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losers-clvb · 11 days ago

Text

ICEBREAKER three

pairing: stanford!hockey player!sam winchester x figure skater!female!reader

content: language, slightly ooc sam, so freaking sweet it makes me want to cry, smut (semi-public making out, sammy gets hard in a bookstore, grinding, dirty talk, fingering, finger sucking, protected piv sex)

word count: 7.8k

note: okay, i went a little crazy with this, but there was no way to break it all up. hope you love it <33

Sam couldn’t believe this. He had his dream girl standing in his favorite store holding a battered-but-beautiful edition of his favorite book. All of this after he had just discovered his new favorite cafe, a title given simply because it was her favorite.

Thank God Dean wasn’t here to bear witness to how down bad he was. Sam would never hear the end of it.

“Have you read this?” Your voice broke him from his thoughts, which was for the best because why the fuck was he thinking about Dean when he had you looking up at him like that?

“Hmm?” He hummed, looking down at the book in your hands. He already knew what it was – a third-edition hardcover copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit –, but he had to play it cool, act like he hadn’t noticed every book you’d even just brushed a finger over.

You held the book up for him, flipping it around in your hands so the cover was facing him. He smiled at the way your fingers curled around the edges, holding it delicately as if it was a glass vase.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve read it, once or twice.” Sam answered, casually. He thought for a moment, then decided he had to give you more. Why was he so nervous about your opinion of him? “Actually, that’s my favorite book. I can’t remember how many times I’ve read it.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning the cover back around so you could look at it again. You traced a finger over the illustrated mountains.

“I liked the movies.” You mumbled, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes. “But my brain doesn’t like high fantasy. Too hard to read.”

“You once read Crime and Punishment.” Sam replied deadpan. He knew you were a smart girl, probably the smartest he knew – though he was a bit biased in his thinking.

“I can read just fine, Sam,” he didn’t think there was a lovelier sound than you saying his name, “it’s all the… elves and weird terminology. It pulls me out of it. I just want to close my eyes and imagine the world the entire time.” You shook your head dismissively, placing the book back into its display stand.

Sam breathed out a laugh. He was standing behind you, giving him the perfect opportunity to bend down to your level. His chin hovered over your shoulder.

“Maybe you just need someone to read it to you. Let you close your eyes and imagine the world.” He spoke straight into your ear. Something bloomed in him – lust? love? – when he caught the shiver that ran through you. His heart swelled when you turned your head to lock eyes with him.

“Are you offering?” You had that sexy smirk on your face again, the one that made Sam want to lean in and kiss you until your lips were indented into his forever.

“Maybe.” Playful innocence dripped from his tone. He watched your eyes flick down to his lips. Good, he thought. Let you make the first move, make sure this was something you actually wanted.

“Is this before or after the extraordinary sex I was promised?”

Fuck, Sam was in trouble. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his physical attraction toward you.

“I never said ‘extraordinary.’” Sam mumbled, leaning closer. Your noses bumped, lips brushing when either of you spoke.

“I may have embellished it a bit.” You whispered, eyes still locked on his. “You’ll just have to help me figure out if I was correct or not.”

Sam’s eyes slowly closed, squeezing shut as he tried to keep himself from taking you right up against the bookcases. When he opened them again, he caught the amusement on your face, corners of your eyes crinkling while you held back silent laughter.

“I’ll do more than help you.” Sam leaned in, connecting your lips. He melted into you when he felt you kiss back. He brought his hands up to your cheeks, cradling your face while he smoothly brought himself to stand in front of you.

You licked across his lip, silently asking for entrance into his mouth. He allowed it because he’d be crazy not to. Your tongue pressed against his, wet and sliding into his mouth. He loved it, maybe loved you, but it was too early to say.

He shuffled closer to you, letting your bodies press into each other. You clutched at his hoodie, holding him close like you were afraid he would run away. Sam groaned at the mental image of you doing that in the mornings, waking next to him with his shirt bunched in your hands.

Hesitantly, he pulled away, then, because he really couldn’t help himself, placed a few pecks on your lips before fully standing up straight.

“We-,” he took in a breath, trying to level out his heart rate. “We should-,” he groaned at the sight of your swollen lips and smiling eyes, “God, we need to go, now.” He finally growled out, grabbing at your hips.

“You don’t want to look at more books?” You asked with faux innocence, and he really would have found a way to hide his semi if he thought you were serious. He could see the hunger burning in your eyes, ready to pounce on him at any given point.

“I have books at my place you can look at all night long, if that’s what turns you on.” He panted out, squeezing your sides. You grinned at him. “But I really, really don’t want that old lady at the desk to overhear any noises you might make if we stay.”

“Noises I make? What about the ones you’ll be making?” You were really pushing his buttons now. He was sure he would absolutely lose it if you weren’t out of that store and into his bed in the next ten minutes. He threw his head back with a groan, gently walking backwards while tugging you toward the door.

“Come on, pretty girl, are you torturing me on purpose?” He kept his voice hushed, eyeing the rows of shelves for any occupants who may be offended by his desperation.

“Yeah, I am, actually.” You had no reason to talk low, confidence seeping out of your words. He mentally thanked you for your steps that matched his, making it much easier for him to drag you out.

“You enjoy this, huh? Making out with me in front of Carroll and Shelley then acting like it’s just another day?” Sam was going to burst with attraction at the wide grin that spread over your face. He watched you glance down, taking note of the way his jeans were just the slightest bit tighter around his crotch.

“You seem to enjoy it.” You teased, pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth. He hoped that within the next few moments, that lips would be in between his teeth instead. He rolled his eyes playfully, quickly spinning you two around so you were in front. He placed his hands on your shoulders, practically gluing himself to your backside.

“That’s why we have to go.” He urged quietly into your ear. He could feel your ass rubbing against him through his jeans, making him almost regret walking so close with you. He couldn’t make eye contact with the register attendant, not when she bore a resemblance far too close to his own grandmother.

“Have a good day!” You beamed at the woman. Sam didn’t know how you did it, not when he was growing harder against you by the second. He mumbled something that resembled your words, his fingers gently gripping onto you.

Sam guided you to the left, eyes trained on his apartment building. He saw the path in his mind – door, stairs, door, door, bed –, but before he could point out the direction he wanted you to head in, he was slammed against the side of a building.

His face contorted into confusion. One look at your face – at your blown pupils and flushed cheeks – had that confusion morphing into smug understanding. He took in a breath, meaning to speak, boast about you being the horny one. His words were snuffed out before they had a chance to get out, your lips locking onto his.

His curious thoughts as to how you were able to push his six-foot-four frame into this alleyway in the first place were replaced with a hurricane of you. He put those panic attack prevention techniques Dean had taught him to good use now, finding anxiety and love – or was it only lust? – to have similar effects on his heart.

Five things he could feel: your lips notching into his, your hands tugging his neck down, your hair tangling in his fingers, your thighs squeezing around his knee (he’d skillfully nudged it in between your legs just moments before), and your tongue pressing into his.

Were they all supposed to be about the same person?

Fine.

Five things he could hear: your his heartbeat thundering in his chest, your breaths heaving into his mouth, your little whimpers as he–

Fuck, he was in trouble. He could feel it, just as he had felt it freshman year in that damn psychology class when he first made eye contact with you.

You were going to create a whole lot of chaos in his life. One way or the other, his heart was yours, his entire being was yours.

What the hell? He didn’t do this. He didn’t act like such a fucking sap, no matter what Dean tried to give him shit for. It wasn’t as if he was against relationships. If he had it his way, he’d have been taken off the market in that first moment he’d seen you.

Instead, he gave hook ups a try. He’d left that to Dean in high school, letting his education take center stage even when he barely had to study for anything.

He didn’t fuck mindlessly. He gave those girls a good time, helping them come as many times as they pleased, and he always gave aftercare. No question about it, Sam was a giver more than he was a taker.

It was just… he didn’t really care about them.

Okay, shit, that sounded bad. He cared, but he didn’t… love them. Love. There it was again. He felt like a child for thinking that way, saying he loved you when he’d only just formally met you.

It was true, of course, because why would anything in his life be ‘normal.’ He loved you. He just wasn’t going to tell you that, not right now while making out next to a dusty-ass Honda.

“Stop.” Sam mumbled, immediately cursing himself for even uttering a mention of that word. He didn’t want to stop. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do.

You pulled away, lips peeling from his like they had a mind of their own and didn’t want to let go either. You settled down from your tiptoes, feet flat on the ground and pout set on your face.

“You want to stop?” Your voice purred out to him, tempting him like a siren song to a lonely sailor. He cursed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut like it was all a dream.

He opened his eyes again and, guess what? Not a dream. There you were, standing beautiful as ever with those swollen lips and messy hair.

“No, God, of course I don’t want to stop.” Sam’s voice was hushed. He didn’t know why he felt the need to be so gentle with you. It wasn’t because you couldn’t handle tough. There was no doubt in his mind that you could fight a battle on your own and come out victorious. Maybe he just didn’t want to be the thing to hurt you.

He brought his thumb up to swipe across your bottom lip, smearing the shine of spit that lingered there. He tugged it down, letting your teeth peek through while you looked up at him, waiting for more.

“I saw this going a bit differently…,” he mumbled, gaze still trained on your lip as he pulled his hand away from your face.

“Less kissing?” You asked with a grin that told him you knew it wasn’t that.

“No,” he let out a soft chuckle, “more kissing, actually. Just… laying down, in my bed.” He thought for a moment. “Less clothes,” he added with a teasing smile.

He watched the words register in your mind, watched your hands curl into fists as if you were trying to control yourself just as much as he was. Your throat moved slightly when you swallowed, drawing his attention to your neck.

Your neck, which was already pretty enough on its own but – in Sam’s personal opinion – would look so much better with a few nibbles bruised into it.

“We can remedy that. The ‘less clothes’ thing.” Your eyes narrowed and he knew you were simply digging a deeper grave for his ability to have casual sex. “And all the rest of that. Maybe add some of how I thought tonight would go.”

“How you thought it would go?” He questioned with a raised brow.

He shouldn’t have asked that because the smirk it elicited had him holding back a groan of desperation.

“You know,” you shrugged, running your tongue across your teeth, “your head in between my thighs, getting that pretty face a little wet.”

Oh. My. God.

Sam was about to fucking bust and you’d barely touched him.

“You think I’m pretty?” He asked, avoiding replying to the other stuff because it would only end up with a public indecency charge. You scoffed, reaching out to clutch his hoodie.

“That’s what you got out of that?” Sam heard the annoyance, but he knew how to read through it. You were throwing it in there on purpose, using that attitude that would be the absolute death of him. He bent down, face level with yours now.

“I got a lot more out of it, trust me. Sounds like we need to pick things up and take them across the street.” He leaned his head forward to speak in your ear. “I’m hoping to get my face more than ‘a little’ wet.”

He smirked at the visible shiver that ran through you. He pulled back, kissed you one last time – because how could he not? –, and stood up straight, pulling you into his chest with one arm.

He swore you were about to sprint to the apartment building, but maybe that was just his ego talking.

—

You were actually about to sprint into this guy’s place. You held yourself back, somehow, forcing your legs to move at a quick but normal pace. Sam’s arm around your shoulders wasn’t helping your self-control and you had a feeling he knew that.

You didn’t know what was going on. This wasn’t you. Sure, you had said ‘no hook ups during competition season’, but it was more of ‘no hook ups ever.’ You’d had your casual flings and occasional one-night stands, of course.

They hadn’t felt like this. They weren’t horrible, you’d gotten off and left whoever’s bed satisfied. It was different with Sam.

Wild. Hungry. Desperate. Gasoline to fire.

You felt like he wanted you for you, not just another warm body in his bed. You tried to tell yourself it was stupid to be feeling this way. It didn’t work. Not when he was groaning your name and smashing his lips to yours the moment the door closed behind him.

You melted against him, letting your entire body fall into his. He caught you, because of course he did. It only added to your heart’s reach for him.

You felt his arms flex around you, holding you tight to his body. A whimper – oh, you were gone – vibrated from your throat, encouraging Sam to lift you. His hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, pulling them up to help you wrap your legs around his waist.

You arched into him, practically climbing his body now. He still had to bend his neck to kiss you, but now his face was angled up with you tugging on his hair to keep him like that. He grunted and you felt his fingers digging into your thighs.

You heard a few thuds, presumably things falling to the ground as Sam walked to his bedroom. Honestly, you couldn’t care less about whatever destruction was left in your wake. You wanted Sam, and you wanted him now.

Bump.

That was the back of your head against a bedroom – Sam’s bedroom – door. You cringed, ducking your head forward.

“Jesus Christ…” Sam mumbled, immediately cradling your head with one of his hands. His fingers weaved into your hair. You were about to pull back to ask him if he was always this clumsy when you felt him kiss your head. Repeatedly.

“What are you doing?” You giggled out, trying to twist away from the constant peppering of kisses into your hair. It only encouraged him to continue.

Eventually, you cupped his face in your hands, smushing his cheeks together and pushing his head back gently. You raised a brow at him, panting, half from the previous making out, half from your overabundance of laughter at Sam’s actions.

“I was ‘kissing it better,’” he explained, a goofy grin on his face. His words were muffled a bit due to your hold still on his face.

“You know that doesn’t actually work, right?”

“Does your head hurt?” He asked, adjusting his grip on your thighs. When you shook your head, his smile widened. “See?”

“It wasn’t from the kisses.” You argued. You couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed. It was too… sweet, too innocent of a gesture from him. It made your heart swell when he raised a brow and nodded confidently.

“It was totally from the kisses.” He told you. He didn’t give you a chance to argue back. His lips were back on yours, the door behind you finally opening to allow you passage inside.

Sam stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Apparently he hadn’t meant to do that because a second later he mumbled an ‘oops’ against your lips. You smiled into the kiss, dipping your hands under the neckline of his shirt to touch his bare skin.

Suddenly, your world was tilting, and not just in the metaphorical sense. He lowered you to the bed, slow, your hair falling back to hang behind you like you were falling. His lips were fervent on you, sucking on your bottom lip in a way that made you whimper for more.

Sam hovered over you, hand sliding from under your thigh to your ass. He squeezed softly, pulling a moan from the back of your throat, something you didn’t know was a thing. When was the last time you moaned from a simple squeeze?

You hadn’t noticed the shift of his lips, his kissing moving from the center of your lips to the corner, then your cheek, then your jaw, ultimately landing on that little spot on your neck that was the most sensitive. You whined low and long at the nip he gave it, somehow knowing that was the perfect place to do it.

“So sensitive,” he teased, words mumbled against your skin.

“I am not-,” you started to argue back when he nibbled at the spot again, proving his point to be accurate. You lifted your hips up, needing to meet his in an attempt to get some friction where you really needed it. His hand flew to your side, holding you down.

“Is this what you want?” Sam asked, eyes serious. You narrowed your eyes at him, lips curling in confusion. “Is this, the hooking up, the sex, actually what you want?” He clarified, thinking you were unclear about what he meant.

“What gave you the impression it wasn’t what I wanted?” You thought back on your reactions thus far. Moans, whimpers, and grinding? Were those not clear indicators that you wanted to fuck this man?

“You just-,” you watched him shake his head, “you said, before…,” he noticed the amused expression on your face as you took in his blustering. “Pretty girl,” he said, no stutter heard this time, “do you want to have sex with me, tonight, in this bed?”

You cracked a wide grin.

“Mmm, so the university did give you guys that consent talk last week.” You teased, remembering how irritated the hockey coach had looked coming out of a conference room, a crowd of boisterous hockey players behind him with handfuls of condoms. Sam groaned, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder.

You decided to put him out of his misery since, well, you were kind of getting desperate to take your clothes off, too.

“Yes, Sam Winchester, I want to have sex with you, tonight, in this bed.” You declared. Upon hearing this, he lifted his head, looking at you like a golden retriever that had just been offered a treat.

“Thank God,” he murmured with a grin, jumping straight into peppering kisses all over your face, much like that same golden retriever would have. You laughed, loud and unrestrained, shaking your head back and forth in an attempt to get him to let up on you, if only to let you breathe.

“Sam!” You squealed, hands clutching at his chest. He laughed with you, kissing lower until he was at your collarbone. His attack on you turned slower and sloppier, his tongue flattening against your skin with every kiss.

It was safe to say you weren’t laughing anymore.

Panting breaths left your lips, growing sharper as he touched you. Your eyes fluttered shut, making you focus solely on how good his mouth felt on you.

“Sam…,” you said again, this time slow and needy. You moaned as he moved lower, lips and tongue and teeth running over the tops of your breasts. You’d worn that v-neck shirt for a reason and it was paying off immensely now.

Sam’s hands held loose on your hips, not to hold you back from moving, more like he needed to just have you in his grasp. You found yourself needing the same thing, needing more than just touching him. You wanted to stay here forever, with his attention on you and only you, worshipping your body like a proper disciple.

You spread your legs wider to allow his shoulders through them, his head now hovering above your stomach. You looked down at him, eyes locking with his. He curled his fingers around the hem of your shirt and you prepared to help him rid you of the garment. Instead of pulling it up your body, he grinned mischievously and tucked his head under the fabric.

Your jaw dropped as he moved, part of you shocked that he was now trying to force his wide torso into your shirt, the other part forgetting what the hell was going on because he was licking up your abdomen. He wiggled up your body, peeking at you from under the neckline.

“You’re stretching it out!” You protested when you heard a pop. Sam smiled at you goofily, locking eyes as he kissed your sternum. You narrowed your eyes. “I’m never going to be able to wear this shirt again.” You grumbled.

“Take one of mine.” He mumbled, eyes closing as he kissed sloppily at the skin just above the cup of your bra.

“What?” You scoffed, using every bit of willpower you had to not whimper at the graze of his teeth. Take one of mine, he had said. If you were up for thinking of more than what position you wanted to put Sam in, you would have come up with a witty comeback instead of feigning confusion.

“One of my shirts. Take it, as a replacement.” His hazel eyes popped open again, a smirk growing on his face. “Or all of them, if you want. You’ll have your pick of them.”

“What about this one?” You questioned, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie. He raised an eyebrow, the look in his eye telling you he knew exactly what you were playing at. He slithered out from under your shirt, sitting on his knees between your legs. He looked down at you as you instinctively checked yourself.

Sure enough, the fucking shirt was stretched out in the most unflattering way.

“Told you…,” you mumbled, glaring at him with only the slightest bit of irritation, which quickly dissipated to nothing when he started to pull his hoodie off, taking with it the t-shirt that had been underneath.

What you were left with was his bare upper body practically taunting you. Pecs, abs, and the most bite-worthy biceps you’d ever laid your eyes on. You met Sam’s eyes again, an open-mouthed smile taking over your face.

He dropped the hoodie-shirt bundle off the side of the bed just in time for you to pull him down onto you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, hands pawing at his shoulders, your lips smashing onto his in a sloppy mix of tongue and teeth.

“Mmm…,” you hummed appreciatively when he squeezed softly at your breast. Even with the cushion of your shirt and bra, you could feel his hand almost on your skin, making you want – no, need – more.

“Take it off,” you panted into his mouth. “Take it off, my shirt, take it off, now.” You were demanding and desperate, not able to find it in yourself to mask how you felt in that moment. To his credit, Sam listened well.

He dragged that useless garment over your head. His hands immediately went to your sides, fingers grazing over your ribs hungrily. You grinned up at him, pulling him back down, because what the fuck was he doing not kissing you?

Your tongues met before your lips did, twisting around each other in such a way that made you both groan. You arched your body up into him and he took the opportunity to slip his hands under you. You felt his calloused touch roaming against your spine, scraping on your skin in a heavenly fashion.

“You… feel so… good.” Sam groaned out that last word, tugging you closer to him. You let out a shuddering breath, not able to stop the whimper that followed it.

Fuck it, you thought. Let him see how badly he made you ache for more. It wasn’t as if it was one sided, that much was clear.

Sam knocked your legs apart, pressing his body into yours. He cupped a hand under your knee, bringing your leg up to hook around his body. You felt him through his jeans, straining in the denim and rubbing against your core just right. He was kissing you so intensely, with so much raw starvation, that his entire body rolled with the movements of his head, creating a steady nudge, nudge, nudge onto your clit.

Damn, he was right, you really were sensitive. That friction was creating a stew of whimpers in your throat, non-stop noise humming from you while you sucked on his tongue. Whimpers that quickly turned to gasping moans when his hand slithered into your pants, under those lacy panties you’d picked out specially for him and right onto your dripping heat, cupping over it to make you feel.

And, oh God, did you feel. You felt it all, every ridge of his fingers against your folds, the flex of his knuckles when he put on the slightest bit of pressure. You rocked into his hand, chasing more, more, more-

“More.” You moaned. Sam’s open-mouthed kisses on your cheek shifted up into another one of those grins that would have you smiling back if his thumb hadn’t started circling your clit. You sucked in a sharp breath.

“Oh, that’s good,” you nodded, still trying to play it casual, even with his fingers dipping in and out of your slick folds. “That’s,” you swallowed, “that’s so good!” On that last word, Sam had pressed his thumb flat on your clit, making you squeal in pleasure.

You felt his mouth go to your ear, breath hot against the side of your head.

“Let it go.” He whispered, not elaborating on what he meant. He didn’t have to. You knew what he meant, knew that he was aware of the fact that you were trying your hardest to fully control the situation.

Unfortunately for him, you were stubborn. You swallowed down another moan, tensing your jaw. You felt him toying with your entrance, dipping the tip of his index finger in and out. You bit your lip, hard, as you fought back a whine.

Sam noticed your struggle, feeling your muscles tense up under him from the struggle to not give in, not yet. You didn’t know why you felt the need to drag it out so far, to lie to both him and yourself about the effect he had on you. His response to your persistence was to slobber a kiss onto your quivering chin.

“Give it up already, pretty girl.” He mumbled, locking eyes with you. You narrowed yours at him, looking down at him through your lashes. You had a new dose of motivation to never give it up, making it your personal mission to keep full, total control of how you reacted to each and every one of his touches.

A personal mission that immediately failed the moment he plunged a finger into you.

You choked on your breath, your eyes falling shut. An embarrassingly animalistic sound vibrated in your chest.

“Mhm, there you go.” Sam chuckled when your thighs squeezed around his hand. He worked his finger slowly out, then right back in again.

“Feels so good…,” you whimpered, gasping like you couldn’t quite get enough air. You opened your eyes to find him smirking at you, a cocky sense of pride in his expression. Your gaze flitted down to his arm, where you watched his tendons flex under his skin while he moved his finger – oh, fingers, plural, he’d added another – inside of you.

“I know.” He nodded, lowering his mouth back onto yours. You groaned into him, rolling your hips down and down and-

Right there. Fuck, that was it, a mix of your clit getting swirled by his thumb and his fingers curling up inside you to hit the perfect spot, making for quite the perfect amount of pleasure to build up. You cried out a moan, sucking in breaths in between his sloppy kisses.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Sam murmured into your mouth, “I don’t know if I’ll fit.”

Even in your haze of pleasure, you couldn’t keep from replying to his cocky pride.

“Shut up and make me come.” You growled, grinding against his hand. He smirked, pressing down harder on your clit. You arched your back up with a sharp whine, clutching at his arm to hold onto something, anything to ground yourself to the moment. You were floating, not physically, but in every other way you possibly could.

“Come on, pretty girl, let me see that gorgeous face when you come.” He encouraged, voice deep and husky. “I want to see it again.” He shifted, pulling you in closer, eyes peering at you through lashes.

You couldn’t help but just… give in.

Your orgasm came to you with a flash of Heaven. Seriously, you swore you could hear angels singing to you. A soft, groaning noise fell from your lips, cut off by Sam kissing you with so much hunger you thought he would devour you.

He worked you through it, pumping his fingers with a sloppy rhythm that had you whimpering long after your release passed through. Once you had settled, body completely at ease, he pulled his digits from you, slipping them back out into the open air.

You saw the shine of yourself on them, the milky, slightly sticky liquid coating them. You dragged your eyes back to his face, catching the way his gaze was fixed on his own fingers. Your mouth parted as he guided them to his lips, taking them into his mouth with a guttural moan that had your need for more returning to your gut.

Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you tore his fingers from his mouth, replacing them with your lips. Your tongue pressed into his mouth, swiping through the spit that had accumulated within. There. You tasted yourself – your cum – mixing with what you knew was him.

A high moan reverberated through you. You clutched at his torso, pawing at whatever you could grab onto. You just needed him. There was something inside you, something deep and raw, that only he could satisfy.

You ripped away from him, panting. Your body trembled with the overwhelming urge to completely rip the rest of his clothes away.

“I knew you’d taste good.” Sam mumbled, fingers digging into your sides. You playfully rolled your eyes, absentmindedly running a finger down his abdomen.

“You know how to use your fingers well.” You pointed out with a shrug, eyes falling to his bare chest. With Sam’s rough chuckle, you looked back up to see a grin on his face.

“Are we just going to compliment each other all night?” He questioned. In response, you huffed out a sarcastic laugh.

“If you were to keep running your mouth, I wouldn’t be surprised.” You rolled your hips down, hard but measured. “Me? I think I’d rather talk less, touch more.” You watched Sam’s jaw flex, presumably with the effort to not completely moan like you knew he wanted to.

“I like your plan better,” was the last thing said before a flurry of grabbing and clothes flying ensued.

You swore all you’d done was blink and suddenly you both were naked, sitting on your knees across from each other on his bed. His eyes scraped over your bare skin, spending the most time focused on your now-bare breasts and what little he could see of your throbbing core.

Your attention? It was trained solely on his length. The tip was leaking with the ache to get inside of you, flared red and staring you straight in the eye. That wasn’t even the most mouthwatering part. It may not have been the thickest you’d ever seen, but for what he lacked in width he made up for in length. You weren’t the best with measuring things by eye alone, though you figured a ruler wouldn’t be too much longer than it.

Fuck, maybe he really wouldn’t fit in you.

It seemed Sam was reading your thoughts, because only moments after the words popped into your head, his smug reply made you glare up at him.

“Told ya, pretty girl.”

“You’re not that big.” Lie. You both knew it.

“Big enough for you to drool over.” He smirked at you, the tip of his tongue peeking through his teeth.

“I am not drooling.” You protested. It wasn’t a total lie this time. You really weren’t drooling, and the sudden overproduction of spit in your mouth had nothing to do with this god of a man in front of you. That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

“Mmm, totally drooling.” Sam mumbled. Your response was cut off by his large hands on your face, smashing his lips to yours. Tongues and teeth gnashed together, moans and whimpers mixing to echo off of the drywall of the room. You hoped these walls were thick. That thought, and every other, dripped away from your mind the moment Sam hoisted you onto his lap, his thick erection pressing against your dripping folds.

“Want… oh my God-,” you had to catch your breath when a slight shift in his position had your clit getting rubbed ever so nicely. “Do you want me to ride you, cowboy?” You’d added that last part in a purr after remembering the drawl of “darlin’” during your first meeting.

Sam’s grin tilted a bit, mouth parting as he looked at you as if you’d said something outrageous.

“What?” You were on the defensive, narrowing your eyes. You let out a shaky breath when he rocked his hips up, a deliberate motion, you realized a second later when his grin grew cockier.

“Cowboy?” He almost scoffed out, chuckling when you frowned at him. This time you rocked, making his eyes flutter softly. The break in his smug demeanor only egged you on.

“You-,” you swallowed down a whimper when Sam surreptitiously pressed your body down into his, earning him a glare that really would have been more annoyed if your skin wasn’t buzzing from the pleasure. “You have a slight accent.” You rushed the words out before they could be broken by a moan.

“I’m from Kansas.” He explained, giving you a boyish grin you were sure had wooed all the moms at school pickup. You let out a soft laugh at the image of a young-Sam �� Sammy – getting out of trouble with a simple smile.

“Kansas?” You asked, tilting your head slightly. “Like Dorothy?” You hoped he’d get the reference, hoped the little joke wouldn’t fall flat.

“You’re so weird.” Sam chuckled out, swooping down to kiss you again. You, in response to his playful insult, ducked away, causing his kiss to land on the corner of your lips.

“You’re the one who barked at me!” You argued, looking at him like he was crazy. That moment, the playful banter that had happened only moments after he’d made you come for the first time, had been running through your mind on a loop, bringing a warm smile to your face even during practices. Practices, you know, the time you were usually the most disciplined and focused. God help you from this charming distraction.

“You called me a dog. How else was I supposed to respond, pretty girl?” Sam’s tone held a note of condescension that you couldn’t help but grin at. You shifted, moving your hips as a result, reminding you – in a particularly sinful way – what had been happening before this little spat.

“Are we going to argue about who’s weirder all night, or are you going to fuck me?” You raised a brow, challenge clear in your eyes. You watched a spark of playful determination cross Sam’s gaze. You felt two things: one, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, and two, his dick pressing against your folds, aching for more friction.

“I’m going with the latter.” Sam growled, smashing his lips to yours to cut off your giggle, quickly morphing your response into a moan. You panted into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut when he skillfully rocked your body down.

“Condom.” You breathed out, pushing on his shoulders to break the kiss. He grinned, leaning back and twisting to reach for his nightstand, causing those damn hips to lift up into yours. You bit back a whimper, refusing to entirely show Sam how desperate you were for another release.

He sat back up, a gold-foiled package in between two fingers – the same two fingers that had been inside of you earlier. You snatched it up, eager to get this thing going so you could finally feel that mind-numbing pleasure again.

“Just can’t wait to get me inside you, huh?” You weren’t looking at Sam, but you knew he was grinning from his tone alone.

“Shut up.” You grumbled, tearing open the packaging. The small groan that came from Sam when you slowly rolled the condom onto him made a smirk cross your face, giving you a sense of pride that you weren’t the only one who was going to be vocal tonight.

You looked up at him. His pupils were blown wide, crazy with a hunger only you could satisfy. You figured you looked similarly, if not more, needy, if the growing buzz in your body to just get his damn cock inside you was enough of an indicator.

Positioning him at your entrance was much more difficult than you had expected it to be. You would have gotten it, first try, if it wasn’t for the slip of his tip against your already sensitive clit, pulling a body-buckling moan from you. You let your pride step aside for a moment and allowed Sam to help guide himself to the correct spot, his large hand overtaking yours in the process. You tried – and failed – to not shiver at the size difference.

“I know you’re eager to feel me in there, but take it slow, okay?” Sam told you, raising a brow while he waited for your answer. You had half a mind to push away from him for talking to you with so much condescension. Unfortunately – or, rather, fortunately for your sex drive – the almost mocking tone of his voice sent a bloom of heat straight for your core.

You would hyper analyze that later. Right now, you were more focused on the first inch of his length sliding into you. Thanks to your previous orgasm mixed with the spasms of pleasure Sam’s words and body brought on, it was a reasonably smooth entrance.

“O-hhh…,” you let out with a shaky breath, eyes fluttering, but not closing, at the stretch. Sam’s fingers dug into your hips, helping you sink down.

“That’s it,” he mumbled, eyes glued to his quickly disappearing dick,“taking it so well.”

Once you were completely down, seated directly onto his hips, you just looked into his eyes, admiring the hazel hue of them. You kissed him soft and slow. It wasn’t hungry like the other kisses, though this would have been the time to do it. Those had sparked a flame of desire in you, making your body tingle. This one sparked something else. Maybe desire, but not in the same way.

Another thing to hyper analyze later.

You sucked in a breath after pulling away, hands still resting on his shoulders as you began to slide up and down. An occasional roll of your hips pulled groans from Sam, groans that, in turn, made you whimper in enjoyment.

“Fuck,” you both seemed to moan at the same time. You watched his face while you moved, eyes drifting over every expression and feature.

His brows furrowed in concentration. His lips parting to allow those enchanting noises to escape. His cheeks were flushed with a light pink brought on by the heat and passion emanating from you both.

All of it made you speed your pace, chasing more, more–

“More.” Sam whined so quiet you almost missed it. Whining? From the 6’4” hockey defenseman? You must have been hearing things.

“More.” Okay, this time it was less whine, more growl. It still stunned you, making your hips stutter to take in this new information.

Sam Winchester was a needy lover.

“Did you just-,” you started to ask, a grin spreading over your face.

“Shut up.” He growled, large hands splayed across your skin.

In a flash, you were on your back, Sam hovering over you. Oh, you liked this. Now he was doing all the work, thrusting into you at a quick but controlled pace.

“Oh my God,” you moaned, throwing your head back. He took this opportunity to latch onto your neck, teeth, tongue, and lips scraping over every inch of skin they could. Your body arched up into his. Your mind blurred with intense pleasure.

“Shit,” Sam groaned, “so good, pretty girl, so, so, fucking good.” He was panting into you.

Before tonight, you never understood the meaning of mind-blowing sex. Yeah, you almost always enjoyed yourself, but it was never so good you couldn’t think.

This? This was mind-blowing, breath-stealing, skin-tingling, out-of-this-world sex.

“You close again, pretty girl? You ready to come?” Sam asked in short, panted breaths.

Yes. Oh, God, you were so ready to come. It actually hurt a little to hold it back, but you weren’t eager to untangle from him this quickly. You couldn’t answer him. You had to stay laser-focused on not coming.

“Mmm, yeah, baby, I know you are. Stop fighting it.” He purred into your ear, lightly nibbling on your earlobe.

A whiny moan left your throat. It was getting very difficult to hold it back now, especially with the light curve of a smirk you felt brushing over your skin. You could do it. You just had to-

“Ah!” You gasped out.

All control in Sam’s pace was gone. He’d gone from steady, calculated thrusts to this animalistic speed. You heard the bedframe smacking against the wall in time with the push-and-pull pressure on your pelvis. Your nails scraped over his shoulder blades as you grappled for something, anything to hold onto.

There was no holding it back anymore. Your orgasm crashed over you, bathing your body in a numb ecstasy. Your panting breaths came out with a light whine attached. Then, as if he had been waiting for the feeling of you squeezing around him, Sam groaned with his release, shoving his hips as far as they could go into you.

Your trembling subsided, leaving you laying there, spent, with Sam’s entire body on yours. You suspected he was still using whatever strength he had left to hold himself up a bit, because there was no way he was this light.

He shifted, pulling out of you slowly, carefully. You winced at the sudden emptiness you felt, your eyes fluttering shut. You felt the mattress move slightly, some rustling, a soft sigh. It all felt hyper-real in your post-sex state. The dip of his body weight on the bed next to you told you he was back.

“Come on, pretty girl, sit up for me.” Sam mumbled, causing you to open your eyes. There he was, dressed in his boxers, holding that damn Stanford hoodie and a towel. Your heart melted when he gently wiped at your thighs and sensitive center, cleaning you as best he could. Your heart ached when he helped slide the hoodie on you, the fabric all but swallowing you up in a soft cloud of him.

Then, your heart exploded when he fell into position next to you, curling an arm around you with a book in his hand. You didn’t need to look, not really, to know what it was. Still, you did.

There it was. A love-worn copy of The Hobbit.

You looked up at him with tired eyes. You were sure they were sparkling with something that was different from the lust that had flooded them earlier. He just grinned down at you, pulling his blankets up to wrap around you two.

“Figured we’d better get started on it.” Sam mumbled, gently opening the book to the first page. “Eyes closed and imagination on, honey.”

You were speechless as he began to read, his voice husky but soft.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.”

ICEBREAKER tags: @gigiwritess @h8aaz @angzls @myceliumsunshine @unfortunaterat @mimiimmii @youdontknowe

everything tags: @littlejackles @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @mostlymarvelgirl @missus-ackles @tinas111 @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @saltcxrcle

sam winchester tags: @hobiespick @xoswiftieprincess @whothefvckami

#supernatural #sam winchester #x reader #supernatural x reader #spn #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fic #hockey!sam #stanford!sam #stanford!hockey player!sam winchester x figure skater!reader #stanford!sam winchester

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starlightkun · 9 months ago

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❥・word count: 25.5k ❥・genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, single dad kun, single mom reader, there is some angst but not between reader and kun, more-so around them in terms of like life events ❥・warnings: cursing, kid on kid violence (biting lol) ❥・extra info: people are called ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ in this so if u can’t be normal abt that maybe skip this one ❥・author’s note: omggg it’s finally here! this one has been a wip for like literally like 1.5 yrs i think? anyway im absolutely in love w single dad kun in this one, and i hope u guys fall in love w him too 🫶

“Mr. Qian, I’m failing to see how this is any of your concern.”

“Because you’re treating my kid like he’s a felon.”

“Well yours treated mine like a chew toy so excuse me for exercising some caution,” you finally snapped, tightening your grip around your son and cradling the back of his head.

PART I: moments turn to dreams within my mind

Woobin had always been a kid with big feelings, from big smiles to big tears, and as his mom you encouraged him to feel those big feelings when they came. Your older cousin often warned you that you were raising a “crybaby,” but you brushed off her attempts at parenting advice. You’d rather have your Woobin and all his softness than her kid who screamed and threw his monster trucks at the wall at the slightest provocation.

But that didn’t make it any easier for you to walk in and see your son bawling by himself in the corner of his classroom when you went to pick him up from preschool that afternoon. You immediately skirted around a couple other kids and parents to kneel down beside him, feeling your heart breaking as you rubbed his back, “Binnie, Binnie, hey, hey, hey. Mommy’s here.”

You caught the three-year-old by the underarms before he could throw his arms around your neck. His face was bright red, eyes puffy from clearly how hard he had been crying, and snot and spit coated his chin.

“Wait a second, Binnie, I know,” you kept your voice level and calm despite how frantic you felt. “Is it a scary cry or a boo-boo cry?”

It took him several deep inhales and sniffling exhales before he could sob out, “Scary and boo-boo cry, Mommy!”

“Oh, baby,” you immediately enfolded him in your arms, cradling him to your chest gently. “What hurts, Binnie? Can you show me the boo-boo?”

It was then that one of his teachers finally joined you, an apologetic look on her face, “Ms. Y/N, I am so sorry. We would have called, but it happened right before the end of the school day.”

“What happened?”

“Woobin had an incident with another friend.”

“An incident? What sort of incident?” You looked around for another crying kid, expecting that they both had gotten hurt doing something together.

Woobin had just pulled up the left sleeve of his whale patterned longsleeve shirt when his teacher explained to you, “Woobin got bit.”

And there, on your son’s upper arm was the bright red imprint of teeth marks. In fact, it seemed to have been so recent that you could still see the indents in his skin. You were filled with such a burning, white hot rage that your skin tingled and if you weren’t already holding Woobin, you think you would’ve swung on someone. You liked to consider yourself a level-headed person, in control of your emotions, but it was practically all out the window in that moment.

“He got bit?” You repeated her phrasing incredulously. “You mean another kid bit him.”

“I understand that this can be upsetting—”

“How did this happen?” You demanded, pulling Woobin’s sleeve back down and wrapping your arms around him tighter. “What were you doing?”

“Ma’am, I think it would be best for all of us to have a discussion about this together.”

“All of us? Including the biter’s parents? I want to know what you are going to do to make sure my child is safe at your preschool before I even think about bringing him back here, much less have some mediation like he’s at fault as much as the kid who bit him.”

The teacher paused, as if waiting to see if you were done, before speaking again, “Ms. Y/N, it is our policy in such incidents to have a meeting between school personnel and the guardians of both involved children, regardless of... injury. In order for Woobin to keep his spot, you two are required to attend this meeting. We understand if you wish to seek out different accommodations for him, however, we’ve found that all parties are typically satisfied with the outcome of this process. I highly encourage you try it, and if you still want to pull Woobin from our program after, that is of course your decision as his mother.”

Your chest was heaving as you took deep breaths, clenching your jaw as you stared her down. After a few moments of deliberation and listening to your son’s continued sobs, you let out a short and bitter sigh, “When would this meeting be?”

“After school tomorrow. Will you be available then?”

“Fine. Yes,” you stood up with your boy still in your arms, shifting him onto your hip. “But Woobin will not be at school tomorrow.”

“He will be missed,” she nodded with that same placid smile.

As you stalked out of the classroom, you passed by a father and son speaking to the other teacher.

The next day, you dropped Woobin off at your parents’ place with a peck on his forehead and profuse ‘thank you’s to them. You had vented to your mother on the phone the night prior, after putting your son to bed, finally letting loose all the obscenities that you had wanted to in the preschool. Your mom gladly took her grandson for the day before shooing you off to work.

You then had to leave work a little early to pick Woobin up from your parents’ to take him to the preschool since the meeting was to take place right after the school day ended. For some godforsaken reason that escaped you, they required the kids to be in attendance at the meeting too. As if your three-year-old was really going to be testifying about the entire situation. The most him being there could accomplish was prove that he had a bite mark, which a picture on your phone could also do.

After a “give ‘em hell” from your mom, and an offer to come along from your dad, which you contemplated for a moment, then declined, you started for the school. While your dad coming along would make you feel better, it would also make you feel like you were buying your first car again and were afraid of the salesman trying to scam you for being a woman. This was a meeting about the welfare and treatment of your son, you could do this.

Standing in the lobby with some other parents who were milling around, waiting for the respective classrooms to announce they were ready for pick-up, you found yourself tapping your foot impatiently. The 1-year-olds picked up first, then the 2-year-olds. As those families filtered out, you were left with only a few parents, as this section of the school only went up to 3-year-olds. The 4-year-olds went to a different wing of the building for VPK, and you knew that the other buildings on the rather expansive campus held an elementary, middle, and even high school.

You felt Woobin shift in your arms to get comfortable, and readjusted him to your other hip, “Sorry, Binnie, I know you’re tired.”

“Do you two want to sit?” A voice spoke up from behind you.

You turned around and had to look down at a man in a suit sitting on one of the padded benches in the lobby. He was presumably some kind of businessman from the nice upkeep and fit of his suit, even as he had loosened the tie a little bit for being off of work. His handsome, friendly smile would’ve made your heart skip a beat on any other day, if you weren’t on a mission today.

All of the seating had been taken up when you got there, and you didn’t even think to look around for open spots as other parents started to leave.

The man shifted to one end, gesturing towards the open spots that could fit probably three adults comfortably. You smiled at him gratefully, “Oh, yes, thank you.”

You sat down, keeping your sleepy Woobin on your lap. Being at his grandparents’ today had thrown off his usual nap schedule, and you rubbed his back soothingly. Rolling up his sleeve which was on the side opposite from the man, you inspected the bite mark. It had blossomed into a rather gnarly bruise overnight, all blue and purple, and it only made anger churn again in your chest. He hadn’t given any indication that it still hurt as you fixed his sleeve, thumb tenderly swiping over the area after.

Finally, the three-year-old class was dismissed for pick-up, and the other parents gathered their children. You hung back, waiting for all of them to filter out, before you approached the classroom. You figured the parents of the biter would still be in there, but hadn’t expected the man who had offered you a seat to be the one there with another little boy and the teachers.

“Wonderful, everyone is here,” Mrs. Chen, the older of the two teachers, announced.

“Qian Kun.” The man took it upon himself to do the introductions, bowing to you politely. He then ruffled the hair of the boy standing beside him, just above knee-height, “And this is my son Junyi. I am deeply sorry for Junyi biting Woobin, Miss…?”

“Y/L/N Y/N,” you half-nodded half-bowed back to him as best you could with Woobin in your arms. “And before we get into all that, what I really want to know is—” You rounded on the teachers. “How this could have even happened.”

Ms. Xu, the younger teacher with whom you had spoken yesterday, opened a door on the far side of the classroom, “Of course. We’ll be having the meeting in here.”

With a short sigh at how your question was once again brushed off, you stepped into the interior office space. It looked like it must be where the teachers took their breaks and did any sort of administrative work. A few desks were against the walls, closed laptops and bags set on a couple of them. There was a table set up in the middle, four chairs around it, and a small area with toys off to the side.

“We have a place over there for the children to play while we discuss,” Ms. Xu smiled, gesturing to the toys you’d spotted when you walked in.

Mr. Qian nodded, gently directing his son towards them, “Go on and play for a bit, Junyi. Daddy’s going to talk right over here, okay?”

Junyi toddled over and plopped himself down on the playmat, picking up a truck and doll, easily entertaining himself. The other three adults looked to you and your son expectantly.

“Thank you, but Woobin is going to be staying with me,” you informed them. All the talking had made Woobin stir, but he seemed rather content in your arms anyway, simply looking between all the adults with big, curious eyes.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I assure you, I had a talk with Junyi last night and again this morning about not biting our friends. He shouldn’t be doing that anymore.”

“And I assure you, Mr. Qian, my concerns are not about your parenting,” you told him frankly. “But Woobin will be remaining with me for the duration of this meeting.”

“Ms. Y/L/N, really, Woobin will be fine with Juny—”

“Mr. Qian, I’m failing to see how this is any of your concern.”

“Because you’re treating my kid like he’s a felon.”

“Well yours treated mine like a chew toy so excuse me for exercising some caution,” you finally snapped, tightening your grip around your son and cradling the back of his head.

Mr. Qian’s jaw dropped, and Mrs. Chen cut in before he could say anything else.

“Let’s all sit down and try to have a more productive discussion.” The words were phrased like a suggestion, but the stern tone she said them in very much let you know that they weren’t. “Ms. Y/L/N, Woobin can of course be wherever you are most comfortable having him.”

You nodded to her curtly, taking a seat at the table. With Woobin more awake, you turned him in your lap to face the table, and set up a couple toys and small games on the tabletop to keep him occupied. The teachers took a seat beside each other, leaving you and Mr. Qian sitting caddy-corner.

“First, I want to know what happened,” you demanded, entirely focused on the two teachers.

Ms. Xu took over the explaining, “The class had earned free play yesterday after finishing their curriculum work early. After, we were doing our end of the day clean-up activities, which all of the students help with. Junyi and Woobin were assigned to pick up toys this week. It seems there was a disagreement about who was going to be putting away a specific toy, a whale. Woobin was bit.”

You clenched your jaw at that passive phrasing again. “And where were you two when this was going on?”

“Mrs. Chen was assisting the students who were cleaning the snack tables on the other side of the room. I was the one overseeing the students tidying that side of the room.”

“What do you mean when you say disagreement? I’m trying to understand how it was allowed to escalate into biting.”

Mr. Qian finally spoke up again, “Ms. Y/L/N, Junyi has never done anything like this before, I honestly don’t know where this came from. He’s not a mean kid.”

“Mr. Qian, that is not what I said nor asked,” you turned to him coolly. “I want to know what exactly she was seeing and how much time she had to intervene.”

Ms. Xu recalled, “The two of them were getting along fine. Junyi did seem to be getting a little frustrated, and Woobin was beginning to tear up, but there was no contact at that point, and we know how Woobin is.”

She glanced at the boy on your lap with a sympathetic look, and it took everything in you to hold back your revulsion at her. Yes, your son was quicker to cry than others, but that didn’t mean that as the adult, she shouldn’t investigate what exactly was making him cry.

“I was keeping an eye on the situation to see if they would resolve it on their own,” she tried to reassure you. “If I had thought that it would escalate like that at all, I promise I would have intervened. The contact was entirely unexpected and very sudden.”

“The biting.” You clarified flatly.

“Well, yes,” she nodded. “As soon as I saw it happen, both Mrs. Chen and I went over and separated the two. It was no more than a second or two at most, Ms. Y/N.”

“It sounds like you two did the best you could’ve,” Mr. Qian told the teachers before turning to you once more. “Ms. Y/L/N, again, I am so sorry that Junyi did this, but it sounds like it really did come out of nowhere.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply to recenter yourself. Entirely ignoring Mr. Qian’s platitudes, you looked at the teacher, “It took you just a second or two to separate them?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“Binnie, may I?” You murmured to your son, reaching for the sleeve of his shirt.

“Okay, Mommy,” he easily let go of his toy for you.

Rolling up the longsleeve of his shirt you turned him a little to show off the deep black, blue, and purple bruise in the perfect shape of a set of little teeth to the other three adults sitting around the table with you. Ms. Xu audibly gasped, Mrs. Chen covered her mouth and looked away, and Mr. Qian had the most visceral reaction, grimacing with his whole upper body as if he’d been slapped.

“I simply find it hard to believe that it was only a mere one or two seconds when my son’s arm looks like this now,” you stated, making firm eye contact with both teachers. “So, I will ask again: How long did it take you to separate them?”

Mrs. Chen and Ms. Xu exchanged uncomfortable looks before the older woman took over speaking.

“Ms. Y/N, I’m not sure if you’ve had experience with removing a child that’s bitten onto another and won’t let go, but you can’t simply rip them apart without causing further damage to the other child’s skin. Ms. Xu couldn’t separate them on her own, she had to wait for me to get there, and as we’ve already said, I was on the other side of the classroom. So yes, it did take longer than we would have liked to separate the two.”

“So it took longer than two seconds, which is what you just told me, twice. You have lied to me twice now about how my child got injured in your classroom.” You rolled Woobin’s sleeve back down, absentmindedly patting his head. Leaning forward as much as you could with him there, you jutted your pointer finger decidedly into the tabletop outside of his toys, “So now I want to know what you and the school are going to do to ensure my son’s safety in your classroom.”

The father beside you suddenly jolted into action at your words, “Ms. Y/L/N, Junyi won’t—”

You rounded on him incredulously, doing your best to both be firm while not absolutely losing it on him, “Mr. Qian, I have already told you that I am not here to concern myself with how you parent your child. And I think the fact that you take my concern for my own child’s wellbeing as an affront to your relationship with yours says more than I would ever think is appropriate for me to.”

Okay, maybe you lost it on him a little.

With him sufficiently dumbfounded, you were able to focus back on the school staff in front of you, “Now please, can we get back to the topic at hand? I want to know what you two plan on doing about classroom management and observing the children under your care to prevent future incidents like this from happening. And I want it written down in a formal document, with assurances from your superiors about how both that and your staff training on communication with parents will be handled, because it certainly can’t include lying to them.”

Ms. Xu looked down at her lap guiltily, while Mrs. Chen simply looked disgruntled. You held the older woman’s gaze steadily, having a distinct feeling that little lie you’d been told was her doing, and the junior teacher was following her own superior’s lead.

“Of course, Ms. Y/N. I will call the principal right now to aid in drawing up the document you’ve requested,” Mrs. Chen acquiesced, standing up and moving over to one of the desks, picking up the landline phone sitting there.

You nodded to her, finally letting your eyes drop down to your kid in your lap. You were unable to fight off the smile that spread across your lips as you looked at your son, picking up one of his hands and bringing it up to your mouth to kiss his little fingers.

“My turn Mommy!” He squealed, grabbing one of your fingers and giving it a comically loud smooch.

You could feel Mr. Qian’s gobsmacked stare on you still, but ignored him. You’d done what you came here to do, none of which involved making nice with the biter’s parents. While what you’d said about not wanting to comment on his parenting was true, that didn’t mean that you hadn’t formed a silent opinion or two about it, especially with how defensive he was. Needless to say, with how he’d attempted to handle this, you didn’t really think very highly of Mr. Qian.

After leaving the mediation with your own copy of the formal plan on how the three-year-old classroom’s management and safety procedures were going to be tweaked—with specific policies about biting and inter-student de-escalation—and a form that you and Mr. Qian had signed attesting that you participated in and were satisfied with the mediation process, you paused in the lobby of the school. You were juggling too many things: the papers, some of Woobin’s toys, Woobin, your purse, all while trying to get your car keys.

“Hey, you need some help?”

You turned to Mr. Qian with a strained smile, “No, thank you, we’re okay.”

Considering the conversation over, you went to set Woobin down on the ground, “Here, Binnie, wait right here next to Mommy.”

“Oh, glad to see his legs do work.” The man was apparently still there.

“Yes, they do.” You pressed your lips into a flat line, not very amused. “And I don’t appreciate the passive-aggressive comment on my parenting, Mr. Qian.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Your joke was referencing the fact that the entire time you’ve seen Woobin and me this afternoon, I’ve been either carrying him or holding him in my lap, despite the fact that he can stand on his own. You’ve been letting your son walk on his own all afternoon and haven’t picked him up once. Thus, implying that I’m coddling my son and raising him to be dependent on me, while you’re raising yours to be independent.” You tossed Woobin’s toys into your purse, then folded the papers in half to tuck in as well. “Trust me, I’ve dealt with lots of people thinking they can give me unwarranted advice on parenting. Especially men who think I’m going to give him one too many hugs and he’ll develop an Oedipus complex. They also presumably think that my uterus is roaming around my body causing me to become hysterical while I’m telling them off, too.”

Having finally fished your car keys out from the bottom of your purse, you hoisted Woobin back up into your arms, defiantly making eye contact with the father, “Goodbye, Mr. Qian.”

A couple weeks of uneventfully picking up Woobin from preschool passed by. You saw Mr. Qian in the lobby, or passed by him in the classroom, of course. But you made no moves to talk to or even acknowledge him, nor he you. Ms. Xu seemed genuinely apologetic about what happened, doing everything possible to ingratiate herself to you at every opportunity, chatting you up at pick-up, asking about your day at work, or telling you about how well Woobin did at curriculum or art or such during the day. Mrs. Chen was cordial, and did your requested weekly check-ins on how the implementation of the new procedures were coming along. You sincerely engaged with and thanked her after each update. After all, you wanted your relationship with your son’s teachers to be productive, not adversarial. As long as they were done lying to you.

Today when you went to pick up Woobin, he was contently sitting in his chair at a table, swinging his feet under him. You squatted down beside him, mussing up his hair a bit, “Hey, Binnie. Have a good day?”

“Yes,” he nodded, reaching out towards you, and you grabbed his hand. “Missed Mommy.”

“And I missed Binnie!” You replied, squeezing his little tummy, delighting in the bright little giggle he let out. “Now come on, bubbles, let’s go home.”

“Oh, Ms. Y/N!” Ms. Xu was suddenly at your side before you could stand up.

“Ah, hello, Ms. Xu, how are you?”

“I’m very excited, actually. But first, Woobin had a fantastic day at school today. He went down so easy for naptime, and he finished the curriculum so fast that we brought out a 4-year-old worksheet for him just to see, and he did that one too! It was some counting, and he did great!”

You turned to your son with a grin, “Did you have fun doing all that counting, Binnie?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

“And are you proud of yourself, bubbles?”

“Yes, Mommy. Can I have a high five?”

“You can have two high fives,” you held out both your palms for him to smack his little hands into.

Turning back to the teacher, you indulged her in the question she very clearly wanted you to ask, “And why are you so excited, Ms. Xu?”

She handed you the piece of paper in her hands, “Well, the Fall Festival is coming up. The entire campus pitches in to put it on, and this year the preschool is running the Bake Sale table. We’re asking parents to volunteer to either bring treats, set up, break down, or do a shift running the table. If you’re able.”

It looked like you were the first parent Ms. Xu had given the sign-up sheet to, all the slots were empty. Eight slots to bring different baked goods, and two slots for each hour-long shift. While you weren’t exactly feeling charitable to the school—Woobin’s bruise still hadn’t fully healed—you noticed the text at the top of the sign-up sheet advertising that any parent who volunteered would get two free ride tickets. Woobin hadn’t gone on his first Ferris Wheel yet, and that was a memory you were looking forward to making with him.

“The ride tickets—” You tapped that part of the paper to draw Ms. Xu’s attention to it. “Will there be a Ferris Wheel?”

Her face immediately lit up and she nodded fervently, “Yes! And Woobin should be just big enough as long as he sits in your lap.”

Well, you could kill an hour running a Bake Sale table with another random preschooler’s parent then take Woobin on the Ferris Wheel. You quickly scribbled down your name for the first hour after the set-up shift, then handed the paper back to Ms. Xu.

The day of the Fall Festival was upon you, and you were holding Woobin’s hand as you walked across the expansive campus grounds. The booth where the preschool’s Bake Sale was set up was near the other food and carnival games towards the front of the grassy clearing, and you could see the Ferris Wheel at the very back. You were about fifteen minutes early, and most vendors were still finishing setting up. Since you were doing the first shift, you wanted to make sure you weren’t late, as well as see if there was anything from set up that you could help with if needed.

The Bake Sale booth was easy to find, and you saw two men there carrying in large tubs filled with containers of various baked goods.

“Good morning!” You greeted them brightly. “Are you the set-up crew?”

“Johnny Suh,” the taller of the two gestured to himself, then to his companion, “Jeong Jaehyun.”

“Nice to meet you two, I’m Y/L/N Y/N, and this is Woobin. I’m on the first shift. Your kids are in the three-year-old class as well, right?”

“Yes, Sungchan,” Mr. Jeong confirmed with a smile. “I think I’ve seen you around the classroom at drop off and pick up before.”

“And Mark is my boy,” Mr. Suh nodded, then looked around the property. “Well, these are the last of it. Now, he should be around here somewhere…”

You followed Mr. Suh’s gaze, and your stomach dropped as you recognized two familiar figures approaching the table from the direction of the school. Qian Kun was holding a metal box in one hand, and his son’s hand with the other. He set the metal box down on the table.

“Sorry, had to get the money box from Mrs. Chen in the classroom,” he explained, then looked to the two men with you. “Thank you, Mr. Suh, Mr. Jeong. Ms. Y/L/N and I have got it from here.”

“Alright, we’ll see you at the end for break-down, then,” Mr. Suh slapped Mr. Qian’s shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“Goodbye, Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Qian. You too, Woobin and Junyi!” Mr. Jeong gave waves to all four of you before taking off after the other man who was already several long strides away from the table. “Hey, Johnny!”

Two pop-up chairs were set up behind the table, and Mr. Qian grabbed a bag that was beside one, unfurling a playmat from the inside and laying it down on the ground beside the table. He poured out a bunch of toys too, then squatted down beside his son.

“Alright, Junyi, I need you to look at me. Daddy needs you to play on this blanket today, okay? If you need to go off the blanket, you have to tell Daddy first. It’s so we can stay safe. You cannot leave the blanket without telling Daddy. All your favorite toys are there, you’re going to play with them and have fun. I’ve got snacks and stuff, too. But you need to stay on it. Do you understand, Junyi?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Okay, can you please tell me what you’re going to do then?”

“I’m going to play on the blanket.”

“And what if you want to leave?”

“I ask Daddy.”

“Why?”

Junyi’s face screwed into a pout as he tried to remember. “I forgot, ‘m sorry…”

“That’s okay, buddy. It’s so we can be safe,” Mr. Qian repeated it for him. “Now, why are we going to stay on the blanket?”

“So we can be safe.”

“Good, buddy,” He ruffled his son’s hair. “Now go play, I’ll be right here at this table.”

The man stood up straight again, his eyes flicking over you briefly as he began organizing the sweets on the table.

“Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N. Woobin is welcome to play on the mat with Junyi during the shift, if you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

“Oh, thank you.” You led Woobin over to the mat as well. “Binnie, Mommy is going to be working for a while at this table. Your job is to stay on the playmat with Junyi, so that you two can stay safe, okay? You cannot leave the playmat without Mommy.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“So tell me, what are you going to do?”

“Play with Junyi.”

“Where?”

“On the playmat.”

“Can you show Mommy what all the playmat is?”

He pointed to the edges of the yellow and blue blanket for you.

“And are you going to leave it without Mommy?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“So I can be safe.”

You grinned at him, “Thank you, bubbles. Go play, baby. Call for Mommy if you need me, okay?”

“Okay.”

After depositing a few more toys that you had brought along for Woobin on the mat, you returned to where Mr. Qian was setting out the food.

“Here,” he held a tray of brownies out to you. “These will go there, right in front of you.”

“Oh, got it.” You set them down exactly where he gestured. “So, you signed up for set up and the first shift?”

“I’m actually helping to run the Bake Sale, so I’m setting up, breaking down, and filling in for whichever slots nobody signed up for.”

“Wait, did you bake these, too?”

“Only the ones in containers with the green lids. Other parents contributed too.”

You looked over the baked goods he had indicated. All the ones in the green containers looked the best, you had considered in the back of your mind that one of the richer parents might have just bought them from a bakery and brought them in instead of baking themselves.

Sneaking a glance at the man beside you, you then panicked when you realized that he was already looking at you, expectantly holding out a plate of frosted sugar cookies.

“Here, next to the brownies.”

“Right, on it.”

Mr. Qian cleared his throat, “I am surprised, Ms. Y/L/N… that you’re allowing Woobin to play with Junyi.”

“I’ve also allowed him back at school for the past month, Mr. Qian.” You pointed out. “As I said, my issue has never been with Junyi, but with how the school handled the entire situation.”

“Hm.”

You let out a short sigh, “Though, I am sorry for some of the things I said at that meeting, they were out of line.”

“Some? May I inquire about which ones?”

“The chew toy thing…”

“Oh, yes.”

“And the whole ‘my concern over my child’s safety not being an affront to your relationship with yours.’ That was seriously… awful of me. Just so pretentious,” you breathed out, feeling ashamed as you relived your words. But if you were to ever expect to teach your son humility and owning up to his mistakes, you had to practice it yourself. “I said I wasn’t there to comment on your parenting and then I did exactly that in the exact same breath. I’m sorry, Mr. Qian, and I hope you can believe me when I say that.”

He held your gaze steadily, “I forgive you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Everything else I said, though, I stand by,” you reaffirmed pointedly.

“I understand,” he nodded.

You were pretty sure the festival had officially opened, as families had begun filtering in. Some were slowing down as they passed by your table to skim their eyes over your offerings, but none had stopped so far. So you were still just stuck there with Qian Kun and the overwhelming silence that felt like it was damn near suffocating you.

“So, what do you do for a living?” You finally decided to ask. If you weren’t going to be holding a grudge against the guy, you might as well make small talk.

“I’m in sales.”

Okay, small talk was not his forte. This was going to be like pulling teeth.

“Well it seems like they put the Bake Sale table in good hands, then.”

“What about you?” At least he understood reciprocity.

“Publishing.” Yeah, you weren’t any better than him. You stumbled to add on more information, “Uh, I’m a copy editor.”

“Is that like a proof reader?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

And at that moment, your blessed first customers walked up to your booth, a group of high school students, and you leapt at the opportunity to get out of that awkward conversation.

When your hour shift was finally over, you gleefully picked Woobin and his toys up from the playmat, took your two free ride tickets from Mr. Qian, and waved goodbye to him and the new volunteer parent who had shown up to take over your slot.

“Alright, Binnie, the Fall Festival is our oyster,” you looked it over with shining eyes. “What should we do first?”

Two hours later, and you were just finishing up your slightly late lunch. You scrolled through the delightful pictures that you’d taken of you and Woobin on the Ferris Wheel, sending a couple to your parents before tucking your phone away.

“Dessert sounds good, don’t you think?” You suggested to Woobin, and the Bake Sale popped into your mind. Those desserts that Mr. Qian made had looked really good, and you weren’t able to try any when you were working the table this morning…

“Please, Mommy?”

“You didn’t even need to ask, bubbles, Mommy wants some dessert too,” you admitted, taking his hand in yours. “I think we should go get some of those sweets that Junyi’s dad made. How does that sound? Did you see them earlier?”

There was a short line that you bumped up against at the Bake Sale table, just a couple families ahead of you. When you finally got to the front, your greeting to Mr. Qian stopped in your throat as you took in the empty spot beside him.

“Are you all by yourself, Mr. Qian?” You craned your neck to look around for signs of another parent.

He let out a tired sigh very clearly from deep within, eyes conveying a harrowed, ominous kind of exhaustion, “It seems as though the parent who signed up for the last four slots has skipped out on me. Been by myself for the past thirty minutes or so. I gave up on him about fifteen minutes ago.”

With a resolute nod, you hoisted your son up onto your hip and slid around to the other side of the table to stand beside Mr. Qian, “Binnie and I will finish the day out with you two then.”

“No, Ms. Y/L/N, you really don’t have to. I’m sure you have things to do, and I can run a preschool Bake Sale by myself.”

“Junyi! Come play with Woobin over here please!” You called after the little boy that you’d spotted toddling a little too far away from the playmat for comfort.

The man whipped around as his son came waddling back over at the sound of his name, clearly unaware that he had just wandered off. He squatted down to chastise the boy, reminding him to stay on the blanket. Junyi nodded, plopping down with his toys.

“I’m not leaving you out to dry, Kun,” you told the father frankly, sitting Woobin and his toys back down on the playmat too.

He gave you a frazzled smile, “Thanks, Y/N.”

Another couple hours passed by of you and Kun jointly running the Bake Sale table. Word had apparently spread since the first hour that you’d done with him in the morning, and the treats were extremely popular. Your line was never empty for more than a minute or two, and often times wrapped past other booths. Now you could see why Kun was so out of it when you had gotten there, he had been doing this by himself, even for just thirty minutes, with Junyi there.

The two of you fell into a symbiotic rhythm of taking orders, payment, handing out food, and keeping an eye on the two boys with you.

In a rare, brief lull between customers, you were caught off-guard when it was also quiet behind you. The telltale giggles, babbling, and nonsense conversation of Woobin and Junyi had faded out. You frowned thoughtfully as you finished rearranging the brownies in front of you, about to turn around to investigate anyway when a heart-wrenching wail pierced the still air. Immediately, you went to jerk around to comfort your crying Woobin, but were stopped in your tracks, so caught off-guard to see that it wasn’t your son sobbing. He was standing in front of Junyi, who was sat on the playmat, half-crying and half-screaming his head off.

Kun couldn’t get the cash in his hand into the register fast enough, and you rushed over to try to get Woobin to at least back up. Crowding Junyi definitely wasn’t going to help.

But you stopped as you realized that Woobin was talking to the other boy.

“Junyi, scary or boo-boo?” Woobin quietly asked him. After he didn’t get a reply, he asked again, “Scary or boo-boo?”

Junyi managed to blubber out, “Scary!”

Kun had finally arrived on the playmat while you watched on with wide, bewildered, and awestruck eyes as Woobin gave Junyi a big hug. The dad looked even more confused than you.

“What’s going on?”

You held up a finger for him to wait a moment, then turned to your son, “Binnie, do you know what happened to Junyi? Why is he having a scary cry?”

“Junyi fell down, Mommy,” he answered you dutifully.

“Okay, thank you,” you nodded to him. Looking at Kun, you explained, “Seems like Junyi just fell down. I don’t think he’s hurt, it just gave him a scare.”

“Daddy!” Junyi whimpered, and Kun gently extracted him from the other toddler’s arms to bring him into his own. Cradling his son, Kun murmured soft reassurances to him as the boy clung to his neck.

“Uh, thank you, Woobin,” he nodded to your son. “I’ve got Junyi from here.”

“You’re welcome,” Woobin replied, but you could see the moistness gathering in his eyes too. Oh, your big-hearted kid.

Both you and Kun brought your respective kids back to the table with you, sitting in the pop-up chairs with them in your laps. The two of you were quiet until Junyi’s sobs had simmered down into little hiccups, and you could feel that Woobin’s breathing had evened out into a nap.

“Okay, how did you do that?” Kun whispered at you.

“Do what?” You replied just as quietly.

“Get Woobin to do what he just did.”

“By asking him the exact same question pretty much every single time he’s cried for the past three years,” you answered honestly. “And he didn’t use to even answer me, much less ask other people that. That’s the first time he’s ever done that, actually.”

“Huh…”

Mr. Suh and Mr. Jeong came back an hour and a half later to help break down the table. It had been a pretty successful endeavor, if you did say so yourself, as there were only a handful of treats left, which you and Kun offered to a group of high schoolers who came by after break-down.

With everything packed up except the cash drawer, Kun turned to you with finality, “I’ve just got to drop this off with the front office and that’ll be it. Thanks, Y/N. You and Woobin were a big help today.”

“Of course. Sorry about that parent who skipped out on you. Who was it, anyway?”

“A… Mr. Nakamoto?” Kun read off the paper. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“I think I’ve chatted with him in the lobby a couple times. His son’s in the two-year-old class if I remember correctly?” You strained your memory, then gave up. “Oh, whatever. Maybe he just had an emergency or something.”

“That’s one way to look at it.”

“Anyway, have a goodnight, Kun, Junyi,” you nodded to the two of them, then squeezed your son’s hand. “Binnie, we’re leaving, do you want to say something to Junyi and Mr. Qian?”

Your son perked up, giving the two of them a bright smile and big wave, “Goodbye!”

“Junyi?” Kun prompted his son from where he was tucked into the father’s chest. “Tell Ms. Y/L/N and Woobin goodbye, you won’t see Woobin until Monday.”

“Bye, Woobin. Bye… Ms. Y/L/N.” Junyi said in between yawns, rubbing at his eyes. Poor guy seemed absolutely tuckered out.

“Goodnight,” Kun gave you one last nod before heading towards the school, and you and Woobin took off towards your car.

Monday morning you released Woobin’s hand to let him scamper into his classroom, giving Ms. Xu a wave of acknowledgement as you signed the morning drop-off sheet by the door. You were about to take off for work when a hand grabbed your elbow, and you hadn’t even realized that Ms. Xu had approached you, all too focused on heading to work.

“Ms. Y/N!”

“Ah, Ms. Xu, good morning,” you greeted her. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I just wanted to thank you for pitching in with the Bake Sale on Saturday. Mr. Qian informed us that he wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without your help.”

You looked around for Kun. You were only able to spot Junyi, however, coloring with Woobin at a table. Seems like he’d already come and gone. Great, now you had a reputation for being a helpful mom.

You shook off both her hand and her praise, “Oh, really Mr. Qian is exaggerating. He works in sales, did you know? Honestly didn’t need my help.”

“Well, whatever you two did, it was our most successful Bake Sale—well, any kind of fundraising event—for the preschool ever! And, we were wondering if the two of you would consider getting more involved in some parent leadership positions at the school? The preschool PTA have been trying to get a fundraising committee off the ground, and we really think that you two would do a fantastic job spearheading—”

You must have had some kind of look on your face, as Ms. Xu suddenly stopped dead in the middle of her sentence, entirely switching trains of thought. Keeping her same peppy tone and bright, hopeful smile, she said, “I am so sorry to have thrown so much at you. You must have to be getting to work. Why don’t we talk about it later when you come pick Woobin up? All of us, Mr. Qian, too. Goodbye, Ms. Y/N!”

And with that you were ushered out of the door, utterly dumbfounded at what had just happened.

That afternoon, you squared your shoulders and steeled your nerves as you approached the preschool doors. You had to keep your resolution firm: you were absolutely not going to be joining any sort of PTA, fundraising committee, or parent leadership position. The only thing that you were going to be spearheading was cracking open the bottle of wine that was waiting for you at your apartment tonight.

You were a little earlier than you usually were for pick-up, which you had done on purpose, needing to clear the air with a certain Mr. Qian Kun. Immediately homing in on the man, you made a beeline for him. He noticed you, his friendly hand falling as he seemed to notice the set of your brow.

“Good afternoon, Y—”

“Qian Kun,” you cut him off sternly. “Do you care to tell me why I was voluntold for a position spearheading a fundraising committee this morning?”

“Oh, that. Look, it came as a surprise to me too,” he tried to assuage you.

“Why the hell did my name even come out of your mouth in such a discussion in the first place?”

“Because they were praising me on how well the Bake Sale went, and I was making sure you got the credit that you deserved too. Are you upset about that? If so, I’m sorry? I guess?”

“You listen to the words coming out of my mouth: I will be a PTA mom over your dead body,” you hissed, scooching in to take the spot on the bench beside him and free up more standing space for the parents coming in.

“Okay, let’s take a step back from the threats, maybe, Y/N,” Kun suggested, holding his hands up in both a defensive and ‘are you kidding me?’ gesture. “What’s so awful about being a PTA parent in the first place?”

“Free labor for so little reward, and I don’t have the time for that. Do you?”

“We haven’t even heard their proposal; we don’t know what they’d be wanting us to do.”

“‘Spearheading a committee’ sounds like a part-time job at least.”

“Alright, well, didn’t Ms. Xu tell you that you and I held the most successful fundraising event the preschool’s ever had? And that wasn’t even with us making a concerted effort, either, that was just some random mid-grade effort Bake Sale. Imagine what we could do if we really go for it.”

“You work in sales, huh?” You deadpanned after his little pitch was finished. The one-year-old class opened for dismissal, and you leaned in towards him to continue your fervent conversation in a more hushed voice, “And can’t even realize when you’re the one being sold to! You do know that this campus has a bunch of filthy rich donors, right? They’re not hard pressed for cash, they just give the high school priority, then the middle school, primary, and the preschool gets the leftovers—if there’s even any—forcing it to have to fundraise for itself.”

“Isn’t that all the more reason to do this, then?” Kun pushed back.

“We could do a hundred Bake Sales and it wouldn’t make up the difference between the scraps the preschool gets and the millions that the high school does. No, it would be all the more reason for us to go find our own filthy rich donor who would put a stipulation on their donation for it to be used exclusively for the preschool.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve got to think bigger about this, Kun,” you knocked on his forehead with two of your knuckles as best you could in the narrow space between the two of you. “God. You said you work in sales, what do you even do?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, red tinging the tips of his ears, “Would you believe me if I said I’m a Director of Sales?”

“No,” you snorted.

“That’s fair.”

“So anyway, glad we’re on the same page about saying no to this.” You went to lean away from him and put some pep back into your tone, watching as the two-year-old class was dismissed next.

“What? I—” he looked around, it was only the three-year-old parents left in the lobby now. You sighed, scooting back over to sit shoulder-to-shoulder again for him to be able to continue in a hushed voice, “I thought we were going to find a donor for the preschool.”

“You want us to go in there, and say yes to leading the preschool PTA’s fundraising committee on the condition that its sole mission is to stage a coup within the financial hierarchy of the campus?”

“Okay well when you say it like that—”

“I’m in.” You grinned at him. “As long as you were being serious about the Director of Sales thing.”

“I was,” he fished out a business card from his wallet to hand to you.

Qian Kun, Director of Sales, WeiShen, Inc.

And below that was his email, office phone line, and fax number. You gave it back to him.

“Perfect. Those connections will come in handy.”

The door to the three-year-old classroom swung open just then, and you got to your feet.

“Alright, Mr. Qian, ready to go start the cutest coup the world has ever seen?” You offered your hand to him.

He stood up alongside you, giving your hand a firm shake, “Yes, absolutely, Ms. Y/L/N. They’ll never know what hit them.”

While Mrs. Chen and Ms. Xu were definitely caught off-guard by your idea, after getting over their initial shock, they were surprisingly on-board with it. They requested that you two bring in a more formal proposal to the next preschool PTA meeting— next Wednesday. That gave you nine days.

“So how did you know all that, about the donors and distribution structure of the funds?” Kun asked as you walked out into the empty preschool lobby.

“I did my research before picking a preschool for Woobin. It’s all there on the Internet if you dig deep enough, and are somewhat adept at reading through the legal bull—” You cut yourself off, looking down at the two toddlers with you. Kun pushed the front door open for you, and you quietly thanked him as you led Woobin through it before resuming your train of thought, “It’s obviously not in any of the advertising stuff for prospective parents, but for prospective donors, investors; the corporate materials.”

The four of you stopped in front of the building, where the small parking lot was.

“So then why did you enroll him here, even knowing about how they treat the preschool with the donations?”

“The high school is the best in the area, and the easiest way to guarantee admission is to graduate in from their middle school. Easiest way to get into the middle school is to graduate in from the primary school.”

“And the easiest way into the primary school is through the preschool,” the dad surmised.

“Bingo. I’m keeping Binnie’s options open,” you squeezed your son’s hand affectionately. “He doesn’t have to go there, but I’m making sure he can if he wants.”

Kun’s eyebrows shot up, “Wow. That’s some really forward thinking.”

You tilted your head curiously, “So why’d you choose to send Junyi here?”

“It was the closest to my place.”

“Practical, that’s more than fair.”

“Speaking of, Junyi and I should get going, we have to pick up a couple things from the store for dinner tonight and buddy already looks like he’s not going to last the two block walk there.” He looked down at his son, who was very quiet, glassy eyes fixed on his feet.

You nodded in understanding, “Of course, Binnie and I have a wine night planned.”

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“Oh, Binnie gets grape juice and I have red wine in matching cups. He likes to feel included.”

“Does he get a matching kiddie charcuterie board too?” Kun chuckled to himself as he hoisted Junyi up onto his hip.

“No, he just takes what he wants off of mine.”

He gave you a blank stare, “I can’t tell if you’re pulling my leg or not.”

“Look, he insists on trying whatever I have, and he ends up liking a lot of it,” you shrugged. “He’s the only 3-year-old I know who asks for tapenade as a snack.”

“You’re being serious?” He checked again.

“Yes,” you laughed. Then, before you knew it, the next words coming out of your mouth were, “You know, you and Junyi should join Binnie and I for a charcuterie night. I’ll prepare actual kid-friendly stuff, too, for Junyi.”

Kun’s head jerked back just the slightest, and he blinked a couple times before asking, “Uh, just you and Woobin?”

“Yeah, is— Would that, uh, be a problem?” The offer had felt perfectly normal and natural for you to make in the moment, but his reaction was making you second guess and stammer. You rushed to tack on, “We can— It’ll be for the fundraising committee, you know.”

“Right, right, of course.” His voice was filled with shaky relief.

“Of course,” you echoed, offering a strained smile.

“As long as that’s not a problem for—for you.”

“Why would it be a problem for me? I invited you.”

“I don’t— That sounds great, thank you, Y/N.”

Desperately wanting to get out of the plane crash that you had inadvertently taken this conversation into, you readjusted your purse on your shoulder decidedly, “Of course. Uhm, well, we won’t hold you two up from the store anymore, it looks like Junyi’s about to fall asleep on you right now. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kun looked down at Junyi’s head that had been resting against his chest, the boy’s eyes beginning to flutter shut, “Oh, God, there he goes. Bye, Y/N, Woobin!”

And the man was around the corner before Woobin could even lift his little hand to wave.

“So what’s the big deal, Y/N?”

“Well because I feel stupid now, Sooyoung,” you ranted to your friend over the phone that night as you washed up the dishes from dinner. “It felt like I was maybe finally getting my first like, parent friend, you know? And then he got all weird as soon as I invited him to hang out. I wasn’t being weird, was I? It was practically a playdate invite!”

Woobin had been put to bed a few minutes ago, and you were recounting the horrible nosedive that your conversation with Kun had taken, needing to know that you weren’t crazy.

“Y/N…” Sooyoung’s voice was patient as it came through your speakers. “Now, I can only guess, because I am, as we know, not a parent friend. But… is he married?”

“Huh?” The plate in your hand nearly slipped out of your soapy grip.

“Wedding ring, seen one?”

You wracked your brain, trying to remember if you’d ever really looked at Kun’s hands that closely, “Uh, not that I can remember?”

“Okay. You ever met the mom?”

“No, it’s always Kun who picks Junyi up.”

“Has a mom or another parent or partner ever been mentioned at all?”

“Sooyoung, the point,” you requested sternly, having a sneaking suspicion as to what it was.

“I’m just saying, maybe he got all weird because he thought you were flirting.”

“Oh my God,” you sighed and ran a hand through your hair before realizing that it was still soapy. “God damn it!”

“Y/N?”

You grabbed some paper towels to clean the suds off your head, “Yeah, still here, sorry.”

“Anyway… is he cute?”

“SooSoo, I don’t even think I could flirt on purpose at this point,” you chuckled cynically, going back to your chore. “That muscle’s long shriveled up. I just need to time skip to being married with two kids, I think.”

Your friend laughed along with you, “Fair. But, that doesn’t sound like a no. Kinda sounds like avoiding the question, actually.”

“Sooyoung.”

“Ooh, you gonna send me to my room?” She taunted you, and you could hear her pout through the phone. “Put me in time out?”

“You’d like that, you little freak,” you snickered, picking up your next dish.

That Saturday afternoon you and Woobin had welcomed Kun and Junyi into your apartment with giddy nerves. Woobin was excited, and you were excited for him. This would be pretty much his first playdate with a kid that he wasn’t related to. And you had all the nerves, as this was your first time having a parent friend over, too. Not to mention that Sooyoung’s words were still bouncing around in the back of your head. When Kun held out a bottle of red wine to you with his left hand, you looked extra hard at his fingers— yep, no ring.

“Oh, Kun, you didn’t have to,” you took it from him gladly, ushering the two of them further into your home.

“You’re hosting and making us a charcuterie board. I figured wine was appropriate,” he explained.

“Well, thank you. This is perfect.”

Woobin was right where you’d left him in the living room on his playmat among his toys.

“Binnie,” you said, waiting until he looked up at you before continuing, “Mr. Qian and Junyi are here, so we’re going to eat now, remember?”

He nodded, immediately standing up and beginning to shovel toys off to one side of his mat. You helped him slide the mat to the corner of the room.

“Uh, we’re just going to eat around the coffee table, if that’s alright,” you explained, gesturing to the cleared table in the middle of the living room.

“Yeah, of course,” Kun nodded.

“Great, great. Dining table kind of has a partially built LEGO set on it right now,” you chuckled as you set the wine bottle down. “I’m going to grab everything from the kitchen, be back in a second.”

“Oh, I’ll help.”

“No, that’s okay, I’ve already got a little helper,” you held a hand out expectantly towards your son. Woobin immediately grabbed your hand, looking up at you. You gave Kun a quick smile, “Be back in a sec.”

In the kitchen, you handed Woobin his spill-proof cup, then another for Junyi. You fit two wine glasses by the stems and a corkscrew in one hand, and grabbed the charcuterie board with the other. Gently nudging your toddler ahead of you, the two of you headed back out to the living room, where your guests were waiting.

Kun and Junyi had sat down on one side of the table, and you gently placed the food down in front of them, then one wine glass in front of Kun. You looked to your son, who handed the correct cup to Junyi.

“It’s just water,” you informed the dad. “We have juice too, if he can have it. I never know about allergies and the like so I didn’t want to assume.”

“Juice?” Woobin looked up at you with wide eyes.

“Yours is already grape juice, Binnie,” you informed him with a head pat.

Kun rubbed his son’s back, “Water’s fine for him, he had a juice box this morning. Thanks.”

You and Woobin sat opposite from the father and son, Woobin immediately clambering into your lap. As you went to uncork the wine, Kun looked over the board in front of you all. You had made sure to prepare some kid-friendly options in one corner in addition to your usual refined spread.

“This all looks fantastic, Y/N. Thank you, seriously,” Kun smiled, and you swore that was the first time you’d noticed a deep dimple appear on both of his cheeks.

You poured first for him, then yourself, “Of course. Thank you two for coming over, Woobin and I were both excited to host for someone. Right, Binnie?”

“What, Mommy?” Woobin looked up at you with a scrunched nose.

“‘Host.’” You repeated the unfamiliar word for him, then clarified your question, “Are you excited to have Junyi and Mr. Qian over?”

“Oh! Yes!” He nodded his head so fast you could feel the rest of his little body shake in your lap. “Can I show Junyi my room, Mommy?”

“After you two eat some, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Did you hear that, Junyi? After you eat, you and Woobin can play.” Kun gently prodded his son, then looked up at you apologetically when all the child did was yawn. “Sorry, he just woke up from a nap before coming over.”

“That’s okay,” you giggled, cutting off a piece of cheese and pressing it onto a cracker, then making another serving of the same cheese and cracker. You handed one to Woobin, keeping the other for yourself.

Woobin eagerly took a bite of the cheese and cracker you’d given him, washing it down with his grape juice.

Kun offered a bear-shaped cookie out to Junyi, who shook his head. The dad sighed, and pointed at a banana slice, then blueberry, then cheddar cheese slice that you’d cut into small star shapes. They all got head shakes.

“Are you hungry at all, buddy?”

“Yes!”

“Then what do you want? Ms. Y/L/N made sure to put out all that food just for you. I don’t think you want what Daddy is eating, buddy. It’s grown-up food.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, unsure of if you should speak up. It seemed like they both needed help, but you weren’t one to try to interject your own parenting if it wasn’t asked for.

Junyi squirmed in his dad’s arms for a moment before mumbling, “But Woobin’s eating it…”

Meanwhile Woobin had in fact helped himself to a kalamata olive, pre-pitted, happily munching away.

Kun seemed at a loss, rubbing at his brow, and you finally decided to jump in.

“Junyi, you can try some, too,” you told him encouragingly, leaning forward and reaching over the board. “Do you want to try the cheese Woobin was eating or the olive he just had? Or both?”

“Cheese, please.”

You cut off a small piece of the gouda, “Here you go.”

He took it in his small hands, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

You watched in amusement as Junyi ate the cheese, his features lighting up.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes! Can I try the olive?”

“Hey…” Kun’s voice held a slight warning as he pinched his son’s side.

“Can I try the olive please?”

“Thank you.” The dad patted the boy’s head before reaching around him for the glass of wine on the table.

You handed him an olive, both you and Kun watching with interest as he popped it into his mouth whole. Junyi’s face immediately screwed up in disgust. Without missing a beat, Kun held up a cupped palm with another short sigh, letting his son spit the food back out. Trying to hold back your giggles, you handed the dad a napkin.

“Thanks,” he accepted it, depositing the olive into the paper, and wiping his hand off.

After some more broadening of Junyi’s horizons—to mixed results—the board was mostly clear, and the kids had declared themselves full.

“Can I show Junyi my room now?” Woobin asked excitedly.

“Sure, Binnie. You two can go play,” you nodded, and he immediately scrambled off your lap. You held out a hand for him to use to balance himself as you kept talking, “Mr. Qian and I have some work to do, so we’ll be in here if you need us, okay?”

“Okay!” Both toddlers said in unison.

“Hey, look here,” Kun stopped his son before he could leave the room. The father waited until the boy was looking him in the eye before continuing, “Remember what we talked about before coming over? All week?”

Junyi nodded fervently.

“Good. Go have fun, buddy,” he ruffled his son's hair.

You watched the two of them speedwalk out excitedly, Woobin explaining the house rule of not being allowed to run because it’s not safe as they went.

Then it was just you and Kun. Sooyoung’s words echoed in the back of your mind.

“Alright, let me grab my laptop, then we can get to work,” you declared, getting to your feet.

A few hours later and the two of you had made good progress, only interrupted by the kids a few times here and there, mostly them wanting to show off toys or coloring pages, or Junyi had wandered in at one point seemingly just to make sure Kun was still there.

You had been adding something to your word document of notes when you realized that your house had been eerily quiet for too long. Fingertips hovering over the keys, you exchanged a suspicious look with Kun.

“Too quiet?” He asked knowingly.

“Yeah…” You frowned, setting your computer aside to get up.

Both of you treaded through your home until you got to Woobin’s bedroom. The door was open, and you were alarmed for a moment when you didn’t see either boy anywhere on the floor playing. Until you recognized two lumps under the covers of his toddler bed, Woobin and Junyi looking like they were going to sleep for the next hundred years or so.

“Oh, god, I am so sorry,” Kun shook his head, seeming about to go in there and grab his son.

You were between him and the room, however, and quickly turned the lights off and shut the door. “It’s okay, Kun. They just tuckered themselves out. That’s good.”

Latching onto his elbow, you pulled him back towards the living room, catching a glance at the time on the microwave as you went through the kitchen.

“Damn, it’s not even Binnie’s normal bedtime yet,” you chuckled.

You didn’t let go of Kun until you had pulled him back down onto the couch, and then held his (second) glass of wine back out to him pointedly. He had a fond smile as he took it from you, and you happily accepted your victory as you picked yours back up too. You left your laptop on the coffee table, shifting to entirely face Kun as you raised your glass to your lips.

Kun took a sip.

You took a sip.

“Do you want to ask me something, Y/N?” Kun scratched the back of his neck.

“Mm, sorry,” you apologized with a chuckle. “I zoned out on your face there, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, a bit,” he laughed.

“I was thinking, though.”

“What about?”

“You’re a Director of Sales…”

“Supposedly.”

“Supposedly,” you repeatedly humorously before moving on with your question. “Do you think we’ve got a good chance at getting a donor for the preschool? If our proposal is approved by the PTA on Wednesday, of course.”

You had expected some kind of business musings, or serious answer from Kun, but instead you watched with concern as his brow furrowed, his fingers drummed along his knee, and he suddenly became fidgety, shifting around in his seat. He stayed quiet, once again scratching at the back of his neck, squinting one eye closed, then the other.

“Kun?” You said his name hesitantly.

“Sorry,” he shot you a familiar, frazzled smile that reminded you of when he was getting overwhelmed at the Bake Sale booth by himself. “I uhm, I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” you reassured him. “I was just curious, it’s not life or death that you know everything all the time.”

He didn’t even seem to hear you as he stood up, setting his wine glass down on the table. The dad began pacing back and forth in front of your couch, his hands laced together behind his neck.

“I’m good at my job.”

You would’ve sworn he wasn’t talking to you, except his wide, stressed eyes snapped up to you after he said that.

“I’m not your boss. You don’t need to convince me, Kun,” you said slowly.

“I know, just— with all this, it’s stuff that I should be good at, it’s right up my alley. But it’s for Junyi, and I want to be the best dad I can be for him that I just end up jumping into doing things without actually thinking about them first because other people are telling me that’s what I need to do to be a good dad. I know how to be a good Director of Sales. I don’t know how to be a good dad.”

“You don’t need to know everything,” you reiterated strongly, hoping he actually listened this time. “I don’t know all the secrets for being a good mom. I just know how to be Woobin’s mom. You don’t need to know all the secrets to being the best dad ever. The only thing you need to worry about is being Junyi’s dad. Does that seem a bit more manageable?”

Kun’s pacing slowed to a stop in front of you, “Well, I guess.”

“So, the next time somebody is trying to sell you on some ‘Dad Thing,’ stop, breathe, and think: Is this what I, Qian Kun, as Junyi’s dad, need to do, to be?”

“Okay…” he looked at you skeptically, closing his eyes for a moment. You watched as his shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath.

“…Are you doing it right now?”

“Well how else am I supposed to decide if this is a good thing to do or not?”

You let out a hearty laugh, “No, that’s perfect, Kun, go ahead.”

He closed his eyes again, and you watched with fond amusement as his eyebrows quirked up and down with his thoughts. You took another sip of your wine before he had finished, and he opened his eyes once more, giving you a firm nod, “Okay, yes, I think that’s a thing that Junyi would need me to do.”

“Great,” you smiled at him, tilting your wine glass out to him.

He picked his back up and clinked it to yours in a little cheers. You tipped the remainder of your drink back in one go.

“Oh, that was good,” you declared. “Thanks, Kun.”

“Of course, Y/N. Thank you for inviting us.”

“Like I said, Binnie and I were both really excited to host,” you took your empty glass into the kitchen to start cleaning up. “I don’t know if this is bad, but he hasn’t really had a lot of play dates that weren’t like his cousins or something.”

“Junyi neither,” Kun admitted.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” You asked, starting to stack the plates. “Kid, and work, and family, and friends, and everything else. And then you’re supposed to be in charge of your kid’s social life too?”

You’d turned your back on him to bring the plates into the kitchen, expecting to hear his response to your question, but you were just met with silence. After depositing the dishes in the kitchen, you walked back out to the living room, alarmed to see that Kun had taken to pacing again.

Keeping a calm demeanor yourself, you kept going about your task, grabbing the charcuterie board, the last thing that needed to be tidied up. You had just started back towards the kitchen when Kun broke his silence.

“Junyi’s mother left us.”

You were so glad you had your back to Kun so he couldn’t see your rueful wince. Oh, you were so going to regret this.

Relaxing your features into a more sympathetic frown, you turned around to face him, “I’m very sorry to hear that, Kun.”

This was going to be a lot, you could sense it, so you set the charcuterie board back down on your breakfast bar.

“So just know that however hard it is for you and Woobin’s dad, it’s like ten times harder for me, and that’s why I’m always—”

You had stopped listening to him, however, your brain turning to white noise after the phrase ‘Woobin’s dad.’

“Wait, do you think I’m married?” You blurted out over him.

“Well, no, I can see that you don’t have a ring,” Kun gestured down to your hands. “But a boyfriend or another significant other. I’m doing this solo and—”

“I’m a single parent too!”

“What?” He seemed dumbfounded.

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to laugh or cry more at how ridiculous this was.

“Woobin’s dad was a one-night stand! I can’t remember the guy’s name, or what he looks like. Couldn’t find him if I wanted to. I don’t have a partner now, either. What on Earth made you think I was anything other than a single mom? You’re in my home!” You gestured around wildly to where there were multiple pictures of your family, of you and Woobin, but none of you, Woobin, and any man that could reasonably be considered his father.

“Well you’re just— you’ve got— at the meeting— you’re so put together,” Kun stammered out, his voice getting smaller and smaller. He ran a hand through his hair, “You’re not falling apart at the seams like I am.”

“Kun.” You grabbed him by the shoulders, stopping his frenzied pacing. “Look me in the eye.”

It wasn’t really like he had a choice, you were now holding his face just a couple inches from yours, but he still followed your command.

“Good,” you praised him, keeping your voice soothing. “I want you to take three deep breaths with me.”

He followed along as you inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, and finally exhaled again together.

“Alright, thank you,” your voice was still sweet and calm as you ran your hands back down to his shoulders. “Now… why the fuck do you think I am more put together than you, Qian Kun?”

“Everything,” he breathed out, hanging his head.

“God, Kun,” you sighed, seizing him by the wrist. “Come on.”

You led him into your dining room, where there was in fact a half-built LEGO set on your dining room table. But that wasn’t your goal. On the bookshelf in there, you grabbed a specific picture frame, and took it and Kun back to the living room.

Sitting down side-by-side with Kun on the couch, you held the picture out in front of the two of you. It was of you and Woobin just over three years ago now, the first night you came home from the hospital. Your mother had taken it. He was swaddled in his baby blue blanket, all chubby cheeks, and you looked dead tired, but an excited sparkle was still in your eyes as you grinned down at your son.

“Look, Kun. I used to feel like that too. All the time. Almost every day when I was pregnant,” you relayed to him.

“But not anymore?” He questioned hesitantly.

“Sometimes. But not like before. Because I realized that I’m not doing this by myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I may be a single mom, but I’m not alone, I have Binnie. And isn’t that the whole point? To be there for them? To make sure they know they’re not doing it alone either?”

Kun was quiet, his eyes still focused on the picture.

You continued, “I’m lucky enough to have my parents as a good support system, and some friends I can call up in case of emergency too. But I remember when I found out I was going to have Woobin, and I decided to keep him, I was scared of doing it by myself. Terrified, might be a better word.”

“When I came home from the hospital with him, my mom stayed with us for the first couple weeks.” You tapped the frame. “And the first night after she left, when it really was just the two of us, I was expecting this overwhelming sense of loneliness, and instead I just felt… full. I know I had all those birthing hormones in me, oxytocin and whatnot, but I looked down at him and I realized I wasn’t alone, and I wasn’t ever going to be in all this because I have Binnie.”

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” Kun finally spoke again.

Thinking about your cousin’s approach to parenting, you guessed, “You’ve always thought about him as the adversary?”

“Not exactly. Junyi’s more like a tiny roommate that I have to dress and feed and keep from accidentally dying.”

“I’d love to see pizza and beer night at your place.” You joked, laughing when you managed to get a small smile out of Kun again. “Does Junyi get his in a sippy?”

“You jest, but I have poured myself two fingers of whiskey into a Winnie the Pooh sippy cup before because it was the only clean drinking vessel we had.” He rubbed at his temples, then clarified, “With the lid off.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” You patted his back, reaching across him to set the frame down on the side table by another one that was displayed there.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Kun’s eyes followed you as you sat back down, suddenly much closer than you remembered being before. Or were you just more aware of your proximity?

He patted your knee. “Seriously, that made me feel a lot better.”

“Of—” You cleared your throat to get rid of the squeak that was now in your voice. “Of course.”

Your skin tingled. Holy shit, you’d only had two glasses of wine spread across several hours, there was no way you should even be remotely buzzed. Kun was still looking at you. Were his eyes always this dark, this inviting?

God, he really was handsome. You’d always known that, thought that, since the moment you saw him in the lobby of the preschool. But something about now, having him in your home, so close, alone, you felt like you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He wet his lips seemingly instinctually, and for a moment your brain short-circuited.

“Daddy?” A small voice made both you and Kun jump in your seats. You bit your tongue in surprise, hissing in pain as you and the dad simultaneously scooted away from each other. Junyi was standing at the threshold of the living room, rubbing one of his eyes sleepily.

“Hey, buddy.” Kun waved his son over with a smile. “Is everything okay?”

Junyi walked over, stopping in front of his dad, a small pout on his face. “I woke up and didn’t see you...”

“Oh, buddy,” Kun rubbed the toddler’s back. “Sounds like it’s about time for us to go home, huh?”

You smiled at the both of them, hoping they couldn’t see how frazzled you felt through it. “Of course, it’s late. I think we’re uh, we’re all tired. Junyi, is Woobin awake?”

The boy shook his head no.

“Okay, thank you.” You stood up, grabbing the wine glasses as Kun picked his son up.

You sent them off with a quick goodbye at your front door, and let out a deep sigh of relief once you’d closed it behind them. There weren’t many dishes to take care of in the kitchen, but you still took your time scrubbing at them, then tiptoed down the hall to check in on your son. He was in fact sound asleep, and you quietly went to retire in your own room for the night.

Except once you were in your own bed, sleep didn’t find you easy. You still saw Kun whether your eyes were open or closed, and you could feel the ghost of his warm hand on your skin. You rolled over into the center of the empty expanse of your bed, burying your face in your pillow, and let out a groan. You so needed to get laid. That’s all this was, you had set aside your own needs for your family’s and as soon as you saw one attractive guy, you couldn’t function. There were more important things to focus on with Kun, like the fundraising.

And so you went to sleep with thoughts of spreadsheets, Kun’s dark eyes, numbers, Kun’s warm hands on you, fundraising pitches, and Qian Kun running through your mind.

The fundraising pitch was a hit. Yours and Kun’s PTA committee was approved at the very same meeting, and you two were made co-directors effective immediately.

Afterwards, you, Kun, Woobin, and Junyi all walked out together, and while Kun seemed to be basking in the exhilaration of success, you were shell-shocked with a harrowing realization.

“Y/N?” Kun gently touched your arm, voice tinged with concern.

You looked up at him, horrified. “I’m a PTA mom now, aren’t I?”

He seemed to be holding back his laughter as he patted your shoulder. “I think you are. My condolences. Please don’t kill me.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I can dispose of my co-director so easily now.”

He was grinning at you. “Ah, didn’t realize that title came with such high protections.”

You rolled your eyes, but found your mood lifting anyway. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, you mentioned that you had something exciting, but only if we got approval?”

“Right!” Kun let go of Junyi’s hand to reach into the interior pocket of his suit jacket. He retrieved a crisp cream envelope, about the size of his hand. His name was embossed on the front of it in gold lettering.

You looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “You got a wedding invite?”

“Close.” He opened the envelope, holding out the contents to you. You set Woobin down, murmuring a quiet request for him to stay by you all so you could take the card in both your hands. The front of the card had an unfamiliar crest on it, and you opened it to read the inside.

‘The United Publishing Society is honored to invite Mr. Qian Kun and a guest to their 89th Annual Benefactor Gala’

And below that was the date, time, location, and dress code. Black tie formal.

“A fancy networking event?” You questioned, handing it back to him.

“No,” he shook his head very seriously. “These are all the old industry bigwigs who want to get together without all that schmoozy networking and ladder-climbing stuff going on. You and I are probably going to be the youngest ones there by a couple decades.”

“Wait you and me?”

“Yep. ‘Mr. Qian Kun and a guest.’” He recited off the invite. “You’re my guest.”

“Uhm...”

“I happen to know that one of the guys attending is also on the board of a non-profit that donates exclusively to children’s causes. Building pediatric cancer centers, juvenile intervention centers, the whole nine. I think he’ll be our best bet for a donor.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “But you just said they want to get together without networking and all that kind of stuff. Why would we be any different?”

“It’s a charity gala, they’re already there to write checks anyway. We’re not going to be asking him for a job.”

It’s not you were exactly overflowing with any options. “When was that again?”

“What do we think?” You did a spin for your small audience of Woobin and Sooyoung. “Good enough for black tie formal?”

Tonight was the night of the gala Kun was taking you along to, and you sort of felt like you were going to throw up. And pass out. In that order. First of all, you had never been to a gala, you couldn’t remember if you had ever gone to something with a black tie formal dress code (you literally had to go out and buy this outfit), not to mention that you felt awful for having to ask your friend to babysit. But unfortunately your parents were out of town and all of your normal babysitters were busy. Sooyoung had already let you (jokingly) know that this was under duress, and that you owed her—despite turning down the money you offered her.

Sooyoung wolf-whistled at you, and you gave her a pointed look. Not the example you wanted to set for your son. Woobin looked up from his toys at the sound, and clapped for you.

“You look great, Y/N!” Your friend reassured you, and you were thankful that she reigned her mouth in around your kid. Typically, you would’ve gotten a much more explicit compliment from her. “Should be good for black tie. I mean, it’s not like you have any other option, right?”

“Right...” You groaned, turning back towards your room. “Hold on, let me put the shoes on so you can see those.”

You were sitting on your bed pulling your shoes on when you heard your doorbell ring. Your stomach dropped as you looked over at the time on your bedside clock. Shit, Kun was early. You should’ve anticipated that from the last time he was here.

“Soo! Can you get the door? I’m still putting my shoes on!” You yelled out through the apartment.

“Yep!” She called back.

You could vaguely hear the muffled voices of Sooyoung and Kun—and even Woobin at one point—but you were too focused on tugging your goddamn shoes on to care much about what they were saying. Just as you were finally standing up and straightening out your outfit, Sooyoung speedwalked into your bedroom, Woobin in her arms.

She had a smile filled with devilish delight on her face as she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially to you, “That is Kun?”

“Huh? Yeah? Unless you let some strange man into my home that I don’t know,” you replied, bewildered. “Should I have asked you to ID him?”

“I take back everything I said, you stay out as long as you want tonight. All night even,” she suggested, gesturing wildly with one hand as the other kept your toddler propped up on her hip. She pinched his cheek fondly. “BinBin and I can have a sleepover, right, buddy?”

Your son’s face lit up with delight at the prospect. “Sleepover?!”

Well aware of what your friend was implying, you did your best to regulate your outer emotions and intonation as you addressed your kid. You kept your tone kind but firm, “No, Binnie, I’m sorry.” Focusing your gaze on your friend, you added pointedly, “Nobody’s having a sleepover tonight.”

“Y/N, come on. You’ve never denied yourself the finer things in life since becoming a mom. Why are you insisting on starting now?” Sooyoung sighed.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a gala to attend. For the fundraising committee I’m on.”

Walking through your apartment, you grabbed your purse from your dining room and finally found Kun in the foyer just a few steps from the front door. He was looking at a photo you had up on the wall, his back to you, so all you could see was his brown hair and dark suit.

“Hi, Kun!” You hoped you didn’t sound out of breath as you entered the room. Judging by the sound of footsteps behind you, Sooyoung had followed you in to see you off for the night.

Kun turned around at his name, hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed rather handsomely for the night in a tux with his hair neatly parted away from his face. But it was the starstruck smile on his face that made your skin warm up as he stopped in his tracks, just looking at you.

“Kun? You good?” You coughed awkwardly, well aware of your spectators.

“Sorry, sorry. Hello, Y/N.” He blinked and shook his head, stepping forward all the way to stand in front of you.

“You’ve already met my friend Sooyoung. She’s watching Woobin tonight for me.” You gestured to the two of them.

“So you two can take as long as you need!” She piped up oh-so-helpfully.

You turned to look at her with wide, pointed eyes.

“You know, chatting people up for your fundraising, or whatever,” she tacked on innocently.

“Thank you, SooSoo. I’ll see you later.” You pecked your son on the forehead. “Goodnight, Binnie. Remember, Mommy will be back late so Aunt SooSoo is going to put you to bed, and you and me are going to eat breakfast together, okay?”

“But Aunt SooSoo said I was having a sleepover with her?”

“Aunt SooSoo was just joking, baby. I’m sorry, no sleepovers tonight,” you informed him with a heavy heart. Sooyoung set him down, and he toddled off towards the living room. Your friend went to follow him, and you grabbed her elbow to lean in to hiss in her ear, “I hope you’re happy, you owe Binnie a sleepover now.”

“And he’ll get one,” she whispered back. “As soon as you have one of your own.”

You shot her one final glare that she just retaliated with a wink, before letting her go and striding back over to Kun, who was waiting patiently by the front door.

“Everything okay?” He asked, concern on his features.

“Yeah, just making sure she knows Binnie's bedtime and to not give him any more juice.” You offered him a reassuring smile. “All good.”

“Good. You ready, then?”

“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

You so were not ready, it turned out. Just a few minutes after arriving, milling around and taking in the grandeur of the ballroom with Kun, you were starting to feel dizzy. Kun had already seen a couple of people that he must have known, flashing them a charismatic smile and exchanging passing greetings. You, meanwhile, felt like a weight was pressing on your chest, and inhaled deeply through your nose to try to calm down.

“Woah, are you okay, Y/N?” Kun leaned in to ask you quietly.

“Yeah, fine,” you lied through your teeth. “Why?”

“You’ve got a death grip on my arm that you didn’t have thirty seconds ago.” He patted your hand that was on his upper arm.

Looking down, you saw that his suit jacket was crumpled in your fingers, and you consciously tried to loosen your grip, but couldn’t make yourself do it. Instead, you just stared at your locked hand.

“I’m a copy editor, Kun, I don’t really go to galas on the daily, so pardon me for being a little out of my element here,” you retorted, the words cutting through the air much harsher than you had intended. Taking another deep inhale and exhale, you added a whispered, “Sorry, sorry.”

“Come on, let’s get some air, hm?”

The gala had an outdoor area devoid of other guests, presumably due to the chilly nighttime air. Kun sat you down on a stone bench outside of the main courtyard area, out of sight from the large windows of the ballroom.

The pressure on your chest was gone, and with you breathing easier, the cynical, nervous thoughts could finally take center stage in your brain.

“God, this isn’t going to work! Why did we even come out here?” You cracked your knuckles anxiously. “How do we even ask for money without just sounding like children? ‘It’s not fair!’”

“If we find the right donor—and don’t use that tone of voice—that argument is actually going to be what resonates with them,” Kun responded calmly, standing in front of you with his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Someone that cares about the kids, not about investing in an institution or whatever, will be moved by the fact that the preschool is being neglected financially.”

You chewed on the bottom of your lip. “Well damn, when you put it like that, I may just believe that you’re a Director of Sales, Qian Kun.”

“I thought the business card had convinced you.”

“Anybody can order a business card that says whatever they want.”

“That would’ve been extensive planning on my part.”

“Hey, you could’ve had it on hand to pick up women. There’s guys that do that.”

He seemed genuinely put-off and bewildered. “Wait really? That’s… That is just… loser behavior.”

“Though the fax number did point to it being real,” you continued, finally cracking a smile. “Dudes doing pick-up probably think it makes them look dorky.”

“What? People aren’t sexting via fax these days?” Kun joked, a grin tugging at his lips.

You were laughing too hard—and thus trying to quiet down your laughter—to respond to him, giving him the perfect leeway to continue. “What would you even call that? Saxing? Sexing?”

You were dizzy again, but this time it was light-headedness from laughing too hard, quite literally slapping your knee as you tried to calm yourself down.

Kun was chuckling as well, sliding in to sit next to you. “I take offense at the sentiment that fax machines are lame, by the way. I’ll have you know that’s my personal fax line on my business card. Not everyone gets their own.”

Finally having enough wits about you to form sentences again, you sat up straight to look him in the eye as you clarified, “Hey, I was saying that loser dudes who make fake business cards think that fax machines are lame. I think men with fax machines are sexy, especially personal fax lines.”

You went to nudge his shoulder teasingly, caught off-guard as you realized just how close he was to you. Even closer than the night on your couch, his dark eyes settling on your face, unabashedly drinking you in. Your breath hitched in your throat as you were suddenly surrounded by the intoxicating smell of his cologne. The cold air made the hair on your bare arms stand up—or maybe it was something else—and you found yourself pressing forward even closer towards Kun’s warmth.

“Y/N,” he murmured your name quietly. “Are you cold? We can go back inside.”

“No, just…” you took a deep breath, scooting in even closer to him, until you were pressed up side-to-side. “Stay right here? You’re warm.”

He uncertainly wrapped his arm around you. “Sure, sure. Of course.”

“And… Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, yeah.”

“I wasn’t crazy, right? On the couch the other night… Did you want to kiss me, too?”

“You-You wanted to kiss me?”

“I’m uh, a bit rusty at this kind of thing,” you admitted, your skin burning. “But I’m not completely imagining that there’s… something here, right, Kun?”

“You wanted to kiss me?” He repeated like a broken record.

You lightly snapped your fingers in front of his face. “Kun? My question? Or have I officially lost it, and this is like… going to make everything awkward for the fundraising committee?”

“No, no, I-I do—did want to kiss you. I thought I was making you uncomfortable,” he stumbled over his words sheepishly. “I’m uhm… also pretty rusty with this stuff.”

“You do want to kiss me? Or you did want to kiss me, past tense?” You clarified.

“Both! Uhm, I did, that night on the couch, and I still do, now…” He confessed weakly.

“Is there any reason that you shouldn’t? Like, is there somebody…?”

“No, there isn’t. Not at all.” Kun gulped. “What about you?”

“Nope, nobody, and Qian Kun, if you continue to talk about kissing me without actually doing anything, I might actually lose my mind,” you whispered, feeling hot, embarrassed, desperate tears pricking at the edges of your eyes.

“God, sorry.” He cupped your cheek, turning your head and tilting your chin to be able to perfectly slot his lips with yours. The arm that was already wrapped around you just pulled you closer to him, as one of your hands grabbed the lapel of his suit jacket. You let out an embarrassing whimper as soon as his mouth meshed with yours, and he murmured another hushed ‘sorry’ against your lips. If he hadn’t just told you that he was rusty, you wouldn’t have had any idea as your head spun, your heart beat out of your chest wildly like a cartoon, and you were definitely crying tears of relief into what you were seriously considering quite possibly your best kiss ever.

It was your turn to mutter an apology as your tears turned the kiss salty, but as you pulled back to do just that, you saw the glistening of Kun’s eyes in the champagne tinted light filtering out from the ballroom, turning his tears golden as they slipped down his cheeks. Instead, you just pressed your forehead to his in silent understanding, looping your arm around his neck to hold him even closer, if that was possible.

PART II: you got my heartbeat to play to your time

Spotting Kun in the lobby of the preschool, you immediately lit up and rushed to sit down beside him on one of the benches. He offered you a tired smile and peck on the cheek in greeting, scooting to make room for you.

“Brr, it’s fucking freezing out there,” you shuddered, grabbing his hand to press it against the cold tip of your nose. “That’s just from the 30-second walk from the parking lot to here! Are you two going to survive the walk home? You sure you don’t want me to drive you? Well, I don’t have another carseat for Junyi, but he could sit on your lap in the backseat, I think? Better than freezing to death, right?”

“We’ll be okay, Y/N,” Kun reassured you, patting your leg before resting his hand there. “Thank you though, love.”

The subject of the cold suddenly made you remember something else, and you perked up, “Oh, Woobin and I were at the store yesterday and he needed new gloves, and I saw that bun’s were getting a little worn out when we went out last weekend too—”

“Whose?” Kun asked, furrowing his brows.

“Junyi’s. Look.” You held up the pair that matched Woobin’s, save for the pattern, which had little bunnies on them instead of whales. “Aren’t they adorable? God, I just love their tiny hands. I’ll return them if this is weird and I overstepped a line though. I tried to call you to see if this was okay, but the store was just a dead zone, and I couldn’t get a signal.”

A sheepish smile punctuated the end of your nervous rambling. You and Kun hadn’t been dating for very long, just a few months, and you were still getting a feel for boundaries when it came to your relationship with each other and each other’s kids. You’d just started spending the night at each other’s houses with both kids there—already a big step, in your opinion. Taking the initiative on buying Junyi a new pair of gloves had seemed perfectly natural when the thought came to you, but you didn’t want it to feel like you were rushing things to Kun, or taking a place that wasn’t yours to take—and hadn’t been offered to you—in Junyi’s life.

“Oh, no, Y/N, these are perfect, thank you.” He accepted them, a genuine, grateful smile on his face as he tucked them away in his jacket pocket, then squeezed both of your hands. “Junyi will love them. He did need new gloves; I just hadn’t made it out to the store yet.”

“Then what is making you make that face?”

“Since when has Junyi been a bunny?”

“Were you not intentionally buying him a bunch of bunny-patterned stuff?” You questioned, tilting your head.

“Huh?”

“His backpack, his stuffie that he brings to school, his pajamas that he wore at my place last weekend, and I’ve seen him in like at least three different bunny t-shirts. I thought the theming was intentional.”

Kun took a long, slow blink. “Oh… it was not.”

“Kun… are bunnies your favorite animal?” You teased.

“No! I think…?”

“God, long day at work?” You surmised, stroking the back of his head soothingly.

He leaned into your touch, letting out a disgruntled groan, “Long week. Scratch that, long month.”

“Mm, anything I can do to help?”

“Unless you can clone me, or stop time…”

“Okay, new question: Anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Even just something small?”

“Can you and Woobin come over tonight? I know we weren’t planning on it, but—”

“Yes, Kun, we can come over tonight,” you agreed, using your free hand to grab one of his.

“Thank you,” he sighed, squeezing your hand back.

The door to the boys’ classroom opened then, and you nudged Kun’s shoulder with yours. He nodded, the two of you standing up together. As soon as you stepped foot into the classroom, your shins were knocked into by one small body, then another.

“Oh, hey bun! Hey bubbles!” You greeted the kids, wobbling a bit as they had each latched onto one of your legs.

Kun, who had caught you by the elbow to steady you, was looking at the three of you with that same tired but heartfelt smile, “Guys, am I just chopped liver?”

Junyi squinted up at his dad curiously, “What’s liver?”

“Yeah, what’s liver, Mr. Kun?” Woobin echoed.

“He means he wants a hug too, boys,” you explained. “And he’s been working really hard, so I think he should get a really big one.”

They immediately detached themselves from you to throw their little arms around Kun’s legs instead.

“You should ask for one next time, Mr. Kun!”

“Yeah, Daddy! Instead of talkin’ about liver and stuff.”

“Yeah, Mr. Kun, just ask for one next time,” you repeated teasingly.

Kun looked at the two kids with that same fond, resigned smile. “Right, my bad, boys. I will just ask for one when I need one next time.”

As the kids hug-attacked Kun, you went over to their forgotten cubbies to pick up their respective whale and bunny backpacks, giving Ms. Xu and Mrs. Chen friendly waves of acknowledgement. When you returned, Kun had managed to get a kid under each arm, both toddlers giggling as they were held like sacks of potatoes.

“Are you carrying them out like that?” You asked with a tilted head.

“Maybe,” Kun joked. “It’s a good arm workout.”

“Yeah, for all three of you,” you referred to how the boys were clinging onto his forearms against gravity as well.

“Mm, the idea of buff three-year-olds terrifies me,” he declared, lowering the kids. “Alright, time to let go, guys.”

You reached into Junyi’s backpack to secure the little tiny puffer jacket that was inside, “It’s a bit chilly out, bun-bun, and you and your dad are walking home, so come on, you’re putting your coat on.”

“Okay,” he stuck his arms out for you to help put it on him.

“Oh,” Kun pulled the new pair of gloves out of his own pocket, showing them off to his son. “Look, buddy. Ms. Y/N got you a new pair of gloves.”

“Oh wow, thank you!” He beamed up at you.

“You’re welcome,” you grinned back, kneeling down in front of him to zip up the jacket for him. “Woobin has a pair just like it but with whales, so you two can match next time he wears his.”

Woobin looked down at his bare hands with a thoughtful frown. “Where are my gloves, Mommy?”

“They’re probably in your backpack, baby. You and I are driving home so you don’t have to put them on if you don’t want to, because your hands won’t be getting cold outside like Junyi’s.”

“Oh. I want to put them on, please.”

“Here, I’ll get them,” Kun unzipped the backpack that was on your shoulder and began rooting through it.

“Thank you.” You murmured. As he got the gloves and helped Woobin put them on, you went over the plans for the rest of the night with your son, “We’re going to go home and get a few things, and then we’re going to Mr. Kun and Junyi’s house for a sleepover, okay?”

“Okay!”

Kun had finished tugging on the gloves then, “There you go, Bin.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kun!” Woobin chirped, then reached out for the other toddler. “Junyi, we match!”

“We match!” Junyi giggled back, grabbing Woobin's whale-patterned hand with his own bunny-patterned one.

You stood up, covering your mouth in delight as you whispered to Kun, “I’m literally going to cry.”

“Way ahead of you,” he whispered back, and when you looked over, you did in fact see a single tear rolling down one of his cheeks.

“Oh, oh my God, Kun.” You wiped it away with your thumb. “What’s—”

“Talk later?”

“Okay, yeah,” you nodded, looking around at the fact that you were still very much in the boys’ classroom, and had other things to do. “Right, of course. Talk later.”

Kun reached up to grab your hand that had wiped the tear away, squeezing it and offering you a smile. He dried his eyes with the sleeve of his other hand, then called for the kids, “Come on, boys. We’ve got to go. You’ll see each other in just a bit.”

Getting Woobin packed up to spend the night at Kun and Junyi’s was easy, and so was getting the two of them fed once you were there. The difficult part was getting even a single second of semi-private time with Kun to actually talk. The two boys wanted to include both of you in every single thing they did tonight, which was typically endearing, but the exhaustion that plagued Kun’s features the while time still concerned you. It wasn’t until they were finally asleep in Junyi’s room, and you and Kun had cleaned up from dinner, that you finally had an opportunity.

He pulled you over to the couch, and you sat down, expecting one of your normal grown-up, mature, face-to-face talks to happen now. You’d had a few already, about your expectations when you started dating, about the first time you spent the night at the other’s house like this, whenever there was any need to clear the air. Both you and Kun agreed that you were both at the point in your life where you couldn’t deal with the kind of tip-toeing uncertainty of young relationships, you needed something serious, with open, honest communication, especially around the kids.

But instead, Kun practically collapsed on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your middle. You cradled his head close to you, running a hand through his hair and stroking a thumb over his cheekbone.

“What’s wrong, Kun?” You murmured. “You seem… drained.”

“I am,” he admitted plainly, defeat in his tone. “Just absolutely… fucking dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, love,” you replied quietly.

“But you were such a big help today, thank you.”

“I don’t know how bringing another toddler into your home helped with that, but okay,” you said skeptically, still playing with his hair.

“Having a second set of hands to help with dinnertime, and play time, and bathtime, and bedtime…” His chest heaved with another big sigh. “And just having you around… makes everything easier.”

He reached up to grab one of your hands, lacing his fingers with yours. The grip he had made you think he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. “I don’t want you to leave, Y/N.”

“Kun, I’ll stay for as long as you need me to,” you promised. “A couple nights, a week, whatever you need. Life is hard, especially trying to do everything on your own. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so how about you take the boys out and I’ll tidy up around here, okay?”

“Forever?”

“What?”

“Will you stay forever?”

You stared down at your interlocked hands, the one in his hair stilling. “Are you asking…”

“You said you’d stay however long I need you to. I always need you with me, Y/N. Will you two move in with us?” Kun asked, placing a couple of long kisses to your hand. “Or we can get a new place. I just… can’t imagine having to do this without you. Both of you. All four of us.”

You hummed, your hand resuming its ministrations in his locks. “We’ll probably need a new place… but yes, Kun. We’ll move in with you.”

He quickly kissed his way up your arm to your neck and face, until he was hovering above you, a breathless smile on his features. “Really?”

“I’ll need to talk to Binnie…” You warned. “And like I just said, we’ll probably need to look for a new place, since the boys are used to having their own rooms and we can afford it combined. It won’t be instantaneous, but yes… we can start planning it.”

Then Kun was showering your face in kisses, and you giggled, cupping his face fondly.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Kun,” you pulled him into a soft peck, before his raining kisses started going even lower, below your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. When his hand slipped under your shirt, you looked at him suspiciously. “Hey… I thought you were absolutely fucking dead?”

“Mysterious second wind,” his words were muffled against your skin, but you could feel the sly smirk on his lips.

“Alright, well do you think this second wind can at least be moved into your bedroom?”

“Y/N, five weeks?!” Kun exclaimed, making you immediately slap a hand over his mouth and look over your shoulder at the two freshly-washed four-year-old boys sitting down to enjoy their post-bathtime show.

“Keep your voice down!” You chastised him in a harsh whisper. The living room was open to the kitchen in your new place, where you and Kun were huddled having your fervent back and forth at the moment. You’d just so very casually dropped the fact that your period had been five weeks late, at perhaps not the most opportune time, washing the dishes, but really you hadn’t meant for it to be a huge deal.

After you took your hand off his mouth, he replied back much more quietly, “Sorry, I’m not upset with you, love, I’m surprised. Why haven’t you taken a test?”

“With work and both the boys’ birthdays, then them starting VPK, I just haven’t had time to go get one.”

“Let’s go get one now then.”

“What, a family trip to the corner store to buy a pregnancy test?” You snorted at the idea, holding a dry plate out to Kun to put away.

He didn’t take the plate, staring at you as he repeated, “Family?”

“You know what I meant…” You whined, putting the dish down on the counter and covering your face in embarrassment. That was the first time either of you had referred to the four of you as one family unit.

He wrapped his arms around you, letting you bury your face in his chest. “I don’t think you even know what you meant, lovey.”

“Ugh, you’re right.” Your brain was way too scrambled at the moment, preoccupied with trying extremely hard to not think about what being late could possibly mean, what a test could possibly say.

“I’m serious, come on. We’ll buy the boys some ice cream, they’ll be none the wiser.”

“Fine, I need to put some real pants on,” you pushed off his chest, gesturing to the dingy sleep shorts were you in. “Can you—”

“Get the boys’ shoes on. On it.” He nodded firmly.

“Thank you, my love.”

“Kun, I can’t pee with you grinning at me like that. It’s weird.”

With Woobin and Junyi preoccupied with their character popsicles and a movie in the living room, you and Kun were in the small hallway bathroom closest to the living room. It also happened to be the boys’ shared bathroom, the walls covered in vinyl, removable stickers of cartoon characters smiling down at you as unnervingly as Kun was currently. It was far too many eyes for what you were doing, peeing on a drugstore pregnancy test.

“Sorry, sorry,” your boyfriend apologized, diverting his eyes and covering his mouth, though he was clearly still beaming into his hand.

Finally done with that part of the test, you set it atop the box that was sitting on the bathroom counter, washing your hands and dropping back down onto the toilet seat.

“And now we wait,” you declared with a heavy chest.

“Okay.” Kun nodded resolutely, allowing his eyes to return to you now that you’d spoken again, still absolutely glittering in the harsh fluorescents.

“Now would be a good time to talk, about if that’s a plus. You’re still grinning like a maniac, so I have a guess as to what you’re about to say.”

He sighed almost dreamily as he looked up at you, resting his cheek in his hand. “You’re just… the most beautiful woman in the world to me, right now. And I love you, so much.”

“This, me sitting on the toilet in our tiny hallway bathroom, having just peed on a stick in front of you,” you pointed between the two of you, “is one of the least romantic situations I think we’ve ever been in. But, I love you too, you weirdo.”

“That wasn’t my answer, by the way. You go first, you’d be the one carrying any baby of ours, after all.”

“After Woobin, I told myself that if I had another, I’d do it…” You trailed off as you fumbled around for the right word.

“Right?” Kun supplemented hesitantly.

“No, no, I don’t think Woobin was wrong. That’s one thesaurus entry away from ‘mistake,’ as cheesy as that might sound. But, I told myself that I’d do my next one different. I’d be married to someone, we’d have planned the pregnancy over multiple conversations, talked about kids before we even got married in the first place, I’d have talked to Binnie about it, made sure he had the emotional space for a little sibling, too.”

“And we haven’t even talked about getting married…” He breathed out in realization.

You narrowed your eyes. “Qian Kun, do you think for even a second, that I would be with you if I didn’t think that I could marry you one day? After everything you’ve learned about me? After that whole toilet bowl confessional I just gave literally ten seconds ago? Consider this the marriage talk warning. It’s coming, and when it does, I expect you to bring notes.”

“Good point, I’m sorry for doubting you, lovey. I eagerly await the marriage talks, and I’ll make sure to do my research ahead of time.”

“Good.”

“So that’s how you want to do it. What about if that test is positive? Right now?” He returned you to the present, his voice gentle, as you were reminded of the very real, very possible, tangible now that you were being faced with.

You let your head drop forward into your hands as you tried to pick apart the tangled ball that was your thoughts and feelings. Thinking back to when you were doing this by yourself the first time in your workplace bathroom, when you found out you were pregnant with Binnie… you distantly remembered how you felt when you saw that double line, that positive result. There was definitely anxiety, yes, but more than that you remembered an excitement bubbling up and overflowing on top of that the longer that it registered.

This time, you weren’t feeling any of that. Not because you didn’t love the idea of having a child with Kun, but… it just wouldn’t be the right time. The two of you had only recently moved in together, you were still getting used to enmeshing your two—or, four—separate lives into one, you hadn’t even been together for a year, Woobin and Junyi hadn’t been consulted whatsoever, not to mention they had just started VPK and would be going into primary school next year; Kun had just gotten a promotion at work, yes, but you had your eye on your own possible promotion, too. It just… wasn’t right. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you finally looked up at Kun sitting across from you in the narrow space of the hallway bathroom. You could feel the tears gathering in your eyes, his image immediately swimming in your vision.

“Oh, hey, come here, lovey,” he gently ushered you down from your perch on the toilet seat cover onto the ground with him. He settled you in between his legs, wrapping his arms around you, “Sad cry or scary cry?”

You had the urge to smack his arm for treating you like one of the kids, but unfortunately, it was a really good communication tool.

“Goddamn,” you wept against his shirt, clinging onto him. “I don’t know, Kun. I don’t fucking know. It’s not a happy cry, though. And I don’t think that any kid should be brought into the world if their mom isn’t happy at the thought of them.”

He rubbed a hand up and down your back, not faltering for a moment as you spoke. When you were done, he started, “Look, Y/N. I’ll admit, the idea of having a baby with you kind of sent me to the stratosphere there for a second. But, I think that a baby is something that needs to be two enthusiastic yeses, or it’s a no. And you…” he pulled your face out of the crook of his neck to be able to look you in the eye. “Are clearly not enthusiastic nor a yes. So I’m not either. Okay?”

You sniffled, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, wiping at your tears. “Now, I think it’s been plenty of time. Are you ready to look at the test?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Kun stretched his arm out, fumbling along the top of the bathroom counter until he had secured the test in his hand. You turned in his arms, fully leaned against him, your back to his chest as he flipped the stick over for you two to read the results together.

Negative.

And you were crying again, but this time you knew that they were tears of relief.

“Oh, thank God,” you whispered, holding a hand over your mouth. “Oh… oh my God.”

“There we go,” Kun murmured, holding you to him by an arm slung over your waist. “Now, call me crazy, but I think we just manifested that negative pregnancy test result.”

You let out a choked laugh, “Would it be manifesting a negative or un-manifesting a positive?”

“Good question.”

He held a foot out until he could reach the step opener of the trash can, tossing the test into it. You sat there with him for who knows how much longer, until the cold of the tile finally seeped through your clothes, and your joints were aching from being curled up on your bathroom floor for so long.

“Oh shit, the boys are all by themselves in the living room,” you mumbled, beginning to detangle yourself from Kun.

“I’ll clean up in here. You get into some pajamas and then go see them, okay? They’ve been the normal amount of quiet, I think the movie’s got them sufficiently occupied, so take your time. I’ll be right behind you.” He reassured you, standing up after you did, and keeping a hand on the small of your back as you went to wash your hands again.

The remnants of the pregnancy test packaging were on the counter, not to mention the general disarray from your breakdown, and the fact that you hadn’t tidied up from the boys’ bathtime earlier that night either. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you could see that you weren’t in much better shape than the bathroom.

“Okay, yeah. Thank you, Kun.” Your voice wasn’t any louder than a whisper, and it didn’t need to be in the small, quiet space.

He pressed a long kiss to your temple before you left for your bedroom to change out of the clothes that you’d gone to the convenience store in. Putting on the comfiest pajamas you could find, you then shuffled out to the living room, which you were glad to see was in one piece. Tension you didn’t even realize you were carrying released from your shoulders when your eyes fell on the two kids sat on the couch, their attention glued to the screen.

You weren’t sure how long you had been standing there before Woobin finally turned his head to look at you. “Oh hi Mommy!”

“Hi, Ms. Y/N!”

“Hi, boys, can I join you?” You asked.

“Well, yeah!” Junyi said in the most ‘duh!’ tone you’d ever heard a four-year-old imitate. He patted the open space between the two of them. “We saved you a spot here.”

“Oh, thank you.” You sat down exactly where he had gestured, tucking your feet underneath you. Woobin immediately clambered onto your lap, and Junyi scooted in to snuggle into your other side.

“And when Daddy gets here, his spot is over here,” Junyi pointed to the remaining space between him and the arm of the couch. “And he can put the blanket on all of us.”

“Right, of course, bun,” you nodded, wrapping your arms around the two boys to hold them even closer to you.

Woobin touched a hand to your cheek, “Mommy, you’re crying. Sad cry, scary cry, or boo-boo cry?”

“Oh, no, baby, it's a happy cry,” you assured him, wiping at the couple of tears that had eked out again with your sleeve. “It’s because I love you all so much.”

“Happy cry,” he repeated, as if committing the term to memory.

Kun joined the three of you a few minutes later, sliding into his assigned seat and pulling a blanket over the four of you. Mindful of the child in between you two, you rested your head on his shoulder.

Against your instincts, you shut the front door quietly behind you as you came home that night. You’d gotten caught up at work with a deadline suddenly being moved up. You plopped your purse onto the kitchen table next to the huge LEGO set that you’d started with the boys last weekend as Kun got up from the couch to greet you. He was already in his pajamas, a stark contrast to the office wear you were still in.

“Hey, lovey,” he pecked your cheek, letting you snake both your arms around his waist and hold him closer. “How was work?”

You let out a low, exhausted groan into his shoulder. “Long. If I ever have to read another word again in my life, it’ll be too soon.”

“Then you’ll be very happy to hear that I already read the boys a bedtime story.”

“Shit, am I that late?” You sighed. “I know I told you I’d probably miss dinner but I didn’t mean for you to do bedtime all by yourself, too.”

“It’s okay, I know you would’ve been here if you could. The three of us managed for one night.”

“How was everything? Were they good for you?”

“Absolute angels.”

You lifted your head up to shoot him a disbelieving look. “Our sons? Are you sure you’ve got the right kids in there?”

Kun chuckled, planting a kiss on your lips this time. “You know us too well. Only convinced them to get in bed with bribery.”

“Great, what did you promise them? Extra hour of TV this weekend? Kun, please do not tell me you promised a new toy or—”

“Woah, woah, who do you think I am?” He snorted, clearly offended. “I just had to promise that you’d give them their goodnight kiss when you got home. They were very concerned about going to sleep without one.”

Relief immediately flooded your system, along with a warm fondness. “Oh, good. I’ll go hold up our end, then.”

“Before you do,” Kun held you by the waist to keep you from walking away yet. He lowered his voice, tone turning serious. “Woobin was asking for you before lights-out. Not just for his goodnight kiss, but he wouldn’t tell me what was going on. I have a feeling he might still be up when you go in.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll pop into his room second. Thanks for the heads-up.”

With a final pat on the cheek, you left Kun’s warm embrace and treaded down the hall that contained the boys’ bedrooms and shared bathroom. You slowly opened the door to Junyi’s room first. The room was pitch black save for the dwindling light from his glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars, and you crept up to his bedside. Just able to see the faint outline of him under his covers, you gently brushed away some of his hair and laid a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Night, bun-bun,” you murmured, then kissed his pudgy little cheek one more time before standing up. He didn’t stir, his breathing remained peaceful and as you ducked back out you closed the door even more quietly than you had opened it.

As soon as you pushed the door to Woobin’s room open, you knew he was awake. He was in a phase of sleeping with a night-light on, meaning that you could immediately see his eyes staring at you.

“Hi, Mommy,” he deadpanned, hands folded together over his stomach.

You entered the room, shutting the door behind you. “Hi, baby. What are you still doing up?”

He squirmed a little under the covers, refusing to meet your eyes as you came to sit on his mattress next to him. “Waiting for my goodnight kiss.”

“Oh, you could’ve gone to sleep,” you reassured him, moving his bangs out of the way of his forehead. “Mommy would’ve still come and given you your goodnight kiss.”

He was silent as you leaned down to smooch his forehead. Pulling back, you asked, “Is that all, Binnie?”

Woobin mumbled something that you couldn’t quite make out.

“I’m sorry, could you say that again for me? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I want to say something, but it’s after my bedtime…”

“Don’t worry, baby. I want to hear what you have to say. You can say it now.”

“I don’t want Junyi to be mad at me.”

“Why do you think Junyi would be mad at you?”

“You can’t tell them!” He suddenly exclaimed, pleading and desperate.

“Tell who? Junyi and Mr. Kun?” You asked, brow furrowing with confusion.

He nodded fervently, panic on his features.

“You remember our rules about sharing things?”

“If it’s about safety or respect, we all have to know,” he recited mournfully. “It’s not! I promise! I think…”

“How about you tell me, and I’ll tell you if it’s something we should tell everyone. I won’t get mad, and you and me can talk about it for as long as you want first. Does that sound okay?”

“Okay…”

“Whenever you’re ready,” you said soothingly, watching him take a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

“I-I want to call Mr. Kun ‘Daddy.’”

You couldn’t help but smile widely at him, taking your son’s hand in yours. “That’s wonderful, baby. I think it would make Mr. Kun really happy that you want to.”

“But that’s what Junyi calls him…”

“And you think it would upset Junyi if you called him the same thing?”

“Yeah,” he sniffled.

“That’s very considerate, Binnie,” you told him proudly.

“Are you going to tell them?”

“No, not if you don’t want me to,” you shook your head. “But I think that it would be a good idea for you, Junyi, and Mr. Kun to all talk about this together. When you’re ready.”

Woobin sniffled again, and you leaned over to hug your boy. He immediately threw his arms around your neck, burying his wet face in the collar of your blouse.

When you finally left his room after watching him fall asleep with your own two eyes, you found Kun reclined in your bed, bedside lamp on as he read a book.

“Is Woobin alright?” Kun flipped his book shut and set it aside.

You shimmied out of your work clothes. “Yeah, he’s okay. Just… needed Mom before bed.”

He nodded, watching as you pulled sleep clothes on and shuffled over to the bathroom. “Mm, of course. Mr. Kun wasn’t enough…” He sighed dramatically, making you lean your head back out to glare at him, toothbrush hanging out of your mouth.

“Shut up,” you grumbled after spitting your toothpaste out and flicking the bathroom light off. You plopped into bed, snuggling up to your pillow and closing your eyes. “He loves you, you know that.”

The sound of the bedside lamp clicking off rang through your room before you felt the sheets shift around and Kun scoot closer to you.

“I know, I’m just not ‘Mom,’” he mused, grabbing your hands to tug you toward him.

You obliged, rolling over to face him and rest your head on his shoulder. He kissed your forehead, still holding your hands against his chest.

“Goodnight, my love,” you breathed out, “Thank you again for handling them alone tonight.”

“Goodnight, lovey.” He rubbed soothing circles into the palm of your hand with his thumb.

As you watched Kun alternate between pushing Woobin and Junyi on the swingset, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. It was peaceful afternoons like these that you treasured the most. You recognized a few more figures that were approaching the playground, waving to Johnny and Jaehyun in the distance as Mark and Sungchan immediately ran up to your two boys. The three dads all chatted as the four kids took off from the swingset at full speed towards the slides. You were on a bench a little further from the playset, and had no qualms about sitting and resting when you got the chance.

The playground was within walking distance of yours and Kun’s house, and right by the school, so it wasn’t a total shock to see some of your kids’ classmates there. You watched with amusement as all three of the adults perked up like meerkats towards the kids, who were now lined up at the monkey bars. Mark was first up, and must have been asking for help, as Johnny yelled out a ‘just a sec, champ!’ before gesturing between the three dads and all the kids clambering for their turn.

Apparently, Johnny and Jaehyun had decided it was their turn to help all four kids with the bars, as Kun lumbered over to plop down next to you at the picnic table.

“Thank God they showed up, I don’t know if I have it left in me to carry them back and forth across the monkey bars for the next hour,” Kun grunted, dropping his head down to rest on your shoulder.

You snickered, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you watched all the children play. Woobin was the littlest, needing Jaehyun’s help all the way across the bars. The dad still gave him as enthusiastic of a double high-five as he gave Junyi after him, who was able to do a couple by himself after getting hoisted up there.

“Woobin wants to call you Dad, you know,” you blurted out in the quietness that had fallen between you and Kun.

Kun lifted his head up to look at you with wide eyes. “He does?”

“Yeah, he told me the other day. But he thinks Junyi will be mad at him.”

“Ohh…” He breathed out, nodding slowly.

“I would’ve said something to you, but he asked me not to tell you and Junyi at first. We had another conversation about it this morning, and he finally agreed that I could talk to you about it at least,” you explained. “I told him that you three should all talk. I think he’s really, really scared of making Junyi upset. They’re such good friends, you know?”

You looked on with fondness as the gaggle of kids around the monkey bars took off at a run away from Johnny and Jaehyun, apparently playing some kind of tag or hide and seek now. Woobin and Junyi were running off together hand-in-hand, giggling and cackling with laughter as Johnny mimicked chasing after them.

Kun ran a knuckle up and down your arm, trailing his hand down until he could lace his fingers with yours. “I know, sometimes I look at them and I think it’s like they’re… brothers.”

“Mm, yeah,” you hummed noncommittally. Finally taking your eyes off the playground, you turned to face him fully, covering his hand with both of yours. “Kun, with all this… it makes me really happy, you and Junyi make me really happy, and all four of us being together. But, I don’t— I’m not trying to replace Junyi’s mom. Despite what she did, he’s already had one, whatever memories he’s got of her. I want to be whatever he wants me to be. So, I’m perfectly content to be ‘Ms. Y/N’ for the rest of my life.”

“I asked him the other day, if he remembered his mom at all,” he admitted quietly.

“W-Why?”

“Morbid curiosity, I guess. He was so young, I wasn’t sure if he would. Funny thing was, he told me yes. So I asked what he remembered about her. And he just looked at me with the most confused expression I think I’ve ever seen him have and he goes ‘She picked me up from school today.’”

“Oh, oh my God,” you let out a choked chuckle, a lump growing in your throat.

“You picked him up from school that day, Y/N,” Kun said pointedly, poking you in the arm for emphasis.

“Yeah, I had guessed that,” you spluttered out, a wide, beaming smile on your face as you replayed those words in your mind over and over again.

“So it seems like, to me, you’re the only one with hang-ups about this, lovey.”

“I’m gonna fucking cry— no, scratch that, I already am,” you sniffled, wiping at your eyes with one of your hands.

“Sad cry, scary cry, boo-boo cry, or happy cry?” Kun asked teasingly, thumb wiping away one of your tears.

“Happy cry,” you answered, despite the fact that he definitely already knew. “So happy. I love you so much, both of you.”

“Junyi!” The distant voice of Johnny called out, chastising.

Both you and Kun snapped your heads up to look, only to see said child running at you full-speed.

“Woobin! Let your parents…” Jaehyun trailed off in defeat as a second small body hurtled towards you. “Sorry! We tried to let you guys have a moment…”

“It’s alright!” Kun called back to them as the two boys finally made it to you.

You lifted Junyi up onto the bench next to you with no hesitation, and Kun plopped Woobin onto his lap, his little legs reaching into yours. Junyi sat himself down on one of your legs, facing you with the most worried, intense gaze on his face.

“Are you okay, Ms. Y/N?!” He wiped at your wet cheeks. “What happened?”

“Nothing, hunny-bun,” you promised, holding both of his little hands and dropping loud smooches to them. “Happy tears, they’re happy tears. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Because you love us so much?” Woobin asked, supplying the last reason you’d given him for your happy tears.

“Yeah, always, bubbles,” you grabbed his head to be able to press a kiss to his forehead. “Always love you guys so much.”

“Why does it make you cry?”

“Because I have so much love inside me for all of you that sometimes it feels like I could just… burst!” You said with enough of a sing-song-y inflection that it made the two kids giggle, especially when you mimicked an explosion with your hands. “So instead of spontaneously exploding, it comes out as tears sometimes. Tears aren’t bad, Binnie, remember?”

“I know, Mommy,” he nodded dutifully.

Kun spoke up then, “I think we should all talk about what was making your mom so happy this time, boys.”

Junyi looked at his dad with alarm. “What? Bin and I didn’t do anything! We’re not in trouble, right?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Woobin pouted. “Junyi—”

“No, you’re not in trouble,” Kun hushed them gently. “I just said it was making your mom happy. What about you two getting in trouble would make your mom happy?”

“Oh.”

“I mean, it’s about what you two want to call us.”

You were still cradling Woobin’s head, and stroked over his hair reassuringly. “It’s okay, Binnie. Tell them what you told me.”

“I-I want to call Mr. Kun ‘Daddy,’” he mumbled, looking down intently at his lap. “But I don’t have to if it’s going to make you sad, Junyi!”

Junyi listened to Woobin, face turning entirely confused. “But he is your dad! Why wouldn’t you call him that?” He turned his bewildered look to you next. “And you’re our mom, right?!”

“Of course I am, bun-bun,” you smiled at him. “Binnie just needs to know if it’s going to make you upset for both of you to call your dad the same thing.”

“No, Bin, s’not gonna make me sad,” Junyi said strongly. “Will it make you sad if we call her the same thing?”

Woobin sniffled and looked up, finally displaying his teary eyes to everybody. He shook his head, and you felt relief blossom out through every part of you. Kun squeezed him tightly.

“Bub, sad cry, scary cry, or happy cry?” Kun asked him.

The child took several deep breaths before he finally answered. “I-I think it was scary first, but now it’s a happy cry, Daddy. Like Mommy does.”

Kun let out a strangled chuckle as he hugged Woobin even tighter to him, planting a kiss to his temple. “That’s okay, bub. Look at you, big kid with big feelings.”

“Daddy’s crying too!” Junyi gasped. “Is it happy crying, Daddy?”

“Yeah, buddy, it is,” he confirmed, cheeks noticeably damp.

Junyi felt at his own dry eyes. “Why am I not happy crying? Mommy, why am I not happy crying? ‘M happy! I am!”

“Oh, bunny, it’s okay,” you couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing his back affectionately. “You don’t have to cry to be really happy. Sometimes you’ll be really, really happy, the happiest you’ve ever been, and you won’t cry. Everybody’s different.”

“I do.”

“I do!” Sooyoung squealed.

The officiant’s remaining words were drowned out by the crowd erupting into cheers as Sooyoung was dipped into a kiss by her now-wife. You clapped from your place behind her as her maid-of-honor, your cheeks already hurting from all the smiling you’d been doing that day.

As they practically ran back down the aisle together, giddy, you were left standing at the arch, holding SooSoo’s wedding bouquet that she’d forgotten in her excitement. The music swelled again, your cue for the wedding party to file out as well. You fell in beside Ahrin’s best man, taking a more reasonable pace down the walkway. Looking into the guests that had stood up, you caught Kun’s eye from one of the middle rows, a familiar wide, overjoyed grin on his face. He was in the stratosphere again.

You met up with Kun at your table at the reception, the wedding party table. While he wasn’t in the party, he was your plus one, and your friend of course made sure he was seated with you. After the obligatory speeches—including one that you had to give—everyone could start eating. Kids were allowed at the wedding, but you wanted to make sure that you could put all your focus on making this the best day ever for your friend and didn’t want to have the boys out too late either, so they were at home with a babysitter. After the food was the couple’s first dance, and you watched fondly from your table as Sooyoung and Ahrin swayed together, clearly in their own world, exchanging words and giggles and laughs that you couldn’t hear.

Kun’s hand and yours were entwined on your lap, and when the DJ asked for the wedding party and their plus-ones to join the newlyweds, you pulled him to floor by that hand. As Kun’s other hand settled on your hip, you affectionately smoothed down the lapel of his suit jacket before resting yours on the curve where his neck met his shoulder.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he beamed at you.

“Hi, handsome,” you replied back humorously. “So, what’s on your mind?”

“You mean there could possibly be anything on my mind other than the fact that I’m dancing with the love of my life?”

“You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I’ve been launched into the stratosphere picturing our future together’ look,” you said frankly, but still with the same fond smirk on your lips. “So? What are you thinking about?”

His eyes widened minutely before he chuckled. “I’m having a good time with you, lovey. Is a guy not allowed to smile about that?”

“You are…”

“That’s all I was thinking about.” He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Always in the stratosphere when I’m with you.”

Despite his sweet words, you felt a twinge of disappointment in your chest, resting your cheek on his shoulder so he couldn’t see the contemplative frown on your face. The two of you were living together before Sooyoung and Ahrin had even met, you were raising two kids together right now, and had already discussed getting married—binders, spreadsheets, all your joint expectations for what you wanted out of a hypothetical future partnership like that. Why was he shying away from the subject now? Was seeing you actually at a wedding making him have second thoughts? Did it suddenly all seem too real? As if the binders and spreadsheets weren’t real enough?

Those weren’t questions to ask him now at your best friend’s wedding, so you bit your tongue, continuing to let him sway the two of you across the dance floor.

Later in the night, after your feet had gotten tired, Kun excused himself to use the restroom. You took the opportunity to catch your breath at the wedding party’s table. You’d been darting around the venue the whole time, either greeting friends of friends, dancing with people you knew, or stopping mishaps before they mis-happened. Some guests had started going home, so you felt somewhat comfortable taking a short rest.

You weren’t expecting one of the brides herself to sit down beside you, however.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Sooyoung asked knowingly.

You tried to perk up, slapping on a smile. “It’s nothing, SooSoo. My feet are tired. Why aren’t you with Ahrin?”

“We’re about to be together for the rest of our lives. I think she can piss by herself right now,” she replied.

“Oh, right.”

“And, it’s also my wedding, and I don’t want my best friend all sad and alone at my wedding. I know you’ve been fixing all my problems all day and all night. So will you let me help you with one of yours?”

You looked around to see if you could spot Kun anywhere, then leaned in towards her with a sigh. “Kun’s been acting weird today.”

“How?”

“We always talk about getting married pretty openly. But like, now that we’re at a wedding, it feels like he’s avoiding the topic.”

“Why haven’t you guys gotten married? You practically act like it anyway.”

“He still wants to surprise me with the proposal,” you said. “I told him no public proposals, no proposing on birthdays or holidays, and no proposing at other people’s weddings. But other than that…”

“When was that conversation? About getting married and engaged?”

You took a sip of your drink as you thought. “Mm… almost a year ago? Maybe ten months? It was a few conversations.”

“So Ahrin proposed like right after that,” she surmised. “He’s probably waiting for the right time. Making sure you weren’t too stressed with the kids, then the holidays, and being my maid-of-honor. Both of you are very thoughtful and also over-plan everything.”

“That’s true,” you sighed. “And also a bit less salient of a point coming from the poster child of U-Haul lesbians.”

Sooyoung wrapped an arm around your shoulders and rubbed your upper arm. “We’re different people in different relationships in different places in life, Y/N. You’ve got a really good guy who is head over heels for you and loves your kid as much as he loves you. Don’t forget all that in one night.”

“You’re right, SooSoo,” you leaned your head against hers. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” She pecked your hair.

“Is everything okay?” Kun’s voice came from behind you, sounding very concerned.

“Oh, yeah, Y/N’s getting a little warm in here,” SooSoo informed him brightly, letting you go and standing back up. “Why don’t you take her outside, Kun? There’s a nice little garden walkway, I think there’s some benches out there.”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks, Sooyoung.”

Your friend gave you one last squeeze of your arm before taking back off into the crowd. Kun ushered you to your feet and guided you out of the main reception hall and into the much cooler nighttime air. Sooyoung was right, it was way less hot and stuffy out here, and there was a short walkway leading to a garden with some benches. Kun sat you down again there, rubbing your back as you stared listlessly out at the fountain in front of you. The fountain wasn’t on, the water inside of it still, and the air around you quiet and empty. In the distance, you could hear the music from the wedding venue, the thumping bass, and above you, a few stars dotted the sky next to a silver crescent moon.

“Is this better?” Kun asked you quietly.

“Yeah, thanks, Kun,” you replied shortly, still unable to shake the discomfort you felt from earlier. Despite your conversation with Sooyoung making sense in the moment, now that you were back with Kun, that uncertainty crept back into your mind.

“It was a lovely ceremony.”

“Yeah. SooSoo’s dress is beautiful on her.”

“Do you want to go home? If you’re not feeling—”

You suddenly straightened up to look Kun in the eye. “We’re going to get married, right? You do want to marry me, right, Kun?”

“Wh—” He scrambled to grab your hands in his, holding them tight. “Of course, love. Yes, of course I want to marry you, Y/N. Why would you think I didn’t?”

“I know we talk about it but… you haven’t proposed. And you’ve been acting weird tonight. And by weird, I mean normal. Like, not talking about marriage. We’ll be buying groceries, and you’ll somehow bring up us getting married, but now we’re at an actual wedding and you haven’t talked about us having one of our own at all…” The dam broke, all of your anxious rambles coming forth at once. “Nothing about if we should do this or that at ours, what flowers you might want, or even— You saw me at an altar holding a bouquet and are acting like it’s no big deal! You see our future in everything, but not today, and it’s been making me think that maybe you don’t see a future anymore.”

Oh god, you were fucking crying now. This was not how you wanted this conversation to go. Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you pushed them away with the back of your hand as you sniffled and tried to calm yourself down.

“Y/N, lovey, I am so sorry,” Kun’s voice was wavering too, and you knew he was holding back his own tears. “I do want to marry you, and I never wanted to make you think that I didn’t. You were right earlier, I’ve been in the fucking stratosphere all day, and I’ve been going crazy trying not to say every single thing that pops into my head about marrying you because I’ve got your ring and everything planned out for the proposal and it was going to be soon, I just wanted it to be a surprise for you and I didn’t want to accidentally spoil anything for you. But I never meant to hurt you, and I am so, so sorry that I did. God, I love you so much, it felt like my heart was going to give out when I saw you at the altar with a wedding bouquet, and then dancing after the first dance—”

You crushed your lips against his, letting go of one of his hands to wrap a hand around the back of his neck. He cupped your cheek softly, even as you kissed him like you hadn’t seen him in decades, and like you might never again, feverishly, past the point where you were out of oxygen and your head started spinning. Kun pulled back to pick up your left hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss on your ring finger.

“If I had it with me, I’d put your ring on you right now,” he promised, pressing another kiss to the empty knuckle. “Hell, we could elope tonight, find a drive-thru chapel.”

“The boys might feel left out,” you chuckled, pulling his mouth back to yours.

He hummed appreciatively against your lips, adding in between kisses, “Good— point. Pick them up on the way?”

“It’s past their bedtime.” You kissed him again. “They’d be cranky if we woke them up now.”

“Foiled again by two five-year-olds’ bedtime,” he sighed dramatically, leaning his forehead against yours.

“So how were you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Propose to me.”

“I’m still going to?”

“Well, I feel like I just ruined your surprise.”

“Me telling you what it’s going to be, would be ruining the surprise,” he scoffed and pulled back to let you see his indignant features. “Which I’m not going to do.”

You laughed, pecking his cheek. “I’m looking forward to it, my love.”

“And I’m looking forward to marrying you, and spending the rest of my life with you,” Kun sighed dreamily, pulling you in closer and resting his head against yours again. “I meant it when I said I’m always in the stratosphere with you, you know.”

“Me too, Kun.” You looped an arm around his back and under his suit jacket.

A few beats of peaceful silence went by, neither you nor Kun speaking, just the distant sounds of the music from the wedding, your own synchronized breathing, and a far-off train horn. You looked from the fountain up at the glowing half-moon above you.

“Thank you, lovey,” Kun broke the quiet, and you shifted your gaze to him, raising a curious eyebrow.

“You’re welcome?” You replied with slight amusement. “For what, love?”

“Somebody once told me that the whole point of being a parent was letting our kids know that they’re not alone in all this,” he began, rubbing his thumb over your shoulder where his hand rested.

“Who said that?”

“You did, lovey.”

“I did? Ooh, I’m smart,” you chuckled, patting his thigh. “You picked well, Qian Kun.”

He smiled at you fondly. “I know.”

“When did I say that?”

“Before we were even dating, you had invited Junyi and me to your apartment for a charcuterie night. When we were making that pitch for the preschool fundraising committee.”

“Oh, oh, oh, right.” You nodded quickly as the memories of that came flooding back to you. “You remember me saying that?”

“Of course. You completely changed my view on parenting that night.”

“Glad it was so life-changing for you.”

“It was also the moment I knew I was going to fall in love with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh maybe a little too hard, “Oh, Kun.”

“What’s that laugh for?” He chuckled lightly despite his obvious confusion.

“I’m just remembering how I was totally going to jump your bones that night and then Junyi walked in. Meanwhile you are just… so sweet, as always,” you admitted, stroking his cheek with the back of your fingers.

Kun’s eyes crinkled as he laughed and keeled forward a little. You let him laugh into your neck, cradling the back of his head as his shoulders continued to shake.

“I—” He coughed into his elbow as he righted himself and tried to compose himself again. His eyes were sparkling with tears from how hard he’d laughed as he looked at you now, and you affectionately touched the crinkles around his eye as a couple more giggles escaped him. Once he’d finally sobered up enough, he tried again, “You’ve also helped me realize that’s not just what being a parent is about, though. That’s what being a partner is, too. Making sure your person knows they’re not doing it alone. And I hope that’s how I make you feel, too.”

“Qian Kun, love of my life that you are—” you shook your head and grabbed his face with two hands. “Of course you do, and it’s taking everything in me not to squish your head right now because of how much I love you.”

Kun just laughed again, covering your hands with his and slotting your lips together.

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ghost-proofbaby · 10 months ago

Text

NOW WE'RE STANDING IN THE RING, BREAKING EVERYTHING THAT WE'VE BEEN BUILDING UP SO LONG. I DON'T WANNA DO THIS - BREAK IT UP.

summary: you prepare to fight with eddie, when a new discovery takes you both off-guard.

warnings: strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite, minors dni

wc: 5.9k+

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

You can’t tell if the ride on the elevator is all too short, or if it drags out entirely.

The entire ascension, you find the fire again. All the pain and anger that had fueled you to be acting out so cruelly in the lobby. And yet the bell that signals you’ve arrived to your intended floor still dings all too soon.

It’s hard to get lost. The moment you step off the elevator, you can clearly see only three doors – two of which sit within an indented section of the wall and face one another, clearly the bathrooms.

Behind the other one, Eddie Munson, no doubt.

You still cling to that notebook as you take all your steady steps towards the door, turning over all your fury in your head. Turning all the lyrics over in your head.

All those songs, all those lines – and he’d never picked up the phone and just called.

You can only assume that it was all written more recently. Before he’d seen you again, even. And if he had still been writing about you, he could have tried calling you. He could have said all that he’d written to you directly, rather than hiding it all within songs that there was no guarantee you’d ever hear. Instead of singing them to crowds of adoring fans rather than to your face.

You don’t knock on the door – you just open it.

Music immediately surrounds you as you step in, loud enough that they clearly hadn’t heard you enter. Grainy guitars, deafening drums, billowing bass. And finally, amongst the madness, you can hear Eddie’s voice singing.

“Do you wanna see how far it goes? Do you wanna test me now, my love?”

Yes. Yes, you certainly fucking do.

It’s not Eddie’s live voice coming through the speakers. It’s clearly a recording as he sits beside the producer, hunched over and nodding along, face twisted as he seems to dissect the music in real time.

One flourish of his ringed hand, and the producer is clearly hitting pause.

“Do you think we can add in that synth I recorded earlier here-”

“Eddie.”

His hand drops the moment he hears your voice. The chair he’s sitting in nearly tips from the speed in which he spins it around to face you, resembling a statue as he takes in your silhouette in the doorframe.

You can only imagine the image he’s faced with.

You, all your vexation and all your torment painted so clearly across your features. Your knuckles, looking physically strained from how tightly the metal spring of the notebook digs into your palm. Your chest, heaving with every breath, as if even being within his vicinity right now was torturous.

And it was. God, it was.

Salt in your wounds. Dagger in your stomach. Poorly bandaged contusions you’d never taken the time to balm and soothe.

“Sugar,” he breathes out, earning him a strange look from the producer, “What are you-”

“Can we talk?”

Your voice is quivering, strained from trying to keep a level head until the two of you are alone.

“Right now?”

“Right now,” you almost add on the given alone, but Eddie is one step ahead of you. As he stands, he also waves his hands a bit, clearly dismissing the producer.

“You want me to leave?” the man asks, standing slowly, looking curiously between the two of you, “Where do I even go? Matt said we’d be working for another few hours, at least-”

“Go to the fuckin’ lobby or something,” Eddie spits out, having a hard time pulling his eyes away from you, “I don’t-” He pauses, his eyes finally finding sight of that notebook in your hand. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed it before. “-care.”

All the blood drains from his face. He’s so pale, you’re worried that he might pass out any second now.

He doesn’t look prepared for a fight – if anything, he looks terrified of whatever you may swing at him.

The producer leaves, not without a few mutterings under his breath about not this again, but you don’t even bother to dig deeper into it. If Eddie frequently gets into fights in this studio, that’s his problem.

Maybe he shouldn’t write songs about girls he’d hurt, and never pick up the phone.

He seems to be waiting on you, but you’re waiting on the click of the door. All that hurt, all that seething is burning in your chest, waiting for release. There’s no need to have any witnesses to the downfall of both of you.

“How was your mor-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. One click from the door, and you’re storming across the room to slam that notebook into his chest, uncaring of how much it might hurt.

You hope it hurts. You hope it aches like your palm that had held it, like your chest that feels as though it’s been pried wide open.

“What the fuck is this?” you spit out, already choking up with tears.

“What do you-”

“Where the fuck do you get off on writing all those- all those- all those fucking songs about us?” You don’t care that you’ve cut him off – it’ll be the least harmful thing you do during this argument. You’re desperate, rabid and crumbling as you push the notebook harder for emphasis, unable to let go just yet, “All those goddamn songs, lines about wanting me to come home, lines about us. Fucking pages of them! And not one single call. Not one single text.”

The first tear falls, and you’re quick to let go of the notebook so you can swipe it away. You’re not crying in front of him right now. You’ve done enough of that this morning, over old photographs and times you can never get back.

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” he laughs nervously, looking between you and the notebook he now has ownership of. He flips open the cover, and his face falls when he sees the first page, “You were reading my notebooks?”

“Who even cares at this point?” you hiss out, taking a step back, needing physical distance now. “It was the only way I would ever find out how you really feel, right? It was between that, or having to hear it on the radio, right?”

His face goes through several revelries before he settles on an emotion, mouth agape as he shakes his head slowly at you, brows furrowed and all his creases exposed, “Are you seriously pissed off right now that the rockstar wrote songs about you? That I wrote about you, which is what I do for a living?”

“Your job isn’t to write about me!” Thank God for soundproof studios. Your voice is rising, tone cracking with emotion, “I’m not fucking mad that you did that, I’m mad that you never called-”

“I did call!” he yells back at you suddenly. Not out of intimidation, not even out of fury. He has to do it – he has to match your volume just to be heard. “I called hundreds of times. Before the tour ended, when I got back, when I saw you were gone. I did fucking call-”

“I’m mad that you fucking left!”

Silence fills the studio. Eddie has no retorts left as your words weigh down the moment, ricocheting off the walls and puncturing every delicate foundation of whatever closure bullshit you two had begun to falsely build.

You finally throw your head back in bitter laughter, blinking away the unwelcome tears, “I’m so goddamn angry because you left me.”

“What?” his face falls, almost crumpling in the same manner as it felt your chest was, “You told me to go on those tours. You wanted me to get out there with the band. Not to mention, you left too. You left, seemingly without a goddamn reason. You said it yourself, just now-”

“It’s not about the physical leaving,” you interrupt, bones growing weary, tired from it all. Weighed down with memories and weighed down with emotions that should have been dealt with years ago. “I lost you long before you stepped foot on that tour bus that last time. You…” you pause, breathing erratic, coming out in harsh puffs, trying to build the courage for what needed to be said.

“I what?” he’s all but begging now, the need to scream over each other evaporating into thin air.

“You stopped saying you loved me.”

The words are out there now, and you can’t take them back. Two long years of him writing songs, of you washing away a stain that won’t ever fade, of something broken that can’t seem to be fixed.

You reach out, but not to try and steal back the reason from him. No, that’s not possible. Instead, you take the notebook back from him and begin to gingerly flip through the pages as the tears fall and the words pour out.

“All those phone calls, all these songs, and you still never say the words I needed to hear,” you’re not just talking in past tense any more. It all seemingly blurs together, the past and the present nothing more than watercolors as they spill across the page and merge together. You can’t tell where the hurt from the beginning lays and where the hurt from now feathers at the edges. It’s all the same, and it all remains a stain, “I never needed elaborate metaphors or pretty words, Eddie. I just needed to know you still fucking loved m-”

You cut off as the door to the studio suddenly swings open. You’re frozen, rooted in spot, hand glued mid-flip as Eddie’s messy handwriting stares up at you from the page you paused on.

Eddie looks ready to fight. To scream at whoever may have interrupted this crucial moment – a moment for you to finally say what you needed to, a moment for him to finally get his answers.

He doesn’t, though. Not when a fairly livid, almost frazzled Matt is standing in the doorway, glaring at both of you.

“Ah, good,” he says, stepping fully into the small space that had just been a war-zone for you and Eddie. The door slams shut behind him due to its own gravity, “You’re both here. Makes my job easier.”

“Matt?” Eddie crinkles his nose, “What the Hell are you doing-”

“What am I doing?” Matt walks until he’s standing in front of the coffee table, and motions to the couch with a flick of his wrist. Eddie is quick to follow the silent instruction, taking a seat, but you’re slower to move. You are not Matt’s dog, refusing to be at anybody else’s beck and call at this moment. And so you continue to hover, “What are you doing?”

You become the pet he needs you to be when he suddenly tosses a magazine down on the coffee table, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, Matt has good reason to be commanding you.

The vinyl front cover stares up at you, shining beneath the lowlights of the studio, but the image is clear.

You and Eddie, walking into his apartment building. And in bold lettering, simple textually strokes in blinding white, is a headline that weighs you down enough to make you take the last few necessary steps around the table to fall into place beside Eddie on the couch.

EXCLUSIVE GOSSIP ALERT: Rockstar Eddie Munson Spotted Canoodling with Mystery Flame! (pg. 89)

Matt’s eyes dart between you two before he finally sighs, “We need to talk.”

—

The sweat of your hands is making the corners of the magazine pages curl.

It’s the detail you choose to focus on rather than all the honking and commotion surrounding the car you’re currently sitting in, or the chilling AC that has blasted your right cheek to the point of numbness. The radio is off, the tinted windows are rolled up to dull the music of the city around you, and Matt hasn’t said a word since you’d buckled yourself into his passenger seat.

Following Matt’s abrupt interruption of you and Eddie, contained chaos had ensued. A symphony of Eddie immediately coming to your defense, claiming the two of you weren’t even canoodling in the photos on the front cover. Of you, only being able to utter a shocked question of how?

How did they get those photos? How did they print them so fast? How, how, how?

In the last twelve hours, as your life had been piecing together old rotting bricks only to once more fall apart entirely, some cheap gossip journalists had been formulating a front cover that truly felt like it was ruining your entire life. You didn’t know who all had seen the magazine, you didn’t know if the news had spread far and wide across the internet, and you certainly didn’t know what happened next.

But then Matt insisted you all return to his office. A guarded ivory tower to discuss exactly what you were questioning – to figure out where you go from here.

Eddie had been quick to suggest you ride back with him in the car that had brought him to the office; you had been quick to shoot down the offer and ask Matt for a ride instead.

That’s how you ended up here. A magazine you wanted to burn at the stake in your lap, stuck in traffic on a busy street that more so resembled a parking lot at this point.

“We need to talk about it.”

The first words Matt has spoken to you since the drive began. Not a question, not a request – you were going to talk about this shit show. No running from it, it seems.

“I don’t know how they got the photo,” you blandly reply in monotone, staring down at the two photos clearly taken back to back, merged together with some pretty impeccable photoshopping. Doesn’t erase the fact that they’d definitely caught you’re bad angle, “I didn’t even see any paparazzi-”

“I don’t care about that,” Matt waves off as the light you’d been stopped at for several minutes now turns green, and there’s just enough of a gap in bustling pedestrians crossing the street for him to make the right turn he’d been signaling the entire time, “One thing you need to learn right here, right now, is there will always be paparazzi around when you’re in public with Eddie. You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.”

The ceasing of that irritating clicking is heaven sent. One less commotion to cloud your reeling mind.

“What do you care about then?” you mumble, finally side-eyeing the older man beside you.

“I care about what you are to Eddie.”

“I can promise you, I am noth-”

“Don’t feed me the same bullshit excuses he has, please,” Matt sighs as the rolling car slows, and he signals once more to turn into the parking lot of one of the many impressive skyscrapers towering over the street, “I’m not an idiot. Eds may seem to think I am half the time, but I’m not,” a confining parking space is where the SUV finally settles, but Matt makes no move to turn the vehicle off as he turns to look at you fully, “Look, just level with me. Because as of right now, the only thing I know is that you went to high school together. I need to know where exactly you stand with Eddie, not just because he’s my client, but because of the conversation we’re about to have.”

Your heart fully drops, “What kind of conversation are we about to have?”

“A hard one,” Matt instantly replies, not missing a beat, “A very, very hard one. With so many moving factors, it’s gonna give you a headache. And I want to warn you of it, give you a fair chance, because you seem like a nice girl. You’re not used to this circus like me and Eddie are – you deserve a fighting chance at what’s about to be asked of you.”

What’s about to be asked of you.

You had a few guesses, simply based on the grave look on Matt’s face. Simply based off of all the research you used to do back in your room in Hawkins’, when the joke of you managing Corroded Coffin felt more and more like a real possibility.

“An NDA?” you guess, trying to seem indifferent. You should have seen that coming.

“More than an NDA, dear.”

Your head snaps in his direction, brows furrowing, “What could you possibly want from me that’s more than signing a piece of paper that promises I won’t tell anyone what’s happened last night?” you hold up that magazine from your lap, giving it a fluttering shake for emphasis, “Wasn’t that the point of showing us this?”

He only smiles. Your heart only sinks further.

“I’m going to ask you one last time; what are you to Eddie, really?”

A muse. A stain. A ghost. Something to haunt every avenue he’ll ever take for the rest of his life. A mistake better left unspoken between the two of you. A blip in his past, impossible to avoid. Something better left dead and buried, but the Universe just won’t seem to let the two of you rest.

“I’m his ex-girlfriend.”

How do you define an ex, though? Did you ever really end it? How can something be over if neither party has ever been willing to say the words?

Matt nods slowly, smiling almost sadly, “I figured as much. Thank you, at least, for being honest.”

“Can I ask you something, and you answer me honestly?”

The car carrying Eddie is probably nearly here. They had probably gotten swept into traffic while following behind Matt’s car. A few extra minutes added to their journey as they’d tried to navigate the nightmarish streets of New York.

Come to think of it, you don’t even know if he’ll be using the same front entrance as you and Matt.

“You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.”

He could use the back entrance, if there was one, to avoid the paparazzi.

Technicalities you had never had to consider before. You’d only experienced a fraction of Eddie’s fame firsthand, in the beginning, when it was still reasonable to show him off. To brag about him in public, to pronounce your love from every rooftop. Hiding had never been an option – it hadn’t needed to be an option.

“I know what your question is,” Matt says carefully, “And we both know I won’t say anything until we’re inside that building with Eddie.”

“Is he even going to go through the fr-” you start to question, but cut off just as you see a familiar black SUV pull up to the front doors of the building.

You have your answer, it seems.

Matt unbuckles his seatbelt, and you take it as your sign to do the same. But just as you begin to reach for your door, Matt’s hand on your forearm stops you.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.”

Your heart finally arrives to the point of no return, unable to answer as the organ is buried six feet under within the grave that should be meant for yourself when it comes to the history books of Eddie Munson.

Just what was Matt about to ask of the two of you?

You open the door without responding.

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

#ghost's stories #my writing #maroon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #cooking?

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kitchenisking · 2 months ago

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Day 6

just like a paperback novel by princecharmingwinks - (Rating: T, Words: 5,840)

Stiles works at a cozy bookstore and encounters a series of intriguing customers, each buying books for the same mysterious person. As the puzzle pieces come together, Stiles realizes that the one they’re all shopping for might just be the hero of his own romance novel.

5 times Stiles meets members of the Hale Pack and the 1 time he meets the Alpha.

i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) by bleep0bleep - (Rating: T, Words: 10,538)

Derek gets in an accident and loses a few years of his memory; suddenly everything is different— he's not a freshman loser anymore, but a popular senior, captain of the basketball team, a shoo-in for prom king, too, and he should have everything he's ever wanted— except he doesn't seem to be friends with Stiles anymore.

There is always a version of you and me. by DropsOfAddiction - (Rating: T, Words: 7,477)

Derek’s eyes narrow and Stiles knows he’s fucked up royally, because between one heartbeat and the next, Derek’s pinning him down with one hairy, strong arm.

He practically crawls his way up Stiles’ body, as Stiles scrambles back on the couch to get further away from him, still raising the bowl of candy above his head.

Derek, with a huff of victory finally gets level with Stiles’ face. He reaches up for the bowl again but where Derek’s strong, Stiles is gangly, and it’s still just out of Derek’s reach.

Stiles shoves Derek’s elbow out from under him and he collapses down on top of Stiles with a surprised oomph.

“Can’t get me Derek, I’m the whacky, inflatable arm waving-man,” Stiles laughs delightedly, right in Derek’s face.

Derek’s really close face. His incredibly handsome, stubbly face, a face that is inches away from his own face.

Fuck balls.

Lost And Found by all-or-nothing-baby (BundleOfSoy) - (Rating: T, Words: 887)

Now—at a clearing in the trees on what has been Hale land for generations going back centuries, with Stiles in his space and his nostrils and in his fucking head—Derek is terrified.

Stiles risks his life again, and Derek realises he is kind of in love.

Sunshine and Sourwolf by RBnC (thedeadcheese) - (Rating: T, Words: 1,448)

Derek gets hit by a curse that separates his more gentle and happy parts from his darker self. Stiles is quite surprised to find that Derek is, in fact, able to smile, and maybe he's a little bias towards Sunshine. Sourwolf, meanwhile, tries to not feel jealous of himself, because that's just fucking ludicrous and he's not that pathetic. Prompt found on Tumblr via Bilesandthesourwolf.

Resistance by Hedwig221b - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6,908)

How dare the wolf taste those lips, hold him, panting and soft, trembling and eager, so close to his chest? How dare he?

Jordan could not move, even if he wanted to. The slick sounds of their kiss, of tongues sliding softly against one another, bitten-off moans, and muffled mewls interspersed with crackling fire — it was hell for him. Stiles was everything Jordan dreamed he would be in a moment like this — he moved just right, arched so beautifully, bared his throat, and grabbed the hand that pressed to his stomach, keeping it there. His smell seeped across the tent, sweeter than ever before and deadly because of it.

Jordan’s eyes stung, his fists clenching the cold sheets. Yet, he could not even take a proper breath, for everything smelled of him.

For three years, Jordan told himself to resist. Three years of catching Stiles only for the omega to seep from his fingers. Years without ever holding his waist like Jordan wanted to.

A month was all it took for Stiles to give it to the wolf.

it only took a minute by EvanesDust - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3,900)

It was crazy how it only took a minute for Derek’s entire life to change. …or the one where a chance meeting led to the best gift ever.

Spun In Gold by indentations (thebigoblin) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,915)

Derek curses, but he's impatient, always so impatient for Stiles' cock, in any way Stiles will let him have him (which is: any and all ways). Derek shouts, "Your cock! Put your cock in me. Please," and Stiles has never been more appreciative of his ability to find random spells in his magic books. The soundproofing one on their room is definitely a blessing — they can hear Eli if he shouts for them, but Eli can't hear them unless the door has a sliver of gap in it, not completely shut.

Our Little Secret by lilmissdaydreamer - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,527 )

The thing about Stiles and Derek’s relationship is that, while it’s still new and exciting, they’ve also been building up to this for a very long time. The two of them have been dancing around each other forever and honestly, the honeymoon phase is probably going to last at least triple the amount of time it took the two of them to pull their heads out of their asses. So they’ve taken to fucking just about any and everywhere as a way to “make up for lost time”. The only catch being: don’t get caught.

Yet, Derek seems hellbent on getting them caught in the act.

Stiles Stilinski and the Weasel-Lookin' Werewolves by quackquackcey - (Rating: Explicit , Words: 27,449)

A strange dream two weeks before Laura Hale's death leaves its mark on Stiles as well as unanswered questions, and after Scott's foray into the world of the supernatural upon being bitten, Stiles ends up forming a mutually beneficial deal with who else but Derek Hale, the only other werewolf they know of.~ 🐺

But is it really just a deal?

---

(Canon rewrite of Season 1) Will update 2 chapters Tues, Thur, & the weekend

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fanfiction #stiles x derek #kitcheniskingficrecs

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inkformyblood · 10 days ago

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in alignment (MoShang)

Final fic for this set! Pining Mobei-Jun x Oblivious Shang Qinghua feat a realisation. First, Prev.

Fuck, he’s late!

Airplane scrambles for the alarm buzzing on his dresser, already trying to detangle his legs from the blankets — too many, his skin tacky with sweat — and shove his feet into slippers. He still needs to edit the next chapter and start the one after that, there’s a reader poll and comments and he needs to check his bank account to see how far he can stretch it for the bills this week and—

Shang Qinghua yelps as a cold hand brushes against the back of his neck before he’s lifted by the back of his robes, the blankets drawn from the knot around his thighs, and he’s dropped back onto the bed. He bounces slightly, the expected shriek of springs or the thump of the floor beneath absent. “My king?”

Mobei-Jun doesn’t crouch down to Shang Qinghua’s level, but there’s a decrease all the same, a deliberate shift of his shoulders, a curve of his spine. In any other cultivation space, he would seem out of place, but in Shang Qinghua’s combination bedroom-study, he’s complimented by the silver smoking pipe on his desk, the carvings an old legend from the Northern Desert; the hunk of gemstone he’s using as a paperweight and the larger piece that acts as a doorstop; the plants in varying stages of desperate drowning abundance thanks to the milder weather and copious in comparison sunlight.

“Qinghua did not answer.” Mobei-Jun’s scowl deepens, his fangs indenting his lower lip. He’s braided his hair back from his face, a thin chain twisted alongside the strands and encircling his head. “This king grew concerned.”

The modified banishing stone buzzes once more on the bedside table. Since Mobei-Jun discovered that members of his court had been using the artificial portals to hand work over to Shang Qinghua, he’d altered the runes burnt into the foundations to restrict portals to just one room, barring entry unless Shang Qinghua permits it.

Shang Qinghua scrambles from his bed, tripping over his own feet once more, only for Mobei-Jun to reach out and steady him with one hand to his chest. It’s a balm to Shang Qinghua’s overwarm being, his clothes clinging to the line of his spine, the crease of his thighs, and he can’t help but lean into it, for a moment. Mobei-Jun’s eyes widen before his gaze twitches away from Shang Qinghua to the bed behind him.

“You kept this king’s cloak?”

Oh. Yes. He had.

Shang Qinghua straightens reluctantly — half of his wardrobe is demonic in make so the cloak had been slightly more than an absent thought to take with him — and he turns to look at his bed. He’s got a few pillows (several), a handful of blankets (many), and stretched along one end where Shang Qinghua’s head had been, bunched up where he had tangled his hands into it and held it close, lies Mobei-Jun’s cloak.

“This servant apologises?”

“This king did not notice its absence. Qinghua is welcome to keep it.” Mobei-Jun doesn’t look away from the bed. Ice crystals bloom over his shoulders, exposed in the drastic low-cut of his shirt, a thin chain and the grace of a deity that hates Shang Qinghua keeping it up around his chest. Thin lines of silver embroidery bleed with the frost, crystals beginning to blur the outlines of a hulking monster and the smaller figure hunting it depicted across the hem. Airplane knows that scene; he’d agonised over the description for it for three hours and resorted to scrawling stick figures on a napkin for the sake of two lines of description as Luo Binghe swept through the Northern Desert Palace. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t important, the first true kill of the demon prince who would be Mobei-Jun, and Airplane remembers every piece of it.

Shang Qinghua bows, the movement halted by Mobei-Jun’s fingers pressing beneath his chin, delicate enough to not break skin or even give the impression of trying to. “My king?”

“This king has a question for Qinghua, and a gift.” Mobei-Jun reaches into the folds of his cloak and draws out a small bundle wrapped in a brightly patterned cloth.

“My king is too good to this servant,” Shang Qinghua murmurs as sections of his brain fizz into static as Mobei-Jun withdraws his hand from his chin. Shang Qinghua carefully undoes the cord holding it together. “Gloves, my king?”

They’re finely made, Shang Qinghua’s honed sense of quality bleeding through from hours of scrolling through items he’d never be able to buy but would bookmark all the same, and a more practiced edge from An Ding Peak. They’re a densely woven fabric in dark blue with a pattern picked out around the cuffs and the knuckles, a regional design from the Northern Desert. Shang Qinghua pulls them on and groans at the pressure against his joints, an ache he’d been ignoring for months carefully alleviated and he didn’t even have to go see Mu Qingfang. How did Mobei-Jun know?

“Thank you, my king,” Shang Qinghua sighs, flexing his fingers and oh, a full range of motion, how he’s missed it.

“Qinghua accepts the gift?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good.” Mobei-Jun’s grin is sharp, revealing a devastating set of fangs. “This king will announce the continuation of his courtship to the court.”

Okay.

Wait, what?

“A courtship, my king?” Shang Qinghua’s heart rate spikes. Luo Binghe’s future might be unfolding differently to how he’d written it but he doesn’t think that stealing one of the protagonist’s possible future wives would work out well if the original plot comes crashing down. And also, just who the fuck has Mobei-Jun been courting and Shang Qinghua hadn’t noticed? “With who?”

Mobei-Jun tips his head to one side, staring down at Qinghua with his brow furrowed. “With Qinghua. Did this king not follow human customs correctly?”

Oh.

Oh, fuck, those had been dates. Shang Qinghua is an idiot. He’s the creator of the universe and an idiot and he’s being courted by Mobei-Jun.

“No, no.” He’s babbling, waving his hands as he speaks and he barely knows what he’s saying, only that he’s saying something because that’s what he does, and his creation, the best thing he could have ever created in a world that was never meant to love him does. “—upwards of several times, my king, and this servant can only apologise for—”

A hand on his head, broad and faintly clawed and still so blessedly cool. “Does Qinghua accept this king’s courtship?”

“I do.”

“Then he shall be queen, no longer a servant.”

He wonders, not for the first time but the first in a truly practical sense, what it would be like to kiss Mobei-Jun. “If my king could lean down?”

It’s a little awkward; with Mobei-Jun’s fangs to consider (still hot as fuck) and he runs cool enough that Shang Qinghua sticks to him, but it’s perfect all the same.

#moshang #svsss #mobei jun #shang qinghua #mobei jun x shang qinghua #my writing

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deniable-masterpiece · 1 year ago

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bit-or-sweet | johnny slaughter x gn!reader

a/n — fulllyyyyy a joke fic! wrote this a while back and I'm trying to go through drafts and post them regardless of quality lmao. inspired by twilight - im so serious

summary — Johnny wants to give you a bite mark, you make him bite an apple to see how it'll look.

words — 1.5k (short sorry!)

warnings — general mentions that you're dating a serial killer, pain-intolerant reader, blood, biting

~~~

There are about three different levels of commitment to have with your murderous boyfriend. Maybe three and a half. The first is pretty normal: moving in with him. The last half is letting him kill you, but that’s more of a one-sided thing. The third step is teaching you to murder—not kill. Killing is easy, murder is bereaving. You have to give something that you’ll never get back, so that’s why you were stuck squarely at the second step. Johnny’s teeth sunk into the flesh of a fresh apple. It was just one of a few that Nancy had picked up at the market, now sitting in a bowl in her kitchen with one missing. The two of you hadn’t even left the kitchen before your mind went to something fun to do with the fruit.

“Don’t go all the way!” You pestered, watching his jaw slowly become acute and his lips slowly cover the sacred notion of eating. Teeth scraping against the inside of the fruit emitted a crunching sound. You smacked him on the shoulder, “Johnny!”

Johnny mollified, granting the apple a reprieve as he let it free from his forceful jaw. The juice from the apple had dribbled down his chin and was smeared over the apple. He polished the bitten surface over his shirt, cleaning it of any of the saliva and juice before handing it to you. One hand took the apple, the other grabbed his chin, running a thumb over the thin trail running down it, feeling the prickly stubble. You ushered out a quick “thank you,” still facing him.

“This is what it’ll look like?” The two of you looked down to the apple cupped in your hands, all of his teeth were indented into it, showing how a bite from him would look on your skin. His teeth overlapped others—most noticeable of his two front teeth in the top row. The bottom row seemed to be a bit straighter overall, except for the one missing fang on the left side. That’s another thing about boyfriends like Johnny: he’s missing some things. Not perfect, not horrible, but just enough to be unique.

“C’mon, ya ready?” He asked with excitement, a certain gruff peaking out in it. A smile cracked and only his top row of teeth were visible. Between the little gaps in his teeth—where his incisors covered the missing gap—could you actually see it. One less—one significantly sharper tooth to worry about.

You couldn’t help but be hesitant. Johnny appeared complacent with his work on the apple, but it was deep. It was long, held for a minute. Any semblance of the five-second rule was gone with that. "There's so much bacteria."

His light expression faded and he sounded a bit more serious, almost unbelieving of what you said. You lived with his family—in his shack! ”You live in the same dump as me!”

That argument had little sustenance because even you had complained about the state of his living situation before. But you still lived in it, still tolerated it, for him.

"Will it look pretty?" That question was fleeting in its validity too, you had the answer right in front of you as to how it would look. Glancing back down to avoid his gaze, it did look pretty. A ring of reigns with one tooth breaking the imperfect circle. You couldn't ask if it would hurt because even if it didn't initially, Johnny would make it sting. Even knowing that fact couldn’t stop you from asking: “Will it hurt?”

“I’m just going till you get a scar.” He spoke calmly, reassuring you. “Yer mine, and I want to show it. I couldn’t imagine givin’ you one like mine on your body. They’re not somethin’ to be proud of. This’ll be better.”

You thought for a moment, trying to bide time before the inevitable pinch on one of your body parts finally came. “If this one is something to look forward to, can we go somewhere special to do it? A pretty field?”

“Darlin’, it don’t matter where we do it. It’ll follow you everywhere once we’re done, even when I’m gone.”

“Okay, we’ll do it here.” On his family’s property, in the confines of Nancy’s kitchen. She had gotten these apples earlier that day at a market and it felt like Johnny had rushed you into getting a tattoo.

But like a tattoo, the needle—in this case, his teeth—was at the ready while your confidence was not. Johnny bit over a million people already—mostly to leave them wounded, but you would be marked like ear-tagged cattle. Identified as his and only his.

His hands touched you like it, not even willing to let you go as he set you up on the counter. The action took the breath out of you, sweeping you from your feet to the countertop. Johnny ate it up, enjoying the littlest of noises you made. He could playfully bite you all day long just to hear the vulnerability in your voice.

Johnny pressed and squeezed into certain parts of you now that you were in easy reach for him. His mind went to places that you wish you could read, but he would probably say them anyway. “Mixing pain with pleasure?”

“Get your head out of the gutter!”

“I��m only thinkin’ about you from in there…” His head finds the space between the crook in your shoulder. The only place where he isn’t, his hands roaming other areas of your body almost like a distraction. The smell of fear, the way he could feel the chill his warm breath sent into you, every hungry drawl as he looked over your fresh skin sounding hungrier than the last until a snarl resonated. The barrier between him and your blood, so thin, so permeable. Just the hardened look in his eyes was enough to pierce through it.

His hands stopped roaming your body, zoning in as they moved up to push your head and shoulder farther from each other. Johnny’s lips peeled back, a bit sticky from the apple—something you wouldn’t feel until they were suctioned around your nimbly neck—bared his teeth and bit down on the side of your cape. The force was almost immediate, urging out a painful wince from you. His canines were the first to really dig in and sting you, making it even worse. Your eyes traveled down to the source of the pain, only the back of his head was visible, and you were tempted more than ever to reach for his dark hair and tug on it. He was probably strong enough to stop you from pushing him off, and you knew that he wouldn’t willingly break away from you without taking some skin and muscle with him. And if you did manage to push him off, the movement of his teeth would leave an even worse mark.

The pain didn’t last too long, though. Johnny was able to bite down fast enough to draw blood, but you wouldn’t have realized that. Not unless Johnny had pulled away. His lips stayed glued to you the entire time and that made the transition from biting to sucking and feeding on your blood a little easier, but all the more surprising. He was like your personal bandaid, complete with the care that comes with applying it too. His tongue, motioning over the wound like a damp cloth, and his saliva, the ironic antiseptic.

It took about fifteen minutes of painstakingly leaning against Nancy’s cabinets and sitting in Johnny’s embrace for the ooze to come to a trickle. Johnny pulled away, exaggerating his normally toothy grin to really show off the blood that gushed into his mouth and covered his teeth. “There, you look real nice.”

Proud of his work, Johnny let his mind move to the next thing—the unfinished apple. The apple was browning at his teeth marks, but welcomed Johnny’s bite with familiarity. As he bit into it, he made the flesh inside red with the front-facing side of his teeth. That was the man you were in love with: the type of guy to do something so intimate and then go back to normal like nothing happened moments later.

For the rest of the week, while it was healing, Johnny would find himself sinking his teeth into the same spot. The dried scarring made it appear as a challenge to keep breaking it open again. The teasing of the taste, knowing that little work was needed to taste the blood under the thin layer of skin. It wouldn’t go away any time soon—even before it healed and became a scar.

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greynatomy · 1 year ago

Text

confessions and accidental meetings

ona batlle x reader

prequel to soft launch. requested here

———

Arriving at your favorite coffee shop, you swing the door open only to feel some resistance on the other side.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry!” You’ve not even looked at the person, but grabbed as many napkins as you could to start wiping her down. “I am such a klutz.”

What you don’t notice is the person smiling widely at you, entertained at how you’re wiping her down and apologizing nonstop. She reaches out to grab one of your wrists to stop your panick.

“It is okay.” She tells you once your eyes reach hers.

You swear you could’ve melted right there and there. The hand she isn’t holding is stilled on her shirt over her stomach where you were absolutely sure you felt some indentations.

You couldn’t look away, opting to just nod as words aren’t able to properly come out of your mouth.

Ona was loving every second of this interaction, loving how you melt to her touch, a complete stranger’s.

Despite being soaking wet, Ona sat down with you at a table, attentively listening to to whatever you had to say. It was a bit difficult to understand, but all she knew was that she didn’t want to stop talking to you.

“Can-can I get your, uh, number?”

You gave it to her without hesitation, telling her that you’d be her tour guide of Manchester. You brought her to your favorite places, Ona making a mental note about everything you’ve said and shown her.

In the three months since you’ve met, your jobs never came up, relishing in the bubble you two have built around yourselves. There was an understanding that you both very much liked each other more than friend’s, it was just a matter of who has the guts to take it to the next level.

Seeing as you weren’t going to do it, Ona dragged you out of your apartment, taking you to all of your favorite places. You loved how she remembered everything you’ve told her, everything being highlighted on this day.

Last but not least, you’ve both made it to the coffee shop you’ve both met at, always feeling nostalgic whenever you step foot in it.

“I, uh, wanted to ask you something and I thought it’s good to come back here to do it.” You nod, telling her to continue. Ona squirmed in her seat, avoiding eye contact, she stammered, “Um, so, I’ve been thinking… I mean not-not that I think about this all the time, but uh.”

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity peaked. “It’s just me Ona. Spill it.”

Ona took a deep breath, “Well, when we are together, I-I have this weird feeling in my stomach. Not like, not like a tummy ache, but what is it people say? Cockroaches?”

“Butterflies?” You correct her.

“Yes! Uh, yes, butterflies. And I-I like you. More than a friend.”

You blinked, trying to process her words, then broke into a bright smile. “That was the most awkward and adorable thing I have ever experienced. And I also have butterflies in my stomach whenever we hang out. How could I not?”

“Really? Uh, wow.”

“Well, first, let’s stop being awkward and acknowledge that we both like each other. And then… maybe you could come over here and kiss me.”

Ona, seemingly getting all her confidence back, walks around the table to where you sat. Hands cupping both sides of your face, she dips her head down, pulling you into a passionate kiss.

You’ve been together for a good six months now and everyday has been full of laughs, adventure and comfortability. When she found out who your sister was though, she looked like she’s seen a ghost.

“You don’t have to be scared of her, baby. She’s just a big giant teddy bear.”

“She could probably beat me up.”

“Don’t say that! She’s all soft and cuddly.”

Ona didn’t believe you. She’s played against Lucy before and it’s safe to say your sister scares her a bit.

One day, Ona had just finished training and decided to go and surprise you after not seeing each other for a week with both of your busy schedules. She picked up your favorite flowers and favorite take away and made the journey to you apartment.

She doesn’t bother to knock, using the spare key you’ve given her.

“Mi amore!” She calls out, taking her shoes off by the front door. walking further into the apartment, she’s met with one Lucy Bronze sitting on your couch. “Uh, hello.”

“Ah. So you’re the one my sister is seeing.” Lucy gets up from where she sat, stalking closer to Ona.

“Uh, sí. It is nice to meet you.” Ona gulps, nervous say how Lucy was looking down at her.

“You’re technically the enemy, so I wouldn’t say this is anything but nice.”

They were both staring down at each other, unaware that you’ve walked back into the living room.

“What are you guys doing?”

They whip their head towards you, like they’ve been caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Just getting acquainted with your girlfriend here.” Lucy says, placing a hand on Ona’s shoulder, squeezing a bit making Ona wince, but tries to hide.

“Lucy, don’t scare my girlfriend please.” You grab Ona’s arm, pulling her away from your sister. “I would like to keep her alive forever.”

“Fine. But just know, I’m keeping a close eye on you. Hurt my sister and I hurt you.” Lucy flexes her bicep, making you let out a laugh.

“You are always flexing, I swear.”

“I promise to not hurt your sister, at least intentionally.” Ona pulls you close, placing a kiss on the side of your head.

“Good. Good. Now, what kind of take out did you bring? I’m hungry.”

#woso x reader #woso #greynatomy #woso imagines #woso imagine #woso community #fcb femeni #barcelona femeni #ona batlle #ona batlle x reader

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bullet-prooflove · 7 months ago

Note

Three thing event for Terry Silver - chocolate, Hawaii, swimsuit.

Thanks

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @eddieslut69 @mia1653 @kimbergoldess

Companion piece to:

Sick Day - Terry knows something is wrong when you don't pick up his call.

Love Story - Terry questions your taste in literature.

Health Care - Terry takes care of your healthcare siutation.

Recovery - Terry plays an active role in your recovery.

Bill of Health - Terry and you discuss money matters when he suggests a break in Bora Bora.

So I switched this to Bora Bora as that kind of fits in with the storyline we have going at the moment.

Bora Bora agrees with you, Terry can see that as he sits on the veranda watching as you collect sea shells on the private beach with a bucket. You’re wearing a yellow bikini top that laces at the back and navy blue bottoms with lemons printed on the fabric. A pair of red heart shaped sunglasses rests upon your pretty features. Your skin is sunkissed, your hair flowing loose in the breeze as you smile to yourself before picking up another seashell.

Terry’s supposed to be working but his tablet rests in his lap instead because you, you captivate him, you always have.

That night you sit at the table as he cooks dinner, arranging your treasures into different colours and sizes.

“What will you do with them?” He asks you, tilting his head to one side as he surveys your project.

“I don’t know yet.” You tell him, the edges of your mouth tipping up as your fingers caress the indentations of a chocolate brown shell. “That’s the fun of it.”

It’s the next day that you ask him to source you some tile, adhesive and resin. They’re delivered within a couple of hours and you spend the evening arranging patterns, fixing shells onto the tiles in complex formations. If there’s a methodology to your work, he can’t see it, you just go with the flow, seeming to know where each piece fits.

“It’s beautiful.” He tells you once you’ve finished the design.

You crafted nine tiles with the seashells from the beach, placing them in a square formation on the table and the result, it’s stunning. This, he thinks, is one of the reasons he fell in love with you, the way you see the world, the way you immerse yourself in it, it’s breath taking.

It’s a month later you return to Los Angeles, the tile art carefully packed away into the baggage hold of Terry’s private jet.

You’re scrolling through the pictures of your trip with your boss from the gallery when his eyes fasten on the tile art you've created. He falls in love with the design immediately, telling you he’s been looking for something with this level of authenticity for his beach house in Malibu.

When you return to Terry's that night, you’re walking on air. You launch yourself into his arms as soon as you step through the door and he gathers you up close, planting light kisses on the top of your head.

“What brought this on?” He asks you and you tilt your face up to look at him, your eyes bright with exhileration.

“I sold something.” You tell him and suddenly Terry understands the joy in you. “I sold my first piece.”

Love Terry? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#terry silver #terry silver x reader #cobra kai

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vulpixisananimal · 3 months ago

Text

Loop 44

(Take!!! Three!!!)

(You were back at the sadness ambush spot, pan in hand. You had tried to sneak around them already and they’d just attack anyways! You didn’t have the time, you had to beat ‘em up. You grip your pan, and charge!)

“YAAAAA!!!!!”

(You smack the sadness with your pan as it gets up off the ground, and move back just in time to avoid its retaliation swipe. It twisted its neck as it got up, and growled at you. It dives, but you were ready this time! You were able to move under its attack and swing up with your pan again!)

(You feel a sting in your arm, it, it still got you but that’s okay! That’s okay, you’re okay! You take a step back, before charging again and swinging at the sadness. It didn’t move in time and your pan hit it straight in the face!!! Yeah!!!)

(Ow. Your arms hurt.)

(You hear the thwumps of the other two sadness dropping down. You turn to see one on your left and one on your right. Okay, Bonnie, you got this! Now’s your chance! YOU GOT THIS!!!)

(You hold out your fist at the scissors one, [Rock Salt Assault!!!]. Your craft solidified into little salt rocks that pelted the sadness three, four, five times!!! The sadness falls over!!!)

(YOU GOT IT IN ONE ATTACK!!! CRAB YEAH!!!)

(The last one remaining was a rock one, it screamed at you, and you could feel yourself getting, weaker? Tired! Your defense got reduced! Okay, okay, go for it! You charge at the sadness with your pan.)

(Your attack lands, it’s not the best but it’ll have to do! The sadness roars in anger and slams an arm down on you.)

“HAK-!!” (You yelp! Your shoulder hurts so much so much so MUCH!!! AUGH!!! C’MON BONNIE JUST, DO IT!!! You spin and strike back at the sadness.)

(Lucky you, a crit!!! The sadness stumbles back, tries to get up, and then collapses.)

(. . . You, you won?)

(You breathe in, and out.)

[You are now level 57!]

[You learned the skill SIZZLE SLICING!!!]

[This attack deals light scissors damage to all enemies 0-5 times.]

(Okay, sadness beat, it’s time to GO!!!)

(You start a full on sprint through the woods, following ‘Frin and Nilles tracks. You know you only have a few minutes left, so you gotta find them!!! It can’t be far now, right?)

(Right?!?)

(Your legs are hurting so crabbing much, but you gotta ignore it and just go! Go like when Nille told you to run! Go go GO!!!)

(The woods finally break into a clearing that would be large enough for a few houses! And there! You see the tracks leading to the center! You make your way through, holding your breath and looking for where ‘Frin was, where Nille was!)

(The tracks ended with two indents side by side. Okay, definitely stargazing. Then, uhm, the one you think is ‘Frin has a biiiig indent in it, ‘n then Frins tracks go, backwards? Nille follows, ‘Frin stops, then, goes to the side? But where?!?)

(Your foot nudges something. There, in the snow! Nearly impossible to see, it was- wait, you get ‘Frins dagger and gently touch the lump you bumped into and, yes! It’s fabric!!! You fall to your knees and roll the lump over.)

(It’s Siffrin!)

(Crabcrabcrab they don’t look good, if they could get any paler they definitely have now! A-and their arm, it’s, it’s all wrong!!! A-and, and he’s, he’s barely breathing and, a-and, and-)

“‘FRIN!!!!!” (You shake them.) “‘FRIN WAKE UP!!!”

(There’s barely even a response.)

“‘FRIN!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!”

(There’s a little bit of a stir, an inhaled breath, a recognition, SOMETHING!!!)

“‘F-FRIN! FRIN IT’S ME!!! BONNIE!!!” (You get really close to their face.) “C’MON! WAKE UP!!!”

(You hear him breathe in.)

(And. . . . Out.)

(And he doesn’t breathe in again.)

“. . . ‘F-frin? S-siffrin?” (Your heart drops. No. No, no no no no no you got here, NO NO NO!!!) “W-wake up, wake up! Please!!!”

(Your hands are shaking. You, you got here in time! They were okay! W-what happened?!? W-what’s wrong?!? Y-you, you, you--)

(You taste bile burning in your throat.)

Loop 45

(. . . . . . . . .)

(No. NO. No. You’re fine. You’re FINE! You’re okay! Everything’s okay! ‘Frins okay! For now. B-but you can change that! You can help them! You got this! I-it’s okay! You’re okay!!!)

(You’re, okay!)

(. . . . . .)

(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

(NOW you’re okay. You fall into the snow.)

Loop 47

(You need to save Siffrin.)

(You dig through the supplies, looking for ‘Frins meds. He gets heart attack stuff, right? So it’s probably that. Just grab that and go, and run to ‘Frin! It takes a while, but EVENTUALLY you find the small bottle of concentrated tamarind.)

(Well you know where it is now, but it’s already been too long and you have to wait, and you don’t wanna train any more.)

(. . . . Uuuuuuuggghhhhh.)

(There’s gotta be a faster way to get through this. You get up and start looking around again.)

(You can't hurt yourself. You'd never be able to look at them if you did and, a-and, it, scared you. You shake your head. You start with Frin and Zas tent, and after a few minutes of turning the place over, nothing.)

(Whaaaat about ‘Belle’s stuff in your shared tent? You already knew all the stuff you and Nille had, but not hers. You start looking through everything until you find exactly what you need! Miras necklace!!! The little frozen tear from Fouley was right there! That should work. You take the frozen tear.)

(. . . Well, might as well try it now! You open your mouth wide and take a bite into the crafted sugar glass.)

Loop 48

(. . . W-woah.)

(That, worked! Oh wow oh crabstars that really worked! You yawn, and shake your head. It felt like you were falling asleep, but someone shook you right awake again. O-okay, no wasting time!)

(You grab everything you need, including ‘Frins meds from the supplies, and the frozen tear just in case. In fact, you tie the necklace around your wrist. With that, you’re off!)

(In a few minutes, you’re at the sadness again. You don’t waste time, you rush in and strike before it’s even up!!! Good!!!)

(It lashes back, standing up. You got this. You counterattack, swipe, attack, block and- you stumble back. The sadness is rushing at you, you hold up your pan to block but it goes flying far into the woods.)

(Your eyes go wide, uhoh. You fumble for ‘Frins dagger as the sadness approaches, and right as it’s about to get you, you find it and charge.)

“HAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!”

(You stab the sadness, and it collapses into a heap. O-oh, right, scissors vs paper.)

(Okay, OKAY. Two left. You spot your pan, run, and grab it. C’mon! Come get it!!!)

>>>

“‘FRIN!!!”

(This time, you knew where ‘Frin would be, and you ran straight for them! Once you’re there, you collapse to his side and roll them over. He’s, he’s still passed out.)

(O-okay, now, meds! Heart meds! You get the bottle out and uncap it. You grab a pill and-)

(. . . . .)

(. . . . . How. Do you do this?)

(How, how do you get them to swallow a pill? How do you do that?!? Could you just feed it to him?!? Y-you have to try!!! You gently open their mouth, and. . . No wait, you can break the pill up a little so he won’t choke! You break it in two in your hands, and try and break it up as much as you can, dropping them into ‘Frins mouth.)

(Please work please work please work-)

(‘Frin takes a big, sudden gasp in, and immediately starts coughing and choking. You panic a bit, and move them so they’re, they’re, uhm, uh, uh- on the side! You get ‘Frin on their side but they’re, they’re alive! Okay! Yes!!!)

“‘FRIN! SIFFRIN!!!” (You lean down to get eye to eye with them. Their good eye is unfocused and dilated, they look foggy, and sick!) “‘F-FRIN! A-are you alright?!?”

(They look up at you, and speak in a whisper.) “. . . Bo. . . nnie. . .”

“Y-yeah!! It’s me!!! I saved you!!” (You’re shaky.) “A-are you okay?!?

“I’m. . . O-okay. . .” (He falls on his back.) “Just, a, little tired, s-so, I might. . .”

(He closes his eye.)

“‘F-FRIN!!! N-no we gotta get back to camp!!! W-we, we gotta--”

(You taste bile burning in your throat.)

Loop 49

(. . . . . . . . . . .)

(It’s fine! It’s FINE!!! Okay?!?! It’s fine. It’s fine! It’s fine!!!)

(It’s just another thing to figure out! It’s fine! You can do this! You can save them! You can save them all! Once you save Siffrin, you’ll be okay! He’ll be back at camp and fine! And you can take a biiiig nap! And-)

(Nille.)

(You bite the meat of your thumb.)

(You. You’ll save Siffrin. Then, then you’ll, be able to find Nille, and, and, a-and. . .)

(. . . . . .)

(Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking-)

(You taste metal in your mouth. Taking your thumb out of your mouth, you pierced the flesh. You have blood in your mouth. Ow. . . . You suck on the wound and sit down, looking into the embers of the campfire.)

(You start to cry again. You did it, you got to Siffrin twice now, and you, you, you woke them up! B-but, but they, still, died.)

(Why?)

(What did you do wrong? You did everything you were supposed to and it didn’t work!!! It’s not fair! It’s NOT!!!)

(What, do you do?)

(. . . .)

(. . . . Maybe go talk to ‘Dile. She’s smart, she could figure this out, since you’re too dumb to do it. Stuid. Stupid dumb crab face Bonnie.)

(You get up. Might as well do that now.)

Loop 51

“‘DILE!!! O’DILE!!!” (You found her faster than you did the others, you’re getting better at this. You run at the tall old lady through the brush.) “OVER HERE!!!

“I can see you, Boniface!” (She made her way towards you as well, clearly struggling in the snow more than the others.) “Gems, you’ve been yelling for long enough to wake the dead after all.”

(. . . Ow.)

“. . . Ah.” (She must have seen you wince at that.) “What happened?”

“‘F-Frins stuck in a looping loop!” (You can’t linger on dumb jokes, dummy! You stand as straight as you can.) “I know where they are but only I can get there in time, and I gave Siffrin their meds and he woke up but then passed out and died and, and, a-and. . .”

(You’re gonna tear up again, you know it, you can FEEL it. Dummy! You look away. Just, just FOCUS!!!)

“Oh, Boniface, Bonnie. . .” (She shuffles forward, and, after a few seconds, you feel her stiffly pat your shoulder two times.) “. . . How much time.”

“. . . Each loop’s ten minutes.” (You mumble.) “‘N it takes a few minutes to find you, so, we got, three, four minutes?”

“Hmm. . .” (She takes her hand back.) “One; could probably listen for sounds or events that always happen at the same time to help keep track of how long you have left. Two, were there any other obvious injuries Siffrin had when you found them?”

“O-oh uh. . .” (That’s smart. You shoulda done that, stupid.) “Uhm, their shoulder looked uhm, wrong?”

“Dislocated?”

“Dislo, dislocotad.”

“Dislocated.”

“Dis-lo-ca. . . Dis-lo-ca-ted. Yeah! That.”

“Hmm. . .” (Odile puts a hand to her chin.) “Anything else you could see?”

“Uhm.” (You scratch your neck.) “I don’t remember.”

“That’s alright.” (Odile smiles down at you.) “When you get there next, search Siffrins body for anything that’s out of place. Siffrins heart might not be the only thing, er, causing him to. . .”

“Killing them.” (You grumble, hiding in your cloak.) “‘M not stupid. He’s dying.”

“. . . Yes, there’s probably something else killing them.” (She sighs.) “Gems, I’m still treating you like a child even now. . .”

(. . .)

(. . . There’s an awkward silence, until you break it.) “. . . Thanks, ‘Dile.”

“Of course, Boniface.” (She chuckled.) “. . . Would you. . . Like, a. . . Hug?”

“. . .” (You look up at her with sparkly eyes.) “Really?”

“Ha! Yes, really.” (She opens her arms.) “I can survive a little hug. Besides, I won’t remember it.”

(You dive into her arms and squeeze tight, and Odile hugs you back.)

(. . . Wow. ‘Dile sucks at hugs.)

#tee and hee #in stars and time #isat #sifstem #isat au #siffrin system au #isat spoilers #isat siffrin #isat odile #isat bonnie #isat fanfic

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kpopmultistanfanficarchive · 9 months ago

Text

PART 1/2

WORD COUNT: 2.3K

RATING: Teen and Up

A/N: Listen...ever since that GoSe episode, I have been having Seventeen zombie apocalypse AU brain rot. I can't help myself.

Synopsis: A world in chaos. Walkers closing in from every side. You're alone, hardened by weeks of survival in the forest, until two city boys—Mingyu and Wonwoo—stumble into your life, clumsy, scared, and woefully unprepared.

You waited with baited breath to see if you’d been followed. Although you were fairly confident you hadn’t been, the smaller ones were sometimes difficult to hear approaching until they were dangerously close. Cautiously, you hid yourself behind a tree, your knife at the ready.

Your breath hitched as rustling neared you through the trees. You smeared mud across your body to dampen your scent, and readied your knife, prepared for the worst, but hoping that the small hoard that you’d seen in this corner of the woods from time to time would simply stumble past as it normally did. In hoards of two to three like the one you’d grown accustomed to seeing, they were generally less of a threat, as long as you stayed quiet and out of the way.

The rustling turned to pounding footsteps. You hoisted yourself several branches up the nearest tree to get a better view or what lay ahead in the forest.

Luckily, it wasn’t the walkers.

Unluckily, it appeared to be a clumsy set of boys, one weighing heavily on the other as they fought through the brush, the taller one at the lead, looking frantically over his shoulder while gripping tightly to the other, who followed only a half step behind, seemingly being led.

They were clearly running from something. Which led you to believe that your less-than-friendly neighborhood walkers were also in the vicinity.

Against your better judgment you jumped out from your hiding place, causing the taller of the two to jump and scream. The other stumbled, his grip on the taller faltering as he staggered forward, clutching tightly to the baseball bat that he had over his shoulder.

“G-get back,” the taller shouted, dragging the other boy behind himself as he leveled a knife at you. Even with his weapon at the ready, there was a fear in his eyes that told you he wasn’t prepared to act, “w-we don’t want any trouble. We’re just passing through.”

Taking your chancea, you reached past the weapon in the taller boy’s hand and grab his wrist. “Shut up and follow me,” you grumble, leading both of them in a clumsy chain to your hideout - a small indent right on the waters’ edge that served as a decent enough shelter for the time being.

You came to a stop at your makeshift camp, dropping your pack and turning to face the two panting boys. “Drop your weapons,” you instructed in a hushed tone, pulling your own knife from its place at your side and looking between the two of them. “Now. quickly.”

“But-i-we-”

“I’m not going to have either of you stabbing me in the back now that you know where my stash is. Drop your weapons or I'm about to get a whole lot less pleasant.”

“This is pleasant?” the taller remarked, causing the smaller to shove an elbow into his side.

“Shut up, Mingyu,” the shorter of the two snapped under his breath, tripping over your fire pit only a second later.

Mingyu. You stored that away for later.

“Are either of you bitten?”

“N-no,” the shorter of the two said, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket to prove himself. The arms and hands were the most frequently bitten areas - held up in defense in a last-ditch effort to save oneself. Seeing that they were clean of any wounds brought you relief.

Mingyu mimicked his friend’s actions before rolling his sleeves back down to protect from the brisk autumn chill.

“I can tell you’re from the city,” you said, putting a hand on your hip. “Your strong hold in the city became overrun or you ran out of food, and you decided to run for the hills. You haven’t been out here that long or you would know better than to go stomping around the forest the way that you were. The walkers can’t see, but they can smell and hear for miles. You didn’t know that. I’m betting there’s plenty of other things you don’t know. So, if you want to stay alive your best bet is to stay with me. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine. Just stay quiet as you’re making your way off of my turf. You may want to roll around in the mud on the bank before you go. Covers up the human smell.”

The two exchanged a look before they both relinquished their weapons, dropping them in a pile at your feet. “Thank you,” you said, collecting them and stuffing them into your pack for safe keeping, “do you have any supplies? Food?” you asked, pulling out your empty bottles and turning to the creek to begin replenishing your water stores.

“We, um,” Mingyu let his own backpack fall from his shoulders before pulling out a single water bottle and joining you at the waterfront, “we left in a hurry. Didn’t have time to grab much, so…we’re running pretty low.”

You looked between the two boys. Ideally, it would be better for you in the long run to be alone. Quiet was better when avoiding the walkers, and these two clowns seemed to be anything but. They seemed utterly helpless. They weren’t hardened from weeks on the run like you were. Still, though, you reasoned with yourself…they were at least big. You were confident that they wouldn’t be much help against the walkers, but at the very least having two big men in your vicinity may be enough to ward off any marauders in search of supplies. At least that was something.

“Well…for as long as our interests are aligned…you’ve got my help if you want it,” you said, offering a hand for Mingyu to shake which he gratefully reciprocated. “I’m going to catch us something to eat. Do you know how to build a fire?”

“I’m sure i can work something out,” he said with a weak smile, slapping his knees as he pushed himself back to standing, setting to work finding firewood.

To your surprise, Mingyu did end up being entirely serviceable in building the fire. And after you’d caught several fish, he’d insisted on cleaning and cooking them himself, using your tin can cooking setup to heat up some rice along with the fish and doling it out to the three of you in even portions.

You ate in silence, huddled around the remnants of the fire as the water babbled just feet away. You had yet to hear a single word from the smaller of the two men since your chance encounter, and he seemed far more hesitant toward the entire situation than Mingyu did.

“What’s his deal?” you asked, waving your tin of rice in the boy’s direction where he ate quietly by the waterfront.

“That’s Wonwoo, he’s just a quiet guy. There’s no deal,"Mingyu said simply. “He lost his glasses while we were escaping the city. He can barely see a foot in front of his face. It’s been…unsettling for him.”

You hummed noncommittally. “How long have the two of you been out here?” you asked, shivering as the sun sank below the skyline, leaving you with nothing but the dim glow of the fire to light the small area surrounding your camp. “Can’t have been out here too long if you’re both still alive. No offense.”

“None taken. We’re hopeless,"Mingyu agreed with a sad little smile, “our apartment was right in the middle of the city, so when the breakout first happened, we thought it would be safest to hunker down and wait it out inside. We figured the military would arrive eventually to evacuate the city, but…they never did. We barricaded ourselves in our living room - it’s what the health administration was telling everyone to do on day one - and then…we just waited. We only left a couple of days ago when we finally ran out of water. By the time we decided it was time to leave…the city was just crawling with walkers. I didn’t think we were going to make it to the lobby of our building much less out of town. We thought that was it when we encountered a hoard of them this deep in the woods. We’re lucky we ran into you when we did.”

You pursed your lips, unable to put words together to express how their story made you feel. You’d never had the chance or the option to hunker down at home like they had. When the outbreak began, you’d been at work, on the edge of the city. As soon as you saw things going to shit, you grabbed whatever you could carry on your person and ran, hid until the initial surge had passed, and then broke into a convenience store to stock up on supplies before heading for the mountains on foot. You’d survived since then scavenging abandoned encampments, staying close to the water, and remaining out of sight. It’d served you well up to this point.

“It gets really cold out here at night. We’re going to have to find the two of you something heavier to wear. It’s only fall; the denim isn’t going to cut it in the winter.”

“Well hopefully by the winter we’ll have all made it to Tongyeong, yeah?” Mingyu mumbled with a hopeful glint in his eye. “That’s where we’re headed. I…assumed you were headed that way, too.”

“To Tongyeong? That’s…a really long way on foot, Mingyu. Why - what’s there?” you asked, suddenly intrigued.

The look of shock on his face took you by surprise. “There’s…a colony of survivors out on the sea. We heard about it on another camp’s radio our first night in the forest. The walkers can’t cross through deep water like that, so…they took out fishing boats and yachts and…you didn’t know?”

“I…had no idea,” you remarked, your gut clenching at the thought of there perhaps being some semblance of hope on the horizon. You hadn’t let yourself feel anything close to hope in weeks. Your only goal had been to survive until you couldn’t.

“Then what was your plan?” Wonwoo asked from his perch by the water, clearly having been listening in on your conversation from afar.

“Didn’t have one,” you conceded, “I was just trying not to die.”

A heavy silence filled the valley then.

“Well, I guess it’s lucky that you ran into us then,” Mingyu finally piped up, clearly unwilling to sit with the silence any longer.

“I guess we’re all just as lucky as three suckers can be during the end of the world,” you said. “Tomorrow, you’re going to continue heading south?”

“That was the plan.”

“And you’re okay with me coming with the two of you?”

“We’d very much prefer it,” Mingyu scoffed, “you’ve been out here longer. I don’t think there’s a scenario where we’ll make it without you.”

“So…I guess we’re a team, then.”

“I guess we are,” Mingyu said, a look crossing his face that you found difficult to read.

“That’s his I’ve got the hots for a girl look; be careful,” Wonwoo called with a tinge of amusement in his voice.

“You can’t even see me, asshole,” Mingyu barked.

“Yeah but I can hear it from here,” he snarked back, “just do me a favor and don’t make any moves until we’re safe. There will be no forest breakups making things awkward.”

Turning to you with undoubtedly flushed cheeks, Mingyu murmured, “Do you think I could kick his ass quietly enough to not draw attention?”

“No,” you snorted into your tin, “but once we get to the coast, you’ll be home free.”

“I think that’s the encouragement I needed to keep pushing on, believe it or not,” Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head and sobering quickly.

“Well…we should get some sleep. If we’re going, I want to be out of here at daybreak so that we can cover as much ground as possible tomorrow.”

“Do you want to go in shifts? I can go first if you want to get some shut eye," Mingyu offered.

The idea struck you.

You hadn’t been able to sleep more than an hour straight since the beginning of the outbreak. Alone in the forest, facing both the living dead and marauders in search of supplies and food, you had to be on high alert at every second.

And now you have the option to get a decent night’s sleep.

You weren’t entirely sure you’d be able to sleep a solid night, no matter how much you needed it.

“Why don’t you two go first? I want to catch more fish for us to take. We don’t know when the next time we’ll find a food source will be and we’re days away from Tongyeong if we make quick work of it.”

“Okay,” Mingyu nodded, exhaustion visibly taking him over. He didn’t argue. “I’ll turn in then. Wonwoo?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he agreed with an exhausted yawn, making his way into the small excuse for a cave that you’d been using as your temporary home.

“There’s an emergency blanket in my pack if you two want it,” you said, heading toward the waters’ edge with your fishing line in hand.

Things quieted again as the two roommates got settled and you looked out over the water again. Finally, you felt a swell in your gut, something that you hadn’t in nearly a month.

You had a glimmer of hope.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #seventeen imagine #seventeen #seventeen reaction #mingyu fanfic #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst

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ryuzakemo128 · 9 months ago

Text

Grim Reaper Part Seven

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader / Female reader/ You x Her mental health x König

Content Warning: Bloodshed, fight between a man and a woman, tech talk, injuries, future implications of murder on the horizon. Use of your nickname for König.

Words: 2628

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: “Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?”

Just because you can, it doesn’t always mean you should.

Sometimes it better to walk away.

Letting things lie.

Leaving them in the shadow of what could have happened if you wanted to act upon your urge to be rid of them.

Your fingers trail along the mask. An incredible gift in your eyes. The sleek material cool beneath your fingers, the curves forming over your face.

As if the material itself bonded together with your face, the digital HUD flickering to life with a gentle hum, casting a soft glow in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Simon took a tentative step towards you. He looked at it, he said, "It's a beauty," he whispered with a hint of envy.

"Lightweight, customisable, and undetectable by most standard security systems, protects my face from dust, debris, and potentially harmful airborne particles." you described part of it.

Other functions of your mask were less visible but equally important. It had a built-in respirator allowed you to breathe without revealing your position through foggy breath in cold environments or leaving a trail in smoke-filled rooms.

The mask's indented 'teeth' served as a silent venting system for the excess heat your body produced during intense combat. It was a marvel of modern warfare technology, and it complemented your lethal skill set like a second skin.

You don’t know when the chatter around started to grate on your ears and eat away at your nerves. Part of you thinks it was because of a certain part of you being denied sustenance. Thrill of a fight itching to be satiated.

Itching. Aching. Burning in the bottom of your stomach like a meal denied.

“We are all doomed. We are not special. None of us are special. We live on a tiny rock floating amongst other tiny space rocks. To imply we are special is to deny the truth. You are not special, just as I am not special.”

You were tired of the excuses. You were tired of them. “You are mediocre at best and tolerable at worst. I don’t care about you or anyone else here. Your existence is finite.”

“You are mediocre at everything I have seen you do.” You repeated with a narrowed glare. “Everything you are. It could and would be forgotten as long as your superiors benefit from it.”

“You don’t get to keep something someone else owns. Not ever. I don’t need a ‘saviour’ stop implying that I need one.” You murmured, your voice as fierce as a cat's growl. Your hold on his throat base stayed firm, as relentless as desert sands.

Despite your injury, you retaliated fiercely when threatened sufficiently. The cut deep enough to insert at least three fingers. You were always considered difficult to your peers. You didn't care about their opinion as much as they believed.

Imagine talking about someone’s trauma and labelling them as the ‘difficult one’ pathetic morons can’t consider the fact trauma changes people.

If they knew how trauma worked, they wouldn’t be flapping their pathetic mouths so much.

They need to learn to shut the fuck up.

Projecting their morals onto others like they’re the only people in the world.

Shut the fuck up. Most of you are more likely to have the privilege to never go through it.

Stupid pathetic moronic children who can only think of themselves first.

I see Simon receive the same treatment by women who label him the ‘difficult one’. It makes me want to smack the shit out of all of them.

Assault of any kind should not be tolerated. They need to shut the fuck up before I make them shut up.

I am tired of them. I am sick of their justifications of labels on people.

Shut the fuck up, I hate you all.

Trauma isn’t something you belittle. Yet you seem to have fun in doing just that. I hope you die and reach a depth of hell most won’t be able to reach.

It is what you deserve. It is what I want you to have. Now more than ever.

You think you snapped when it happened. Not that you aimed for a psychological snap any time, sooner or later. Yet the whispers and murmurs grated on your nerved like nails on a chalkboard. Call me pathetic and I will give you death.

I will give you a death even your so called god will not look away.

Your enemies cannot reach you. Sleep well, the clock ticks on.

The stars do not know you, prepare, they’ll whisper you your fate.

They look at you and wonder how you are even alive. Fear mixed with disgust. You feel it. You see it. They keep you because otherwise you would have been a darker shell of yourself.

He pushed you far enough to get here. Yet it caused you to laugh. To giggle. The blood gushing from your nose, a bit from your mouth, you laugh. You laugh because you know it’s all a game to them. A game of fear and power. And in that moment, you had all the power. You knew because the stars had already whispered to you, and they had never lied.

"An itty bitty knife? Are you fucking serious?" you taunted him.

The man snarled back a response, "This isn't a game, bitch," as he raised the knife, ready to strike fear into your heart.

“Are you scared? Are you going to run crying to your superiors, little bitch?” you taunted relentlessly. “Gonna cry now?”

A beast circling its wounded prey, every nip, every bite and every taunt. You became more beast than human when your anger wound-up tighter than a coiled snake. Posed and poised to strike. His eyes widened with fear, his breaths shallow, and his smugness replaced with a desperate plea for mercy.

Simon intervened, trapping you inside a headlock, the guy silently murmured and thanked for his timely intervention. He got off lightly in your opinion. Though getting stabbed by a butterfly knife put a damper on things.

"You're the one who should be scared." Simon's voice was cold and firm as he held you back, his grip tight but not painful. "You're better than this. Don't let them bring you down to their level."

“Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?” you growled like a feral creature, clawing at Simon’s arms as he held you firmly in his grasp. His eyes, a mix of concern and irritation, searched yours for any hint of sanity left in the rage-filled maelstrom.

“We need him alive for intel," Simon reminded you, his tone still unyielding. You knew he was right, but the desire to rip the man’s throat out was a hunger that demanded satiation.

“Tell him that. The fucker stabbed me not you.” You jerked your chin towards the man cowering on the floor, trying to push Simon away, but his grip was like steel bars.

You knew he was right, but the adrenaline and anger pumping through your veins made it hard to think rationally.

You felt the warmth of the blood trickling down from your nose, mixing with the saliva on your teeth. It tasted metallic, a flavor you had become unfortunately accustomed to.

“Calm down,” Simon whispered in your ear, his grip on your arms tightening. “Remember who you are. Remember why we're here. And we'll get the stab wound looked at, I promise.”

“I'm not calming down for his sake.” You reminded him.

“No,” Simon's voice was low and controlled, “You're calming down for ours. We need you focused.”

You let out a breath, trying to regulate your breathing, which Simon knew was a sign that you were listening to him. You nodded slightly, allowing him to loosen his grip.

The room fell silent, except for the distant sound of gunfire outside the abandoned warehouse. The man on the floor was trembling, his eyes darting between you and the knife clutched in his hand.

Soap walked in moments after the whole debacle, his eyes scanning the scene before his gaze settled on the trembling man. “Well, well, look what we have here. A little stabbing party and I missed the invite,” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. He knelt down, pulling the knife from the man’s shaking hand with ease. “Looks like you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

You were about to leave the rest to Simon and Soap when Soap dragged you out instead, muttering things about not letting the bloodlust get to you. “I could have walked outside you know?” you muttered to him.

“You're a liability like this,” he shot back.

“Like what? Stabbed?” you countered.

Soap's smirk grew wider, “Exactly. Now, let’s get that wound patched up before you go full on Wolverine on us.”

“The animal or the mutant?” you snorted. “My life would be easier if it was the mutant. He heals instantly. Don't roll your eyes at me. I read so many X-Men comics growing up.”

Soap chuckled despite the gravity of the situation, his Scottish accent thick with sarcasm. “Ah, so you’re telling me you wish for the gift of healing rather than the rage of the beast?” He led you to a makeshift medical station set up in the corner of the warehouse, the harsh lighting revealing the stark contrast of the crimson blood against your pale skin.

“I mean that would just come with the healing right? With how Wolverine is, I wouldn’t mind the rage as much. The claws would be a bonus.” you quipped.

Soap shook his head, his amusement clear despite the seriousness of the situation. He took a deep breath, his eyes focused on the wound, “Well, we’ve got bandages, not adamantium, but it’ll have to do for now.”

Simon glared at the comment made from a bystander calling you cute when you are clearly not. You had wanted to be called it when you weren’t bloodied with another person’s blood on your uniform and your knuckles.

Once you were isolated, Price looked at you from the sidelines, his expression unreadable. As you let your aggression out on a punching bag. The smacking of gloves against leather in the background as they continued to speak about the fight between you and a guy who happened to be taunting Simon.

It grated on you enough to lash out. Ending in bloodshed. Despite these fights being rare, they are bloody enough for people to remember them. You felt the weight of Price’s gaze, his silent disapproval heavy in the air. He couldn't be upset with you entirely as you don't escalate them as much as people would love to believe.

“You okay?” he finally spoke, his tone flat.

“If you're angry with me just say so.” you told Price.

Price took a drag of his cigar, his eyes never leaving yours, “I'm not angry with you.” He said, “I'm just concerned. This isn't the first time you've lost it like that.”

“And it's not the first time they escalated it either. But you don't see that part because by the time you're here. They're on the ground and I'm already stabbed.” you reminded him. “Lecture them before you lecture me.”

Price's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a serious whisper, “Look, I know you've been through a lot, but we need you sharp. We can't afford any more… incidents like this. Do you understand?”

“How about you tell them to keep their hands to themself?” you countered.

Price sighed, his gaze flickering to the side, “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes it is. Its called keep your hands to yourself. Don't touch someone without their consent.” you reminded him.

Price knew you had a point, but the situation was more complicated than that. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. “I’ll handle it. But you need to control your temper. We're in a war zone, not a playground. If we don’t keep our heads on straight, we're all going to end up dead. Or worse, captured.”

Like the god Hades, you will never been seen as anything other than a monster of your own creation. Maintaining a balance most will never see. Passive. Altruistic. A creature made by whims and wants of others. A creature made and remade repeatedly.

A story retold to fit the whims and wants of those they want to appeal to. Hades went from passive to a main villain because of the lack of media literacy to think clearly. Whittling down his wife to a lost lamb in distress. When she is in fact his queen with strengths of her own.

A falsehood created by those who would rather see their version of a tale prevail than to see a man be gentle with his wife. Better to dehumanise the king of the underworld than to think otherwise.

They don’t seem to understand. Evil has no shading. Darkness does not equate to evil, and living in the shade of blissful ignorance will not save you.

Just as fire causes destruction. It also has a hand in creating life.

Neither side is good. Neither is side is bad. Both sides would have been considered good and great given the angle someone would take. Both sides can be considered a great evil. No matter what happens from this point forward. You will always be referred to as the name you are given. No matter how tainted you feel about yourself.

They will still refer to you by this name. Now, today and tomorrow.

As Elysium and Tartarus are both heaven and hell. It is both. It will always be both.

Choosing to believe one version of a tale over the other reeks of bias.

Much like Hades. You don’t have to go to them. People will come to their own end when they come to you. A fruitless endeavour to ever hope they could live to see tomorrow if they were your target. They are good as dead.

You are the least evil amongst them. It also didn’t mean you are harmless like a pup as much some might think.

“They will all come to me eventually. Regardless of how they feel on the matter.” You muttered. Mostly to yourself than to Simon.

Simon decided to interject, his deep British accent breaking through your deep meditated rhythm. The punches against the bag hard enough to shake through a concrete wall. Strong enough to go through a wall made of wood. You wore specialised earphones to block out background noise.

Now all there is left of you there are memories. It’s been a month since your kidnapping, entering into a second month now. They turned to your private thoughts of your journal in the hope they would find you sometime soon. Hoping König would not kill you out of boredom of you.

People fear death and fawn over theatrics.

People hate you because you represent the end of life.

Death. Grim Reaper.

Retellings will tell them you took them. Kidnapped them.

Even though your intentions were revealed to them and them alone.

Behind closed doors.

Twisting your words against your memory.

Even when your intentions were not what they will assume.

They mix up benevolent with kindness. You will show them, won’t you Mäuschen?

You will show them what it means to evoke the name of death upon their lips, right Maus?

The walls of your old bedroom, no longer the same as they once were. Not like you cared now. It was a moment of another time. Inside a lifetime, you thought you had all to yourself. Fleeting, as they were, finite. You were glad they were gone. As you were about to something so heinous. Even your mother would have disowned you.

No. She isn’t here anymore. She can not save you. No one outside this room can save you apart from yourself.

Rely on your instincts.

“What’s the matter, lamb? Are you scared?” You cooed into his ear. A plan forming in the back of your mind. If this was the game, he set up. He should be prepared for you to win it.

Fair is fair after all.

What is his will become yours.

What is yours will never be his again.

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yoongle--boongle--pie · 3 months ago

Text

Pechsträhne Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

Chapter playlist - Youtube

Chapter Playlist - Spotify

word count: approx~20k

_________________________________________

A/N: Many hugs and kisses to you all who send me messages and leave comments!!! I read all of them, I promise. Here comes chapter 9 in all her large glory. My wife is waiting behind me all snuggled up to read over it, so you already know that she'll catch my typos where she can.

See you on the other side~

Love Delyn

_________________________________________

Previous recap

Y/n wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, or if it was just the residual weird energy from the empty exhibit: but she could’ve sworn she counted three sets of shoes instead of two reflecting off of the glass they whizzed by. Her ears must’ve been playing tricks on her too. Because while waiting for Jimin to set up the locks on the front door, there was certainly another indented set of large boot prints that crunched at a low decibel behind them up the dirt path back up to the estate. She gripped the flashlight tightly from her sweater pocket, but whoever it was decided to stay otherwise unseen.

And this she decided fell in their favor. For if they crossed her now, she would find a way to end them on the spot with her light if she could.

Y/n was able to lay a band-aid over her festering anger that had closed in on her mind with a tooth-rotting level of sweet coffee and a breakfast pastry from the cafe. Jimin retained his kind and upbeat attitude throughout their meal as if nothing at the historical society had even occurred, and she was trying to not let it get under her skin and reignite the anger she tried so hard to smother. Although the universe works in mysterious ways, because it seemed he was now the one growing increasingly antsy as seconds ticked by. His phone kept buzzing ceaselessly from his pocket no matter how hard he tried to ignore it as soon as they had chosen their seats, creating quite the thorn in his side.

Once that didn’t seem to be enough for whoever was trying to reach him, a shaggy head of another much younger tour guide started peeking around the cafe entrance at Jimin. Jimin was kind to a fault, but Y/n could tell his strings were being plucked by the subtle irk of his brow even if he tried to stay present in the way she described the landscaping plans for her first week. Ultimately, the kid at the front wandered into the convenience store to stand on the other side of the glass next to them, and knocked on it to get his attention.

“Eli–I’ll be out in a minute.” Jimin regarded him sternly through the glass, and it was unknown if the young kid could even hear him. He seemed to understand enough, and with a nervous tug of his collar Eli (as Jimin had referred to him) retreated back to the front.

Jimin sighed and smacked his hands on the tops of his thighs, with his eyebrows raised into his hairline and a miniscule roll of his eyes. “It’s almost like I called out of the tour schedule for a reason.” He stood from his seat and started piling his trash onto his empty plate. “Are you done?”

His hand gestured to Y/n’s empty cup and she nodded, watching as he swiped it from the table to carry over into one of the trash cans. He returned, running a hand through his hair and snatching his still half full drink from the table.

“I can’t wait until I work almost exclusively at the Historical Society.” He groaned, his eye twitching when it caught Eli peering at him once more.

“When will that be?” Y/n couldn’t hide how amusing she found his disgruntlement. It must be Karma making itself known, and it satisfied any remaining frustration with his lack of clarity for the time being.

Jimin regarded her with an unamused scowl. “When I finish my masters program next month.”

“Oh–you didn’t mention you were still in school?” Y/n returned with a tilt of her head.

Jimin shrugged, suddenly a bit timid. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable about it. School seemed a bit touchy for you.”

“Nonsense,” Y/n waved at him with her hand. “I can be disappointed in myself and proud of you at the same time. We will have to celebrate!” She wiggled her eyebrows up at him.

“That sounds nice.” Jimin licked his lips, his teeth finding purchase on the plush of his bottom one. “Just us?” His eyes were magnetic, pulling her without mercy. The possible implications of her words dawned on her with a nervous swallow.

Y/n flushed, fumbling with her next words. “I-if that’s what you’d want. But I’m s-sure everyone else would like to do something for you as well.”

“Hmm. If that’s what I want?” Jimin’s voice dropped an octave, and he leaned in much closer to her than he had been previously.

“Yeah.” Y/n squeaked. “But don’t you want a graduation party or something?”

“That does sound fun–I can’t resist a party.” He clicked his tongue, and retracted himself from her space. “Can I choose both?”

Y/n didn’t trust her vocal cords to follow her brain’s commands, and nodded instead.

“Then that sounds exactly like what I want. A party and another date.” He took a sip of his coffee, his cheeks fighting back a grin around his straw.

“Jimin!” Y/n felt her cheeks grow warm.

The devious grin on his face only doubled in size. “And just so you’re aware, this-” he gestured with a finger at the two of them “-doesn’t count as the other date you owe me. I have something special planned for that one.”

Jimin strutted his way to the front, leaving her alone with her cheeks aflame at their table. Y/n needed to up her teasing game, she couldn’t keep letting them all mess with her this way. Maybe the impact was multiplied at how stark the adjustment was from being such a hermit back in D.C, to now being surrounded by kind and affectionate people at all times. Her friends shouldn’t be eliciting such states of disarray from her, and she assured herself that she would grow out of it come summer time when she grew accustomed to their ways.

Y/n flipped out her phone, opening their group chat and tapping out a quick message.

[Morning Glory 🌼]: Don’t be mad pls :(

[Morning Glory🌼]: I’m alone at the cafe and need to get back to the estate. Is anyone around?

Y/n waited, but after ten minutes still no response came. Time was ticking closer to one o’clock, and she didn’t want to be late for her planned meet up with Hoseok. Plus she had a lot of subdued rage she needed to take out on some dirt and an overdue nap and would like to have time to do so with Namjoon. Y/n debated just making a run for it–or at least a speed walk for it–back to the estate. They would never have to know, she reasoned. I could just say Jimin came back or something.

As if on cue (or maybe he had cheated and used his extra senses to feel for her up-to-no-good thoughts), Yoongi wandered up to the counter and leant his elbows on the smooth surface. He scanned his eyes around the perimeter of the room, fleeting over hers once and bringing them to meet the preppy cashier.

Yoongi ordered his drink and leaned up at the counter in a mirroring image of how he had the first day she had seen him. Same pose, same uniform–same mild yet inscrutable expression draped across his features. He nonchalantly tried to meet her gaze again, and used a subtle tug of his chin to gesture towards the lobby. Y/n understood, rising from her seat and sidling past him.

Y/n didn’t let her eyes wander, or even let her body angle itself in any way towards Yoongi as she left so as to not garner suspicion from any prying sets of eyes in the lobby (namely one set of spying almond shaped eyes and another friendly yet sly ones that huddled with Eli near the steps). She skirted across the lobby, and down the red carpeted hall to the restrooms, and waited on one of the waiting area loveseats for Yoongi to make his way over. She passed the time in the only way she knew how to: by checking the few and far between notifications on her phone.

[Jungkook]: Has someone gotten you yet?

[Jungkook]: Don’t do anything reckless, I can be there in ten.

The weight settling into the sofa next to her pulled her head up from her phone to tuck it hurriedly back in her pocket. Yoongi took a long dragging sip from his iced coffee, and pulled the cup away with an exaggerated sigh.

“Your cloud looks all fucked up. I can’t tell what kind of storm is rumbling in your head–Your mom piss you off that bad?” He took another slurp from his cup, his eyebrows rising up at her from over the lid.

“A whole lot has already happened today. I’ll have to do a huge debrief before we get started later.” Y/n gripped both of her knees in her palms, flexing her fingers in and out over them to release her tension.

“Mmm. About that.” Yoongi cocked his head to the side and pulled out his own phone, probably attempting to make it look less like they were conspiring–even though that is exactly what they were doing. “We are going to have to pick a new meeting spot. The camera’s Mariah installed are in the foyer, and you can see the edge of the landing. If we are all scuttling across it like rats in a line every night, she will notice.”

Y/n hummed in agreement, already thinking up a few suggestions of her own.

“I feel like one of our rooms would be best. It’s much easier to get Jungkook and Namjoon over without seeming too out of place. But I’m wondering if your conniving mind can think up any other schemes.” Yoongi fought to keep his mouth flat, hiding the beginnings of a smirk with the rim of his cup.

“Well…the greenhouse is pretty neutral territory. She can’t get angry with you or Jungkook showing up there–and if we plan it out right she won't even know that’s where we are all headed. The only problem is that my normal body guard is out of commission if there’s cameras, which leaves me vulnerable most of the day outside of work.” Y/n bit her lip, her head falling back against the pale golden wall with a groan. “And to top that off, we’d have to somehow get back into our rooms without raising suspicion or running into my dad.”

Yoongi sucked on the back of his teeth, sighing through his nose. “That’s true. Timewise it might be best to stick to one of ours.”

“Wait!” Shot forwards–a new idea brewing in her brain.

“Uh oh.” Yoongi inspected her face, his tongue sticking out slightly from between his teeth. “That face spells trouble.”

“The terrace! We can use the terrace to get back and forth! Jungkook and Namjoon can go to the rooftop and use the roof’s attic entrance. The indoor stairs are in our linen closet.”

Yoongi thought the plan over in his mind. “Smart. I like it.” He jabbed his thumb in her direction, looking lightly peeved. “You have to ask the kid to do it though–he won’t do it if I suggest it.”

“Will do. I’ll text the group chat when I have a free minute.” The boost of energy she got from her idea made her temper fizzle to a low hum.

Yoongi didn’t comment on it any further, so Y/n tipped her head back again and her eyes closed. The position suddenly made her lack of sleep from the night before unavoidably apparent to her. “Not to be an annoying coworker, but couldn’t this conversation have been an email or a phone call?” She cracked one suspicious eye open to look at him.

“It could’ve.” He chuckled, and bounced his knee. “But I got your text and happened to be around. Wanted to make sure you weren’t being bothered by anything.”

“Ah. So you were worried about me.” Y/n felt a smile weasel its way onto her features at his covert kindness. “That or you just missed me.”

Yoongi choked on his coffee, and coughed a few times to regain his composure. “If that’s what you want to tell yourself, darling.”

“I think I will tell myself that.” Y/n made herself more comfortable on the sofa, keeping her head back but angling it to face him head on. “What does my cloud look like now?”

He typed something into his phone, then clicked it off and placed it face down between them. His small black eyes seemed to capture her within them entirely. If Y/n focused in hard enough, she could almost feel the cool rush of his welcoming waves seeping into the fissures of her being, and ebbing the parts of Y/n forward that they wanted to see. Y/n stilled, feeling a rush of nerves as it went deeper. How far could he decide to pull from if she let him? Did she even have to give him permission? Yoongi’s eyes quivered with something unspoken as they completed their check-up.

“Looks like…” He leaned in a bit closer to her to keep his voice a whisper, their noses almost touching. “Looks like you’re being a little shithead.”

“Rude!” Y/n shot up straight, flinching away from him and taking the edge of her sweater to smack his thigh with. Her outburst pulled out a few squeaking laughs from him, disturbing the hair tucked behind his ears to fall forward and into his face in delicate tresses with the shake of his shoulders. The picture perfect image had her cheeks rising in temperature.

“Okay, okay. Honest answer.” Yoongi held up a finger signaling her to wait while he took another swig. He took in the flavor with a few smacks of his lips. “You look like you’re starting to turn yellow.”

Y/n just blinked at him, unsure of how to answer. “Yellow?”

He nodded. “Usually when you’re happy or energetic, you’re green. When you’re upset, it’s gray like a storm cloud–or red if you’re pretty riled up like you were a few seconds ago. I’ve only seen yellow a few times when you’re either hungry, it’s early in the morning, or after a particularly tiring session. So I’m assuming it means you’re depleted or tired in some way.”

“Huh.” Like a plant. Y/n thought to herself with a small smile.

A few beats of silence passed between them, and Y/n enjoyed the time just being near him without all of their spiritual obligations. The large potted plants and quiet nature of the hall they were in aided in making a more secluded atmosphere for their little pocket of peace. Yoongi kept his knee close enough to brush against hers, and his hands busy with his phone while they waited for Jungkook to arrive.

“So…Do I owe you a quarter for that reading?”

_________________________________________

Jungkook wasn’t able to linger after dropping her off at the front of the estate–even if it seemed like he had wanted to. Unfortunately he was still technically on the clock until his lunch break, and with her mom and brother still frantically packing inside they assumed she would be safe enough to walk from the entrance to the ballroom on her own. He made her confirm three separate times that she had her flashlight before he left, and each time she would pull the handle out of her pocket for him to see in an effort to appease his worriment.

Y/n weaved through the movers and the last of Roland’s belongings piled at the edge of the hall, and down towards one of estate’s ballroom entrances. Y/n hesitated outside the thick brown double doors, her mind racing with thoughts of what kind of condition she would find him in on the other side. With a huff of forced confidence, Y/n pressed down on the golden handle.

“What are you doing?”

Y/n’s mother’s voice cut her off, hauling all of Y/n’s attention to where she had snuck into Y/n’s peripheral.

“I’m going to hang out with Hoseok–does that pass your rules, or am I not allowed to see him anymore either?” Y/n found it impossible to reign herself in. Nevertheless, despite the harsh contents of her words she was able to keep her tone impassive in some impressive feat.

“No that’s–” Her mother stiffened, shifting the box in her hands to hold most of the weight on her hip “-that’s fine. I just wanted to let you know that Roland and I are going to be leaving in about an hour just in case you wanted to see him off.”

Y/n’s grip tightened on the thin metal in her hands. “Thanks for letting me know. I will be sure to.” She didn’t stick around to hear her mother’s response. The urge to get away from her completely knocked out any anxiety she felt about seeing Hoseok again, and she darted through the ballroom doors at a speed that impressed even herself.

The ballroom was just about how she remembered it: a vast golden and elegant enclosure. Grand crystal chandeliers fought with the natural light streaming through the angled glass ceiling for which could bathe the room in the most light. Similar wall sconces to the ones out in the hall lit up the edges of the space, leaving no corner of the glittering space untouched by light. The few tables left in the room were pushed against the wall and vacant of any decor or clutter. Just dotted with simple flourishing bouquets. At one of the tables, Hoseok sat curled over his phone with one ankle crossed over his knee. The elevated foot shook with enough speed to take off into the sky if it wasn’t attached to his leg, and it comforted Y/n to know that perhaps he was just as nervous as she felt after their last interaction. He hadn’t noticed her entrance yet, and Y/n let her eyes rake in his features: the smooth curve of his nose angled downwards, and his hair forming loose ringlets with the length he let it grow to around his ears and neck.

The clang of the door shutting behind her grabbed his attention. Thus with the visage only comparable to the warm afternoon sun emerging from where it had temporarily hidden itself behind the passing of clouds, his expression brightened with her arrival. Likewise, his radiant smile dispersed the clouds crowding in her nervous system.

“I was worried for a moment that you might’ve stood me up.” He only half-joked, and made no move to rise from his seat yet, letting her walk to the tableside first.

“I wouldn’t do that–not without letting you know first at least.” Y/n stuffed her hands in her pockets, and switched her weight from foot to foot as she stood in front of him.

He laughed. A real, lively laugh that he couldn’t seem to find within himself yesterday.

“Such an oxymoron–cold-hearted and considerate at the same time.” Hoseok bounced to his feet, tossing his phone aside onto the white tablecloth and shaking his hands out. He took a few long strides towards the center of the reflective floor, and spun on his heels to raise his eyebrows at her. “I guess you can put together why I had us meet up here.”

Y/n feigned innocence with a shrug of her shoulders, and plucked at the threads of the table cloth near her hip. “I’m not sure. You have something in mind?” She looked up at him, being sure to keep her eyes as innocuous as possible.

“I promised you a dance, didn’t I?” He held his hands out in an exaggerated shrug.

Y/n bit her lip to keep a grin from crawling up her cheeks. “Oh yes that’s right. Forgive me for my memory is hazy–I’m not good at remembering things.”

“Uh huh, sure.” He rolled his eyes playfully, and held out a hand for her to take. “C’mon. I have my phone set up and connected, you just gotta hit play.”

“I thought you were sick?” Even though she was teasing him, she still did as she was told: tapping his screen and hitting the play button on the center of his screen. The flourishes of guitar and piano of a song unknown to Y/n floated down from the speakers around the room, and she took little time in taking his hand.

“I’m feeling better.” Hoseok gave a sharp tug, pulling her into his chest and splaying his hand on her waist with much more confidence than he had a couple weeks prior. He led them in a slow rhythmic step, taking her from side to side with the subtle expertise she had expected from him within their first dance.

“Already?” Y/n kept in time with him, adding a slight bounce to their movements.

“Nightquil is one hell of a drug.” He giggled through his own answer, and Y/n’s followed shortly behind. Y/n let the topic drop for now, choosing to hone in on his music choice.

“What’s the reasoning behind this song? I haven’t heard it before.” Y/n Let herself inch closer to him if that was even possible.

Hoseok gave a disapproving click of his tongue. “You definitely have. My mom played his stuff all the time when we were kids.”

This had Y/n eating any other response she could’ve come up with, letting her auditory system take the controls with the intention of combing through each motif and melody for anything recognizable. When the chorus hit, the lightbulb within her brain lit up in sync with Jo Duck Bai’s emotional vocals.

“Ahh. Yes I do remember this one–not in great detail–but It’s striking a chord if you will.”

Hoseok blew a hefty breath of air through the corner of his mouth. “Jeez–You’ve been spending too much time with Jin.”

“Never! If anything I haven’t been spending enough time with him.” Y/n scrunched her nose up at Hoseok with a grin.

He brought their joined hands up to tap one of his long fingers on the tip of her nose. “There’s that smile I like to see.”

Y/n suppressed a squawk of surprise from spouting out from her throat, and turned her head to the side to avoid his glinting eyes. “Whatever.”

The song came to an end, being replaced by the plucking guitar and whirring strings of the next. Y/n thought he was going to pull away–his hand slipping from her waist and his other tugging slightly from her fingers the give away. He surprised her instead, and used his hand to guide her into a twirl into a new step.

“I thought you had said a dance.” Y/n let the hand on his shoulder fiddle with the shoulder seam of his shirt where it had come to rest again.

He shrugged, and tilted his head into her line of sight as a way to force their eyes to meet again. “I figured I owed you more than just one.” Behind the glow of the yellow lights ricocheting off his amber irises, she could see the implicated apology behind his words. His hand tightened its hold on her side to keep her in place, but she didn’t intend on going anywhere if she didn’t have to.

Hoseok paraded the two of them gracefully around the room, letting the song take over from the lull in their conversation. At some point in the song, Y/n could hear the unmistakable tenor of Hoseok’s own voice layering beneath Nat King Cole’s. An effortless resonance just barely loud enough for her ears to follow; but a welcomed surprise. His voice had always been a delicacy that he would only treat her too on rare occasions, and she wished more than anything that he would do it more often. Y/n brought her head down to rest on his shoulder, the vibrations of his voice soothing over her ears. Hoseok tipped his onto the crown of her head, each word he murmured now directly against her. Her eyes felt heavy, but she kept them open in fear she would fall asleep standing against him if she let them drop.

The last few measures of the song ticked by, but they didn’t make any moves to stop. Hoseok stayed at the same pace, letting her head fall heavier onto his shoulder with each sway throughout the next song. He did however, stop singing much to her dismay.

“I love when you sing. You underestimate how lovely it sounds.” Y/n’s words were slurred against his shoulder, and she swapped to her other cheek so she could face him while still keeping her head in place

“You’re tired.” Hoseok stated plainly, ignoring her compliment entirely. Y/n couldn’t tell if he sounded disappointed or not by his observation.

Y/n hummed, forced her head upright to prevent the impending embarrassment from if she were to drool onto his shoulder. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“And yet you still came to dance with me.” He noted, more to himself than to her.

“I missed you.” She confessed, her fatigue making her lips loose. “And I was worried that you would still be sick from yesterday. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay.” Hoseok breathed out a sigh, his eyes becoming haunted by something he obscured with a turn of his head. “And you won't have to worry about missing me. I’ll make sure we dance together at least once a week. Unless you get sick of me.”

“I could never get sick of you.” Y/n gave her best shot at an ardent look, but the power behind it was muted with the tired sag of her eyelids.

“Convincing.” He snickered, untangling themselves from each other and guiding the way back to his phone to turn off the music.

Y/n followed after him with dragging steps. “I’m sorry–For some reason I feel like I just can’t keep my eyes open. It just hit me like a ton of bricks.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead to try and wake herself up.

“Don’t worry about apologizing. I’ll walk you upstairs if you want to rest?” he slid his phone into his back pocket and stretched his arms out above his head with a yawn.

“I would accept the offer–” Y/n stopped with a yawn of her own “-but I should say goodbye to Roland before I lay down and I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

“Nah.” Hoseok waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t mind hanging around a few minutes while you do that.”

He led them toward the set of double doors she had entered through, and down the hall on their left towards her brother’s room. There were no more movers for them to dodge, and Y/n concluded that they must’ve gotten the last of it out by now. Hoseok paused a few meters away from the door, letting her go into Roland’s room on her own similar to how Namjoon had that morning.

Y/n crept around the corner, her mouth already formulating her goodbyes. However the room in front of her was now utterly void of any trace of her brother. It even looked as though it had been dusted and vacuumed. Y/n shivered, the involuntary comparison to the disappearance of her late sister intruding into her brain again. And just like before, she swallowed it down and looked for her brother. These were feelings she had already processed–but like the therapist her parents had forced her to see had told her: stressful events and strikingly similar circumstances could trigger them to resurface when she least expected it. Therefore like she had been taught to do by the same therapist, she took three deep breaths, and brought a finger to tap at the crevice between her lower lip and her chin while she looked.

Roland wasn’t in the room, and neither was her mother. She brought her phone out of her pocket to check the time– 1:26pm. She had only been in the ballroom for maybe twenty minutes–her mother had said they weren’t headed out for another hour–surely she would know better than to just vanish with her brother?

Y/n turned out of the room and back down the hall, her finger still passively patting against the spot on her chin moving down to the area below her collar bone (another spot her therapist had taught her to tap). Her explanation being about the locations being connected to the nervous system or something along those lines–something Y/n couldn’t be bothered to remember at the moment. All she cared about was if it worked.

Hoseok followed, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her quick exit. Y/n led the both of them towards the entrance way, but there were no boxes. There were no movers. There was no one–not even the men putting up her mother’s stupid cameras. Maybe they had gone into the kitchen to prepare lunch for themselves, Y/n reasoned. They were scheduled to leave right at the estate’s normal lunch time, so that would make sense. Yes. Perfect sense. Y/n’s three fingers increased their speed on her collarbone, and she wandered across the dining room and through the traffic door into the kitchen.

“Come on! Let’s check in the kitchen. Maybe she went to get a snack or something and fell asleep at the counter!” Hoseok led the way forwards, with Jimin and Y/n hot on his heels.

“Guys–we should really get mom and dad up. What if something happened?” Amelia’s e/c eyes shook, and her voice was unsteady as she brought up the rear of their unruly search crew. She trudged after them, clutching her quilt around her shoulders.

The three younger children didn’t listen, pushing open the swinging kitchen doors to find the kitchen insipid and vacant.

“Are you sure you checked your bathroom?” Hoseok gave Y/n an accusing raise of his eyebrow. “And under her bed?”

“Of course I did. I checked those first, I’m not stupid.” Y/n crossed her small arms over her chest with a huff.

Jimin took sleepy, trawling steps around the kitchen perimeter. His hair was sticking up in every direction from sleep, and his puffy cheeks bent forwards to stop and look down into the kitchen sink. A few drops of water dripped from the spigot, and he stretched a short arm out to press down on the faucet and halt the trickle. Hoseok and Y/n bickered, while Amelia hovered at the door, looking over her shoulder repeatedly for any sign of their youngest sister–leaving his moment of deliberation unseen by the rest. Jimin stared at the small puddle on the bottom of the sink’s basin, his brows pulled together in thought. Jimin turned his messy dark hair to the arguing duo across the room.

“I think we should wake up your parents like Amelia said.” Jimin’s bare feet padded over back towards the kitchen door that led to the hallway. “Maybe she had a bad dream and went to sleep with them.”

The kitchen was empty.

Empty save for the first straggler cook organizing the ingredients for the lunch selection of the day. At Y/n and Hoseok’s intrusion he raised a brow, but Y/n could only muster a few apologies before retreating back into the dining room.

“Let’s check out front…?” Hoseok offered, already starting towards the front door. He pushed open the door to find the mover trucks gone. The only sign that they had been there was the tire tracks in the gravel, and the many sets of shoe tracks that scuffed the pebbles out of place.

They were gone. And her mother had deliberately made sure she hadn’t been able to say goodbye.

_________________________________________

Y/n retreated into the safety of her room. Hoseok had walked her up with an apologetic frown and a promise to come get her once food was served. Y/n wanted to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault she had missed their departure–that it was all on her mother. And she would. But that would come later, after she had more time to regulate herself from looking like a drifting weeping willow. Y/n couldn’t help her thoughts from assuming the worst of her mother; for what reason did she have to prick at a wound all of them shared? She would’ve definitely known better.

She typed a short message to her group chat, saying she wasn’t feeling up for lunch and that she wouldn’t be joining any gardening excursions today. Encouraging them all not to panic or jump to any demonic conclusions as to why she won’t be showing up. Y/n tried to take a nap, but every position she tried just felt off and uncomfortable. Her eyes drew over to her closet, where Matilda's photos were hidden at the back of her shelf.

Y/n knew–logically so–that Roland was not dead. That they had left to take him up to New York for his fancy new and expensive school that would shape him into whatever man her parents desired him to be. He would come back once and for all after he graduated–maybe even have a partner–and he would start his apprenticeship under her father’s careful eye. Then he would take over the hotel, have a few kids of his own, and most likely die of old age.

But the human mind is funny at times, it has its own special way of warping our sense of reality into believing the worst with the utmost conviction. Of jumping to conclusions and making you forget the leaps that you had to take to get there, using rope made of excuses and hooks smelted from built up fantasy to make the delusional seem sound with each leap. To find any reason to justify the stressor it had been exposed to without even considering the option for the truth.

And that’s the island Y/n was currently stranded on. Her eyes vacant as they looked at the ceiling, but her mind somewhere else entirely. She had given up on the tapping. It didn’t work at the moment, and therefore she didn’t care for it. Her phone had buzzed a couple times from its spot on her nightstand, but she didn’t feel like texting anyone any further.

It was good for her then–in its own way–that instead of a few short buzzes, her phone shuddered with the extended pulse of a phone call. Y/n fumbled for the box, wanting to silence it out and throw it back out of her sight until she was able to rest. But the name lighting up her screen caught her off guard.

Jin.

Y/n swiped to answer the call, bringing it to lay flat over her ear so gravity could do most of the work for her.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Y/n asked, keeping her tone even.

“Yeah, everything is fine.” Jin chirped at her from the other line. “I just had a feeling you might need a pick me up. You want to go into town with me to run a few errands?”

“I…” Y/n was still exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and wash away all of her racing thoughts in time for tonight’s debrief and spiritual ventures. But she didn’t want to say no either. Y/n didn’t realize how long she had hesitated, because Jin must have sensed her apprehension.

“If you’re busy that's fine! We can always plan to go another time…” Even through the crackling of the receiver she could hear his dejection.

“No! I’m not busy, and I want to spend time with you. I’m just exhausted and don’t know if I can handle going into town today.” Y/n picked at the skin of her lip absentmindedly, tugging at it until it started to bleed.

“Ahh. I understand.” There was a muffled shuffling sound on Jin’s side of the line, and his voice returned a few beats later. “How about this: We do something more relaxing together, and I do one of my errands with you?”

“Like what?” Y/n rolled onto her stomach, letting the weight of her head fall onto a pillow below her. “You aren’t planning any sort of payback for the horse excursion, are you?”

Jin chuckled, and kept his voice friendly. “No–don’t worry. I have to run to the store to get some stuff for dinner tonight. The cooking staff is off duty so it’s on us to figure something out. And I’m going to assume from your tone that the Adelaide isn’t of any interest to you tonight.”

Y/n sighed. “You guessed correctly.” She plucked at a loose thread on her pillowcase. “What’s the ‘something relaxing’?”

“I’ll give you two choices. One: we go to the guest house and spend some time enjoying the nice day in the sunroom. Two: we can bake something for dessert tonight.” Jin listed, followed by another shuffle on the other end of the line from him swapping the phone from one shoulder to the next.

Y/n debated both options, making a short list of the pros and cons for each. A sweet treat sounded good–but so did enjoying the great outdoors. The only thing about the guest house that pushed it into the realm of least favorable was its proximity to the lake; which did not sound great at the moment.

“Let’s bake something. And then I’ll help you with dinner.” Y/n decided, rolling onto her side so she could sit up.

“That’s what I was kind of hoping for myself.” She heard the distant sound of his fingers snapping on the other line. “We can head to the store after you come down and get some lunch?” Jin phrased his words as a question, but Y/n knew it wasn’t.

Y/n scrunched her face up at the thought of food. “I’ll have a snack or something after a short nap, but I had brunch not too long ago at the cafe.”

Jin found the promise of something better than nothing, and they traded goodbyes with the intention to leave in roughly a half an hour. This meant Y/n had enough time for a cat nap to try and regain some energy and reset her mind. She curled up onto her side, and hugged one of her pillows closer to herself in a chokehold to bury her face into. She focused on taking a few deep breaths to lower herself down into the first few realms of sleep.

The four children had shoved Amelia to the front of the group. They knew that their parents would react better to her than if one of the three trouble makers stood in front. The girl in question raised her small fist up to knock on the door, her braids dragging over her makeshift blanket cape and brushing upon its edges with each knock.

The first knock triggered no movement from within the room–it was ungodly early after all–for the sun had only just started to turn the sky shades of a gray blue. Amelia looked back to her cohorts with uncertainty, but they urged her to knock again. And she did. This time, they heard a few soft murmurs, and the sound of soft feet padding across a rug towards them. Her mother pulled open the door, wrapped in a silk robe and her hair up and away.

“What’s wrong, my loves?” Her mother’s voice was rough from sleep, but still held her usual air of warmth. “Is something wrong?”

“Is Matilda in there?” Jimin piped up from the back.

Mariah looked disoriented, her chin jerking to the side and her face pulling inwards. “No–what is this about?”

Amelia piped up from the front, her eyes beginning to water. “Y/n can’t find her anywhere. We already looked everywhere Mama.”

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” Their mother’s eyes darted to Y/n’s, a brief flash of panic shown in with them gone and camouflaged as soon as it came.

“We looked everywhere. The ballroom, the kitchen, the study–even under her bed. I don’t know where she is.”

Mariah pushed forward and out of her and their father’s shared room. She retied her robe tighter around herself, before leading the parade of children down the hall and back towards the kitchen. All four of the children ran into each other, one after the other, as her mother made an abrupt halt at the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh my god…” Mariah brought one delicate hand up to her mouth, and four children’s heads leaned out from behind her to see what had caught her attention.

“Mama, what is it?” Amelia spoke first, one of her small hands tugging at Mariah’s elbow.

Jungkook stood on the bottom step, probably having been woken from their commotion. His unruly curls turned to stare intently at the red wooden door that led out to the front steps. The front door was slightly ajar, barely open in a way that made it easy to miss when one walked by. But Y/n was sure it had been closed when they had passed it earlier, a funny feeling settled into the pit of her stomach at the sight.

“Mom, that wasn’t open before….” Y/n’s young voice cracked, and she came forward to stand next to her.

Mariah didn’t acknowledge Y/n’s comment. She walked up to the door and went to grab onto the handle, her eyes still glued to the spot where Jungkook stood. Jungkook blinked, breaking their locked gaze and her hand froze in mid air above the gold metal. Without warning, she yanked it backwards and held it up to her chest in her other hand as if it had been burned.

“Nobody touch anything. Get everyone up.” She spun on her heel and all but ran down the hall back towards her room, shouting as she went. “Anselm! Ans wake up!”

The image suddenly flickered, and a weight fell heavy onto Y/n’s feet and threatened to pull her underneath the floorboards. She looked downwards towards them, to find her normal grown up feet shuffling below her. She shot her gaze up once more, only to find her sister and friends gone. The echo of her mother’s calls reverberated throughout the empty halls as if she were still there, but a long ways away. It was at this moment that she realized it was no longer a memory–but a dream.

The floor rumbled beneath her feet once. Y/n snapped her head towards the direction of the basement door, another rumble tumbling out from behind it. She inched towards it, her hands fiddling with her sweater in search of the flashlight, but obviously there was none. This wasn’t real.

Footsteps bounded up the obscured basement steps, the wood creaking under a heavy weight. The rush they were in gave her no time to react to their approach before they were already upon her. Something heavy threw itself against the other side in a crazed flurry, the door rattling on its hinges and barely holding itself in place. The thing on the other side ceased its futile attempts when the door showed no sign of buckling to its weight, and Y/n could hear the ragged sound of its breathing wheezing in and out of its diaphragm.

Y/n watched, unable to tear her eyes away as spindly, weathered, and gray digits writhed out from beneath the door. Stretching on and on–much longer than any one human’s fingers should. They curled in on themselves to claw at the door with a gnarled fervor, and Y/n took quick steps backwards towards the front door with each desperate grab they made.

“Wait-” Their voice, a sound comparable to tornado winds or a speeding train, scraped against her eardrums. Earsplitting and whistling. “Come find me.” It moaned out, and pushed it’s paper-thin hand further outwards.

“Please.” Its hands retracted from beneath the door and out of sight. With it she heard the slump of something burly against the frame that shook the wood with such power the floor rattled with it.

It’s breathing labored on, but it spoke no more. The handle clicked and clanked with the motions from the creature on the other side fiddling with its latch, but it did not open. Y/n knew it was a dream, yet she also knew this wasn’t just her mind conjuring up a monster on its own. So she did the only thing she could think of to do–even if her heart begged her not to.

“Who are you?”

The tinkering noises abated, a leaden stillness left in its wake. She heard the creature take in a deep, rattling breath. “It matters not.”

“How am I supposed to find you then?” Y/n countered, keeping her knees bent and ready to run at a moment's notice.

Her mother’s distant cries bounced about the empty house, and they made Y/n’s skin crawl with memories she wished to forget. Y/n hesitated as the next sorrowful howl came again, the tone different than how she had remembered. Was it her mother that she was hearing?

The metal door knob fell to the floor with a thud and rolled across the floor, stopping at the edge of Y/n’s shoe.

“If you were to know who I was, you would come to hate me too. I am wretched.” Its sob keened from its throat like nails on a chalkboard. “I am…”

The door groaned in protest and dawdled forward, sweeping in a half circle and ricocheting off of the wall behind it. All Y/n could see was black. No creature stood before her and naivety made her willing to believe it had left.

“I am…”

Y/n retracted her thought immediately, as a monstrous and hulking shadow moved within the dark. Its features were utterly imperceivable. Just smokey, vague and humanoid. She fell backwards, tripping over the knob in her tush to stand back up. Her mother’s cries encircled her like the calling of crows in the early morning sky and she clamped her hands over her ears to stifle the sound.

“They call me the Devil.”

_________________________________________

Y/n’s alarm blended in with the sound of the phantom wails as it pierced her ears. Y/n lurched out of her comforter to grab it and pummel the sound off, dropping it back onto the nightstand to give herself a second to come to. The dream played through her mind, and she let it. She needed to remember each small detail they gave her, collect each crumb she could if she were to make any real moves against them.

She vaulted out of bed in the direction of her desk, and scrambled for a notebook and a pen to document her dream while it was fresh in her mind. Y/n scrawled out each detail she could in a bullet point list as both a means to distract herself from the residual terror of the dream, and to record it for later reference. Once she finished, she couldn’t bear the thought of ruminating on it any longer–she wanted to leave any thoughts of her sister behind at the moment–she needed to in order to move forward with her day.

She unhooked and a small crocheted bag to toss her flashlight and phone in for safer keeping while she was out of the house, not needing anything more than that for their plans. Y/n only gave herself a ten second once over in the bathroom mirror to make sure she was borderline presentable, not caring to give any other thought to her appearance. Y/n wobbled on her feet, her thirty minute nap merely a drop in the bucket towards her lack of sleep from the night before. Maybe the nap made her reaction time worse, but it did help her regain control of her mind–with or without the nightmare.

Y/n made it to her door with full intent to practically run down the hall towards the dining room. Calling one of her friends up here just to walk her to the stairs would garner too much suspicion on the cameras or the others at lunch. At least running through the halls was nothing too new for her mother to flag as out of the ordinary. She swung the door open with gusto, her first step striking the floor with power that quickly dwindled to nothing with the oncoming sounds from her right.

Y/n stumbled over her feet and fumbled for her flashlight in her bag, not ready to mess around with anymore creepy things around doorways so soon after her vision. Taehyung took in her floundering state with wide unsuspecting eyes. Clearly they had startled one another with little expectation for the other to be leaving their rooms at the same moment.

“Oh–Hi.” Y/n choked out, her fist clenching around the flashlight in her bag before letting it drop from her fingers in relief.

Taehyung smirked at her from across the hall, and slowly shut his door behind him.

“Hi.”

They stood at an impasse, Y/n unsure of what to say and he seemed to wait for her to speak first.

“I’m heading out to the store with Jin, do you need anything?”

He gave her a once over, his chocolate brown eyes glowing with mirth at her. “No, I think I’m alright. Though, I thought you had promised we’d go somewhere together the next time you skipped into town?”

“Shit–you’re right.” She slapped a hand to her forehead. “Jin and I are leaving now, but we are going to be scrapping dinner and dessert together afterwards if you’d like to join us? Unless you’re busy.”

He laughed and started forward down the hall at a languid pace, clearly waiting for her to follow. She did so without hesitation, glad to have company instead of having to race against invisible enemies down the stairs in her lonesome.

“No need to say sorry, I’m just messing with you.” He flicked a loose wave out of his eyes, and their arms skimmed against one another as he lowered it back to his side. “I’d be delighted to join in–for the dessert part at least. Cooking is still something I’m working on.”

“You can’t cook, but you can bake?” Y/n sent him a disbelieving sideways glance, not trusting her face not to heat up if she looked at his face for too long.

“Yeah, I know it’s usually the other way around. I think baking is just more…” Taehyung brought a hand up to grasp at the air, his striking features taking on a more passionate shape. “More finite, and artistic for me. I feel like you can be more creative with colors and flavors, but still have the comfort of having exact measurements to follow.”

Y/n nodded, and they rounded the corner onto the landing. “I can understand that.” They started down the stairs without any rush, their shoulders bumping periodically with their descent. Y/n landed at the bottom first, shuffling around to look up at where he trailed a few steps back. “What’s your favorite kind of dessert?”

Taehyung stopped on the last stair to think and he puckered out his lips to think. Leaning onto the thick banister on his left as he did so. “To eat or to make?”

“Both.” Y/n shrugged.

“Hmm.” He tapped his fingers against the shiny wood beneath his arm and made rhythmic clicking sounds with his tongue against his cheek. “If I’m eating it, anything strawberry, or macarons. If I’m making it, I love working with fruits or experimenting with new flavors. Trifles, tarts, posset; anything I can decorate and make pretty.” He took his free hand, and wiggled the fingers gently towards Y/n to give feather light touches against her shoulder.

She giggled at the tickling sensation, and leaned her cheek into her shoulder to cover it from his onslaught. Taehyung’s boxy grin made an appearance, and he mimicked her giggles.

“Cute~” He cooed after her, and skipped down the last stair towards the dining room.

Y/n trailed after him, but her smile was consequently wiped from her face when her eyes found Hoseok seated at the table. His face was gloomy and unreadable, and he made no effort to hide how he tracked Taehyung’s movements around the dining room table and to his awaiting meal. And it wasn’t just him: everyone in the dining room seemed peeved on some level. The air felt heavy with agitation. She skirted her attention to Jin who was still working on finishing the last of his plate, and decided to sit next to the empty seat near Hoseok while she waited for him to finish eating.

“You alright?” Y/n asked him, pulling out her chair sinking into its cushion.

He nodded, clearing his throat as he did. “Yeah I’m fine.” Hoseok turned to regard her over his shoulder, his smile strained and his knee shaking where he promptly pressed it against her leg. “Are you feeling more rested?”

Y/n curled her lip and held up her hand in a so-so motion. “Eh. I had some weird dreams but I was able to get some sleep, so I can’t complain.”

Hoseok hummed and picked up his fork to fiddle with it between his fingers in a rapid seesaw motion, and kept his leg pressed firmly against her own even if he didn’t make any other comments. Y/n took note of everyone who was left at the table, the atmosphere feeling tense–like she had interrupted something she shouldn’t have. Taehyung was just beginning to tuck into his sandwich and was just as oblivious as her to whatever had gone down; Namjoon was trying not to give her obvious red-faced glances; Jimin was avoiding her eyes as if almost pretending she wasn’t there, his jaw flexing from how hard he was gritting his teeth; then there was Jungkook: His eyes dark as they bored into her, and his face dour.

Jin set his silverware aside with an overexaggerated sigh of satisfaction. “I’m all set to go then Y/n. I just need to grab a jacket.” He hoisted himself out of his seat and lumbered around the table towards the foyer.

“O-okay!” Y/n scooted herself out of her chair to follow, not interested in sticking around for whatever strange energy had been created in the dining room before her arrival. “See you guys later…” Y/n gave a timid wave to those left at the table, earning her a chorus of mumbled farewells and waves.

Y/n shivered the discomfort off, tearing her phone from her pocket to type a message into the ‘The Most Annoying and Toxic Coworkers’ chat while she waited near the shoe hutch for Jin to grab his jacket and sneakers.

[Morning Glory 🌼]: What the fuck was going on in there? Was it related to Roland?

[Zoltar]: What? What did I miss? I’m not allowed to be around for lunch anymore.

[Morning Glory 🌼]: If I knew I wouldn’t be asking, now would I?

[Zoltar]: 🤷

[Zoltar]: I don’t even know what you’re referencing to begin with. I got nothing over here at the hotel.

[Morning Glory 🌼]: You always answer so fast. Do you actually get any work done?

[Zoltar]: 🤷🤷🤷🤷

[Zoltar]: Someone’s always gotta be ready to make sure you aren’t getting into trouble. Two seconds too late and you could be following a lead out of the country if we aren’t careful.

“Ready?” Jin held the front door open for her in one hand, and held a baseball cap folded in the other, a stiff smile keeping his features in place.

“Sorry-yeah.” Y/n tucked her phone into her bag next to the flashlight, and hurried through the open door.

Jin slid on his hat once they were out into the air, fidgeting with it to sit over his head at the angle he wanted. They walked side by side at a leisurely pace down the gravel path around the base of the hotel, and straight down the driveway to head towards the front gate. Y/n nibbled on her lower lip, and kept her hands in her pockets while she walked besides him. Y/n took the risk to probe at Jin.

“What happened in there? Everyone seemed pretty off.”

Jin glanced back over his shoulder to watch for any oncoming traffic when they made their way to the roadside, propelling himself forward once he realized the coast was clear for them to walk alongside it.

“They just got into a bit of a spat. Nothing they can’t handle–you know how they can get with each other sometimes.” Jin explained. He pulled out his keys and spun them on the tip of his finger.

“Oh.” Y/n rushed to keep up with his long and quick strides. “Was it about anything serious?” She recalled even Jimin’s standoffish nature and forced a frown from her face.

“No.” He veered them to the left and into the residential parking area. “They’ll be fine, don’t worry too much about it.”

Jin pressed a button on the key fob, and a flash of lights and a beep responded from a silver suv in the middle of the lot. Y/n took it as her signal to drop the questioning, she had no interest in raising Jin’s suspicions towards her this afternoon. She rounded the back of the car to the passenger seat with Jin on her heels. His hand beat hers to the door handle and tugged it open on her behalf, letting her hop in and shutting it for her.

Y/n sunk into the leather seats and notched her seatbelt into place by the time Jin slid into the driver’s side door and started the vehicle. Acoustic guitar trickled from the speakers at a low volume, filling any empty space and making some of the tension disperse from Jin’s wide shoulders with each pluck of the strings. They let the music do most of the talking for the first few minutes, neither of them knowing exactly how to start a casual conversation with each other without any specific purpose or Hoseok to buffer things between them.

“What are you thinkin’ of for dinner tonight?” Y/n tried first, unable to stand the awkwardness any longer.

Jin jolted in his seat, having been lost in his own thoughts far too deep to remember he even had a passenger. “Oh-Right.” Jin leaned to check his mirrors to clear his next turn onto the main road. “We usually agree on something together on these nights–clearly that’s not happening.” Jin scoffed and righted the wheel to keep them going straight. “Anything you want in particular? You have behaved the best so I’ll let you have the most say.”

Y/n snickered, thinking of a response. “Now I could really go for some roasted vegetables…”

“Now that’s something I can work with.” He took one hand off the wheel to point at her with enthusiasm. “What else?”

“You choose. Unless you think you can’t handle that.” Y/n teased, and leaned herself against the window to rest her head on its cool surface.

“I can handle that.” A small plush smile grew on his face.

The supermarket wasn’t too busy, which let them keep their pace at a casual stroll with no need to push anyone out of the way. Jin had settled for chicken stir fry, and sheparded her around the store to the different vegetable selections. He let her choose what went in it, only giving her a sneaky side eye one time when she suggested cauliflower knowing full well that he hated it.

“I’m trying to keep the peace here Y/n–You and I both know it won't end well for you if we keep this childish competition going.” He snatched the white head of cauliflower from her hand and tossed it carelessly back onto the heaping pile of others.

“For me? What about you? I’ve learned a thing or two while I’ve been away,” Y/n puffed out her chest, “You’d be surprised.”

Jin rolled his eyes and dropped a bag of multicolored peppers into the cart. “I doubt that. Nothing surprises me with you hooligans anymore.”

“That’s a lie–shall I reference our recent trip into town?” Y/n lifted a hulking container of strawberries into her hands to inspect its contents. “Can we make something with strawberries tonight? Taehyung mentioned them and now I have a hankering for a strawberry tart or strawberry cream cake.”

Jin came to her side and grabbed the container from her hands to give it his own once over. “Sure. That sounds good.” He tossed a total of three containers into the cart, and swung back around to point a finger at her. “I knew something was going on between you and Hoseok the moment I first entered the car that morning and you two were huddled up like little flies rubbing your hands together in the front seat. If I would have known better I would have been able to see the little horns growing out from your foreheads the entire drive there.” Jin held up two fingers on the top of his hat to imitate devil horns, and gave her a pointed look.

“We were not huddled like flies! We were just sharing confidential information!” Y/n refuted. Even if she knew it was a lie: Jin had made comments multiple times that day about them being up to no good.

“Sharing confidential information and conspiring–same old, same old.” He slid his fingers down from his hat to track fake tears down his cheeks. “You’re just embarrassed that I caught you in the act. Because like I said: Nothing surprises me.”

Jin took hold of the cart and steered them forwards to the meat sections and Y/n glared at the back of his head while she followed, already thinking up ten different ways she could try and surprise him or get him back for real.

“Ah ah ah–” He held up one finger and wagged it at where she dragged her feet behind him “–enough of that. I can virtually hear your thoughts.”

Y/n stretched out a long, irritated groan. “How? How do you know that’s what I was thinking of?”

“Because like I said,” Jin billowed open a meat grocery bag, and tucked a package of chicken thighs into it. “I’m the oldest. It comes with the job description.” He laid the bag into the cart and pat it gently with his hand, gracing her with a sarcastic smile.

They grabbed the rest of the ingredients Jin deemed necessary for dinner and their decided on dessert–strawberry shortcakes–and loaded them into the car. She felt grateful for the distraction, and she was glad that she had decided to take him up on the offer. The bubbling cauldron of feelings from the day had a lid placed over them for the time being.

The ride back to the estate was much less awkward with the ice having been broken. Y/n wrestled a container of blueberries from the bags in the back and into her lap, prying the lid off and tossing one into her mouth. Jin held his hand out immediately, his fingers flapping in a ‘gimme’ motion.

“Who said I’d share?” Y/n stifled a grin and rose one accusatory eyebrow at him.

“It’s mandatory. It’s the passenger tax.” He flailed his fingers more aggressively. “Pay up.” Y/n shook her head, and piled a small handful into his awaiting palm. Without missing a beat Jin tossed the entire handful into his mouth, his hand already waiting expectantly at her side again.

“Hold on–let me eat some–goddamn.” Y/n plopped a couple into her mouth and gave him another handful to hopefully satiate him for a few seconds. Jin wrinkled his nose at her use of language, but didn’t comment on it. However his hand did immediately spring back up in a silent request for more, and she refilled his request.

Y/n rolled her eyes in a teasing manner “Sorry grandpa, I forgot you don’t like improper language.” She fumbled a few more blueberries into her mouth.

Jin shifted in his seat while he chewed, and gave her a few restless glances. He swallowed, and gave one small cough. “It’s fine. You can say what you want. I won’t stop you.”

“Are you sure?” Y/n regarded his change in demeanor with curiosity. Y/n could count on one hand the times she had heard him curse, and growing up he had been a bit of a stickler about it with his parent’s religious upbringing–but as they got older he had started to adjust.

“Yeah it’s fine. We are all adults now.” He shrugged, but his eyes were hard to catch.

Y/n chewed on the berries in her mouth slowly, rolling them between her tongue and teeth for a few breaths. “Do you curse now?”

“No.”

Y/n held a fist full of berries in her hand in preparation for his next request, and thought up her follow up question.

“Do you want to?”

Jin didn’t answer as quickly this time, taking the fruit into his hand and weighing them in his palm. He tossed them in, chewing pensively and staring up at the traffic light they sat beneath.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’d be easier when I’m listening to music or playing stuff on the guitar, but it feels so foreign to me to even think about it.”

“You still play?” Y/n inquired, popping a few more pieces of fruit in her mouth.

Jin’s cheeks dusted pink, and a shy smile wiggled onto his face. “Yeah. I like to play on my days off.”

“Cool.” Y/n snapped the lid closed. “You should play for me sometime! I tried teaching myself in college but I didn’t get much further than some basic chord structures. What kind of stuff do you like to play?”

“Well–I grew up playing hymns so a few of them have a special place in my heart–but I like to just mess around with pop sometimes. Lately I’ve really taken a liking to learning picking patterns from folk artists.” Jin turned the wheel to start up the winding road towards the hotel and estate.

“Any in particular?” Y/n nestled the fruit container back into the bag.

Jin hummed, his fingers pattering against the steering wheel beneath them. “Jimin introduced me to Hozier and Noah Kahan. He’s been trying to get me into a few others that I can’t remember the names of if I'm being honest.” He chuckled.

“Ooo! And those are the picking patterns you’re learning?” Y/n eagerly asked, turning her body to see his face a bit better.

He tilted his head and scratched behind his ear. “Yeah.”

“You have to play for me then. Hozier makes me swoon.” Y/n clapped her hands together and bounced in her seat with excitement. Jin just nodded, the tips of his ears glowing in the early evening sun.

Y/n’s phone buzzed at her side, and she pulled it out to check her notifications–having almost completely forgotten about the texts she had sent the group chat.

[Joon 🌱]: We will talk about it later. Long story short: Shit is confusing.

_________________________________________

The dining room had all of the chairs pushed back into place as if no one had disturbed it for lunch. Y/n and Jin waded through the room and into the kitchen to drop off all of the groceries with Taehyung tracking in after them from the study where he had been waiting for their return. Jin excused himself momentarily to park the car, leaving the two younger ones to paw through the bags with few instructions on what to do afterwards.

Taehyung pulled out the hefty container of red strawberries and smirked up at her over the lid.

“Is this you trying to flirt with me?”

“What?” The color drained from Y/n’s face. “No! I mean–I thought about what you had said and wanted to keep your interests in mind–plus a strawberry dessert sounded good. With summer coming around the corner and-”

Taehyung cut her off with a ring of warm laughter. “I was just teasing.”

Y/n mentally facepalmed at herself. So much for not letting them all get under her skin so easily.

“I knew that.” Y/n evaded meeting his gaze, and settled her own intentions on pushing back into the dining room to snag their family recipe book from the hutch. Y/n crouched onto down to the bottom shelf opposite of their stash of boardgames, and grabbed at the small dangling handle that kept slipping through her fingers each time she went to grab for it.

“C’mon…” Y/n muttered to herself under her breath. Y/n silently cheered when her fingers finally caught on the delicate metal hook and with a jerk she popped the door open.

A blast of cold air billowed out from within the cabinet and knocked her backwards. Y/n caught a clipping image of a small child curled in on themselves within the dark crevice, their face shielded by their own small sickly arms. Their small body trembled from its hiding place, and brought shaky eyes up to meet Y/n’s. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, their gazes locked onto each other with near equal expressions of fear. The girl’s eyes were the most striking: One of them a normal, quivering brown; the other was void and sunken in on itself. Black like the malevolent ghosts she had seen on multiple occasions. The child raised shaking hands up towards Y/n in a puny grab for her shirt, except her hands never made contact with their target. They cowered back into the girl's chest that convulsed with each panicked inhale. They lurched forward, Y/n scarcely having time to dodge the child's advancement. But she didn’t seem to care that she had missed. She crawled past Y/n with bestial speed and out into the hall where Y/n could no longer see her.

Y/n frantically pulled at the cookbook from the shelf, and dashed back into the kitchen where Taehyung was finishing up the last few things Jin had instructed of them. The door swung closed behind her, and Y/n glued her lips shut to keep her perturbation from being noticeable to her companion. He didn’t cast a glance her way yet for his head was buried in a cabinet at his feet. Y/n heard the clambering of mixing bowls and metal measuring cups as he sorted through them.

“The door give you trouble?” His call was muffled by the sounds his hands were making.

“Huh?” Y/n blinked a few times at his crouched figure, and back at the book in her hands. “Y-yeah. The door. The handle is way too small.”

“I’ve been up Yoongi’s ass about replacing them but it’s not on his radar.” Taehyung stood with two large mixing bowls, and a stack of measuring cups in his arms. He kicked the door closed with his foot and spread the items onto the island’s surface.

Y/n shook her head of her startling experience, and forced herself forward with normal paced steps. Act normal! She reprimanded herself when she approached the counter, slamming the overfilled book down onto it.

“I see strawberries and cream.” Taehyung circled the counter, his hands stopping on each ingredient as he listed them. “Butter, flour, sugar….A cake of sorts?”

“Strawberry shortcakes. But my Great grandmother’s style.” Y/n’s fingers felt stiff pulling open the cover and flipping through the pages. A bunch of loose leaf handwritten pages had been added in between the laminated ones, drawing Y/n’s attention to the numerous new additions. “Chai latte cupcakes?”

“That one is mine.” Taehyung’s eyes followed the turn of each page. “I added a lot of new stuff to it–your mom said I could. Anything people liked I would put in here.”

Y/n flipped through to the middle of the book, finding the recipe she was looking for.

“Have you ever tried to make this one? It’s pretty simple but it’s one of my favorites.” Y/n clicked the binder rings open and extracted the page. “You make it in this tube pan, and cut it into circle slices. Almost like small personal cake layers. But what makes it my favorite is that the cake gets this crust on the edges that tastes like a sugar cookie.” Y/n poured her anxiety into rambling, but Taehyung didn’t seem to mind and listened to her description with captivated interest.

“We can get a head start while we wait for Jin.” Taehyung took the laminated page out from between her fingers and laid it on the counter between them, taking a step closer to her. “Lead the way.” He gestured to the array of ingredients in front of them with a lick of his lips, and coy smirk.

Y/n didn’t think he understood that she would take that literally, because she immediately took charge. Delegating him to whisk the dry ingredients while she took the fats and liquids, burying herself in the task at hand. Jin had only taken two steps into the kitchen before she was giving him a task without her needing to look up from the mixer she had been messing with.

“Jin, can you preheat the oven to the temperature listed on the recipe?”

“Yeah.” He agreed willingly, moving to one of the ovens to fiddle with the nobs.

Y/n figured out how to get the new mixer going, and shuffled around the kitchen to look for the command panel for the lights and electronics within the kitchen and dining room.

“Anyone have any suggestions for music?” Y/n glanced back at the two from over her shoulder, doing her best attempt at easing away any remnant shock. She could process the experience and her entire day later. Right now simply wasn’t the time. “The silence makes me antsy.” She finished when neither of them had moved.

“Any classics are fine with me.” Taehyung piped up, shaking a dust cloud of flour that plumed out of a large tub and into his face.

“Jin?”

Jin had taken her spot supervising the stand mixer, and gestured with his eyes to Taehyung. “He’s more picky than me. I’m fine with anything as long as he doesn’t whine about it.”

“Hmm. Okay let me see what we have here.” Y/n pulled up her phone and swiped out of the group chat where she had left off to open one of her playlists. She tapped on one that was a good hodgepodge of old and new to appease everyone, and let it play in the background.

Her eyes caught an nearly imperceivable wrinkle of Taehyung’s nose as a pop song played over the speakers, effectively droning out Y/n’s thoughts with a bouncing beat and with electronic overlay. Y/n slid back over next to Jin to take note of how the butter looked, her head bobbing in time with the song. Jin’s finger’s tapped in sync with her movements on the counter’s edge. She stretched across the counter for the eggs and vanilla, passing them to Jin to add in to the mixture.

“What, do you not like Charli?” Y/n scoffed at Taehyung, sweeping behind him to find a teaspoon.

Taehyung made a face, and shook his head. “I don’t like most pop music.”

“He’s a purist when it comes to music.” Jin poked fun at the younger man, sharing a knowing look with Y/n.

“Ahhh I get it.” Y/n tossed Jin the teaspoon. “Well there are some oldies in here for the geezer. Don’t worry~” She rounded back to Jin’s side with a giggle.

Even though Taehyung had made his disdain for ninety-percent of the modern songs that appeared on the playlist, he never made any malicious comments about any of them. Sticking to making small faces or furrowing his eyebrows when a section or verse he particularly didn’t care for came on. But he was a good sport about it, which Y/n appreciated.

The cake was in the oven engulfing the three of them in its sweet and rich aroma. The three of them stood huddled around the counter with paring knives and copious amounts of strawberries for them to quarter. A basin of a pot in front of them to hold all of the cut fruit. Anytime a song came on he didn’t get, he would make sure to question it.

“But what is a brat in this context?” Taehyung asked his probably tenth inquiry about Charli XCX.

Y/n huffed out a sigh, and paused her slicing. “I’ve already explained this to you. It means messy–Like you don’t care.”

“Alright–geez I’m just trying to understand.” He held his hands up in a surrender.

“Well you sound like an old man.” Jin chided as he picked up his next strawberry.

Taehyung looked taken aback. “Look who’s talking.”

Jin fluttered his lashes back at the two of them. “Who–little old me?” His face dropped into a scowl and he raised the tip of his knife to point at the other man. “At least I know who Taylor Swift is.”

“Enough you two.” Y/n rolled her eyes and tossed her cut fruit into the pot. “Keep one container aside to top them with. I’m going to start cooking these down.”

They split into three different jobs after that to divide and conquer the last of the cake. Taehyung designated himself to making the whipped cream, Jin stayed slicing the fresh strawberries for decoration, and Y/n honed in on making sure none of the strawberries stuck to the bottom of the pot. Once the cake was out of the oven they kept it in the tube to cool, and set aside the cooked down berries to call it quits since they couldn’t prepare the rounds until they were to be served. They decided to move onto preparing dinner (not after they individually had to taste test the whipped cream with stolen fresh strawberries ‘just to be sure’ it was good).

This is where Taehyung took up dish duty from all the baking to make way for the next wave, leaving the cooking to Y/n and Jin. During their extended time spent in the kitchen, Y/n hadn’t heard a single other one of her friends wandering through the house–not that she necessarily would be able to over their music. It felt odd not having Jungkook around, or not having seen Namjoon since they had separated that morning. Perhaps the change in schedule was also discombobulating her more so than she already was.

Dinner was a quiet affair, even if the table was full. Everyone was present–Even Yoongi. To say tensions were high was an understatement of the century. Taehyung, Jin and Y/n tried to carry the conversation for the most part. Jimin only chimed in occasionally, making a point to exclude the other side of the table entirely that Y/n wasn’t on by turning his entire body when he spoke. Particularly the side that had Hoseok, Jungkook and Yoongi in one row. She looked back on what Jin had said about it not being a very serious debacle, but she sincerely doubted it. The hostility–even though concealed–was apparent.

Y/n felt even more disturbed when no one had dived in with what would be their normal levels of enthusiasm to dessert. It made Y/n feel suffocated in her seat. The stunning pile of strawberries and fresh cream that Taehyung had meticulously curated on her plate was not as appetizing as it had seemed a few hours prior. Y/n felt her eyes glaze over as she zoned out, her eyes drilling holes into one rather large strawberry on her plate.

“This is delicious. Thank you guys.” Namjoon took his chances breaking the silence, probing at the others seated at the table with harsh eyes. His stern tone elicited an ensemble of murmured gratitude, yet still no one said much else. Namjoon stabbed at his next bite with more force than necessary, his teeth scraping on the fork as he pulled it from his lips.

Namjoon gave them all another once over, and nodded in approval. The look he gave her afterwards was apologetic, then he dug into his next bite. Y/n risked a teensy glance at Yoongi, who looked just as lost as she felt. Their eyes met, and he made a face in her direction that made surprised laughter bubble up and into her drink, which she covered with a few coughs. No one had seen the interaction thankfully, but Y/n still managed to catch the ghost of a smirk on his face as he brought a chunk of cake to his mouth.

_________________________________________

Y/n ran back up to her room to grab the notebook she had scribbled her dream down in, jotting down her ghostly experience from the dining room in there with haste. She snapped it shut, blocking out the clumsy handwriting by tossing it into the brown paper bag to take over to Yoongi’s room. Y/n whirled back to her desk to grab her makeshift family tree but was stopped in her tracks by the sudden realization that she no longer had it. She had left it with Jimin. Y/n prayed he hadn’t thrown it away yet–but didn’t dwell on it. She should be able to remember who she had crossed out when the new one he was ordering for her comes in. A waste of an all nighter though, Y/n thought with a grimace.

Y/n rounded the door of her room, checking if Yoongi’s door was unlocked and letting herself in. She plopped the bag onto his bed, not wanting to mess up whatever he had been working on before he joined them for dinner–pencils and large sheets of paper splayed across the wooden surface. The paper was etched with a loose outline of what looked like the bones of a building, the lines were neat and faint, signaling that he had only just started. She sank into his chair to wait for his arrival, still feeling twinges of awkwardness to sit on his bed without asking. She shot a rushed text to the group chat about having to use the terrace on their side of the building to come across without being seen. Namjoon just reacted to the message with a frowny face, but Jungkook didn’t make it known whether or not he had seen the message.

“Jesus christ–” Yoongi jumped a few inches into the air at the sight of her. “Didn’t expect you to already be here.”

Y/n sent him a weak smile. “Impatient. There’s a lot to go over today.”

Yoongi scrunched his face up in suspicion, but withheld any remarks he had ready to pull. He kicked his shoes off and wandered up to the desk behind her.

“Can I put these away?” He gestured with a hand to the thrown about papers on his desk behind her.

“Why are you asking me? It’s your room.” Y/n scooted the chair out of the way for him to go through and file them nicely into a large folder. She watched as each drawing disappeared, all of them at differing levels of completion. Y/n would have to ask him about them later, when she wasn’t so focused on keeping her mind at ease.

Namjoon stumbled in through the bedroom door, Jungkook close behind him. Both of them were slightly winded, Namjoon a bit pale in the face.

“Whose idea was it to have us go through the attic of a haunted house.” Namjoon gave them both pointed looks, and Y/n just gave a sheepish shrug.

“Better than climbing through windows to get to the greenhouse.”

“Alright all of you spill. I’m fucking dying here from being kept out of the loop” Yoongi whirred on all of them, a hand on his hip.

“You first.” Namjoon dipped his chin in her direction. “You have the most.”

Y/n sighed, and pulled at the skin of her face. “Where do I begin?”

Y/n just spewed out a recollection of her day on all three of them: her lack of sleep to stay up messing with the family tree, Roland’s confessional, her strange interaction with Jimin and the family tidbits she had been able to gather, her mom lying, the dream, and finally–the ghost of the little girl in the dining room. Y/n finished her long winded spiel (leaving out the bit about her afternoon depressive episode) out of breath and irate again.

Her three audience members processed her onslaught of information in varying states of contemplation. Jungkook still seemed irked by something from lunch for his face was unmoving and stoney as he listened, even when she told of her ghost girl run in. Namjoon took each new piece of information with gravity, sending him further forward into a hunch over his knees.

“‘They call me the devil…’” Yoongi repeated the quote to himself, turning the phrase over and over again. “And you don’t recognize the kid from the hutch at all?”

Y/n shook her head in exasperation. “No. I’ve never seen a single photo of her before.”

Yoongi sighed. “You weren’t lying when you had said there was a lot to go over.”

“I have a terrible feeling we are digging into something much older than just us.” Namjoon commented, his head spinning warily in all directions.

Yoongi hummed. “Well it’s been covered for far too long if it’s causing all of this. Wounds that never heal and all that shit.”

“Why were you alone?” Jungkook grunted from his spot on the floor, his lip ring sucked up into his mouth.

Y/n sunk further into her chair. “It wasn’t on purpose. Taehyung was right there in the kitchen! They’ve never shown themselves like that when someone else was that close to me, or actively spending time with me.”

“I’m not that surprised. We fucked into their territory last night–they will for sure bring out new plays.” Yoongi ran a hand through his hair and addressed the two near his bed next. “Now what happened with all of you guys? Dinner was awful.”

Jungkook shifted in his spot, and brought a hand up to pick at his fingers but didn’t appear to have any intentions of commenting. Namjoon pressed his lips in a firm line at Jungkook’s silence, puffing out a breath with a shake of his head.

“I guess I’ll do the honors.” He threw a glare in Jungkook’s direction, but Y/n could tell he wasn’t truly angry with him. “It started with a comment from Hoseok. They had sat next to each other and he had said something to Jimin about ‘keeping his hands to himself’. I thought it was just one of his jokes since Jimin is left handed and whenever they sit close their elbows constantly bump. I’m not sure if Jimin was just already pissy or what–but it didn’t land well. Jimin threw it right back at him and then it just devolved from there. They threw accusations at each other that didn’t make any sense to me. Jungkook tried to get to Jimin but he snipped at him too. Everyone was too scared to step in after that–you know how scary Jimin can get when he’s truly angry. Thank god you woke up when you did, otherwise they might have blown up the table and dragged everyone else into it.”

“You have to have more details than that…” Y/n drew out her disbelief, and analyzed both of their faces for anything further.

“Like I said, their accusations made little sense to me! It happened so fast, give me a break…”

“Jimin wasn’t alone.” Jungkook declared, dropping his hands onto his lap to finally look at everyone else. “Someone was with him at lunch. They stood over his shoulder the entire time–but I couldn’t see who it was. Just a figure.”

“That little shit.” Yoongi scoffed. “I always thought I could see something floating in his orbit, that’s why I was so surprised he turned me down when I had asked him to help last year.”

Y/n looked up at where Yoongi stood with furrowed brows. He had asked Jimin to help? If he had turned him down, why did he send Y/n to Yoongi for help?

“Do you think he knows about it though? If he can’t see it then how would he know?” Y/n tried to offer up her thoughts, not willing to believe anything else. Jimin didn’t feel like a threat–cryptic and confusing, sure–but a threat…not the Jimin she remembered.

“I don’t know. He didn’t acknowledge it. But it was there again at dinner.” Jungkook turned his eyes down towards his lap once more.

“What if it’s trying to hurt him?” Y/n gave them each a panicked look. “You did say that if we meddled it could start to affect the others.”

Namjoon cut in. “I can try and talk to him. Maybe convince him to take some kind of plant with a made up excuse. I know for sure he’s not a skeptic, so he might be receptive to it depending on what angle I go at it from. His response should give us a good read on the situation.” The rest of the onlookers seemed to agree to Namjoon’s plan. They brewed up the suggestion of Namjoon offering some kind of protective charm with the explanation that he had made one for himself to help with the house spirits, and wanted to offer one to anyone he knew believed in the paranormal. This discussion opened the floor back up to what happened the day prior, and what they would do about it next.

“I think before we send you in there again to meander around, a few things should happen first.” Yoongi addressed the three of them. “For starters, we need to get comfortable sending you in and bringing you back out. I personally don’t feel comfortable just sending you in there without the confidence in knowing we can pull you out quickly if things get hairy. Which means no wandering around and out of the room on your own just yet.”

“Agreed.” Namjoon nodded, referring to Y/n with a stern look.

Y/n shook her head rapidly at the silent accusation, to show she offered no means of resistance to the suggestion. “I know you expect me to fight back–but trust me–I agree. I bit off more than I could chew yesterday. It would make me feel more confident if I could know for sure how to escape.” Y/n’s shoulders slumped forward. “I just wish there was a way to make the transition easier and not like I’m getting the life sucked out of me every time.”

Namjoon bit his cheek meditatively, his eyes looking aimlessly about the room while musing her complaint over in his brain. “You said it almost felt like falling asleep?”

Y/n huffed a humorless laugh. “For only a second. Then it’s like my brain is being ripped out of my skull.”

“I’m just thinking…” Namjoon crossed one foot over his knee. “I know this is more your territory Yoongi but if I can take a crack at a different method?” He looked up at where Yoongi stood deep in thought, his eyes asking for permission to continue.

“By all means.” Yoongi shoved his hands into his pockets and perched close to Y/n on the edge of his desk. “Carry on.”

“Well, Valerian is safe to ingest if it’s cooked. Specifically it’s used often in teas or boils for sleep or injury. I wonder if we can find a few others with similar properties and–as terrible as this may sound at face value–try to put you to sleep instead of sending you in while you’re awake?” Namjoon took in all of their faces, each in their own various states of skepticism. “Because you said it already made you tired–that’s probably the Valerian. If I make a specially brewed tea that could put you in a trancelike state, it is more of a controlled substance than just willing you in. And in turn, we could make a counter tincture or tea to “wake you up”.” He held up both hands to make air quotes. “Hell, we might even be able to send in more than one of you if you led the way first; or even try and find a way so you can all be in the same trance and see what’s going on.”

Jungkook’s eyes sparked, whipping his head around to look at Namjoon with newfound vigor. “How many of us?”

“I don’t know.” Namjoon twitched his nose and scratched at his chin. “Maybe all of you? I haven’t made it yet.”

“How soon could you have this tea?” Yoongi urged.

“Give me at least a day to try and come up with a recipe. Hopefully I have all the ingredients on hand that I’d need. Otherwise I’ll need to acquire them from somewhere.”

“Why don’t we work on both methods then? Keep pushing with what we were already doing while you conjure up the tea? It wouldn’t hurt to have two methods under our tool belts for emergencies. Especially since we can’t verbally communicate with each other while I’m gone.” Y/n reasoned, looking at Yoongi for his thoughts.

“Sounds good to me.” He sprang into action, weaving through the people in his room to get to his wooden chest. “Let’s start now.”

It was becoming second nature; setting up the cloth, wards, and candles in the right order. Y/n had her hands at the ready with her herbs from her bag to drop into the bowl Yoongi held up for her, and her necklace was still clasped around her neck (not that she ever bothered taking it off). Namjoon took to pouring through the books Y/n had stacked in her room that he had let her borrow, a ripped out page balanced on the back of a fiction novel to write notes down on when he came across something that might work. Y/n and Jungkook waited patiently for Yoongi to close all of the pouches and bags, their hands lightly intertwined on the ground next to them.

“When you looked through the family tree, did anything speak out to you? Besides the empty spaces.” Yoongi breathed out, his torso contorted to the side to clasp the lid shut.

“Not really, no. It just looked like a family.” Y/n answered.

“I’m just trying to think ahead–clearly there is something on the other side that is working with your mom, and has started getting worse within our lifetime. The ghost behaviors that we’ve noted express that openly. If we can try and pinpoint where to start looking perhaps we can send you in with the intention to find someone in particular.” His eyes turned heavy once they regarded Y/n, and she assumed he might have someone in mind to start with. And she might already know who that was. “Once your new copy gets in we can use that to document whether each person you find is…” Yoongi trailed off, his lips pursed.

“Mean and goopy?” Y/n offered up, her voice raising an octave. Jungkook stifled a laugh and Yoongi let his choppily fall from his lips. “Or maybe mean and demonic…”

“Yeah. Mean and demonic sounds better.” Yoongi turned forwards and inched his hands out to the two in front of him. Jungkook didn’t fight it, grabbing it without a fight. Y/n did the same.

“We will have to come up with a better name that’s more concise.” Namjoon cast a brief glance up from the paper at the three.

“No, I think it fits perfectly.” Y/n chuckled up at him. “We can use the acronym M.A.D.”

“Huh. I actually like that one.” Namjoon jotted down another note on his paper.

Yoongi made a short sound in the back of his throat. “Alright enough comments from the peanut gallery. I’m trying to work here.”

“Yeah cause you shared earlier today that you do a lot of that…” Jungkook’s voice rose in a teasing jab. Y/n had to suck in her lips to keep herself from laughing.

“Enough you two.” Yoongi rolled his shoulders back and let his eyes close. “You’re going to give me a headache.”

_________________________________________

They had successfully sent her across the veil, and gotten her out a total of three times. Each attempt had gotten more difficult than the last as their energy depleted at an accelerated rate. When they finished, it was communally agreed that Yoongi and Jungkook would try to work on their psychic abilities to fill in the noticeable gaps their natural abilities left. Yoongi wanted to work on his sight and sound while Jungkook entrusted himself to work on touch, in hopes to avoid wasting time if she were ever to be in danger again. To Jungkook’s disappointment, Yoongi offered to walk Y/n back to her room even though Namjoon and the younger one would walk right past her door on their way to the attic entrance.

Y/n took up the corner of his bed while she waited for him to get everything squared away underneath it. He had never insisted on walking her back before, and Y/n had a simmering suspicion that he had something he wanted to talk about privately. Whatever it was made him nervous. His hands that were usually nimble from his days working with screws and wires fumbled often with the clasps and locks, and his breathing was controlled yet louder than it would normally be. A sign he was forcing itself to stay regulated.

“What is it that you wanted to talk about away from the other two?” Y/n bit the bullet, tired of watching him drop the small key and struggle to pick it back up.

He froze, his black eyes locking with hers and his face contorted into a forced deadpan.

“Am I that obvious?”

Y/n snorted, and brought her hands into her lap to fiddle with her fingers. “Yeah. Maybe your psychic stuff is wearing off on me, or maybe it's the fact that I’ve watched you drop that poor key four times now.”

Yoongi sat back on his haunches, having given up on trying to lock the lid closed. He ran both hands through his hair twice and sucked in a large breath. His gaze scoured her face, and she felt a cool mist of his energy brush against her own.

“I think you might know what I want to ask of you. And Jungkook would eat me alive if I made the request in front of him.” He let his tongue drag to the corner of his lips and sit there while he waited for her response.

“I have a guess.” Y/n’s attention plummeted to her wringing hands. “Can I ask why?”

“The energy really started changing after her, Y/n and we al know it. I think whatever all this is might have fed off of the energy her loss created, and maybe if we can try and reach her we can use her as a stepping stone. She might not fight you as hard as she fights me.” Yoongi hoisted himself up, and spun to lower himself down onto the bed next to her. “I won't make you do it. I know her death was hard on all of us–but you the most. If I can figure out how to do it, I will go do it myself instead. Don’t force yourself to do something you aren’t ready for.”

Y/n didn’t know how to feel, or whether or not she was ready. She figured at some point she would have to see her again. Noting what she had learned from Jimin that morning, she was well aware that she would be seeing a lot more than just her sister. The bloom of grief welled up in her chest, yet this time it coupled with indignation; a swell of twined emotions both old and new. For whatever personal gain her mother was meddling into this for, she had tossed the rest of them in as collateral. Including her sister. She couldn’t leave her to rot–literally–by herself. Not anymore than she already had.

“You can take some time to think about it. This is once we get comfortable. There’s someone else we can try first that was pretty involved with the incident if that would make you feel more comfortable.” Yoongi took one of his hands and ghosted them over where hers fidgeted in her lap.

“Who?” Y/n looked at him from the corner of her eye, one of her fingers released from her own hold and brushed against his.

He swallowed, retracting his hand from her touch. “My grandfather.”

Y/n pushed back at the memories that threatened to resurface of the day her sister died. She hadn’t let herself replay them in over a decade, even when they tried to break through the walls she built around them she was adamant about pretending they were no longer there. But they were there. They were always there.

“I’ll think about it.” Y/n whispered, lugging herself to her feet. “I should go, I’m getting pretty tired with everything.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to say more, but snapped it closed. “Alright. I’ll watch you walk back.” He stood in his doorway with his flashlight in hand, observing the hall with a scrutinizing gaze as she shuffled back into her own room. It was obvious between the two of them that he could sense her shift in mood, but Y/n was grateful he was letting her have the space to process it on her own.

“Text me if you need anything. I’ll be up late as per usual.”

“Will do.” She nodded solemnly, and slid through a small opening in her door.

Y/n peeled off her clothes to take a quick rinse. What should’ve been a relaxing shower only worsened the weight in her chest. She didn’t want to feel wet–every droplet of warm water running off of her skin in rivets that pierced her to the bone. Jerking the spigot off, she tugged on a pair of sleep shorts and a t-shirt and sped off to the sanctuary that was waiting for her under the covers.

They felt itchy and cold instead of soft and welcoming as it should have. Y/n knew she shouldn’t, but her eyes kept being pulled as if by the magnetic pull of her repressed emotions to her closed closet door. She could feel the box of photos calling to her–hear her sister’s shrill demonic cries from her dream. Her laughter. Her hugs.

Y/n pressed the heels of her palms into her eyelids to keep the tears at bay. She needed to get a better control of her emotions, or else she’ll become a self fulfilling prophecy that her mother had condemned her to the day she had sent Y/n running with her tail between her legs.

Her mother.

The memories knocked harder on the front of her mind, barging their way to the surface where she wished more than anything that they wouldn’t. In spite of her wishes, she was helpless against the torrent of images and sounds that bubbled to the surface of her consciousness. She couldn’t hold them back any longer. It was better now than in front of anyone anyways.

And so she remembered.

______________________

July 5th 2008, 4:38am

Y/n shuddered at the feeling of the cold floor hitting the soles of her feet. It wasn’t a necessarily detested sensation, for her the heat had made her kick off the blankets hours before in a fit. She rubbed her eyes, slinking through the drab and shadowy lighting of the early morning past her sister’s bed and into their shared bathroom. The door was kept slightly ajar while she washed her hands, her eyes tracking the beam of light out into their room and where it draped over the edge of Matilda’s bed. The sheets discarded in a similar fashion to her own. Y/n poked her head around the door, to check on whether or not she was also awake–for maybe if she was, they could sneak down the hall to the playroom and distract each other with dolls and figurines while they waited for everyone else to wake up in their own time.

Her bed was empty.

Y/n huffed, thinking perhaps Matilda had heard Y/n going to the bathroom and hid away somewhere to jump out and scare her when she least expected it. Y/n decided to get the upper hand. She tiptoed around the bed, falling flat on the floor to peer beneath the metal frame. Her eyes only found storage bags of stuffed animals, and totes of polly pockets and dolls. Y/n scrunched her nose up, and scrambled to her feet and over to the closet. She swung the door open with a whispered “Gotcha!”.

However there was still no Matilda.

Her hand slid down the edge of the door, deflated at the discovery–or lack there of she supposed. Y/n took hesitant steps back to give her room a good once over, dragging her eyes across each surface, each little nook and cranny her sister might’ve possibly squeezed herself into. She came up with the same result her first two searches had, which meant for certain that she wasn’t in their room at all.

Sneaking down the dark hall to the glass doors of the playroom, her heartbeat started to pick up speed. Y/n hated walking around the halls at night by herself but she had to find her sister. It was her job to keep track of her. The shadows felt heavy as they closed in around her, like each step was being tracked by someone just out of sight. Y/n spun her head in all directions and found no source of the feeling.

Y/n swiftly crept back in the direction of her room, keeping her steps light as to not wake G-min across the hall. He wasn’t her target. Her quick knocks roused her neighbor: a grumpy faced Hoseok with his eyes nearly glued shut with sleep.

“Do you know what time it is Ducky?” His voice was muted by the pout stuck on his mouth.

“I can’t find Matilda, and I’m too scared to look by myself.” Y/n leaned into his face. “The ghosts feel icky.”

Hoseok shook his head with a disapproving stare. “You’re such a pain in my butt sometimes.” Regardless of his obvious discontent with her request, he stepped out into the hall to join her.

Y/n was able to complete the trek to the playroom with Hoseok now by her side, for he made the shadows prickle less against her skin. They both pulled back the sheer curtains to press their small faces up to the glass panes separating the two of them from the pitch black playroom. The absence of lights in there made it apparent quickly that she wasn’t in there either.

“Maybe she went to sleep with Schwan?” Y/n peeled her face from the now fogged up glass.

Hoseok pulled back straight as well, giving her an animated shrug. “Let’s check.”

Y/n repeated the same brief explanation she had done with Hoseok on Amelia, just this time with an ounce more panic. After confirming Matilda was not in their eldest sister’s room, Amelia joined in the search–no matter how her teeth chattered with stress–she wanted to help. They darted across the hall to examine the ballroom from above through the glass windows across from Amelia’s room, and had no luck there.

They huddled together to descend down the stairs with as good a controlled volume as a group of children can manage. Hushed words of complaint at the others noise levels floating up to the landing and down both of the halls. Thankfully, it was early enough for the house to be oblivious in their beds. Well–almost everyone.

“What are you guys doing?” Jimin’s voice cracked from above them, his upper body hunched around the railing to give them a sour scowl. The three on the stair landing traded glances, a look of shame shared between them.

“Did we wake you?” Amelia, furtive and apologetic, called up to him.

Jimin rolled his eyes and skipped down the stairs to where they stood huddled. “You guys were being way too loud for me not to.”

“We are looking for Matilda.” Y/n governed them forward, not waiting for him to reach their side before descending the rest of the stairs.

“I heard.” Jimin gave them each a moody glare, and followed Y/n down to the foyer. “I’ll help.”

In thirty minutes they had checked each room (outside of the parent’s bedrooms) of the first floor. Under every table and desk, behind every curtain or couch, and in every closet. Y/n’s heart dropped into her stomach and dread swirled like smoke in her chest at the impact of its fall. After the kitchen and the waking of her mother, Y/n stood frozen in time where Mariah had left them to hurry back into her room with her eyes locked on the small crack in the front door.

Matilda wouldn’t have ever gone out by herself.

Even though earlier that morning thirty minutes had felt like nothing during their search, it was made apparent that a lot can happen within that time frame. For example, what was once a moderately quiet and dark house on a peaceful Saturday morning had devolved into chaos. Each room glowed for every light had been turned on, and every person had joined in on the search of the house. And now after that grueling half hour, every family unit stood intermingled on the front lawn while they were split into smaller groups to fan out into the woods and down to the hotel.

The sky was turning a pale grayish-blue when Y/n was settled next to G-min, her father, Jin and Mr. Jeon. Her mother and Hye-won–Mrs. Min–insisted that the children shouldn’t be a part of the search, but none of them were willing to stay behind. Jungkook, Amelia, and Mariah stayed back at the estate to explain the situation to the waves of law enforcement that trickled in. Her mother struggled through the story each time, unable to keep herself together through her hysteria.

“I told her she couldn’t watch the fireworks last night. She had been misbehaving. I think she went out on her own–we were going to watch tonights!”

The rest set off in all directions on foot.

The sound of different calls of Matilda’s name haunted the air from all directions, barraging against Y/n’s eardrums as a sinking reminder that she had failed. She had failed to find her on her own like she was supposed to. Her refusal to quit kept pushing her forwards through the brush alone, something pulling her forwards with no direction in mind. She could hear her own name now being called in tandem with Matilda’s as her search team realized she had slipped away from them to follow her own path.

“Y/n!” Jin’s lanky frame came up to tower beside her, grabbing at her arm. “Come on, we are supposed to be looking somewhere different. The cops are going to take the woods.”

“I don't care.” Y/n pulled her arm from his grasp and trudged onwards.

Jin stayed after her, on alert for any sign of the rest of their group. “I mean it Y/n. We shouldn’t be here.” He paused, raising an arm above his head. “Over here!”

“Y/n! That’s enough.” Her father gripped underneath her arms and lifted her off of her feet and into the air. “We need to check the historical society. We can’t waste time looking for you too.”

“No!” Y/n pried herself from his hold. “I think I know where she is.” Y/n set her stern gaze on her father, her breath coming out in pants and her stubbornness taking hold.

“She wouldn’t.” Anselm’s stare matched her intensity.

Y/n ignored him, plowing onwards on the path towards the lake with Jin stumbling after her. She could hear Sanghun murmuring words of comfort to her father, sharing that Jungkook had also had outbursts when dealing with the passing of his mother, and to let her do what she needed to in order to get through the day. Thus the three older men let her finish her path after making a quick call on a small flip phone to one of the other parents to take over the historical society. None of them actually believed that they would find anything at her desired destination.

But Y/n knew she would find her there. She could feel it. She just hadn’t expected how she would’ve found her.

As they crested the slope down to the dock, Y/n’s eyes caught the vibrant colors of her sister's pajama set gliding across the surface of the lake. Unmoving. Y/n’s world crumbled beneath her feet at the brief glimpse she caught of her sister’s lifeless body buoying a few yards out from the dock.

Her line of sight was abruptly shuttered by Sanghun’s shoulder where he scooped her up. Her own cries melded together with the screams of her father. As Mr.Jeon ran back up the slop with her head pressed into his arm, she snagged brief images of a green faced Jin turning to follow them, and her father splashing into the lake fully clothed with reckless abandon.

What confused Y/n the most however, her sobs catching in her throat, was that she saw her sister: alive and moving behind G-min. Her small hands urgently tugging on his tracksuit jacket that whipped out from her hand from the speed that he pulled his phone from his pocket. His mouth moved at inhuman speed with how fast he spilled a description of the situation to a 911 operator.

“We found her body.”

Y/n struggled to free her arm from Sanghun’s hold, reaching out to where Matilda stood. No. No. She was right there! She wanted to yell at all of them to turn around and grab her. The words were stuck in her chest.

“GÄNSE!” Y/n’s screech out for Matilda ripped from her throat, an unforgettable sound to even her own ears. Matilda’s round and terrified eyes locked onto Y/n at her call, her bare feet moving to run after them–but Y//n was already gone back over the hill and out of sight.

Y/n kicked and screamed the entire way back to the estate. Her bellowing cries echoing around the entire property, drawing attention from any search groups nearby. But nothing could’ve prepared Y/n for the sounds that came from her mother that day.

They didn’t even have to tell her. She took one look at Sanghun’s eyes filled to the brim with remorse and unshed tears and fell onto the study floor in a boneless heap. Shrieking the entire way down in a howling misery. Y/n wasn’t in any better of a state, tumbling out of Mr. Jeon’s hold to stagger towards her mother. Mariah’s arms shot out to grapple desperately for her, pulling Y/n into her lap in a bone crushing squeeze. Amelia joined in shortly after with a similar ringing sob, their mother making room to squish them together with trembling arms.

Misuk had barged through the door at some point and elbowed her way past the officers waiting in the foyer for Y/n’s comment. She dropped to her knees, her heart shaped mouth pulled into a grief ridden grimace and as she threw her arms up and over the three of them. Her thin frame kept the three mourning bodies from falling onto the floor, and sheltered them from the pressing uniformed men from encroaching further into their space. For if there was nothing else for her to do but hold them off a little bit longer, then that's what she would do.

The rest of the day blurred by in a gray haze after that. Everyone in the house had been pulled aside for individual questioning, but nothing raised any suspicions. After reviewing the hotel cameras that clipped near the estate entrance, they could follow the tiny figure waddling in the distance across the lawn and onto the dirt trail to the lake sometime between three-fifty and four in the morning. Almost only thirty minutes before Y/n had woken herself up to use the bathroom. Her death had been ruled accidental. The story being that she must’ve gone to the docks to watch the fireworks on her own in an act of defiance, and that she must’ve slipped on the deck and hit her head on the way down. Their only comfort being that she had to have been unconscious before she sank beneath the surface.

Y/n couldn’t move on from the guilt of letting her down. Maybe if she had woken up a bit earlier she would’ve been able to go with her. Maybe she could’ve pulled her out, or stopped her from falling all together. She should’ve done better.

Flickers of her image lingered long after her funeral. Y/n would see flashes of her in the playroom, or her giggles beckoning her from the closet like she was still in there waiting for Y/n to walk by and scare her. This made letting go only harder. It made it easier to believe there would still be a chance she could return home and into their shared room, and everyone would celebrate and set off as many fireworks as she wanted–just grateful for her to be back. But of course, that wasn’t reality.

She was gone. For good.

Y/n blubbered on her pillow, her chest aching with how deep the wound carved itself into it. Her therapist told her that perhaps she was holding onto the grief and compartmentalizing it away as a means to keep her sister alive in any way possible–even through the pain. And perhaps she was right, Y/n had a terrible habit of holding onto things for far too long. This though, was something she wouldn’t ever let go of. She couldn’t stop the silent cries from shuddering out of her body, at both the thought of Matilda, and the thought of letting it all go.

Y/n threw the covers off her legs, and without thinking tore open her bedroom door to tread on unsteady feet out into the hall. She didn’t want to feel anything anymore and tapping the pressure points has proven useless at this point–she just wanted to sleep. Y/n cowered in the hall in front of a wooden door and waited for the person on the other side to open it, her lip drawn between her teeth to keep any noises in her throat.

Yoongi wrenched his door open, warily scanning his eyes up and down the hall. They stopped on her withering form, sizing up the current state she was in with wide-eyed uncertainty.

“Can I come in for a while?” She croaked. Her hands wrung themselves in front of her in shaky knots.

Yoongi gave a slow, somber nod, and opened the door for her to enter his room that she had just left thirty minutes prior. Except they both understood, wholly so and without question, that a lot could change in just thirty minutes.

_________________________________________

Schwan: Swan

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