poseidon… please, it’s been ten long years, you surely still can’t be stuck on this, just let me make it home. You look like you’re a bit worse for wear yourself…” Odysseus finally managed to sputter out some words in response as he stood staring at Poseidon. He was hoping to get through this easily without having to fight his way out, although it didn’t look like it would be a very difficult fight with the condition his opponent was in. The God’s nose constantly twitched and scrunched as he snorted back his drippy nose, the swell beginning to rise up as his breath faltered again, scrunching his eyes shut before another wrenching sneeze ran through him with a shudder as it misted across Odysseus’ cheek again. Waves splashed over the two of them, soaking them to the skin, the Greek shivering lightly which could be disguised as a cold shiver from the freezing ocean which fell over the two.

While Poseidon was recovering from this one, still in desperation to sneeze the constant buzz flooding all through his sinuses as he sniffled back wetly, his spray and mess mixing with the seawater. Odysseus swiftly twisted around and brought God down onto the rocks, leaving him there vulnerable to anything the man wanted to do. The power dynamic completely flipped onto its back like Poseidon was at that moment. The God of the Sea lay on the rocks, waves washing over him and scrunching his nose up as he looked at Odysseus with a slight bleary look on his face, stuck in a limbo of needing to sneeze but it was not coming out, the sneeze seemingly stuck just on the tip of his nose, snorting again with a scrunch of his nose again. He really did look pathetic.

Odysseus wasn’t about to let this attempted attack slide however, as he picked up the golden trident lying on the rocks, pointing the three prongs towards the pathetic man as he lay on the rocks. The king of Ithica watched as the God realised the position he was in but still fighting, and losing, his own battle against the sneeze that was brewing up again, the storm raged on in the seas.

“You’ve lost” Odysseus said smirking, standing above the God and pointing the trident down towards him but he didn’t seem to react, much rather his eyes began fluttering shut, jaw going slack as two more sneezes wrecked through his whole body, shaking it as the sneezes ran through him. The oceans rose up as he did. Odysseus could feel his cheeks heating up from this, he needed to get himself under control, this was not the time! However… he was just a man.

Odysseus dragged the trident across Poseidon's cheek, this prompting a whimper of pain from the God before tossing it to the side and pressing their lips together in a moment of madness. Poseidon jumped in surprise as he felt the Greek lock lips with him, this was definitely not what he had thought was going to happen but strangely a warm feeling began to rise up inside of him as the two lay on the rocks kissing. This was until the waves started to swell again, a reminder of what was ailing the God.

“Heehhh O-Odysseus… ihhhh hiihhh… geehh goneeehhh.. Heh-! Heh’ERSSSHHHUH! Hah’IRRSSHHHUUHH! Heehhh… ahhhh.. AH’IRSSHIUEWW!” Poseidon hitched out a desperate attempt at a warning to the other man before the sneezes ran through his body. A shiver ran down his spine as Odysseus got drenched by the spray of them, hitting him square in the face as he needed to break away from the sudden kiss, this seemed to leave Odysseus blushing brighter but he was not phased at all even with the waves roaring around them. Rather he pushed their lips back together with a soft pant as he did so, dragging himself up further onto Poseidon’s lap.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen, poor Poseidon left defenceless over a mere case of the sniffles, unable to control his own waves~” Odysseus sat above Poseidon as his index finger dragged down the bridge of the God’s nose, causing it to scrunch up with a sharp hitch which was soon followed by-

“Heh’ERRSSHHUU! Get your heehhh hands of mbe you pathetic ehhhhxcuse of a Greek” Poseidon snarled at the man who was so neatly sat in his lap as the buzzing only swelled up more, leaving him hitching and gasping desperately, Odysseus letting his finger slide under the Gods quivering nose, forcing the tickle to stay in its place, his eyes starting to water as a few tears fell. The Greek simply tutted as he rubbed his finger back and forth along the God's nose, “Now now Poseidon, I doubt you want to be saying such things in your current… predicament” He replied, a smirk crossing his face.

It was true, Poseidon, God of the Sea, was now at the mercy of a mere human who he had been waiting for at his own island for 10 years only for him to come home at the worst possible time when said God was at his weakest. Odysseus let his finger slowly move away from Poseidon’s nose as a sharp inhale escaped him just before his nose was pinched shut, a whine escaping the God along with a shaky exhale.

“Why are you doidg this?” He managed to pant out as he looked blearily up at Odysseus.

“Isn’t ruthlessness mercy upon ourselves?” Odysseus smirked and leaned in close to Poseidon again, his eyes filled with lust as he pressed their lips together again, letting go of his nose and instead letting a hand run through his hair as Poseidon was too caught off guard by the different senses to react, his nose taking the forefront of this reaction however.

“Heeehh.. Ehhhh.. HEH-! ERSSSHHUU! Heh’IRSSSHUUHH!” The sneezes flew out of him without a moment to react, the spray hitting Odysseus square in the face but this didn’t bother him only making his face flush up before pressing their bodies together, one hand on Poseidon's chest to keep him pushed down on the rocks, the waves splashing up against them, the sea God still feeling the itch in his nose. Odysseus could see this and made sure to keep his hand close to his nose, not able to help himself but to rub at it and push his nose back to expose his nostrils a little bit more. They were flaring wildly and he let out a soft moan as he felt the sneezes be pushed to the forefront of his nose.

“Heh’ERRSSHHUUU! Ih’RIISSHHHHUUHHH! Geeehh heeehhh geh’IRSSSHHHUU!” The sneezes wrenched through his body, his large frame rattling with each one, the spray hitting Odysseus being both from the ocean and the sneezes from the Sea God with the help of the human messing with his nose as they only kept on coming, “heh’IRSSHHHUU! H-hHeh- hRSSSHHHuuhhww! hHGSSHHhww!”

Poseidon was starting to sound more exhausted as the sneezes flooded out of him, the storm still looming overhead but was slowly beginning to calm down, the exhaustion of everything starting to catch up with him and Odysseus knew this was going his way.

It didn’t take long before the shores were calm again, the waves nothing more than a few ripples and small waves that would lap up against the shores. Odysseus smiled in satisfaction as he looked over to where Poseidon was lying against the rocks, panting softly and looking exhausted. His nose was dripping slightly and looked even redder than at the beginning of their encounter, Odysseus caressed his cheek gently with his hand and hummed.

“There, we seemed to have calmed down a little bit huh?” Odysseus asked with a small smirk, tilting the other’s chin upwards so they were looking at each other.

“I knew we would see eye to eye on this” he hummed and pulled away, his boat just within reach so he was able to climb aboard. With a look of pity towards the God splayed across the rocks Odysseus ripped a bit off his sail, draping it on the edge of the rocks. “Good luck, do try not to flood absolutely everywhere~”

Poseidon stared at him as he sailed away towards his homeland, snorting as he slowly slunk back into the dark waters, taking the piece of sail with him and disappearing without another sign.

#sneezefic #snezfic #stargazerwrites #snz blog #sneezeblr #snz kink #snzblr #guys please be kind-#please don’t judge too severely-

30 notes · View notes

kel-lance · 1 year ago

Text

JJK Mafia Au (JJK x Reader) PART 3

Warnings:

- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Breeding, Ownership, Gaslighting, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more toxic sh.

Premise:

Reader lives in a city where the two biggest gangs keep things line until the third gang showed up. That had nothing to do with you though, until dumb luck just happened to favor you one day. Basically You’re picked up and used by every dangerous criminal within the clans due to some alliances they had to create due to some members messing up the previous alliances. ((Almost everyone’s gonna have a turn 🤗)) ( i have 12 chapters planned out right now meaning after i write those ill still be writing more.)

___________________________________________________________

AN: Sorry for the long update im trying not to get evicted bc i was fired a while ago bc of a protest (surprise surprise big companies dont like or care about palestine or other places like it.) but i had to give away my cats and am still struggling i have my socials in my masterpost if you could help if not its okay ily

____________________________________________________________

You weren’t even conscious when you realized that you were still full of him. “Now he just thinks he can do as he pleases, oh my god, what a prick.” You were about to tell him off until he put his hand on your back. Stirring awake, Sukuna can feel as you tighten yourself around him. You realize you’re being stretched while laying upright on his chest.

You don’t think opening your eyes right now would be a good idea. Mostly because you could hear other people nearby? Sukuna laughs as he feels your realization. You could only pray that this phone call ends soon, and glad no one could see how red you thought you were, as your skin was glowing hot.

The base of your spine and neck were sore, like the rest of your body. Your back started to hurt, you needed more support. Sukuna caught this and moves you off of him, making a fwopping noise, and putting you back onto him with your back to him, like you wanted. But now you were facing his table, and he wasn’t on a phone call, you two were in a meeting. He was sat at the head, and quickly you catch a few pairs of eyes on you, your left hand grabs onto him and your right hides, your face.

“No way no way no way no way, oh my god,” You shook as Sukuna pushes himself into you. It was a lot, you could only throw your head down and cringe your face as this angle put pressure on another part of your sore body.

You stifle your yelps, trying not to look at anyone sitting in front of you. No one else is trying to look, most were red and blushing while the rest tried to ignore it. You didn’t need to be saved in this situation, but this was a worse way to wake up than not waking up at all. Your squirming had the leader release into you like it was nothing, his body and breathing stayed the same as he twitched violently inside of you. “He’s got to have done this before.” —————————————————————

“I couldn’t just leave you in that room. I needed all my men this morning, it was important.” Sukuna was talking out loud as he carried you to the infirmary. Now that everyone was free to go back to their posts, he wanted to bring you back to the twins to be able to go back to work.

“So I’m left to guess, you’re really just a random citizen that I met in an alley way?” He asks as he approaches the doors. He looks down at your pouting self, embarrassed to hell and back about what he just did to you infront of 20+ people.

Taking that as a yes, he heads in and instructs the girls to take care of you again. There are still no words spoken between you 3, not even the twins talked to each other, they can just telepathically communicate, adding to the creepiness they were embodying. You almost wanted to close your eyes and let them do what they needed to but this wasn’t a spa, and they weren’t happy with where they were currently. All you knew was that Sukuna was holding someone important to them hostage, and they were good nurses too so it seemed to be in Sukuna’s favor to have them all. After they finished, they gave you a few napkins w different pills on them, about 2-3 pills on each napkin. They finally spoke, explaining that each one would be for the next day in the morning and at night. You needed to rest and they would be busy, yet back to care for you randomly as they’re needed for the upcoming missions.

After they leave, you’re left to just lay there and thing about last night. Was it really worth it? You acted out due to desperation, in your head you didn’t feel bad because he did it to you first, and worse things after that. You just wanted some relief and god you got more than 7 times worth last night. You added 2 more this morning as Sukuna fucked you in front of his people.

You were briefly given time to think before the door opened suddenly, and a new man came in. It was one of your guards from the first few nights, you think he might be the one who fell asleep outside your door last night. You were still sat upright from what Nanako showed you to be the morning and nightly pills you were supposed to take.

The strange man comes up to you with urgent speed, his hand finds itself around your face as he pushes you into the wall, your head pounding from the collision. “Why would you do that? Why did you do that? What the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice was high in dismay, eyes wild and pink hair like Sukuna’s. Speaking of which he looked so similar to him, the man in front of you had a kinder face, his eyes glowed red but his features were younger, softer.

His fingers squeezed your face together like he was trying to ball it up. You could only raise your hands enough to try and push him away but your aching body was barely letting you move. His grasp spoke volumes, you just wished you knew what you did. Was he mad because you broke out? He didn’t look hurt or punished in anyway, so what was his problem?

“You fucking idiot.” He spat out, letting go of your face, he sits at the end of your bed with his head in his hands. Youre left to check on the bruises his fingers left on the sides of your face, not scared but apart of this new man who barged in, not knowing if Sukuna knew if he was with you currently.

“What did I do?”

“WHAT DO YOU THINK?!” The younger man was so upset you’d even ask. “Another few days and you would’ve been set free, I talked to him and we made a bet,” What was he taking about? “If you aren’t part of the other two gangs, that we’d let you go and he’d never bother you again, but if you were part of them, and especially if you broke out to do something stupid, we’d send your head back as a message.”

He throws his head back up to look at you. “I already know you’re not part of this, but why the fuck did you do that last night?”

He could be anybody, it didn’t matter if they looked similar. You weren’t about to make more trouble so you decided you weren’t going to tell him anything. You could only trust the people he assigned to you. “Listen dude, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about-“

“Of course you don’t!” He slammed his fist into the bed. “You could at least play along to get out of this! Ughhhh.” He groans further into his hands. “At this rate everything could go to shit.” He grabs your hands from your face and holds them in his, looking you square in the face. He stares at you for a second, examining your expression and the bruises his older brother inflicted on you. “What you did could have trapped you here forever, but you deserve a life of freedom, especially since you were dragged in this by accident.” He squeezed your hands tightly. “But seeing how you acted last night… Seriously do u want to die?”

You were pissed, how was it your fault? Why did you have to explain yourself in this situation? “He started it.” You huffed. The man’s hands let you go, reeled back, and backhanded you across the face, having you hit the wall behind you. “This isn’t a game. I’m gonna have to set you free myself.” He rips the blanket off from you and climbs on top. His large body has you immobile, and he wasted no time. He pulled apart your robes, flipped you around, and spat in-between your legs, taking his already hard on and smearing the spit around with his head before stuffing himself in, not caring if he covered himself fully or not.

The sudden entered had you scream into the pillow, writhing as the dry skin hooked at you from the inside. What was going on, is this allowed? You had so many questions. Living through another rape was nothing, living through another beating, just to still end up alive, you couldn’t be worried, you were more bothered that everyone was just doing what they wanted to you. Much to your surprise, this man who invaded your body, he stopped moving once he was fully in you, and he started to whimper.

The noises he was making weren’t something that should be coming out of a violent gang member, you would’ve never thought you’d witness something like that, much less actually feeling him start to slowly sob as he lets himself go, coating your walls inside, pressing himself deeper in, his dick twitching consecutively as his chest caved in and his voice wavered, trying to break out of the choke in his throat.

You were more confused than anything. Being used as an object, okay whatever, but why is he crying?? You hated people like that, it’s not up to them in this situation to feel that way, but whatever, he was done right? What was his deal? Now you were going to need another shower.

Sighing and shuttering, you were still regaining yourself from hitting the wall and the injuries his hands inflicted just minutes before, the shock of it all just put fear on the back burner. No, you couldn’t be scared of men, you were only angry.

“I- I’m sorry.” He managed. “I’m so sorry.” It wasn’t like he had realized what he did was wrongs but that he had to do that. “My brother, he doesn’t like to share, rather, he hates me so if I touch anything of his-“

Once again the door swings open. The man still inside of you is frozen, and youre still facedown into the bed, but you can only guess who it was. “You’re wrong, Yuuji.”

Yuuji slides out of and covers himself while sitting beside you. Raising your head, you watch to see how this new situation was going to play out. You only got that this brat was throwing a tantrum over his older relative, and he was trying to act equally as cruel, but the truth was surprising.

“You really thought they wanted to leave? I told you about them, and you asked yourself to guard them bc you believed they wouldn’t try anything…” He walks in further to taunt his sibling.

All you could do was watch. Yuuji, being the big guy he was, looked like he shrank in size as his brothers footsteps led him closer to your bed. Sukuna had reeled his fist back and sent Yuuji flying back, knocking into the next bed around.

“You see Yuuji, I was starting to like this one, but you’re right, sharing isn’t really my thing.” He walks closer to you now, his aura would be enough to choke anyone up, and his eyes glowed, not like anything you’ve seen before. “That’s why I’m going to surprise you all today. I’ll share. I’ll be as generous a guy as you couldn’t believe… COME IN!”

His words were instructed as a group of people walked in the door. It was a few men, and one woman. Only two paid Yuuji’s back hand some mind while the rest stood at the end of your bed. Sukuna’s at your side now, trying to figure out how to be gentle and play with your hair, but only managed to pick it up and toss it out of your face.

Someone from the group groaned, he was a taller man but around the same age as Yuuji. He was huge, buff and with a wild ponytail, to be honest he looked as equally scary as Yuuji and Sukuna combine if that made sense. Sukuna points him out, “Ever since Todo brought you to our attention, Yuuji just couldn’t help himself. He actually wanted you first.” He looked back at his glaring relative, “And I would have let him have it too if you didn’t break into my room last night.” He pulls you to him, his eyes eating up the sight of you before the feast. “Was it worth it Yuuji?”

Yuuji tries to get up and lunge at Sukuna but Todo and someone else hold him back. “Keep holding him, I’m gonna show him how badly he failed.” The large man picks you up, flip you around and splay you legs out, exposing you to the rest of the room. You can’t fight much, letting them see Yuuji’s remnants leak out of you.

“Yuuji, we’re not gonna stop until you finish, too.” That’s when you really looked up, there were six other people in the room with you, and what sucked was that you knew he was serious. “You might even be the dad, that’s the only way how I’ll let you have her.” Though you were in his arms just hours before, even had spent the night with him, yet now you’re squirming away. He grabs your bruised cheeks and shows you the line.

“Who wants to go first?” What do you even think in this situation? Were you scared? Were you ready? Were you angry? Would you adapt? Or would you freeze? It all didn’t matter, you didn’t get any time to think about how you were feeling for even a minute after they started.

A man with messy dark hair stepped forward. His dead eyes and face tattoo made him look so pretty, along with all the jewelry, brought out by his cool yet mean look. “Choso! Not a surprise; Hurrying to not hurt Yuuji?”

“I have shit to do.” He growled back to Sukuna. Coming forward he takes you away from the older man, pushing him adjacent the crowd. Driving right in, he kisses you roughly and climbs on top of you. His hands find their way up your torso, pulling your body closer to his, you’re basically a toy to him.

Because it was so sudden, you couldn’t really respond quick enough to hold him off. At this point there was really no fighting it. You sure did try, and you could but you thought with this group, they’d just get off on it. Knowing Sukuna, just meeting his brother, and now their other “brothers” are just here to try you out, especially remembering that they’re the new gang that pushed the Kamos out.

The large man has pushed you back into the bed, putting his weight on your legs as he completely buries you. Remembering that you’re fully naked now, your body goes into flight mode, all you can try to do is flail or move your face away but Choso has more control of your body than you did.

“Choso, you’re doing it wrong.” The woman chimes in. Walking over to critique his abrasive actions, the blonde comes from across the room to the side of the bed next to you two.

Choso parts his face from yours to groan into your chest. “We gotta hurry up…”

“I get that, but this is a break! And a great one at that,” she turns around and gives Sukuna a thumbs up.

“What the fuck? Why is she in on this?” The blonde lady was scaring you more than the men, it was like she was having fun just being invited.

“Here Choso, like this.” She nudges him off of you, and picks you up by the arms to sit you on her lap. Her muscles bulged, she made it look so easy picking you up like that. Your legs wrapped around her waist, as there was no other way to position yourself comfortably. She places her hand on your back as she brings you closer. “Good girl.”

You could only blush as her other hand found its way across your hip, caressing you up and down that sends a shiver down your spine. She kisses at your beck and teases your ear lobe so much your hips start to move on their own. She catches you with her fingers, plunging two deeply in you. “See? She’ll come right to you if you do it right.”

She has you sitting back pressed up against her, her changing movements kept you excited from her unpredictability. Digging her fingers deeper, she twirls them around to spread around Yuuji’s kids within you, not letting anything spill out. The only reaction you were strong enough to let go was just uncontrollable moaning. She has you in such a mess that you could only be vocal.

She takes out her fingers and uses the wet to flick at your clit, holding you down with each jolt and spasm the lady got out of you. “Kamo Jr.~ come ‘ere.” She calls to someone across the room.

“Stop fucking calling me that.” Finally, the last man you hadn’t observed yet started to make his way towards you, his hair was cut short and neat, but his face was stone cold. That comment riled him up enough to have him start unbuckling his pants.

“You act like you hate it~.” The woman caresses your body, making a display for the upcoming man. “I got her all ready for ya, so give us a show..”

You lol your head up and hold onto her forearm for support, looking up at ‘Kamo Jr.’ who was standing between your legs. This was the closet you’ve come to regain control in this situation, just being conscious enough to know who was next, you could only hope your mind erases and forgets it all.

“C’mon Kamo, you need to let your anger out…” She spreads your lips apart while her other hand moves your head enough to expose your neck. “And Sukuna’s given us a treat.”

Kamo stood there silently, upset wasn’t even the word for it. It looked like he was holding himself back for a while, considering that they broke up his family with recent discoveries. He was the promised heir, that idea was now thrown out the window the second sukuna killed his father.

He just learned that Choso was alive too, another rogue from the family who was stronger, smarter, older, etc. His future fell apart in seconds, and he hadn’t a moment to take it all in as they started bossing him around as one of the heirs of the top three gangs in the area. He just couldn’t catch a break really.

When he got to the bed, he gripped your thigh so hard he moved your entire body towards him in one movement. Your thoughts of his fingertips leaving bruises was quickly dropped to your stomach as he pressed himself onto you.

“Jesus fuck, what’s in their DNA why are all these dudes so hung?” Your poor mind and pussy, you really couldn’t continue this session if you wanted to keep the last peace of mind you had. You couldn’t lie though, the blonde lady’s tactics really did help to relax you, but knowing she’s just there to help them get off makes you still anxious about her.

This new guy though, as cold as Choso, was quick about it. He pulled himself out of his pants, only exposing what he needed as to say “Let’s get this over with.” Finally peering down at you, his eyes were almost dead until the lady brought up his anger. His remaining family was taken hostage and was released when Kamo offered to help Sukuna in exchange for their lives.

This was probably the last thing he could have wanted. Given his situation, with no other options, literally commanded to do something morally and ethically wrong, there was just so much going on in Kamo's head while he roughly repositioned you. To be honest it didn't seem like he was paying much attention until he realized he had pushed himself inside.

His mind was engulfed by only things he couldn't control, to now groaning due to the sudden change of overstimulation. Obviously you couldn't do much, but being on your back, spread out and being quickly devoured by the crowd invited, you had just a moment, a quick second to regain your senses and be in control. The last thing you remembered was Kamo starting to pick up speed, making your whole body involuntarily start to shake from each stroke, while the blonde woman brought her lips to yours and told you to eat.

The sequence of events went like this, Kamo fucked the shit out of you, basically blacked out when it started to really take off. As you struggled to stay focused on helping Yuki, Choso came to join, while all you could offer him was a hand, he pushed Yuki out of your face and shoved himself down your throat.

As Choso roughly played with you as he facefucked you, tugging your hair back and slapping your cheeks to feel the vibrations inside, Yuki snaked her way down to help pleasure/torture you more as Kamo was getting all his allowed frustration out. If you could get a glance at Sukuna, he would be smiling proud, you didn't know if it was because he was proud of his family, maybe even you for being good enough to satiate them, or maybe it was even just the thought of being in control once again.

If you got a glance at Yuuji, he would be looking away or have some weird look on his face. Was it pity? Was it sorrow? Regret? What was with this guy? "He called dibs." What is that supposed to mean, there's literally no common factor between us, so why would he really be feeling this way?

Choso started to bruise you throat, Kamo and Choso both ramming into you from opposite ends, basically using you for their anger, it was honestly becoming the best fuck of your life. It almost couldn't matter anymore, you were already getting fucked crazy with another man's cum lubricating the next man's round. Seriously if they didn't get you pregnant by now, the next set of people surely would.

57 notes · View notes

spicerackofblorbos · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 1: November

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!mute!Reader (she/her pronouns), set in a modern semi-fictional world

☾ Summary ➼ Due to childhood trauma, you find yourself an adult without the ability to speak. After years of working on it, you have found ways to live without a voice. Now here in your late 20s, you are 5 months in getting used to a new town. On a fateful day in late November, you and your adopted sister visit a local bookstore-café, unaware of the friendships about to blossom. Throughout the months, one friendship in particular develops into something more.

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, oblivious feelings, angst, mention of minor character deaths, trauma, illness, adoption, mentions of fire, disabilities, alcohol use, very light nsfw mentions, eventual smut (these update with every chapter)

☾ Author's note ➼ Hey guys! This is my first time writing fanfiction in a loooooong time, like the last time I wrote was probably in 2011. So with that said please be kind with any feedback or comments. I hope you enjoy! (also I made Hange's pronouns she/her/them/they)

Edit (11/27/2023): Hey guys, welcome to my little world of Unspoken Words. I have quite literally used this story as a way to better myself as a writer. As you read on, you may find that I've progressed (ofc I have a long way to go) but because of that, my first few chapters might be rough. With your patience, you may find a liking to this story as I know I've loved writing every word of it.

☾ word count ➼ ~7.1k

20-something years ago

You’re not sure how, but you find yourself sitting in the back of a big, white van. Red and blue lights danced in your eyes, and it felt like a thousand people surrounded you. Something plastic is placed on your face then you are instructed to breathe in deeply. You thought it was funny to be told to breathe, like you don’t just do it naturally, but you follow instructions regardless. It’s hard though, every part of your body hurts, chest included. Every breath you take feels like your insides are on fire.

‘Fire’, you think.

Everything is on fire.

Present Day

Levi stood blank faced as he meticulously cleaned the blender station for what felt like the 100th time today. The late afternoon rush had just tapered down so he took advantage of the next to empty café to clean as much as he could before closing for the evening.

“It’s 20 degrees outside, how are people still wanting frozen drinks.” he murmurs to himself, placing the blender back in its spot. Levi turns to the front counter and slings the towel he was using to dry things onto his shoulder.

His best friend, roommate, and business partner could be seen restocking some books on tall shelves, a gentle smile lighting up his boyish features. It’s been about a year and a half since they started this business venture together and they had no idea at the time how successful their bookstore-café combo would be in this small town.

Erwin’s thirst for knowledge kept their shelves as variable as ever while Levi’s love for perfecting the art of tea kept the drinks flowing. The problem, however, was Levi’s lack of people skills. He was seldom seen at the register, nor would you ever see him smile or talk to the customers. He often would leave you with a grunt and a swift turn after handing off the drinks.

No, for that, they had hired a couple of local highschoolers to do the facing work.

“Mr. Smith, Levi?” a soft voice rang out to the left of him. Levi shifted his attention to a taller girl with shoulder length raven hair standing next to him. Being as Mikasa is his cousin, they found early on how weird it was to be called ‘Mr. Ackerman’ as they shared the same surname. It was this connection too that got them to where they are today.

“Would it be okay if Eren and I take off a little early tonight? We have some big tests coming up and we’d like to take some extra time to study.” Mikasa shifted her dark eyes to the darkening windows as the sun set just over the horizon. Pinks and oranges flooded the partially clouded skies.

”Tch.” Levi could not help but roll his eyes. He raised a brow at her and leaned back against the counter behind him for support. “Sure, I guess,” he continues. “But do you really need it or is it for that blockhead?”

As if summoned by his words, Eren comes up from behind Mikasa and wraps a red scarf around his girlfriend’s neck, both of their jackets hanging off one of his arms. Eren is a good kid, always on time and followed directions, but the amount of sass he held in his body was something else. Levi and Erwin did not mind though, as he added a certain energy in the café that the customers seemed to enjoy. The two men wouldn’t say it out loud, but they really appreciated having them both on the team.

“Hey, I heard that. And yes, I need to study desperately. Econ is so hard and for what?!” Eren’s teal eyes widened for emphasis. To add to it he even put on a fake pout.

“I-”

“Just take the trash with you on the way out and you’re good to go.” Erwin piped up from behind a bookshelf.

Mikasa nodded in acknowledgement towards the voice, a silent thank you. Like Levi, she was not one for many words. He once thought it was an Ackerman thing but then he thought back to his annoying uncle and changed his mind quickly.

With that, she and Eren both untangled the aprons from their bodies, grabbed their belongings, and picked up the trash bags that were already taken out of the cans. They opted to leave through the back since the dumpsters were located that way. Again, Levi wouldn’t say it to anyone out loud, but he really did like those kids.

Erwin could be heard stacking more books into the shelves which left Levi to polish the counters again. It was the last hour before they closed so it stayed quiet for the most part, only interrupted by the sounds of scuffling shoes and books being placed on hard surfaces. Light jazz filled the rest of the silence. Then the bell signifying new customers rang from the front.

“Levi, can you grab that?”

The raven-haired man just huffed in response then stepped over to the register. His eyes fell on two figures right in front of him. A frazzled brunette and... you.

Due to the season, you are bundled up in a thick parka and knitted beanie. A big scarf wraps around your neck and face so that all Levi could see is your flushed cheeks and thick lashed eyes. Truthfully, you reminded him of a marshmallow.

“What’ll it be?” he asks, deadpan. The brunette is the one to respond, the voice loud enough to make him wince.

“Hmmm... well one English breakfast tea latte with lots of room for sugar aaaaand I’ll take a peppermint hot chocolate. Oh, and extra whip! We’ll drink it here.” She fished out a card with a dramatic thwip and handed it to Levi’s outstretched hand. Their café is one of those where if you were to stay, they offered washable cup ware as to keep the prices down on disposable cups. Not to mention the lessened ‘environmental impact’ as Erwin would say.

Levi glances at you before turning to make both orders. You give a small wave and smile a little, but he was already working quickly on the drinks.

He went into autopilot as he steeped the tea and steamed the milk. He really appreciated customers that ordered anything outside of coffee, especially when it came to tea. It’s not that he hated coffee, though it’s not like he liked it either, but it just wasn’t his thing. Coffee offered a different kind of bitterness that he wasn’t very fond of. With extra whipped cream in one and extra space in the other, he whirled around to place the drinks on the counter.

The one with glasses is the one that picks them up and they promptly walk in the direction of where you currently sit, one of the tables in the back corner by the window. You were stripped of your big parka and scarf, though the beanie stayed. Your eyes were wandering around the café in wonder, and Levi was pretty sure this had to be your first time here. But truthfully, he wouldn’t know, he didn’t make it his business to know his customers. That was Erwin’s and the kids’ job.

“The shelves are full and I’m exhausted.” Erwin came around the counter with a couple of empty boxes in his arms, heading straight for the back to the dumpster. Levi stepped back and leaned against the counter once again, his own black tea that had steeped while making yours cradled in his fingertips. He kept looking at his only customers while he sipped the black liquid. The teacup almost slipped out of his grip as he saw you dumping a large amount of sugar into your cup.

There you sit, extremely focused on the cup in front of you and lips pressed together tightly, almost as if you were afraid you’d put in too much. The sight would have been funny if you hadn’t just ruined your entire tea, he thinks to himself. You smile to yourself in satisfaction and put the sugar jar back where it came from. While you stir the sweetener in gently, the brunette in front of you talks animatedly. Hands were flying everywhere, and Levi could practically feel the energy radiating from the corner of the room. You were doing the same, silently laughing.

Suddenly the front door flew open, the bell ringing loudly with it. Levi grits his teeth, steeling himself for yet another customer interaction. But his shoulders dropped in relief at the sight of only Carly, Erwin’s girlfriend. She saunters up to the counter with a big smile aimed towards Levi and without even asking she slid behind the bar. Erwin had already made it from the back and was in the process of putting away the leftover ingredients from the day. Carly wraps her arms around her boyfriend and plants a big kiss on his face, to which Levi quickly looks away. It wasn’t weird for her to come in right as they were about to close.

What was weird, he thought, was the shock that flooded your face as you eyed the very public display of affection. Levi knit his brows in confusion as the brunette pivoted in her seat to see what you were staring at. Their face fell, any evidence of a good time completely erased.

“Carly?”

The person in question whipped around so fast at the voice and the panic that exuded from her was palpable. She quickly unwrapped herself from Erwin’s embrace.

“Hange.”

If it wasn’t for the jazz in the background, the lengthy silence that followed would have been deathly.

Carly clears her throat and laughs awkwardly.

“Uh, why are you here?”

The person named Hange just lifts their hot chocolate cup awkwardly, not really saying anything. Their eyes shift between Carly and Erwin, clearly understanding what had happened.

“I-I’m sorry, you guys know each other?” Erwin sounds cautious, like he already knew the answer. Of course, he would, he isn’t dumb. His piercing blue eyes survey the situation, going back and forth between the two.

“Well, uh. I-” Carly stutters, clearly at a loss of what to say in the predicament she found herself in.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Hange claims calmly.

This admission makes Erwin sigh heavily, confirming what he had pieced together. Levi stared at him in bewilderment as the man just chuckled quietly.

“Well. I suppose that’s it then.” And with that he turns on his heel and stalks off to the back room.

“Wait, Erwin I can explain!” She follows right on his heels and disappears into the back room as well. A minute later you can hear hysterical crying and calm retorts reverberating from the back. If Levi could shrink into the cabinets to get out of this situation, he would. Instead, he focuses on the other party who were having a very quiet and rushed discussion. Well, a one-sided discussion, as he only heard one voice.

Levi, realizing it was almost time to close anyways, rushes to close the distance between him and the front door. He really did not want to have to deal with other customers while the drama unfurled. So, he flips the door sign to ‘Closed’ and unplugs the ‘Open’ neon sign hanging in the window. A couple walks by about to open the door, probably out for a café date from the looks of it. But they were only met with a dead stare from the sharpest eyes they’d ever seen. With that, they briskly turned around and left down the sidewalk.

Levi spins around and from here he gets a better look at the two trapped customers. You were moving your hands all over the place like you were earlier. But with an even closer look he realizes you weren’t just talking animatedly with your hands; you were talking with them. You were signing.

You reacted to your partner’s conversation just fine, so it was clear you had some sort of hearing. Your scarf now hung loose around your shoulders, and it looked like you had tears brimming in your eyes. Levi swiftly walks back to the counter; this is obviously not a conversation he needed to be a part of.

“Hey, don’t worry about me. It’s only been a couple of months. Really, it’s better to find out now than 3 years from now.” They laughed without humor. You know when Hange was saving face for your sake, she was never as sly as she thought she was.

‘You don’t need to be strong right now.’ You sign then reach your hand out to touch her cheek softly. Physical touch had become your second language early on, if only to emphasize. Fortunately, Hange was okay with that and often embraced it with open arms.

“I know, my little strawberry. I just need some time to process everything.” They pat you on the head lightly with a small grin. You swat their hands, blushing at the nickname you were so graciously given so many years ago. But you nod back, knowing they would not change their mind.

The tall blonde glides through the back door, alone. His face was grim as he tugged loose the tie around his neck.

“Hange, was it?” He started walking towards you and your very startled sister.

“U-uh yeah. That’s my name! Listen I had no idea, I’m so sorry. I would have said something obviously but-”, they take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. What’s your name again?”

“Erwin Smith. There is nothing to apologize for as I can only assume there’s only one blame to be given. I hate that we must meet under such a circumstance, but it is truly nice to meet you.” He raises a hand waiting for a handshake.

Hange takes it after a second of processing, shaking the hand vigorously with both hands.

“Well, unfortunately it is what it is. I’m sure Carly and I will be speaking soon. I’m assuming she’s not just hiding back there.” They flick their gaze to the back door he had just come through.

“Ah well, yes. Long gone... how long were you two...?”

“Only like, 3 months or so. You?”

He flinched at that and murmured, “3 Years.”

Thinking back to her comment not 10 minutes ago, Hange bit their cheek.

“Oh man I’m so sorry.”

“No, please. It’s alright. None of this is yours or my fault. We couldn’t have known, but now we do.” Erwin chuckled to himself. You wonder if he’s trying to save face the way your sister did. His gaze now shifts to you. He is a very handsome man. To your extreme surprise, he starts signing to you.

‘I'm sorry, who might you be? I noticed you signing earlier. I know a little from the books I have read.’ His crystal blue eyes sparkle at you as he signs. You can’t help but break out into a huge grin. You sign your name back and compliment him on his raw signing form.

‘I am of hearing, though. So please feel free to talk, and I will sign back.’ You clarify to Erwin, the smile not falling from your face.

“That sounds like a plan. Levi, stop hiding behind the counter and come say hi.” Erwin calls out, not bothering to look over his shoulder. You hear a grunt in response and not 10 seconds later, the barista stands cross armed next Erwin. He nods a hello to each of you.

You knew he was shorter than you, at least a couple inches, based off the interaction at the counter earlier. But seeing him side by side with his friend was almost comical. But as short stature as he was, it did not keep him from holding himself with such authority. It made you nervous.

‘Thank you for the tea, it was very good.’ You sign, your sister translating in real time for you.

“Tch, are you sure? I saw you dump enough sugar in it to make it syrup.” Levi retorts dryly.

That makes you smile sheepishly. His fixated stare unnerved you a little, but you stare back regardless. Now that he was closer, a glass case no longer between the both of you, your eyes traveled along his face in close inspection.

He’s beautiful, you think to yourself. His features are sharp and angled. Steely gray eyes pronounced a permanent exhausted look. It was a shade of gray you’ve never seen before, and they were mesmerizing. As if he could feel you staring holes in his face, he flicks his eyes to the side, clearly uncomfortable. But you can’t help it, because really the most intriguing thing about him was not his metallic eyes. It was the scars that marred his porcelain skin.

A couple of scars ran down the right side of his face. The prominent of the two trailed from the top right of his forehead all the way down to his chin, cutting into his right eye and both lips. You’re pretty sure his eye was quite damaged due to the slight muted discoloration of the eye color.

He’s beautiful, you repeat to yourself. You glance over to Hange, and they just look over at you with a knowing look. You know she was just begging to ask Levi too, but she just shakes her head. So, you fold your hands together and pinch your lips together.

“Well!” Hange yells out, breaking the silence. “This human really needs a drink. Let’s all go! Erwin, I demand you let me treat you to a couple drinks!” She wraps an arm around your shoulders and laughs.

“A drink sounds fantastic; I will gladly take you up on that offer. Let me just close up rea-” He’s cut off by Levi raising both of his hands up in protest. You notice the two missing fingers on his right hand. The pointer and middle were gone. Whatever this man went through, you just had to know. But you toss those questions onto an ever-growing pile and bite your cheek.

“Erwin, I can close up. You go ahead.” Your sister just smiles widely and practically jumped up and down. The blonde man just clapped his hand Levi’s shoulder and smiled at him.

“Thank you. You’ll join us after? The usual place?” Levi just shrugs his shoulders in response.

Part of you hoped he would. You couldn’t place a singular reason why though.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of you found yourselves in a well-lit and very crowded bar. Somehow Erwin had snagged a table near the back wall. Heavy rock blares loudly from a live band maybe 20 feet away. Overwhelming was an understatement, but you grit your teeth and sit down on one of the stools.

“Whatcha want, my darlings?!” Hange yells over the music, slapping both hands down on the table and staring at the both of you.

“Whiskey neat, whatever they offer is fine.”

You sign the words ‘apple’ and ‘juice’ followed by a ‘thank you’. You’ve never been one for a drink. While it was tolerable to be around, you’d rather not have to taste it if you could help it.

Looking around, you see all manners of people surrounding you. Something about it makes your stomach turn but you shift in your seat to quell it down. You’re sure it’s only so crowded because of the prospect of a Friday night and the promise of no plans the following day. The town of Jinae was not anything special, but it was quaint. You and your sister found out quickly it was a place where everyone knew mostly everyone. After only settling down here from your hometown 5 months ago, you were still learning of all the local spots.

From the looks of it, this bar was one of those. “The Scouts” was an inviting place, decorated with dark greens and wood tones. The walls were littered with many frames of a lot of different people. You imagine it might have been local residents in various locations of the town. All of the wood was worn down, so it was clear this place has been in business for a while. A neon sign hangs above the stage where the live band played, something that resembled blue and white wings. It makes you wonder what the significance is.

Your thoughts are disturbed as a glass is placed in front of you. Realizing the dryness in your throat, you pick up the glass and take a big swig of the amber liquid. You’re met with a burning sensation, and you gag. This alerts Hange of the unfortunate mistake.

“Ah I’m sorry my little strawberry!! They do look quite similar though, don’t they?” They switch the glasses quickly and laugh. You notice the very noticeable cup size differences between the two and you stare at her quizzically. “I may have taken a shot while at the bar, sorry.” she adds on. It makes you shake your head, but you grab her hand reassuringly and chuckle.

‘I’m sorry.’ You sign at Erwin, and he just smiles back.

“Not a problem. But I have to ask, how was it?” A bushy eyebrow raises at you in amusement.

You just stick your tongue out and make a gagging gesture at him. You laugh though, not really upset.

Two apple juices in, the live band ends. Hange and Erwin are very deep in conversation, which you suspect might be about Carly. You can’t really hear what’s being said though. With the absence of music, chatter quickly fills the air. Honestly it was really starting to get to you. So, after tapping on the pair’s shoulders and signing where you were going, you find yourself leaning over the guard rail just outside the bar’s door.

The sun was already far gone. A crescent moon sits high in the sky and a smatter of stars surrounds it. The cold air felt very welcome on your very flushed face. You exhale a big sigh, which garners a puff of steam. It makes you laugh so you do it again. Then you start to wonder how long you might be able to last out here before getting frostbite when suddenly a body starts leaning against the rail next to you.

With a start, you whip your head to face the newcomer. Instantly you relax at the sight of Erwin’s friend. He was adorned in a big peacoat and his casual slacks. A tan turtleneck sweater peaks out from the jacket’s collar. His face was flushed as well, no doubt from the cold.

Levi.

He wasn’t paying you any mind though, instead his gaze laid upon the sky above, at the stars. You wave at him anyways and offer a small smile. He glances at you with a side eye and returns a curt nod.

Not one for words.

So, you both stand there in silence, staring up at the twinkling lights above. It wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. Something about his presence radiated a sort of calm, and you were happy to bask in it.

After a few minutes, he shifts his weight in your direction, so you face him. He’s staring up at you and it makes you swallow hard. His eyes glowed silver from the moonlight. Truly you have never been this fascinated with a person until now.

“You like the stars.” It wasn’t a question, more like a statement.

You nod in agreement, smiling to emphasize your love for them. He purses his lips at that. It seemed as if he wanted to say something else to that, but nothing came out. It just makes you frown a bit. You just have more questions that keep piling up. Everything about him just emanated mystery and it made you want to know all about him.

‘Are you okay?’ You sign to him, exaggerating your frown to show your concern. You’re only met with a look of confusion. You forget that he does not know much if any sign. And you kick yourself for leaving your communication tools at home. To be fair though, this is not where you expected to be tonight.

You then get an idea to use your phone to type to him but before you even reach into your pocket, you’re interrupted by a sudden blast of warm air as a couple stumbles out of the bar, both in a giggling fit as they cling to each other. They take off down the road, laughing even harder. The brief warm air makes you shiver, reminding you of the cold outside.

As if thinking the same thing, Levi catches the door before it closes and holds it open for the both of you. You’re suddenly well aware of the very loud singing happening from within and your eyes widen at the familiarity of one of the voices. You and Levi make your way to the voices and are greeted with the sight of Erwin and Hange duetting a Backstreet Boys song.

What a sight it was. The tall brunette, face flushed and glasses askew, had their arm around Erwin. He his blonde hair was quite tousled, and he looked like he was having the time of his life. They both swayed together as they belted out the lyrics. As if their smiles were contagious, you felt yourself grin. It was kind of cute. So, you pull out your phone and snap a quick picture, sure to show Hange in the morning. It was a good thing too, because the song ends right as you put your phone away in your bag. Levi clicks his tongue and huffs. You glance over at the noise and notice a small upturn to the corner of his scarred mouth. Noticing your gaze, his face vacates itself from any emotion as he stares back ahead.

“Oi! Eyebrows!” He calls out to his friend. Levi starts making his way to the stage, walking with a slight limp. Yet another question to add onto the pile. “I’m gone for 45 minutes and you’re already singing.”

“I’m fine! Just a couple drinks in.”

You all make your way to the table you had laid claim to earlier. You survey the table and count at least 6 more glasses, not counting your two. It was hard to see who drank what.

‘Are you okay?’ You sign to your sister, concern etched on your face. They just nod lazily and give a thumbs up with both hands. Levi is regarding you with a look of understanding, and it seems he realized that you had asked him outside. Music starts playing over the speakers again, and people start making their way to the dance floor. Hange squeals and downs the rest of her drink quickly.

“Erwin let’s go!” She grabs his arm, not waiting for a response. He gives a mock salute to the two of you and follows without question. Levi just clicks his tongue again and heads to the bar to get himself something. So, you plop yourself down on the stool and stare out into the room. Out of nervous habit you start fidgeting with the napkins in front of you. A moment later, Levi’s hobbling over with a tray of drinks.

“I got the idiots some water, they look like they need it.” He places the glasses down with a thud, including one of his own housing some sort of caramel liquid. Then he’s sliding something over to you and you’re about to protest that you don’t drink but you realize it’s not a glass. It’s a notepad and pen.

“If you need something, this might come in handy.” is all he says.

You’re quick to show your appreciation with a bright smile. You also note to yourself that you could have very well have used your phone to communicate but you were not one to disregard someone’s thoughtfulness. It makes something bloom in your chest, warm and comforting.

Your many years of not having a phone of course meant writing – a lot. Your handwriting evolved plenty with time so that meant it was extremely neat. It had to have been so that the reader would be able to read it without an issue.

First you write your name, as you realize no one had really said it out loud while at the teashop. Following that you add ‘I think your shop is wonderful, and I really did enjoy the tea you made.’ You also want to jot down the questions from earlier that were still swimming in your mind, but you hold yourself back. You tell yourself maybe later, granted if there would even be a later.

When angling the paper so he could see it, his eyes flit across the words quickly and you’re given a grunt in acknowledgement. Pulling back the notepad, you bite the inside of your cheek. While it wasn’t awkward being next to him, he sure made it hard to talk to. His cold demeanor gave you the feeling he wasn’t the type to talk about himself, especially with someone he just met. So, asking questions about him or his life was out the window. Likewise, he did not really seem interested in hearing your life story, not like you were planning to spill it anyways for fear of being met with disdain. You had plenty of experiences with that growing up.

Tapping the pen against your chin, your eyes drift around the bar room. There a multitude of people lingering about, shouting over each other to be heard. A couple sits in a corner, whispering who knows what to each other. Both of their cheeks are flushed and eyes heavy with lust. A handful of people are on the dance floor grinding away, your sister and new friend sticking out like a sore thumb as they dance with reckless abandon. All of this gave you an idea, remembering something you’ve read before many moons ago. You start scrawling on the paper again.

‘Are you a gambling man, Levi?’

You shift the pad back over to him and he glances down again after taking another sip of his spirit. He was holding his glass in a way you’d never seen before and honestly it was a little weird.

“Tch, hardly. Why do you ask?” He looks hard at you as you scratch something else down.

‘I propose a game to pass the time. Let’s make some bets about the random people in this room.’

He looks at you incredulously. You stand your ground, not averting your gaze even a little. When you don’t back down, he just scoffs and shakes his head at you.

“I literally could not care less about these people,” he clicks his tongue. “But I suppose there’s not much else to do so I’ll bite.” Knocking back the rest of his drink, he moves around you to lean back against the wall so that he is facing the rest of the crowd. You shift so that you are doing the same. You don’t overlook the proximity to the shorter man, nor the fact that your arms are almost touching. You start to scribble once more.

‘Winner gets to ask the loser one question.’ As his eyes fall on your words, he seems a little taken aback. Levi seems to think for a moment, like he’s weighing his pros and cons.

“One non-personal question.” He amends. You both nod in agreement. So, your eyes travel around the room, looking for your first target. It falls on a group not so far away.

‘I bet that gaggle of young girls over there are here for a bridal party.’

You point in the direction of the said group. Currently they were taking tequila shots, lime and all. All of them sparkled and were dressed up to the nines, save for the silly little hats adorning their heads. And they were having so much fun.

“No way,” Levi scoffs, “That has to be a 21st birthday. They all look like babies.”

Suddenly someone comes through a parting in the crowd with a tray of assorted colorful drinks garnished with cute little accessories. They all yell in excitement at the sight. One of the girls raises her glass and starts shouting.

“To Estelle! May your married life be full of infinite love, happiness, and orgasms!” They all cheer and take big gulps of their drinks, followed by more giggling.

Levi glances art you, his gray eyes dull in the dim bar light. An eyebrow lifts at you as well.

“How did you know?”

You do a sweeping gesture starting from one shoulder down to the opposite hip. He looks back over to the women and conveniently the soon-to-be-bride had faced your direction. She was indeed wearing a white sash sporting the word ‘BRIDE’ in bright pink letters. He huffs as he rolls his eyes, and you smirk at him in return. You press the pad over to him, already equipped with your question.

Levi scoffs at your question. As promised, it wasn’t very personal. You figured ice breaker like questions were a good start. But his pause made you question if this was a good idea, you didn’t want to run him off or make him uncomfortable. Then he clicks his tongue, and his face softens ever so slightly.

“My favorite hobby, huh? It would have to be cleaning.” He simply states.

Cleaning?

‘Like mopping, dusting, all that jazz?’

“Yeah, it brings me peace. I like the control. Plus, I can't stand filthy things, people, or places. It’s repugnant.” He scrunches his nose at the last statement. A laugh bubbles up and you can’t help but let it loose. You’re shot with a glare and a sharp tone.

“Funny?”

You shake your head no and smile lightly while your hands move adeptly on the pad.

‘Not funny, just amusing because it’s not something I would have expected. It’s different. If it makes you happy then it is an admirable hobby.’

Levi’s looking away from you now. If it wasn’t so dim, you would have seen there was a light dusting of pink color his cheeks and ears. He clears his throat and scans the room for his victim. His eyes land on the couple in the back corner whispering to each other. He notices their not-so-subtle hand movements as they felt each other up. Nodding in their direction, he looks back over to you, leaning close so you can hear.

“I bet that couple will get up in the next 3 minutes and excuse themselves to somewhere private.” Your eyes travel in that direction, only to look away hastily at such an intimate scene. You’re not able to think of a counter-bet because honestly, you’re thinking the same thing. Your eyes settle back to his face, but he’s already looking back at the couple. If he noticed you staring, he didn’t say. Suddenly his face is filled with a satisfied look, only to be replaced quickly with a look of horror. You follow his gaze again, afraid of what you might see.

Fortunately, it’s nothing risqué, as you catch the tail end of the couple slipping into one of the public, unmarked restrooms. But the thought of their future actions was enough to gross you out. Looking back at Levi, you scrunch your face up in disgust. He nods in understanding.

“This is why we don’t use public restrooms, especially in a bar.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “When I said somewhere private, I meant like a residence or something. Filthy animals, unbelievable. They better scrub that bathroom down. Maybe I should tell the bartender when they’re done. Maybe I should help clean.”

His retorts crack you up, your shoulders bouncing from silent laughter. He just stares at you impassively as he runs his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face.

“Well, it’s not like we should ruin their fun. Anyways I suppose I won. Let’s see... what’s your favorite color?”

You part your lips, dumbfounded. This was never an easy question, as you found joy in a lot of different colors. You bite your lip and start writing, but after a couple minutes Levi rips the pad from your hands out of impatience.

salmon

turquoise?

canary yellow!

orange

dark forest gre-

He just looks at you in alarm.

“Just pick one.” he scolds.

You snatch the pad back and scribble down, ‘It’s not that simple!’

“It is to me. White, easy.” You just stare right back at him, not believing what you just heard. Out of all the many shades and hues out there, this man decides the color white.

‘Why?’

“It’s clean.” is the only response you get.

It makes sense, you think. But seriously, this man was so weird. But like you said earlier, it was different and that made it refreshing to you. You start searching for your next bet.

As if in a scene from a movie you’ve seen a dozen times came to life, your eyes snap to a lone woman sitting at the bar, nursing a drink and playing on her phone. A couple seats down, you spot a few men chatting. One of the men is staring hard at the very oblivious woman. You nudge Levi with your elbow, not unnoticing the slight flinch from your touch. You point to the scene, and he is quick to understand.

“I bet when he walks over to her, she’ll get up and leave.” He says confidently.

Trusting your instincts, you scrawl back quickly as you notice the man started making his way towards the woman. Sticking your tongue out at him, you angle the pad to him so he could see.

‘Absolutely not. She’ll tell him off right away.’

To both yours and his surprise, not one moment later she throws the rest of her drink contents onto the man’s head. She gathers her belongings, throws a wad of bills on to the bar, then stomps out of the establishment. The rejected man staggers back to his friends, and they applaud him for his supposed gall. This event left you both stunned. There’s a moment of pause where you and Levi just stare at each other before all hell breaks loose as he starts talking and you start scribbling furiously.

“She walked away, I win.”

‘She threw that drink on him, that’s practically telling him off. And that happened before any walking off.’

“That hardly counts, no words were used.” He scoffs and folds his arms across his chest as he stares hard at you. You weren’t sure if the indignation was real or not, but it was evident in his face.

‘Words are not always needed to convey intent.’ You shoot back at him, shifting your weight to tap your foot defiantly. You would know this of course.

This makes Levi pause. He opens his mouth to say something but then Erwin and Hange came crashing into the little bubble you two had made. Suddenly the sounds of clinking glasses and mindless chatter came rushing in and you took a step back.

“Um, I think Hange might have had a little too much tonight.” Erwin says, to which your attention is drawn to a very drunk Hange. They were a blubbering, sobbing mess. Whining about things that ranged from Carly to her work stress and everything in between. Your sister rarely got this drunk, but you imagine the events from earlier might have been her breaking point. This was a sign to get her home.

You hastily round the table to wrap her arm around you and prop her up. Then after whipping a $20 out of your purse and throwing it on the table in front of the boys, you give them a grateful smile and sign to Erwin.

‘Thank you both for tonight. She and I had a lot of fun. But I need to get her home before she gets worse.’ As if on cue, they let out a loud wail and start sobbing into your shoulder. You shift your body to hold them closer so that you don’t drop them. Erwin grabs your $20 and shoves it back in your purse before zipping it up. He had left you no time to protest as he places a large hand on your shoulder and stares intensely at you.

“Please, let me take care of this. Tell them this was an exceptional time. And to please stop by the café again, we owe each a good, sober talk.” His bright blue eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled at you warmly. “It was a pleasure meeting you too. I hope you join Hange on the café visits as well. I think Levi has warmed up to you just nicely.” He wiggles an eyebrow at his friend. Levi just shoves him back and rolls his eyes.

“Tch, fuck off. She’s alright, I guess.” He’s staring at you now, not as cold as before. “You owe me an answer next time we meet.”

You purse your lips at him and shake your head in disagreement.

‘I totally won that, don’t even think otherwise.’ You jot down lazily on the notepad still on the table. It wasn’t as neat, but you were propping up a whole human, you couldn’t help it.

“Are you sure you’re safe to get home okay? We can he-” You cut Erwin off with a wave of the hand. Their spot of choice was actually very lucky, as you only live a few minutes away. And to be honest, you needed the cold air. So, you sign a quick goodbye to your new friends and make your way out.

Walking down the snowy sidewalk, you pat Hange’s head as she grumbles about random things. She opted to walk herself, but you kept your hand in theirs to lead them in the right direction. She only stumbled a few times but overall, you were able to keep a steady pace. You note that before you left, her glass of water had been untouched, so you make a mental reminder to hydrate her before throwing her in bed.

‘Alcohol was not kind to those in their 30s’ you heard their voice say in the back of your mind.

As your steps left crunching noises in their wake, you peer up at the moon and glittering stars. A certain raven-haired and silver-eyed man etched in your brain. You wonder how soon it will be before seeing him again.

‘Levi’ you sign to yourself with a free hand. A smile cemented to your face the whole way home.

☾ Next Chapter: December

106 notes · View notes

too-antigonish · 11 months ago

Text

The Classical Music of Ride, Part I: Mozart’s Requiem

You can’t trust anything or anyone in Ride. People aren’t who they seem to be. Every action, every event is just a cover for something else.

Is Morse one of the idle rich? An Oxford drop-out? A taxi-driver's son from Lincolnshire? A man who’s just finished a prison sentence? A policeman?

Long post....

Is Bixby the filthy rich head of a gambling empire? Is he just a front for Harry Rose’s criminal empire? Is he Charlie Greel looking to win back Cathy or Joss Bixby looking to seduce Kay? Is he even himself or is he his hidden, evil twin Conrad?

Are the denizens of Lake Silence really Morse’s friends—sheltering him after the storm of Blenheim Vale and prison? Or are they a bunch of dysfunctional philanderers and addicts? Even worse, are they suspects? Criminals?

Using Mozart’s Requiem in this episode must have absolutely delighted the music staff because while a great part of its fame and mystique rests on the sheer accumulation of stories and legends that have grown up around it, almost none of those tales can be proven—and all of them have been challenged at some point. You really don't know what's real and what's not—right down to the music itself.

Was the anonymous “stranger cloaked in gray” who gave him the commission the only sponsor Mozart ever saw? Or did he at some point become aware that the Count, Franz von Walsegg, was paying for the work? Some people today are shocked to hear that Walsegg planned to pass off the Requiem as his own work—as a tribute composed in memory of his dead wife—but that was a fairly common practice for the aristocracy of the time. It was considered slightly shady, but the proper thing to do was to just politely nod and go along with it.

Did Mozart, his mind disturbed by illness in his final days, truly come to believe that he had been poisoned and that he was writing the requiem mass for his own funeral? Or was that tantalizingly dramatic detail added by his widow Constanze to drive up sales of the score after the his death? The couple was catastrophically bad at managing money and when her husband died, the widowed Constanze was left with massive debts and two small children. She needed to maximize any possible source of revenue.

Her story certainly captured the public imagination. Pushkin took that little tidbit about writing his own funeral mass and wrote a very short but thought-provoking play in which he cast Mozart’s contemporary Salieri as the envious poisoner and Mozart himself as a childish, spoiled, and petty genius. Peter Shaffer later adapted Pushkin’s work into the play, and later film, Amadeus. A surprising number of people today believe Amadeus to be not the work of imaginative fiction that it is, but rather a completely factual story of Mozart’s life and death.

Mozart worked on the Requiem up to the day he died at the age of only 35. It was the last piece he worked on. Most scholars believe the manuscript we have contains not only the last music he ever composed but possibly the last words he ever wrote.

As far as authorship is concerned, we know for certain that Mozart himself completed “in skeleton” the Introit, the Kyrie, and almost all of the Sequentia (Dies irae, Tuba mirum, Rex tremendae, Recordare, Confutatis). The last portion of the Sequentia, the Lacrimosa, was completed was the up through the first 8 bars.

The last words that he actually wrote were "Quam olim da capo” — which instructed the musicians to repeat the "Quam olim" fugue of the Domine Jesu from the beginning. In yet another mysterious twist to the story of the Requiem, these actual last words were stolen—quite literally by tearing them from the manuscript—while the score was displayed at the 1958 World’s Fair in Brussels. They are still missing.

We are certain about the authorship of parts because we have the autograph manuscripts—the music in Mozart’s very own hand. The big question, however, has always been, how much the the rest of the Requiem can we consider his? The parts that were completed “in skeleton” basically had all of the “important” notes in place. Things missing include details like doubled parts that could fairly easily be extrapolated from what he had written.

In order for Constanze to receive her money from Walsegg, however, she needed to make it appear that Mozart had completed the work entirely or almost entirely himself before his death. Not only would this ensure full payment from Walsegg, it would also promote sales of the score to the public later. A work written by Mozart alone would far out-sell a work written by Mozart and “Mr. Competent-But-Lesser-Known-Composer.”

Today we know that at least two of Mozart’s students were involved in finishing the piece, with the majority of the work being done by Franz Süssmayr. What we don’t know, however, is how much of the completed work is purely theirs and how much came from Mozart’s notes and verbal instructions.

Some versions of the story indicate that Mozart gave detailed deathbed instructions and left many “little scraps” of paper with details of how to complete the composition. Other versions claim that this talk of “little scraps” is simply more of Constanze’s effort to maximize Mozart’s contributions and minimize those of others.

Regardless, we know that the completed Requiem was eventually sent (with Mozart’s counterfeited signature!) to Count Walsegg and dated 1792—which is rather odd in retrospect given that it was well-known that Mozart had died on 5 December 1791. It's always been yet another mystery.

The two excerpts used in Ride are the Lacrimosa, during the opening titles and establishing scenes, and the Confutatis, which Morse is listening to on his record player as he splits wood outside the lakeside dacha.

The Latin text of the first reads:

Lacrimosa dies illa, Qua resurget ex favílla Iudicandus homo reus: Huic ergo parce, Deus:

The equivalent translation (i.e. not the one used at mass, but a more literal translation) is:

Tearful [will be] that day, on which from the glowing embers will arise the guilty man who is to be judged: Then spare him, O God.

So Ride starts with tears and guilt.

I’ve always found it interesting that this text doesn’t even try to claim innocence, instead it very clearly asks that the guilty be shown mercy.

The Latin text of the second reads:

Confutatis maledictis, Flammis acribus addictis, Voca me cum benedictis.

The equivalent translation is:

Once the cursed have been silenced, sentenced to acrid flames, Call me, with the blessed.

This text always strikes me as coming almost from a child’s point of view. Basically one interpretation is, “Come and get me once you’ve taken care of all the bad guys.” I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions as to how that might apply to Morse post-Blenheim Vale and prison.

Next week: The Classical Music of Ride, Part II: Rigoletto or “Why keeping a person’s entire existence a secret leads to Bad Things.”

Special Bonus Section!!!

Parts of Mozart’s Requiem used in Endeavour:

Dies irae: completed by Mozart in skeleton* S4E4: Harvest (~2 min) (~3 min)

Rex tremendae: completed by Mozart in skeleton* S9E3: Exeunt(~1 h 11 min)(~1 h 11 min)

Confutatis: completed by Mozart in skeleton* S3E1: Ride (~5 min)

Lacrimosa: completed by Mozart in skeleton* through measure no. 8 S2E3: Sway (~0 min)(~1 hr 24 min); S3:E1 Ride (~1 min)

Lux aeterna: Not in Mozart’s MS; however Süssmayr reuses the Requiem aeternam written by Mozart almost note-for-note with just the different text S9E3: Exeunt (~31 min)

*skeleton: means full vocal and continuo parts, notes for prominent orchestral parts and musical bridges

#itv endeavour #endeavour morse #endeavour: ride #endeavour music #mozart requiem

46 notes · View notes

laurfilijames · 1 year ago

Text

Like My Dreams

Part 4

Pairing: Pete Dunham x female reader

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Alcohol consumption. Nudity. Fingering. Hand job. Cum play. Oral sex (M and F receiving). Squirting.

Summary: Things continue to progress between you and Pete, indulging in the slow buildup and all the fun that comes before sex, falling deeper in love with each other as each day passes.

A/N: I am so addicted to writing all these sweet moments between them that gives glimpses of how they are falling in love. There is so much more to come for this story and I am still so excited to share it!

*reader is not described other than having hair despite the photo used in the moodboard. And yes that's Jay and not Pete but LOOK AT HIM. It is so Pete coded I had to.

Intro Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pete Dunham Masterlist

---

You had to pull your phone away from your ear the moment the call picked up, the volume of Fiona shouting at you and going on about how worried she was too loud to keep it close, her annoyance at you not having answered her numerous calls not allowed to go unnoticed.

“Nothing happened!” you stressed, your grin splitting your face as you trotted down the sidewalk, listening to her accuse you of being too blissfully fucked out to communicate with your best friend and flatmate.

“Oh, my ass!”

“We kissed. All night.”

“Sure you did…”

“And talked…” you trailed off as you recalled every word and kiss shared, remembering each moment as if it had happened a hundred times over, his lips and voice ingrained in your memory forever. “Fi, I swear this can’t be real.”

“I can hear your grin through the phone. It’s making me ill,” she scoffed, but you could tell without seeing her face that it was in a lovingly teasing way. “And it’s real, so enjoy it, babes, you deserve it.”

Your smile grew even more as you made your way down the steps into the underground, not caring that strangers were noticing your blatant joy and staring at you as they passed.

“Put the kettle on, I’m on my way home.”

The lack of a vehicle was beginning to throw more of a wrench in your daily routine than you could have imaged, the difficulty of getting yourself to and from work let alone Jack to school and back turning into many inconvenient favours owed to Fiona and even Swill, and with neither one of them available to help today, you were relying on your very own knight in shining armour.

You yawned, your day having started earlier than you would’ve liked due to having to take the tube to your sister’s from Fiona’s in order to get there just as she was rushing out the door to work, praying you would get another coffee in your system soon.

“He’s here, Jack! Get a move on!” you called up the stairs, grabbing your purse and Jack’s cleats as he bounded down excitedly while sliding his arms through the straps of his backpack.

“Morning, Mr. Dunham!” Jack bellowed, practically skipping to Pete’s car as you locked the door to your sister's place.

“Morning, mate,” Pete greeted, his smile beaming as he stood in the open door of his car. He ruffled Jack’s hair as he flew past him and scooted into the backseat, tossing his things in unceremoniously as if getting into his teacher’s car was the most normal thing in the world.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Pete winked at you over the roof of his perfectly maintained, claret red Volkswagen, his hands tapping on it enthusiastically as his cheeks stretched even more on his face at seeing your own beautiful grin dress yours.

“Right,” he started, shutting his door after sitting back down in the driver’s seat. “Seatbelts on.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jack, then at you, his expression somewhat stern.

You looked at Jack to make sure he was doing as instructed as you fastened your own, giggling when Pete gave a pleased nod and leaned across the console to get close to you.

“You’re precious cargo,” he murmured, kissing you quickly, laughing as he pulled away when Jack began complaining about it.

For the first morning ever, you didn’t mind the commute from your sister’s house to your office, content with spending time with Pete before your workday, getting to admire him as he focused on driving while you sat comfortably in the passenger seat.

He sang pretty much the entire time, listening to a mixed CD he had burned, and it surprised and warmed your heart to see your nephew singing along to what words he knew, remembering Jack telling you how Pete often played music during class while they were working.

Stopping at a red light, Pete took your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it as many times as he could before the light turned again, checking in his rearview mirror to see Jack looking out the window smiling.

“How uncool do you reckon it is to show up at school with your teacher?” Pete asked, his question serious even though it initially made you laugh, seeing his brows knitted together as he stroked his thumb over his lower lip.

You looked back at Jack who was still in his glory, nodding his head along to “Supersonic” by Oasis, and then back at Pete, recognizing just how important his reputation and influence was not only to his firm and all the others in England, but also to his students.

You reached for his hand, rubbing your thumb across it before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I think it’s different when your teacher is your idol.”

Pete couldn’t hide his smile even though he tried, licking his lips as he concentrated on the road again, his happiness making you wish the repairs on your car took longer than anticipated so you could do this for many mornings to come.

“Fucking hell,” Pete panted, his head knocking against the wall as you trailed your mouth down his neck, your hands slipping under his jumper to feel his abdomen expand and contract wildly under your touch, the desperation to have each other growing each time you were alone.

You had just returned to his flat after going out for a meal with Dave and Clair, unable to keep your hands to yourselves even in their company, the feel of Pete’s hand resting on your thigh all night in a confidently claiming way driving you insane.

It had been a mutual decision to take things slowly, carefully and progressively building up to the inevitable, the anticipation adding to the excitement of it all and making every moment with Pete feel that much more special.

It had been two days since your sleepover, the brief time spent together since without being able to be physical making you curious to know where things were going to take you now, but the way he had been kissing you in the back of the taxi told you he wasn’t going to ever leave you unsatisfied.

Your lips found his again after assaulting his neck and chest until it was made red from your attention, his blush spreading up onto his cheeks as he became more worked up, sweat starting to appear on his skin that allowed your hands to glide easily along it.

He pulled your lip with his teeth out of restraint as you ran your palm over the bulge in his jeans, stroking him through the material until his cock was pressing against it almost painfully, your fervor increasing as you appreciated his size.

Jackets were torn off and left abandoned on the floor wherever they fell, your shirt, and then his, following suit as you blindly stumbled away from the door and into the living room, Pete laughing as he crashed into his foosball table.

“Sorry!” you giggled, the words you were going to use to ask if he was okay dying before they had the chance to pass your lips, feeling numb from the way Pete was looking at you, his crooked smile and hands clasping your face as he leaned in to kiss you again making you forget about anything else.

He pulled you along with him into his bedroom, not stopping in kissing you even when you both frantically worked to unfasten each other’s pants, only breaking when you had to rush to kick them off your feet and catch your breath.

Pete smiled and took a sharp inhale, taking a second to admire you in your bra and panties, watching your eyes cloud over with lust as you admired him in his burgundy boxers that were no longer leaving much to the imagination.

He closed the space between you and crashed against your lips again, his hands holding your neck and jawline to increase the depth of his tongue in your mouth, moaning when he felt your fingers hook in the waistband of his boxers and edge them down his legs.

Your own moans of approval rang out when you felt his cock spring free, your hand catching it and stroking his length base to tip, your thumb smoothing over his head.

Shivers rushed down your spine as Pete unhooked your bra and peeled it off of you, the sensation of his fingers and the lace delicately slipping along your arms and chest making you ache, your heart pounding when he pulled you closer to him so you were pressed together.

His lips traveled from yours and down your neck, peppering along your shoulder as he breathed you in, your head tipping back at how incredible something so simple felt.

Continuing his worship of you, he kissed down your upper arm and across your chest, sitting on the bed as he did, allowing for a better height for his mouth to line up to your breasts.

Forced to release his cock from your hold, you stood between his legs with the help of his guidance, whining as your nails dug into the flesh on his upper back when his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, flicking and sucking it until it hardened to his attention.

“Pete…” you breathed, both a praise and plea.

He didn’t stop, repeating the same on your other breast, his hands gently slipping down your waist until they caught on the lace of your panties and slowly peeled them down your hips and thighs until they pooled on the floor.

Once you were naked, he wrapped his arm around your legs and bum and tugged you forward, forcing you onto the bed with him where you landed wrapped together in his unmade sheets, his smile bright as he shifted and looked at you lovingly. He ran his hand over your hair, dipping his face down so his smile met the one you returned to him, your hands squeezing his body as you held him close to you.

You smiled as you reached up to trace his lips, his soft laugh making your heart soar as he placed his forehead against yours and nudged your nose back and forth, both of your smiles fading as the weight of this moment settled in.

Pete’s hand slowly trailed down your side and onto your hip, scooping your thigh to sling it over his waist, your breath pausing in your lungs as you waited for him to touch you, his fingers carefully gliding between your bodies until he landed home.

You gasped, releasing the air you had been holding in, the sensation of him swiping through your slick folds before pushing his middle and index finger inside you making you moan and grip his shoulder without regard to how your nails were leaving half-moon indentations in his skin.

The groan that tumbled from his parted lips in appreciation of how wet you were for him made your arousal increase even more, unable to help yourself from grinding your hips against his hand for more friction where you needed it most.

“Fuck,” he swore as he exhaled, hooking his fingers to massage you as if he knew the very spot that would make your legs tremble, and while you indulged in his generosity of pleasuring you, it was impossible to forget about him, taking your hand and wrapping it around his cock again.

Spreading the precum that was leaking heavily from the tip, you stroked him up and down, feeling every vein pulse as his shaft flexed and twitched to your touch, his hips bucking forward slightly, causing him to work you with more fervor.

A breathy moan passed his lips before he brought them to yours, gently and almost to test it out as if he hadn’t kissed you a thousand times already, meeting your lips more confidently when you reciprocated eagerly.

You never stopped once, exchanging breaths and slow kisses the entire time your hands explored each other, the addicting sensation of Pete’s long fingers moving in and out of you expertly while his thumb circled your clit keeping you on the brink and ready to fall when he allowed for it.

“Are you gonna come for me, beautiful?” he uttered, his voice thick with lust, his eyes heavy-lidded when he parted from you enough to look at your swollen lips and the way you squirmed beside him.

“Fuck, Pete…” you whined, gyrating against his hand, prompting him to amp up his already-perfect efforts.

“That’s it, darling,” he groaned, his mouth hovering against yours as he felt you tighten around his fingers.

You somehow managed to continue pumping his cock even through the build-up of your climax, desperate to drag him along with you and to experience what you hoped would be the first of many simultaneous orgasms, but Pete had a determination that was unmatched.

He alternated between hitting your g-spot and rubbing your tingling clit, massaging both precisely, causing you to inadvertently halt your movements on him as your climax ripped through you violently.

“Good girl, fuck…” he hissed, watching you fall apart under his touch, your body so beautifully reacting to the pleasure he provided, the noises spilling from your lips sounding better than he could have imagined.

Stilling his fingers but not removing them from you, he kissed you until he felt your walls release the grip you had on them, growling into your mouth in discovering how much your creamy slick had coated his hand.

You wrapped the hand that wasn’t holding his throbbing cock around the back of his neck and pulled him closer to you, kissing him hard to show your gratitude as you resumed jerking him off.

“Hang on,” he murmured, his brow furrowed as he took his hand that was between your legs and gripped his cock with it, spreading your juices on himself, more curses coming out of his mouth as he did. Somewhat forcefully, he grabbed your hand and placed it back around him, guiding your pace for a moment before sliding his fingers between your legs again, swiping through your soaked and sensitive folds back and forth until your cries encouraged him to drive them inside your aching hole.

You kept the tempo he had set, not faltering even when occasionally adding a pass of your thumb over his head, feeling him begin to lose control with each second. His free hand moved to cup your face, the gold of his ring cold against your burning cheek, his tongue rolling with yours vigorously as he ground his body against yours.

He groaned into your mouth, the sound guttural and primal, his lips breaking from yours briefly as he came harshly, his hot spend shooting out onto your lower belly and core where he didn’t let up on his ministrations.

His breathing was sharp and heaving, and you didn’t notice yours turning to be the same, focused on the feeling of his thumb smearing his cum over your clit that threw you into another shattering high.

He let you ride out your second climax, relishing in every blissful aftershock of it, your breaths gradually slowing together as your kisses became lazier and less hurried. Pete smiled against your lips as he gradually pulled away, his eyes bright and full of joy and promise of more.

“I’ll go get a towel, yeah?” he spoke softly and winked, looking at the mess he had made on your bodies, but thinking how fucking good you looked covered in his cum.

Pete tossed the soiled towel down on the floor and sighed as he lay back on his pillow, lifting his arm for you to slip underneath it, your head laying on his chest like you were made to fit in the space against his side.

Your fingers danced on his skin, tracing his West Ham crest adoringly, the happiness buzzing through you unlike anything else you had felt before.

He kissed the top of your head, his voice sounding tired and comfortably sleepy when he spoke.

“Are you going to stay the night?”

You beamed, relieved he couldn’t see your grin from his angle.

“I was considering it…”

Pete chuckled as he rolled over to cage you under his body, smiling down at you while giving you a playful look, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

“You’re dreaming if you think I’m letting you leave.”

What felt like an explosion of nerves burst in your stomach the closer you came to Steve and Shannon’s home, and you found yourself appreciating the decent walk from Bank Station in the brisk evening air, filling your lungs with it with each breath to try to calm yourself.

Like he sensed your unease, Pete squeezed your hand that he held in his, glancing over at you as he walked with his usual certainty.

“They’re gonna love you,” he reassured, his smile making you believe him a little bit. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” you hummed, resting your head on his shoulder as you continued taking strides together, smiling and returning his consolation by squeezing his hand back.

After a few more minutes of walking and being distracted by one of Pete’s insane fighting stories, he slowed and turned to lead you up the steps to the porch of a posh townhome, feeling yourself straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath as he hit the doorbell, the wink and smile he shot in your direction helping you steel yourself.

“Hi, bruv,” Pete greeted excitedly when Steve answered the door, walking through it when he stepped out of the way for you both to enter.

He introduced you with pride to Steve and Shannon, and as soon as the formalities were out of the way and Steve had taken your coats, you felt any unease about meeting them completely vanish.

“What’s this?” Steve asked when Pete handed him a bag before seeing himself through to the kitchen.

Pete scoffed, speaking over his shoulder, “Wine, a baguette, dessert…” he listed, like he was offended Steve was asking.

The look Steve gave him made you smirk, confusion written all over his face.

“Pete, when have you ever brought anything?”

“Bollocks!” Pete responded, his grin revealing the truth behind his brother’s accusation, giving you a look like you shouldn’t believe it as he opened the refrigerator door and helped himself to a beer.

“I see you’re already having a positive effect on him,” Steve said to you. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of wine would be great, thank you,” you smiled, already finding the relationship between the two Dunham brother’s endearing and ultimately entertaining.

Pete was on cloud nine, smiling to himself as he went into the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates, hearing your infectious laugh sound through from the dining room, having hit it off with his brother and sister-in-law effortlessly.

He wanted to show you off to everyone he knew, so proud to be with someone as beautiful and incredible as you, and he knew his mum would love you to pieces when he eventually was able to introduce you to her as well.

“That’s going well then, is it?” Steve asked, coming in and grabbing another bottle of wine from the rack beside the fridge.

“Yeah, it is,” Pete nodded, half expecting a negative comment or some sort of warning to come out of Steve’s mouth next, bracing for it as he retrieved dessert plates out of the cupboard.

“She’s really great, Pete. You suit each other.”

Pete turned to look at him, his eyebrows hooked high in shock, and he became even more surprised to see the genuine expression on his brother’s face when he did.

“I mean it, you know,” Steve stressed, seeing Pete’s doubt. “I’m really pleased for ya, mate, so is Shan. It’s nice seeing you happy.”

“I was happy before,” Pete countered, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, not questioning that they adored you but rather that Steve was about to lecture him on something about life meaning more than how he had lived it up until now and suggesting for him to leave the firm and fighting behind.

“Yeah, but this is different, innit?”

Pete nodded as he glanced over at his brother again, smiling when he saw his honesty hadn’t faded.

Steve stepped forward and embraced Pete, a hug something that was very seldom shared between them, but Pete welcomed it gladly, patting Steve’s back aggressively and lifting him up slightly, making Steve curse and groan.

“Thanks, ya old geezer,” Pete laughed, refocusing on his task of setting out dessert while Steve uncorked the bottle of red, both brothers smiling out of appreciation and gratitude for how life was turning out after everything they had been through.

It was hard to peel your eyes away from him despite the pleasure he was providing you feeling so divine it was nearly impossible to keep them from closing, the half of his face that wasn’t currently obstructed looking heavenly as he indulged between your legs.

His brows were knitted together, his focus and pride in his work written out on his expression as he ate at you appreciatively, the way his hands dug into the flesh on your hips yet another signal of his enthusiasm in being able to taste you.

Your fingers carded languidly through his short hair, it feeling velvety against the inside of your trembling hand before his tongue hit that perfect spot he kept finding and teasing and made you grip his scalp with a plea for mercy, your hips lifting off the bed as your cries filled the air.

Pete was more than generous when it came to pleasuring you, having already made you come twice on his tongue and fingers that didn’t leave the intoxicating comforts at the apex of your thighs, his drive to coax another orgasm out of you something to be awarded.

His moans told you all you needed to know about how much he loved tasting you, although he was sure to utter the words between licking and eating up all you had to offer, his praise making you soar and feel like a goddess even though you were simply laying there and doing nothing but being spoiled.

You smiled, feeling yourself grow more deranged from ecstasy as you neared another climax, unable to believe how lucky you were to find a man who clearly loved the act of performing oral more than you had ever experienced, his talent and passion for it evident in each swipe and suck, your pleasure the only priority.

“Pete!” you wailed, trembling on the mattress as he drove his fingers in and out in the way he learned drove you insane, his lips sucking on your clit to make you reach your high once more.

It felt different, more intense than all the orgasms he’d given you already, a pressure coiling tightly at the base of your spine, your whole body tensing.

“Relax, love,” he encouraged, pausing only long enough to say the words before returning to his position, his fingertips brushing your g-spot a few more times before withdrawing them completely from you, his tongue flicking your clit to finish the job.

You screamed, your body convulsing as a rush of wet exploded from you, soaking his face that he kept buried in your cunt as he drank up all he lured out of you.

“Holy shit, Pete,” you panted, your chest heaving wildly as you fought to catch your breath and comprehend what just happened, every part of you tingling and alight from such an intense pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of experiencing.

Pete hummed against you, shifting slightly as he moved his lips from your over-sensitive folds onto your thigh, his eyes full of lust as he glanced up at you.

Licking his lips, he sat up on the bed, a deep breath filling his lungs as he tried to keep control of himself, his voice deep and gravelly when he spoke.

“I fucking knew you were going to taste that good.”

His continued praise left you breathless, and although you barely had any strength left in your limbs, you propped yourself up on your elbows and met him in a kiss that tasted of your tangy essence.

One of your hands pressed gently on his chest to encourage him to stand while your other found his cock that strained with a need for your attention that you were so desperate to give it, moving off the bed with him as you slowly rubbed his length.

You reluctantly broke your kiss as you sank to your knees in front of him, keeping eye contact as you did, your hand remaining on his cock as the other slid down his defined abs to his toned thigh. His muscles trembled when you pressed your lips on his groin, then a little further down on his leg, your nose brushing along his heated skin that smelled so incredible it made your mouth water.

You swallowed thickly, bringing your lips to his leaking tip, smoothing it across them before parting them enough to invite him into your mouth, still managing to hold his stare as you did.

“Fuck, babe,” he hissed, his eyes clouding with a hazy ecstasy.

Moaning as you took him fully in the heat of your mouth, you relished in his taste and smell, your nose landing in the wheat-coloured hairs at the base of his cock that held that musky scent you were now addicted to.

Your hand clawed into his quad as you brought your head as close to his body as you could, his cock slamming into the back of your throat as a result, a shiver running through you to make your nipples harden and you to shift your knees on the floor to spread your legs apart.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,�� he whispered, your eyes closing as you relished in his praise, his words encouraging you to make him feel as good as he had made you.

You gave him all you had, sucking and swirling your tongue around from base to tip over and over, bobbing on and off of his size that made you gag, but you never let up, hearing his groans and curses falling from his parted lips that made you even more eager to taste his load.

Gently, you cupped his sack, massaging it at the same time you moved him in and out of your mouth vigorously, feeling him tense and throb to your efforts.

Glancing up to check his expression to be sure everything you were doing was feeling as mind-blowing as you hoped, you carefully rubbed your knuckles against the spot behind his balls, increasing the pressure when you saw his mouth slacken and his eyelids shut.

“That’s it, fuck!”

His hips began to match your tempo, his hand carefully landing on the back of your head to remind you what he could do if you dared to stop, his subtle demand for you to keep on exactly how you were making your own arousal leak from you and drip onto the floor.

Pete stopped moving, instead digging his fingers into your scalp, his breathy grunts and moans signaling his end that made you work with even more enthusiasm until you felt him pulse into your mouth in powerful spurts.

You moaned appreciatively as you swallowed his thick, hot cum, still swirling your tongue around his girth until a shaky laugh rang out above you.

“Fuck me,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair as he watched you release him from your mouth with a pop as you sucked off the last bits seeping from his tip.

Pete held out his hand to help you up, nodding at the bed behind you, a mischievous look dressing his flushed face.

“Sit.”

It was exhilarating, wondering what he was planning now, trusting him completely while also indulging in the curious excitement mixing with nervousness that the look in his eyes gave you, and obediently, you did as you were told.

Pete kneeled between your legs, smiling proudly as he guided your feet to rest on the edge of the mattress, spreading you open wide for him to access all of your fresh slick that had accumulated in your folds.

“I’m not nearly done with you yet, darling.”

Pete woke up sometime in the early hours of the morning, having stayed up well past midnight due to the simple fact that neither of you could get enough of each other, indulging in discovering every bit of the other with your hands and mouths again and again until you eventually grew too weak and tired to tolerate anymore pleasure.

The window was open just as Pete had it any other night, the sounds of the other sleepless people of East London drifting into his bedroom along with the chilly air. A lazy smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, thinking how it couldn’t be possible to have ever been as comfortable in his bed as he was now, your presence beside him something he didn’t want to go without again.

He sighed as he shifted closer to you, moving his arm around your torso to tuck your back against his front even more, the warmth that was pouring off of you contrasting drastically to the cold clinging to the duvet. Nestling his nose into your neck, he searched for your hand in the dark, lacing your fingers together when he found it.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” he whispered, his voice sluggish, feeling you stir beside him as a soft whimper escaped you.

Sunday’s were already a favourite of his, a typical one spent down at The Abbey having pints with the boys or in the stadium cheering the Hammers on at home, but knowing he was going to wake up with you still in his arms had him looking even more forward to it.

If anyone had asked Pete a list of things he loved only a month or two ago he would’ve given his usual answer; football. West Ham United. The GSE. Scrapping other firms and the feeling that came with it. Teaching. Music and books. The soothing feeling of a pint on his hoarse throat after screaming through a match or the sting of a bruise on his face that reminded him of the minor injuries he had forgotten.

Never would he have considered the list changing to this.

You. Your smile and laugh. The way you looked at him. The way his heart jumped each time he saw your name on his phone or heard your sweet voice on the other end. The feel of your lips on his, or how supple your skin was against his palms whenever he touched you. Not to mention the way your quiet moans would grow whenever he did.

Pete inhaled deeply, drawing in your warm scent, knowing that if you weren’t wrapped up with him right now he would still have a difficult time believing this was real.

Something he never thought was possible. Something he never even considered as an option before his life had been completely turned upside down and nearly stolen from him.

Loving you was the best thing he had ever done in his life, and if it all vanished tomorrow with the rise of the sun, Pete would feel lucky to have experienced even half of what he had so far.

“Where are we going?” Jack asked from the back seat, noticing that you had deviated from your usual route to his house from his guitar practice.

“You’ll see!” you chimed, trying your best to relax as you drove, the anxiety you felt about being back behind the wheel ever-present, but knowing where you were headed was helping to keep you calm.

It was a relief to have your car out of the repair shop, no longer having to bum rides off of anyone or take the tube during the busiest parts of the day, but the convenience and gratitude you felt for having your independence again didn’t outshine the slight panic that lingered just below the surface, especially whenever Jack was with you.

The Stone Roses came on the radio, hearing the intro to “I Wanna Be Adored” bringing out your smile and making you turn the dial up, the lyrics allowing you to relax into your seat and loosen your grip on the steering wheel slightly.

Humming along, you felt your heart ache with that wonderful fullness that was becoming both familiar and craveable, the desire to chase it any time a thought of Pete came into your mind or a text from him came up on your phone a high you never wanted to end, the same feeling now related to songs you listened to together.

I don’t have to sell my soul,

He’s already in me.

The lyrics felt like a gospel, the words speaking the truth about how consumed by Pete you already were, the thought of having to sell your heart or soul laughable as you had handed it all over willingly and not once hesitated to do so.

You pulled up to the pitch where Pete and the other members of the GSE were playing a friendly game of football, seeing Jack’s face light up when you looked in the rearview mirror after putting the car in park.

“We’re only stopping for a bit,” you explained, not wanting him to think he was getting out of going home in time for tea and to do his homework.

The rain had been consistently falling all day, but that never stopped the love for the game, not minding being out in it now when you saw how happy they all were beneath the layers of mud and water.

Pete had just finished scoring a goal when he saw you and Jack standing at the sidelines, smiling brightly as he jogged over to you.

“Aye, aye!” he called, slowing before he crashed into you, his cold hands grabbing your cheeks as he planted an enthusiastic kiss on your lips.

“Hiya, love,” he murmured when he pulled away, sending you a wink before nodding over at Jack and ruffling his hair.

“Eh, Jack, you’re in, mate.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, go for it! You’ll be doing better than me,” he laughed. “My leg could do with a break, plus, these old geezers are all slowing down and getting tired so you’ll dodge around them no problem.”

Jack looked at you for permission to which you nodded and laughed, “Yes! Your cleats are still in my car from yesterday.”

“Yes!” Jack celebrated, jumping up and down on the spot before running back to the car to get his gear.

“You’ve just made his day,” you smiled, nudging Pete’s arm with your elbow as you swayed on the spot, wondering how they were all managing to stay warm when they were soaked through to their skin.

“Ah, he’s a good lad,” Pete complimented, both of you watching as he hurriedly changed his shoes and ran out onto the field where he was welcomed excitedly by Ned and Dave.

You couldn’t help but giggle, seeing Jack burst out laughing as Dave told him about Bovver’s bummed knee, explaining to him ways to twist him up and get around him fast enough he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

Within a few minutes, the lads were all amping Jack up, calling him “Beckham” only to be corrected that he wanted to be like Ferdinand, and cheering and going on more than usual any time he got a goal, making the kid beam.

“Did you have a good day, darling?” Pete asked, taking your hand in his where he pulled you into him, his lips peppering over your forehead.

“It’s better now,” you sighed, allowing yourself to lean into him despite him being soaking wet.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You make everything better, Pete.”

You felt him hum, his chest rumbling with his approval at the same time his arms held you tighter, allowing you to inhale deeply to capture the mix of sweat, rain and fresh air as you nuzzled your face against him.

The tender moment lasted momentarily when Pete began shouting jeers at the boys, making you laugh the louder and more offensive his words became toward his mates, his body shaking as he began to crack up as well.

“Come on, Ned, the lad is almost taller than you!” Pete teased, promptly holding up his middle finger to Ned after being given one on each hand in response to his insult.

He chuckled and then kissed the top of your head before flicking your hood up to cover it, holding onto the edges to make sure it stayed up and shielded you as much as it could from the rain.

“I should get in there and put those idiots in their places,” he smiled, his blue eyes bright against the gloomy sky.

“Yeah, I need to get the little lad home,” you explained. “Thank you for this. You always make him feel like a star.”

Pete smirked, pulling out the creases around his mouth. “Ah, it’s all good, darling.”

Still holding onto your hood, he dipped in and kissed you, once and then again, unable to get enough, both of you losing focus on his return to the match and your departure.

“Why is it always impossible to say goodbye to you?” you accused, pulling your lip in your teeth until he kissed you again and forced you to release it.

“I get that a lot.”

He laughed when you squeezed him, the sound of it adding to the intoxication he had over you, and you melted even more when it quickly faded into a moan of desire when his lips met yours again, his kiss deepening with a sudden desperation.

“Oi! Lovebirds!” Ike’s voice rang out through the mix of someone else shouting for you to get a room and Jack yelling “Gross!”.

“Lovebirds?” Pete asked, his amusement clear in his grin as he laughed again and kissed you through his smile.

“Yeah,” you spoke against his lips, happy to confirm the sentiment.

He pulled away from you with a groan after another intense kiss, biting his lip this time out of restraint, his head shaking back and forth while looking at you hungrily.

“Mm. I'll be getting my hands on you later.”

Warmth spread through you, your love and arousal blooming for him even more in anticipation of what was coming next for you, seeing promises of intense pleasure glowing in his eyes as he stepped backwards and turned to jog back onto the pitch.

---

Part 5

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment if you enjoyed this story! 💗

If you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist you can let me know through a comment or DM!

Taglist:

@theesirenteller @inbar-thomas1980 @lilac13 @stealfromthedevil

#pete dunham #green street hooligans #pete dunham smut #pete dunham x female reader #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam characters #pete dunham x reader #pete dunham fic #green street hooligans fic

121 notes · View notes