#because there is too much to really tag it all

[danysdaughter]

Compromised

pairing | new!avengers!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 10.8k words

summary | sent to infiltrate and execute the new avengers, you never planned on falling for their brooding, self-sacrificing unofficial leader—especially when loving him might just ruin you both.

tags | (18+) MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, rough sex, desperate sex, using sex as a distraction (tool), kind of enemies to lovers? slow burn romance (if 7 months count as slowburn), THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, emotional angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, trauma, betrayal, and emotional manipulation, seduction as manipulation, but also feelings, emotional vulnerability and guilt, mental spiraling / internal conflict, gentle aftercare, bucky needs a break, bucky eventually chooses peace

a/n | chat, I'm actually really proud of this (cue the debby ryan meme), I hated the draft that I was writing then changed it up, and I'm in love with the ending, if I'm allowed to toot my own horn (I love old sayings). anyway based on this request.

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead—too bright, too sterile—and the new “Avengers” sat around the glossy, fingerprint-smudged conference table like a jury no one trusted.

Alexei was slouched back in his chair, arms folded, halfway into a pout and 100% still bitter he couldn’t wear his suit to the meeting.

Yelena was eating out of a bag of off-brand popcorn. Loudly.

Walker sat with both arms on the table, chin lifted just enough to pretend he wasn’t being judged.

Ava was in the farthest corner, half-faded, watching everything and nothing.

And Bucky? Bucky looked like he was calculating how fast he could jump out the window.

At the head of the table stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine—heels clicking, posture stiff, holding a coffee she clearly didn’t like and an attitude sharp enough to slice glass.

Her assistant, Mel, stood beside her. Silent. Tall. Holding a tablet and radiating the vibe of someone who’s seen five too many NDA breaches.

Val tapped the screen behind her.

The monitor flashed up a still from the yesterday’s press conference: Alexei blocking a camera lens with his massive hand while Yelena flipped someone off in the background.

“Let me be clear,” she began, voice sugar-coated poison. “This—this is what the American public now associates with the term ‘Avengers.’”

“Iconic,” Yelena said around a mouthful of popcorn.

“Disastrous,” Valentina snapped.

Mel cleared her throat gently and read, without inflection, “Social media sentiment is currently down 83% across all demos under 35. Trending tags include: #WalmartAvengers, #BudgetCrisis, #YikesTeam, and #WhoEvenIsThat.”

Walker perked up. “Well at least they’re talking—”

“About how pathetic you look,” Val interjected smoothly.

She turned on him. “John, you smile like a campaign ad for expired cereal. You can’t speak without sounding like you’re reading from a teleprompter in hell.”

He blinked.

“Do you even like the team?”

“I—”

“Exactly.”

She pivoted.

“Alexei. I don’t even know where to start with you.”

“I was protecting camera woman!” he protested.

“You were about to throw her into traffic because she got too close.”

“Is not my fault she was squishy.”

Mel, without missing a beat, “Three civil suits pending.”

Val turned.

“Yelena. You flipped off a priest.”

“He was filming me,” she said blandly. “And staring at my chest.”

Val nodded slowly. “And you said, quote, ‘God gave you two hands—use one to hold your phone and the other to go f—’”

“I’m sorry, is there a point?” Bucky interrupted.

Bad move.

Val beamed.

“Oh. Bucky.”

The room got real quiet.

“You were an actual a congressman,” she said sweetly, venom practically dripping. “A congressman. You were on the floor of the House of Representatives, and you still don’t know how to string a sentence together for press.”

He scowled. “I’m not here to charm people.”

“No,” she agreed, sipping her awful coffee. “You’re here to grunt monosyllabically in public like you’re allergic to communication.”

Mel clicked through another slide. “The phrase ‘Is Bucky okay?’ has been trending for 48 hours. Also ‘blink twice if you’re in trouble.’”

Val took another sip of her coffee. Winced. Put it down like it had personally offended her.

“I’m going to be honest—because none of you seem to grasp reality,” she said, stepping closer to the table like a headmistress about to assign detention to six grown adults.

“I don’t know how this team came together. Seriously. You’re all walking liabilities with shiny backstories and anger management issues.”

Alexei raised a hand. “I have good management—”

“You threw a vending machine at a janitor.”

“He insulted Mother Russia.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, slouching deeper in her chair. “You act like you didn’t cause this disaster,” she said. “You sent every mercenary you’ve ever hired to the same mountain and told them to kill each other. That was our team bonding exercise.”

Val didn’t blink. “Great point, but wrong,” she chirped.

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “How.”

“Because I didn’t send all of my mercenaries.”

She straightened, like she’d been waiting to say this.

“In fact,” Val continued, spinning slightly to pace, “there’s one I kept in my back pocket. A… contingency. Someone smart. Refined. Lethal—but good for optics.”

“Sounds fake,” Walker muttered.

“Sounds expensive,” Bob whispered.

“Oh, God, please let it not be another American," Ava added under her breath.

Val ignored all of them. Her eyes lit up like a stage light had just turned on.

“You see, unlike the rest of you drama magnets, this one knows how to handle a camera and a kill order. This one knows how to wear leather without looking like a sex cultist. This one, ladies and gentlemen…”

She turned toward the doors, gesturing with a graceful, almost dramatic sweep.

“…might actually be beneficial to the New Avengers brand.”

Yelena snorted. “God, what a speech.”

Walker leaned back. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Val didn’t miss a beat.

“I would’ve sent her to that little mountain retreat with the rest of you,” she said, voice low, satisfied. “But I didn’t. Because I knew she’d be the only one to walk out of it alive.”

Silence.

Mel glanced at the door, tapped something into her tablet, and said flatly, “ETA: thirty seconds.”

Val smiled.

“Time to meet your upgrade.”

The door opened.

And the entire room fell silent.

You stepped inside like you owned the place—not loudly, not theatrically. Just… completely. Like the room had always been yours and the rest of them were lucky to be invited.

A black suit dress, cut sharp as a razor and cinched at the waist with a leather belt, hugged your frame like it had been tailored by regret itself. Legs for miles beneath it. Heels that made actual noise. The kind of confident click that didn’t just announce you—it warned people.

Hair perfect. Expression unreadable.

You looked like you’d walked off the cover of a Vogue magazine, stopped to kill someone on the way, and still arrived early.

Valentina grinned like a mother presenting her favorite child at a beauty pageant-slash-funeral.

“Everyone,” she said, clearly savoring the effect, as she introduced you.

You smiled. Not a grin. Not a smirk. An award-winning, dazzling, dangerously pretty smile.

And that’s when the team snapped out of it—sort of.

Yelena sat up straighter in her chair and shoved her popcorn aside, her gaze narrowing like she wasn’t sure whether to fawn over you or interrogate you.

Walker’s jaw did something unfortunate.

Bob knocked over his water.

Ava blinked—once, sharp, observant.

Alexei just exhaled, reverent, like he’d seen a vision.

Only Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his eyes?

They didn’t leave you. Not for a second.

Valentina clapped her hands once, sharp and smug.

“Well, don’t all drool at once.”

Yelena leaned forward first, elbow on the table, eyes sharp. “So what—did we order you out of a catalog or something?”

You gave her a half-smile, sultry and lazy. “Would’ve been a premium subscription.”

Walker raised a brow, trying to reclaim some footing. “What exactly is it that you… do?”

You tilted your head slightly. “You mean besides everything you can do, but better?”

He blinked.

“Excellent start,” Val said brightly.

Ava crossed her arms. “She’s too polished. What’s the angle?”

You turned to her without hesitation. “Polished is what you call it when someone doesn’t announce their trauma within thirty seconds of arrival.”

Alexei let out a choked laugh. “I like her.”

“Of course you do,” Yelena muttered.

Bob finally found his voice, though it was somewhere between a whisper and a sigh. “You, uh… you have a codename?”

“Nox,” you said, still smiling. “Like the night.”

Valentina beamed. “See? Magnetic and discreet.”

Ava’s eyes narrowed again. “So you’re here to do what, exactly?”

Before Val could answer, you did. Voice smooth. Impossibly calm.

“Damage control.”

The room went tense.

Bucky’s voice cut through it, low and even. “Whose damage?”

You looked at him then. Met his stare with one of your own. Held it. And smiled—just a little.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

────────────────────────

Service Corridor, Just Before Midnight [3 Months In]

He caught you between meetings.

Not planned. Not really. But Bucky had gotten good at learning your patterns—how you moved through the Watchtower with that unbothered grace, all silence and purpose and elegance wrapped in something almost dangerous.

You didn’t flinch when he stepped into your path. Just looked at him. Calm. Composed. Head slightly tilted like he might be a puzzle piece out of place.

“James,” you said. Voice even. Smooth.

A pause.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Everyone’s already obsessed with you, you know.”

You raised a brow. “And you’re not?”

That threw him. Just a little.

He gave you a half-shrug, like he couldn’t help himself. “I don’t trust you.”

“Good,” you replied. “Means you’re not stupid.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

“Funny,” you said, stepping closer—not threatening, not dramatic. Just enough. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe right.

“Everyone thinks you’re the reformed soldier,” you continued. “Quiet. Broody. Tragic. But I don’t buy that. You don’t keep looking over your shoulder like that unless you think someone’s still coming for you.”

He swallowed once. Hard. “And what—are you?”

“Am I coming for you?”

You smiled.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

The space between you shrank by inches, thick with something sharp and burning. You smelled like danger and something softer—something expensive and clean. And the way you were looking at him?

Like he was a locked file you’d already memorized.

Then, softer—just for him, “You’re different than the others.”

“How?” he asked before he could stop himself.

You stepped even closer, eyes flicking over him like a readout. “Because you know what it’s like to be used. Bent. Broken. Rebuilt.”

You said it without pity. Without fear. Like it didn’t phase you at all.

He looked at you then—really looked. And there was something in his chest that twisted hard.

You leaned in. Close enough for your breath to hit the edge of his jaw.

“But you’re still here.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t dare to touch you.

And then—like it never happened—you stepped away.

Back to your perfect posture. Back to composure. Back to safety.

“Good talk, Sergeant,” you said with a wink.

And you walked away.

Leaving Bucky in the hallway, staring after you, already desperate for another interaction.

────────────────────────

4 Months Ago

The office was dim, filtered in violet and amber light from frosted glass and a skyline too expensive to care about. You stood across from her desk in silence—hands folded neatly, eyes unreadable, your silhouette painted against the city like an omen.

Valentina didn’t look up right away. She was typing. Slowly. Carefully.

Then, without ceremony, she said, “I have a job for you.”

You blinked. “That so?”

She looked up now. Chin high. Lipstick perfect.

“The New Avengers.”

You tilted your head slightly. “The ones you recently just named on live television?”

She gave a humorless smile. “Yes, those ones.”

There was a beat. A pause that settled between you like a blade waiting to be drawn.

“You want me to kill them?” you said flatly.

“I want you to handle them.”

“‘Handle’ as in seduce? Sabotage? Slit throats?”

Val smirked. “Dealer’s choice.”

You didn’t even flinch. “Why?”

She leaned back in her chair, folded her hands over her knee. “Because they’re liabilities. All of them. Unstable, unmarketable, emotionally broken liabilities. Half of them have kill orders from former employers. One of them’s a war criminal. Another literally fades in and out of visibility depending on how she’s feeling.”

“And you made them the face of American heroism?”

“PR move. Politics. Theater. I needed the chaos to stop. Now I need it… cleaned.”

You arched a brow. “So you created your own monster and now you want me to put it down.”

Val’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t be dramatic. I tested them. Now I’m correcting the curve.”

“And why me?”

She stood now. Walked around the desk. Her heels were quiet, but deliberate.

“Because I trust you,” she said. “Because you’re efficient. Elegant. Indisposable.”

You met her eyes.

“And because I know you,” she added, voice low. “You don’t get attached. You finish what you start.”

You didn’t answer right away.

You just let the silence hang.

Then you said, dry as bone, “You really think I can take them all out?”

“I don’t think, sweetheart. I know.”

Another pause.

You glanced at the manila folder on her desk—labeled with the team’s photos. A cross-section of broken people and barely-contained chaos.

You nodded once. “Fine.”

Val smiled. “I knew I kept you for a reason.”

────────────────────────

The Watchtower – Living Quarters, Late Afternoon [5 Months In]

They were spread out across the common room like children too exhausted to cause more trouble. The air was warm. Dimmed light poured in through the angled windows, golden against the muted steel of the Watchtower’s architecture. For the first time in weeks, they weren’t training. Weren’t fighting. Weren’t trying.

And so you watched.

Not because you had to.

Because you couldn’t not.

Yelena was curled sideways across one of the oversized chairs, legs draped over the armrest, eating a half-melted popsicle from a coffee mug like it was a normal thing to do. She was laughing at something Bob said—sharp, bright, uninhibited.

She kept trying to hide her warmth. But it spilled out anyway.

Ava sat opposite her, perched on the floor with a half-disassembled gadget in her lap, fingers working silently. She hadn’t looked up once in twenty minutes. But you could tell she was listening—tracking every conversation, every breath. Her gift wasn’t just stealth. It was restraint. Self-control wrapped in bitterness.

If Yelena burned like a firecracker, Ava was a cold fuse waiting for permission.

Bob had taken the corner of the sectional, crisscrossed like a teenager, a tablet balanced on one knee, a half-eaten sandwich dangling from one hand. He spoke too much. Said too little. But he was sweet. In a world that didn’t reward softness, he still had it. Still offered it.

Which made him the most dangerous one in the room... besides the fact he was a walking bipolar superhuman.

Walker was slouched back with his boots on the table,remote in hand, flipping through channels without watching a single frame. Restless. Bored. Trying too hard not to feel inferior. You knew his kind. Soldiers trained to think they were legends before they ever earned the scars. His righteousness would rot him from the inside eventually.

But you weren’t sure whether he’d burn the world down out of pride—or loneliness.

Alexei had commandeered the entire loveseat and was loudly, badly retelling the story of how he once arm-wrestled a mutant in a Siberian prison. Again.

He told it differently every time.

Today, there were two mutants. And a polar bear.

He was a relic, a fossil with fists, but the strange thing was—he never lied to impress. He believed his stories. Like they were sacred. Mythic. And somehow, that made it easier to let him speak.

You sat on the edge of it all. Legs crossed, drink untouched, eyes half-lidded.

…And then there was him.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The soldier-turned-congressman-turned-reluctant superhero.

He wasn’t like the others. Never loud. Never performative. Always lurking just outside the center of the chaos, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged or if he even wanted to.

You watched him now—seated on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, watching Alexei lie through his teeth for the fiftieth time. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t roll his eyes. Just… watched.

Observant. Withdrawn. Dangerous in the way old scars are—quiet and unflinching.

His face had been sculpted by war, but it hadn’t dulled the beauty. The high, sharp cheekbones. The straight line of his nose. The furrow carved into his brow like regret lived there rent-free. And those eyes—God, those eyes—sad and blue like a glacier swallowing itself.

But it was his mouth that always caught you off guard.

Unnaturally pink. Like it didn’t belong on a man so grave. So heavy with history. Like softness had been stitched into his mouth as a joke.

You weren’t sure what to do with him.

He didn’t speak to you unless he had to. But when he did, it was always measured. Calculated. Like he was searching for something in you he couldn’t name.

There was something pulling about him. Like gravity in reverse.

You didn’t know if you wanted to stab him or fuck him.

Maybe both. Maybe at the same time.

And that unsettled you more than any mission brief ever had.

────────────────────────

Rooftop in Prague.

The rain came down in sheets. You stood at the edge, scope aimed dead-center on Alexei's exposed silhouette as he darted through a broken alley, backlit by gunfire. The kill shot was lined up. He’d never even feel it.

You lowered the rifle.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t fire.

“Target repositioned,” you muttered into the comm.

Your finger never touched the trigger.

────────────────────────

Warehouse In Marrakesh.

Yelena was bleeding from the side, back to a concrete pillar, breath ragged as the wall exploded beside her. You could’ve let her fall. Easy. Clean. Too much noise, not enough cover. Her odds were terrible.

You moved anyway.

Tossed a flash. Dragged her out by the collar. She laughed through a mouthful of blood, saying, “I was handling it.”

“Sure,” you replied, voice flat, pulse louder than the bombs.

You never explained why you’d done it.

────────────────────────

Helicopter Extraction Above Bangkok.

Walker was hanging off the side of the landing rail, barely gripping the bar. The metal was slipping in the rain. Bucky was piloting. Ava was too far. You were closest.

You watched him dangle.

Then grabbed his wrist and hauled him up with a grunt.

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “Thought you didn’t like me.”

“I don’t,” you replied. “You’re heavy.”

He never brought it up again.

────────────────────────

The Watchtower – Your Bedroom

The dossier was spread out on your desk.

Pages torn. Notes scribbled. Photos frayed.

Each marked with opportunities.

Moments you could’ve taken.

Didn’t.

You stared at them in silence. Lips parted slightly. A strange pressure blooming beneath your ribs—one you couldn’t quite place.

Not guilt. Not fear.

Something worse.

Attachment.

You shut the folder. Locked it back inside the drawer.

And told yourself the same lie you always did:

It’s not over yet.

────────────────────────

Somewhere in Eastern Europe, Nightfall

The city burned behind you. Smoke coiled through the rain-slick streets, orange glow flickering against soaked concrete. Gunfire had finally stopped, but the echoes still rang in your ears like the ghosts of enemies who didn’t get out fast enough.

You and Bucky moved as one.

Shoulder to shoulder. No orders. No plan.

Just instinct.

You’d both bled for this one—him from a deep graze on his thigh, you from a cut along your temple—but you hadn’t stopped moving. You never did.

It was the alley, two blocks from the evac point, where it finally snapped.

You pressed your back to the wall, pulse hammering in your throat, blood trickling past your eyebrow. Bucky stood across from you, chest heaving, eyes wild and locked only on you.

No words passed. Just tension. Just truth.

And then he moved.

Fast. Certain.

His hand hit the side of your face, pulling you to him, and his mouth crashed into yours like something that had waited too long to be allowed.

No warning. No hesitation. Just heat.

And instead of reaching for the knife at your thigh—

Instead of taking advantage of the distraction like you'd trained your whole life to do—

You grabbed him by the collar. Fisted the fabric. And devoured his mouth like you’d been starving.

The kiss turned sharp—teeth and breath and need—his metal hand on your waist, the other in your hair, your back hitting the alley wall like it had been waiting for this moment, too.

The blood didn’t matter. The bruises didn’t matter.

Only the way he kissed you. Like he didn’t know if he’d ever get to again.

And the way you kissed him back? Like maybe you wouldn’t let him stop.

────────────────────────

Late Night — Days After the Kiss [7 Months In]

It was never supposed to go this far.

You weren’t supposed to let it.

You’d trained your whole life for control—for the cold clarity of distance, of mission, of orders. You didn’t get attached. You didn’t get close.

And yet—

His hands were on your hips, bruising and reverent all at once, as you moved above him like the war inside you was the only truth left. Your thighs clenched around his waist, slick heat swallowing him again and again, his name bitten off your tongue like something sacred and forbidden.

Bucky.

You weren’t supposed to crave him.

You weren’t supposed to know what it felt like to be wanted like this—devoured like this. His lips had trailed down your collarbone, your chest, worshipped the slope of your neck like he was memorizing a language only your body spoke. He said your name like it was the only word he remembered.

And now he lay beneath you, naked and sweat-slicked, muscles straining, head tilted back in awe as you rocked your hips harder, chasing your release on top of him.

“You weren’t supposed to be this,” you whispered, breathless, the confession splitting you open.

His hands gripped your ass, guiding your pace, mouth parted with a groan that made your spine arch.

“I don’t care,” he rasped. “I don’t fucking care.”

He looked at you like he’d give anything—everything—just to keep you here.

And that was the most terrifying part.

Because you felt it, too.

The break. The fracture. The pull of him inside you—not just physically, but the way his presence cracked something in you you’d spent a lifetime keeping sealed.

Your fingers tangled in his hair. Your hips met his again, harder, faster, like if you just kept moving you wouldn’t have to think. Wouldn’t have to feel.

But you did.

You felt him everywhere.

And the conflict that had haunted you for days—the guilt, the mission, the lie—faded to static when his hands slid up your spine, pulling you down to him, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss so desperate, so hungry, you could’ve drowned in it.

“You ruin me,” he murmured, voice low, trembling.

You didn’t respond. You just kept moving.

Because if you stopped—if you let the silence in—then you’d have to admit the truth,

You weren’t a weapon anymore.

You were his. Even if only for tonight.

Your breath hitched as he thrust up into you again, your hips slamming down to meet him—harsh, unrelenting, perfect. The headboard rattled behind him, a soft percussion against the wall, drowned out by the slick, obscene sounds of your bodies crashing together again and again.

Bucky’s hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your waist, dragging his fingers over the curve of your breasts like he didn’t know what to touch first. His lips were parted, flushed, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you like you were something he was praying to and falling apart under all at once.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head tipping back. “You feel so good—God, you—”

You cut him off with a kiss, crushing your mouth to his, swallowing every ragged sound like it would keep you from shattering. His tongue met yours with the same hunger you were trying to deny, messy and wet and real, your teeth grazing his bottom lip as you rocked harder, faster, chasing the rush that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with him.

He met every grind of your hips with thrusts so deep, so precise, they had you moaning into his mouth, your fingers digging into his chest hard enough to leave half-moons in his skin. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Look at me,” he said suddenly, voice wrecked, one hand curling around the back of your neck to keep you there, close. “Please, baby, look at me—”

You did.

And that was your end.

The way he looked at you—like you were the last thing in the world worth bleeding for—sent a white-hot spike down your spine.

Your body trembled as you fell over the edge, your orgasm tearing through you like a current, your thighs shaking around him, a broken gasp ripped from your throat as you came—hard, clenched tight around him.

Bucky cursed, bucking up into you, desperate and lost.

“I’m not gonna last,” he choked, voice raw as he held your hips down, driving into you faster, deeper, chasing his own high. “I—fuck, I’m—”

“Do it,” you whispered, still breathless, your lips brushing his ear. “Come in me.”

That shattered him.

With a guttural groan, he spilled inside you, hands fisting in the sheets as his hips stuttered beneath yours, jaw clenched, body taut like a drawn bowstring.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing like survivors. His hand cradled the back of your head. Your heartbeat thundered against his ribcage.

And for a moment—just one quiet, burning moment—you let yourself stay there.

In the ruin. In him.

────────────────────────

The light outside was a soft gray, bleeding through the curtains like regret. The room was still. Still humid with the afterglow, your bodies tangled in a quiet that should’ve been peaceful. Should’ve felt like a victory.

Instead, it sat like a blade in your throat.

You lay on his chest—skin to skin, heart to heartbeat—listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breath. He was asleep. One arm loosely slung around your waist, the other resting against the sheets, fingers curled gently inward like he’d been dreaming.

His head tilted slightly down, as if instinctively drawn to you even in unconsciousness. His brow, usually furrowed, had smoothed. And his lips—those soft, ridiculous, obscenely pink lips—were parted just barely, like a secret trying to escape.

You couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop watching him. And that was the problem.

Because he looked so human like this. So real. So unguarded.

You could kill him.

Right now.

Your knife was in the drawer next to the bed. Seven inches of forged steel. You could reach it in half a second. Press the blade to his throat in one. End it all before he even stirred.

And he wouldn’t fight back.

Not like this. Not with the way he held you.

He trusted you.

Fool.

Your chest tightened.

What were you doing?

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be with him. This wasn’t affection. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

You were the contingency plan. You were the weapon Val sent to finish the job.

And here you were—laying on the man you should’ve gutted by now. Letting his breath warm your hair. Letting his heartbeat lull you into a sleep you didn’t deserve.

This wasn’t mercy. This was weakness.

You clenched your jaw. Blinked slowly.

His arm tightened slightly around you in his sleep, like his body knew you were thinking of leaving. Like it would pull you back in even if his mind couldn’t.

And the worst part? You didn’t move. You didn’t reach for the blade.

You just stayed. Hating yourself for it. Hating that you didn’t know why.

His chest rose and fell beneath you, steady as ever. Unaware. Unafraid.

And that only made it worse.

You closed your eyes—but the darkness behind them felt louder than the room. Thoughts crashing like gunfire, one after another.

You were supposed to kill them.

That was the job. That was always the job.

Every decision Val made, every lie you echoed—it all came down to this: infiltration, then execution. Simple. Cold. Efficient.

And they’d made it so easy. They trusted you. All of them.

Bob with his stammering kindness. Ava with her guarded nods. Yelena, teasing you with every spar but pulling you closer with every glance.

Even Walker—dumb, righteous Walker—looked at you like maybe you were the one person who didn’t pity him.

And Alexei… the fool. He already had your name etched in some bizarre corner of his broken heart.

You could end it tonight. Slit throats. Slip poison. Vanish before sunrise.

And yet—

You couldn’t.

Not to them. Not now.

Especially not to him.

You looked up again—his face still soft in sleep, lips slightly parted. Hair tousled across his brow.

The man who should’ve been your first target. The one whose past was wrapped in so much pain, you recognized it in yourself.

You were never supposed to touch him.

But now you knew how he tasted. How he whispered your name. How he looked at you like you weren’t a weapon, or an operative, or a mask.

Like you were worth saving. You could never hurt him.

But you already had.

Every kiss, every touch, every breath you took beside him—a lie.

If he found out—if he ever knew why you were sent here—he’d never forgive you.

And you couldn’t blame him.

It was a no-win scenario. There was no exit that didn’t leave something broken behind.

Tell the truth? He’d turn on you.

Run? He’d never understand why.

Either way, it would end the same—

In ruin.

Because you weren’t built for happy endings. You were built to destroy them.

And he’d never see it coming.

Unless you stopped this now. Unless you left. But you stayed.

Even when every cell in your body screamed to run, to vanish, to disappear before the sun came up and this all became something real.

You stayed.

Because there was no happy ending for people like you—not with him. Not with anyone.

But God, you wanted it. You wanted him.

And that need burned louder than the guilt.

So you shifted—slowly, carefully—until you were hovering above him again, chest brushing his, hair falling forward around your face like a veil of shadows.

His arm was still around you, limp in sleep. His face turned toward you, jaw soft, lashes fluttering against his cheek. He looked younger like this. Human.

Yours. And it hurt.

Your lips brushed his jaw first—light, tentative. Then his cheek. His temple. And finally—finally—his mouth.

A soft kiss. Then another.

He stirred beneath you, lashes fluttering, lips parting as he blinked himself awake.

“…hmm?”

He was groggy. Beautiful. Confused.

You kissed him again—firmer this time, lips trembling now, your hand resting on his chest like it was the only thing holding you together.

And against his lips, you whispered—

“I need you again.”

He blinked, still caught in the haze. “You—what?”

Your hands slid to his shoulders as you straddled him, slipping fully over his waist, grinding down slowly, purposefully. “I just—need you,” you repeated, breath catching. “Don’t ask why. Just… have me.”

His hands found your hips, warm and grounding. His voice was still rough with sleep, but the way he looked up at you—that gaze—it was like you could ask for anything in this world, and he'd be willing to give it.

And you leaned down—pressing your mouth to his again—like it was the only thing keeping you from breaking completely.

Because it was. Because he was.

And even if it would all burn down soon, for now, you could pretend there was something here worth saving.

Bucky was still half-asleep, blinking up at you with those soft, dazed eyes, his voice low and rasped with confusion.

“You okay?” he asked, hands instinctively anchoring at your hips, warm and callused and so steady it nearly undid you.

You didn’t answer.

You just rocked against him once—slow and deep—and watched his lips part with a breathless gasp as your heat slid over him again. Not teasing. Not playful.

Just aching.

“Shit,” he whispered, his brow furrowing, but his hands didn’t stop—they gripped tighter, like he was scared you’d disappear. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You kissed him instead of answering. Pressed your lips to his jaw. His cheek. His mouth. Each one slower, deeper, needier. You weren’t trying to get him hard. You were trying to feel him—to burn every inch of him into your skin like it would somehow keep you from unraveling.

He was already thick and aching beneath you, body reacting to you even if his mind hadn’t caught up.

But it didn’t matter.

You reached between you, lined him up, and sank down slowly—so slowly—with a broken breath that scraped the back of your throat. His hands shot to your thighs, mouth falling open in a groan as your walls fluttered around him.

“Fuck—oh shit—” he hissed, jaw clenched as you took him inch by inch, your nails digging into his chest for balance. “What is this—why now?”

“Don’t talk,” you whispered, voice barely there.

He didn’t. He just watched you. Let you move. Let you set the pace.

And God, you moved like it was the last time you’d ever get to—hips slow and deep, rolling in a rhythm carved from sorrow and want and a need to forget everything else.

Bucky’s hands roamed—your hips, your thighs, your waist. He kissed your sternum. Your ribs. Over your heart. He whispered your name like it was a prayer, trying to read you, trying to understand.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

And still—he gave you everything.

He thrust up just enough to meet you, not rough, not rushed. Just there. With you. Matching your rhythm, matching your breath, letting you take and take and take.

Until your head dropped to his shoulder and your body trembled against his, thighs quivering, your moan caught between a sob and a plea.

His arms locked around you.

Holding you as you shattered again, pulsing around him in a slow, aching climax.

And still—he didn’t ask.

He just kissed your temple. And held you tighter.

Like that would be enough.

────────────────────────

Weeks Later

You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Not just what you did, but how it felt.

And that was the problem. Because it wasn’t just sex.

It was him.

Bucky.

The way he held you. The way he whispered your name like he knew you. The way he looked at you with that stupid, open-eyed devotion, like you hadn’t spent every hour of your life perfecting the art of being unlovable.

And now… you hated yourself for how easily you let him in.

Your unbreakable mask—gone. Your hardened shell—disarmed.

That perfect, glacial facade you built with blood and bone and discipline was slipping more every time he touched you.

And he touched you a lot.

Not just in bed, but everywhere.

His hand brushing yours in passing. That lazy, half-smile he wore only for you. The way his arms curled around your waist at night like he couldn’t sleep without anchoring to you.

It was addicting. And it made you sick.

Because every time you let yourself melt into his warmth—his breath against your throat, his lips pressed to the curve of your shoulder, your bodies tangled beneath sheets—you felt less like a weapon and more like a lie.

He trusted you. And you couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror.

You were supposed to be stronger than this. Sharper. Smarter.

But now all it took was his voice in the dark and his fingers on your skin to make you forget that this was all a fucking trap.

That you weren’t supposed to feel this way. Want this.

Crave this.

────────────────────────

Late Night [10 Months In]

The sheets were a mess. Twisted low on your hips, warm with the heat of two bodies tangled together and wrecked by want.

Bucky’s chest rose beneath your cheek, slow and steady. His arm was wrapped around your back, fingers tracing idle shapes along your spine, like he couldn’t stop touching you even if he tried.

The room was quiet.

But not empty.

He broke the silence first.

“Can I ask you something?”

You didn’t lift your head. “You already are.”

His chest shook with a soft chuckle. “You’ve been on this team for ten months,” he said, voice low, rough with exhaustion but laced with something… earnest. “And I still don’t know anything about you.”

You stayed still, heart tightening.

“I mean—” he continued, “I know you. I’ve fought beside you. Slept beside you.” His hand slid up your back, palm warm. “But I don’t know where you’re from. Or how you got to this point. Or what made you… you.”

You exhaled through your nose. Still didn’t lift your head. “That’s three questions, James.”

“I’m serious.”

“I can tell.”

He sighed. You could feel the frustration in his chest. Not anger—just that same yearning that always bled into his voice when it came to you.

And maybe it was the dark. Maybe it was the warmth of his skin. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t slept in days without him beside you, because of the team's last mission.

But something in you cracked just enough.

“My favorite color’s blue,” you said softly.

Bucky blinked. “Blue?”

“Mhm.”

He smiled at the ceiling. “Okay… blue. What else?”

“I like summer.”

“Yeah?”

“And I’ve always wanted to go to Fiji.”

That made him laugh—soft and surprised, mouth curved against the crown of your head. “Fiji? Seriously?”

“I said I wanted to. Doesn’t mean I ever will.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“You just…” he started, then stopped. His voice was lower now, honest in a way that made your skin itch. “You say things like they don’t matter.”

“They don’t.”

“They do.”

You finally lifted your head.

Looked at him.

And the weight of that gaze—so open, so damn earnest—made your chest tighten in ways you hated.

“I don’t do sentimental,” you said flatly.

He nodded slowly. “Then don’t. Just… let me know you.”

The silence returned. That soft, almost sacred hush that filled the space between your breaths. His fingertips brushed slow circles over your lower back, his heart steady beneath your hand.

Then, softly—almost like it didn’t want to be heard—you whispered, “If I told you all my secrets… you’d probably hate me.”

His hand stilled.

The words hung heavy in the air, and you swore you could hear his heartbeat stutter once. Then,

“I could never hate you.”

He said it so firmly. So damn sure. Like it wasn’t even up for debate.

Like he didn’t care what you were hiding. Like he’d already decided you were still worth loving. And that was too much.

And it hit you square in the chest.

Too deep. Too close.

You couldn’t let it linger.

So you leaned in—lips brushing his, then pressing harder, swallowing whatever else he might’ve said. Your kiss was slow at first, soft and searching—then it shifted. Changed. Turned sharp and demanding.

A distraction.

The best kind.

You kissed him again, your tongue slipping against his as your hand slid down his chest, and then you shifted—swinging a leg over and settling into his hips, your thighs bracketing his waist.

Bucky pulled back with a breathless laugh, still half-caught in the tangle of sleep and heat. “Already?” he murmured, voice low and wrecked, that familiar hunger blooming in his gaze.

“Shut up,” you whispered against his mouth.

And you kissed him again.

Harder this time.

Grinding down slowly, deliberately, feeling him already hard beneath you.

He let out a small grunt, fingers gripping your hips like he couldn’t decide whether to slow you down or help you go faster.

You rolled your hips again, chasing that friction, burying the ache in your chest beneath the ache in your body.

Because this—this—you could control.

This, you understood.

You kissed him again. And again.

Until the words you didn’t say disappeared into the dark.

────────────────────────

A Few Weeks Later

It was quiet again.

That kind of stillness only the early hours knew—when the world outside was asleep and nothing dared to move. The room was cloaked in shadow, the only light spilling from the streetlamps outside, soft and gold against the sheets.

Bucky slept beside you.

One arm wrapped around your waist, his body pressed close, legs tangled in yours like he was trying to become a part of you.

He held you like you were home.

And it broke you.

You watched him, barely blinking, your eyes tracing every line of his face like they were sacred. The furrow in his brow. The faintest scar near his temple. Those lips—soft and parted in sleep, exhaling slow, even breaths.

You wanted to remember him like this.

Wanted to keep him like this.

But that was a fantasy.

And you didn’t get fantasies.

You got orders.

And you’d failed them.

Worse—you’d betrayed them.

And now everything was coming to a head. Every secret. Every night. Every lie you fed into his mouth while he kissed yours like it was salvation.

So you made your decision.

The coward’s way out.

Not a confession. Not a fight. Just… disappearing.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted.

His arm around you was heavy—solid, warm, safe. You held your breath as you lifted it just enough to slip free, your chest clenching at the soft noise he made in his sleep.

His brow furrowed, his body shifting toward yours, almost instinctively trying to pull you back.

You froze.

Waited.

Watched him settle again.

His hand landed on your side, reaching for you like he could sense your absence even in sleep.

You closed your eyes.

Bit your lip.

And pulled away anyway.

Each movement felt like a sin. Your feet hit the cold floor like a finality. You turned, standing there in the dark, watching him one last time.

And for a second, you almost climbed back in.

Almost said fuck it. Almost stayed.

But instead—

You walked out.

And didn’t look back.

────────────────────────

The Next Morning

The first thing Bucky felt was the cold.

A strange emptiness across his chest where there had, without fail, been warmth. Soft, steady breath against his skin. A thigh draped lazily over his own. Fingers curled into his shirt like they belonged there.

But not this morning.

This morning, there was only space.

He blinked awake slowly, groggy and disoriented, the light through the window pale and early. He ran a hand over the sheets, expecting to feel your skin, your warmth, the familiar curve of you still curled against him.

Instead—just linen. Cool. Still.

His brow furrowed.

He sat up slowly, glancing around the room. Your clothes weren’t there. The chair where you always dropped your heels was empty. The bathroom door was open.

He rubbed a hand down his face, jaw tight.

She probably went back to her room.

That’s what he told himself. Logical. Reasonable. No need for alarm.

He slid out of bed, standing slowly, cracking his neck as he moved to the bathroom. The shower hissed on—he stepped under the spray, the water beating against his shoulders, grounding him.

She had an early start. Maybe she had to prep something for Val. Maybe she’s just avoiding feelings again.

He pushed down the gnawing feeling at the back of his mind.

That sense that something was… off.

That you never left without kissing his jaw. That your heels were still gone. That your scent wasn’t lingering the way it usually did.

He shook it off.

Don’t spiral, Bucky.

You were probably fine. Probably just fucking with him. Playing aloof like you always did after things got too soft between you.

He stepped out of the shower, drying off quickly. Dressed. Pulled on his boots.

Still—

That feeling didn’t leave.

That cold in his chest stayed.

But he forced it down. Forced a breath into his lungs.

He stepped into the kitchen, toweling off his damp hair, still trying to shake the unease from his bones.

The room was already buzzing.

Yelena sat on the counter, eating cereal straight from the box like it was an art. Walker leaned back on the couch, boots on the coffee table, scrolling through his phone. Ava sat curled in an armchair, sharp eyes flicking toward Bucky as he entered. Alexei was… well, loudly chewing something questionable. And Bob was somewhere behind the fridge door, mumbling to himself.

Bucky grunted a quiet greeting, opened the cabinet, pulled a mug from the shelf.

“Anyone seen… her?” he asked, voice low, neutral. Too casual to be casual.

Yelena looked up first. “Probably passed out in your bed,” she said around a mouthful of cereal. “Or under you. You know, standard Tuesday.”

Bucky froze mid-pour.

Walker snorted. “Took long enough, honestly.”

Alexei thumped his fist on the table. “I knew there was something! You always look at her like she’s the last shot of vodka in the room.”

Bucky turned slightly. “What are you all talking about?”

Ava didn’t even glance up from her tablet. “You’re not subtle, Barnes. The way you stare at her? Please.”

Bob peeked around the fridge door, cheeks already red. “Yeah… you uh… you hover. A lot.”

Yelena grinned, sharp and smug. “I am jealous you didn’t let me ride your motorcycle first.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose. “You’re all insufferable.”

“Hmm.” Ava finally looked up. “Sounds like deflection.”

He muttered something under his breath, jaw tight, the discomfort turning into quiet agitation. His eyes flicked toward the hallway. “Forget I asked.”

He set the mug down—untouched—and turned on his heel, heading straight for your room.

Bucky reached your door, knuckles lifting halfway to knock—

But something stopped him.

A feeling. A chill.

He frowned, then pushed the door open. The room was… still. Not quiet. Still. Like no one had moved in it for days.

And that was the first red flag.

He stepped inside slowly, his boots too loud on the floor. The bed was perfectly made. Not military-perfect, but untouched. Not slept in.

He blinked.

The chair in the corner—empty. No discarded jacket. No shoes. No weapons.

He moved toward the dresser, a cold weight forming in his stomach.

The top was bare. No hair ties. No mug. No trace of your usual chaos. And then he pulled open the drawers.

Empty.

He turned to the closet. Swung it open. Gone. Everything. Your clothes. Your gear. Your dresses. Your coat. Even the scent of you—faint, fading.

His stomach dropped.

Hard.

The realization hit like a punch to the ribs. Sudden. Brutal.

You were gone.

Not just left-for-the-morning gone. Not “I’ll be back later” gone.

Gone gone.

Completely erased. As if you’d never been there at all.

Bucky stood there, frozen. His hands at his sides. His breath shallow. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

The room blurred. His throat burned. And somewhere, under all of that…

A voice whispered, She left you.

Bucky stood frozen in the center of the room, the emptiness of it clawing at his chest—

When something caught his eye.

A folder. Sitting alone on the dresser. Plain. Unassuming. Perfectly placed. Like it was meant to be found.

He stepped toward it slowly, his breath shallow. His fingers brushed the cover.

A small note sat on top. Folded once.

He flipped it open. Four words.

“Please don't hate me.”

His chest tightened instantly. Something hot twisted in his throat.

He stared at the handwriting—familiar now, too familiar—and turned the note over with a slow hand.

Scrawled in the same ink:

“Valentina still wants you all dead.”

His blood turned cold. The air left his lungs. With shaking fingers, he opened the folder. And there it was.

Page after page.

Files.

Meticulous, terrifyingly detailed notes. About all of them.

Yelena Belova: Range, reaction time, pressure points. Preferred weapons. Known trauma responses. Jonathan F. Walker: Blind spots in combat. Trigger phrases. Patterns of behavior. Ava Starr: Phase irregularities. Nervous system anomalies. Strategic isolation preferences. Robert Reynolds: Emotional leverage. Psychological profile. Manipulation tactics. Alexei Shostakov: Adrenaline patterns. Hand-to-hand vulnerability. Mental deterioration markers. James Buchanan Barnes: …his stomach clenched.

Your notes on him were brutal. Precise. You’d seen everything.

Handwritten notes. Tactical sketches. Surveillance photos. Labeled files. Bullet-point lists.

It was you. All of you.

Strengths. Weaknesses. Combat habits. Psychological profiles. Interpersonal tensions. Detailed analysis of the the New Avengers.

And suddenly he understood.

You were the failsafe.

The one she kept hidden. The one she trusted to take them all down if they became a liability.

And you’d been with them the whole time.

Sleeping in his bed.

Waking up in his arms.

Loving him.

Lying to him.

His fingers curled around the folder so tight the edges bent.

And still—he couldn’t let it go.

Because beneath the weight of betrayal, beneath the rising devastation, one thing stood out above all:

You’d told him without telling him. You’d warned him. You left him the truth.

This was your assignment. Your mission. And you didn’t complete it.

Instead—

You left this behind. For them. For him.

Bucky’s hands trembled slightly as he lowered the folder. He stared at the wall in front of him, jaw locked, heart pounding.

And somehow… even now—

He still didn’t hate you. He didn’t think he ever could.

Six Months Later

The skies above the compound were slate gray, a low growl of thunder humming across the horizon as if the world itself was unsettled.

Inside the facility—steel, silence, surveillance. Maximum security. Triple-reinforced cells. No exits that didn’t require biometric clearance, retinal scans, and six layers of authorization.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine sat in the center of it all.

She wasn’t in chains—of course not. Not her style.

But she was contained.

Her hair had grown out. Her posture was still impeccable. And her smirk? Untouched.

Through the glass, a monitor flickered with news feeds: charges listed in bold. Conspiracy. Treason. Unlawful black operations. Attempted political destabilization.

The Thunderbolts—no, The New Avengers—had done what she never expected.

They had turned on her. And they had won.

The victory had been quiet. Painfully methodical. But every step had followed the trail you left behind: the file you abandoned in your room. The names. The operations. The buried contracts. The coded transactions.

Every lie she’d built unraveled. Every secret surfaced. And now? She was a traitor to her country. A ghost of her former power.

And the world was watching.

────────────────────────

Time passed.

But not in the way that healed.

Not for him.

The New Avengers, now officially recognized—were busier than ever. Diplomatic calls. Rogue cleanups. Recovery missions. Global surveillance detail. Big threats. Bigger egos.

And Bucky? He did the work. Showed up. Fought hard. Kept his head down when he had to, stepped in when it mattered. The world was grateful. Headlines were clean.

But the ache never left.

Because even in the victory—even with Valentina locked away, even with the press finally calling them heroes—you were gone.

No sign. No contact. No coordinates.

Just silence.

And it haunted him.

Every mission, he looked.

Not deliberately—never enough for the others to question it. But it was there, always. In the way his eyes lingered too long on unfamiliar silhouettes. In the way he checked behind every mask, paused too long on female contacts with a certain walk. In the quiet that came after every debrief, when his jaw tightened just slightly as he scanned the room.

You weren’t in Moscow. You weren’t on the Omega Bunker list. You weren’t at the safe house in Tbilisi, even though it still smelled faintly of your perfume, though that was definitely his imagination. You weren’t on the encrypted black ops list Ava recovered from the Andes.

You weren’t anywhere.

And that—that—was what hurt the most. Because if anyone could disappear, it was you.

And you’d chosen to. You didn’t leave a signal. Or a clue. Or a damn apology.

Just that folder. That warning. And him. Alone. Still reaching for something that wasn’t reaching back.

────────────────────────

The briefing room was quiet.

Dim light. Flickering monitor. Stale coffee left forgotten on the edge of the table. The latest mission files spread in a neat arc—intelligence, recon, target maps.

But Bucky wasn’t looking at any of it.

He sat in the corner, arms folded, brow furrowed—not in focus, not really there.

Yelena noticed it first. Of course she did. She always noticed.

She crossed the room slowly, boots soft on tile, then leaned against the edge of the table across from him—arms folded, eyes sharp.

“Hey,” she said, flat. “Earth to Sad Eyes. You here or still hoping Ghost Barbie shows up mid-mission?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Yelena snorted. “Jesus Christ. Still with this?”

He looked up, jaw tight. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t have to.” Her voice sharpened. “You haven’t been present in months.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve been chasing shadows. Running recon like you’re not hunting leads, and we all know who you’re really looking for.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I said drop it.”

Yelena stepped in. “You do remember she betrayed us, da?”

He stared.

“She was Valentina’s insurance policy. The kill-switch,” Yelena went on. “Sent to eliminate us if we got out of line. Got information on all of us—every weakness, every flaw—and you still look at her like she’s gold.”

Bucky stood. “She didn’t use it.”

“Yet.”

“No,” he insisted. “She had it. And she didn’t use it. Not once.”

Yelena scoffed. “You think that’s love? That’s not loyalty, Barnes. That’s indecision. That’s unfinished business.”

“She had every chance to kill us. You. Me. All of us. And she didn’t.”

“Because she got in too deep. Doesn’t mean she loved you.”

Bucky’s voice dropped, rough. “It means something.”

Yelena didn’t soften. Not even a little.

She crossed her arms tighter, her stare unwavering as Bucky stood there, jaw clenched, shoulders tight, drowning in every word she’d just thrown at him. But she wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

“You need to wake the hell up, Barnes,” she said, her voice low but sharp, the kind of voice that cut because it had to. “You’re chasing a ghost. And I get it—I do. She had that perfect face, that mystery, that voice—we all felt it. We were drawn in.”

Bucky didn’t look at her. Just stared past her, like maybe if he stayed still enough, he could hold onto the last pieces of you.

“But I need you to feel this,” Yelena continued. “She played us. Every single one of us. For months. She gathered data, memorized habits, logged vulnerabilities like a fucking Hydra operative. She knew how to kill us before we even started to like her.”

She stepped closer.

“And you let her in the furthest. You let her crawl into your bed, into your chest, into your head. And now? Now you’re acting like maybe she was the victim in this. Like she just didn’t know any better. That she was confused.”

Bucky’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t speak.

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Here’s the thing, she knew exactly what she was doing. Every calculated smile. Every touch. Every slow night where you let her inside and thought she'd actually stay—she planned that.”

His hands clenched at his sides. She saw it.

“And maybe—maybe she cared, somewhere in there,” Yelena added, a bitter twist to her voice. “Maybe she didn’t pull the trigger because some part of her felt something. But she still left. No note, no trace. Like you were just another mission she couldn’t finish and didn’t want to explain.”

She took one more step. Right into his space.

“So you’ve got two choices, Soldat: keep pining like a lovesick idiot and let her haunt you forever, or get your head back in the goddamn game and remember who you are. Because while you’re busy looking over your shoulder, the rest of us are picking up the slack.”

Silence stretched between them.

Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Just sat there, hollowed out and burning, her words settling like ash in his chest.

And Yelena, finally, exhaled.

“I’m not saying forget her,” she added quietly. “I’m saying either find her and get answers… or stop bleeding for someone who doesn't care.”

And with that, she turned.

Left him sitting there alone, in the echo of all the things he didn’t want to hear—but needed to.

One Year Later

Yelena didn’t look up from the mission tablet at first. Her boots were propped on the edge of the table, fingers tapping absently as she scrolled through next week’s ops schedule. Bucky stood near the window, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his reflection faint in the glass.

“I’m leaving.”

She didn’t react at first. Just blinked, brows pulling together as she slowly looked up.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

Bucky didn’t turn around.

“I mean I’m done.”

Yelena sat up straighter. “Done with the mission? Or…?”

He finally turned, his eyes tired—not just from the day, or the month, but from years. From everything.

“With all of it.”

She scoffed once, sharp and disbelieving. “You’re quitting? You?”

Bucky just nodded. No bite. No drama. Just done.

Yelena stared at him. “You can't be serious.”

“I am.”

Silence.

She stood now, closing the tablet, crossing her arms. “Okay. No offense, Barnes, but what the fuck are you even talking about?”

He didn’t flinch. “I’ve been giving pieces of myself to someone else’s mission for a so many years, Yelena.”

Her jaw tightened.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I’ve been alive a hundred years. Most of it, I’ve been used. As a weapon. As a ghost. As some tragic propaganda machine. First, the Army. Then Hydra. Then the U.S. government, then Congress, and now this—superhero bullshit.”

He looked back out the window. The city shimmered.

“I’ve done what everyone needed. What they told me was ‘right.’ What would ‘make it right.’ And it never did. It never will. There’s always another war. Another mission. Another reason to shove who I am back down just to fit the narrative.”

She opened her mouth. He cut her off.

“And don’t tell me I matter. Or that I make a difference. I know that. I’ve made peace with that. But I’m tired. Bone deep, soul deep. I’m tired. I’ve never done anything just for me. Not once. And I’m not gonna die with that still being true.”

Yelena was silent for a beat.

Then, quietly: “So what? You just walk away?”

He shrugged, voice soft. “Why not?”

“You’re a leader.”

“You’re better.”

“You’re still needed.”

“They’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be down my partner.”

That one hung in the air.

Bucky exhaled, finally meeting her eyes. “You don’t need me. You never did. You just didn’t want to be alone at the top.”

Yelena’s jaw worked for a moment. But she didn’t argue.

Didn’t because—damn it—he wasn’t wrong.

He looked at her, something in his expression softer now. “You’re the best shot they’ve got. You always have been.”

She swallowed thickly.

He stepped closer. Rested a hand on her shoulder. “But I can’t keep doing this, Lena. I need to figure out what my life looks like without being a weapon. Or a mascot. Or a ghost.”

“…So what does it look like, then?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I want to find out.”

She blinked fast. Then, finally—finally—nodded.

“Just… don’t disappear without a damn postcard.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

────────────────────────

Two Months Later

If someone had asked him ten years ago—hell, even five years ago—where do you see yourself? Bucky Barnes would never have answered Fiji.

But here he was.

Fiji.

The sun was hot. Unrelentingly so. Not in the way that choked or scorched, but in a way that settled into your bones, warmed you from the inside out. He’d never felt heat like this without the edge of a battlefield waiting on the other side.

There were no missions here. No directives. No knives tucked under pillows. No coded radio chatter in the dead of night.

Just waves.

Just air thick with salt and lazy breeze.

And quiet.

He sat barefoot on the edge of a wooden deck, knees drawn up, sunglasses slipping slightly on his nose. His metal hand—gloveless, finally without shame—rested on the railing beside him, catching the sunlight like it had been born to. For once, it didn’t feel like a relic of war. It just felt like part of him.

The water below sparkled like someone had poured diamonds across it. The breeze brought the scent of fruit and ocean and something sweet he couldn’t name. Every few minutes, a bird called out, or a scooter whirred by in the distance.

It felt like another world.

One he didn’t belong in. Not really.

But he was trying.

Trying to belong to himself, finally.

He’d never taken a vacation before. Never even thought to. The idea of sitting still without guilt had always felt foreign. But now? Maybe this counted. Maybe this—quiet mornings, soft shirts, no schedules—was vacation. Maybe it was also retirement. If he let it be.

He didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know what came next. But for once, that didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like freedom.

The beach bar was little more than a thatched roof, a polished wood counter, and a few half-drunk tourists slowly melting into their plastic chairs.

The scent of citrus and rum hung in the air, and some lazy guitar version of an old Marvin Gaye song drifted through the speakers.

Bucky stepped up to the counter, brushing a bit of salt off his sunglasses, the sand still warm between his toes. He leaned against the bar, gave a polite nod to the bartender.

“Beer, please. Whatever’s cold.”

The bottle landed in front of him with a satisfying clink. He popped the cap one-handed and brought it to his lips just as a voice slid in—smooth, familiar, laced with something sharp and knowing.

“You’re a long way from New York, Sergeant.”

He didn’t turn right away.

Just took a sip. Swallowed. Let the faintest smirk touch his lips as he rested his beer back down.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Guess I finally figured I deserved a vacation.”

A pause.

“Why Fiji?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes still forward, letting the sea wind hit his face for a beat longer.

“Clear skies. Soft sand. Water so blue it hurts to look at.” He finally turned, his gaze sliding to the left—to you.

“And… beautiful women.”

There you were.

Hair sun-touched and swept back. Skin glowing from the sun. Dressed like you belonged to this place—effortless, radiant, wild. And yet you didn’t blend in. Not at all. You never blended in. You could’ve been wearing armor or silk or nothing at all and you’d still feel like a presence.

His eyes lingered on you.

And when they met yours?

Everything else—every sound, every breeze, every wave—faded.

For just a second.

You leaned one elbow on the bar, casual like the past hadn’t happened, like this was just two people on a beach at the end of the world. Your eyes flicked over him—sunglasses, salt-tousled hair, beer bottle sweating in his hand like he’d actually managed to settle into this place.

You lifted a brow, just enough mischief behind it to crack the tension.

“So…” you said, voice like silk. “Planning on staying?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His gaze was still fixed on you, the way it always had been. Steady. Intent. Like he was memorizing every new beauty mark, every glint of heat behind your eyes.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I’ve got a pretty good reason to.”

Something flickered across your face. The faintest pull at your lips. You could’ve said something sharp, something defensive—but instead, you just turned slightly toward the bar, tapping your fingers once on the counter.

“Then buy me a drink, James,” you said, flashing a sly smile. “So long as you're planning to make it a roundtrip to forgiveness.”

His mouth curled.

And for the first time in a long time, the air between you wasn’t just heavy with uncertainty.

It was full of possibility.

────────────────────────

A Few Days Later

The first thing Bucky felt was the warmth.

Not the sun, though that was already creeping in through the wooden shutters, slanting across the room in golden bands. Not the heat from the open window, or the lazy tropical breeze curling through the linen curtains.

No—the warmth was you.

Your body sprawled across his, half-draped over his chest like you’d always belonged there. Bare legs tangled with his, skin soft and sun-kissed, your breath slow and even where it fanned against his collarbone.

He could already hear the waves outside, steady and close. The faint rustle of palms, the rhythmic hum of island life waking up. It should’ve been loud—but it wasn’t.

It was perfect.

For the first time in… maybe ever, he’d woken up before you.

And he didn’t move.

Didn’t want to.

Instead, he just lay there, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist, the other resting behind his head. Relaxed. Grounded. Not braced for attack. Not aching from loss.

Just present.

His eyes drifted over your face—peaceful, still, impossibly beautiful. And he let himself look. Really look.

No dread curled in his chest.

No panic waited behind his ribs.

Because you were here.

You’d stayed.

And he’d woken up to warmth.

Bucky Barnes Taglist:

@xamapolax @gilwm @shereadzzz @princeescalus @onlyheretowastetime @Madlyinlovewithmattmurdockk @holycastoroli @s-sh-ne @Finnickodairslut @macbaetwo @xoxoloverb @ashpeace888 @bethjs-2005 @theewiselionessss @bythecloset @rougettq @herejustforbuckybarnes @deedzreads @novaslov @luminousvenomvagrant @sgtjbbhasmyheart @avivarougestan @shoutingcardinal @shellsbae00 @sired4urmama @aoi-targaryen @winchestert101 @n3ptoonz @jeongiegram @fckmebarnes @excusememrbarnes @thealloveru2 @avgdestitute @millercontracting @ellierosed18 @buckmybarnes @lilac13 @fayeatheart @c3liaaaaa @ozwriterchick

those who couldn't be tagged are in bold :(

[lunescore]

You, the headgirl, let the dirty, RAGGED DELINQUENT!SEVIKA hold your breasts from behind as you stand under her dorm shower.

TAGS: hickeys, Sevika has a dick, shower sex, mentions of getting caught, reader is very innocent

“What if your roommate comes in?”

You asked, your voice shuddering in your throat but she only squeezed your tits in her rough palms, the water cascading down your back as she leaned in from behind. Her hot breath tickled the side of your neck where she was busy marking her property, leaving hickeys and lovebites all over the skin well over your collar line where everybody could see. Sevika didn't answer your question, her fingers busy toying with your nipple as she sucked a dark spot at the curve of your neck.

You gasped and grabbed her arms instinctively. “Sevika,” you whimpered, “Don't put too many hickeys, what if someone sees?”

“That's the point, isn't it?” Sevika pushed your front against the wall of the shower room before she smacked your ass. Your asscheek jiggled and a bright red handprint slowly settled on the plush skin.

“Mmmm…” you pouted. “But I'm the headgirl, if anyone found out—”

“Then that'd be quite embarrassing, no?” Sevika held the sides of your thighs and parted them, “Bend.” She ordered, your wet hands reached up and grabbed the slippery marble of the walls for balance, you pushed your butt back against her. Sevika spread you, smirking at the sight of your pure, virgin pussy. “i take it you've never had sex.” She pretty much stated.

Your cheeks flushed and you nodded without saying anything. Sevika made an “ah” sound as if it was surprising. Nevertheless, the head of her cock brushed against your entrance and she gave you a second (surprisingly) before she pushed her shaft inside. You tensed up, grabbing the wall tighter and your thighs shook as the foreign intrusion occurred at your nether regions.

“It's weird.” You whined.

Sevika rammed her cock inside making you gasp and grab the wall tighter but your hands kept slipping because of the steam in the shower room. She was so big inside, her cock stretched you out in ways you thought wasn't possible.

Sevika grabbed your wet hair, pulling it harshly and making your body curve in an obedient arch. You gasped, the hot water running down your arched back as Sevika continued fucking into you with a pace that was no less than animalistic and she didn't seem like she'd stop anytime soon. The water from the shower caused a wet slapping sound to echo around the entire shower room as Sevika bottomed out and grunted.

“It feels good,” you muttered shyly, making Sevika laugh and she grabbed your hips, turning you around and hoisting your legs up with ease. Her muscles rippled under the water making your cheeks tint redder.

Sevika started pounding you into the wall, your hands flew to grab her shoulders for support as she continued ramming into you. Your mouth was open but nothing really came out. You needed more.

“Sevika,” you moaned her name loudly as your pussy squeezed tightly around her length and you felt relieved.

“You just came, didn't you?” Sevika grinned, leaving more hickeys down your neck.

“Came?”

“Orgasm.”

“Oh.”

Sevika chuckled. “You're so innocent, I love you like this.”

“Don't say that…” you buried your face in the crook of her neck and let her clean you up.

[dakusan]

S h u t U p , Y o u L o v e I t

Kim Seungmin x Reader | post-summer shift, best-friends-to-lovers, tteokbokki, baseball replays, “you’re my girlfriend now, deal with it”

⚾ Synopsis: Summer changed things. You kissed him. He kissed you back. And now Kim Seungmin has decided that makes you his girlfriend. No arguments, no take-backs. Which would be easier to handle if he wasn’t also the biggest menace alive, teasing you half to death while sitting way too close on purpose. You’re still a little scared, sure, but when he says he’s not going anywhere? Yeah. Maybe you believe him. Maybe you’re his now. (Don’t tell him you’re still naming the potted plant Seungmin Jr.)

💌a/n: I KNOW I POSTED THIS LATE, OKAY?!?! I WAS BUSY BEING A GREMLIN AND WATCHING RICK AND MORTY FOR THE 30TH TIME. LET ME LIVE🙄. PLUS YES, I HEARD YOU. THE DEMAND FOR PT2 WAS ACTUALLY INSANE. “WHERE’S PT2?” “DROP PT2 OR ELSE.” YOU GUYS ARE MENACES (I mean that lovingly). SO HERE. HERE YOU GO, YOU WHORES. I’M JOKING. I’M JOKING (mostly). I was actually stupidly happy you all loved pt1 so much you wanted a follow-up, so I really tried to do it justice. Hope you love this chaotic menace-boyfriend era Seungmin as much as I loved writing it. For the new people stumbling in: READ PART 1 FIRST OR YOU WON’T GET HALF THE JOKES OR THE GIANTS BOY TRAUMA 👉🏻 Keep your eye on the ball — no, not me. p.s. reblogs = love letters, tags = serotonin, and screaming in the comments = oxygen to me. You know the drill 🫶🏻 p.p.s. YES, if Seungmin ever actually brought a potted plant, I’d name it Seungmin Jr. too. Don’t fight me on this.

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

The first week back feels like being thrown in a washing machine.

Lectures. Group assignments. A lab partner who can’t stop chewing gum like it’s a contact sport. Your dorm radiator hisses all night like it’s haunted. You’re too tired to think about much, except for the fact that Seungmin is, somehow, everywhere again.

Not that that’s unusual. He’s always been there. Same classes, same café runs, same sarcastic comebacks that once felt harmless and now feel… different.

Because summer happened.

And now, every time you pass him your notes in class and your fingers brush, you’re aware of it. Every time you sit across from him in the library and he pushes your favourite snack across the table without looking up from his laptop, you’re aware of it. Every time he yawns and tips his head back against the dorm couch, hoodie tugging just enough to show the line of his throat —

Yeah. Aware.

But you’re both pretending. Like always.

Friday, 9:03 PM – Your Dorm Room

You’re hunched over your laptop, notes spread everywhere, hair falling into your face. Seungmin drops into the seat across from you with his usual annoyed sigh, the one that says “you’re doing something wrong and I’m here to witness it.”

“You look dead,” he says, chin propped in his hand.

“You look like a Victorian child ghost,” you mutter back.

He smirks, lazy. “Still cute, though.”

You look up at him sharply. He doesn’t flinch. Just shrugs and starts pulling out his own notebook like he didn’t just lob a grenade into the room.

“Stop saying things like that,” you mumble, turning back to your laptop.

“Like what?”

“Like… that.”

“Why? It’s true.”

You glare. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re failing this assignment if you don’t fix that header spacing.”

You groan. He laughs. It’s stupidly warm, soft, real, the kind of laugh that makes your chest tighten in a way you’re refusing to name.

10:42 PM

“Why are you still here?” you ask, scrolling through your paper while he’s sprawled across your bed, very much not leaving.

“Because you’d get distracted without me,” he says, flipping through one of your textbooks like he owns it.

“I’m already distracted with you here.”

“Exactly. Equal results. At least I get to bully you for it in person.”

You throw a pen at him. He catches it without looking. Show-off. There’s a beat of quiet after that, the kind that stretches thin. He’s still lying there, half-propped on his elbow, watching you type. His gaze is warm and when you finally glance back he doesn’t look away.

Your fingers freeze on the keyboard. “Seungmin,” you say carefully.

“Mm?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re—” you stop, biting your lip.

He tilts his head. “Like I’m what?”

You slam your laptop shut. “Never mind.”

He grin, that slow and infuriating grin of his, like he knows.

11:56 PM – The Hallway

He insists on walking you to the vending machine downstairs because “you’ll trip over your own feet if left unsupervised.” You bicker the whole way there. You always do. But when you’re standing side by side, waiting for your chocolate bar to clunk into the tray, his arm brushes yours. Neither of you moves.

“Are you coming to the Giants game tomorrow?” he asks casually.

You snort. “In what world would I do that?”

“The one where you owe me for all this free tutoring.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what do I get out of it?”

“A good seat. And me.”

You stare at him. He shrugs, unbothered, like that wasn’t the boldest thing he’s ever said. “Fine,” you say eventually, trying to sound annoyed and not like your pulse just jumped. “But I’m wearing the rival team shirt.”

He groans. “You’re actually trying to get booed, huh?”

“Maybe I like watching you suffer.”

“Maybe you like watching me.”

You choke. He just smirks, holding the vending machine door open for you like the menace he is.

Saturday, 1:14 PM – Campus Courtyard

You spot him before he spots you, sitting on the low stone wall, scrolling his phone, baseball cap tipped low over his face like he’s auditioning to be cooler than you by default.

“Why do you look like a paparazzi photo of a celebrity trying not to be recognized?” you ask, dropping into the spot next to him.

He doesn’t look up, just tilts the brim of his cap up a fraction. “Why do you look like you’re about to betray me on national television?”

You grin, spreading your arms. “Because I am.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

You tug at the hem of your shirt with mock-innocence. “What, this old thing? Just a casual little outfit.”

“Rival team logo is not casual,” he deadpans, finally putting his phone away. “It’s an attack.”

“Consider it a peace offering to literally everyone else at the stadium.”

“Peace offering to who? The security team that’s gonna have to drag me off you when you get booed?”

You swing your bag onto your shoulder. “I thrive under pressure.”

He stands, towering just enough to look down at you with that half-annoyed, half-smug Seungmin expression that you’ve learned means he’s secretly delighted. “Thriving is a strong word for someone who spun like a Beyblade on a baseball field two months ago,” he says, starting to walk toward the subway.

You trail after him, scowling. “You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

“Not even a little.”

By the time you reach the Stadium's Entrance line, the crowd's already buzzing, vendors yelling, the smell of popcorn and hot dogs hanging thick in the air. Seungmin walks just ahead of you, weaving through people like he was born for this.

“You’re way too comfortable in chaos,” you mutter, trying not to get elbowed by a group of overly enthusiastic fans.

He glances back, smirking. “You’re just bad at crowds.”

“I’m bad at crowds when I’m following someone with legs twice as long as mine.”

He snorts, holding his arm back for you to catch. You hesitate and he notices, eyebrow quirking. “You can grab on, you know. I’m not gonna charge you for VIP escort service.”

You roll your eyes but catch his wrist anyway, his skin warm under your fingers. His smirk tilts higher, not that you’re looking.

Seungmin led you both through the crowd, inside the stadium, hell, at one point he even shifted your hold on his wrist so he is actually holding your hand. Your ears are red. Red as a fucking tomato while he navigates you both to your seats.

“These are… actually really good,” you say, settling into the seat beside him, trying not to gawk at the clear view of the diamond.

“Obviously,” he says, popping open a soda. “I wouldn’t subject you to bad seats for your first real baseball experience.”

“My first real baseball experience was you yelling at me for three hours in a field, remember?”

He glances at you sideways, smirking. “Yeah, but this one comes with snacks.”

A vendor passes by, and Seungmin casually flags him down, ordering popcorn without even asking you. He just hands it to you, no comment.

When the game finally starts, the stadium erupts. Seungmin lights up like a kid on Christmas, already yelling stats you only half understand. You lean back, chewing popcorn. “You’re unironically so hot when you’re yelling at strangers.”

He whips his head around so fast you almost laugh. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say sweetly, tossing another piece of popcorn in your mouth.

He stares at you for a beat before turning back to the game, muttering, “You’re insufferable.” But his ears are red under his cap.

By the fifth inning, he's in full Giants Boy mode now, clapping, leaning forward, muttering “come on, come on” under his breath. You, however, are busy making commentary about him instead of the players.

“Seungmin, you look like you’re going to combust.”

“I am combusting,” he says without missing a beat.

“Should I be concerned?”

“Only if we lose.”

“You’re terrifying.”

“You chose this life,” he says, still not looking at you.

And then, the crack of a bat, the crowd ROARS, Seungmin is on his feet in one motion, throwing his fist into the air. Instinctively, you stand too, startled by the sheer volume. And without thinking, he grabs your hand. Fingers curling tight around yours, warm, firm, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t notice at first, too busy yelling, but when the cheer dies down and he finally looks at you —

You’re already looking at him.

His smile falters just slightly, softens, like he’s seeing you properly for the first time all day. His thumb brushes your knuckles once. Absentmindedly. And yet, he doesn't let go. But neither are you.

The game winds down with a buzz still thrumming through the crowd. Seungmin claps once as the announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, his grin still half-pinned to his face, and you’re almost distracted enough not to notice that he hasn’t let go of your hand.

Almost.

When he finally looks down at you, there’s a split second where you swear he’s going to say something — something dangerous, something too honest — but then his mouth quirks sideways instead, like he’s switching gears.

“You survived,” he says.

“Barely,” you shoot back. “I think my hearing’s permanently damaged.”

He rolls his eyes, tugging you along with him as the crowd begins to spill toward the exits. “You should thank me. This was peak baseball education. Free, too.”

“Free? You made me pay for my own soda!”

“I paid for the popcorn.”

“You ate half the popcorn!”

“It was for the good of the team,” he says, dead serious, weaving through the mass of people like he’s been doing it his whole life.

You snort, letting him pull you along, still holding your hand, still not even trying to drop it, and you’re trying really, really hard not to think about that.

When you finally hit the street outside the stadium, the air is cooler, tinged with the smell of street food and something almost sweet from the vendor carts. Seungmin finally glances back at you, eyebrow raised.

“Tteokbokki?” he asks.

Your stomach growls before you can answer. You narrow your eyes. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

He smirks, tugging you toward a side street lined with carts. “I always plan good meals after good games. Professional habit.”

“And what exactly about that game was good?” you tease, sidestepping a group of kids in matching jerseys.

He stops just long enough to give you an incredulous look. “We won. You clapped. You even smiled when they hit that double in the eighth inning.”

“That was just me being polite.”

“Sure it was,” he says, clearly not buying it, leading you right to a steaming tteokbokki cart.

The ahjumma running it gives him a bright smile when she sees him. “Back again, Giants boy?”

You blink, turning to him. “Back again?”

Seungmin scratches the back of his neck, suddenly bashful in a way you’ve never seen. “I, uh… come here sometimes. After games.”

“Sometimes?” the ahjumma laughs, already ladling steaming rice cakes into a paper bowl. “He eats here almost every weekend. Spicy level three, right?”

You grin at him, delighted. “Wow. Regular status. Should I get your autograph?”

He shoots you a look, cheeks faintly pink. “Don’t start.”

“Too late. Regular Seungmin, I’m honoured to be in your presence.”

“You’re about to be honoured with no tteokbokki if you keep talking.”

You gasp dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He smirks, taking the bowls when they’re handed to him and passing one to you. “Eat before you starve to death being annoying.” You follow him to a bench nearby, settling in with your bowl, the smell already making your mouth water. The first bite is molten, spicy, glorious. You make a small sound of approval before you can stop yourself.

Seungmin glances at you, smirking. “That good, huh?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, taking another bite. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying it.”

“I always enjoy it. But you? You’re eating like you’ve never seen food before.”

“I had a long day watching you scream at strangers.”

“And you loved it.”

“Debatable.”

“Not even a little,” he says, tilting his head as he watches you blow on a rice cake. “You were totally into it. You even cheered.”

“I was peer-pressured by thousands of people!”

“Mm. Sure.”

You’re about to argue back, but then a string of melted cheese snaps from your chopsticks to your mouth in the most embarrassing way possible. You scramble to catch it, failing miserably. Seungmin freezes for half a beat before bursting into laughter. A real, unguarded laughter, leaning slightly away as he tries to hold it back. “You—” he manages between laughs, “you look like you’re fighting a monster!”

“Shut up,” you groan, finally managing to scoop the cheese into your mouth. “It’s hot!”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, still grinning as he takes a slow bite of his own, obnoxiously neat in comparison.

You glare at him, cheeks puffed with food. “You think you’re so much better than me, huh?”

“I know I am,” he says, perfectly calm, which only makes you scowl harder.

You jab your chopsticks in his direction. “Bet you can’t eat it in one bite.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Wanna lose that bet?”

“I’d love to watch you choke on molten cheese.”

His grin turns wicked. “You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

And for a split second — longer than it should be — his smile softens just slightly, eyes locking with yours in a way that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah,” he says, quieter this time, almost too soft to catch. “Maybe I do.” You blink, caught off guard, but before you can answer, he pops a piece of tteokbokki in his mouth and leans back against the bench like nothing happened.

You stare at him. Hard. “...What?” you manage, voice catching slightly.

He blinks, all fake innocence now, chewing his tteokbokki like he didn’t just nuke your entire brain. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You—” You point your chopsticks at him accusingly. “You can’t just say things like that.”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Like what?”

“Like that,” you hiss.

“Like what exactly, traitor? Be specific.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

His mouth quirks, maddeningly calm. “Do I?”

You squint at him, your pulse a traitor all on its own. “Seungmin.”

He doesn’t answer, just pops another rice cake into his mouth and chews, completely unfazed while you’re sitting there, gripping your chopsticks like they might snap in half.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, turning back to your food, stabbing a rice cake like it personally offended you. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the way his shoulders shake slightly. He’s laughing at you.

“You’re insufferable,” you say.

“Mm. You’ve mentioned,” he hums, leaning back against the bench casually. Then, after a beat: “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know.”

Your head snaps toward him so fast it’s a miracle you don’t sprain something. “Seungmin—” But he’s already reaching over, stealing one of your rice cakes right out of your bowl like he owns it.

“Hey!”

“Payment for my suffering,” he says, eating it in one neat bite.

“Suffering from what, exactly?”

“Being here with a known Giants hater,” he says, deadpan, licking a bit of sauce off his thumb like he doesn’t realize you’re staring at his hand now instead of his face. “Honestly, I deserve an award.”

“You’re—” you stop, scowling, because the only word you can think of right now is ridiculous, but that doesn’t even begin to cover it. Because he’s not ridiculous. He’s Seungmin. Seungmin who teases you until you want to scream, who looks at you like you’re the only person in the stadium, who caught you in his arms two months ago and kissed you—

Your stomach flips. Hard.

And apparently you’ve been staring at him too long, because when you finally drag your gaze up, he’s watching you. Not smirking. Not teasing. Just… watching. The noise of the street fades for a second, replaced by the soft thud of your own pulse in your ears. You clear your throat, snapping yourself back to reality, jabbing your chopsticks into your bowl again. “You’re still an ass.”

And just like that, his smirk returns, slow and dangerous. “You love it.”

“Delusional.”

“Adorable,” he corrects, leaning in just slightly, and your breath catches for a second, because it feels too close now, like if you moved an inch, your knees would touch, your shoulders would brush, your whole carefully maintained balance would just—

You scoff, pushing his shoulder lightly with yours to disguise the way your chest tightens. “Eat your tteokbokki, Giants boy.”

When you’re both finished, Seungmin stands, tossing the empty bowls in the bin nearby before turning back to you with that same maddeningly easy grin.

“Come on,” he says, holding a hand out to you.

You raise an eyebrow. “What for?”

“Clearly you need more baseball education. My dorm. Game replays.”

You gape at him. “Game replays? That’s your idea of post-dinner entertainment?”

“Yes. You’re welcome.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he says simply, and when you reluctantly take his hand to stand, his fingers curl around yours again, definitely not casually, and definitely not by accident. They curl around yours like he means it.

And honestly, he does.

The walk back to campus feels weirdly quiet. Not silent, not awkward, just quiet in a way that makes you hyperaware of everything else. The sound of your sneakers scuffing the pavement. The way his thumb brushes your knuckles every now and then. The way you keep almost saying something and then shutting your mouth, because what would you even say? You almost jumped him on a baseball field two months ago. You did kiss him, technically. And now he’s holding your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world, tugging you along toward his dorm as if you didn’t just spend an entire summer pretending nothing happened.

By the time you reach his floor, you’re about two seconds from combusting. Seungmin unlocks his door, glancing over his shoulder at you. “You coming in, or do I need to roll out a red carpet for you?”

You scoff, stepping inside. “Your hospitality sucks.”

“It’s a dorm, not a hotel.”

You toss your bag onto his desk chair, turning to look at him and immediately realize he’s standing closer than you expected. Close enough that you can smell the faint mix of laundry detergent and whatever cologne he always wears without meaning to. Your brain stutters. Couple-close. You’ve been couple-close all day.

Seungmin seems completely unfazed, kicking his shoes off before tossing himself onto his bed. “Sit,” he says, nodding at the space next to him.

You cross your arms. “Wow, so polite.”

“Do you want to learn baseball or not?”

“Not.”

“Sit anyway.”

You roll your eyes, but you sit, careful to keep a few inches of space between you. He notices. Of course he notices. His eyebrow arches slightly, like he’s daring you to keep that distance. He pulls up a replay on his laptop, propping it on his knees. The sound of the crowd fills the room, muffled through his speakers.

You glance at him, unimpressed. “This is tragic. Are you seriously making me watch sports analysis of the same game we just saw?”

“Educational purposes,” he says smoothly.

“Mm-hm.” You pop your head into your hand, elbow resting on your knee. “And what exactly am I learning here?”

“That I’m always right.”

You snort. “You’re never right.”

His gaze flicks toward you, eyes glinting. “Oh yeah? You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“Funny,” he says, leaning back slightly, arms crossing over his chest now. “Because you’ve been looking at me like I’m right about a lot of things lately.”

You whip your head toward him, heat rushing to your face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

His mouth quirks. “You tell me.”

“Seungmin,” you warn.

“What?” he says, voice all fake-innocent. “You’ve been staring since the game.”

“I have not!”

“You definitely have,” he counters, shifting slightly closer now, laptop forgotten. “You’ve been looking at me like—”

“Like what, exactly?”

He tilts his head, his grin softening just slightly, that teasing edge dipping into something deeper. “Like you’re waiting for me to do something about it.”

Your heart lurches. “You’re full of yourself.”

“And you’re full of excuses.”

You’re glaring at him now, but he doesn’t back down. Neither do you. Finally, you snap, jabbing a finger at him. “You think you can just say stuff like that and—”

“What, like this?” he interrupts, leaning closer.

“Seungmin—”

“Or maybe like this,” he murmurs, closer now, his face inches from yours.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, but your voice catches halfway through.

“You love it when I'm annoying,” he breathes, and this time his tone isn’t teasing. Your pulse is pounding. His eyes are locked on yours. The air between you goes still, heavy, loaded. And before you realise, before you even take another deep breath.

He kisses you.

His lips are on you. His. lips. are. on you.

And not tentative, not an accident. No no. This is on purpose. Done with intent. Seungmin leans into that kiss fully, hand sliding to the side of your jaw, pulling you closer like he’s been dying to do it since that stupid summer evening. Your brain short-circuits. Your hands fist into his shirt without thinking, pulling him closer, because apparently you’ve been waiting just as long.

And when you finally break apart, you’re both breathless, staring at each other like you’re not sure what universe you’ve just stepped into.

“...You’re such an ass,” you whisper again, because it’s the only thing your brain can manage.

His lips curve into a grin, softer this time, almost shy if it weren’t Seungmin. “Yeah,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your cheek once before dropping. “But you really do love it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he kisses you again before you can get a single word out. This one is worse. Or better. Or both. Because now you know exactly how it feels, and your body responds like it’s been waiting for this, like it’s been ready for weeks, maybe months, maybe since that stupid baseball field when he caught you before you hit the dirt.

But you still melt into that kiss and your fingers twist tighter in his shirt. Because, fuck, his lips are... perfect against your own. His hand slides to the back of your neck this time, careful but firm, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he lets you go. When he finally pulls back, his forehead lingers against yours. His thumb brushes the edge of your jaw, softer now, almost hesitant.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low, warm against your skin.

And you want to say yes. God, you want to. But your chest feels too tight, and your brain? Your brain won’t shut up. Because this is Seungmin. Your Seungmin. The one who’s been your person through bad professors and late-night deadlines, the one who memorized your coffee order, the one who stayed up at 3 a.m. with you watching dumb videos because you couldn’t sleep.

And if you mess this up—

You blink, heart hammering, and the words tumble out before you can stop them. “This… this is gonna make things complicated.”

Seungmin’s expression flickers, just for a second, before settling back into something unreadable. “Complicated how?”

“You know how,” you whisper, pulling back just slightly, enough to breathe but not enough to break the space between you. “We’re—us. We’ve been… like this for so long, and if this goes wrong, if we screw this up, I don’t—” Your throat tightens. “I don’t want to lose you.”

There’s a beat of silence. His hand stays at your jaw and his gaze doesn’t waver. Seungmin then finally exhales, a soft huff that sounds almost like disbelief.

“Are you seriously worried about that?”

You blink, stung. “Yes, I’m worried about that! This isn’t—this isn’t just kissing some random guy, Seungmin, this is you. My best friend. And you just—” You gesture vaguely at him, at this. “You kissed me. Twice. Like it’s not a big deal.”

His brows lift, and for the first time tonight, his voice sharpens, not angry, never angry, just firm. “You think this isn’t a big deal to me?”

Your breath catches.

“I’ve wanted to do that since…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “God, I don’t even know how long. But it’s been a while. So yeah, I kissed you. Because I meant it. Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this.”

You stare at him, stunned, because Seungmin doesn’t talk like this. He teases. He deflects. He hides behind sarcasm. But right now? He’s looking at you like every word is true. And then he adds, softer now, “You’re worried about losing me? Newsflash, traitor. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your chest tightens. “You can’t promise that.”

He shrugs, a crooked half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe not. But I can promise I’m not kissing you just to mess around. I don’t…” He exhales again, softer this time, thumb brushing over your cheekbone like he’s trying to make you believe it. “I don’t do this with just anyone. You know that.”

You swallow hard, still staring at him, still scared, still buzzing. You even open your mouth to argue again, but he catches it with another kiss, again. Except this one is slower, more passionate, his hand sliding to your waist this time, like he's giving you every second to pull away.

But you don't.

So when you part from that perfect kiss again, you're both leaning into each other, air is warmer between you. Warm and different. But a good type of different.

You press your forehead to his, voice quiet, a tiny, almost-shy admission. “This better not ruin us.”

“It won’t,” he says without hesitation, like it’s the easiest truth in the world. “Not unless you run away first.”

You snort, weakly, because that’s such a Seungmin answer. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He smirks, thumb brushing your chin. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes but don’t move away, your fingers still curled into his shirt. “Shut up and play your stupid game replays, Giants boy.”

He grins, tugging you gently closer against his side until you’re practically tucked into him. The laptop is still on, now playing muted game highlights, but he doesn’t even glance at it. His arm rests lazily against the back of the bed, fingers brushing your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You try to focus on the screen, really, you do. But his warmth, his stupid heartbeat against your arm, his smell—all of it—is way too distracting.

And of course, he notices.

“Hey,” he murmurs, glancing down at you, voice low enough that it cuts through the sound of the crowd on the replay. “You’re not still freaking out about this, are you?”

You blink, startled. “I’m not freaking out.”

One of his eyebrows lifts. “Sure.”

“I’m not,” you insist, maybe a little too fast.

“Uh-huh.” His mouth quirks. “If it reassures you that much, though…”

Something in his tone makes you glance up. His smirk is already there, infuriating and dangerous. “…lemme just take you out on a proper date,” he says, voice casual, like he’s talking about something as simple as passing the salt.

You freeze. “A… date?”

“Yeah.” He leans back slightly, still watching you with that damn smirk. “A real one. I’ll even ask you to be my girlfriend if that helps you stop looking like you’re about to explode.”

Your face heats instantly. “You’re—what?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” he says, grinning wider now. “What, you think I was planning on kissing you forever without actually doing something about it?”

“I—Seungmin—!”

“Relax,” he interrupts, leaning closer, his arm brushing yours. “I’ll do it properly. Dinner. Maybe flowers. I’ll even wear a nice shirt. Not for me, obviously—”

“Obviously,” you deadpan, trying desperately to hide your burning cheeks.

“—but for you,” he finishes, voice dropping just slightly.

You stare at him. Hard. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he says, laughing softly, tilting his head like he’s committing your expression to memory. “It’s cute.”

“Stop calling me cute.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s—you can’t just—ugh!”

He’s laughing outright now, leaning back against the headboard, the picture of relaxed smugness. “You’re really bad at taking compliments, you know that?”

“I hate you,” you mutter, turning back toward the laptop just so you don’t have to look at him anymore.

“Mm, no you don’t,” he says easily, reaching over to nudge your chin so you’ll look at him again. “But nice try.”

You swat his hand away, glaring. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still sitting here,” he points out, grin softening just slightly, almost fond now. “So I’ll take that as a yes.”

“A yes to what?”

“To the date.”

You blink. “I never agreed to—”

“Too late,” he says, shrugging, eyes twinkling. “I already asked. You didn’t say no. That’s basically a yes.”

“Seungmin.”

He cuts you off with a grin that’s both smug and—annoyingly—warm. “Relax, traitor. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You try to come up with a snarky reply, but all that comes out is a strangled, “You’re so—ugh.” He chuckles, finally turning back to the laptop like nothing happened, one arm still draped around you like it belongs there.

You shift under his arm, trying to find the right words, but they all feel stuck somewhere in your chest. “Seungmin,” you start, quieter this time.

He hums, eyes on the laptop now but clearly listening.

“I just…” You glance down at your hands, twisting slightly in your lap. “I’m still… kind of scared, okay? Like, this is—”

He cuts you off immediately, like he’s been expecting that. “Complicated. Yeah, I know.”

You look up at him, surprised. He glances at you finally, his expression softer than you expect. “But hey,” he says, voice steady, no hesitation at all, “you don’t have to be scared. Not with me.”

Your chest tightens.

“And also,” he adds, smirk curling back onto his face, “too late anyway. You’re already my girlfriend.”

Your brain stutters. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You didn’t say no. We kissed. That’s binding, sorry.”

You gape at him. “That’s not how that works!”

“It is now.”

“Seungmin.”

“Shhh.” He presses a finger to his own lips dramatically, turning back to the screen with fake seriousness. “We’re watching baseball replays, girlfriend. Focus.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” he asks, grinning without looking away from the laptop.

“Because you’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re still sitting here,” he says again, smug as ever.

You cross your arms, glaring at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, you been telling me, uhh... all day.” he says, leaning slightly closer, his arm tightening just a bit around your shoulders. “But I’m your insufferable now, so stop overthinking and watch this home run, okay?”

You stare at him for a beat, torn between smacking him and melting into the mattress. Finally, you sigh, leaning against him despite yourself. “…You’re such a menace.”

“Mm. And you love it.”

You roll your eyes, but when his thumb brushes lazily against your arm and he murmurs, almost too soft to hear, “Seriously, don’t be scared. I’m not going anywhere,” you believe him. Because, for some odd reason, you finally let yourself relax into him a little more, letting his warmth and the sound of the crowd on the screen blur together until your heartbeat finally starts to settle.

Yeah.

You’re his girlfriend.

And you hope he actually brings flowers and not a potted plant to that promised date.

…Though, honestly, you’d probably like the potted plant too. You’d name it Seungmin Jr. just to annoy him. That thought makes you snort. Out loud. Not at all discreet. And that causes Seungmin to glance down at you immediately. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, biting back a grin.

He narrows his eyes, suspicious. “You’re thinking something stupid.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” he says, shifting slightly to look at you. “I can see it in your face. What is it?”

You pause dramatically, then deadpan, “If you bring me a potted plant on our date, I’m naming it Seungmin Jr.”

He blinks. “...You’d name it after me?”

“Yes. And then I’d tell everyone Seungmin Jr. is much easier to deal with than Seungmin Sr.”

He stares at you for a long moment, then huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love it,” you shoot back automatically.

He smirks, leaning back against the headboard, arm tightening around you again. “Yeah,” he says, soft but sure. “Yeah, I do.”

You blink, cheeks warming, but before you can reply, he turns back to the screen, grinning. “Now shut up, girlfriend,” he says casually. “You’re blocking my view of the best play of the season.”

You roll your eyes, leaning into him anyway. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Giants boy.”

“Lucky? No,” he says, smirking. “Skilled. I caught you fair and square.”

And you hate how much you’re smiling when you mumble, “Menace.”

“Yours,” he replies, not missing a beat.

And just like that, it feels easy.

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @emilyywhyy , @rainyjeno , @fawnoverdawn , @pixie-felix , @anniestay , @notmeneo , @lovslixx , @themoonlightfae , @heartwithoutaname , @yourghostneighbor , @princesskrystix , @drilles , @y2kur0mi , @mochi-space , @ivaviavi , @phelans-thoughts , @the-anon-reader , @beans4beans56 , @joyfulchaoslover , @channieismylove , @cherryoatchai , @unimportantweirdo , @seagulljk , @freckles-and-rage , @lonelydarknessblog , @girlsymptoms , @bookswillfindyouaway , @jasperlvskz , @geekymommakerry , @dazzlingjade , @alisonyus , @pluto-rose , @crazy4books1 , @b3autyist3rror , @felixleftchickennugget , @loonybunny1 , @itzkaitlynm , @boldy-49 , @zayn-210 , @hanjiswvrld , @ilovedallywinston , @ironyatitsfinest , @shadowhunterathene , @stayalittlelonger143

[barnesonly]

Illegal

mob!bucky barnes x fbi!reader

summary: You’re an FBI agent sent undercover to get close to the most dangerous mob boss in the city. But the deeper you go, the harder it gets to remember which side you’re really on.

word count: 8k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! for all the tags/warnings, please check series masterlist since it may contain spoilers. tw: family trauma, panic attack, mentions of death, smut in this chapter; dirty talk, blood, rough sex, choking, spanking, PiV, unprotected sex, breeding.

Chapter Four — „Bruises” | Previous

A month passed.

You thought time would help. That a little distance from that morning, from that conversation, from everything, might clear your head. You thought the mess inside you would start to make sense if you just let it breathe.

It didn’t.

If anything, the mess had only grown.

You still didn’t know what to do about your job. Still didn’t know how to lie to James and live with it. Still didn’t know what it meant that you were falling in love with him so fast, so recklessly, and that it didn’t feel like falling at all—more like sinking. Deeper every day.

Your head was a wreck. Your heart was worse. And pretending everything was fine? It had become a second job.

You didn’t know what the hell you were doing anymore.

Right now you two were in the kitchen. Making pasta. As if you had a normal, perfect life—not built on a lie.

Nothing fancy—just something quick, something warm. James insisted on helping even though he had no idea what he was doing, and he kept sneaking bites of ingredients when he thought you weren’t looking. You smacked his hand every time, and he just grinned at you like a devil.

It was stupid. It was wholesome. It felt like a life you weren’t supposed to have.

And you loved him so fucking much.

His hair was still messy from the shower, sleeves rolled up and a faint smile tugging at his lips as he stirred the sauce like it was serious business. Every so often, he’d glance at you—like he couldn’t believe you were still here.

Your chest ached.

Because you had reported what he told you. The things he let slip late at night, when he was vulnerable and soft and thought he was safe with you.

You gave it all to Mike. Not everything—James didn’t say much, never did—but it was enough to keep the agency off your back. Enough to buy you more time.

And you should’ve been relieved.

You weren’t.

You didn’t care about the mission anymore. You didn’t care that you were still “in.” That they hadn’t pulled you out. That you could keep pretending a little longer.

You only cared that you could still be with him.

Stand here in his kitchen, barefoot beside him, stirring sauce and pretending you weren’t feeding lies to the people who’d destroy him if they knew the truth.

Moments like this were your everything now and you weren’t ready to give them up.

You were just draining the pasta when his voice cut through the quiet.

“Y’know,” James said, casually leaning back against the counter, arms folded as he watched you with that ever-present half-smirk, “your birthday’s coming up soon.”

You blinked. Froze for a second with the colander still in your hands.

Your birthday.

Your actual birthday. The real one—you had mentioned it once, offhandedly, weeks ago. You hadn’t even realized you said the real date until now. You didn’t think he was listening, let alone remembering.

Your pulse skipped, and for a second, the world tilted—like someone had pulled the thread just a little too tight.

You hadn’t been thinking about it. Hell, you hadn’t thought about you in a long time. Not the real you. That girl felt like she existed a hundred years ago.

“Don’t give me that look,” he teased, stepping forward to nudge your hip with his. “You think I forgot?”

“I didn’t even think I remembered,” you muttered, setting the pot aside and trying to focus on plating the food..

But he saw right through you.

“Well,” he said lightly, bumping your shoulder now, “I guess I better start planning something. Take you out. Or stay in. Candles, wine, all that romantic shit you pretend not to like.”

You gave him a small, shaky laugh. “James—”

He leaned in, eyes warm, voice low. “What? You think I’m not gonna spoil my girl on her birthday?”

My girl.

God. You wished you were.

You swallowed hard and smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. And you hated how easily he caught the shift.

“You okay?” he asked, tone dipping just slightly into concern again.

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, just… forgot about it, that’s all.”

James didn’t press you for more. Didn’t call out the lie he probably saw in your too-tight smile.

Instead, he hummed softly, reached over—and before you could react, he swiped his finger through a little smear of sauce on the edge of the pan… and smeared it right across the tip of your nose.

You blinked. Stared at him, stunned.

He grinned.

“There she is,” he murmured, eyes crinkling. “Was starting to miss that face.”

“James,” you gasped, half-laughing, wiping at your nose with your wrist. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Mm, maybe. But you’re smiling now, aren’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm—but not from embarrassment. He was so stupid. So ridiculous. So perfect in the worst, best way.

He leaned in again, gently wiped off the last bit of red from your skin with his thumb, then kissed the spot he’d smeared like it was nothing.

“I love you,” he said, so quietly it barely made it past the sound of the stove still simmering behind you. But it hit you like thunder.

And god, you melted. You always did when he said it like that—no hesitation, no fear. Like it was the easiest truth he knew.

Your gaze dropped for a second, overwhelmed by how full your heart felt. Then you looked back up at him, eyes glassy, lips parting in a small, breathless smile.

“I love you too,” you whispered. “So much.”

And you weren’t even sure who you were saying it as anymore. The woman you were supposed to be—or the one you’d become with him. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

But it was the truth and right now, that was all that mattered.

You continued making the dinner in silence but eventually… your mind couldn’t help but wander.

He’d mentioned it earlier, almost offhandedly—how he had to leave that evening. That work had gotten messy again.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him.

“When do you think you’ll be back?”

James exhaled through his nose, one hand still resting lightly on your hip. “Don’t know yet,” he admitted. “Could be late. Could be tomorrow. Depends how things play out.”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. That part always got to you—the not knowing. Not just when. But if.

A pause settled between you, and you weren’t sure why you hesitated. Maybe because it wasn’t a question you were asking as part of your job. Not to report. Not to push.

It was just you. His girl.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmured.

He glanced down at you, cautious but open. “Maybe. Depends.”

“All this… thing. Your work.” You hesitated again. “Do you have like… trusted people there? Like friends? Or something? I don’t know. Someone to have your back so I don’t have to worry about you.”

He blinked, then softened a little at your words. “You worry about me? Aww…”

You tilted your head at him in annoyance.

James’s jaw flexed, thoughtful now. “I’ve got people,” he said eventually. “Not many. You don’t last long in this life if you trust too easy. But the ones I got?” He looked at you. “They’d take a bullet for me. I’d do the same.”

That answer should’ve made you feel better. It kind of did but it also reminded you of the world he lived in. One that wasn’t built to keep anyone safe.

Still, you nodded. Swallowed. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “I’ve been in this game a long time, baby. I know how to survive.”

You swallowed, voice low. “Just… be careful, okay?”

His head turned, slow, eyes landing on yours. No smile this time. No teasing.

“Always,” he said simply.

———

He was gone.

The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old floorboards beneath your bare feet. Evening had settled over the city, dimming the windows in deep blue and gold. You were alone.

Again.

He let you stay now. Trusted you enough to leave you here, in his home. His sanctuary.

Unbelievable.

There was a time when you would’ve taken advantage of that. When you would’ve searched drawers, checked behind bookshelves, taken photos of anything that looked remotely like a lead. But now? You didn’t even glance at the places you once would’ve been desperate to look through.

You just… sighed.

And sank down onto the couch.

Because for once, you didn’t want to know more. You didn’t want to peel him apart. You didn’t want to do your job. You wanted him to be okay. You wanted him to come back.

You wanted to be here when he did.

You reached for the phone.

Not the burner you kept hidden back at your apartment. Not the one that reminded you of who you really were—or who you were supposed to be.

No, this one was the fake. The one that had a name, a history, a carefully constructed identity. The one you used near James. The one that had slowly stopped feeling fake at all.

You’d gotten too confident with it lately. Too reckless. A past version of yourself—the cleaner, sharper one—would’ve slapped it out of your hand. Would’ve screamed that you were slipping.

But you didn’t care anymore.

You’d even switched the SIM card last week. Told Mike it was for ‘proximity security.’ Whatever the hell that meant. He bought it. Or maybe he didn’t. You weren’t sure. You didn’t ask.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment, the silence thick around you, before you started typing.

things are calm. he left for a job. didn’t say when he’d be back. nothing new, but i’ll keep watching.

You stared at the message for a while. Not too much. Not too little. Just enough. You hit send and then dropped the phone on the coffee table like it had burned you.

The moment it left your hand, guilt surged in your chest. Not the sharp, logical kind you were used to—the kind that kept you efficient and careful. No, this one was warm and aching. Emotional. Messy.

Because somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred. Gotten muddy. And now? You didn’t just feel like you were betraying James when you sent those updates. You felt like you were protecting him, too.

You wanted to protect him.

God, that was the worst part. The part you couldn’t make sense of. Because it had started as a mission, then a lie, and now—

Now you were sitting in his apartment. His fucking apartment. Wrapped in his hoodie, smelling like him, surrounded by the silence he left behind. And all you could think about was whether he’d be okay. Whether he had someone watching his back. Whether he’d make it home.

And whether you were slowly becoming the kind of person who would burn everything else just to keep him safe.

You’d been in love before. Or—at least you thought you had.

There were people. Relationships. The kind that fit into your life without breaking its rhythm. Clean, practical, mostly forgettable. You told yourself that was enough. That love—whatever that meant—wasn’t something for people like you. You didn’t get attached. You didn’t need to. It was safer that way.

James ruined everything.

Because what you had with him wasn’t practical. It wasn’t forgettable. It wasn’t safe. It was wild and consuming, and it dug into every place you thought was hardened and unreachable. He didn’t just make you feel something. He made you feel like someone. Like you were real again.

You’d been so lost in all those layers of personas, missions, fake names, fake jobs—fake smiles. You didn’t even remember what your own laugh sounded like. Who you were when you weren’t pretending.

But then he touched you. Kissed you. Laughed with you and somewhere in those quiet moments—those shared mornings and soft, private jokes—he cracked you open. Held a mirror to the version of you you’d buried so deep beneath survival instincts and bulletproof lies.

And you saw her.

Real you.

And now you were broken.

Because no one else had ever made you feel like this. Not in all your years. Not in any mission. Not in any life before him. No one ever made you care like this—so stupidly, so selflessly, so dangerously.

It was getting worse.

The lies. The pretending. The weight of every second you spent in his world as someone you weren’t—someone you wished you were.

You knew this life, this little illusion of normalcy, wouldn’t last. It was never meant to.

Sooner or later, someone would make the call. Mike would decide you’d done enough, learned enough, squeezed all the intel you could. They’d pull you out—just like that. No warning. No time to explain.

Or worse… James would find out.

And that—that terrified you the most.

Because you could survive being reassigned. You could live with the guilt. You’d done it before. Packed up a fake life, shoved the memories into a corner, and moved on.

But not with him.

You’d lose him either way. One path had you walking out and leaving nothing but an echo behind. The other ended with the truth bleeding out between you, with the man you loved looking at you like a stranger. Like a traitor.

And you knew—God, you knew—he wouldn’t forgive you.

How could he?

You were lying to him with every breath. Every I love you. Every kiss. Every laugh shared over a pot of pasta or a teasing swipe of sauce on your nose.

It was all real to you. But it was real under false pretenses. Built on a secret that would eventually collapse the whole fucking thing.

The clock was ticking. You could feel it in every moment of stillness, hear it in the silence after he left for “work.” And it was getting louder. Closer.

You didn’t know which end would come first.

But either way… you’d lose him.

———

It was the middle of the night when the door clicked open.

You startled awake—barely aware you’d been sleeping at all. The sheets felt cold without him. The air was too still, your chest too tight. You sat up in bed, squinting at the clock.

2:47AM.

And then you heard it—footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Dragged.

You didn’t even think. You threw on the nearest sweater and padded barefoot down the stairs, the hallway shadows swallowing you whole until the faint glow from the kitchen light cut through it all.

And there he was.

James. Standing just inside the door, jacket half-off, shirt soaked with rain and something darker. Blood. There was blood on his jaw. His lip was split. Bruising already formed around his temple, deep and angry.

You froze. The breath caught in your throat like a scream that wouldn’t come out.

“Oh, my God. Are you okay—”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, too quickly. His voice was low, steady, but laced with exhaustion. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, softening at the sight of you—wide-eyed, trembling.

“You’re not fine,” you breathed, rushing to him before he could stop you. Your hands hovered, afraid to touch him, afraid you’d hurt him more. “What happened? Jesus, James—”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, reaching out to steady you instead. Like you were the fragile one here. “Just a bad night. I’ve had worse.”

“Don’t say that,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the dried blood at his chin. “Don’t pretend this is normal.”

„It is normal,” he gave a weak huff—maybe a laugh, maybe a sigh—and let his head fall forward, resting his forehead against yours. „You’re shaking,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

But you were scared. Because this was real. Not the fake parts of your life. Not the role you were playing. This—him, hurt and bleeding in your arms.

And it was always going to be like this. You just hadn’t let yourself think about it before now. Not really. Not past the daydreams, the warmth of his hand in yours, the pretend-life you were living.

This—The blood. The bruises. The fear crawling up your throat like bile.

It was all part of it. Part of him.

“I told you,” he said gently, catching your wide, horrified stare. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Most of this—” he gestured vaguely at his bloodstained shirt with a tired little shrug, “—isn’t even mine.”

You blinked. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He paused, then gave a low chuckle under his breath. “No. I guess not.”

Because you were right. That wasn’t better. That wasn’t reassuring. It just made your stomach twist tighter. If it wasn’t his… then what had he done? Who had he hurt?

But before your thoughts could spiral further, he stepped in—close. Closer.

His hand found your waist, the other lifted to your face, thumb brushing your cheek, grounding you.

“Look at me,” he murmured, voice gentling. “I’m fine. I promise. You don’t have to worry. It’s over. The problem’s handled. Work’s not gonna follow me home.”

You wanted to believe that. God, you needed to.

But your gaze dropped anyway, settling on the dried streak of red on his collarbone, the little cut near his temple, already crusted dark.

“I hate this,” you whispered.

“I know,” he breathed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You melted into him then, hands curling into the damp fabric of his shirt. It didn’t matter if some of the blood wasn’t his. Enough of it was.

You didn’t say anything else. You just slipped your fingers into his and gave the gentlest tug, leading him upstairs.

He didn’t resist.

The moment the bathroom door closed behind you, you turned toward him, hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Take this off,” you said, quiet but firm.

He obeyed wordlessly, peeling it off with a wince. The fabric clung a little, stuck to a smear of blood on his shoulder. You grimaced as you saw it up close. The cut on his temple, the bruising near his ribs—purple blooming beneath pale skin like something rotten. Still, he stood steady in front of you, shirtless now, just in his jeans, his chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. Calm. Like he was used to this and it was nothing.

But to you—it wasn’t nothing.

You grabbed the damp cloth you’d found in the bathroom’s closet and stepped in, wiping gently at the blood near his eye, the corner of his jaw. He didn’t flinch. He just watched you.

Watched you with that gaze that always made your chest feel tight. Heavy.

“I’m okay,” he murmured again, but softer this time. Less like reassurance and more like he was trying to comfort you.

“I still want to take care of you,” you whispered, throat tight.

Your fingers brushed over the bruise at his side and he hissed, just a little, and your heart clenched. You should’ve been angry. You should’ve felt sick at what he’d just come home from—at what he might’ve done. But all you could feel was this desperate, stupid pull in your gut. The heat of it. The ache of caring too much.

He looked like he’d been carved out of stone. Tense, sharp, and still beautiful—how the hell was he still beautiful like this?

You dabbed at the edge of another cut and caught the way his abs flexed beneath your hand. He was so warm under your touch.

And God, you shouldn’t feel this right now—not now—but your breath caught in your throat anyway.

Because you did. You felt it so strongly it almost hurt.

The heat curling in your stomach. The way your eyes dropped—just for a second—to his chest, his stomach, the line of muscle disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. The ache of wanting to hold him, kiss him, wrap yourself around him so he couldn’t ever leave again.

You shouldn’t want him like this. Not after what he just did. But you did. You couldn’t help it.

He noticed. Of course he did.

You were never good at hiding your desires from him—never really tried to be, not when it came to feelings like this. The way your eyes lingered a little too long. The way your breath hitched when your hand brushed his skin. The way your lips parted like you wanted to say something, do something, but didn’t trust yourself to move.

His hand came up slowly, fingertips brushing along your jaw—gentle, deliberate—and then he cupped your face, eyes scanning yours like he was searching for something in them. Something unspoken.

He leaned in and kissed you.

Not soft. Not hesitant. But with a kind of need that settled deep in your bones. Like he couldn’t hold back either. Like he saw everything you were feeling and didn’t want to run from it—wanted to meet you in the middle of it.

The cloth you’d been holding slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a quiet, wet sound. Neither of you cared.

Your hands came up to his bare chest, sliding over the ridges of muscle and scar until you were holding onto him like you were afraid he’d vanish again. He kissed you harder. Hungrier. Like the blood on his skin didn’t matter, like the bruises could wait.

His mouth was warm and urgent, tongue slipping past your lips when you gasped against him. Your body pressed close to his—bare chest against the soft fabric of your sweater, his hands moving now from your face to your waist, pulling you in tighter. Every thought, every fear, dissolved into nothing under the weight of his mouth.

It was messy. Too messy for a kiss like that, especially in the bathroom, with the faint sting of antiseptic still clinging to the air and his blood staining the counter. But none of it mattered. Not when he was kissing you like that.

Your back bumped the sink, your fingers tangled in his hair. Your body had a mind of its own, hips arching forward with a desperate need to feel him closer—closer than skin could allow. You could still taste iron on his mouth. You didn’t care.

He growled low in his throat when he felt your hips move. His hands tightened around your waist, then slid down, rough and fast.

“You want me, huh?” he muttered against your lips. “Yeah… I know, baby. I know.”

The kiss broke just long enough for him to grab the hem of your sweater. And then—rip—he yanked it over your head in one brutal motion, the seams tearing loud in the quiet room. His eyes were wild. Black with heat.

You barely had time to gasp before his hands were on your thighs, shoving your panties down like they offended him. The elastic bit into your skin from the force before they hit the floor. You braced yourself against the edge of the sink, chest heaving.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he rasped, mouth hot on your neck now, trailing down your collarbone as his hand slipped between your legs, already knowing exactly what he’d find there—so wet and needy. His other hand—metal—gripped your hip like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Then his hands gripped your thighs and with one smooth pull, he lifted you onto the bathroom counter. The cool marble met your bare skin and made you shiver.

You pulled him closer by the waistband of his pants, your breath shaky and fingers already fumbling with the belt. The metal clinked loudly in the quiet room as you worked it open, too fast, too desperate. His chest rose and fell, still marked by bruises and blood.

He just stared down at you, lips parted, breath shallow, while you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. You pushed them down, past his hips, helping him step out of them while he kicked them to the side.

You looked up—just for a second—and there it was.

The tension. The want. The ache.

His hands cupped your face again, thumbs brushing your cheek like you were the most fragile thing he’d ever touched. And then his mouth was on yours again—harder this time, hotter—and you didn’t care about the counter, or the blood on his knuckles, or how wrong this probably was.

One hand wrapped around the back of your neck, the other gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise, and then—he pushed into you. Rough and deep.

You gasped, fingers clawing at his shoulders, his back, anything to hold onto as he bottomed out inside you in one brutal thrust. The stretch burned in the best way. Your head hit the mirror behind you with a soft thud, and his mouth was right there—kissing your throat, your collarbone, swallowing every sound you made.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked, forehead resting against yours for a moment. „Did I get you all worked up coming home like this, huh?”

He started moving. Hard. Relentless.

You nodded. Your legs wrapped around him without thinking, feet digging into his back as he drove into you over and over again. The edge of the counter bit into your spine, the air between you thick with sweat and sex and something needier than lust. His grip on your waist tightened, dragging you into every thrust like he couldn’t get close enough.

You cried out his name—barely a whisper, barely anything—but it made him groan like you’d pulled it from the deepest part of him.

“Say it again,” he growled, slamming into you. “Say my fuckin’ name.”

“James,” you breathed, wrecked and dizzy. “James—”

He kissed you hard, swallowing the sound, his thrusts getting rougher, deeper, like he wanted to break you open and bury himself inside. And God, part of you wanted him to. You wanted all of it. You wanted him.

His hips stilled suddenly, buried deep inside you, and he looked at you. Face bruised, lip split, blood still dried in the creases of his jaw. And still, his gaze burned through you.

“You want it like that, baby?” he rasped, voice low and dangerous, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. “You want me to fuck you like I’ve lost my mind?”

„Yes… Please—” You nodded before you could even think and he smirked.

“Turn around.”

„Wha—” You looked up at him, completely hazed.

He pulled out slow, almost teasing, leaving you empty and aching. His hands slid down to your hips, firm and commanding.

“I said—turn around. Hands on the counter.”

You obeyed on instinct.

The cold surface met your palms as he nudged your legs apart from behind. His hands roamed over your ass, your back, tracing possessive paths down your skin before he gave you a sharp slap. Not painful—just enough to make you jolt and gasp.

“Good girl,” he murmured, leaning in to press his mouth to your ear, cock pressed right at your entrance. “Hold still for me.”

Then he shoved back into you from behind.

You choked out a moan as your cheek hit the counter. The new angle had you seeing stars—every thrust knocking the breath from your lungs as he gripped your hips like he was trying to leave marks.

“You love this,” he growled. “Love when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Feel so good—”

He reached around you, fingers sliding between your legs, rubbing circles that made your thighs shake.

“I want you to come all over my cock,” he grunted. “Make a fuckin’ mess for me.”

You could barely hold yourself up.

His thrusts were relentless, punishing in their rhythm, the sound of skin on skin echoing off the tiled walls. You felt raw, stretched open, overwhelmed—but god, you didn’t want him to stop. Not even for a second.

Then his palm landed on your ass again—harder this time.

“Fuck,” he growled behind you. “Look at this pretty little ass—red already.”

Another smack. Then another. You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, and he chuckled low and rough in your ear.

He leaned over you, his body pressing into your back, pinning you down as his flesh hand held your hip and his metal hand—cold and deliberate—slid up your body… and around your neck.

Your breath hitched.

“You’re mine, yeah?” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “You feel that?”

You nodded as his fingers tightened—not painfully, but enough to make you feel it. Enough to make your pulse jump against the metal.

Your eyes rolled back as he kept fucking into you from behind, deep and possessive, while his grip held you still.

“God, baby… you were made for me,” he grunted. “You take me so fuckin’ well.”

You moaned, choked slightly on the pressure, your walls clenching around him, the pleasure building too fast to contain. His thumb stroked over your throat, soft and grounding, like he could feel every heartbeat.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he hissed.

“Y-Yeah,” you gasped, voice wrecked, barely audible.

“Atta girl, look at me princess,” his metal hand slipped to your jaw for a moment, turning your face towards him, then back to your neck. „Come for me, sweetheart,” he said, growling it like an order.

Your whole body tensed, your thighs trembling as the orgasm tore through you, hot and sudden and blinding. You cried out, a strangled sound caught between your throat and the cool metal fingers tightening around it.

That pressure—it intensified just as you came.

Not enough to panic you. Just enough to feel it burn into your skin. A bruise in the shape of his hand, already blooming.

A mark you wanted.

“Fuck, look at you,” James hissed behind you. “So pretty when you come—squeezing me so fuckin’ tight.”

Your hands scrambled against the counter, nails scratching, legs shaking uncontrollably, your vision going hazy from the mix of pleasure and the heady rush of his hand on your throat.

He didn’t let up. Just kept pounding into you, rough and unrelenting, fucking you through your orgasm like he owned your body. And he did. God, he did.

“That’s it,” he murmured, releasing your throat just enough so air could pour back in. He pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck. “You did so fuckin’ well for me.”

But he still wasn’t done. You felt him twitch inside you, that telltale stutter of his hips—

“Gonna fill you up,” he groaned. “Gonna come so deep you feel me for days.”

His grip dug into your hips, and he buried himself in one final thrust, letting out a broken curse as he came hard, spilling inside you. His breath stuttered against your shoulder, sweat dripping from his temple, chest heaving against your back.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he pulled back slightly—just enough for you to feel the drag of his cock, the slip of his release between your thighs—and then he slammed back in, rough and deep, making you jolt with a breathless cry.

„Mine,” he growled against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “You hear me? All fuckin’ mine.”

He fucked his cum back into you with slow, punishing thrusts, hips snapping into yours with purpose. Each movement filthy, possessive, claiming you from the inside out.

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut as your head fell forward, the counter barely keeping you upright.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, voice wrecked.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, James. I’m yours.”

A low groan left him, primal and raw. His hand flattened over your stomach, the other gripping your thigh, keeping you spread for him.

“Mhm… Fuckin’ right you are.”

He finally pulled out with a slow, wet drag that made you shudder, your legs trembling from the effort of staying upright.

You were dizzy. Fucked out. Ruined.

His hand stayed on your lower back to steady you as he stepped back just enough to look between your thighs.

A low, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest.

“See the mess, baby?” he rasped, dragging his metal fingers between your legs to spread you open. His fingers dragged through your folds.

You whimpered, your body twitching at the overstimulation. His cum dripped down your inner thighs, glistening under the dim bathroom lights, hot and thick and undeniable.

“Look at what I did to you,” he murmured. “Fucked you so full you’re dripping for me.”

Your breath hitched as he brought those slick-coated fingers up to your mouth and tapped your lips.

“Open.”

And you did—without thinking, without hesitation.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice low and thick with praise, thumb swiping at the corner of your lips as you swallowed around the taste of him.

Your body melted at the words.

“Come here, baby,” he said next, the rough edge in his tone softening just enough—still commanding, still him, but gentler now.

He tugged you into his chest, arms wrapping around you tight. You were trembling, breath uneven, brain still swimming in the haze of everything he’d just done to you.

But his warmth grounded you. It always did.

He held you there, against the hard planes of his blood-warmed skin, one hand sliding up your spine while the other curled protectively around your waist.

Then he pressed a kiss to your temple and another to your damp hairline.

You looked up at him with that loose, blissed-out smile—eyes hazy, lips swollen—and he let out a rough little huff that was half–laugh, half–exhale. Then he slid an arm beneath your knees, the other around your back, and lifted you like you weighed nothing.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple as he carried you out of the bathroom. “Bed.”

The room was dim, sheets still a little rumpled from the last time you’d been in them. He set you down carefully, like you might bruise if he wasn’t gentle, then disappeared for a second—came back with a warm cloth and cleaned you up, slow and attentive, not saying much beyond soft, grounding little things like “easy… I’ve got you… you did so good for me. I love you, baby.”

He opened his closet and then tugged one of his shirts over your head, then sat on the bed beside you. His fingers traced idle patterns over your hip, the metal hand found your jaw and tilted your face up so he could lean in and press a kiss to your forehead, then the corner of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, calmer now.

You nodded, still floating. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Another kiss to your hairline. “Sleep. I’ll be back soon, okay? Just gonna go take a shower.”

You barely hummed in response, already sinking into the warmth of the sheets and his lingering touch, the haze of everything still wrapped around you like a second skin.

And as your eyes fluttered shut, there was only one thing pressing through the quiet in your chest.

God, you loved him so much.

———

You blinked awake slowly, light already pouring in through the blinds. For a moment, you didn’t move—just stared at the ceiling, letting yourself feel the weight of the blanket, the warmth of the body next to you.

You turned your head, heart already fluttering before you even saw him.

He was lying on his side, facing you, his face slack with sleep, a few strands of hair falling across his forehead. One arm tucked under the pillow, the other draped loosely over your waist like he’d reached for you in the middle of the night without even realizing it.

You smiled—soft, stupid, full of love.

God, you loved him.

You shifted slightly and accidentally brushed against him, and that was enough to stir him. He blinked slowly, brows twitching as he squinted toward you, voice still husky with sleep.

“…Mm?”

“Hi,” you whispered, still smiling like an idiot.

He blinked again, properly now, and when he finally focused on you—your face, your expression, your eyes lit up like morning—he let out a breath of a laugh and pulled you just a little closer.

“You’re the cutest thing ever, you know that?”

You bit your lip to stop from grinning harder, cheeks warm. “Shut up.”

He pulled you in closer, until your cheek was resting against his bare chest and his arm wrapped snug around your waist like he couldn’t stand the idea of you being even a breath away.

“I love you so much,” he murmured against your hair, voice barely more than a rumble in his throat.

And you didn’t even hesitate.

“I love you too.”

Because you did. More than you should. More than you could explain. More than what your life—your real life—would ever allow.

He looked down at you then, that softened gaze on his face like you were something he’d dreamed up, something too good for this world and still, somehow, his.

His fingers brushed gently along your back, and then he whispered, “You’re mine. I mean that.” he smiled and tucked a strand of hair away from your face. „I wanna be with you forever.”

Your heart cracked open like a fault line.

„Gonna make it official one day,” he continued and his gaze softened.

Fuck.

You almost started crying because he didn’t know.

He didn’t know what you were, what you’d done, what you were still doing. He didn’t know that everything between you had started with a lie, that you were planted into his life like a ticking bomb. It would all blow up. You’d lose him. No matter how much he loved you now.

Or rather he would lose you.

———

A few days passed like nothing and everything at once.

You were sitting on the couch, legs folded under you, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. Not even reading what was on the screen. Just… tapping. Keeping yourself busy so you wouldn’t spiral.

He came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “Hey,” he said casually, “you still haven’t told me what you want for your birthday.”

You blinked and glanced up at him, your mouth twitching in a half-smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“I don’t want anything.”

James tilted his head. “That’s not how birthdays work.”

You shrugged, looking back down at your screen. “Maybe not for normal people.”

He crossed the room and stood in front of you, arms folded, brow raised. “You’re not normal now?”

“I just…” You sighed, locked your phone, and let it fall onto the couch beside you. “I don’t really care about it this year. It’s just a day.”

He watched you carefully, quietly. “Is this about not wanting to make a big deal?”

You didn’t answer right away. Because yeah—it was that. Of course it was that. How the hell could you let him celebrate you when you were lying to his face every day? Letting him fall deeper for a version of you that wasn’t even real?

“I just… don’t think it matters,” you said softly. “Not this year.”

James just looked at you for a moment longer—like he could see through every wall you were trying to hold up—and then, quietly, “It matters to me.”

Then, after a beat, he huffed softly and said, “You’re being weird, you know that?”

Your eyes flicked up to him, brows pinching faintly. “…What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, voice quieter now, but still firm, “you were mad I didn’t tell you about my work, and yeah, I get that—I should’ve told you sooner, even though I tried to keep you out of this for your own safety. But you don’t really tell me much about yourself either.”

Your stomach dropped.

He continued, slower this time, as if testing the water. “You won’t mention your family. Your past. I’ve never even seen you look at old photos or… I don’t know, talk about where you grew up. What your life used to be. I let that slide before because—I wasn’t sharing details with you either. But now?”

He let the silence fill the room between you.

He was right. Of course he was, and you hated how the tables had turned. You didn’t say anything.

Because what could you possibly say?

You couldn’t tell him about your real life, the one you’d buried so deep you weren’t sure it was still yours.

You couldn’t explain why birthdays made your skin crawl, why you flinched when he asked what high school you went to and you had to come up with a lie or why your phone always stayed locked like your heart.

So you gave him something real. Not a lie this time but the truth. You swallowed. Your voice came out quieter this time.

“I don’t like talking about my past, James. About my family and… what my life used to be like.”

The words felt jagged on your tongue, like they’d been stuck in your throat for years and now they were clawing their way out.

He didn’t speak. Just waited.

“I…” You hesitated. Then let it out. “My parents weren’t the greatest ones on earth.”

You let out a nervous, humorless laugh.

“I don’t have a colorful childhood or… good memories that I love looking back at,” you admitted, frowning down at your hands.

You could feel him watching you. Not with pity. Not with judgment. Just… presence. The kind that made you want to keep going, even when it hurt.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that,” you added quietly. “I usually just pretend it’s fine. It’s easier when you don’t look too close.”

The silence stretched. James sat down on the couch next to you.

“I had a brother,” you said softly, eyes fixed somewhere far away. “He was two years older than me. He was all I ever had. We took care of each other.”

Your voice didn’t break, but a tear slipped from the corner of your eye anyway. You wiped it away quickly, almost angry at yourself for letting it show.

“He died,” you said, and even now, it felt unreal to say it out loud. Like if you didn’t name it, maybe it hadn’t really happened.

“And I… I’ve felt so lonely ever since.”

James shifted closer the second he saw that tear, the movement so instinctive it almost broke you again.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, the word sounding like it cracked something in his chest. His hand came to rest over yours now, warm and steady. “I’m so sorry.”

You kept your gaze down, but he reached up, brushing his fingers against your cheek so delicately it barely felt real.

“You were just a kid,” he said, voice thick with something he was trying to keep steady. “You shouldn’t have had to carry all that. No one should.”

You blinked fast, trying to hold it together, but his touch, his voice—it all made it worse in the best way. The kind of worse that finally let it out.

“I didn’t know what to do after he died,” you confessed. “I just… kept going. Like I was supposed to.”

James’s brow furrowed like he could feel it too—like your pain lived somewhere in him now.

“You didn’t deserve any of that,” he said quietly, firmly. “None of it. And if I could go back and protect you back then, I would.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, long and slow. “You’re safe now,” he murmured. “With me, you’re safe. I’m here.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you could even stop yourself. You were clinging—pathetically, desperately—but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

Your voice cracked as it came out, breathless and rushed.

“I love you so much, James. I can’t—” you shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you too.”

His arms wrapped around you instantly. Tight. Fierce. Like he could hold all of it for you.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered against your hair. “You’re not gonna lose me.”

But you didn’t believe him. You couldn’t.

You could still see the blood on his face that night. Still feel the weight of it every time he disappeared for hours without a word. You knew what he did. What it meant.

And you knew who you were. What you did.

“You don’t know that,” you whispered, voice breaking. “You don’t know what’s going to happen to you—one day you might not come back and—”

“Look at me.”

He pulled back just enough to tip your chin up, to make you meet his eyes. They were burning—so full of love, so full of something deeper it almost scared you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, firm. “I promise you that. I don’t care what’s out there, what it takes—I’ll come home to you. Every time.”

You nodded, because you wanted to believe him. You really, really did.

But deep down you knew the truth.

You weren’t just scared of losing him to a bullet or a mission gone wrong.

You were scared of what would happen when he found out who you really were.

And that loss? That one felt inevitable.

Your breath hitched—just once, sharp and sudden—and then it was like everything snapped inside you.

Your chest tightened, like a fist was squeezing your lungs from the inside out. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Your hands started trembling and your vision blurred. You pressed your fingers to your eyes, like that could stop the tears, the spiraling, the weight of everything pressing down all at once.

The guilt.

The lies.

The past you tried to bury so deep.

Your brother’s name echoing in your mind.

James’ voice saying “I love you.”

The truth clawing at your throat.

It was too much.

“Shit—” you gasped, trying to suck in air but it wouldn’t come. “I— I can’t— I can’t breathe—”

James’ arms were around you before you even realized he’d moved.

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart. Look at me—breathe. You’re okay, I got you. I’ve got you.”

He pulled you into his lap, one hand stroking your hair, the other grounding you to his chest. His voice was low and steady, like an anchor.

“Deep breath, baby. Come on, just breathe with me, alright? In through your nose—good. That’s it, you’re doing so good.”

You gripped his arms like a lifeline, choking on the sobs that came out of nowhere. Ugly, gut-wrenching ones that had been buried so long they didn’t even make sense anymore.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

His voice was so gentle it nearly broke you again. You clung to him, your fingers fisting the back of his shirt like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

“I just… I’m scared,” you whispered into his chest, voice cracked and small. “I’m scared all the time.”

James exhaled slowly, his lips brushing against your temple. “I know, baby. I know.”

You felt the tremble in your own body start to ease, even if just a little, even if only because he was here, grounding you, holding you like he meant it.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you choked, voice barely a sound now. “You don’t understand—I can’t.”

His hand slid up your spine, steady and warm. “You won’t,” he murmured. “You’re not gonna lose me. I promise, okay?”

You just nodded, eyes squeezed shut, wishing the world could stop here, just for a second longer. Wishing you could believe that. Wishing your heart wasn’t such a fragile, aching thing wrapped in too many layers of fear.

James pressed a soft kiss to your hair, his hand still cradling your back.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispered, like it was a vow. “Always.”

Chapter Five soon… 💸 (A/N: yall better prepare.)

series tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you—you’re crossed out—it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @muchwita @its-in-the-woods @taqmari @opheliabbarnes @rabknowstheend @pineapplechuncks @infinitepersuasion @sweetesharley @adalvsseb @miss-chuchu @nandanandada @globetrotter28 @whorunthemfworld-girls @madlyinlovewmattmurd0ck @ruexj282 @xamapolax @bloodmocha @castawaycreature @wakemeornot @lilylilyyyyyy @rue963 @miirasarchive @fleurenoir @figtreesandmoonlight @steph88x @starstruck-cowgirl @okaytrashpanda

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⋆⁺₊✧ SERIES MASTERLIST

⋆⁺₊✧ MAIN MASTERLIST

[telephoniii]

HE'S LIKE A BROTHER TO ME!

☆彡 in which they get brotherzoned

first years x reader (platonic ortho)

word count: 250 per character

tags: reader is the prefect, possible ooc, all their egos get bruised

a/n: i wish ortho was in the photo with the first years! i get why they put him with the third years but it would've been nice to just see him w/ the first years. he's rarely included with them in official art. breaks my heart fr. anyways, i hope you enjoy :>

ace trappola

Definitely a blow to his confidence. He'll laugh it off but don't let this man fool you. He's going to be thinking about this for weeks. This is his shameful secret that he'd never tell anyone, but he's going online and looking up "Ways to woo your crush" or "How to escape the friend zone". Except he's not in the friendzone. He's in the brotherzone which is arguably so much worse. But Ace Trappola is not a quitter. This man didn't back down when his housewarden was acting like a tyrant. What makes you think he'd back down after this... small bump in the road. He'll turn up the charm, pivoting his teasing from making fun of you to more flirtatious jabs. You'll notice him doing more acts of service for you too. You're sleeping in on the weekend? He's heading over to Ramshackle and making you breakfast. Feeling stressed? He just watched a 2 minute How To Give A Massage video on the internet, sit down he's got you. You need something from Sam's shop? He was just heading over, he could grab it for you. Better yet, why don't you guys go together? He'll try to take over boyfriend-like duties by holding your bags or paying for you when you guys hang out. Call him out for doing these things and he'll call you crazy. Male gaslighter right here. "What? I'm not being nicer than usual. This is my usual. Why are you reading into it so much? You wanna date me or something?" Never call him a brother again though. Please. He recovered once but he doesn't think he'll be as graceful the second time around.

deuce spade

His mood is ruined. He's crying on the inside. Now he's going to go home and rethink every interaction you've had. It is kinda brotherly how he lends you his stuff, always asking if you need anything. UGH. Stupid! Why did he think that was romantic?! Poor Deuce is going to berate himself. A lot. He doesn't know how to flirt. Romance was never something he was super interested in until now. But damn it, he's going to try because he really likes you. He'll start slipping in more compliments. They're awkward and unnatural at first, to the point you almost think he's being sarcastic. But he's not, he's just nervous. With time, he'll stop being so awkward with it and his compliments will actually get pretty smooth. Deuce is always genuine with his praise; how could he not be? There's so many great things about you, he doesn't think he could ever run out of ideas. "I don't know if I've said this before, but your smile is really cute. It's so contagious, just seeing it makes me happier." "You always smell so good. Whatever you use makes my head spin a bit." The other first years notice this and poke fun at him. Especially Ace. He'll try to deny it, a bit embarrassed that they noticed. But if they noticed, then does that mean you've noticed his efforts too? Deuce really hopes so. Compliment him back and his heart will actually starting beating out of his chest. His face will go red as he thanks you, a giddy smile on his lips.

jack howl

He's prideful that you consider him that close to you... but obviously he was hoping to be something entirely different. Jack couldn't grasp how you could view him like a brother, but he supposes he's biased considering the fact that he likes you. It won't bother him too much, but he's definitely going to up his game and try to show off in front of you. Jack will invite you out more to watch his Spelldrive games or workouts. It's then that he goes full on try-hard mode. If he looks over and sees you watching him— which is basically all the time— he gets fired up. Don't point out the way his tail starts wagging. He'll die of embarrassment and start actively stopping it from moving. You'll catch wind of what he's trying to do with Ruggie or Epel encouraging you to keep coming. "Jack's on his A-game when you're around. Wonder why, huh? Shi shi shi~! Doesn't matter to me. As long as we keep winning." During his breaks, he'll talk about how tense his muscles are and subtly asks if you want to feel them. When you do, he's fighting to conceal the wild blush threatening to appear on his cheeks. Your hands against his skin actually makes him go dizzy. Jack will stutter like crazy and then apologize for stuttering so much. Very cute sight to see. And with the way you're smiling at him, he's starting to think that his silly little tactics are working.

epel felmier

"Brother?! What about me screams, brotherly!?" Possibly one of the worst moments of his life. He's offended and isn't afraid to say it in his southern accent. Epel finds it emasculating that you see him that way and gets a little pissy about it. Was it really that hard to try and view him in a romantic light? This guy is mumbling under his breath for the rest of the day, getting snappy if someone calls him out. Yeah, Vil is reprimanding him for it. "Your poor behavior reflects bad on Pomfiore as a whole. Instead of whining, you should use this as an opportunity to better yourself in order to win their affections." Epel hates the fact that Vil is right. But he's man enough to admit it. So he takes the advice in stride and works to be more boyfriend-material towards you. He'll get bolder with his touches, offering to hold your hand when you walk together, brushing your hair back when he sees it fall in front of your face, whispering sweet words into your ear, etc. He gets his charm from Vil. I mean, if he has a world-class actor that thousands of people fall for at his disposal, of course he's going to ask him for advice! It's embarrassing, sure, but he really does like you. And he'll do it for you. His touch is featherlight, allowing you to pull away if you wanted to. But it's enough to get his point across. If you don't pull away and maybe even reciprocate his advances, Epel will be over the moon. He might even be spurred on to take another, bolder step by kissing your hand. "How's that for brotherly?" He'll tease when he spots a faint blush on your face.

ortho shroud (platonic)

A complete 180° from Epel— this might just be the best moment of his life. He already has a brother and knows how tight-knit a bond like that is. The fact that you consider him to be that close to you has him spinning in the air doing happy little circles. Family is something Ortho has always held near and dear to his heart, and now that you've called him a brother you are basically an unofficial Shroud now! He'll make Idia spend more time with you, wanting you to see him as a brother too! He's not going to stop talking about you to everyone. His parents, his brother, the other first years. Your friendship makes him feel more human and further solidifies his place in NRC. Sure, he's still going to school mainly to accompany Idia, but now he's also attending to see you! Just like how he's protective of Idia, he'll get protective of you too. This boy's got a mischievous side. He'd stand up for you before he if saw you getting picked on for being magicless. But now? Oh, he's going to make those bullies regret it so much more. They're getting their internet search history displayed on a projector during a presentation. He doesn't mind getting in a little trouble if it's for you. The bond that the two of you have really means the world to him. Ortho knows he's more than just bolts and wires, but being around you reassures him of the fact that he's worth more than his mind might tell him.

sebek zigvolt

HIM? A BROTHER TO YOU!? How dare you think the two of you have such a bond, human! Silver hardly counts as a brother! And you expect him to view you in such a close light!? Disgraceful!... He's totally not butt-hurt because you think of him in a way that was the complete opposite of what he wanted. Sebek goes into denial about his feelings for you after this. Funnily enough, his denial makes it all the more obvious to the people around him that he likes you. Mainly because he won't shut up about you. Lilia's gonna hear about you, the first years are gonna hear about you, Silver's gonna hear about you, Sebek might even mention you to his liege! "Stupid human, thinking they're anything more than a nuisance. Ridiculous! Can you even believe their audacity, Silver!?" "... I don't know. They seem to be on your mind a lot." He'll be a bit insufferable around you— constantly yelling about how the two of you could never have a familial bond, or sevens forbid anything more when you literally just asked what he had for breakfast. It's his automatic nervous reaction, please forgive this man. Lilia's going to have to talk him through the emotions, basically saying, Hey! I think this is copium! Then followed by Sebek learning how to process his emotions better. This guys going to take a while, especially with the set back, but he'll come back stronger with renewed motivation and possibly a rose in his hand.

[maskedbyghost]

In Sickness, In Health, In Surveillance (12)

Synopsis: To spy on a dangerous neighbor, you and Simon have to pretend you’re married, even though you’re constantly at each other’s throats. The longer you fake it, the harder it gets to keep your distance.

Tags/CW: slow burn, fake marriage, undercover mission, forced proximity, invasion of privacy, mild violence, explicit sexual content

Masterlist

The first thing you noticed was the weight of something that sat right on your chest and wouldn’t let go, even when your eyes cracked open and the too-white ceiling came into focus.

Everything felt muffled, not because it was quiet, but because your head couldn’t seem to catch up, your thoughts dragging behind in some fogged-up corner of your mind that still hadn’t fully realized you were awake and alive.

Alive.

You were alive.

And it didn’t make sense at first, not the room, nor the soft beeping, or the sharp sting in your side when you shifted, but then it did, and when it all came back, it hit hard and it hit fast.

The warehouse. The blood. The smell of gunpowder and burning. Mark. His face. The panic in Simon’s voice. The cold floor underneath you and the way your fingers couldn’t stay closed around his. The way your voice wouldn’t work when you tried to tell him you were scared. The way you thought you’d never see him again.

Your throat hurt. Your mouth was dry. Your whole body ached, but you were still here.

Barely.

You didn’t know how much time passed before the door opened, just that it startled you enough to turn your head even though it felt like someone had driven a metal rod through your neck. It was slow, everything was slow. But then it was him, and none of it mattered anymore.

Simon stood in the doorway and didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you, chest rising in a way that made you think maybe he hadn’t let himself breathe until now, and you stared back at him, not really sure if your heart was beating faster from relief or fear or whatever the hell had taken up permanent residence inside your chest since the moment everything went sideways.

And then, because the silence felt too full of things neither of you could say yet, you tried to fill it, even if your voice sounded worse than you expected.

“Well,” you said, and it came out rough, broken, but still yours. “Guess I ruined your plans.”

He didn’t respond. Just stood there.

You tried again. “You were probably halfway through drafting your dating profile, huh? A brooding Lieutenant seeks an emotionally stable woman who doesn’t bleed out in his arms—”

Still nothing. His hands were clenched, jaw tight, eyes locked on you like if he looked away for even a second, you’d vanish.

“You can’t be mad at me,” you continued, forcing your voice to stay light even though your vision kept swimming and your chest burned more from emotion than pain. “I mean, I saved your life technically. So if anything, I think I deserve a medal. Or a vacation. Or maybe just a cup of coffee and for you to stop looking at me like I’m about to flatline again.”

He took a step, and you blinked, not really sure if you imagined it. But then another, slower than the last, his boots scuffing against the floor like it took everything in him to keep moving.

“You’re freaking me out,” you muttered, trying to force a smile even though it was weak and shaky and not fooling anyone. “At least tell me you got the guy.”

You couldn’t keep going after that, and not because you ran out of things to say, but because suddenly he was there, right in front of you, taller and broader and more real than anything else in the room. And when he leaned down, when he bent until his forehead touched yours, when his breath hit your face and you felt the way his hands hovered near your arm like he wanted to touch you but couldn’t trust himself to stay gentle, everything in you just stopped.

Just the sound of both your breaths, shallow and uneven, filling up the space between you.

And for the first time since you opened your eyes, it didn’t hurt as much.

His forehead stayed against yours, unmoving, as if he was trying to breathe through you now, like he’d spent the last however many hours with his lungs locked up and only now was starting to remember how air worked again.

You could feel the weight of him, and that made you want to cry, if you weren’t still so dizzy and half-numb and floating a little from whatever pain meds they pumped into your veins.

You didn’t say anything at first because for once you didn’t know what to say. There was a tightness in your throat and some awful pressure behind your eyes that you didn’t want to let out yet because it felt too early, as if your body wasn’t ready to feel things all the way yet.

But then the silence stretched on and you didn’t like how it made your chest ache, so you started rambling instead, voice scratchy and too quiet but still stubborn as hell.

“Well... I guess death’s gonna have to wait, huh?”

Simon didn’t move, but you swore his hand twitched slightly against your blanket.

“I mean... sucks for Mark. I was kind of hoping I’d get to haunt him, you know? Like move his furniture just a little to the left every night, or whisper really annoying shit in his ear while he sleeps. You know, classic stuff.”

Still nothing from him.

“And now you’re stuck with me, again. Bet you were secretly hoping I’d die just so you could finally get a moment of peace.”

His eyes shut for a moment, his brow furrowed, and you could feel the tension radiating off him, but still nothing.

“Are you gonna say something, or is this your new thing now?” You smiled faintly, though you knew it probably looked more like a grimace. “Brooding in total silence while I do all the talking? Classic Riley move.”

You were still going, because it was easier than being still. Because the second you stopped talking, you were going to have to think about how close it all came, how real the pain still was, how you could still feel the warmth of your own blood on your skin if you thought about it for too long.

Simon moved. Just a small shift, just enough to pull back a few inches, and his eyes opened finally, meeting yours. He didn’t speak, not yet, but his hands were moving now, checking the line of your IV, straightening the edge of your blanket where it had slipped down, adjusting your pillow, brushing your hair off your forehead with such an aching gentleness.

“God, you’re being weird,” you whispered, but your voice cracked on the last word, and that’s when you realized your eyes were watering for real now. The kind that came with fear and relief and that ugly feeling of I almost lost everything.

Simon grabbed the cup on your tray with one hand, filled it with water from the jug next to your bed with the other, and held the straw to your mouth without a word. You stared at him, but you took a sip anyway because your throat did hurt like hell.

He watched you the whole time. Like if he looked away for even a second, you’d disappear again.

Then, he sat down on the edge of your bed, hands braced on either side of your legs, and stared down at you like you were the only thing left in the world worth staring at. There was something haunted in his face still.

You didn’t know how to say it. You didn’t even know what it was. The thing between you. The fear, the blood, and the silence. All of it tangled up in your chest and in the way his hands couldn’t stop shaking slightly, no matter how calm he tried to look.

“Hey,” you said, voice barely more than a breath now. “You can talk to me, y’know. I’m not—I didn’t—I’m still here.”

And finally, finally, his fingers curled around yours again and stayed there.

He still didn’t say anything. But the way he held your hand felt like a prayer.

-

He didn’t say anything then.

Nor the next time he came, when he showed up with the rest of the squad two days later, standing quietly in the corner while Soap made some joke about how he thought he’d find you hooked up to a bionic limb or some sort of superhero shit, and Gaz brought you a small stuffed dog from the hospital gift shop and refused to admit it was his idea. Even Price tried to act normal, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t itching to ask a million questions or say something vaguely fatherly and kind.

But Simon? He just stood there, watching. Arms crossed, mask over his face even though it was only the four of them in the room, even though you knew they’d all already seen whatever exhaustion or pain was carved into his face, even though he’d looked at you earlier like he couldn’t believe you were still breathing and now he wouldn’t even meet your eyes. He didn’t speak, didn’t reach for you, didn’t sit down.

And the thing is...you didn’t really blame him. Not then, not in the days that followed. You didn’t take it personally that he couldn’t touch you, or talk to you, or even sit too close. Because something had cracked open in both of you, and it hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. It still felt too fresh.

So yeah. You didn’t press.

Instead, you spent those first few days drifting in and out of sleep, jaw clenched against the nausea, body limp and unfamiliar with how stiff everything had become. The bullet wound wasn’t fatal but it was deep, and the fever that followed had been worse than the pain itself, disorienting and mean, like your own body had turned against you for surviving.

Your throat was always dry. Your back ached from the shitty mattress. And the nurses kept saying things like “you’re lucky” and “you’ll be walking again soon,” but all you could think about was the way Simon’s hands had shaken the first time he brought you a glass of water, and how he still hadn’t said a single word.

You were healing, technically. Every day they let you sit up a little more, eat a little more, do things like lift your arm without wincing or try to stretch your legs without blacking out. But it wasn’t fast. Nothing about this was fast. Your skin still felt tight around the stitches. Your ribs still hurt when you laughed or coughed. And the boredom was starting to drive you insane, from the hours spent watching shadows across the walls or counting how many times the old clock above the door clicked out a second.

You kept yourself sane by talking to whoever came in. Soap was the easiest, always trying to get a laugh out of you, saying shit that was way too loud for a hospital room and getting scolded by nurses every time he visited. Gaz brought books, though you could barely focus on a page without zoning out. Price stayed mostly quiet, but when he did talk, it was always about things such as upcoming deployments, changes to protocol, and updates on the team.

Everyone treated you like you were going to be fine. Like this was temporary. Like you were going to walk out of here soon, and everything would go back to how it used to be.

But it wouldn’t. And you knew that. And so did Simon.

Because he came every day. Every single day. Even if he didn’t say a word.

Even if all he did was sit in the corner with his hands clenched and his eyes on the floor, even if he looked at you sometimes like he was still waiting for the monitors to flatline.

He didn’t touch you again, not for a while. Not until that one night when the power flickered from the storm and he stood up so fast from the corner you thought something was wrong, only for him to check your IV like he’d done it a hundred times in his head and just needed to make sure with his own hands. His fingers brushed yours then, barely, but it was the first thing you’d felt that day that didn’t ache.

And yeah, he didn’t say a word. But he didn’t have to. Because you could see it all over him.

He’d been holding his breath since the day they dragged you away. And just like you, he still didn’t know how to let it all out.

-

It felt weird being back to the quiet buzz of base life, the occasional boots stomping past, and the low hum of voices behind closed doors. Still, something about walking these halls again made your stomach twist, like your body hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that you were okay.

You hadn’t expected to be called in so soon. You were still stiff, still bruised in ways you weren’t ready to admit, but you’d been cleared, and Price didn’t seem the type to wait when something needed saying.

But you didn’t know Simon would be there too.

He was already in the office when you stepped in, standing against the far wall, arms crossed tight over his chest. He looked… not tense, exactly, but like he’d rather be anywhere else. You couldn’t really blame him.

“Sit,” Price said, barely glancing up from the file in his hands. You dropped into the chair across from his desk without arguing.

Simon didn’t move, didn’t say a word.

Price finally looked at you properly, closed the folder and set it aside.

“You did good,” he said. “I know you’re not gonna want to hear a speech, but I’m giving it anyway.”

You gave a slow exhale, a tired sort of smile tugging at your mouth. “Figured.”

Price leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

“After you passed out, the team got there quick. You were bleeding out, barely hanging on. Simon said you got one last swing in before everything went sideways. Hit Mark hard enough that he was still on the floor when they found him. You damn near cracked his skull open.”

You didn’t say anything. You barely remembered doing it. Just the weight of something in your hand and the rage in your chest.

“Michelle was already dead when they arrived,” Price continued, voice quieter now.

You didn’t look at Simon, but you could feel him watching you now.

Price tapped his fingers on the desk once before continuing. “They took Mark into custody. He’s been locked up since.”

You blinked once, kept still.

“More important than that…” Price opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside it, there was a small USB drive.

“This was in Michelle’s pocket.”

Your stomach turned.

“It had everything,” he said, and there was a sharpness in his voice now. “Names. Contacts. Payment trails. Surveillance logs. We’re still combing through all of it, but it’s all there. Every dirty deal, and every connection. Every bastard who had a hand in what happened.”

You stared at the drive, the weight of it hitting harder than you expected. You’d been right. You told them to look for it, and they found it.

“We’ve already coordinated with international task forces,” Price said. “Raids started two nights ago. Eight arrests so far. Five more expected. They’re talking, giving us even more names. It’s falling apart faster than any of us thought possible.”

He leaned back again, folding his arms.

“This—” he nodded toward the USB, “—was the last thing we needed to bring it all down. And it was in her damn pocket.”

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you let it out slow.

Price’s tone softened a bit then. “It’s done. Not all of it, of course, there’ll be loose ends, there always are, but the core of it’s dead. You helped end it.”

Your throat felt tight. You nodded, because you didn’t trust yourself to speak.

Price stood up, grabbing the file again. “I’ll send you the full briefing later, but I wanted you to hear it from me. Not from a screen.”

He lingered for a moment, like he was debating whether to give you two a second alone or if he already knew there wasn’t much left to say. Eventually, he let out this low exhale and crossed back over to the desk.

“Before either of you run off to that long overdue vacation,” he said, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a file that looked too familiar for comfort, “there’s one last thing we need to tie up.”

He laid the file down on the desk with a dull thud and tapped the top of it twice with the side of his hand. “Don’t look so surprised. You knew this was coming.”

You didn’t move at first. You just stared at it.

The papers were already neatly arranged. Stapled in one corner. Your name typed out in clean, dark print. Simon’s name too, sitting right beside yours.

Price stayed quiet for a second.

Still, you didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.

You hadn’t thought about the papers in weeks. Not since you got shot. Not since the cold, wet feel of your own blood had soaked through your clothes and left Simon clutching you like he could hold your life in his hands if he just pressed hard enough.

And maybe you’d assumed… maybe you thought things had changed. Maybe you thought there’d be some conversation, at least. Some discussion about what this meant now, after everything.

But you hadn’t even gotten that.

Because before you could say anything, before you could take one step closer to the desk or open your mouth to ask if now was really the time, he moved.

Simon didn’t look at you.

Didn’t speak.

Just walked up, picked up the pen like he’d already made peace with it, and without a single flicker of hesitation, he signed. Page after page.

When he was done, he set the pen back down.

Turned toward you, and finally spoke.

“Sign the papers.”

Then he walked out.

Didn’t pause, didn’t glance over his shoulder. Just opened the door and left you there, like the past few months hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t taken a bullet. Like he hadn’t carried you out himself. Like none of it had ever meant anything.

You blinked once.

Then again.

The papers blurred a little in front of you, just for a second, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek so hard your teeth ached.

Price hadn’t moved.

He wasn’t saying anything either.

You could feel his eyes on you, but he didn’t rush you. He didn’t push. He just waited.

You let out a soft, humorless laugh.

God. Fuck him.

Your fingers curled around the pen before you even realized what you were doing. You didn’t look at the lines. Didn’t bother reading the details. You just signed every page he’d signed. And when you were done, you pressed the pen a little too hard on the last one, just to make sure your name stayed.

You pushed the file away.

Sat back in the chair.

And didn’t say another word.

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @gutsofgod @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973 @jajouska @fruitymoonbeams-blog @cece2608 @starryylies @silmarilniky @venavanup @lostintransist @m00nl1gh4 @fertilise-me @blush-haze @sigynxlokiwifelover @dollfwn @ravenduskabyss @soltwent @saik-k @skzthinker @strawberrygato @shaldaar @n-ae-vis @karagd13-blog @meowshiki @mangost33nlover @k4rmas-dvmb @piconico17 @batw3nch @danzer8705 @chompwoman @cr0wbrz @imjustheretofightforlove

[awwkie]

I absolutely second all the previous tags!

The "5e is so boring/such a bad system/overdone, play something else instead" kind of advice always fell really flat to me because.. I love 5e!!! It's the first ttRPG I actually got invested in, and what got me in the space in the first place, so it has a special place in my heart. I love the classes, and the combat and all the homebrew material easily available on the internet.

A lot of people seem to be under the impression that the only way someone could be into 5e is that they don't know any of the alternatives. But that's just not the case!! Even now that I've branched out and 5e is not one of my favorites anymore, I still enjoy playing it along with other games.

I think a way more helpful attitude to get people to try new games is "what do you like about 5e? Have you tried this other game that has a similar mechanic but expands more on it?" Or "what do you dislike about 5e? Have you tried this game that fixes that issue?". Too much combat? There's plenty of ttRPGs that don't focus on that! Don't like the Fantasy setting? There's plenty of games with a different setting you can try!! Etc. etc.

Or you can... you know, straight up say what you love about other games like OP suggested!! On this note I would like to send some people over to @theresattrpgforthat . Because it's one of my favorite blogs for discovering niche ttRPGs ^_^

I mean this kindly, as I agree with the premise, but if you want people to play ttrpgs other than D&D, you need to start talking about why those games are enjoyable, instead of making fun of people for homebrewing in 5e for the umpteenth time

[semperama]

While we're doing Shannon meta, I've been trying to make a post about this for a while but was worried it's too controversial but, screw it: I think the main reason Eddie romanticizes his relationship with Shannon so much is because deep down he feels guilty, and very rightly so, about how he treated her, and so he builds their marriage up to something that it really wasn't in his mind in order to avoid the fact that he hugely fucked it all up. Sorry to Eddie, and it's not totally his fault, because he was a scared kid who was given way too much responsibility way too soon and had no support and awful parents who planted awful ideas of what a man should be into his head, but he dealt with all of that in a way that basically totally ruined Shannon's life. He abandoned her with their child, left her vulnerable to his critical parents and no family of her own to lean on, he never showed her any compassion or support for her fears that she failed Christopher somehow, he never treated her like a partner, he was emotionally cold and distant at best and bordering on cruel to her at worst. She left, but in some ways it's his fault that she had to, because he put her in an otherwise impossible situation. He proved time and time again that he was never going to listen to her or give her desires and needs fair consideration, so what choice did she even have?

Again, I think we all understand why Eddie acted like this. He was literally raised by a father who taught him that a man's place is to provide monetarily for his family while the woman raises the kids, and this is what partnership is. And I think now Eddie knows that's not how a marriage should work, and he probably would do things differently if he had the chance, but the fact remains that what he and Shannon had was not good or healthy for either of them. But if that's the case, then her life was miserable for no reason, without even a loving relationship to justify it, and Eddie just can't deal with that. It's not so much that he puts Shannon on a pedestal as it is he's imagining what it would be like if they actually had the kind of partnership they both deserved, and then substituting that imagination for reality. But we know that he doesn't really believe it, because even when he's half-heartedly trying to get back together with her, the best metaphor he can manage for their love is that it's like falling into molten chocolate that's a little sweet maybe, but mostly it drags you down and nearly drowns you.

And as @livesbetweenpages says in the tags here, all of this is part of the reason the writers had to have Shannon leave, and specifically to leave Christopher and not contact him for so long. Because there's no way we'd be able to sympathize with Eddie if we didn't have some reason to put some blame on Shannon too. She should never have punished Chris for Eddie's mistakes, but of course people are messy and imperfect, and where we end up is with a situation where you can blame both of them but also see where both are coming from. Still, the discrepancy between how their relationship is shown to us (a constant slog of misery and fighting) and how Eddie reframes it in his own mind (being with her was effortless) is always so fascinating and tragic to me. And I think it's important characterization for Eddie, because these are THE fatal flaws for his character, that 1. he resists help, guidance, and partnership over things he feels he should have under control, to the point that it hurts both himself and those close to him (see also: shutting everyone, particularly Buck, out of his decision to move to Texas), 2. when he can't deal with a hard truth, he just pretends it's not the truth at all (see also: Ana).

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 18: "The one with the Halloween party" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: It's Halloween here, and a lot comes out after dark: witches, zombie lovers, fights in costume, and most of all; you, Frankie, and a few surprise words. WC: 14.1k

A/N: Hi everyone <3 I’m back! Thank you so much for your patience. I’m hoping to finally have time now to read and reply to all your comments. Let me know what you think about this one hehe. Tag list CLOSED <3. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

Friday, October 30th

At eight o' clock, Frankie knocked on your door.

“Oh,” you said, before you had time to arrange your face. Your eyes landed on his upper lip and didn’t move.

A tingling sensation rose in your chest. 

“What?” He gestured vaguely toward his face. “You don’t like it? ’Cause I ain’t getting rid of the mustache too.”

You shook your head, laughing, instinctively mirroring him by resting your shoulder against the other side of the frame.

He had shaved. Not all of it, just the beard. The mustache stayed. The funny thing was, you hadn't asked him to. You would've been perfectly happy with a bearded Phantom.

Your hand rose instinctively, skimming the fabric of his shirt; soft, delicate white cotton stretched beneath the open denim jacket that defenitely wasn't part of the costume.

He didn’t move, but his body leaned toward yours.

“You look like the guy from Narcos."

He laughed. “Yeah? That supposed to be a compliment?”

You smiled. “It is. I mean it. I like it.”

He studied you for a second longer, a playful smirk on his face.

“This really does it for you, huh?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already stepping forward. One hand reached behind him to pull the door closed as the other settled on your waist, guiding you backward into the room.

“I just learned something new about you,��� he said, and his voice was close to your ear now, smug as his lips brushed along your neck.

A surprised laugh escaped you caught between protest and desire. You brought your hands to his face, cupping his jaw, his cheeks still unfamiliar without the beard; soft skin beneath your fingers.

“Not now, Erik,” you whispered, lips brushing against his. “Or we’ll be late.”

You were angling your face as you pressed the lipstick to your mouth, standing in front of your bathroom mirror. Fingertips tapping crimson into your lips. It was a deeper shade than you usually wore, but it matched the vibe.

Behind you, Frankie was standing quiet, almost ghostlike in the doorway, and now leaning against the frame. He didn’t speak. He just watched you. His arms were crossed loosely over his chest.

You caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, and your pulse ticked upward in response.

Because he looked... startling. Like a character pulled directly from one of your period novels, some romantic antihero with hidden injuries and a complicated moral compass. Oh, your imagination was going crazy. The crisp white shirt, the fitted black vest, the narrow trousers; it was all technically a costume, but it stopped feeling like one.

“I’ll be done in a minute, okay?” you said, eyes flicking to his in the mirror. “The party’s at ten, we’ve got, like, twenty minutes. I just need a little blush.”

You tried to keep it casual, assuming the silence meant he was bored or impatient. Maybe both. He wasn’t usually one for standing still.

Your costume was almost complete. The corset fitting snugly, cinching your waist just right, and the sheer white garter stockings. Your shoes weren’t perfectly era-accurate, but they were close enough; you’d hunted them down during a bleary-eyed 2 a.m. internet spiral and had felt irrationally proud when they arrived. Your hair had taken ages too, pinned and curled and pinned again.

Now all that was left were the lips, and the blush. The final details.

“You know,” Frankie said, finally, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you, “we don’t actually have to be on time. No one shows up to these things when they’re supposed to.”

You capped the lipstick and set it aside. And when your eyes met his reflection again, there was a smile pulling at the edge of your mouth before you could help it.

His eyes were on you, not just your costume, you, and that did something dangerous to your chest.

He reached for your hips and stepped in behind you. The soft press of his chest against your back made you exhale, a little unevenly. Leaning down, he gently kissed your shoulder, like he was testing the temperature, and then kissed you again, this time just beneath the curve of your neck.

“We can afford to be a little late, don’t you think?” he murmured.

You tilted your head back, letting it rest against his shoulder. The scent of him, that clean, woody cologne you liked, rose up around you, and your eyes fluttered closed without thinking. Your heart was already racing.

“Don't start,” you were already forgetting what time it was.

Without warning, Frankie’s grip tightened, fingers pressing into your hips. He turned you gently but firmly to face him, eyes scanning your expression.

Your hands slid up his chest before reaching behind his neck, fingers weaving into the hair at his nape. But before you could speak (or lean in closer) he bent and lifted you easily, your back brushing the edge of the mirror as he set you down on the sink. The porcelain was cold beneath you, but the sensation barely registered. You didn't even cared. Your legs came up around him immediately, welcoming the press of his body, the heat of it.

“You look so damn good,” he said, urgent, right at your mouth. He kissed you, just once, before pulling back an inch.

“And what are you gonna do about it?”

You watched his face shift in real time, the moment his expression dropped, his eyes darkened, pupils wide and shining in that way they only did when he was looking at you like this. With hunger.

You cupped his face between your hands, the tips of your fingers pressing against the skin just beneath his ears. Lipstick be damned; it was already smudged, already transferred to his mouth. You kissed him fully, fiercely, tasting everything you’d been stockpiling since the second he’d appeared in costume at your door. Every part of you leaned into it: your mouth, your hands, your thighs tightening around his waist.

And still, even in the middle of all that wanting, there was a part of you standing back and watching him, seeing him. He looked like he’d stepped out of a fantasy. But the truth was, you wanted to undo it all, peel away the layers until there was nothing left but his skin, his weight, his breath against your throat.

And still, you knew you wouldn’t. Not yet.

His hands slid up your thighs and when his fingers hooked beneath the garter’s elastic, you let out a small gasp. He pulled it back and released it with a sharp little snap. The sound and the feeling made you shiver.

Frankie pulled back just enough to catch your mouth again, but this time only briefly, his lips trailing downward, over the line of your jaw, down your neck. You tipped your head to the side to let him in. He reached the curve of your neck and lingered there, teeth grazing just enough, before moving lower, to the place where your cleavage swelled against the top edge of the corset.

He bit gently at the exposed skin, and you felt all the pressure of it.

“I’m gonna have a real good time getting this off you later,” he murmured, lips brushing the inside of your breast.

You smiled, deciding that nothing truly catastrophic would happen if you were a little late to the party. Probably.

But then, Frankie took a few steps back. Put some distance between you like he needed the space to really look at you. His eyes swept over you in a way that felt annoyingly performative.

“I’ll get the Uber,” he said.

This fucker.

“Francisco.” His name sounded like a warning, or maybe a sigh.

He stepped toward you again, all mischief and heat. His hands landed on either side of your hips, not grabbing, just there.

He leaned in close, close enough that you felt his breath on your cheek before he pressed a quick kiss there, feather-light and smug.

“You said you needed blush, didn’t you?”

You wanted to hit him. You really did. But he had your lipstick smeared across his mouth, red and shameless, and the sight of it made you laugh instead.

The club was bigger than you remembered. Taller ceilings, harsher lights. Or maybe it only felt that way because of how packed it was.

Mai had been waiting at the entrance when you arrived. She was already flushed from the crowd and the vodka, talking quickly with glitter-painted hands and pink lips. She looked beautiful tonight.

“They oversold like crazy this year,” she said. “I don’t think it’s, like, technically legal, but whatever.”

You laughed, but then glanced at Frankie, whose looked amused and a little bit confused. He smiled anyway, a little crookedly.

The music was better than you’d expected. The drinks too. You’d lost count after your second, though you were still upright, still articulate. Santi always said the Garcías could hold their liquor like it was a matter of pride. That and good hair. And hell yeah he was right.

Mai had stuck around for the first thirty minutes, along with her friends, laughing and posing for photos. She’d taken a dozen pictures.

“Wait—what’s your Instagram again?” she’d asked, already typing.

That had been an hour ago. Maybe more. Now, you stood by the bar with your third red mojito in hand, ice melting faster than you could drink it. Frankie was behind you, one arm looped around your waist, drawing you into his chest. You leaned into him almost without thinking.

“This shit’s actually good,” you murmured, lifting the glass and inspecting what was left. A lime wedge floated near the bottom, lazy and sunken. Your voice sounded like someone else’s over the music, but he must have heard it.

He said something but the words got swallowed by the bass before they reached your ears. You didn’t ask him to repeat it. You just drained the rest of your drink and reached for the bar behind you, setting the glass down among empty cups and bottles.

When you turned back to him, his hand trailed from the curve of your stomach to your lower back. His mask caught the shifting lights, full Phantom of the Opera, just as he’d promised. Not once had he mentioned taking it off. Not even when he got too warm, or when it tilted sideways while dancing.

He didn’t love this kind of night, you knew that. The chaos, the people, the noise. But he was here. He had danced with you without complaint, taken blurry photos with your phone ten minutes ago while you waited for drinks. He was trying. Really trying.

And you loved it.

You rose onto your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Just a small one. Enough to make him turn toward you.

“So?” he said, raising his voice just enough to cut through the pulse of the music. “You gonna do it?”

By do it, he meant checking off another item from your list. Kissing a stranger.

It had come up in the car on the way there, half-joking. You both agreed it was the perfect setting; the anonymity of a costume party, the haze of drinks and music, the absence of real consequence. Sure, Emma wasn’t there to help vet the options (her talent for sniffing out red flags in record time was legendary) but you liked to think you had a pretty decent radar of your own. And besides, Frankie was here. So was Mai, technically, although she was now dancing two meters away, tossing her arms in the air like she was made of helium.

You nodded, eyes scanning the crowd.

“What about the one in the corner?” you asked, gesturing with a lift of your chin.

Frankie turned to look. “The pirate guy?”

“Yeah. He looks decent, right?”

He clicked his tongue. “Sure. Right. I mean... He is. Though I think I’ve got a better shot at kissing him than you do.”

You scoffed, your mouth half-open, ready to argue, ready to say something about how pirates were bisexual at heart or maybe just a defensive shut up. But then you looked again.

The pirate was making out with the guy next to him. The one in leather straps. You blinked, then laughed.

“Okay. Fine. You choose someone.”

He shook his head, smiling, not smug.

“That’s not how it works. You’ve gotta want to kiss him.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically.

“Yeah. Kiss him. Not want to marry him, Frankie. Just kiss him. He has to be a stranger, that’s the whole point.”

He leaned back a little, hand still resting on your hip, and swept his eyes across the room. He was taking the task seriously.

And you let him look, because part of you liked the idea of Frankie scanning a room full of masked men just to find one worthy of your five-second dare.

He scanned the crowd for a few more seconds, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, then turned back to you with defeat around his expression.

“I’ve got another idea,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

He tilted his head. “Why don’t you go show off over there and wait for the right one to come to you?”

You laughed. “I’m sorry—what?”

He shrugged, grinning now. “I’m just saying, it’d be easier. Go dance. Reject the ones you don’t like, kiss the one you do. Natural selection. I’ll be right here, keeping an eye on you.”

“Um, I'm not even sure that's what natural selection means. Also, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, automatically stroking his sleeve. “Seriously. It’s like putting myself in a glass case with a sign that says ‘available.’”

He let out a laugh.

“Baby, that’s literally how this works,” he said, tugging you closer by the waist. “You dance, you flirt, you kiss a stranger. Textbook stuff.”

You stared at him for a second, unsure whether to smack him or kiss him again.

But annoyingly, he had a point.

In a bar, maybe you could walk up to someone, tap them on the shoulder, exchange names and see where that led. But here, everything operated on instinct. Eye contact, movement, some vague chemistry you couldn’t explain but could absolutely feel. This wasn’t about strategy. It was about putting yourself into the current and seeing who swam toward you.

“Fine,” you said, stepping back and narrowing your eyes at him. “I’ll do it. But don’t go anywhere.”

He raised both hands. “I’ll be right here. Watching you like a hawk.”

You rolled your eyes again, but your cheeks were warm.

Frankie watched you walk away, arms loose at your sides, a little bit insecure. And he stayed where he was, leaning back against the bar like he had no plans of moving anytime soon. And he didn't.

You didn’t look away from him until you reached the edge of the dance floor. Only then, when the music swallowed you whole, he turned to order another drink.

But even after that, after the bartender handed him something cold and too sweet for his taste, his eyes returned to you almost instantly. He found you easily. There was no need to scan the room.

You were right in the center of it all, eyes closed, hips swaying to the rhythm of the music. You didn’t look self-conscious. You didn’t look like someone ticking something off a list. You looked... at ease. Lit up from the inside. Frankie smiled despite himself when your eyes fluttered open for a second and landed on him before drifting shut again.

The lights above shifted from purple to red to gold, and your white dress changed with every color, like it was part of the set design.

Yeah. It felt almost unfair. The way you looked. The way you moved. The fact that none of it was for him.

Frankie inhaled deeply and stayed rooted to the spot. He didn’t move. He wasn’t a stranger.

He had plans, anyway. More than you knew. Earlier that week, he’d started bookmarking places to go camping, scrolling through travel blogs with half his brain while feeding the cat. He kept circling back to the same one, the spot he’d gone to with you and the guys a few days back. Remote, quiet, tucked just far enough into the woods to feel like you’d disappeared from the world. There was a river. A hidden bend where no one else had shown up all day. And yeah, Will and Bennys cabin was close enough in case of emergencies. 

It seemed perfect. Camping and skinny-dipping, two birds with one secluded, tree-lined stone.

And yeah, maybe he was pretending not to care so much about the idea of escaping the city with you for a weekend. Like it wasn’t sitting in the back of his mind, taking up space all day.

But he had logistics to figure out. A kitten to think about. Bingley had already developed a routine and would not, under any circumstances, appreciate a spontaneous disruption. Frankie was starting to accept that he’d need to find a sitter. Someone he trusted.

Only one name came to mind. Will.

Will was the only person who knew about you, really knew. The only one Frankie had talked to, even a little. The only one he wouldn’t have to lie to.

He hadn’t thought about what he’d say to Santi yet. If he asked. If he looked at him with that older-brother expression and demanded to know what the hell Frankie thought he was doing going camping with his sister, alone.

Maybe he’d say you were just working through your list. That was true enough. But the list was still half a secret. And Frankie wasn’t entirely sure you’d want your brother to know how much of it involved him.

Now, Frankie’s gaze hadn’t left you. He was watching the way your dress clung to your waist, how the corset curved with each movement of your body. It made his chest feel like it had been pulled open just slightly, like something inside was too soft to touch.

Mai appeared beside him, cheeks flushed and breath uneven like she’d just run from somewhere, or danced her way across the room.

“What are you doing?” she asked, frowning as she followed his line of sight. Then, with more urgency, “Why is she dancing alone?”

Frankie shook his head, unconcerned. He didn’t take his eyes off you.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he said mildly, “but we’re in the middle of something.”

“Oh yeah?” she arched a brow. “You doing it right now?”

She already knew about the list. She’d found out about an hour ago, when she plopped down next to you both and overheard your conversation over that first drink. At first, she was baffled. Openly skeptical. But Pam jumped in to explain and within ten minutes they’d declared they wanted to do the exact same thing. Stranger. Kiss. Tonight.

Frankie had told them it wasn’t the same. He’d tried to explain why. They told him to stop overthinking it.

“Oh, there goes one,” Mai murmured now, tilting her head toward the dance floor.

A man was moving toward you. Tall, confident. Dressed like Indiana Jones, down to the weathered hat and leather satchel. He had a charming face. He didn’t look nervous. But Frankie, suddenly, did.

This, he thought, might’ve been a mistake.

But he didn’t say it. He didn’t do anything except press his lips into a practiced smile and keep watching. You hadn’t noticed the guy yet, you were still lost in the music, your eyes shut, a smile playing on your lips.

You looked soft. Unaware. A little too breakable.

Frankie lifted his drink, the one the bartender had handed him five minutes ago, and took a long sip. His fingers curled tighter around the plastic cup than necessary.

Indiana Jones touched your waist.

You opened your eyes, surprised, maybe a little unsure at first, like your body hadn’t fully caught up with what was happening. But then you smiled. Hesitant, but... natural. Or it looked like that.

He was saying something to you. Frankie couldn’t hear it from where he stood, but he could imagine it easily. A cheap pick up line. Some tired line dressed up as charm. Indiana Jones had no idea he was starring in someone else's checklist. No idea he was a task waiting to be completed.

Frankie took another sip of his drink.

Beside him, Mai laughed.

“You guys are weird,” she said, shaking her head like it was affectionate, but also a little bewildered.

Frankie managed a smile, though it came out warped at the edges. It didn’t stand a chance of convincing anyone.

“Yeah? No way,” he muttered, eyes still locked on you.

Then, instinctively, he looked away.

Near the DJ booth, a couple dressed as zombie lovers were devouring each other’s faces. A few feet away, a circle of friends in glitter and face paint were mid-story, loud with whatever gossip had just dropped.

Everything in the room felt heightened, overly saturated. Too loud or too bright or too much.

He looked back at you.

You were dancing again, closer this time. Too close. Your arms were looped around Indiana’s neck, and his hands rested firmly on your waist, like he’d known you longer than the two minutes he actually had. Your face was tilted up toward his, and you were smiling like it was some private thing, like the rest of the room had disappeared. Your noses were nearly touching.

Something sharp bloomed in Frankie’s chest, bitter and bright and unmistakably possessive.

His first instinct was to set the drink down and go to you. Not ask. Not think. Just walk over, tap the guy on the shoulder, and pull you away without needing a reason. But the intensity of the urge caught him off guard. It felt too real. Too sudden. Too much like crossing a line he wasn’t supposed to admit existed.

Instead, he lifted the cup and downed the rest in one long sip, the taste of it flat and burning.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like seeing someone else’s hands on you. Didn’t like how close you were standing, how you tilted your head slightly when you smiled at the guy, how comfortable you looked, like this was just something people did, like it didn’t mean anything.

And maybe it didn’t. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? It was just a kiss. Just another item on your list. Something to be done, checked off, maybe laughed about later.

Frankie reminded himself of that. He was here for it, technically. He was the supportive fake boyfriend. Loyal and chill and completely unfazed, even if no one in this club knew he was playing that role, and Mai was beginning to give him looks like she was trying to piece together a very strange puzzle. Something open, maybe even slightly kinky. He couldn’t tell.

He ran his tongue along his upper teeth, exhaled, and tried to smooth out the tension in his brow.

Then, just for a second, you looked at him. Not long, obviously, but enough. And he gave you a small nod, like this was fine. Like everything was going exactly as planned.

Indiana Jones moved his hand up your jaw, thumb resting against your cheek in a way that felt unnecessarily tender. Frankie’s stomach twisted.

The guy leaned in. And from where Frankie stood, it looked exaggerated, cinematic. Inch by inch, like he’d rehearsed this moment in front of a mirror.

Another Inch. Then another.

And then, he kissed you.

It was a full kiss, not a brush of lips. Indiana held your face with one hand and the small of your back with the other, moving with the music like the two of you were the only ones left in the room.

Frankie’s heart seemed to trip in his chest, missing a beat, maybe two.

Was time stretching? Or was he just hyper-aware of every second now? Because the kiss kept going. And going.

And fucking going.

He was fairly sure the chorus of the song had passed. Maybe two choruses, at this rate. Still kissing.

Frankie looked away, jaw tight, breath caught somewhere too high in his throat. He didn’t try to hide the sigh this time, it slipped out, heavy and involuntary.

The zombie couple was still dancing, now swaying like they were drunk in love. The loud group of friends had given up on talking altogether, too busy singing along and throwing their arms around each other.

Frankie stared past them, pretending not to care. Pretending he wasn’t standing there, waiting for you to come back.

“I think your girl’s calling you,” Mai said.

Frankie turned toward her, brow furrowed, then followed the direction of her eyes.

You were still with Indiana Jones, his arm still around your waist, his posture a little too proud, but your hand was raised behind your back, fingers flicking in a subtle wave. Just enough for Frankie to know it was meant for him.

Something unspooled in his chest.

He didn’t hesitate. He set his empty cup down on the bar, took his mask off and gave it to Mai, and stepped away without a word.

He pushed into the crowd, weaving through glittered shoulders and bouncing limbs, his eyes fixed on you the whole time.

You kept your eyes on Indiana. He’d taken a half-step forward, smiling again, like he thought the moment between you wasn’t over. Like he assumed he still had a chance to finish what he started.

Then Frankie appeared beside you, close enough to touch. His hand found your waist without hesitation and he used it to guide you back from Indiana's reach.

“Baby,” he said, his voice loud enough to carry over the music, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where’d you go? C'mon, we have to go.”

There was that slanted smile again. Eyebrows drawn together like he was confused, but not angry.

You smiled back, fingers brushing your cheek.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, voice light, almost amused. “Yeah. Let's go. Didn’t realize—”

“Wait, don't,” Indiana said, stepping closer, one hand lifting slightly like he was about to touch your arm. “Where are you going?”

Frankie tightened his grip. He didn’t answer. He just turned and started walking, and you moved with him, not dragged, not pushed, but definitely taken.

You glanced over your shoulder, offered Indiana a quick, almost apologetic “sorry” you didn’t mean, and let Frankie lead you away from the lights and the people and whatever had just almost happened.

He stopped once you were far enough. His hand came up, touched your cheek like he was checking for something. Heat, truth, regret.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, cheeks warm.

“So?” you said, lifting your chin. “How did I do?”

Your hands found his chest, familiar territory now, and stayed there.

Frankie’s mouth tilted into something between a smile and a smirk.

“I’d say you did great,” he said. “You?”

You pressed your lips together, considering it. Then sighed.

“It was good,” you admitted. “Too good. And I hated every second of it.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You hated it? Why?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Maybe I’m just too much of a romantic. All that pretending, it makes me feel like I’m breaking some rule.”

He laughed, the sound genuine.

“Well, at least you tried,” he said. “One less thing to wonder about.”

You placed your hands on his shoulders, tilting your chin up.

His hair was a mess now, still vaguely neat around the sides, but the front had completely lost its shape. He looked like he’d just escaped something or someone. Like a tragic figure from an old novel. A haunted Victorian hero. Mr. Rochester type of guy.

And then there was the mustache. That damn mustache.

“Okay,” you said. “Now. Delete the kiss.”

He blinked. “What?”

“The kiss. Delete it,” you repeated. “With your lips.”

He was still frowning, trying to work it out, so you rolled your eyes, and said, a little softer this time: “Kiss me, idiot.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, but he didn’t argue. He leaned in immediately, mouth catching yours in a kiss that felt nothing like pretend.

His hands gripped your waist, unevenly—one higher, one inching lower, close enough to brush your thighs, and his body pressed into yours as your back hit the wall behind you. Tile. Cold. Definitely the hallway by the bathrooms. You didn’t care.

His tongue moved with urgency, like he was making up for lost time, or canceling out what happened before.

When you finally pulled back, your palm slid across his cheek, fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.

“Where’s your mask?” you asked.

“Mai,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “She’s got it.”

You nodded. Your eyes stayed on him, quiet now. You weren’t smiling exactly, but your lips had taken on a shape he couldn’t quite read.

“What?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”

Almost shyly, you said: “I was thinking… do you think we could go back up to the roof?”

With one firm push, Frankie shoved the roof door open and motioned for you to climb out first.

It wasn’t exactly graceful, more like a rushed escape. You crawled up and out, holding two empty glasses, fingers carefully curled around the rims. And Frankie followed close behind, one hand gripping a half-full bottle of gin he’d stolen from the bar a few minutes ago.

He nudged the door shut with his foot.

You turned to look at him, nodding toward the handle. “It’s fixed now.”

He glanced at the handle, then stared at it like it for a couple of seconds.

“Right. It is.” he muttered. “I didn't noticed. Didn’t really think that through.”

You laughed. “What if... Wait, were you actually going to lock us up here again?”

He pointed at you with exaggerated indignation.

“Excuse me. You locked us up here the first time, remember? That was all you.”

You didn’t respond. Just walked toward the edge and set the glasses on the ledge.

“Oh, look,” you said, gesturing toward the street below. “They’re fighting down there.”

"Yeah, right." Frankie came up beside you, placing the gin bottle next to the glasses, expression skeptical, until he saw it. “Shit,” he said. “It's true.”

A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. Two guys in full costume (Mario and Luigi, of course) were being held back by a group of people in varying degrees of cosplay. It was oddly theatrical. Like watching a live-action cartoon.

You laughed. “They’re really committed to the bit.”

But the fight didn’t last long. A couple of police officers showed up, breaking it up with the casual boredom of people who’ve seen worse. The scene lost its energy immediately, and the crowd began to scatter.

You sighed.

“What a shame. I was rooting for you, Luigi!” you called down, cupping your hand around your mouth like a megaphone.

Luigi glanced up, squinting toward the roof, but either didn’t spot you or didn’t care enough to try. He made a vague gesture with his fist and walked off with someone in a lab coat trailing behind. Maybe Einstein. Maybe a vet. Hard to say.

Frankie laughed beside you as he poured gin into the glasses.

“Why do you think they were fighting?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Princess Peaches, probably.”

He laughed again. “Yeah. That tracks.”

You pressed your palms to your cheeks, eyes wide. “Wait. That would’ve been an amazing costume. Mario and Peaches. You already have the mustache, how did I not think of that?”

He turned toward you, mouth twitching.

“Or you could be Luigi. I feel like the mustache would suit you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“Definitely.”

You nodded. “ Yeah. It's true. Honestly, if I were a man, I think my mustache would be phenomenal. Like, showstopping.”

Frankie tilted his head, studying you.

“Well, you’ve got great eyebrows,” he said, completely serious. “And eyebrows are like, just mustaches for your forehead.”

You choked on a laugh. “Oh my God. You’re right.”

He lifted his glass. “To mustaches on your forehead.”

You tapped yours against his. “And mustache on your lips.”

You both drank, the gin sharp and unapologetic in your mouth. It burned a little going down, but you managed not to flinch. You didn’t usually drink it straight, preferred something sweeter, lighter, mixed with something fizzy. But somehow, right now, it worked.

There was a quiet stretch of stillness between you. The wind, faint, tugged at your hair. And below, the city moved like it always did, distant and bright and unaware of you.

“This view hasn’t changed much,” Frankie said, almost absentmindedly.

You turned to him. His gaze was steady, locked on the skyline.

You followed his eyes. The city really did look the same. But the moment didn’t. It felt like the first time you'd been up here, except now, the man beside you wasn’t a mystery anymore. He wasn’t someone you didn’t know how to talk to.

You smiled, softly, without speaking. And Frankie didn’t say anything either. He just stayed beside you, quiet, like that was enough.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that needed filling. Not with him. The awkwardness had worn off a long time ago. So you let it stretch. Let it shape the moment.

You sipped slowly from your glass, cautious with the burn, and watched the people far below, tiny and disconnected, like ants.

This felt better than the party downstairs. Better than sticky floors and strangers' hands and music that demanded too much of you. Better than kissing strangers.

Well. Stranger, singular.

You’d only kissed one person. And it hadn’t been terrible. It was something you could call interesting, maybe even fun if you were being generous. The idea of it, anyway—of letting go, of giving in to the chaos. That version had been appealing.

But the real thing?

Nothing. No spark. No jolt of anything real.

And maybe that had less to do with the kiss itself, and more to do with the fact that, while it was happening, all you could think about was the man who wasn’t kissing you.

You heard the scratch of a lighter. Turned your head.

Frankie had a cigarette between his lips, and the flame briefly lit up the lines of his face. Orange, gold, almost bronze. His brow was furrowed, focused, and for a second, you felt an overwhelming urge to touch him. Or maybe bite him. Hard to tell.

But you didn’t move.

He inhaled, exhaled, turned his head away from you as the smoke left his mouth. Your eyes stayed on him anyway.

He looked over at you.

Didn’t speak. Just watched you for a moment. His eyes traveled across your face like he was gathering data.

He took another drag. Blew it in the opposite direction. And then looked at you again, more directly this time.

“You want to know something?” he asked.

You nodded instantly. Of course you did.

When didn’t you want to know?

“That day I went to pick you up in Dallas,” he said quietly, a small, uneven smile tugging at his mouth, “I was having a pretty shitty day.”

You turned your head toward him, but didn’t say anything.

“My whole week had been awful, actually. I was bored, pissed off, barely sleeping. And that morning, I’d woken up way too early. Couldn’t stop thinking about Nico. August first. The anniversary of his death.”

He didn’t look at you as he said it. And your eyes dropped to your hands. Guilt bloomed in your chest. But you didn’t say anything.

“I was in bed thinking I was useless. Like—I couldn’t do anything right. Couldn’t fix anything. Couldn’t even sleep. It felt like something so heavy was pressing down on me, you know?” He exhaled. “And I know myself. I know when my thoughts start heading somewhere dangerous.”

He glanced at you, then looked away.

“So I did what I’m supposed to do. 'Cause I know the steps. Got out of bed. Took a shower. Kept telling myself, just keep moving, don’t stop. And I remember standing there in the shower just begging the universe to cut the shit. To give me something, even something small. Please, just let something change. Let something interrupt this, even for a second. A sign that things might get better. Or just... shift. Even a little.”

He shook his head and took a sip of gin.

“So I decided to go for a walk. Figured fresh air would help. But right as I was locking the door, Santi called and asked if I could go pick you up at Emma’s.”

Your mouth tugged into a soft smile. You closed your eyes and shook your head.

“I had no idea,” you said, quiet now. “I’m sorry.”

He looked vaguely embarrassed, like he hadn’t expected to tell you all this.

“It’s fine,” he murmured. “Honestly, I thought it was kind of funny. I remember thinking, Well, anything’s better than being home, and maybe—” he laughed a little to himself, “maybe I could take it out on you.”

You snorted. “How naive.”

He laughed under his breath. “I just think it’s kind of funny.”

“What?”

“This whole thing. The snowball we’ve made out of it.”

You smiled, tilting your head. “Oh, absolutely. Look at you. You were just trying to distract yourself on a bad day, and now here you are—dressed like the Phantom of the Opera.”

You reached up and gently pinched his cheek.

He rolled his eyes. “And with you, of all people.”

You gasped, mock-offended, and gave him a soft punch on the arm.

Frankie laughed again, leaning away like he was dodging a real blow. But almost immediately, he shifted back toward you, closing the distance.

His arm looped around your shoulders, pulling you into him. And he kissed you.

One hand holding your chin steady, the other anchoring you to his side. It wasn’t rushed.

You reached for him without thinking, arms sliding under his jacket, fingers spreading across his back as you pressed in closer. The heat of him settled over you like a blanket.

You opened the door to your apartment, laughing, the sound still bubbling out of you when two meows echoed from the living room.

Darcy and Bingley were curled up on the couch. Well, they had been. Darcy had already jumped down, clearly recognizing the rhythm of your footsteps on the stairs and the click of your key in the lock. Bingley followed right after, tripping over himself in his rush for attention, always one beat behind the older cat, always desperate to catch up.

Your body felt light. Electrified in a pleasant, floaty way. Even the corset, which had started the night as a mild form of torture, now felt like part of the spell you were under.

Frankie followed close behind, and he was still in a good mood too, his hand brushing yours every few seconds, like he couldn’t help it.

It was three in the morning. You’d spent the last hour and a half up on the rooftop, stretched out side by side under the sky, until Mai had called Frankie. After that, you made your way downstairs again.

You stayed at the party a little longer. Lucy (one of Mai’s friends) had brought what she described as “actually good” weed, and for once, you’d felt curious enough to try it. Just two puffs. Enough to feel something, not enough to tip you over.

Frankie smoked too. And then you danced for another hour, laughing more than moving, a dumb smile stretching your mouth so wide you could actually feel the ache in your cheeks. At one point you touched your face and realized how sore it was, like your muscles weren’t used to this kind of happiness.

But by then, all you could think about was getting home.

So Frankie called the Uber, and you spent the whole ride curled up in the back seat together, your phone between you, taking blurry selfies in the darkness, half-laughing, half-whispering, and Frankie kept saying, “Send me that one,” and “Wait, send me that one too,” over and over again.

Frankie was by the stereo now, standing next to the bookshelf, half-shrouded in lamplight. At some point while you were in the bathroom, he’d connected his phone, and when you stepped back into the room, a piano was already filling the space.

He closed his eyes as the notes settled in, raising his hands in theatrical gestures. He looked ridiculous in his costume. Lovably ridiculous. You could see that he knew it, and that made it better.

Nina Simone’s voice came through the speakers.

Just in time, you found me just in time… before you came, my time was running low…

You let out a soft laugh and leaned your elbows over the back of the couch. Behind you, Darcy and Bingley wrestled over a vibrating toy mouse, their tiny paws tapping against the floor.

Frankie held out his hand. No words. No question. Just the open palm, waiting. And you didn’t hesitate. Lately, you never did, not with him, not in moments like this.

You took it, and he pulled you gently toward him until your body fit against his, your cheek nearly brushing his shoulder. He moved with an unstudied ease, guiding you across the floor as if this kind of thing happened all the time. It didn’t, of course. But maybe it should have.

You let your eyes fall shut as he spun you, the room becoming a blur of light and shadow and sound. It felt right, and not just metaphorically. You were literally spinning, your thoughts a little unmoored, but you weren’t afraid of it.

And when he steadied you again, you didn’t let him hold you for long. You pushed at his chest, not forcefully, just enough to tip the balance, and he stumbled backward and let himself fall onto the couch, laughing as he landed.

He stayed there, eyes tracking your every move. That ridiculous smile was still on his face, and he realized it matched yours.

His hand twitched with the instinct to reach for you again, to pull you down with him, tuck you against his side, kiss your shoulder or your neck or your mouth. But he didn’t.

Maybe, he thought, this was the part where he stayed still and looked at what was in front of him.

You were still moving, hips swaying, when you turned to him with that look, that half-knowing expression that always made something in his chest pull tight.

You pointed at him, not sharply, your index finger in the air between you.

“Baby, you’re gonna miss that plane,” you said.

Frankie blinked, a little thrown. His head tilted slightly as he studied your face, trying to work out if this was a reference he was supposed to catch. But you looked so sure, so vivid, that he didn’t ask. He just smiled back.

Because suddenly it was like a light had flicked on in the room, or maybe just in his mind. But he just kept smiling like maybe he’d figure it out later.

He couldn't take his eyes off your face. He saw you clearly. Not just your face or your body, but the entire feeling of you. The way you filled a space, the way you made everything feel warmer, real.

You laughed. “Have you ever seen that movie?”

You stepped closer, and without saying anything else, you let yourself collapse gently into his lap. His hands moved instantly, one settling against the small of your back, the other curving around your thighs, holding you there like he was afraid you'd drift away.

You curled an arm around his neck and kissed his cheek. And he turned his head, wanting to meet your mouth with his, but you didn’t notice. Or maybe you did. Either way, you pulled back, your eyes drifting to where your hand now rested against his chest.

“It’s a trilogy, actually,” you said. “About two people who meet on a train in Europe and spend the whole day together before one of them has to go back to the States.”

He watched your lips as you spoke.

“The guy, Jesse, he leaves. But he promises he’ll meet her again at the station in a couple of months. Only… she doesn’t show up.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching for recognition. Frankie searched his memory, but nothing surfaced. Maybe he’d heard of it, maybe not. But he didn’t want to stop you.

“Years later,” you continued, “they meet again in Paris. She sees he’s written a book about the night they spent together, and she goes to see him talk.”

“Why didn’t they meet at the train station?” he asked.

You pursed your lips. “Um, she had her grandma's funeral I think.”

Your fingers threaded through his hair, carefully tucking a strand behind his ear.

“But they spend the day together again. And he has to catch a plane, again. So they’re at her place, and this same song is playing.” You nodded toward the stereo, where Nina Simone’s voice was still echoing around.

“Right before the end,” you said, quieter now, “she looks at him and says, ‘Baby, you’re gonna miss that plane.’”

His fingers curled around your thigh, thumb pressing in just enough to make sure you felt it.

“And he does,” he said, half under his breath, eyes on your mouth.

“Yes, he does,” you replied, smiling. “Even though he has to leave his wife for it.”

Frankie pulled a face. “Dick move.”

You laughed, throwing your head back the slightest bit. The sound of it settled into his chest like warmth.

“Yeah, it's kind of bittersweet,” you said. “But it's one of my favorite movies. The first one, more than anything.”

He grinned. “You have to start showing me these things, because I never know what you're talking about.”

Your eyes rolled—soft, playful, nothing mean in it. “I already told you we have to watch them, didn’t I? But when you come to see me, the last thing you think of is watching a movie.”

He furrowed his brow, smirking. “And can you blame me? You want us to pretend I’m the only one who’s horny here?”

You raised both eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My intentions are always pure.”

Frankie let out a snort.

“Well, that’s too bad,” he said. “Because I really like you a lot and I think about you in both pure and impure ways.”

You laughed again. “Oh, really? Such duality.”

Without thinking about it too much, he shifted his weight and, in one smooth motion, dropped you onto the couch. You landed on your side with a soft thud and an indignant little gasp, but you didn’t protest. He slid down next to you, his body curving naturally along the line of yours.

He didn’t speak, not right away. Just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. You let out a sigh and settled with your back to his chest.

Frankie closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again. He wasn’t tired, not exactly. His body was heavy, sure, and he could feel the weed in his bloodstream, but it wasn’t sleep that pulled at him. He just didn’t want the night to slip away.

He pulled you in, even though you were already pressed against him so closely it hardly seemed possible. But he needed it, the contact, like it might help hold in whatever was pressing at the edges of his chest.

And then the feeling came. Sudden, insistent, impossible to ignore. The urge to say something. To say it.

“I really can't stop thinking about you,” he said quietly, his mouth close to your ear, not quite touching.

You didn’t respond. He glanced down and caught the flutter of your eyelashes as you blinked slowly, your fingers tracing a path over his hand, still resting on your chest.

“It’s becoming a problem,” he added. His voice stayed soft, almost careful.

“Hey, that’s mean,” you whispered, like he’d wounded you, even though he could hear the smile tucked behind the words.

He smiled too. You couldn’t see it, but it was there.

“No, I mean… I really can’t stop thinking about you,” he said again, slower this time, not as if he were trying to convince you, but like he was just now understanding it himself. “I think about you all day. When I wake up. At work. When I’m doing nothing. When I’m trying to sleep. It’s constant. It doesn’t fit in my body anymore.”

There was a pause. Long enough for the air to shift a little, for him to hear the soft sound of your breath.

“…What do you mean?” you asked, voice quiet, tentative.

He swallowed. “It means it’s bigger than my body. It’s getting so much bigger than my body.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to feel the movement. “And what do you mean by that?”

Frankie let out a breath of laughter. “You’re the rom-com girl. What do you think I mean?”

You snorted, half-buried in his arm. “Are you really going to make me decode you at four in the morning on a Friday?”

“No,” he said, brushing his lips lightly against your hair. “Because it’s already Saturday.”

You groaned. “Oh, right. Saturday. Damn calendar cop.”

Frankie grinned again, and this time he didn’t try to hide it.

His hands were firm at your waist, fingers brushing over the tight fabric. He slid one beneath the edge of your corset, just enough to feel the warmth of your skin.

“This must be bothering you, isn't it?” he murmured, his mouth near your neck now.

You shivered. He smiled. He liked that.

“You want me to help you take it off?” he asked.

You laughed softly. “Actually, yes. These things are complicated, you know?”

You pushed yourself up on one palm, your hair falling slightly over your shoulder, your body curved toward him.

He grabbed your hips and guided you to stand, following a second later, grounding himself against the floor even though his feet didn’t quite feel like his own. Still, there was no way he was giving into sleep. Not now. Not with you standing in front of him like a dream made physical, eyes wide, hair slightly messy, wearing that dress like an invitation he hadn’t fully understood until this second.

He stepped toward you and wrapped his arms around your waist, hands sliding lower until they settled on your ass, pulling you flush against him. You gasped, a sharp inhale against his neck, and he nearly groaned at the sound. But then your hands came up to his shoulders, your fingers around the back of his neck, and you lifted your face to kiss.

His hands gripped tighter, and a sound escaped him. Half a moan, half a sigh. The pressure of your body against his, the weight of your mouth, the way you moved... it jolted him fully awake, like flipping on a switch.

He began walking, guiding you backward down the hall, barely breaking the kiss. His palms roamed beneath your dress, over your hips and thighs. And your hands were in his hair now, fingers curling tightly, tugging hard enough to make him lose his breath.

There was urgency in it. He felt it in your hands, in the way your mouth pressed against his. And he understood that, because the same thing was happening to him.

As you stepped into the room ahead of him, Frankie instinctively looked down. His eyes scanned the floor, half-focused, checking for small shapes or bigger ones that might dart between his feet or sneak into the room before the door could close. He’d learned; sometimes the cats were faster than gravity.

But there was no sign of Darcy or Bingley. So he closed the door behind him.

Then, without much thought, he reached for your waist and turned you around, placing your back to him. He nudged you gently forward until your knees hit the mattress and you sank onto them, your hands following as you steadied yourself on all fours.

Frankie climbed up behind you, eyes fixed on the lacing of your corset. His fingers found the ties; he fumbled at first, then adjusted, undoing one knot at a time. The fabric loosened slowly, piece by piece, until the whole thing gave way and slid off your back. He let it fall to the floor beside the bed and, almost unconsciously, traced his palm down the line of your spine, still covered by the fabric of your dress.

“Better?” he asked, leaning forward so his mouth hovered just above your shoulder. He let his chest rest against your back, just for a moment, to feel the warmth of you.

You nodded, and he stepped back, bringing you with him gently by the arms. His lips brushed your neck as you tilted your head, a quiet sigh escaping you.

He reached down and gathered the skirt of your dress, lifting it carefully. And after a second, you took the cue, slipping it off the rest of the way and shrugging it down your arms. You tossed it aside, and it landed in a soft heap next to the corset.

Frankie placed his hand on your now bare back, his thumb sweeping lightly across your skin, then nudged you down again, careful, steady, like he didn’t want to startle you.

Your skin was impossibly soft. It always was. He never got used to that.

He pulled back just enough to take you in fully, his hand drifting down to rest on the curve of your ass. Then, half instinct, half reverence, he let his palm fall with a soft, open-handed slap. Not hard. Just enough to make you inhale.

And then he saw you.

Just you.

Kneeling in front of him in nothing but your white panties and sheer white garter stockings. The elastic pressed into your thighs just slightly, indenting the skin there in a way that made something inside him short-circuit.

Jesus Christ.

His breath caught in his throat.

It wasn’t just arousal—it was awe. Like he wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here. You looked unreal, like something imagined too vividly to actually exist.

He got off the bed, though every part of him protested the distance. His body was wound tight, buzzing with tension that had nowhere to go yet. But he crouched down beside the mattress anyway, reaching for your ankle. His fingers wrapped around it like he was afraid you'd vanish the second he let go.

One shoe, then the other. He set them gently on the floor, even though his hands were trembling, shaky with how badly he wanted you, how close you'd been for hours, how long he'd been holding himself back. His patience was a thin thread, and he could feel it fraying with every passing second.

He stood back up and tugged at the top of his costume, shrugging out of it like it offended him now. He left his pants on... he'd meant to take them off too, but something in him refused to wait any longer. The sight of you on the bed, half-undressed, warm and soft and breathing steadily in front of him, pulled him back.

He climbed behind you on the mattress, hands already on your ass before he could think about it, fingers sinking in like he needed to feel how real you were. Your skin was warm and firm and impossibly soft. Without thinking, he brought his mouth down and bit into you—not hard, but deep enough that he felt it in his jaw. He didn’t even register the sound he made.

You moaned, and dropped your chest onto the bed, your arms stretched out in front of you, your knees still anchored, ass raised. The image of it lodged somewhere in his brain he knew he’d never get rid of.

Frankie pushed his fingers under the garter straps at your thighs, tugged them back, then let them snap against your skin. A sharp sound, a gasp from you in response. His mouth was back on you immediately after. Biting, kissing, dragging across skin.

He reached up, slipping his hand beneath the band of your panties. His fingers pressed in, touching but not yet taking, and he exhaled sharply, forehead nearly resting against your lower back.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his voice catching. “I could eat you in one bite.”

You laughed, a real one, not just breathy, and turned your head, giving him a sideways glance.

“Then do it.”

A laugh rumbled low in his chest. He slid his fingers under the garter strap again, loving the tension it created against your skin.

“Fine,” he said. “But these stay on.”

After a second, his hand came down on your ass again, harder this time. The sound cracked through the room, and your body jolted forward. You started to turn toward him, eyes seeking his, but Frankie held your hips in place.

“No,” he said, tightening his grip. “Stay still.”

You stilled. His fingers moved lower, tracing the backs of your thighs, sliding between them. He used one hand to push your legs farther apart, guiding your body into the shape he wanted, the shape he needed you in.

He pulled back. Got off the bed. His hands were shaking again, this time from restraint. He yanked off his pants, boxers the only thing left between him and the aching need that had been building in him for what felt like hours.

He climbed back onto the mattress, this time lying flat on his back, shifting down until his head was between your thighs. He looked up at you from there. Dark eyes, hungry. And reached for you, wrapping his arms around your legs, tugging you backward until your knees straddled him and your hips were just above his mouth.

His fingers hooked into the edge of your panties, pulling them aside. And then he looked.

You sat up above him, hands threading through his hair, pulling it back from his forehead, the touch so gentle in contrast to the way his heart was hammering in his chest.

He couldn’t pretend to be composed. Not now. You were soaked, shining under the light, and the sight of you like that, open, ready, waiting for him, knocked something loose in his gut.

He didn’t waste time. Didn’t tease.

He grabbed your ass, hard, and pulled you down with a strength that made you gasp. His mouth found you instantly, tongue pressing deep, tasting, devouring. You were warm and wet and tender against him, and the second his tongue touched you, something inside him unspooled.

You moaned above him, hips twitching against his face. Your thighs trembled faintly against his shoulders, fingers tangled in his hair. Frankie could feel every single shiver rippling through your body. Every grind of your hips. Every breathless, broken sound you tried to bite down, but couldn’t.

His tongue moved in steady, hungry strokes, licking and circling, savoring every inch of you like he couldn’t get full—because he couldn’t. He was addicted to the way you reacted. The way you gasped when he sucked, the way your thighs clenched and then softened again, the hitch in your breath when he flattened his tongue and dragged it all the way up your slit, or wrapped his lips around your clit and pulled gently, just to see what it would do to you.

You started moving. Hips shifting forward, cautious at first, but quickly gaining rhythm, desperate now. And Frankie groaned into you, a deep sound vibrating against your skin, and you moaned back, louder this time, your hands gripping his hair with new intensity.

He slid a hand between your legs and slipped two fingers through your wetness, then inside you, deep, curling up until you choked out his name. Your hips bucked, your whole body hot and electric above him. He locked you in place with his other arm, grounding you to him, keeping your body right where he needed you. Right on his mouth, right on his fingers.

You were coming undone on top of him, and Frankie loved it. Loved the honesty of it, the wildness, the way nothing in you was hidden in that moment. No pretending. No filters. Just you—desperate and beautiful and completely his.

“Frankie—fuck—” you gasped, your hips trembling hard against his face.

He pressed his mouth tighter to you, tongue working faster now, synced with the push and curl of his fingers.

You were soaking him. Shaking. So goddamn close he could feel it, could taste it, and he needed you to fall.

“Come on, baby,” he rasped against you, voice hoarse. “Come for me. Be as loud as you want.”

And when you did—when your whole body locked up, thighs tightening around his head, your mouth dropping open with a strangled cry that cracked into a deep, uncontrollable moan—Frankie didn’t stop. He kept going, dragging you through it, letting you lose yourself completely, using him however you needed, for as long as it took.

He was rock hard beneath you, pulsing in his boxers, the ache almost unbearable. But he didn’t care. Not yet. Not when you were breaking apart like this. Not when you were melting in his mouth, in his hands.

Eventually, you collapsed forward, breathless and shaking. Spent.

Frankie held your thighs in his hands, mouth still brushing against your soft, slick skin, kissing you gently now. Like he couldn’t quite let go of the taste of you.

He smiled against you, eyes half-lidded as he looked up at your ruined body.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, almost to himself.

He smiled at you, eyes heavy with heat, and slowly pulled his fingers out of you. You dropped onto the bed, back against the mattress, chest still heaving.

Frankie shifted onto his knees and crawled over you, positioning himself above you, body casting a shadow across your flushed skin.

“Open,” he said quietly, holding his hand up toward your face.

You did. You parted your lips without hesitation, and he slipped his fingers into your mouth, wet from you. You closed your lips around them, tasting yourself on his skin.

Frankie groaned, low and guttural, the sound vibrating somewhere in his chest as he felt the heat of your mouth, the pressure of your tongue.

He bent down, mouth dragging along the line of your neck, kissing and biting, his breath warm against your skin. Your body was hot, fevered almost, and he felt drunk on it—on you.

With a wet sound, he slid his fingers from your mouth and looked down at your face.

You reached up and brushed your hand across his cheek, just for a second, before tugging his face down toward yours and kissing him. Barely a brush of lips. But then your tongue pushed into his mouth and Frankie all but melted. Like something inside him gave up the fight, like he'd never actually been fighting at all.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers curling into the back of his shoulder, and the kiss turned frantic, needy. He pressed his hips down, grinding against you, his cock hard and pulsing, straining against the fabric of his boxers.

Your legs parted automatically, pulling him in closer, locking around his waist like you couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you.

Frankie pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and a little bloodshot, lips swollen from kissing, like he’d been lit from the inside.

“Pure intentions, huh?” he whispered, mouth tilting into a crooked smile.

You let out a soft laugh, your eyes half-lidded, your fingertips still stroking along his cheekbone. 

You pulled him in again, brushing kisses along the curve of his mouth, the corners, soft and quick, teasing.

Frankie’s eyes fluttered closed. It felt like falling. Like being pulled into something you weren’t sure you’d survive, but didn’t want to stop.

“Wanna know a secret?” you whispered against his lips.

He nodded, though he wasn’t even sure you noticed. His thoughts were spinning.

You kissed him again, and murmured, “You, my friend, belong with me.”

He opened his eyes, lids heavy. He felt wrecked, in the best possible way. High on you. High on everything else. Hard and strung tight, his heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to get out.

He parted his lips to say something, anything, but nothing came. His head was full, completely full, of things he wanted to tell you, but none of them would settle into actual words.

You smiled at him, that quiet, knowing kind of smile, and kissed him again. Just a press of your mouth to his.

When you pulled back, your hand moved to his cheek.

“So, Francisco? What are you gonna do about it?”

He laughed, barely. It came out low and breathless, somewhere between a groan and disbelief. But his body responded faster than his brain. His hand was already moving down.

Your eyes dropped, following the motion as he pushed his boxers down just enough to free himself, hard and swollen, head flushed. He stroked himself a couple of times, breath catching, and then leaned back just enough to move.

Your gaze flicked to his cock again and he swore under his breath, he couldn’t wait anymore.

He dropped to his knees, hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, and dragged them down your legs. They landed somewhere beside the bed, forgotten. His boxers joined them a moment later.

Then he was climbing back over you, the heat of his body settling between your thighs again. He took himself in hand, rubbing the head through your slick folds, coating himself in you. It was more than just preparation. It was teasing. It was control. It was watching your chest rise and fall, the way your lips parted when his tip brushed just a little too close to your clit. He leaned down, mouth on your chest, tongue swirling around your nipple while he kept grinding his cock against you. He bit lightly, just enough to make you gasp, and then kissed the spot after like an apology.

And then, he lined himself up.

You wrapped your legs around him again, locking him in, keeping him close as he started to push in. Inch by inch. The stretch was slow, thick, deep. You felt like everything; tight, warm, perfect. He cursed under his breath and dropped his forehead to your neck, your fingers tangling in the back of his hair, stroking, grounding him as your body adjusted around him.

He started to move, slow at first, wanting to feel every part of it, every part of you. His eyes stayed on your face, on the way your cheeks flushed and your breath caught with every thrust.

Your hands roamed over his chest, up his arms, around his neck, soft and careful. It made him feel worshiped. It made him feel like this was more than sex. And it was, so he started to move faster, need taking over now, his hips snapping forward with more urgency. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, messy and rhythmic and desperate.

Your moans came louder, throatier. Your eyes half-lidded, glossy, your head thrown back and nails digging into his back as he drove into you. You were completely open to him, and it wrecked him, absolutely ruined him, in the best, most brutal way. Your body clung to him like you couldn’t help it. Instinct, not choice. Every time he thrust into you, your hips tilted to meet him, chasing the friction. 

He grunted into your neck, rough and shaky, like the sound had been dragged out of his chest. There was nothing careful about him now. No hesitation. Just need. Your name and a curse was the only thing he could manage to say.

Your fingers raked down his back, mouth open against his shoulder, gasping. Whimpering. You bit him and he groaned, sharp, guttural—and fucked you harder.

The rhythm got messier. Faster. Less about control. His hips snapped into yours like he needed to bury himself as deep as he could; bodies slapping together, wet and filthy and warm.

You were everywhere; your smell, your breath, the heat of your skin. He couldn’t look at you without falling apart, so he did. He looked at you. Watched the way your mouth trembled when he hit that spot just right, the way your eyes fluttered shut and your thighs squeezed tighter around his waist like you didn’t want to let him go. Like you couldn’t.

“God, baby,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel so good.”

You whined, needy and open beneath him. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Even if the room had caught fire around you, he’d still be here, fucking you into the mattress.

Your body jerked beneath him, your hands fisting in the sheets, and he felt the tension building inside you. The tremble. The way your legs started to shake again, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

“Shit,” he groaned, voice raw. “I know, baby.”

You nodded, wordless, breathless, and he reached between your bodies, fingers finding your clit like he’d done it a hundred times before. He circled it in time with his thrusts, never breaking rhythm. Never looking away from you.

“Let go,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Come for me. Just—fuck, come for me, loud, baby.”

Your body arched under him, mouth falling open in a moan that was loud and broken. You clenched around him, pulsing, and he nearly came right then; swallowed a curse, tried to breathe through it, but your orgasm tore something loose in him, and he gritted his teeth as he pushed through the edge.

He didn’t stop.

His thrusts slowed just enough to keep from tipping over, but they were deep and heavy, his hips rolling into yours. His hand gripped your thigh, the other splayed over your hip like he needed something to hold on. You were still clenching around him, body twitching from aftershocks, but you didn’t tell him to stop. You didn’t push him away. You took it, took all of him, with your legs still wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him back in every time he tried to draw out.

He was soaked in sweat, sliding down his chest, face hovering over yours as he fucked you with need that had no elegance left. No rhythm. Just instinct. Just hunger.

“Fuck,” he rasped, voice almost unrecognizable. “You—god—”

He didn’t even finish. He just groaned, deep, and drove into you harder. Deeper. Like he couldn’t get enough, like he hadn’t had enough even after all this. The room was thick with heat, the air dense with your moans and the slick sound of skin on skin. His stomach tensed with every thrust, every pull of your body around him, every breathless whimper that escaped your lips.

Your nails were back in his skin, your hands tugging at his hair, your mouth open beneath his; kissing him, biting him, begging him without words.

Your eyes fluttered open, glassy and dazed, meeting his, and that was it. He saw the wreckage on your face, your lips swollen, your cheeks flushed, your pupils blown wide, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

He panted against your jaw, his rhythm faltering, hips starting to stutter. He was close. He was so fucking close.

You smiled, breathless, pulling him closer with your legs.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you whispered, over and over again.

He cursed, and his whole body locked up as he buried himself as deep as he could go. His hips snapped into yours once, twice more, and then he was coming, hard, spilling into you with a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a groan, his face buried in your neck. His body shook as the pleasure ripped through him, hot and endless, every muscle going tight before finally unraveling all at once.

He stayed like that for a moment; completely still, completely inside you, his body slumped over yours, his breath ragged and fast against your skin. Your fingers were in his hair, gentle now, stroking, soothing. Both of you glistening, wrecked, and buzzing from the aftershock.

And when he finally lifted his head to look at you, his lips red, his eyes dark, his body still trembling faintly... you smiled.

And he knew.

He was yours now. Completely.

You had curled into Frankie, cheek resting against his chest, listening as he did his best to explain why Tenacious D was, in his words, Jack Black’s masterpiece.

His voice was low, tired, almost raspy, like it always got when he was sleepy.

“And then fucking Dio shows up,” he said, making a vague sweeping motion with his hand, though his eyes narrowed like he was making a serious point. “And Meat Loaf is his fucking dad? Fucking incredible.”

You smiled against his skin.

“I like School of Rock.”

He turned his head, frowning.

“But you haven’t seen Tenacious D,” he argued, pointing at you. “You have to see it.”

He stretched out beneath you, folding his arms behind his head, his eyes wide and glassy.

The blanket had slipped down around your hips. You shifted slightly, one hand trailing across his ribs.

“Should I turn off the light?” he asked, not moving.

“No,” you said, sitting up, propping yourself on one elbow. “Actually, I was thinking of taking a shower. Want to come?”

Frankie furrowed his brow. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

“But it’s like… five in the morning?”

You laughed, leaning back against him again. His hand found your shoulder, his thumb moving in a lazy circle.

“I know,” you said. “But my hair smells like smoke. And that party was full of so many people and… smells.” You looked up at him. “And I’m pretty sure we smell like sex.”

He clicked his tongue, unbothered. “So? I like that smell.”

“Francisco.” You gave his chest a gentle smack, rolling your eyes. “Don’t be gross.”

He smiled and closed his eyes.

“No, no,” he mumbled, waving a hand in the air. “See, I totally get it, I do, but it’s late and I can’t even keep my eyes open. Look at me right now.”

“Frankie.”

“Let’s just go to sleep.”

“Okay, but picture this: tomorrow you wake up, and your hair’s clean. You smell like soap. You go straight to coffee, no distractions, no regrets. Or we can stay in bed until noon. No judgment either way. But we'd be clean.”

“We can do that anyway,” he muttered.

You clicked your tongue in mock disapproval.

“Fine. Go to sleep.” You pushed yourself off his chest. The sheet slipped down your body as you sat up, and the sudden exposure made you shiver. You reached for the robe draped over the edge of the bed and slipped it on as you stood.

Behind you, Frankie let out a groan. He rubbed at his eyes like a child refusing a nap. Then, reluctantly, he pulled back the covers and got up.

You turned.

“What are you doing?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

“Going with you,” he said, already walking past you, completely naked, like it wasn’t worth discussing.

You followed him to the bathroom. He was already in front of the mirror, studying his reflection with curiosity, as if unsure of what he expected to find.

His hair was a mess, flattened on one side and sticking up on the other. His lips were swollen. His eyes, red-rimmed and heavy-lidded, blinked at himself like he was still adjusting to the lighting.

You met his eyes in the mirror and smiled.

“You could’ve stayed in bed. Really.”

He turned slightly toward you.

“By myself? Alone?”

You laughed, unable to help it. The way he said it made it sound like you’d suggested something cruel, rather than a perfectly reasonable offer.

Also, he looked tired and slightly grumpy, and you loved it.

You shook your head and turned on the shower, adjusting the handle with small, precise movements until the water reached the perfect temperature. Steam began to curl in the air almost instantly, fogging up the mirror in patches. Frankie couldn't see his reflection anymore. He snorted.

You slipped out of your robe and left it on the dresser. Behind you, the tile was cool under your feet as you stepped into the stream.

The hot water hit your skin with an intensity that made you exhale, loosening everything: your shoulders, your spine, the tension in your thighs. You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, letting the water run over your face.

You felt Frankie before you saw him. The curtain shifted slightly, the air moved. Then he was there, stepping in behind you with visible reluctance, a crease between his eyebrows like the heat was somehow a personal inconvenience.

You tried not to laugh. The entire shower became a quiet game of holding back your smile, watching him out of the corner of your eye while he pretended not to enjoy it.

But he did enjoy it. You could tell by the way his eyes drifted closed every time he turned his back to the spray, how he sighed when your hands slid over his shoulders, gentle, soothing, and he leaned into them without saying anything.

You asked if he wanted you to wash his hair, and he nodded once, eyes still closed. He looked soft like that. Sleepy and grateful. A little helpless, which made you smile again.

You ran your fingers through his hair with care, massaging his scalp the way you knew he liked, and his face stayed relaxed the whole time.

When the water finally shut off, you reached for a towel and wrapped it around yourself. Frankie followed your movements, grabbing his own towel and securing it loosely at his waist.

Back in the bedroom, you looked for clean pajamas and started your usual nighttime routine. Moisturizer, body lotion, drawers opening and closing again and again. But Frankie didn’t say much. He pulled on a pair of boxers, brushed his teeth in the half-lit bathroom, and then collapsed onto the bed with a sigh.

But he didn’t fall asleep.

In the bathroom, you brushed your teeth and opened a drawer to search for your hair dryer. You found it tangled with the cord of your straightener, and muttered something under your breath as you tried to free it.

Just as you were plugging it in, Frankie appeared in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame.

“What are you doing?”

You looked at him in the mirror. “Drying my hair. You want me to dry yours after?”

He sighed, heavy and dramatic. “Baby, it’s late. Come to bed. It’ll dry on its own.”

You smiled as you turned to face him.

“Jesus, you’re so impatient.” You shook your head. “I’ll be there in a minute. Go.”

He clicked his tongue and placed one hand on his hip.

“No,” he said, fed up, but then walked away without another word.

You turned back to the mirror and got to work. There was no chance you were going to bed with wet hair. It always felt cold and sticky against the pillow, and by morning it would be doing something strange and unmanageable. So you dried it, even if you rushed a little, hoping to minimize the noise for his sake.

When you finished and unplugged the dryer, the apartment fell quiet again. You walked back to the bedroom expecting to find him sprawled across the bed, but it was empty, the sheets still slightly rumpled from earlier.

You padded down the hallway, following the flicker of the television. In the living room, the screen glowed in soft blues and whites. Frankie’s foot was the first thing you saw, sticking out from under the arm of the couch.

You walked over and leaned against the back of it, peering down at him. He was lying flat on his back, arms crossed like he was in a protest. His eyes were open, unfocused, as if he’d been staring at nothing in particular for a while. Bingley was curled up on his chest, purring softly, and Darcy sat on the floor in front of the them, tail flicking, clearly calculating the best angle to launch himself up.

You smiled. “Hey.”

Frankie turned his head slowly to look at you. “All dry?”

You nodded. “Yeah, Meryl Streep. Let’s go to bed.”

You pushed away from the couch and started walking back down the hallway. Behind you, you heard the click of the TV turning off, followed by the soft shuffle of Frankie’s footsteps trailing behind you.

You lay down and pulled the blanket over your body, and a moment later, Frankie walked into the room, holding Bingley in one hand.

He placed the kitten gently on the bed. Bingley stayed completely still for a few seconds, frozen. And then Darcy padded into the room, tail raised with lazy curiosity. The moment Bingley saw him, he carefully jumped off the bed and approached him, slow, nose twitching as he moved in to investigate his friend.

Frankie didn’t wait. He reached for the light switch, and the room went dark.

You felt the shift of the mattress as he climbed in beside you. Then, without hesitation, he found you beneath the covers and pulled you close, one arm circling around your waist.

You didn’t resist, of course not. You wrapped yourself around him easily, resting your face near the curve of his neck, breathing in the clean scent of soap and him.

“Did you have a good night?” he asked, softly. His voice was gentle now, in the darkness.

You nodded, your cheek brushing against his skin. “Yes. I did.”

“Me too.”

There was a brief silence. You listened to the sound of the Darcy and Bingley exploring in the room. They were under the bed, playing or just messing around.

After a few moments, Mr. Darcy leapt onto the bed and circled once before settling at the foot like it was his rightful place. You waited for the soft sound of Bingley joining him, but instead, a sharp meow floated up from the floor.

“Bingley, come here,” you said.

He meowed again.

Frankie pulled back from you, laughing softly, and a moment later, he placed the tiny kitten beside Darcy.

In a second, Frankie was close again, his arm sliding around your waist like it had never left. You felt his hand move slowly along your arm.

You closed your eyes, and the seconds passed as your body slowly began to relax.

“I didn’t like seeing you with someone else,” Frankie said then, absently.

You opened your eyes, though your lids were heavy and the darkness made it hard to focus on anything.

“Mmm?”

He exhaled, and pulled you closer still, his chest against yours.

“I didn’t like seeing you with someone else,” he repeated. “I didn’t like you kissing someone else.”

“No?”

“No.”

You let your fingers trail lightly across his chest, the warmth of his skin sinking into your palms.

“I didn’t like kissing someone else either,” you whispered.

Frankie let out a laugh. “Too romantic for that, huh?”

You smiled. “Exactly.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you felt the subtle shift of the mattress as he moved, turning onto his side to face you. Then came the press of his lips against the corner of your mouth. His fingers brushed your jaw, holding you there while he kissed you again, just once more.

You reached for him, arms wrapping around his torso, and he relaxed into you almost instantly. You felt it in the way his shoulders dropped, the way his breathing began to ease; longer, slower, deeper. Sleep was tugging at him one breath at a time.

There was a faint snore from him.

“Good night, jealous,” you murmured.

He moved, barely. A brief spasm.

“Mhm. Good night, baby, I love you.”

You stilled.

Your heart stopped, then picked up again in an uneven rhythm.

The words hit you like a stone tossed into still water.

You blinked. Your eyes opened wide in the dark.

But it was too dark to see anything, and by the time you processed what he’d said, he was already snoring beside you.

Completely, deeply asleep.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @thedilfdiaries @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @deatt @yslgreen @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella @satanxklaus @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @ashhlsstuff @sunfairyy @icanbringyouinhot @hi--have-a-nice-day @sesdeuxyeux @peachiestevie @biccaline @crayolacraycray @wencontre @peepawispunk @berryispunk @billionairecowgirl @blub-senpai @madpanda75 @joelmillerpascal @thatdbeagoodsticker @dtftheavengers @jessthebaker @yourallaround-simp @vingtetunmars @deatt @pedges-world @vickie5446 @whitewolfstar01 @littlenicpascal

[alvfr]

Karma - Part 3

Masterlist

paring: andrew pope cody/stripper!reader tags: 18+, starts in s1, slow burn, implied age gap, no use of y/n, implied stalking. customer service. reader has fake names, a large family, and a past (that is catching up). no smut for this part.  wc: 7.1k  an: thank you so much for the feedback on the first parts. reminder that this will be a slow burn, but we'll get there in the end. also, I love hearing your theories and speculations, so feel free to comment or scream in my inbox. it makes my day ❤️

summary:Who says you can’t meet the love of your life in a strip club dressing room after his brother paid another girl a thousand bucks to wish him a happy birthday? Okay, so he’s a bit strange and he might be stalking you and his mother is terrifying and you’re really just trying to make enough money for rent and tuition without getting into any kind of trouble, but on the bright side, at least he’s not a cop.

Karma - Part 3 - [AO3 LINK] “…excuse me. Excuse me! I’m sorry to be a bother, but I ordered this as iced and…” 

You blinked at the cup the customer held in their hand with steam rising from the top. Clearly not iced.

“Right. Uh… I’m so sorry about that,” you hurried to say, noting how it took you a few words to get the upbeat tone back. “Must’ve dreamed of colder weather, huh? Let me get that for you and we’ll have your actual order out as fast as possible. Kelly?”

“Already on it.” 

“Again, I’m so sorry. Can I offer you one of these amazing energy bites as an apology? On the house, obviously.”

The customer declined your generous offer while Kelly whipped up a new coffee — iced this time — at record speed. You kept smiling, even when the customer made a show of looking at the tip jar before leaving without adding anything to it.

“Asshole,” Kelly muttered from beside you as she leaned on the counter, sipping iced water noisily through a straw. The morning rush had ended a while ago and only the usual suspects occupied the tables. Mio was out back, taking his second smoke break. “Hey, are you okay? Not to be a bitch or anything, but that’s the third order you’ve got wrong today. And it’s not a big deal, everybody makes mistakes. Except you, which is why I feel I gotta ask if something’s up.”

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” you said and could hear the fatigue in your own voice. You tried to pull yourself together and smiled again. “I just got a lot on my mind, y’know. I’ll try to get my act straight before the lunch rush.”

Kelly looked skeptical. “All right.”

“I’m fine, I swear. Hey, you wanna do inventory or display?” you asked, effectively breaking off the conversation. Kelly picked inventor and left you alone out in the coffee shop.

Messing up orders. Sheesh. You had kept it together pretty well for the morning rush, when it was so busy you did not have time to think, but everything crumbled when things slowed down. You could try telling yourself you worried about the tuition or the rent or… that other thing, but that would be lying, wouldn’t it? You were thinking about the strip club.

Okay, fine, you were thinking about Pope, but it did sort of involve the strip club. You had been certain the third song he bought last night would be the final one, especially because you had started to remove your top halfway in and he had shaken his head to stop you. Probably unprecedented in strip club history. But then he had also stayed for four more songsbefore suddenly getting up and saying he had to go.

What kind of guy goes to a strip club and pays a girl to keep her clothes on? He had given you a decent tip too — luckily not a full grand like last time — and you remembered that tilt to his eyebrow, almost daring you to reject it, before he left without a word of goodbye.

If he was just trying to be an asshole, why did he insist on giving you so much cash?

Did you worry he was going to corner you outside the strip club when you went home? Or, worse, be waiting for you back at your place? Lurking in the shadows somewhere to claim whatever he was actually paying you for? Yes, absolutely, one-hundred percent. And you had that paranoid feeling of being watched the whole way back to the apartment.

But nothing happened. 

One of the security guards escorted you to your Uber, like always, and you trekked up the short, well-lit passage to your apartment with no issues. Absolutely no indications someone followed you, and you made sure to triple check this time. You were always careful, obviously. Everyone knew strippers were paid in cash and most of them did not deposit anything in the bank, for tax purposes, so you would always be a target for easy money. 

But there was no boogeyman waiting in the shadows last night, and that watched feeling went away after you locked yourself inside the apartment. It was still an abysmal sight left in the wake of your shitty ex-roommate, even if you had tried to clean it up when you weren’t working. Not last night though, as you had promptly passed out on your bed until it was time to get back to work. And now you were here, trying to make sense of it all.

And wondering if Pope was going to get his money’s worth on his customer loyalty card.

Every time the door opened, your heart skipped a beat. You could not help it, even if you did your best to give it a second before turning to look. And then you could not help the way your stomach dropped when it was not him. Which was ridiculous, because why would he come back here? And why did you want him to?

Maybe to unravel the mystery about what he wanted from you. Why he showed up at your club to get private dances when it was obvious he found you as attractive as a dish sponge? 

And why he was now walking into the coffee shop like he was planning to rob it? 

Figuratively, anyway. The guy had a walk that spelled trouble with every bowlegged step and a hunch to his muscular shoulders like he was expecting an ambush. He stalked inside the coffee shop with a hard set to his jaw and his down-turned mouth locked shut like he was prepared to speak with his fists. Did his scowl clear somewhat when he spotted you? Did his breath slow down just a notch? Or was that all in your head, wistful thinking, trying to make sense of something that didn’t?

Not even pretending to be surprised, you leaned against the wrong side of the counter with a wet rag in your hand from cleaning up the displays. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said, somehow managing to make a single word stretch in gravel. His body language felt off, like he wanted to shift around, but was forcing himself to stay still. Thumbs tucked into his front pockets to make sure his hands were accounted for. His cobra-like stare pinned you down like a vise. “Can I get a coffee? Black?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered, giving him an equally skeptical stare in return as you sidled around the counter. You dropped the rag in a nearby bucket and took some time washing your hands. “To–go?”

Pope’s glare ventured out the window for a second before it returned to you, like always. “Can I sit?”

This time you couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”

“I don’t have anywhere to be. And I like the view.”

Like all other buildings on the Strand, the coffee-shop had huge windows that showed the waves lapping against the beach. So, okay, it was a nice view. Still giving him a skeptical stare, you poured him a coffee in a porcelain mug without asking for neither blend nor size. You had a feeling he didn’t really care.

“Three seventy.”

“Sure. I also got this.” Pope handed you the customer loyalty card with the cash tucked underneath. “Keep the change.”

You gave him a disbelieving look over the hundred-dollar-bill in your hands. After several seconds without him even blinking, you just sighed, punched in the order, scanned his card, and started counting up the change. Which you then silently stuffed into the tip jar before holding out his card for him.

Pope’s head had rotated on his neck to glare at the tip jar and you spotted the telltale way his jaw flexed. But he said nothing, snatched the card from your hand, took the coffee, and stalked over to claim one of the window seats with his back to the register.

A full minute went past with you staring at his unnaturally straight back, trying to catch him turning around. He didn’t. 

Okay. Weird. You would have kept an eye on him if it hadn’t been for Mio returning from his smoke-break, moaning about prepping for lunchtime pre-orders, and forcing you back to work. 

Pope remained in his seat for the entire lunch rush, back straight and shoulders squared. Each time you glanced over at him, he sat as unmoving as before. Not checking his phone or reading a newspaper or any other normal activity to pass the time. As far as you could tell, he was literally just looking out the window, sipping his coffee every once in a while.

“That’s the guy from yesterday, right?” Mio asked carefully after a full hour had passed and the rush ended. “Is he, like, okay? He’s not having a stroke or silent heart attack or something?”

“No,” you said slowly from where you prepared to clock out and glanced over at Pope’s rigid back. “I think he’s just like that.”

You finished up your work, threw your apron into your trusted canvas tote bag, and grabbed two coffees on your way back. Mio and Kelly were busy discussing someone who was in the hospital after a boating accident, but returned your goodbyes as you officially logged off the register. 

Pope had amazing flexibility in his neck as his head twisted almost all the way around when you grabbed the seat next to him. Then it swivelled back to the front to watch the steaming mug you plonked onto the table.

“This place opens at six,” he said in his raspy voice, scooting over the empty mug and replacing it with the new one. He rotated it forty-five degrees, so the handle lined up with the table edge. 

You sipped your own coffee and stared at him through the steam. “Yeah?” 

“When did you leave the other place?”

“Two. Why?”

“That’s a four-hour window.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, when do you sleep?” he asked in a slow voice and his neck wrinkled as he turned to face you. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between incredulity and concern. 

“When I’m not working.”

“But you’re always working.”

“That’s why god invented coffee and concealer.”

Pope stared at you — like always — before changing the topic again. “Do you split the tip from the tip jar equally?”

“Yup.”

He nodded, and his eyebrow lifted a fraction. “That money was meant for you.”

“Yeah, okay. We gotta talk about that. What’s your deal? Are you a cop?”

He let out a clearly uncontrolled snort. “You think I’m a cop?” The way his face changed in obvious amusement — the way his lip lifted and he pulled in his chin — did numbers to your insides, but you tried not to show it. “I told you I just got out of prison.”

“You could’ve lied. Cops lie all the time.”

“They do, yeah, but why would a cop be after you?”

You shrugged, maybe trying too hard to be nonchalant. “I don’t know, you tell me. If you’re not a cop, what’s the play? Why are you so determined to put money in my pocket? Are you from the IRS? Running behind on your performance report and trying to set me up for something?”

“I’m not trying to set you up for anything.”

“Then what? Did you wrong me in a previous life and’s trying to make amends? Did my ancestor save your ancestor and you’re trying to repay the debt? Are you a guardian angel where the big man in the sky figured that ‘shit, this bitch is really a lost cause, we gotta hit her with a direct deposit kind of deal’?”

Pope shrugged. “You need it more than me.”

“Is it fake?” you whispered and inched closer on your chair, giving the coffee shop a suspicious look. “Or is it part of a bank job and covered in invisible ink or some shit, so you need to get rid of it?”

Now Pope’s head swivelled your way to give you an unimpressed stare. “It’s not fake. Or marked. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Except that it’s free, you mean.”

“It’s not free,” he pointed out. “It’s… fair pay for services rendered. You’re going to tell me there’s no other guys spending that kind of money on you at… that place?”

“There are, and that’s different, and you can’t speak of fair pay when you just left a 2,600 percent tip for a cup of coffee!”

“Does it bother you?” 

The hint of vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, and you automatically shook your head.

“No. Well, a little. I’d just like to know why, okay? I don’t want charity.”

“It’s not charity,” Pope said slowly and stared out the window. “That’d make me eligible for a tax deduction.”

“Oh, you are so an IRS-agent,” you accused, mostly to see him smile again and your stomach did cartwheels at the sight of dimples forming. It was a secretive smile, like he was smiling despite his best efforts, almost gone before it could fully appear. “Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that you’re not a government official in some capacity—”

“I just got out of Folsom for armed robbery,” Pope interrupted in an even voice. “I’m not lying. You can ask around or look it up. It was in the newspaper and everything.”

“Folsom? Shit, who’d you piss off to get sent all the way up there?” 

“A lotta people,” Pope admitted after some reflection. “Mostly the lead detective. And the D.A. And probably the judge.”

“Yeah, that’d do it.” The laughter died in your throat as you did the math. “Folsom is like, eight hours from here, right?” 

He nodded. The coffee — a medium roast blend that combined Brazilian and Ethiopian beans — tasted like dish water in your mouth while you considered your next question. 

“Do you have any family up north?”

Pope shook his head ‘no’ and you shifted in your chair at the implication.

“Did your brothers,” you hesitated, but decided to go through with it, “come to see you often?”

You had to ask. Hoping in vain that his answer would resolve some of that hollow feeling spreading in your gut. Like you did not already know. Eight hours was a lot. Even the most tight-knit and dedicated family would find it hard to trek eight hours each way for a one-hour visit. And you had no idea what kind of family Pope had.

“Baz tried to come see me once a month,” Pope said in his raspy voice. He spoke slowly, fixing the relentless waves outside with his stare. “He’s the one who paid your friend. He didn’t always make it. Lot of stuff going on with work and then he got a family to take care of. He’s got a kid, my niece, and she was barely out of diapers when I went away.”

It would have been easier if he sounded bitter, you thought. If he sounded angry. Pope did not seem like he was wallowing in sorrow when telling you this — he was just listing facts.

“My mom,” Pope continued unprompted, like he was reading your mind to what you wanted to know, “came as often as she could, but she runs the family business and she said it hurt her to see me like that. Locked up. My other brothers came for all the holidays, my birthday and Christmas and stuff.”

Once a month. As often as she could. Every holiday. For three years and nineteen days, that did not amount to a lot of visits.

“Right. That sounds,” you desperately searched your brain for a better word, but ended up with, “lonely.”

“It’s never lonely in prison,” Pope disagreed, drank some coffee and rotated the mug again so the handle lined up with the table edge. “It wasn’t like we could talk much, anyway. Everything was being recorded.”

You stared at him for a second while trying to decipher if he was joking or not. You got the distinct impression that he was not.

“Well, I’m from a small town not that far from Folsom, so,” you smiled, trying to break the tension in your chest, “if you break parole and get sent back, I’ll sic all my cousins on you to visit. There’s thirty-one of us last time I checked, one for every day of the month. You won’t get bored.”

Pope did not seem to register your attempt of diversion and sounded dead-serious. “I’m never going back there.”

It had been a while since you last visited Folsom yourself — most of your cousins had managed to stay out of the system for a while now — but you recalled it as a bleak and ominous place. Second-oldest prison in California, but just as under-funded and overcrowded as all the others. 

Pope swung his head around to stare at you, eyes narrowed in something akin to amusement despite the current topic at hand. 

“Are you working tonight?”

Ah, okay. That was a change of subject, at least, and you felt blood rush through your body at this new implication. “Not,” you glanced around in case someone seemed to listen, also avoiding looking at Pope, “at the club, no.”

“But you’re working somewhere else?” He waited for your nod before his lip lifted slightly in disgust. “How many jobs do you have?” 

“As many as I can before the semester starts. What’s it to you, Mister IRS?” You smiled to show him you were kidding. And then hurried to change the subject yourself. “What’s your job, by the way? Gotta have steady employment when you’re on parole, right? Can’t just be robbing banks.”

“I’m a property manager.”

“A property manager?” you parroted and tilted your head to stare at him. “Which you did not feel inclined to mention when I said I was looking for a new place? Come on, you’re giving hundred-dollar-tips, but you can’t hook me up with an okay apartment?”

“It’s low-income housing. You don’t wanna stay there.”

“You sure? I’m a low-income kinda gal.” 

Something about Pope’s demeanor changed when he looked at you now, something about the way his lips tightened on each other — like he really did not want you to stay there — and you cleared your throat. With the car he drove and the cash he threw around, he either managed a lot of low-income properties or he was getting his main paycheck elsewhere. Whatever. Don’t ask, don’t tell, right?

“Okay, guess not. I gotta go. I need to run some errands before my shift starts tonight.” 

You rose from your seat and bit down the urge to tell him where that shift took place. The fact that he knew about two of your jobs was bad enough. If something went south, you’d have to quit both of them. You did not really know this guy, you reminded yourself. He could still be a cop. Or worse. You did not even know his last name. 

Despite that, like some kind of idiot, you said, “I go on at nine tomorrow.”

His slow nod made your insides tighten — for some reason you had not recognized how that would be considered an invitation until then. That you wanted to see him again. Did you? Maybe. Sort of. For reasons not quite determined just yet. You hoped he thought it was because of his hefty tips. 

Apparently, you spent a bit too long considering this and Pope tilted his head in confusion to why you were still standing there. “You need a ride?”

“Uh, no.” You woke up from your pondering and started walking backward to the door. “No, I’m good. Thanks. See you around, I guess. Bye.”

***

It was an unusually slow night at the hospital, even for the general medicine unit, and you spent some time at the nurses’ station searching bank robberies involving anyone called Andrew. Unfortunately, it was a common first and last name, and you got a lot of hits, even when filtering for California. You figured it was in state since he did time in a state prison and not a federal one. But since trials could take anywhere from two weeks to two years, it was hard to pinpoint when the robbery actually took place and you scrolled for what seemed like hours.

Finally, you found something that could be it. An article briefly summarizing the sentencing of someone called ‘Andrew D. Cody’, but there were little to no details. Not even a picture, which was weird, because all the other articles you’d come across tonight showed a mugshot. Not this one, though. It didn’t even list a city of residence, but the robbery itself took place in Escondido, which was a city just forty minutes out of Oceanside. 

You skimmed the article — most of it was details about the sentencing, a lot of legal mumbo-jumbo — but it specified how this Andrew D. Cody got the maximum penalty of six years even if no one was hurt because he refused to give up the other people involved in the heist. At least three of them, according to the district attorney. No other indictments though, this Andrew D. Cody was the only one apprehended.

How many brothers did Pope have? You’d seen four guys at his table that first night in the club.

Nothing else came up when you tried digging deeper with this case as a reference. No stills from the CC-TV, no statements from the bank, and still no mugshots. For fun, you tried to search up articles about one of your cousins’ least thought out crimes and got loads of hits. Huh. Almost like someone had attempted to bury the Wells Fargo bank robbery. Or like the local reporters were too scared to write about it. 

Searching the name itself proved no more fruitful — unless Andrew D. Cody, the bank robber, also worked as a data center manager in Colorado or played football for Ohio State University. Not that you had expected Pope to have any kind of online presence in the first place.

You tapped your fingers absentmindedly on the desk and checked the monitors — no active alerts. Then you checked your surroundings — two of your fellow assistants were hanging out by the water cooler, completely absorbed in their conversation and unable to see your screen. Before any of that changed, you quickly typed in the name of your old club in San Diego and clicked ‘search’. Just for reference. Or out of curiosity. Nothing to do with that weird message you got a few weeks ago. 

This time you got so many hits you only skimmed the headlines:

‘Masked burglars steal $500K from popular San Diego gentlemen’s club, police asking for tips’

‘Spokesman of Cheetah’s Gentleman’s Club claims shutdown is unrelated to burglary, denies rumors of front operations’

‘Long-running San Diego gentleman’s club Cheetah’s has officially closed its doors, owners nowhere to be found’

You let the pointer linger over the last headline, but hurriedly closed the browser when one of the actual nurses working tonight trudged up to the station.

“ICU called,” he held up a stack of plastic-wrapped single-use somethings, “and they’ve run out of prep razors. Can you go down with these? I’d do it myself, but I gotta supervise basically everyone else tonight, so…”

“Sure, no problem.”

Leaving the darkened corridors of GMU, you headed for the bright halls of the ICU and tried to avoid thinking about what you had just read. The charge nurse gratefully accepted the razors, and you trekked back to your own ward when you spotted a familiar face in one of the beds. You did a double-take, not sure if it really was him for a second, until he shifted in his sleep and you got a better look at him.

Was that… Dave?

Even fast asleep, his body convulsed with nasty-sounding coughs and you snuck over to look at his chart. Hypothermia, swimmer’s ear, and pneumonia. Some kind of boating accident, according to whoever admitted him. Had to swim two miles to shore? What the hell?

This was the guy Pope asked you about yesterday. What a coincidence. And weird, too, because you could have sworn you saw the Blue Horizon boat at the docks today. How had Dave ended up swimming to shore, and the boat docked itself? Not that you were any kind of expert. Maybe boats had autopilot or something?

Gnawing at your lip, you studied Dave’s sleeping form for a few more seconds. Like you could will him to wake up so you could ask him what happened. Then you rolled your eyes at yourself — what, like someone had thrown Dave overboard and forced Dave to swim to shore or something? You’d been watching too many gangster movies lately. The world didn’t work like that. 

You thought of the headlines and the weird message and shook your head again. The world did not work like that. 

With that in mind, you put Dave’s charts back and hurried along before any of the scary ICU nurses spotted you. 

***

“Oh damn, baby. You’re really looking to earn tonight, huh?”

You paused in the middle of applying the final touches of make-up and smiled at Candy, who took the seat next to you in the dressing room. She always smelled like shea butter and honey, reminding you of a warm day at the beach, and she was generally always nice.

“You look great,” she continued and grabbed a wet-wipe to remove her own makeup. “I gotta get home. My kid’s dad bailed on me again and finding a babysitter this late’s impossible. But you go get that money, all right?”

Confirming that you had every intention to, you bid Candy goodbye and studied your own reflection in the mirror while the other girls in the dressing room went about their business. Was it too much? Or, rather, not enough? Your usual makeup routine was excessive and transformative — performative, even — on purpose. Now you had toned it down a bit, and you had to agree with Candy that it looked better. 

Except looking better had never been the original intention. Looking different, more like it. But you figured if Pope was going to come in and stare at your face while you danced your ass off, you might as well make it recognizable to the one he saw in the daytime. Which was so stupid, and you rolled your eyes at your own convoluted way of thinking. You had no idea if he was even going to come.

You had not seen him since yesterday afternoon in the coffee shop, and the thought of seeing him again had your stomach in knots. Excited, not scared, even though you fully realized that you ought to be scared. On paper, he was nothing but red flags. An ex-con that kept showing up at your jobs, plural, and insisting on giving you cash? You might be an optimist when it came to people, but you weren’t that stupid. He had to be working some kind of angle. 

So maybe, you thought and applied the deep-colored lipstick you had intended to skip tonight, you could at least do yourself a favor and be cautious? 

The thoughts span in your mind while you spun around the pole. Thursday nights were busier than Tuesdays and you only got a couple of songs before another girl forced you to give away your spot. You couldn’t help but scan the nearby seats for a familiar face when you stepped down to the floor and let out a sigh when your search came up empty. It was still early, he could still show, but that meant you had to work the floor to make someone else pay you for a dance in the meantime.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath and tried not to succumb to the existential crisis of why you suddenly had an issue doing your job. Fortunately, the existential crisis was put on hold when Geri, one of the waitresses, came up to you.

“You got a guy waiting for you in booth three,” she half-shouted over the music. “Said his name was Pope?”

Thanking Geri, you tried to keep your nerves in check and headed for booth three. Like the first time you went to see him, you felt silly in your costume and heels, even if you knew you objectively looked really hot. Hell, even Candy had said so. But, again, you had the feeling that Pope did not really care.

He sat in the booth a lot like last time. Straight back, shoulders squared and knees spread. Not fully relaxed, but not overly tense, either. Just sitting there in a way that indicated he could do it for a long time without being bored. Possibly forever. 

“Hey,” you said and leaned against the opening of the circular couch. “When did you get here?”

Pope turned to watch you for a second, then he leaned forward to stare at the club visible behind you. “What kind of building is this? Originally.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t always a strip club,” Pope stated, and the now familiar intensity of his attention landed back on you. “What was it before?”

“Uh, I think it was some kind of assembly plant back in the seventies.” You wondered if he had some kind of architectural interest, but the club was basically a cinder block with neon lights out front. “Automotive industry? I’m not sure.”

Pope nodded and his lips curled. “There’s a lot of exits. Are all of them still functional?”

“Pretty much, yeah. The backstage area is a maze, but it helps us girls sneak out of here when our shifts end without anyone following.”

“What’s stopping people from sneaking in?”

“Self-locking doors. They’re only locked from the outside. I think they have to stay open from inside. Fire safety regulation or whatever.”

He nodded again and seemed to chew on the inside of his lip as he glanced back up at the ceiling, presumably the cameras again.

“So,” you said and tilted your head to the side. “Andrew D. Cody? Wells Fargo in Escondido, spring of 2012?”

Pope drew his chin in, but looked more amused than angry. “You ran a background check on me?”

“I read the newspaper, yeah, like you told me to.”

“So you believe me now,” Pope asked and tilted his head backward to keep you in his sight as you stepped into the booth, “that I’m not a cop?”

“I dunno, man, wouldn’t be the first cop to rob a bank.”

“I couldn’t become a cop even if I wanted to.” Pope looked unimpressed. “I didn’t even finish high school.”

You laughed, thinking he was joking, but choked on your own spit when he remained completely serious. “What, really?”

“Really. It didn’t say that in the newspaper?”

“No, that article was kinda sparse on the details. Not even a mugshot. Also didn’t say how much was taken,” you added slowly, testing the waters. And sure enough, a hint of a smug smile played on Pope’s lips, but he hid it by taking a quick sip of beer. “Come on, you already did the time. You won’t implicate yourself by telling me.”

“I don’t know,” Pope said, but did not even try to hide that he was lying. “No one ever found the money.”

“Those other guys took off with it, huh?”

“I don’t know.” He still had that lingering partial smile on his face. “Are you sure you’re not a cop?”

“I’m just nosy,” you admitted, the smile finally cracking through and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “Uh, speaking of, while I remember, did you find Dave the other day? Blue Horizon Sportsfishing? You asked about him.”

Pope’s smile slipped, and he stared for a second before he shook his head. “No. Why?”

“Uh, well, I don’t think I’m really supposed to tell you this, but he’s in the hospital.”

“Hospital? Wow. Is he okay?”

“Not really, but I think he’s stable. He’s in the ICU. Got really bad pneumonia after some kind of boating accident. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, please. I just wanted to let you know if you were still trying to get a hold of him. Looks like he’s gonna be out of commission for a while.”

Pope stared at you for a few more seconds than what seemed normal. Then he shrugged. “No, it’s fine. I was just checking prices for a special trip we wanted to take. We already found someone else. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, good, just wanted to give you a heads up. So, you like fishing?”

What you had thought to be a perfectly mundane and innocent follow-up question, lapsed into a long — really long — silence where Pope stared at you like he was trying to peel away every single layer of your mind until he could read every thought plainly.

“Yeah,” he eventually said, almost looking surprised at himself. “I do.” 

“Cool. I grew up landlocked up north, so I don’t know a lot about it. Or, the ocean in general, really. I’m still fascinated when I walk by the docks and see all the boats just crammed together. Like, there’s so many of them and then you go out in the ocean and you’re suddenly all alone. It’s so mind-blowing how huge the ocean really is.”

Realizing you had over shared yet again, you avoided his persistent stare and glanced at your stripper heels that you had almost forgotten about. It was too easy to slip out of your stage persona when talking to Pope.

“I’ll take you fishing one day.”

Pope’s earnest voice brought you back and he looked as surprised as you felt. 

“Okay,” you said slowly, fighting against a growing smile, “but I don’t really love the smell of fish, just so you know.”

“It doesn’t really smell like anything when it’s fresh,” Pope said with a hint of almost boyish enthusiasm. “You might get seasick, though.”

“Come on, I spend half my work hours spinning upside down on a pole. You don’t think I can handle some waves?”

“I think we better go out on a calm weather day to be sure.” 

Before you could respond to this blatant insolence, the song that had played in the background ended and Pope immediately made a grab for his wallet.

“No, come on—”

Pope held out the cash for you to take. “Forty bucks per song. That’s what you said.”

“I also said that talking’s on the house.”

“Usually.”

“What?”

“You said that talking’s usually on the house. It doesn’t have to be. Just take the money.”

“Okay, seriously, what is up? Did I have a secret bank account at Wells Fargo that I didn’t know about and you’re trying to pay me back?”

“Just take it.”

“But I like talking to you, you don’t need to pay me—”

“You’re at work. Take it.”

“Just tell me why—”

“Because I can,” Pope finally said in an unwavering voice, just loud enough to shut you up. He hadn’t moved from his seat, hadn’t raised his other hand, but something about him seemed sharper. Determined. His head moved like a cobra to keep you in his focus. “Because it’s my money and I get to decide what to do with it.”

Was it just about autonomy? Control? Not that far-fetched after spending time in prison, but there was something rebellious about the way he said it. Like he wasn’t really talking to you. And almost like he was trying to convince himself. It sounded like the truth, at least, but you also got the feeling that there were layers to this truth. And that, maybe, Pope himself hadn’t uncovered all of it yet. 

“Aren’t there,” you swallowed and searched the carpeted floor in case it held the right way to ask this, “better ways to spend it? On something you enjoy, maybe?”

“What?” Pope’s eyebrow raised along with the side of his mouth in what you could only think of as a dangerous expression. Mostly because of how it made your throat dry. “You think I don’t enjoy this? That just because I can’t get hard, I don’t like watching you dance?”

You had almost forgotten how blunt he could be and you looked everywhere but him, hoping the darkness concealed the way your heart skipped a beat. It took you several tries to get your mouth to co-operate. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Right. Does every guy here have to justify spending their money on you, or is it just me?”

A fair question. And the truth was there were probably others you should feel more guilty about for accepting their money. Guys who were clearly spending their last hard-earned dollars on the illusion of intimacy. You doubted there were any illusions of anything for Pope.

“You’re not every guy, Pope.” You crossed and uncrossed your arms, not sure what to do with them. “You just… You seem a little tense when I dance. Really tense, actually.”

Not for the first time, you winced at how crudely you worded yourself. Some nurse you would make if this was the scope of your bedside manners. To be honest, his statement about actually enjoying this had sent most of your brain-cells for a loop and you had trouble stringing any words together at all.

And to make matters worse, Pope sounded almost apologetic when he answered, “That’s just how I am. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Again, the crude earnestness of his question had you shaking your head before your thoughts had caught up. “No. I was just worrying you were only doing this because you felt sorry for me or something.” 

“I’m not.” Pope’s poker-face did not clear too much, but he leaned forward, as if that would help drive in his next words. “I like the dancing.”

“Really?”

With endless patience, he nodded. “Yeah.”

“But you don’t want me to take my clothes off?”

At that, he glanced sideways and even in the dim light, you saw his jaw clench. A few beats passed before he turned back. “Not yet.”

Not yet. The vulnerability in those two words alone drowned out all your concerns for the time being. 

Not yet.

Aware of how he was watching you, probably picking up signals you weren’t even aware of, you did your best to keep your expression neutral. Whatever he wanted — or needed — from you, it was probably not concern. Or pity.

“Okay, then.” 

You accepted the dollars from Pope’s still outstretched hand and tucked them away. Trying to remember that you did this for a living. That you were a professional, and maybe that was why Pope chose to come here. While others paid for the illusion of intimacy, he was paying for the opposite. Using the money as a shield, feeling safe in the regulated setting of the club. Paying for a service where he called all the shots.

“You know the drill.” Despite your best efforts, your voice trembled, and you swallowed hard to get rid of it. “Forty bucks per song, no touching, no cameras, etcetera.” 

Waiting for the next song to start, you took a step forward and put a hand to his chest, applying just a hint of pressure. “And try to relax. Please.”

Pope silently obliged, leaning back until he ‘relaxed’ against the sofa again. But of course, his eyes never left you. It might have been your imagination, but they looked softer than normal.

You, on the other hand, had to close your eyes for a second and focus on the music. On the beat rolling through your limbs; on the bass thumping in your veins; on the rhythm taking hold of your thoughts. This was your turf, after all. The dim lights helped, and the thick haze of smoke from the fog machine, and the familiar smell of booze and perfume in the air. The heaviness of your fake eyelashes, the taste of your lipstick, the strain in your calfs from the high heels. Everything to remind you that you weren’t really you, not right now. That you were Karma.

And Karma could do anything.

The next song came on, you opened your eyes, and you danced.

Was it your imagination or did it look like Pope braced himself when you began to move? A miniscule tightening of his chest, a slight twitch to his closed fists, or a hint of his teeth settling against each other? So restrained and inconspicuous it had to be your imagination?

Because he was not even looking at your swaying and writhing body. Not with his eyes so firmly locked on yours, with you doing your best to return the same energy for once. To keep looking at him even if made your insides burn, to keep your eyes fixed on his while muscle-memory helped you move to the beat, to keep staring back even if it meant craning your neck as you span around, your muscle-memory helping you commit to the dancing.

Was it your imagination or did it sound like Pope’s breath caught when you dropped lower between his knees? A muted sound, impossible to hear over the music, so faint it could only have originated in your mind. Just your subconscious desperately searching for a confirmation to his earlier statement. That he enjoyed this. 

You rolled your waist and hips as you danced, almost losing your breath at the thought. Not yet, he had said. ‘Not yet’ implied that there could be ‘one day’. That sometime in the future, he would want more. All of you.

Was it your imagination or did it feel like Pope slowly relaxed as you kept dancing? That his body melted into the couch, bit by bit. That the rigid muscles of his neck smoothed out and the hard set of his jaw softened. 

You went even slower for the first song than last time. No need to play a game of pretend; no need to strategize your performance to keep him enticed. You still ended the first song the same way as last time, with you hovering over his lap, and his head tilted all the way back to stare at you. Close, but not too close. 

This time you refused to look away, meeting his stare evenly, until he held up two twenty-dollar-bills in the miniscule space between you. 

Forty bucks per song.

****

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed this part too, even if it's a slow-slow burn. Hoping everyone else is having a great summer! Take care of yourself ❤️

Other than that, if you liked this, please let me know! Reblogs and comments also make me write faster 💕  Thank you!

[redratt]

The most fucking irritating part of these talks is always the idiot who goes ERMMMM DO THE TAG YOUR WARNINGS PEOPLE NOT ENGAGE WITH HORROR LOL

Because here's the thing.

I write grotesque, nightmare shit. I am currently working on a visual novel where a character is brutalized so badly her lower jaw detaches, all in detail. It involves a torture device.

In my warnings I have "oral trauma" and then a list of the things that invoke it.

"do you not engage with challenging media"?? You clown shoes bitch I AM the one making the challenging media. I guarantee you that many of those people going on about how trigger tags are bullshit would be REALLY FUCKING UPSET if they found some of my work untagged. They'd probably wish they'd had known some of it was coming! Hm. If only there was a way to do that.

When I use CNTW, I am telling you to Read The Damn Tags. heres what I'm bringing to the table. You decide if this is too much for you.

There's a wild sense of entitlement from authors that they're able to go BUT IM A FANDOM AUTHOR!!!!! FUCK YOU FOR ASKING FOR TAGS which will always baffle me. Like as a creator don't you want your readers or whatever to be engaged with your work? Ultimately I don't give a fuck about what other people do with their tags or whatever bc it's all their business. They can deal with whatever consequences.

But the other part of this conversation that makes me roll my eyes is the moral goddamn grandstanding. Like just read this post over. There's so much IMMMMM BETTER THAN YOUUUUU MORALLY BECAUSE OF FANFICTION on both sides that it makes me want to scream.

I think now I get it. This person thinks that people are entitled to being able to read every single fic that doesn’t contain their specific triggers, and that authors are absolutely obligated to provide every information about the fic so that the reader only has to say ‘Ok, not gonna be able to read this’ if the fic contains their specific trigger, say for example rape. If the author only says ‘There might be violence and/or rape and/or underage and/or major character death in here,’ they’re essentially ‘stealing’ the story from the reader. Or something. Because I can’t think of any other explanation why this person is so infuriated by authors saying: ‘If one of these four things that AO3 requires warnings for triggers you, better don’t read it, because it might be in here.’

There are so many fanfics out there. Just avoid those whose authors don’t warn like you want and use this tag for their fics, the end. 

[w0rm3y]

Malevolence In Spring- R. Sukuna

TAGS: Hades!Sukuna x Persephone!Reader, arranged marriage, forced proximity, kidnapping, True Form!Sukuna, Husband!Sukuna

OVERALL WARNINGS: MDNI, DDDNE, extreme violence, graphic depictions of death, blood, body horror, physical torture, psychological torture, Stockholm Syndrome, Lima Syndrome, manipulation, toxicity, cannibalism, suicide, blood kink, spit kink, breeding kink, biting kink, size kink, monster-fucking (That man is a monster, like actually), S&M, marking, stomach/belly bulges, a/b/o concepts (i.e. mates & one instance of what one might consider a heat, but that's all) THIS CHAPTER: blood, mentions of death, suicide, and cannibalism, stockholm syndrome, groping, dubcon, suggestive sexual content, but also Sukuna w/baby fluff, and Sukuna x Reader banter (they're so fun to write for istg)

WORD COUNT: 6k

SUMMARY: you were taken from your home and forced to become Sukuna's wife.

“The next time you run from me, run fast and run far. Pray that I never, ever find you. If you get away from me, I swear to you, I will not stop looking for you until you’re beside me again. Mortals and deities fear me for a reason, and I don’t mind showing you why they all share that sentiment. Understand, wife?”

A/N: Hi, loves! In this chapter, you finally get to meet Reader's mother, and just for a little context, we're keeping this story close to Hades & Persephone's myth, so Reader's mother is Demeter, but is named Manami. I hope that made sense, and I also hope that's not weird. I was struggling about who I should make Reader's mother, because Demeter plays a huge role in Hades & Persephone's myth. Also, Yuji and Kenjaku are mentioned. Kenjaku is not Geto in this, and is actually Uraume's counterpart of sorts. You'll see once you get in there. Lastly, there are two Greek terms used here. Moro means baby, and Nona means godmother.

|| MIS M.List || >OPIUM> THORNS; ankáthia; αγκάθια

The day of your departure, you stood in the corridor outside of your chambers, using the wall against your shoulder to steady yourself. With the baby in your hands and the bag of clothes slung over your arm while also blindfolded, it was a bit difficult, but it wouldn’t be much longer until Unoko, the baby, and you were loaded onto the carriage. 

In your arms, the baby cooed, raising his chubby little fingers to grab the air. The sight of it made you giggle, and you couldn’t resist tapping his nose.

“We’re going to the surface to visit my mother soon. And you’ll get to meet her. She’s going to help me name you, too.” You traced your finger over his cheek, feeling as his mouth spread into a gummy grin while you spoke. “She’s going to love you.”

But then you felt a rush of coolness as a chilling shadow fell over you, enveloping you both in that scent you’d become so familiar with. Your heartbeat began to thump just a bit louder–not because you were scared, not because you were excited, but because of your anger.

That night in his chambers, he ripped up that imaginary scroll of civility right in front of your face when he dismissed you, only to carry on with Yorozu. Since then, you had avoided him, and you think he was beginning to notice. 

When the baby felt the shift in the atmosphere, his grin fell, and he began crying. 

“You’re scaring him,” you announced, knowing Sukuna was right behind you, even with your blindfold on.

“Yes, well, I tend to have that effect on most mortals,” he purred, breath brushing across the back of your neck. “One exception to that effect is you, my dear wife. Tell me, have you lost your hearing, or are you just ignoring me?”

“Oh, my almighty king, I could never,” you sneered as you tended to the saddened newborn.

“I sense the disdainful inflection in your voice.”

You made a sound of faux surprise and tugged your blindfold down so you could see again. You raised the infant in front of you, asking, “Can you believe that, moro? Our king of the underworld sensed some disdain. Perhaps if he really thinks about it, he can guess as to why that might be. And he shall have plenty of time to do that while we’re gone–he should feel very grateful. Tell him, moro.”

You lifted the infant in your arms, giving him a clear view of Sukuna over your shoulder. And, of course, he started crying again.

Sukuna, growing aggravated, reached over your shoulder to take the baby into his hands, which only made him cry harder. You were just about to fight to get him back, but when he cradled the baby to his chest, you paused.

“Your nona is a bitter, bitter woman, moro-”

You gasped, “I am not his godmother! That is a term for older women-”

“But you are raising him because his own mother cannot, right?”

“Yes, because you slit her open!”

Sukuna nodded. “Right. And now you have a baby. You should feel very grateful,” he mocked you, but his actions didn’t mirror his tone. He was speaking to you so softly as he relaxed the baby against his chest, and within seconds, his cries began to quiet down until he was fast asleep. “Let’s also not forget that this infant’s mother tried to kill you, and that is why she is not here to take care of him.”

Your eyes widened just a little. “Oh, I didn’t know that. I knew she was angry with you, but… I thought she just wanted to hurt me.”

“What a naive notion. Remember who you are married to, wife. Mortals don’t like me.” You sighed as he continued with his scolding, “She brought a blade to the hearing with every intention of killing you to justify her own husband’s death.”

“But she did not throw that blade hard enough to kill me; it barely grazed my skin. If she wanted to kill the king’s wife, wouldn’t she have practiced to make sure she’d be able to hit her target with enough force to kill?”

He frowned at your question. “Are you insinuating that I don’t know what happened? You were blindfolded, remember? Had I not pulled you back, that blade would have grazed your neck instead of your breast. And had I not used my hand to bear the brunt of the force behind her throw, the blade would have done a lot more than just graze your skin. She wanted you dead, trust me.”

“And you pulled me back to save me?”

His face curled into a glare. “Why are you asking me like that?”

“Well, it just seems odd that you’d save me. I’m just your unwanted pet, after all,” you snapped, crossing your arms tightly. 

His brows furrowed, showing how deeply offended he was. “Do you honestly think I’d let you be killed?” When you shrugged, his eyes widened. “In the midst of your pity party, you died six times, and each time, who do you think it was that retrieved your soul?”

You rolled your eyes, answering him with, “Uraume.”

“Wrong. It was me.” His voice was eerily calm, just enough not to wake the baby in his arms. “Six times I had to go get you from the shores of Acheron and guide you back to your body so Uraume’s associate could raise you from the dead.”

Their associate?

“I’ve seen what your stiff corpse looks like, I know how you smell when you begin to decay, I’ve felt your sunken, cold skin. Six times, woman. That’s plenty for me, I don’t want to make it seven.”

You swallowed thickly and shifted on your feet, growing intimidated and overly guilty. “Sukuna, I-”

“But I will if I have to. I’d kill you with my own hands before I let you die at the hands of someone else. Assume incorrectly again. I dare you.”

Deciphering whether his threats were empty or not was an impossible feat. He could be gentle and neutral, but at the same time, he could be a monster, so fierce and quick to anger. You were still reaping the consequences of going against him the last time. 

How could his demeanor shift so suddenly?

“Where is the civility you spoke of at dinner three nights ago?” you asked through gritted teeth. “Can you blame me for assuming you’d allow me to die when you’ve made threats on my life many times over? You speak of killing me so often, and it comes so naturally to you-”

“Then you should feel blessed that your death is something I fawn over rather than taking part in–even more so to know how many times I’ve saved you, hm?” he spat sharply before mumbling, “Foolish woman.”

“Brainless man.” 

As he gazed down at you with such a look of irritation, his pupils dilated, exuding that domineering air he knew so well, but you wouldn’t allow it to get to you this time. He didn’t take your backbone from you for a reason; he wanted you to use it. 

How long will he let you keep it if you used it to stand against him?

It would end one of two ways: with your death or his compliance.

“Oh, my king!” a grating, nasally voice echoed down the corridor, splitting the eye contact between you and Sukuna. “You haven’t left yet. Thank the gods-”

“I didn’t send for you,” he groused, red eyes following the path of his bed whore as she stepped closer. 

Head bowed, she nodded. “I’m aware–oh, a baby! How cute-”

Just as she reached her hand out, ready to touch the infant, you used your ability to pull dry vines of thorns from the crevices of the cobblestone floor. They wrapped tightly around her ankles, slithering up her calves and sticking to her skin. 

“Ow!” she gasped, dropping her hand to glare at you. “What is wrong with you-”

You curled your hand into a fist, giving the vines more length to coil higher on her legs, making sure to ask them to tighten enough to draw blood. 

“Where are your manners? Approaching me, looking at me? Have you forgotten your place, Yorozu?”

Her eyes widened as she began to pull at the vines. “M-My king, please tell her to stop-”

“Oh, yes. Tell me to stop, my king. Maybe if you beg for your whore, I’ll consider it.” 

You looked back up at him, taking note of the all too humorous glint in his eyes. Gods, he pissed you off, Yorozu pissed you off; you hated them both. 

You curled your fist tighter, making the thorns dig even deeper into her flesh as you said, “Go on. I’m waiting.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue, a playful grin settling on his mouth as he asked, “My queen, are you jealous?”

Yorozu gasped in pain when the vines cinched in deeper. “Ask me if I’m jealous of your whore again, Sukuna. I dare you.”

“My king, please! This… hurts, please!”

He was quiet for a moment, relishing in the tension of the situation. Taking in a deep breath, he said, “Yorozu, I believe it’s in your best interest to beg your queen for help. The thorns around your legs belong to her, not me.”

“O-Of course! My queen,” she began, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Please, let me go!”

She held eye contact with you as she cried. That in itself told you everything you needed to know about her mentality–she assumed you to be equals. 

“Have you truly forgotten your place?” 

A glare formed on her face, no matter how hard she was fighting to keep it contained. No amount of tears could shield the superiority she felt she had over you. 

“You belong on your back or on your knees, because you’re a whore, Yorozu. That’s all you’ll ever be here, do you understand?”

She clenched her teeth, biting back tears as you stepped closer. “Yes, my queen.”

“Are you sure? Because you’re still looking me in the eyes like we’re of the same rank. Do you think we’re equal?” With your face closing the distance between you, you gave her a taste of the intimidation she forced down your throat since the first time you’d met. Her resolve began to waver as you snarled, “Address me. With respect.”

Slowly, very slowly, she lowered her gaze before biting out, “Yes, my queen.”

“Much better.” You uncurled your fist, allowing the thorned vines to unravel from her legs and collapse on the cobblestone floor. “Disrespect me again, and I’ll wrap these thorns around your neck. Approach your king of your own volition again, and I’ll fill your lungs with nettles. And if you ever reach for my infant ever again, I’ll fucking kill you. Do you understand me?”

Once again, she complied, muttering, “Yes, my queen,” under her breath.

“Leave.”

And she didn’t hesitate to storm down the corridor, leaving behind a trail of blood droplets. As soon as she was gone, you felt your anger begin to diminish, replaced then by a fleeting pang of confidence. 

Behind you, Sukuna hummed in satisfaction, “Very impressive, my queen. I am proud of you.”

Your annoyance waned, softening under his praise. Instinctively, you soaked it up like a sponge.

‘My queen,’ you liked when he said that. 

“I don’t need your flattery, nor do I want it.”

“No, of course not.” He stepped up beside you and handed off the infant, taking your bag of clothes from your shoulder to carry in his hand. “Let’s go. Your mother is waiting.”

“You’re coming, too? Unoko is accompanying me.”

“I’d like to gather a few supplies from the surface, and I’m sure your mother has a few things to get off her chest–I know I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are some godly issues I need to discuss with her; I’m sure she expects my presence. Besides, you were going to travel by carriage. That will take you days to get there.”

“So, what? Do you plan on flying us there?”

He shook his head. “We shall travel through a portal.”

The cooling feeling of the portal slipped over your skin as you stepped into the stark white snow of an empty field. You glanced down at the baby in your arms to see if the portal had disturbed his sleep, and were happy to see that it had not. Behind you, Sukuna approached, and over the swirling blue of the portal, he waved his hand, making the warped air disappear.

“You control portals?”

“In a way, yes. They belong to Uraume, but they allow me to use them from time to time.”

“And why didn’t you use the portal when you had me kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped? You speak as if I’m your captor. A captor would not have married his victim, you know.” He glared down at you and continued, “I was told that I would need to romance you using those inane mortal traditions. The way I procured you is more fitting of a god, don’t you agree?”

“Most certainly. Your overwhelming arrogance and crushing ego were very god-like, my king.”

“Thank you, wife.” He raised his hand, clearly not understanding your tone, and pointed to the house that was placed across the field. “Is that where Manami resides?”

“Indeed.”

He trailed beside you silently, and when you neared the familiar house, you felt the residual warmth of your mother’s usual golden rays. It was slight, and not anything like how you remembered it. Her light was always so bright, always so comforting, and now, it all felt so cold. 

“Something isn’t right.”

Panic bubbled in your chest as you handed the infant off to Sukuna and hurried toward your childhood home, stumbling the whole way there. When you clambered inside, you immediately called out to her. 

“Mother?” You slipped rounding the corner to the stairs, but quickly crawled up them, retracing your steps to her bedroom. “Mother, are you here?”

When you pushed the door open, you gasped to find her shriveled body on the bed. You rushed to her, bringing her cold hands between your own to warm them.

“What happened to you?” you asked, tears brimming in your eyes. You dropped her hands to pull the covers over her body. She began to stir slightly, a wince overtaking her face. “Mother?”

She whispered your name and cracked her eyes open, blinking and trying to take in her surroundings. When she realized it was you standing there, her eyes widened as she sat up with a happy cry, pulling you into her arms. 

“It’s you! My daughter has come home!”

Clinging to her body, you felt just how thin and frail she had become. Even her complexion had paled too much for someone like her.

“You are sick.”

“I am fine! I’ve just been worried!” She grabbed onto your biceps and leaned back to look at you. You didn’t miss the way she frowned as her eyes flicked to all of your features. She looked as if she wanted to comment on it, but shook her head and instead asked, “Does that monster know you’re here? Did you escape? Are you hurt?”

Your lips curved into a smile. “I am fine as well, mother. I came to visit, and I’ve brought someone for you to meet–an infant.”

The glee on her face wavered a bit as she asked, “Infant? Sukuna didn’t… force you-”

“Oh, no! No, of course, not! The child is not mine by blood, and he is fully human. His mother and father both… perished. I decided to mother him myself.”

She relaxed at that, letting out a sigh of relief. “Good, that’s good. So, where is this infant you speak of-”

“Woman!” you heard Sukuna call from a distance. 

His voice brought utter silence to you and your mother as she acknowledged his overwhelming output that was permeating the air. That acknowledgment lit a fire underneath her, and within seconds, she was rushing down the steps with you right behind her.

“Mother, please wait! Just-”

“You brought a monster into my home?” she snarled, rounding the corner and making her way to the open front door where Sukuna was still looming outside, though he was turned, looking out at the empty field. “Sukuna…”

He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the sight of your angered mother with a slight smirk, and turned to face her. 

“Manami.”

With the infant still in his hands, he nodded toward the ground in front of the door. Etched deep into the dirt was a sigil, though it had been hidden away by the snow, which he must have uncovered. 

“I see you’ve been mingling with the pantheon’s favorite witch.”

“I have not,” your mother growled as you moved to take the baby from Sukuna. “Associating myself with the underworld’s inhabitants is beneath me.”

Sukuna snorted, “Quite literally, hm?” He bent down to feel the sigil, and just as his finger made contact with it, it burst into flames and melted his flesh, making him draw back with a chuckle. “As expected, Kenjaku and Uraume were more against the rush of our marriage than I thought. Going as far as to keep me from your home. Clever, aren’t they? And how lucky you must feel to have two powerful deities doting on you.”

Your mother gritted her teeth and muttered, “The witch sides with the underworld-”

“The witch sides with himself beside Uraume. Feel blessed to have them both behind you on this one.” His eyes flicked to you behind your mother. “Not that it truly matters. As you can see, the underworld suits your daughter perfectly, don’t you agree?”

“All I can see, Sukuna, is that your corruption has taken root in her far faster than I anticipated.” She turned to you with disappointed tears in her eyes, making you feel so horrible. “How dare you bring him here after what he’s done to me–after what he’s done to you, too? Are his accolades so charming that you fall for him within a year? You look no different than the other mortals of the underworld-”

Sukuna was quick to interject, “She’s stunning-”

“She’s ghastly,” your mother spat, swiftly angling her body toward Sukuna again as your heart dropped. Tears of your own welled in your eyes. “I’ve seen the monstrosities that lie within you, and now she is mirroring you-”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, groaning, “And? She looks a little different. What’s the issue with that? You look different, too, Manami. Tell me, what montrosities lie within you that have you looking so… pathetic-”

“You bastard.”

He brushed her off. “Be that as it may, I’m not the one who is starving the entire world. That’s you.”

“You took my daughter! You made her a monster!”

“No. I made her a queen,” he hissed, leaning in until the sigil prevented him from moving any further. “My mortals are dying. They’re starving and freezing. War is festering amongst the underworld, they’re losing trust in me-”

“Good-”

“I’m content with taking the blame for the time being. Keep starving them, keep killing them, and I won’t keep them from the truth anymore–I’ll tell them who’s really to blame for it. Want to keep underworld scum below the surface? Fix. Your. Mess.” He leaned back then. “Or don’t. It doesn’t really matter to me–I’ll keep your daughter either way.”

“Fuck you-”

He disregarded your mother in favor of looking to you. “I’m going to visit a couple of villages for some supplies. You remember my words, don’t you, wife?”

“...The next time you run from me, run fast and run far. Pray that I never, ever find you. If you get away from me, I swear to you, I will not stop looking for you. Mortals and deities fear me for a reason, and I don’t mind showing you why they all share that sentiment…”

You nodded your head, earning his hum of approval. “Good. I’m trusting you not to be stupid.” With one last glance at your mother, he said quietly, “I’m trusting you not to be stupid, as well. Remember that she is still mortal, and it’s me who decides when she receives her immortality. Without it, whether she lives or dies is a decision I get to make.”

Your mother gasped with disgust, and within seconds, vines shot up from the ground to wrap up his legs, much like you had done with Yorozu not even an hour ago. “You dare threaten me?”

Sukuna gave the vines a nonplussed look, watching as they laced up his entire body, circling tightly around his neck. 

“You women and your thorns,” he grumbled, eyeing your mother as she stepped closer. 

“I am an Olympian.”

“And I don’t give a shit.” Fiery red flames that you’d never seen him use before coated his torso, turning the vines to ash and soot just as quickly as they had appeared. When the fire diminished, he took a step back and turned toward the open field. “Keep my wife safe, Manami. I’ll be back before sundown.”

When the front door closed, your mother turned to look at you, taking in your saddened tears. Her face fell as she rushed to say, “I do not mean that you’re ugly, my daughter. You are so beautiful, but that… beast has his claws in you.”

You sniffled, wiping away some of your tears. “Do I really look so different?”

Her brows drew together as she frowned. “Have you not seen yourself?”

Not with your blindfold on, no. Not to mention, the shrine lacks any sort of reflective surface, so it wouldn’t have mattered if you’d taken your blindfold off or not. Even the mirror at the vanity in your chambers had been removed, but that had happened long ago. 

“Not recently,” you answered, venturing further into your childhood home. “My hair has taken a blushing shade at the ends, I do know that much.”

“And it will keep changing until it’s pinkish, just like his. And the bloody hue will keep seeping into your irises, too, until you look exactly like your husband–no, until you look exactly like that demonic beast that resides inside of him,” she spoke through her sobs. “Making a deal with Kenjaku was a mistake-”

“Sukuna… is cruel, mother,” you began slowly, garnering her utmost attention. Teary eyes widened as she moved in closer. “But he can be neutral as well. Uraume told me themself, and I’ve seen it firsthand. He’s quick to anger, yes, but if you comply, he can sort of be kind.”

Softly, she shook her head. “It’s the compulsion talking-”

“I am not under any haze. Believe me, I want to come home, but to call Sukuna a monster, a beast, a demon, is too much. I’ve been on the worst side of his anger before, but he has not killed me. Sure, he has his threats, but I sometimes find them to be empty-”

“And will you call his bluff on these threats?”

You swallowed thickly. “No. Deciding whether he keeps his promises of torture or not is… a gamble, and the punishments can be severe. He plays terrible mind games, Mother, but that’s all they are. Games. I recall when he was going to let a family freeze to death after I asked for firewood to be delivered to them, and all as one of my punishments.”

There was a part of you, deep inside, that was relieved to have a moment to speak about these things so freely.

“That is awful-”

“But he did deliver the firewood, and he delivered it to the entire village, not just one family. In another case, he forced me to watch an entire group of guards be ripped apart by a petrifying curse-” Your mother gasped as you continued, “But it was for me. He had them killed for me because they failed me. He… he had the back of my ankles sliced open so I could not walk, but when I healed, he was beside me every day for weeks, teaching me how to walk again. He saved me from death and avenged me by having the woman who attempted to kill me put to death, and he allowed me to keep her baby. He claims to hate me, but I don’t think it’s entirely true. He just wants a queen.”

“My daughter, do you even hear what you’re saying?”

You nodded. “I know it sounds crazy, and I do not believe he loves me. But for him to wish for my death, I know he is lying. When I was amidst my sadness, he guided my soul back from the banks of Acheron six times, and he admitted today that he would rather kill me himself than allow me to die by the hands of someone else. It is wrong, it’s not loving at all, I know this. But my circumstance is so very bitter, Mother, that when he treats me like this, it leaves the sweetest taste on my tongue. Sometimes, he calls me his queen to my face, and it makes my chest so warm. Is there something wrong with me?”

Her mouth fell open as a look of shock settled in her eyes. “I… I do not know, my daughter. To me, you seem deluded, but at the same time, you look rather sane. Either way, I cannot allow you to go back with him. You must stay here-”

“He isn’t going to give us a choice. You know this. And it is not so terrible anymore, he allows me to visit you. All I need to do is ask him.” Your lips pulled into a reassuring smile. “I speak the truth when I say that there is something about him that I feel drawn to. He’s horrible, malevolent, but still, I want to go back. Perhaps it’s odd of me to say so, but I’ve grown rather fond of the underworld, and the shrine’s garden is beautiful. Come spring, when the snow melts, I’m going to make it thrive.”

Your mother’s sneer was entirely cynical. “Life thriving in the land of the dead? Don’t make me laugh-”

“It’s true! Already, there is grape hyacinth blooming in the snow. It’s like they can feel that spring is near!”

She seemed rather surprised to hear that. Slowly, she reached forward, resting her hand against your cheek. “That’s you, my dear.” A gentle pat was laid against your skin before she dropped her hand. “I suppose if you’re bringing light to the underworld, even with that beast of a husband, then it must not be too bad.”

But it is bad. Sometimes.

“How was the travel from the underworld to the surface?”

“Easy. We traveled through a portal.”

“And you can do that whenever you want?”

You smiled. “I believe so, yes.” With your answer, she seemed to relax a bit. Just then, the baby stirred in your hands, pulling himself out of his slumber and reminding you that he was there to begin with. 

“Does he have a name?”

You shook your head. “I’ve been calling him moro, but I was hoping you could help me with naming him.”

Finally, there was a familiar twinkle in her eye, and it seemed that residual light of hers started to restore itself. She exhaled a calm breath before pushing herself up from the couch. 

“We shall think of names while we make bread. You need to eat some more, you look so thin.”

She was lying; you had gained weight while living in the underworld, most of it coming back to me during those weeks Sukuna prepared you for that last hearing, but you appreciated her positive attitude nonetheless. 

While you worked, you both discussed name options for Moro, and after the first loaf of bread was finished, she absentmindedly threw out an idea, one you were fond of. “Yuji? That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Yuji,” you repeated, testing it out on your tongue. “I like it.”

Your mother snorted at your answer. “You’ll still call him Moro, I bet. I can see how naturally it comes from you.”

You shrugged, looking down at the infant. “Maybe, maybe not, but at least he has an official name now. Prince Yuji sounds more prepossessing than Prince Moro.”

“That is true.” She stepped closer with a piece of bread between her fingers and offered it to you when something caught her eye outside. With a frown, she moved toward the front door and gasped. “My daughter,” she whispered, a lively smile on her face. 

“What is it?” you asked, rushing to her side to see what had her so interested.

“The snow,” your mother began, nodding toward the open field. “It’s melting.”

“And so I will be staying on the surface for a few weeks to help guide spring forward.”

After presenting your proposition to Sukuna when he returned, his usual stoic face turned into a deep glare. Sheepishly, you smiled, rocking back and forth on your feet, though that didn’t seem to sway his answer. A few minutes passed before he took a deep, calming breath, and when he breathed out, he said, “Absolutely not.”

Your smile fell then, and you had half a notion to slam the front door in his face and leave him in the cold night. It’s not like he could come inside anyway, thanks to the sigil Uraume and Kenjaku–whoever that was–put in place.

“Perhaps you missed the part where I said I will be staying on the surface. That was a statement, my king, not a request for permission.”

“And I heard you. However, my answer remains the same. You have obligations in the underworld.”

“Like what? Sitting in my chambers or next to you at hearings?”

He pursed his lips, nodding as he said, “Yes, those do seem like the obligations of a queen, if you ask me.”

The inside of your mouth ached from how harshly you were biting down on your inner cheeks. Keeping the festering outburst at bay was proving difficult. 

“Those pressing obligations can wait a few weeks.”

“Maybe they can, but they won’t. You’ll be coming home-”

“This is my home, Sukuna.” His eyes narrowed with those words, instantly making you regret saying them at all, but after reminding yourself a couple of times that he allowed you to keep that backbone of yours for a reason, you held your ground and repeated, “This is my home.”

“Well, you’ll soon find this home of yours to be nothing but a pit of flames. Tell me, wife, do you plan to sleep in the soot and ashes tonight after it's finished burning to the ground? Or will you be coming back to sleep with me?” At his side, you watched a bright orange liquid fire drip from his palms–did he even notice? Or was he just that angry?

“No, I’ll stay. Why do you need me with you? You have Yorozu to warm your bed.”

“This little jealousy problem you have needs to stop. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were desperate to sleep with me. And if despising a whore is how you think you’ll accomplish that, you are stupid.”

“That is most certainly not true,” you scoffed, “How would you feel if I returned the favor? What if I slept with someone else?”

He made a discontented sound, somewhere between a groan and a growl. “Whoever it was, deity or mortal, would be stuffed into the giant mouth on my stomach, and with the residual blood still staining the tongue, I would make you ride it while apologizing to me.”

You brushed off how that comment made you feel, which was a feeling you should not have been having in the first place.

“But you just get to sleep with whoever?” When he gave you a curt nod of confirmation, you huffed, “That’s not fair.”

A tiny grin crept onto his mouth. “I think the origin of your irritation lies elsewhere. What are you really upset about, wife? Be honest.”

At your sides, your hands clenched into tight fists. “You kicked me out the night you were with her! How dare you do that to me? Do you know how humiliating that was? Or how inferior you made me seem to her? That whore already has-”

The rest of your sentence was cut off with a sharp gasp when Sukuna reached out for you, over the threshold the sigil had created, and brought you to him. Within seconds, he pulled you over his shoulder with ease and stepped off the front step.

“Hey! Let me go!” Repeatedly, your hands pounded against his back, though it was useless. Your writhing didn’t seem to deter him. “My mother still has Yuji! What are you doing?!” you raised your head from his back to see that you were moving behind the house toward the old barn rather than toward the portal. “Sukuna! Answer me right now!”

“You know, when Yorozu is left unsatisfied after lying in my bed, she doesn’t grow so irritable in my presence. You saw her this morning, yes? High-spirited and cheerful, and all without a reason to be. But the funny thing is, if she acted anything like you’re acting right now, she’d be skinned alive.”

Anger boiled beneath your skin as he spoke. When he reached the barn doors, he pulled them open and stepped inside. 

“And why are you comparing me to Yorozu?” you asked as he slid you to your feet in front of him. “If you’re so charmed by her, why didn’t you marry-”

“I’m not charmed by Yorozu, woman, I’m charmed by you, and that’s the only reason you’re not dead right now. Turn around.”

Defiantly, you crossed your arms. “No, I won’t.”

“Last chance, or you’re not going to like it.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Oh, another punishment? What will you do this time, my king? Break my ankles instead of slicing in the back of them?”

“You’re lucky I don’t slice off your tongue for being so mouthy. Turn. Around. Now.”

Squaring your shoulders, you shook your head. “No. I. Won’t.”

And before the last word of your declaration even made it past your lips, his hands grabbed onto your waist and lifted you into the air. Of course, you fought against him, even more so when he flipped you upside down, making you face level with his upper stomach. Your cloak and dress slid up your bare legs, exposing your entire lower body. You tried desperately to cover yourself up, but your efforts were in vain.

“Quit being so difficult. Rest your knees on my shoulders.”

“Absolutely not!” When you started using your arms to push against him, he fixed his grip around your waist and pulled your arms into his hold. “I don’t enjoy being manhandled this way!”

“Oh, are you certain?” he asked sarcastically, heightening your seething rage.

“Put me down, you fucking behemoth!”

You heard him click his tongue before his grip on you was gone, and for a few seconds, you were free-falling while thinking this seven-foot drop onto my head is going to hurt.

Except you didn’t fall because Sukuna grabbed onto the back of your knees as you slid down his body, and placed them over his shoulders. For extra support, your arms wrapped securely around his muscular torso to keep yourself from hitting the ground. Before you knew it, you felt his breath graze your inner thigh, making you freeze completely. 

“Do you want to keep being difficult, or can I eat your pussy now?”

|| MIS M.List || >OPIUM >

confused by what you just read? Malevolence In Spring's Guide -will be updating this again soon :)

A/N: extra context about the Uraume and Kenjaku thing. Originally, Uraume was supposed to be the Hecate of this story, but with how I portray Hecate and Hades, it just didn't fit the character relationship between Sukuna and Uraume. Plus, if there's a witchy character who dabbles in making children for their own ulterior motive, it's Kenjaku lol. So, Uraume is a deity like Sukuna, and they have abilities, but any of the witchy stuff they know will have been taught to them by Kenjaku. And don't worry, Kenjaku will be making an appearance soon, and he's not going to be as horrible as he's portrayed to be in the manga. That being said, as it's been stated previously above, Kenjaku and Suguru are two different people in this, and Suguru is actually this story's Dionysus (but that'll all make sense later)

If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask :) I'll be working on another story today and will hopefully get that chapter out soon, so I should be able to respond fairly quickly <3! okay, enough yapping now. I'm sorry.

taglist is open :) @belovedria @whorishminds @kaziis @delliriumn @desmond69sallnite @kouyoumarryme @doobybopbop @kiyomimediocre @jeaniebluee @man1cslut @kawaiioperatormugpony @call-memissbrightside @maddamoiselle @raritysspouse @cutesytwt @sm0lkatz @himbosexual @blueemochii @wobblewobble822 @lilica75 @nanamjai @unknownw0css @p-playboi @plasticsheepponycollector @lazylunarlover @al3monkid @energiepie @washturtletwin @frootloopscos @tojiswifeforlife

[wonyology]

What's Wrong with Secretary Seol? (m!reader x NMIXX's SULLYOON)

masterlist

Summary: A CEO and his secretary have always kept things professional. But the romantic tension between them has been building for months. One day, everything suddenly shifts and the feelings they've been ignoring can't stay hidden anymore.

tags(?): ceo x secretary, office romance, fluff, unspoken feelings, love triangle? i don't even know man

SULLYOON x yourself/Original Male Character (x another idol)

Word count: ~11k - i wrote this because i love sullyoon so much + @midatwrtr's sully fic + @mossandink's welcome gift?

this is a one shot but if u guys want it to be a series, scroll to the end and leave ur comments <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Hannam-dong, Yongsan-gu, Seoul

“It’s not late, eomma.”

You said as you calmly laid your coffee cup down on the table with a soft clink. The morning light filtered through the giant windows next to you, casting morning golden streaks across the office. Outside, Hannam-dong - the country’s oasis of wealth and luxury - was busy as usual at this time of the day. But inside, everything was quiet except for the hum of the AC and the sound of your mother shifting on the soft leather sofa. She looked completely at home despite the modern space, a judgemental eyebrow arching at you.

“You’re thirty three, Changmin-ah. That’s too late.”

“Dad married you when he was thirty six. And I’m thirty two in international age.” your voice was filled with amusement as you leaned back in your chair.

“That was different. Society’s changed.” she shot you a look.

“Really, eomma?”

“Yes, really!” your mother huffed, crossing her arms, almost offended that you’d asked. “Our country’s birthrate is in crisis. You have to do your part.”

“My part?” you nearly choked. 

“Yes. As a citizen. As my son. As someone with decent genes.” she pointed at you. “Tall, educated, healthy, financially stable, good looks. What are you waiting for?”

You let out a dry laugh. “I founded this company. I pay taxes. I contribute to this country's fashion industry. I already did my part, eomma.”

She scoffed, sitting straighter. The morning light hit her pearl earrings just right - classic, elegant. “Taxes and high-end clothing don’t give me grandchildren.” 

You were ready with a come back. But the look in her eyes stopped you - not annoyed, not amused, just… tired. She looked down at her hands for a moment before speaking again, her voice quiet but filled with sadness. 

“Me and your father aren’t getting any younger, Changminie. We are almost getting to the age where we have more hospital checkups than family gatherings. Do you realize that?”

“Eomma…”

“You’ve never introduced a single girlfriend to us. Not once.” she added, her gaze lifting to meet yours. “Your cousins are having babies, getting married, showing up at Chuseok with rings on their fingers and someone beside them. But you… you work day and night. For what?”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about this before. Now, your mom made you even more hyper aware of the silence in the room. You rubbed a hand over your face and sighed.

“It’s just…” your voice was low, rough. “I haven’t dated anyone in a long time, eomma.”

“And why is that?” she asked gently, as a mother who was finally hearing something she’d waited a long time to understand. You exhaled and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. 

“I don’t know… I guess I just got comfortable living like this. Letting someone into my life right now doesn’t feel right.”

Your mother stayed silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was softer than before.

“That’s not comfort, Changmin-ah. That’s just loneliness you got used to.”

You looked up slowly. She wasn’t scolding you. “I’m not asking you to fall in love tomorrow, honey. But open the door, at least. Just enough for someone to come in.”

You hummed. Your mother remained on the sofa, smoothing the silk scarf around her neck. 

“Anyway.” she said, exhaling as if she was letting out all her frustrations and worries. “I didn’t just come here to nag you. I came to bring something for Yoon-Ah.”

“For her? Not your son?” you blinked.

“You?” she smirked. “You can take care of yourself. You’re a grown man.”

You laughed under your breath, knowing your mom could put you in your place anytime she wanted. She didn’t even wait for your reply. Instead, she reached for the bag beside her legs, lifting it carefully and showed you like it was some rare offerings. 

“Some premium ginseng extract and a few tonic packets from that clinic in Cheongdam. You know, that one all the chaebol wives and mistresses go to. Some black sesame snacks too. Good for stamina and stress.”

“For Yoon-Ah? Really?” you asked again, eyebrows raised.

“Of course. She mentioned she’s been tired since you made her work too much.” she glared at you, that one look only a mother could give. “I should scold you more for that, you little rascal.”

You let out a helpless chuckle, raising your hands up.

“She insists on staying late, eomma. I drive her home everytime.”

“Are you two…?” your mother trailed off, narrowing her eyes as she tried to dig for some clues - subtle but sharp.

“Are we what, eomma?” 

Your mother pursed her lips, examining you like she could read something off your face like she’d always done back when you were in high school. Well, not anymore. Years had gone by and you’d learnt to adapt. Knowing she couldn’t defeat you, she then leaned back on the leather soft with a sigh. 

 “I’m just saying, Changminie… you two seem close. Maybe too comfortable with each other. And you light up whenever you talk about her.”

You couldn’t argue with your mother now. You knew she was right. You just rubbed the back of your neck and avoided your mother’s gaze. But before she could press further, a soft chime came up from the intercom on your desk.

“Sajang-nim*... may I come in?”

*사장/sajang: honorific term to generally refers to the company's president or ceo

Yoon-Ah’s voice, warm and familiar, filtered through the speaker. The voice that always gave you extra motivation when you sat down on this chair every workday.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, come in, secretary Seol.” 

The door creaked open, and there she was - your favorite person in this entire building, your secretary.

Seol Yoon-Ah

She stepped inside with her usual grace - dressed in a crisp grey blazer and matching skirt, her white button up shirt was tucked neatly, her slim black tie accentuating the sharpness of her whole outfit. Her long hair flowed effortlessly, softening her features. In one hand, she held her work iPad, pressed gently against her chest.

Why do you look so beautiful every goddamn morning?

She bowed politely. “Good morning, sajang-nim. Eomeo-nim.”

You nodded in acknowledgement - maybe a little too fast - while your mother instantly smiled, sitting more up right on the sofa.

“Aigoo!” She was visibly brightened, tone warm and affectionate. “You’ve gotten even more elegant in person, Yoon-Ah ah. How have you been, darling? Come here.”

Yoon-Ah walked over with a gentle smile, settling gracefully beside your mother on the sofa. As she sat, she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, her posture was elegant yet unassuming. Your mother reached for her hand instantly.

“Look at you, so beautiful. Are you sure you’re not secretly royalty?”

Yoon-Ah laughed softly, cheeks tinting pink. “You flatter me too much, eomeo-nim.”

“Nonsense.” your mother said, patting her hand. “You’re so polite, well put together. What do you think about my son? Is he good looking?”

Yoon-Ah blinked, caught off guard for a second. Then she regained her composure instantly and smiled. “Sajang-nim certainly is very… charismatic.”

You swallowed, more curious now.

“Charismatic, huh? Not handsome?” your mother grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. Yoon-Ah turned slightly, glancing at you with an unreadable look before replying. 

“That too. He has… his own charms, eomeo-nim.”

Your mother gasped softly. “Did you hear that, Changminie? ‘His own charms’. Yoon-Ah just said you’re just barely tolerable.”

You scoffed. “Eomma.”

She just waved you off with a smile and turned back to Yoon-Ah. 

“Honestly, though. You’re so composed and smart, and beautiful on top of that. I don’t know how my son landed a secretary like you, darling.”

Yoon-Ah chuckled lightly, her gaze lowering. “He didn’t, eomeo-nim. I just applied.”

Yeah.

Your mother beamed. 

“Well, whatever fate brought you two together, I’m grateful. You brighten his life up just by being by his side.”

You glanced at Yoon-Ah. She was still smiling politely, fingers resting lightly on her lap, eyes attentive to your mother. But something about the way the sunlight caught the curve of her cheeks, the way her hair framed her face, the softness in her expression - it ached your heart so much, in a good way, of course.

You imagined her beside you, but not in the office. Maybe somewhere quieter, warmer. Her legs curled up on the living room floor as she tried to wrangle a giggling little girl into a sweater, laughter echoing through the house. That little girl? Your daughter - with Yoon-Ah’s eyes and long lashes, her perfect nose and maybe your attitude. You saw yourself sitting nearby, watching them - your daughter, your wife. Then the little girl turned, face scrunched dramatically as she ran into your lap.

‘Appa! Eomma doesn’t like meee!’ she whined.

You could hear Yoon-Ah groaning, exasperated but trying not to laugh. 

“Your daughter is being dramatic again, honey. Just because I said no candy before dinner.”

You scooped the little girl up with a grin. 

“Don’t worry, princess. I like you much more than eomma.”

“Yah!” came Yoon-Ah’s voice next to you as she smacked your shoulder. “I’m right here.”

The little girl giggled, burying her face into your shoulder as you kissed the top of her head. Everything felt so warm, so peaceful, so dreamlike…

Dreamlike? Then-

“Changmin-ah?” your mom’s voice cut through, snapping you back to reality immediately. You blinked, eyes adjusting again to the sunlight in the room. Yoon-Ah was still sitting on the sofa with her polite smile and graceful posture. The fantasy was gone, but it lingered tenderly in your mind.

Damn it…

“What were you saying, eomma?”

Your mother chuckled, eyes darting between the two of you. “Nothing important. I’m about to leave now.” She then stood up with a pleasant sigh, smoothing her jacket as she glanced at Yoon-Ah again. “Don’t work too hard, darling. Thank you for keeping my little idiot in line.”

Yoon-Ah rose gracefully. “Of course, eomeo-nim. Thank you for visiting.”

Your mother leaned in, patting her lightly on the arm.

“Don’t let him work too hard, okay? And next time, come visit me at my house even without him around.”

You watched the exchange quietly, heart still beating a little too fast from the daydream you hadn’t meant to fall into. 

“Take care, eomma.” you said as she walked out, giving you a knowing look.

“I always do. Maybe you should listen to yourself.” she said, pausing at the door for a moment. “Especially with Yoon-Ah around.”

Then she was gone and the room felt quiet. You looked at Yoon-Ah as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, again, still looking like the wife from your imagination.

What the hell am I going to do with these feelings?

“Are you okay, sajang-nim?” her voice was calm, but you knew she noticed something.

“Yeah… I just spaced out.”

Yoon-Ah tilted her head slightly, the corner of her mouth lifting. 

“You looked like you were thinking very hard about something.” she said it innocently. But you could catch the tease under her tone.

“Nothing important, secretary Seol.” you tried to keep your expression neutral.

“Mm.” she hummed, unconvinced. “It didn’t seem like nothing to me, sajang-nim.”

You shifted in your seat. “My mom likes you, that’s all.”

“Ah. She’s very sweet but I’m guessing that’s not the part that made you zone out.”

You cleared your throat, sitting up straighter. Time to take back control.

“Alright… let’s just get to business. What did you come in here for?” your voice was firmer now, professional mode.

Yoon-Ah nodded, switching back to her professional mode. 

“Well, it’s Friday so not much on the schedule. You have two meetings to review the new releases. Then just a short stop this afternoon at the photoshoot at our studio. You’re supposed to hand Karina-ssi a bouquet and take a photo with her.” 

“Marketing duty, huh?”

“The team insisted.” Yoon-Ah replied, lips curving slightly. “PR duty, sajang-nim.”

You let out a breath, relieved. “I’m not complaining. It’s not every day that I get to take a picture with Karina. And after that, I’m done?”

“Barring any emergencies.” she said, finally looking up at you. “You’ve been working too much lately anyway, sajang-nim. You’re… surprisingly efficient.” the way she said it felt more than just an observation.

“Surprisingly? You’ve been with me for 3 years since the start of this company and ‘surprisingly’? Really, secretary Seol?”

She grinned, not the least apologetic. “Just keeping you humble, sajang-nim.”

“You’re getting bolder.” 

“Maybe I am, sajang-nim. Or maybe you’re getting softer.”

You smiled at that. There was a beat of quiet as something a little warmer settled into the room.

“Why do you still refuse to call me oppa, Seol Yoon-Ah?” you asked, tone light and curious. “I mean, Changmin-ssi is also okay to me. It’s not like we are strangers. I gave you permission a long time ago.”

She smiled to let you have just a little glimpse of what she was thinking.

“We have to be professional, sajang-nim.” she said, emphasizing your title to put distance between the two of you, though her tone did the complete opposite. Then, she added a soft, teasing line.

“Besides… you’d get too happy if I called you oppa. And I’m not here to feed your ego, sajang-nim. I’m here to help you be more efficient and manage your schedule.”

She looked back down at her iPad, the twitch on the corner of her lips signaled a quiet victory. 

Not so early.

The thought barely settled before you stood up, rounding your desk slowly. She didn’t look up right away but you saw her finger pausing over the screen as she felt you closing the distance. You stopped in front of her, letting your presence linger just enough to make her glance up.

“Then what about that night?” you smirked. “You got so drunk I really struggled to drive you home and carry you… and you kept mumbling ‘oppa’ against my chest, secretary Seol.”

Her eyes widened, lashes fluttered just once. That alone told you she knew exactly what night you were talking about. The memory hit her before she could guard herself. You didn’t stop.

“If I recall correctly.” you said, leaning down next to her ear. “You kept biting me everywhere, crying and complaining that I don’t give you enough attention at work.”

Her breath caught. She was caught between scandalized and speechless. For once, your intelligent secretary couldn’t come up with a come back as a flush crept into her cheeks and her grip on the iPad tightened. 

“You kept calling ‘oppa’. You even fondled my chest too, secretary Seol. We might have to get HR involved.” you added, watching her squirm slightly under your gaze. Then you leaned in closer slowly to lower yourself beside her ear until she could feel your breath against her skin. Her shoulders stiffened but she didn’t move away. You murmured in a near perfect imitation of Yoon-Ah’s voice, with a smirk.

“Don’t leave me yet, oppa… please…”

Then you lifted your hand and gently clasped her wrist, startling her.

“You held on to it like this and wouldn’t let go.”

Yoon-Ah’s eyes moved to where your hand grabbed her wrist. She remembered. The ever professional Seol Yoon-Ah was thrown off balance, blinking like she couldn’t decide whether to pull away or freeze. 

“Still no thank you from you yet, secretary Seol. It’s been almost two months now.”

You could see the engine working overtime in her eyes - calculating, ready to strike back with something sharp and clever while being flustered, exposed at the same time. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, lowering your voice even more. “Cat got your tongue? Or did oppa make too much of an impression saving you that night?”

Yoon-Ah then quickly yanked her wrist back like your touch burned her. But you already did too much damage. She was blushing, her posture stiff, mouth open but couldn’t find the words.

“Sajang-nim.” she finally muttered, brows drawn tightly together. She turned her head sideways to hide the rising color in her cheeks.

Cute.

You leaned back slightly, just enough to let the tension breathe.

“Still waiting on that thank you, by the way.” you said, enjoying this too much. “You’re usually quicker than this, Yoon-Ah-ssi.”

“Thank you, sajang-nim.” she muttered like it physically hurt her pride to say it.

“Just that?” you titled your head. “You think that’s enough after everything I went through, secretary Seol?”

She huffed and glanced up sharply. “Do you want an award ceremony, sajang-nim?”

“Interest. That’s all. The economy’s been rough lately.” You shrugged, nonchalant.

Yoon-ah’s eyes narrowed but couldn’t hold back the smile forming on her lips.

“What kind of interest are we talking about here?”

“Maybe…” you looked up to the ceiling, pretending to think. “A kiss on the cheek should cover the fee, secretary Seol.”

Her scoff was immediate but the joy in her eyes betrayed her. “Is that how you do business now? Bullying your way through outstanding debts.”

You smiled. “Only with clients who get drunk and call me oppa while I carry them bridal style to their bedroom.”

Yoon-Ah stared at you harder, but the red on her cheeks didn’t help much. “You’re lucky I haven’t reported that night to anyone,  sajang-nim.”

“Ah… but I only carried you home and took care of you that night.” you said, pretending to be offended. “And that would mean confessing to fondling your boss? A scandal!?”

Yoon-Ah leaned closer to you with a glare that lacked any real threat.

“Keep pushing it and I’m writing a full report, sajang-nim.”

You grinned, leaning down closer - your forehead almost touching hers.

“Make sure to include the part where you begged me to stay too, secretary Seol.”

Yoon-Ah smirked. “One day, I’m going to put you in your place, sajang-nim.”

You tilted your head slightly, voice teasing. “I’m counting on it. But for now… cheek?”

She stared at you for a beat - long enough to weigh in her options even though the glint in her eye already gave her away. That cute flush on her cheeks hadn’t gone anywhere either. Finally, she let out a small sigh - resignation and mischief on her face.

“Close your eyes, sajang-nim.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t want to peek during an award ceremony.” she said, her voice filled with sudden happiness.

This girl…

Your brow arched but you obliged, shutting your eyes with a sigh. “Fine.”

A few seconds went by, still nothing. Then-

You felt a feather light brush of her lips landing just shy of your cheek - barely a kiss. Yoon-Ah was clearly teasing you. You opened one eye to glare at her.

“That was air.”

 Your secretary was already retreating, trying not to laugh. 

“It still counts, sajang-nim. The ceremony's over.”

“No, no, no.” you reached out and grabbed her wrist, firm but not enough to hurt her. “Secretary Seol, I demanded a kiss.”

“Sajang-nimmm~” Yoon-Ah whined, making your chest much warmer. She gave your grip a half hearted tug but didn’t really try to escape. She still didn’t give up on suppressing a smile though she clearly knew she was failing miserably. 

“You’re abusing your power~” she pouted. Too cute.

Damn…

“Aegyo won’t let you get away with this, secretary Seol.” your jaw tightened slightly. You tried so hard not to look away for a second. Seol Yoon-Ah was a dangerous woman. She really had no idea what she was doing to you. Or maybe she did. Who knew?

She then scrunched her nose and stuck out her tongue to you - a final act of rebellion before stepping even closer, eyes lifting to meet yours.

“Fine.” she mumbled. “One real kiss.”

“So easily?”

“I just want you to shut up, sajang-nim.” 

You were still suspicious. You let go of her wrist - only to take both of them seconds later instantly. Your grip was firm as your thumbs brushed the inside of her wrists. Yoon-Ah blinked up at you.

“In case you try to escape. I’m not taking an ‘air’ kiss this time, secretary Seol.”

Suddenly, her entire expression shifted - a flicker of confidence and mischief lighting up her face. Her lips curled up, slow and dangerous.

“Close your eyes, sajang-nim.”

You sighed and shut your eyes again. That smug expression on her face left you with no choice anyway. You could her Yoon-Ah tiptoeing slightly, her gentle inhale, the little rustle of her clothes before-

Her lips pressed against your cheek. 

No teasing or light ‘air’ this time.

Yoon-Ah kissed your cheek long and firm, her lips molding to your skin with a boldness that stole your breath away. You felt the way she tilted her head slightly, swaying into the kiss like she meant every second of it. You wanted more. So much more. But-

Muah!

She pulled away. Your skin was now warm with her lipstick stamped there like her branding. When you opened your eyes, Yoon-Ah was still close - too close.

“How about that, oppa~?” she murmured, voice a little breathless.

You tried and held onto her gaze, almost failing to act unaffected. Slowly, you let go of her wrists, your fingers intentionally lingering on for a few seconds before slipping away completely.

“Not bad.” you said, voice trying to sound confident.

Yoon-Ah blinked. A shy blush bloomed across her face with a nervous smile to replace her confidence just seconds ago. You then cleared your throat - subtle but necessary - before glancing toward the leather sofa and nodding your chin in its.

“There are some ginseng extracts, a few tonic packets and uh… some black sesame snacks in that bag over there. My mom brought it over for you.” you said, walking to it. “From that clinic in Cheongdam, you know?”

You picked up the bag and held it out to her. Yoon-Ah followed you, cheeks still pink from earlier and took the bag slowly.

“Oh… that one clinic all the rich people’s wives and mistresses go to?” she said, her voice a little soft and flustered. “Your mother told me a lot about it, sajang-nim. We chat a lot, actually.”

“Since when?”

Yoon-Ah hesitated. “Umm… since forever? She texts me all the time and asks about you, your dating life… us…”

“And you tell her I make you work too much? If anything, I make you work less and come home early.”

Yoon-Ah pretended to let out a small cough, eyes darting to the clock on the wall as she avoided your gaze.

“A- Anyway… it’s almost time for your first meeting this morning, sajang-nim.”

You narrowed your eyes, dragging your feet back to your desk with a sigh to prepare for the meeting.

“I’ll let it slide this time, secretary Seol.”

No, I won’t. 

You shifted through the clutter of documents on your desk, ignoring the warmth on your skin but paused when you noticed your secretary lingering around before walking toward you. 

“Wait, sajang-nim.” she spoke up, softly. “You still have my lipstick mark on… your cheek.”

Your brows raised as she pulled a tissue from the little box on your desk and reached up, dabbing at the spot with what seemed like precision and maybe, just maybe, love? Or just a bit of affection? You hoped so. When she pulled back, you glanced at her - flushed, shy, trying to hide it. After all that messing around not even 20 minutes ago.

“Reapply your lipsticks, too, secretary Seol.” you said as you continued to search through the documents, not looking at her. “You know where my restroom is. I’ll wait.”

Yoon-Ah lowered her head into a small bow.

“Ah… thank you, sajang-nim.”

The morning room buzzed with the quiet rhythm of updates and reviews, slides clicking forward one by one. You sat at the head of the sleek conference room, listening to everything with Yoon-Ah next to you, taking notes with her usual precision. 

Three years ago, you left one of the biggest names in Korea’s fashion game as their rising creative director - young, bold, and already successful. People thought you were crazy, even your parents stopped you at first. But you took a gamble anyway, at the age of 30. 

Now? You were the CEO and founder of AVEC MAEUM. Get it?

AVEC is French for ‘with’. MAEUM (마음) is Korean for ‘heart/mind’. ‘With Heart’.

You’d thought it sounded cringy at first but people seemed to love it. It was still rising, still not quite a household name yet. But you’d come far. You had your own fashion label, your own team, and your own building in Hannam-dong - the land of the rich right in Yongsan-gu, Seoul. Buying this place to be the headquarters had been a risk - a sleek, five story building with somewhat clean, modern architecture. It obviously wasn’t the biggest or flashiest on the block, but to you, it meant everything. And it felt like something to be proud of.

You looked briefly at Yoon-Ah beside you - her posture straight, her expression calm and unreadable as always. 

Still so goddamn beautiful.

You still remembered the day she first walked in for the interview - back when AVEC MAEUM was just your dream and a cheap nameplate taped to a rented shoebox in Intaewon 1-dong. You remembered being struck by her beauty.

Yoon-Ah had worn a white blouse with her sleeves rolled up just under her elbows, layered under a black sleeveless sweater. What caught your eyes the most was the way she chose to style her hair and skirt. Her long, light brown was parted and brought forward over both shoulders while the back was secured by a delicate black bow - a detail that made her look both younger and more elegant. Her skirt - one side was gray, the other black. It wasn’t flashy but it was bold in its own way. She had been fresh out of university then, too nervous. She’d clutched her portfolio with both hands like it might save her and land her the job. You remembered leaning back in that old office chair and asking Yoon-Ah while gesturing around the room.

“Why’d you apply here, honestly? I mean… aren’t you scared this might be a… I don’t know, money laundering scheme. This company has nothing right now, Yoon-Ah-ssi.”

She let out a tiny, nervous laugh.

“I… um… I looked you up before I applied.” she said it too fast, glancing down for a second like she regretted blurting it out. “I- I read about your work. The stuff you did at your pre- previous company… The 2019 one.”

You didn’t say anything and let her go on for another 5 minutes. Yoon-Ah fumbled a little more, both endearingly and awkwardly.

“Hmm.” you nodded eventually, a smile was forming on your lips. “I like the way you style yourself, Yoon-Ah-ssi. Especially the two color skirt… and uh, your hair.”

That bow had stayed in your memory ever since. You loved it whenever she styled her hair like that to work - something about it always pulled you back to your first meeting, to the shy Yoon-Ah.

From that day on, the two of you built more than just AVEC MAEUM together. You taught her a lot, from dealing with fashion related problems, difficult clients to how to be passive aggressive in meetings. Yoon-Ah picked up everything fast. You knew she was smart but she’d been outdoing your expectations after her first few weeks - always delivering more than what was asked. Still, no matter how much time passed or how confident she appeared with others, Yoon-Ah always carried a trace of that shyness when she was around you. It showed in the way she adjusted her outfits before walking into your office, the way she hesitated for a few seconds before speaking up in meetings if you were in the room.

However, in recent months, things had shifted - a slow, complicated push and pull neither of you wanted to define out loud. Late night conversations in the office. Lingering glances everywhere you went. Her being mad at you for forgetting buying her gifts after a business trip in Japan, only to bring you coffee the next morning - made just the way you liked it - with a flirty smile you couldn’t stop dreaming about. She started standing closer and leaning in more. You both intentionally stuck tightly to each other’s side in the elevator, even when it was empty. You’d started driving her home every day from work too - a quiet routine that had begun just 4 months ago. 

Still, Seol Yoon-Ah always knew exactly when to draw a line, when to turn her head away to remind you that she was still your secretary. But… the kiss on the cheek she gave you this morning was a great leap forward. 

And you wanted more. 

So much more.

“Sajang-nim.” her voice broke through your thoughts, soft but pointed. You blinked, and there was the composed, capable woman seated beside you. 

“Umm… you were spacing out, sajang-nim. They’ve just finished the presentation.”

Right, still in the middle of the meeting.

You sat up straighter, coughed lightly and picked up where she left off.

Another meeting soon followed. When it finally ended, most of the team filtered out quickly for lunch. You returned to your office and collapsed immediately on the leather sofa. Yoon-Ah walked in later carrying a small tray: two lunch boxes and drinks. She calmly set everything down on the coffee table then took her seat next to you.

“Lunch before meeting Karina, sajang-nim.” she said while unwrapping her utensils and handing over yours without looking.

“Ughh… finally. Karina~” you sang with exaggerated dread and dragged yourself upright. 

“Aghh.” Yoon-Ah suddenly pouted as she peeled off the lid of her lunch box. “Again~?” She whined under her breath, poking at a neatly packed pile of green vegetables. “They always forget I hate these…”

Here come your rescue.

You immediately leaned forward, opening your mouth. “Ahh-”

Yoon-Ah froze with her chopsticks in hand, staring at you as her lips twitched into a smile.

“You’re unbelievable, sajang-nim.”

You didn’t move, just tilted your head and widened your eyes in the most obnoxiously innocent expression you could ever make. Her cheeks were already pink as she picked up a piece of broccoli and brought it hesitantly to your mouth. You bit down with a smug grin, chewing satisfyingly. Yoon-Ah looked away the second you started chewing, muttering.

“This better not become an everyday thing, sajang-nim.”

You swallowed, still smug. “I might make this a clause when we discuss your renewal contract, secretary Seol.”

Yoon-Ah narrowed her eyes at you, scoffing under her breath but the pink on her cheeks deepened. 

“I’m writing a report to HR next Monday.”

You nudged her knee. She picked up another piece of green and held it out silently. You then leaned in with no hesitation and took it with a happy hum.

“... You’re enjoying this too much, sajang-nim.” Yoon-ah said, picking up another piece.

“You’re lucky your boss is a good eater.” you mumbled, earning a quick jab of her elbow on your shoulder. This went on quietly, rhythmically - her feeding you vegetables, you chewing with exaggerated joy, her pretending not to smile as she emptied every last piece of green from her lunch box into your mouth. By the end, the only things left was her rice, some meat and a few side dishes. And that smile she was struggling to hide on her lips.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The city rolled past outside the tinted windows of your GLE Coupe, sunlight bouncing off the glass. You had one hand on the steering wheel, the other rested lazily on your lap. You glanced sideways at Yoon-Ah, who was puffing her cheeks in and out, scrolling through something on her phone.

“Okay, sajang-nim. Balance game.” Her tone was light, teasing. “Have Samsung chaebol level wealth and power… or stay exactly as you are right now - same wealth, same power?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Really?”

She didn’t look up from her phone, her voice singing. “Answer~”

“Stay as I am now.” You tapped your fingers on the steering wheel. That made her glance at you.

“You’re passing on generational wealth and the power to boss the president around, sajang-nim?”

You shrugged. “I mean, Samsung level wealth and power means I’d have to work pretty much every day. Get in a scandal every few years, get involved in political stuff, basically no freedom to do what I want in public. Sometimes spend a few months in jail waiting to get pardoned… Meh, not worth it.”

Yoon-Ah tilted her head and hummed. “Mm… interesting.”

“I mean… I have money now, don’t I? I won’t even get to spend like half of it before I die so chaebol level wealth doesn’t really mean much to me.”

Yoon-Ah leaned back against the headrest, turning slightly to study your profile.

“... I get the feeling you’d spoil your kids with all your wealth, sajang-nim.”

You snorted. “Why is that, secretary Seol?”

“You just have that whole vibe around you, sajang-nim. You’d build a whole private playground before they even learn to walk.”

You’re damn right, secretary Seol.

You raised an eyebrow. “And you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Yoon-Ah smiled, teasing. “It’s not, unless you want them to turn into little monsters who throw tantrums if they don’t get what they want.”

You chuckled. “C’mon. I’d raise them better than that.”

A moment of comfortable silence passed before you asked.

“Okay, your turn. Son or daughter?”

Yoon-Ah didn’t even hesitate with her answer. “Daughter.”

Your fingers tapped the steering wheel again - thoughtlessly this time. You hadn’t meant to. It just happened. You thought of your daydream again this morning when she was talking to your mother. A family of your own, with Yoon-Ah and your daughter. A happy life.

Happy…

You blinked the thought away, eyes still on the road. Must’ve been your mom’s fault. She’d been yapping about you starting a family too much lately. But things didn’t alw-

“Would you prefer a daughter, sajang-nim?” Yoon-Ah snapped you back to reality.

“Huh? Yeah. I’ve always wanted a daughter. Daughters seem… sweet.”

She hummed again with that same amused tone of her.

“Mm. I can see that.”

“See what?”

Yoon-Ah pretended to think. “Just picturing you getting wrapped around her little finger, sajang-nim. You playing with princess dolls to make your daughter laugh, letting her apply makeup on you…”

“Yeah. I would enjoy that a lot.” the words came out more naturally than you expected. Yoon-Ah didn’t say anything at first. She flicked her gaze toward you briefly before returning to the window.

“So when do you plan to settle down, sajang-nim?” Her tone was light and careful, but not meaningless.

“Why?” you kept your eyes on the road. “You planning to recommend someone to me, secretary Seol?”

Yoon-Ah let out a soft scoff. “Do you even have a girlfriend right now, sajang-nim?”

And there it was - a quiet check. To see if you had one. To see if that romantic tension between you two all these months was genuine.

“Obviously not. Why do you think my mother keeps coming over to nag me every week?”

“...Your mother just wants you to be happy, I guess.” her voice came up softer this time.

You glanced over at her again. The corners of her lips turned up just a bit but her eyes, staring out the window, didn’t quite match the smile.

“Okay, secretary Seol.” you said after clearing your throat lightly. “Balance game again.”

That got her attention. Her head tilted slightly. 

“Men your age… ” you paused. “Or… let’s just say, men… in their early thirties?”

You didn’t even try to hide who you meant. Yoon-Ah pressed her lips together - tight, like she was holding something back.

“Why, sajang-nim? Asking for a friend?” That flicker of amusement beneath her expression showed you she knew exactly what you meant. She let the question hang for a moment too long, lips still curved. Then she answered, casually.

“Early thirties, I think.”

Fuck yeah!

“More stable. More… mature.” she added. “But of course, that’s assuming he’s not my boss.”

And there it was again. The line Seol Yoon-Ah always drew. Not too close. Not too far.

What about the past few months?

You let out a breath through your nose. Your fingers then tightened slightly on the steering wheel. The silence stretched - not tense, but thoughtful. You felt a quiet little ache underneath your ribs. Yoon-Ah knew the effect she had on you. Tease you just enough and stay just far enough.

“Mm. Got it.”

You finally muttered, not wanting to be heard. She glanced at you - who was now looking like a kicked puppy. You didn’t notice it but her expression softened as she spoke, like she really wanted you to hear it.

“... That’s just assuming. But assumptions can change.”

Okay...

You didn’t say anything for the rest of the ride but your grip on the steering wheel eased, just slightly. You finally pulled up at the studio parking lot after 10 more minutes of driving. From the passenger seat, Yoon-Ah glanced at her phone then at the building. “They’re in the middle of the shoot.” she murmured. You reached behind your seat, grabbed the bouquet meant for Karina - wrapped to perfection, all PR polished - and stepped out, the car door shutting behind you with a soft thud. You circled around to Yoon-Ah's side and opened the door. 

“What kind of boss drives his secretary around and opens the door for her, sajang-nim?” she asked, voice teasing. 

You replied flatly, still a bit hurt from your last interaction in the car.

“The really good kind. The handsome kind. The caring kind.”

She let out a soft laugh, tilting her head as she stepped out.

“Mm. Must be exhausting being all three.”

You didn’t smile, not yet. “It’s worth it. If she notices.”

She paused at that just for a second. And in that second, something shifted in her eyes.

“...You should save that line for Karina, sajang-nim.” she said and smoothed down the front of her skirt, voice a little softer than before. “She’s the one getting the flower, today.”

Wasn’t a jab, not really.

Still, it made you fall silent. Because under that teasing edge, there was something else, something unspoken. You looked at her to try and catch it but it was too late, she was already stepping past you and walking toward the studio entrance like nothing had happened. You then adjusted your grip on the bouquet and followed.

Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe, it meant everything. 

The studio door shut behind you with a loud click, muffling the city noise outside. Inside, everything was bright, cinematic - spotlights humming, stylists moving in rhythm, racks of clothing everywhere. You and Yoon-Ah walked past the staff, bowing and greeting. They led you to near the center. And there she was.

aespa’s Karina

Wow…

She was kneeling in front of the green screen, her unique plaid dress hugged her perfectly at the waist. Her hair was sleek, falling down in front of one shoulder, leaving the other bare. A leather jacket was slipping down her arms. 

Huh, I designed that jacket. 

Everything she wore just looked so effortlessly beautiful and expensive, even the platform sneakers.

“We just started 20 minutes ago, sajang-nim. Sorry for making you wait like this.” a staff member spoke up.

“No. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” you quickly whispered back. “You guys are working hard.”

You couldn’t take your eyes off the idol.

The camera shuttered again. Karina shifted to lie on her stomach, legs in the air, the dress riding up just slightly as she propped her chin on her hand. The pose looked casual but you knew how precise every tilt of her head was. Her bare shoulders caught the light just right. The rings you worked on hugged her fingers. She looked great in everything.

“Cut.” the photographer. “That’s beautiful, everyone. Let’s take a break and reset the lighting for the next setup.”

Karina pushed herself up slowly, movements pretty even off camera. She didn’t look over right away but she must’ve known you were here. You two had met a few times before but never really talked - meetings to prepare for this collab, at some parties... In all those encounters, there had always been this weird tension between the two of you.

“Wipe, please.” her manager called. Then, a stylist instantly ran forward with a tissue, dabbing the corner of Karina’s mouth delicately while she sipped from a straw. Her lips parted slightly, a soft breath came out as she adjusted the leather jacket.

You felt Yoon-Ah’s intense gaze on you from the side - sharp and intense - but she stayed silent. You stepped forward but stopped almost instantly. Because Karina’s eyes finally lifted to you. The moment her eyes found yours, the corners of her mouth almost twitched into a smile. Not quite a smile yet but definitely not neutral. Her gaze lingered for a bit too long. She was pleased, like she was definitely glad that you came. Then it was gone. She blinked, turning to the stylist to smile and say ‘thank you, unnie'. She instantly straightened her posture with that ease of an experienced idol - grace and camera-ready composure.

Wow…

You stood there, not knowing you were breathing a little too fast. Next to you, Yoon-Ah shifted her weight and crossed her arms. She tilted her head, unamused.

“You’re staring.”

“What?”

“I said…” one corner of her lips curved up, that irritated kind of expression. “I said you’re staring, sajang-nim.”

You opened your mouth to reply as heat started to creep up your face.

“I- I’ll just go say hi to the team first.” you mumbled, already stepping sideways and pretending to scan every equipment on the way. “Check how they’re doing with the lighting and… uh, all that.”

“Right, sajang-nim.” Yoon-Ah murmured, following you just a step behind. “All that.”

You made your way across the set, nodding at a couple of the lighting staff as you passed. “Everybody doing okay? Looks good.” you said, voice slightly higher than usual. No one seemed to notice - except for your secretary. The head stylist bowed quickly and smiled. “Oh, sajang-nim. Thanks for coming today.”

You politely bowed back and smiled. “Always. You guys are killing it.” you tried not to glance back over your shoulder, tried not to think about Yoon-Ah’s tone or Karina’s eyes a few moments ago.

“Lighting’s still adjusting but we’re almost there.” said the photographer as he stepped aside from his camera.

“Everything’s okay? Anything you guys want to ask for? I’m always eager to help.”

The photographer grinned. “Actually… we were thinking the lighting’s hitting her a little too harshly. We might try switching one of the lights for something softer? It might be a little different from your plans, sajang-nim…”

You nodded. “Good catch. Let’s do that. We still have the softer lights in storage, right?”

One of the assistants spoke up. “Yes, sajang-nim. I’ll go grab it instantly.”

“Thank you.” you said, stepping aside to make room. “If it helps the shots, go for it. Don’t hold back on suggestions. You guys know the setup better than anyone.”

The team exchanged a few glances, nodding. You actually listened - whether it was a last minute adjustment or the way the hem of a piece of clothing caught the breeze wrong, you cared. Yoon-Ah knew this side of you too well.

“Oh… also.” you added. “I’ve arranged a dinner for the whole team after the shoot. Just a little something to celebrate this, No one’s leaving hungry tonight.”

There were a few murmurs, a couple of soft laughs and someone clapped.

“You really spoil us, sajang-nim.”

“You’re the best, sajang-nim.”

You smiled, modest as always. “Only fair. Thanks for the hard work, everyone.” Then, you finally turned and headed toward Karina.

She was sitting on a chair near the set now, hands on her knees, spacing out. Her gaze flicked up as you approached, her expression then turned softer, lighter. Like she was trying not to smile again.

“Hi, Karina-ssi.” you bowed politely, a little breathless as you gripped the bouquet tighter.

“Oh- hi, sajang-nim.” she smiled brightly, standing up quickly to bow back. “It’s really great to see you here today.”

She glanced down at the flowers in your hand, then back up at you, curious but polite enough not to mention it yet. Her tone stayed professional but there was that subtle lift in her tone when people were genuinely happy.

You extended the bouquet toward her with both hands. “You’ve been working so hard. I, uh… honestly still can’t believe our company landed a deal with an idol like you, Karina-ssi.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she accepted the flowers, clearly caught off guard. “Oh- thank you so much.” she looked down at the bouquet, cheeks dusted with light pink. “But… I think your clothing just makes me look good, sajang-nim. I really love your designs.”

You let out a soft laugh. “No, really. You have that AI beauty. Like so precise, so surreal. It’s… uh, unfair, honestly.”

Karina laughed quietly as she swayed side to side slightly.  “You shouldn’t say things like that so casually, sajang-nim.”

You smiled. “I’m just saying the truth, Karina-ssi.”

The two of you drifted into easy conversation, the noise of the set quickly faded into the background.

“I’m actually a big fan of aespa.” you admitted, shyly. “Have been for a while.”

Karina lit up, eyebrows raising as she tilted her head playfully. “Really? Sajang-nim’s a MY?”

“Maybe a lowkey one. I’ve listened to ‘Thirsty’ an embarrassing amount of time.”

“Oh, good taste. What else?”

“‘Lucid Dream’ and ‘I’m Unhappy’ deserve more attention. ‘Up’ too… Karina-ssi” you hesitated just a bit. “Especially ‘Up’.”

Karina’s smile wavered as she was taken aback, moved. “That’s my solo.”

“I know.” you smiled back.

Her fingers curled tightly around the bouquet, the wrapping rustling. Her eyes darted sideways before slowly coming back to you - warmer. “I’m really glad you like that, sajang-nim.”

What started as casual pleasantries stretched out into 5 minutes of relaxed, uninterrupted talking - her asking what inspired your last collection, you asking what it felt like to perform in front of thousands. She laughed when you made dumb jokes, you smiled when she said the jacket you designed actually made her feel cooler than she actually was.

Then, Karina’s eyes flicked around the set. Something about her look changed. And her staff knew her well. Within seconds, they spread out naturally - pulling out their phones, striking up fake conversations. No one said a word. You were confused at first but looked back at Karina as she stepped closer, her voice dropping so low only you could hear. She gently tiptoed up, her perfume finally arriving at your nose.

“...Can I have your number, sajang-nim?”

What did you say?

You froze for a bit.

“Uh- I… I- personal or work, Karina-ssi?” you asked, trying to stay composed.

Karina giggled, one hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Personal, sajang-nim. If you don’t mind.”

“Umm… sure, sure. Yeah. Of course,”

Karina then turned to her staff, subtly giving a nod then one of them immediately stepped forward to hand you her phone, screen already open to a new contact. You took it, typing in your number with slightly stiff fingers, still trying to process everything that had happened. When you handed back the phone to Karina, your fingers briefly brushed hers and she smiled - eyes meeting yours.

From a distance, a certain someone was watching.

Seol Yoon-Ah stood just far enough not to hear a word but close enough to see everything. The way Karina smiled up at you, the way you looked back - relaxed, flattered and warm. The way her staff handed you her phone. She didn’t move and just stood there, rooted to the floor. Her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles almost went white.

Yoon-Ah had never hated a woman this much in her entire life. Not one who hadn’t even done anything wrong. Karina hadn’t crossed any lines. She wasn’t being arrogant. She was sweet, polite, even shy. And still, Yoon-Ah felt something ugly bloom in her chest - hot, sour, aching. Her jaw locked as she exhaled through her nose, slow and controlled, trying to keep her face from cracking.

Why did it feel like she was being left behind?

She wondered if this was her fault for pulling you in just close enough to only push you away whenever she wanted to? For testing the boundaries of your patience, your attention, your loyalty, just to see if you’d stay. Were you trying to get back at her for what’d happened in the car? The thoughts sank like a stone in her stomach. 

Whatever it was, she absolutely despised it.

You, obviously, had no idea what Yoon-Ah was thinking. You were still dazed, trying to process reality. Karina - the Karina - had just asked for your number. You could still hear her voice in your ear, soft and almost shy. ‘Personal, sajang-nim. If you don’t mind.’ You didn’t even notice Yoon-Ah watching or the shift in her expression. Because in your head, everything still felt like a dream.

Now, Yoon-Ah’d had enough. She tried to wait for the heat in her chest to settle, her nails dug crescent moons into her palm but her expressions stayed calm - just calm enough. With steady steps, she approached, heels clicking softly against the studio floor. Her voice came up clear, professional but still a bit tight underneath.

“Photos together for our social media, sajang-nim.”

You turned at the sound of her voice, startled. You were still smiling at something Karina’d said. Karina straightened too, her smile still lingering but a teeny bit more cautious now. Yoon-Ah didn’t even glance at Karina. Her eyes were only on you. And her smile? 

Impeccable. Cold.

There was a distinct shift in the air - one only Yoon-Ah seemed to feel. Karina, ever graceful, stood a little too close to you during the photos, her arm brushing yours once or twice. She laughed softly as she posed with the bouquet you’d given her earlier. Every moment made Yoon-Ah’s inside burn even more with something ugly she refused to admit. Again, she wasn’t the type to hate other women, especially ones who hadn’t done anything wrong but today… she came close. 

Karina eventually returned to her photoshoot, her gaze drifting toward you a few more times as her shoot went on. You and Yoon-Ah stayed for another 30 minutes, exchanging a few words with staff, pretending nothing had shifted. When it was time to leave, Yoon-Ah didn’t wait for you like she always did. She instantly turned and marched outside toward the car without a word, heels clicking furiously against the ground. You watched her from behind, already putting the pieces together in your head.

Are you jealous, secretary Seol?

She reached the car first and didn’t wait for you to open the door for her like usual. Nope, she wasn’t that patient now. Instead, she yanked the door open herself and climbed in, slamming it shut with enough force to make someone passing by flinched. You sighed quietly and walked to the car with a smile. You slipped into the driver’s seat, shutting the door with far less drama than she had. The engine hummed to life, but for a moment, you didn’t even touch the steering wheel. You then glanced at her.

“You okay, secretary Seol?”

Her arms were crossed, eyes fixed stubbornly out the window. Her silence said more than words could. You let the question hang there for a moment before stopping a small laugh that was threatening on your lips.

“You look cute when you’re jealous, secretary Seol.”

She didn’t even flinch. Not even a blink.

“I believe our schedule for the day is done, sajang-nim. Please drive me home.”

That made you smile wider, tilting your head just slightly so that you could appreciate her flawless side profile.

“Please take me home, sajang-nim. Thank you.” she repeated, this time with even more bite, her tone low and sharp.

“Yes, general Seol.” you chuckled under your breath as you began to drive out of the parking lot. 

You called her ‘general Seol’ whenever her tone dropped low, or whenever she did something that people around the office usually said was too ‘unladylike’ for someone as pretty as her. You’d caught her sometimes sitting with her legs open, slouching in chairs, sneezing like an uncle… Things people whispered about behind her back. 

You? You didn’t mind it at all. You found it cute. Too cute, honestly.

About ten minutes passed before she finally spoke again, squinting at the unfamiliar turns and intersections outside the window.

“Where are you driving me, sajang-nim?” her voice was still tense, arms folded tight, annoyance refusing to die down.

“Let’s go shopping, secretary Seol. It’s Friday, and I need something.” you said casually, keeping your eyes on the road.

“I don’t want to go.” Her tone sharpened, each word laced with clear irritation. “Drop me off. I’m not in the mood, sajang-nim.”

You hummed, unfazed and kept on driving.

“I’m serious.” she turned to glare at you. “This isn’t funny, sajang-nim. I don’t want t-”

“I didn’t ask.” you said simply with a stern tone. That made her jaw tighten. A moment of silence passed before she finally let out a sigh - annoyed, long, defeated.

“...Fine.” she muttered, clearly hating that you used your serious work tone. “But only if you take me home first, sajang-nim. I need to shower and change. I don’t want to go shopping looking like a rich guy’s mistress.”

You grinned, victory finally. “Anything for you, general Seol.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You leaned against the car door outside her apartment, one hand in your pocket, the other holding your phone but not really looking at it. You’d gone home and changed too after dropping Yoon-Ah off - a grey jacket, sleeves rolled up just slightly, clean watch on your wrist, black jeans. You looked like you kinda had a date to pick up.

Technically, you could call it a date?

Is it?

Yoon-Ah walked out a minute later, hair still freshly dried but still flowing effortlessly. Her face hasn’t softened one bit, still visibly annoyed - one arm swinging stiffly at her side, the other clutching her bag. Her leather boots clicked against the pavement as she made her way toward you in that perfectly coordinated outfit - a check wool mini skirt, a dark brown cashmere sweater with sleeves that were longer than her arms. Full Burberry, from head to toe. Working for a fashion company CEO had its perks, huh?

She looked like a walking Burberry ad.

An angry one.

Still beautiful.

You straightened up slowly, watching her approach. “Still mad, secretary Seol?”

“I’m only here because you promise to drop me off right after, sajang-nim.” she muttered, yanking open the car door without waiting for you - again. “And if you say anything about my outfit, I’m walking.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” you said, lips twitching into a smirk as you slid into the driver’s seat beside her.

The car ride was quiet at first, filled only by the engine hum and the sound of her TWICE playlist playing through the speakers. She didn’t ask, didn’t explain - just tapped her nails against the side of the door to the soft rhythm of ‘Ice Cream’ with her eyes fixed out the window. You didn’t mind. You liked that she wasn’t pretending. You liked even more that she still got in the car anyway. When you parked in front of a store and killed the engine, she glanced up. Her brows drew together.

“This isn’t a shopping mall, sajang-nim.”

“Yeah, of course."

“Why are we at a gaming store?”

You unbuckled your seatbelt and opened the door with a shrug. “I told you. I need something.”

She didn’t move. “I told you I wanted to save up and buy me my own stuff, sajang-nim.”

You didn’t answer, just shut the door and started walking toward the shop. She groaned behind you but eventually got out on her own, stomping after you in her boots. “Unbelievable.”

Inside, the store was nearly empty except for the beeping of machines and the glows of display screens. You moved with purpose, hands in your jacket’s pockets, pausing in front of the row of Nintendo Switch and Steam Deck models before glancing back at her. Yoon-Ah had her arms crossed and was still annoyed.

And stunning. 

“I notice you’ve been looking at these for a while now, secretary Seol.” you said casually, nodding toward the shelf. “I'd thought you only played Minecraft on your work iPad. Didn’t know you were an avid gamer.”

“Why are we even here, sajang-nim?” 

“I need something. Thought you might too. I’ll pay for you.”

“I told you I didn’t need you buying me anything when I can get it myse-”

“I pay you more than enough to buy these, secretary Seol. I know that's not the reason.” you cut in. “You've been staring at this stuff on your work screen for weeks.”

She scoffed. “You’ve been checking my tabs, sajang-nim?”

“You leave them open during meetings.” you smirked.

“I was just looking.”

Yoon-Ah then tried to cover the flicker of emotions in her eyes.

“You seem to notice everything except when Karina was intentionally sticking to your side when you guys were taking photos together, sajang-nim.”

Gotcha.

“So that’s what all this is about, huh?”

Her cheeks flushed immediately.

“No, this is about boundaries and… pr- professionalism and -”

“Gaming devices.” you shot back.

“I’m going home after this, sajang-nim.” she said flatly, looking away. “You promised.”

“I know.” you then reached to pick up the matte white Nintendo Switch box from the shelf, weighing it in your hands like you were about to buy it for yourself. You weren’t. You already had a Switch at home. Without a word, you turned and held it out to her. 

“Sajang-nim…” she warned softly.

“Just hold it, secretary Seol.”

Her gaze flicked from your face to the box in your hand, hesitant. After a few seconds, she sighed and took it carefully, like it might break or disappear if she moved too fast. She turned it in her hands, inspecting the box like she hadn’t memorized its specs from her late night scrolling. Her thumbs brushed against the edges, expression softening as she flipped it to look at the back. Her lips parted slightly, a cute hum she didn’t mean to make came out.

You watched Yoon-Ah - the way her fingers moved, how her lashes dipped low as she read, the way her weight shifted unconsciously closer to you. Seol Yoon-Ah was beautiful like this. Not in just the way she looked, but also in the way she let herself want something for once. She finally looked up, trying to mask the flicker of want in her eyes.

“Why are you buying me this, sajang-nim?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Think of it as your bonus, secretary Seol.” you said, casually. “You’ve been working hard lately.”

Yoon-Ah’s fingers curled a little tighter around the box. “We don’t usually get bonuses at a gaming store on a Friday afternoon, sajang-nim.”

“Must be your lucky day then.” you smirked.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile after. You turned away to browse casually, giving her space. A minute later, she was crouching in front of a lower shelf, brows furrowed as she scanned through rows of games titles. She ended up picking a few then moved over to the accessories wall. Her eyes lit up slightly when she saw the joystick covers shaped like cat paws. She reached for a set of black ones, then hesitated a bit before taking the pink ones too. You didn’t say anything and just watched her from the corner of your eyes as she drifted through the aisle, quiet, focused. She was completely unaware that she was glowing in your eyes. Then, she turned, items cradled in her arms, only to find you standing at the opposite display - holding not one, but two Steam Decks. She blinked.

“Sajang-nim. Why do you need two?”

You looked down at the boxes in your hands, then at her.

“One for me. One for you. Obviously.”

Her mouth dropped slightly. “You’re already paying for my Switch. I can’t let you do that.”

You ignored her and headed straight to the cashier. 

“Wait, sajang-nim!” Yoon-Ah followed in hurried steps, balancing her items. “I’m serious. You don’t have to do this. I didn’t even ask for it.”

You set both Steam Decks on the counter and pulled out your card. “Exactly. That’s what makes it a gift. No… a bonus.”

“Sajang-nim-”

You raised a hand to silence her without even looking.

“You can thank me later, secretary Seol.”

The cashier clearly didn’t want to be in this situation as he awkwardly tried to scan as fast as he could. You signaled her to set the items down on the counter but she clearly didn’t want to do that.

“Put them down, secretary Seol. The poor guy’s sweating already.”

But she didn’t budge. Not yet.

“I’m going to transfer you some money back, sajang-nim.” she mumbled, still stubborn as ever. “Or something.”

“Mm.” you nodded, unaffected. “Sure. Try.” 

Yoon-Ah shot you a final, burning glare before sighing in defeat. She stepped forward and set the box down a little harder than necessary, then placed the joystick covers and game cases beside it like she was surrendering the last teeny tiny part of her pride. The cashier quietly let out a breath of relief and quickly scanned the rest.

You were smiling. Yoon-Ah now stood beside you with her arms crossed, eyes fixed on the total like she could make it drop lower. Her shoulders brushed yours - intentionally or not, you couldn’t tell. But she didn’t move away. You didn’t say it out loud but the way she set things down - all flustered, reluctant, mumbling under her breath - might’ve been the most adorable thing you’d seen all week.

You carried everything without letting Yoon-Ah lift a finger. Yoon-Ah walked a step behind you as you walked to put them in the trunk. She got in first, expecting the day to end and sat silently, arms folded with her bag resting on her lap. When you slipped into the driver seat, you didn’t start the route to her apartment. Instead, you glanced over.

“Let’s go for dinner, secretary Seol.”

She turned her head sharply. “But you said you’d take me home right after, saj-”

You leaned back against your seat casually.

“You dressed up in full Burberry. How could I take you to a gaming store and just drop you off like that without doing anything else?”

She had no come back now. Just a narrowed gaze and a soft, unwilling smile.

You took Yoon-Ah to a quiet, upscale fusion place. The mood was cozy and unhurried. You let her choose her own dishes. Somewhere between shared drinks and grilled ribeye bites, the tension finally started to melt. You didn’t even look at your phone once.

You talked about everything except work - childhood stories, movies, the ridiculous idea of just adopting and not marrying. Yoon-Ah rolled her eyes but the laughter in them lingered. By dessert, she had started to open up more, The candle light reflected in her eyes as she told you she hadn’t gone out to dinner like this in a long while - with someone who actually listened. You didn’t say much to that and just watched Yoon-Ah as she picked a piece of green vegetable and held it out for you across the table, feigning indifference. You leaned forward, letting her feed you the things she always hated, again. 

"Feeding me on your own now, secretary Seol?" you raised your eyebrows while chewing. "You're learning fast."

"Don't speak while chewing food like that, sajang-nim."

For a moment, it felt like a date. Even if neither of you said it out loud.

The car rolled to a soft stop outside her apartment building. Neither of you said much. The night was calm but the warmth from dinner still lingered between you two. Yoon-Ah unbuckled her seatbelt and got out on her own. You then got out and circled to the back and popped the trunk open. You reached in and pulled out her bag - the one filled with her new gaming devices, the little indulgences she never would’ve bought for herself. She stood on the pavement, arms folded gently - unsure what to do. When you handed her the bag, she took it carefully.

“Thank you, sajang-nim…” she murmured, not quite looking at you,

“O- Of course.” you didn’t even know why you hesitated. Then came a pause.

Heavy? Awkward? 

Yoon-Ah didn’t move. You didn’t walk back to the car. The both of you just stood there under the quiet glow of the streetlights, shadows stretching long behind you.

What now…?

Maybe it was the way Yoon-Ah was holding her bag so close. Maybe it was the way her hair moved in the cool night breeze. Or maybe it was the way she didn’t say goodbye yet.

Or maybe… It was just the right moment.

You leaned in - slow, careful, giving Yoon-Ah every chance to pull away. Your head tilted slightly, breath quiet, your eyes barely leaving hers. And just your lips were so close, close enough to taste her-

Almost there…

Yoon-Ah’s hand came up. Her fingers pressed lightly against your lips - gentle but firm. You stopped. 

Her hand didn’t waver. But her voice was smaller than usual.

“Sajang-nim…”

Silence. She took a quick breath.

“I think I’m not qualified to be in a relationship with you... with people of your status.”

What?

It didn’t make sense to you. Not with how close you two’d become. Not after 3 years of being together almost everyday. Not after these past few months. Not after everything. 

“Maybe we should just… stay professional, sajang-nim.”

Yoon-Ah stepped back, her expression unreadable - composed like always - but you swore you could see it. That something in her eyes. The way her jaw clenched. You stared at her, heart thudding like crazy.

“Is this the Karina thing this afternoon, Yoon-Ah?”

Her eyes widened just a fraction at your confession, at the sound of her name leaving your lips. But she didn’t say anything. You then took a step forward.

“I swear it was nothing. She ju- just asked for my num- number and I… I-”

That was when it hit her. Karina had asked for your number. You caught the way her lashes fluttered, the stiffening of her posture. Even under the dim light, you could tell she didn’t like that. At all.

“Oh…” the sound left her mouth. Just that.

Fuck.

Inside, Yoon-Ah was spiraling. Of all the things she expected - this wasn’t one of them.

“I didn’t agree to anything yet, Yoon-Ah ah. Please…” your voice sounded much more desperate now. But Yoon-Ah quickly switched back to her secretary mode and bowed.

“Good night, sajang-nim.”

And just like that, she turned and walked away without looking back once - leaving you frozen on the pavement. After the dinner. After months of teasing, lingering glances, late night conversations in the office, driving her home… Even after her first kiss on your cheek this morning…

You’d been dreaming of a future that felt close enough to touch. It was all gone now. You blinked once then exhaled, baffled.

What’s wrong with secretary Seol?

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

like that? did i surprise u? i felt like i did sullyoon dirty... but the ending feels fresh lol, at least for me since i always write happy ending.

[pinkfruitbowl]

I think the great thing about having a boyfriend like Zayne, who's a doctor, is that you're taught not to feel ashamed of any health problems.

In fact, your official relationship begins in a quite unorthodox way.

Zayne x reader, one shot| Tags: fluff, comfort, mentions of periods and bleeding, non canon compliant

One late afternoon, Zayne invites you over to hang out at his place, watch a movie, and catch dinner. But just like some of the best moments in your life, it gets ruined by your uterus bleeding freely.

And not just a couple of dry red spots on your panties, no; a full on stain, as big as a hand, that got your panties, your (nice) pants and even Zayne's couch cushion.

When you realize what has happened, you feel distraught: normally you'd make up some excuse and go home to take care of it yourself, but what are you supposed to do when there's actual hard evidence of your crime?

And it's disgusting! So what if Zayne's a surgeon and he's used to touching people's organs? That's with gloves. Plus, he only does that at work, this is his house, his sanctuary: and you've violated it by staining his nice ass couch red.

Zayne's still watching the movie with great intent while you're mentally drafting your goodbye note, but he catches onto your distress soon enough.

"Are you alright?"

"I - I'm -" your voice is broken by hiccups and you hate how broken it comes out.

You hate even more how Zayne gets so clearly worried at your poor attempt at replying that he paused the movie.

"I'm so sorry Zayne, I really am, I promise I'll pay you back, I'll try to get it clean, I'm -"

"Stop."

You shut your mouth, arms falling flat at your sides.

"please start from the beginning."

His voice is hard, but you feel the warmth seep through the words.

"I believe I just got my period." You inhale. "I stained your couch real bad."

Zayne's eyes dart down as if to assess the damage, and you immediately jump up from the cushion; what you miscalculate is the way you feel the blood droop down, like a den that floods.

He catches onto it though, and follows you in getting up.

"come with me."

Somewhere inside your mind you're already preparing yourself to be kicked out of his apartment, bare feet and stained ass.

Instead, two arms gently wrap around you and guide you to the bathroom.

"take a warm shower. I'll leave you some clothes on the counter top for you to wear along with a few pads. When you come out, we'll have a healthy dinner and if you need them, some painkillers."

Too dazed to say or do anything else, you follow his instructions before going back to his living room after about twenty minutes.

"Zayne?"

"ah, you're back."

"I am. I really wanted to thank you for letting me use the shower. And for the clothes, I promise I'll give them back extra clean. And the couch! I'm so sorry about it, I'll get it professionally cleaned, I swear! And also thank you for not getting mad at me. And the pads."

Zayne stops cooking and stared at you.

"you don't have to thank me for helping you, it was the bare minimum. Also, there's no reason for me to get mad, you're the one actually suffering. And don't worry too much about the stains, I know a thing or two about removing blood from fabrics."

He goes back to the stoves, a delicious aroma spreading through the room.

"it should be ready in about ten minutes, fifteen at most so-" his eyes, sharp as always, go back to your hovering figure. "Why is your hair wet?"

If possible, you shrink even more beneath his borrowed cardigan, gently petting your (humid) head. "I-yes."

"so you washed it."

"not really, I had a small accident in the shower."

Zayne doesn't look like he'll accept your silence as an explanation, so you keep babbling.

"I couldn't figure out how to get the water running so I touched a few things and before I knew it, it was pouring all over me. And my hair got wet."

You think you see a shadow of a smile on his face, but you don't have the time to make sure because Zayne turns off the stove, moving carefully the pan to the counter, and disappears to the bathroom.

When he comes out, he's holding a hairdryer: "sit on that chair, I'll help you dry your hair."

You'd refuse, really, but at this point you've embarrassed yourself enough, what's the point in being humble?

So you do as you're told, doctor's orders.

While the noise of the dryer fills the room and Zayne's hand gently rakes through your hair every now and then, you contemplate everything; your existence, the meaning of life. Your chances with the handsome man currently standing behind you.

Is there even a possibility that Zayne will invite you over at his place ever again? And if not, can a relationship where one of the parties is not allowed at the other's place even exist?

Will a fucking blood stain be the actual reason your story ends?

At this point, nothing seems too far from true.

Zayne is either unaware or ignoring your silent meltdown, and when the white noise suddenly stops, you realize he's done.

Wordlessly, he puts the dryer back in its place and guides you to the table that's already set, going as far as to pull your chair out, like a true gentleman.

Man, you've really blown it, huh.

If it wasn't enough already, Zayne's a great cook. Probably. You haven't actually tasted anything, but it smells amazing and it looks delicious; you're just too busy pushing it around with your fork.

"is something not to your liking?" His voice cuts through your murky thoughts like lightning in the dark sky.

"Everything's great!" You automatically respond, voice a bit too high and squeaky, perhaps. As if to reiterate, you shove a mouthful of food in your face, immediately choking on some rice grains.

You blindly reach for a napkin as you splutter and heave, whilst Zayne hands you a glass of water with a slightly worried expression.

When you finally calm down, you're drained, both physically and emotionally. Bare of any dignity (and make up, and cute clothes).

"are you okay?" Zayne's question seems to refer to more than the last thirty seconds.

"I'm... A bit tired, I think."

"I'm sure you are. Perhaps you should rest a bit here before I drive you home."

You snort but there's no trace of amusement. "I think not."

Zayne looks taken aback at your dry tone as he blinks. "Did you... Not enjoy the evening?"

You fidget with the sleeves of his cardigan, yet another reminder of his kindness.

"I think the better question is, 'did you'?"

"I did. It was very nice."

To his credit, he doesn't look like he's lying. Or joking.

"are you sure? Because I think I stained your couch by bleeding on it, had to use your clothes, had you dry my hair, cook dinner, and drive me home."

Listing it all almost brings you to tears.

Man you've really messed up what could have been the perfect romance with the perfect man.

Zayne lowers his gaze and walks up to your chair, where he kneels.

"I know all that happened. I, too, was there. But none of it was unpleasant to me: we were together for all these hours, and even if things didn't exactly go as planned, I had a good time."

Zayne can tell you're skeptical, so he continues as he gently holds your fingers. "It was all very domestic to me; it felt like we were living together and sharing a space. Plus, when I tell you these things don't embarrass me, I'm not lying to look better, I'm being honest. I see so many people bleed, everyday, and some of them too much. What happened to you wasn't a bad bleeding per se: you had your period. You weren't stabbed or shot; I didn't have to cut you open. You just bled a bit.

And so what if my couch is stained. I can always cover it, I can turn the cushion.

Also I don't believe I've ever said that lending you my clothes bothers me, in fact I find you exceptionally cute like this.

And drying your hair, cooking you dinner, driving you somewhere; they're just normal boyfriend duties I believe. I like taking care of you. I hope it doesn't offend you or anything."

By now, your eyes are watery, and you've started sniffling a bit, though you try to cover it up.

"... So you're saying you don't mind doing boyfriend duties?"

"If anything, I'm offering to be a full-time employed boyfriend. How does that sound?"

You giggle, comforted by Zayne's warm gaze.

"it sounds great, but I don't think you've said anything about hiring for a girlfriend position."

"it's 100% on the table for you. If you accept."

And that, folks, is how it all begins: your story with Zayne was written... In blood.

[certaimromance]

⋆˚࿔ Piece Of Sunshine.

Conrad Fisher x Fem!reader

main masterlist

Summary: After seeing his loved ones together again after years apart, questions about Conrad's love life end up bringing your photo to the table.

Words: 1,9k.

Warnings & Tags: established relationship. season three spoilers (specifically episode three). fluff. hurt/comfort. divider by @chilumitos. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Based by this request.

Note: Hello again♡ I didn't expect you to like my first fic so much! I was very nervous, and I loved receiving this request. I hope you like this.

Sometimes, Conrad would look across the table and see his mother smiling at him.

It didn’t matter that she had been gone for years now, her absence a quiet ache that threaded through every season since. It didn’t matter that this was her memorial, that the soft clink of cutlery was muted by the weight of grief, or that candles flickered gently in her name while bouquets of her favorite flowers filled the room with the ghost of summer. It didn’t matter that every chair was occupied by someone who had known her laugh, her warmth, and her boundless way of loving and who carried that loss like a stone in their chest.

It didn’t matter that the person really sitting across from him was his father, rigid in his collared shirt.

Because for him, Susannah was always there.

She was in the light. In the sun pouring through the restaurant window and catching the glint of the ocean just beyond the dunes. In the quiet way Laurel had wrapped her arms around him earlier, holding him like a second mother, so tight and grounding, as if she could hold him together just long enough to get through the day. She was in the sound of Steven’s easy laugh, in the way Belly rolled her eyes fondly at her brother’s joke, and in how Jeremiah nudged his shoulder like they hadn’t lost entire years between them.

Being with them again, after everything and despite everything, felt like slipping into a worn hoodie from his childhood. Frayed at the sleeves, thinned in places, but still warm. Still his.

And then there was you.

Maybe most of all, she was in you.

You, who had crashed into his life quietly and all at once, like the tide.

He’d met you just weeks before his mother died. A moment in time he sometimes thought about like a scene in a movie, too perfectly timed to be real. Like fate, or maybe something softer. Kinder. Maybe she had sent you. Maybe Susannah, with all her light and knowing and mother’s heart, had looked at her boy, being a splintered, grieving, impossibly young and already so tired, and thought: he’s going to need someone like her.

Someone patient. Someone with a voice like a lullaby and laughter that filled the cracks in his chest. Someone who ate ice cream even on rainy days and sang along, very badly, to the radio with him, who learned his silences and never tried to fix them, only sat beside him until he could breathe again.

You had been her parting gift. The last bright ribbon on a life wrapped too tightly around loss.

And sometimes, when you smiled at him from across the room like he was the only thing you saw, or when you pressed your hand flat against his chest like you could feel the places where it still hurt, Conrad would close his eyes, swallow the knot in his throat, and think:

Thank you, Mom.

He was still lost in thought about you when Laurel’s voice rose above the soft clink of glasses and low hum of conversation. Her tone was warm, filled with that quiet maternal pride that always wrapped around him like a knit blanket, one he never asked for but always accepted. She was raising a toast to her children, to their futures, her eyes glinting with unshed emotion beneath the dim restaurant lighting. The flicker of candlelight played across her face as she turned her gaze toward him, and the warmth in her voice softened further.

She spoke of him next.

Of all he’d done, all he’d built, far from home. Her words weren’t just kind, they were reverent and admiring. She spoke of his discipline, his strength, and the way he’d carried the weight of grief and still managed to chase down a future through lecture halls and exam rooms. Each sentence felt like a gentle pat on the shoulder, a reminder that he wasn’t invisible in his efforts. That someone, even from afar, had seen him.

Conrad stared down at the glass in front of him, the golden liquid inside catching the light just enough to blur his reflection. He felt the burn behind his eyes, low and steady, and swallowed it down like the rest of the things he never said.

But before the silence of her words could settle, before he could let the swell of emotion crest and fall, Steven’s voice cut in. Playful. Sharp. Curious. A disruption of that fragile stillness.

“So do you have a girl there?” He asked, his voice slicing through the quiet hum of reverence like a pebble skipped across still water.

Conrad blinked slowly, his gaze lifting from the golden ripple of his drink, catching the soft light that danced along the glass’s edge. For a moment, he hesitated, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because saying it aloud felt fragile and intimate, like unfolding a delicate secret in a room still steeped in memories and silence.

Around the table, Laurel smiled warmly, gently nudging Belly with an elbow as if sharing a quiet joke. Jeremiah tilted his head, curiosity flickering across his features. Even his father looked up from his plate, brows arched with a quiet but unmistakable interest.

The attention turned toward him like a slow tide.

Conrad didn’t rush. He never did. He rubbed a thumb against the condensation on his glass, lips twitching just slightly.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low but sure. “Yeah, I do.”

Steven leaned forward, eyes bright and wide with boyish enthusiasm. “Wait, seriously? You’re seeing someone?”

His dad chuckled softly, a sound rich with both surprise and amusement. “And you didn’t bring her? Why not?”

Conrad looked up then, eyes calm but glittering with something warmer, deeper. “It’s her family’s day, too,” he said quietly. “Didn’t feel right to take her away.”

A thoughtful pause followed, the kind that hangs heavy yet respectful in the air. Laurel’s voice broke it gently, honeyed with fondness. “What’s she like?”

And there it was, the question that mattered most.

Conrad didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for his wallet, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t just flipping through receipts and cards but handling something precious. He slid a small, worn photo from the back sleeve, the one he kept tucked there like a secret, like a prayer.

It was you, standing on the beach last fall, hair wild from the wind, the hem of your jeans wet with saltwater. You weren’t even looking at the camera. You were laughing at something he’d said, eyes half-shut from smiling, your hand lifted in a blurry motion like you’d just tossed a shell back into the waves.

He laid the photo on the table.

A soft collective breath escaped the group, somewhere between a sigh and a quiet ‘oh.’ Laurel’s hand fluttered to her chest, her eyes shining with unspoken emotion. Belly’s head tilted, brows knitting together in a thoughtful frown.

“Wait…that’s this beach,” she murmured.

“That’s our house behind,” Jeremiah added, glancing at his brother. “You brought her here? When?”

“Almost a year ago,” Conrad said softly.

For a moment, no one spoke. The room seemed to pause, the usual clatter of the restaurant fading beneath the weight of his quiet vulnerability. This raw, unguarded glimpse into his life was rare, almost sacred.

Even his father nodded slowly, a silent approval etched into the lines of his weathered face.

“Well,” Laurel said softly, eyes shimmering, “she must be pretty special.”

Conrad’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, the corners lifting with a quiet certainty. “She is,” he murmured. “She really is.”

A minute later, Conrad quietly excused himself from the table, slipping away from the low hum of conversation and the soft clinking of glasses. He didn’t really need the bathroom, he just needed a moment to breathe, to catch the sharp edges of his thoughts before they cut too deep.

His throat felt tight and heavy, the strange ache that comes when grief and love collide pressing against his chest like a weight he couldn’t set down.

Leaning against the cool, smooth tile wall, he pulled out his phone. Your name was already glowing softly on the screen, as if waiting for him, an anchor in the swirling storm.

He tapped it gently and held the phone to his ear, heart pounding a quiet rhythm.

You answered on the second ring, your voice soft and warm, wrapping around him like a familiar melody that made the noisy restaurant fade into a distant murmur.

“Hey, love. Everything alright?” you asked, your tone tender, filled with a soothing kind of care that made his tight chest ease a little.

He swallowed hard, the ache tightening as he pressed his forehead against the cold wall, eyes closing for a brief moment. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just needed a little break.”

A pause stretched between them, your steady breathing a quiet comfort over the line.

“You sound a little shaken,” you said gently. “Talk to me.”

He let out a shaky breath, fingers curling around the edge of the sink. “It’s just…today. Being with them, remembering her. And now…hearing your voice.”

You didn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead, you let it hold him like a soft, protective cloak, an unspoken invitation to unravel the tight knot inside his chest.

“I told them I have a girlfriend,” he said, a shy, almost bashful smile touching his lips. “Showed them a picture of you.”

Your laughter was gentle and bright through the phone. “Oh? You really did?”

He nodded, though you couldn’t see the movement. “Yeah. Wanted them to know you’re not just a voice in my ear.”

There was a tenderness in your voice that made his heart skip, a soft anchor in the tumult. “I’m very real.”

He brushed a trembling hand over his face, trying to chase away the rawness threatening to spill through his words. “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. “But at least we’re just a call away.”

His lips curved into a genuine, quiet smile. The heavy weight pressing on his chest lifted ever so slightly. “I’m lucky.”

“No,” you said softly, voice steady and sure. “I’m the lucky one.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, letting the warmth of your voice fill the hollow spaces inside him, the steady pulse of your love a balm to his weary heart. For a fragile, fleeting moment, everything felt like it might be alright.

He lingered in the silence, the phone pressed gently to his ear, as if holding onto you through the line could stop the world from spinning too fast.

“I wish you were here,” he finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, heavy with longing.

There was a quiet pause, full of everything that words couldn’t say.

“I know,” you answered softly. “I wish I was, too.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling the chill of the tiles seep through his skin, grounding him even as his heart soared.

“Soon,” you promised gently, “I’ll be with you for real. No more phone calls.”

A small, hopeful smile broke through the tension coiled inside him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I’d like that.”

[shra-vasti]

SIM JAEYUN & HIS RUNAWAY RAPUNZEL

• SYNOPSIS: You had the habit of running away when things overwhelmed you. Jake had a way of always being there to catch you before you fall. Somewhere between stolen glances, half-spoken words and moments that almost meant something, you fell in love. So, you did what you knew the best, you ran. Away from your feelings, away from him. But now you're back, still utterly in love. And he's still the same, still steady, still yours in a way that doesn't count. Except now, there's someone standing on the place where you once stood.

• PAIRING: Sim Jaeyun x afab!reader

• WORD COUNT: 19.2k

• CONTENT TAGS: Non idol au, childhood best friends to ?, reader has long hair.

• WARNING TAGS: MDNI, smut, oral (fem receiving), dub con, intoxication, unprotected sex (pls wrap it before you tap it), lots of guilt.

• AUTHOR'S NOTE: Heya! Missed me? Hope you guys will enjoy! Happy reading♡♡

The country welcomed you back with open arms, you set your foot on familiar ground. Your first breath back home carried a whisper of the past, and it sounded just like him. Jake. The boy who carried you home in his arms on prom night. The night where you abandoned everything behind only to trip over your escape and land in his story. He wasn't supposed to stay but he did. In all the ways that mattered but not in the ways that you wanted. 

You weren't trapped in a tower, just a suffocating gym full of unnecessary decorations, harsh lightning, over the top laughter and last minute choices. So, as the plot of your life demanded, you did what any unhinged fairytale princess would do. 

You ran. 

The music inside the gym was too loud, and not in a fun way, but the I-can't-think-over-the-beat-of-the-music kind of way. You were enjoying the night initially, clicking pictures with your friends, laughing obnoxiously at every stupid thing like this was your last chance at being happy, drinking mocktails and dancing like the universe had pressed a pause button just for this moment. 

One moment you were having the time of your life, the next moment your dress started to feel too tight at the ribs. Everyone was enjoying their night but it all started feeling like too much. You dramatically pushed open the side door of the gym, the kind no one really uses because its creaking sound made goosebumps crawl on your skin. Your heels clicked against the tiles of the school's empty hallway as you exhaled deeply. Hands raising up to undo your updo, it has started to give you a headache. You put the bobby pins inside your gown's pocket, hair now loose and you flicked them back as they fell on your face. 

Your steps were rushed, more quicker than you meant, mind set only on getting outside, breathing real air, and tearing off the god awful heels that had been punishing you all night. Your head was hung low, eyes focused on your hands grabbing onto the fabric of the gown to walk better when you lost your balance by bumping against something. Or someone. 

The sudden jolt knocked the air out of your chest, and you lost your balance, the sound of your heel giving up was louder than your surprised gasp. But before your night could get any worse than this, two hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer in the heat of the moment. Your hands settled against the person's shoulder in a frail attempt at stabilizing yourself. 

For a moment, everything stilled. You could feel the fingers tighten a bit at your sides before your eyes met him, like he was making sure this moment was real. Your heart beat loudly in your chest and with the little amount of space you had in between you, there was no doubt that he could feel it too. 

"Easy, Rapunzel." His lips curled into a smirk, his voice dripping with amusement, "I don't know why you're running away, but I got you." You broke out of the trance the stupidly gorgeous man in front of you had trapped you in. You pulled back, stepping away to continue your way when you were yanked back by your hair. You hissed, hands reaching up to hold the area that stung, turning around slightly to find some of your hair tangled in his shirt button. 

His eyes widened, hands fumbling against his button to free your hair. You stepped closer, removing his hands gently. "Let me," your fingers moved carefully, occasionally brushing against his chest. His breath hitched, but neither of you dared to break the moment. 

"All done," your voice trembled at the end. You gave him a tight smile, stepping back only to stumble again when your heel completely gave up and your ankle twisted a little. His hands reached out for you again, this time he grabbed your hand instead before crouching down to inspect your leg. 

"Okay, I need you to sit down somewhere first," he looked up at you, hands on your ankle and you nodded. He gently unbuckled the heel and slid it off, his hands lingering as he checked for any injury. You winced as soon as your foot met the floor, the discomfort undeniable. He noticed the flicker of pain in your eyes as you tried to stand, "don't move," he said, standing up and carefully lifting you in his arms to look for a place to sit.

"What are you doing?" You hissed, eyes darting towards your surroundings to check if anyone noticed. "Taking you somewhere comfortable, Rapunzel." He stepped out of the school and towards the parking area, casually adjusting you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. You could clearly see the small freckles under his eyes from up close. You looked away.

"Why do you keep calling me Rapunzel?" You questioned as he put you down to sit on small stairs that led up the parking lot. He huffed out a breath, removing his blazer and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. He rested his hands on his hips as he looked at you, "well for starters you look like a princess," your eyes widened, heat creeping on your face and he stuttered, realizing the weight of his words. 

"What I mean is," he started, the tip of his ears turning red as he struggled to explain, "your long hair, purple gown, the dramatic exit from the prom, should I keep going?" You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. Then you pondered over his words, eyes falling down on your gown, the lavender satin dress with sheer tulle overlay shining softly under the moonlight. "Okay okay, I get it. I was having a moment, but don't romanticize my downfall like that!"

He laughed, turning his head towards the school's entrance before his eyes locked into you, with a mischievous smile he sat in front of you, hands on your knees, "sorry, but if you're gonna stumble into my arms in a gown, I have to romanticize it." The subtle emphasis on the word 'have' didn't go unnoticed by you. "Where do you live? Let me drop you home, you clearly cannot walk." You took a moment to think, realizing that your parents won't be able to pick you up since they were busy, and you didn't want to ruin your friend's night, you agreed with him.

He carried you bridal style, your high heels dangling from his hand which supported the back of your thighs. "Why are you out here though? Shouldn't you be enjoying the prom night?" You felt him shrug, lips forming a pout, "my date ditched me." Your mouth fell open at his words, but you quickly closed up, "that is so sad." His eyes found yours and he just smiled, "nah, it's fine. I wasn't interested in her, we just agreed to go with each other since both of us didn't have any dates."

"What's your name?" His eyes widened in disbelief, lips parting slightly, "you don't know me?" You arch your eyebrows, wondering if you were meant to know him, but when he called your name in mild offense, you gulped. "Well of course you wouldn't know me, you seem to be content with that little friend circle of yours to notice anyone else." There was a tinge of disappointment in his voice but you could be wrong, "I'm Sim Jaeyun, or Jake as other's call me."

"Ah, Jake. The golden boy?" He narrowed his eyes at you, "you remember me as a golden boy but not my face?" You smiled sheepishly, hands tightening around his neck to steady yourself, "well you aren't wearing your glasses, your hair is parted, you're not wearing your signature oversized hoodie, and half of your face isn't drowned by a book, so not my fault." 

He let out a chuckle at your words, shaking his head, "isn't this like, one of those book moments where I take off my glasses, do my hair, wear a nice outfit and suddenly I'm not invisible anymore?"

"No. You look cute with those glasses, but without them you look like someone who'd steal a crown, flirt his way out of trouble and still get the girl somehow." 

"Did you just compare me to Flynn Rider?"

"Well you compared me to Rapunzel."

It was supposed to be nothing, just a kind soul helping you in a time of distress, a one time thing. But somehow, it wasn't. You shared each other's numbers after that, then coffee, then late night walks and the rest is history. His friends became your friends. It was easy being with him, he was the kind of person who never made you second guess his intentions. Always so attentive, always so caring. He made it far too easy to fall, and your heart wasn't built strong enough to resist his softness.

You left for university after high-school graduation. He ran to the airport and hugged you like he wouldn't see you again. You promised each other you'd keep in touch. You did. Well, sort of.

And now, years later, you're back, in a different city than your hometown. You had informed your parents about the job you got at a city more opportunistic than yours, how the pay and standard of living was something you didn't want to compromise. "I'll just be a few hours away, mom. You can visit me whenever you like." That didn't stop a pout forming on your mom's face. 

The ringing of your phone pulled you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen, Mom, you smiled picking up the phone.

"Hey!" You said, trying to keep your voice steady. The boxes were still unopened, your shoes were still on. "Did you reach safely?" Her voice was laced with concern, and you sighed closing the door of your apartment behind you. 

"Yeah, just got in a few minutes back." You replied, sitting on your plastic covered couch. "Okay! Be safe." You nodded even though she couldn't see you, "yeah, yeah. I'll call you or dad if anything happens!" You chuckled, pulling your phone away from your ears, "No don't call us." Your eyes narrowed at her words, feeling slightly offensive, "and here I thought you cared about me."

"I do. But we still live away from you. Call Jake instead, he will run to you in no time." Your eyes widened, and you choked on the air as soon as his name left your mom's mouth, "Jake? Sim Jake? Why would I call him?" You could practically imagine your mom rolling her eyes just by the way a sigh left her lips, "why wouldn't you? Isn't he your best friend?"

"He is, or was...I don't know...I don't want to bother him," you hissed, standing up from the couch and moving towards your bedroom balcony. "You will never be a bother for him," now it was your turn to roll your eyes, "I haven't talked with him in ages. I don't know how he will feel about me returning." 

"He will be thrilled." You frowned at your phone as if you were on FaceTime with your mother, "how would you even know?" You heard her mutter something under her breath before she deadpanned, "how do you think we found an apartment for you when we never went to that city?" Oh you were doomed from the beginning.

You were about to whine to her about doing things without your knowledge when your doorbell rang, increasing your heartbeat in the process, "that must be him, I informed him about your arrival too." Great. You hung up the phone and hastily made your way towards your door. Your hand hesitated before turning the knob, for a second you wondered if you'll be able to face him after all this time.

The door opened with a barely there creak, and there he was, Jake. His hair was a little long, shoulders a little broad, but his eyes still held the same softness it did, his lips still curled around the edges with the same warmth. And before you could stop yourself, your feet moved. 

Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. You felt his breath hitch right against the crook of your neck, followed by a slow, hesitant drag of his hands around your waist to pull you closer. You closed your eyes, burying your head on his shoulder, all it took was one look at him for your feelings to come crashing down at you like water released from a dam, sudden and impossible to stop.

You pulled away from him, barely. He smiled, the same boyish smile that made you realize how deep you had fallen for him. "Hey!" There was a quiet tremble in his voice, almost like he wanted to say more but decided against it. You smiled, "Hi," and it felt like you were back in high school, saying goodbye without ever saying what you actually wanted to. 

"Um..." your brows creased a bit as you stepped away from Jake, he smiled awkwardly and moved aside to reveal a girl behind him, holding a few bags in her hands as she fidgeted in her place. "This is Mina," Jake said quickly, "she volunteered to help unpack, I hope you don't mind. We can leave if it's too much for you. I know how much new people overwhelm you."

You looked at Jake for a second before they landed on Mina, her hair tied up in a casual bun, her tank top loose and tucked into her jeans. She looked pretty, the kind of pretty that didn't take much effort to maintain. 

She took a step forward, now standing right in front of you and pushed the bags in your hand with a smile on her face, "I hope you're not allergic to Thai food." You blinked, "what?"

She looked at Jake briefly as you took the bags from her hands then back at you, "we bought dinner."

"Oh?" You nodded quickly, stepping aside to let them in, "please come in." You internally winced at how awkward you sounded but you didn't fret over it, you weren't prepared for any of this anyway. 

Jake walked into your apartment like it's his second home, even when this wasn't your hometown. Mina followed his lead, eyes roaming around the unopened boxes and bubble wrapped furniture lying around. Jake turned around, smiling at her softly before his eyes found yours, "Mina, this is-"

"I know," she grins, cutting him off, turning her head towards you as you approached them, "you're the best friend. Jake never shuts up about you." Your heart skipped at her words, but you nodded, forcing a smile, "It's nice to meet you."

"I was almost out of the apartment to come here when Mina stopped me," Jake started. Mina rolled her eyes then smiled at you, "I just thought you won't mind an extra hand at helping. I was free, and I understand how much effort moving in requires." Jake shrugged, nudging her by his elbow, "the food was her idea," he smiled. 

"That's really sweet of you," you thanked, your eyes darted between them as Mina sighed in relief at your words, at the way she leaned in towards Jake, at the way he didn't seem to notice the action. They looked comfortable beside each other, too comfortable. It was almost like she had been around him long enough to matter. 

"Let's get started with unpacking," you nodded your head at Jake, and three of you made your way towards different areas to unpack. You made your way towards the bedroom, while Jake took charge of the living room and Mina headed towards the kitchen. For a while soft music from Jake's playlist echoed throughout your apartment along with occasional hum of Mina's gentle voice whenever any of her favorite songs played.

You didn't pay attention to the time that had passed since you started unpacking but the sound of laughter resonating in your apartment made you step out of your bedroom. Your eyes fell upon your living room, all of the things placed just as you informed Jake to do. It looked beautiful.

You made your way towards the kitchen where the voices came from, steps halting as you saw Mina and Jake laughing together at something stupid, "Jake, there's no such thing as proper technique for opening jars." His eyes trailed over her figure, "there is! It's called 'proper wrist torque,' it is a thing!"

Mina rolled her eyes, swatting his arm, "stop being dramatic, let me do my work!" Jake grinned back like he always did when someone got annoyed with his antics. You hovered near the kitchen door, watching the way they interacted with each other, they looked good together. 

"Need help?" You asked, finally stepping in. Jake's smile widened as he looked at you, "yes, Mina thinks I'm lying about the proper wrist torque, tell her about it." Mina giggled before you could say anything further, "he's just flexing because I couldn't open the jar. Don't fret over it." You managed to smile at them, "looks like you guys have it figured already."

After a few hours, you groaned lightly stretching your back after you were done with unpacking and cleaning, "seriously guys," you started smiling at Mina and Jake, "thank you so much for helping with unpacking, it would have taken me forever to do this alone." Mina grinned at your pouty expression and made her way towards you, slinging her arm around your shoulders, "I know right! Call me whenever you want any help, I'm so glad to have a girlfriend around me," she squealed excitedly but looked at you expectantly at the last sentence.

"I'm glad to have you around too, Mina." Her face lit up at your words and she beamed at Jake, "I made a new friend!" You couldn't help the smile forming on your face at her excited state and Jake shook his head looking at both of you softly. "I'll go get some ice-cream for all of us after I throw this trash out, you guys wrap everything up and reheat the food in the meantime." Both of you nodded at Jake, bidding him goodbye and continuing your work in silence. 

You and Mina slouched against your couch after finishing your wrap up, you played a random movie on your TV as you waited for Jake to come back. You sighed, feeling exhaustion take over you after a long day of travel and moving in. Mina looked at you from where she was sitting beside you and smiled, extending her hand towards you and holding your wrist gently, "you okay?" 

Her concerned voice got you out of your thoughts and you smiled at her, albeit a weak one, "yeah, just tired." She hummed, nodding her head in understanding. A couple of minutes passed by in silence, none of you making a move to fill the empty void then suddenly her voice echoed in your ears, "you know he always talks about you, and I got really curious because of him."

You glanced at her, "Jake?" She nodded, releasing her hold on your wrist and tucking her knees up, "yes, he really missed you while you were away." You heart tugged at her words but you masked it with a laugh, "hmm he's clingy like that." She shook her head, smiling down at her lap but didn't correct you because it was the truth. Jake was clingy, but not with everyone, then her eyes landed on you as you bit your lips, a knowing smile creeping up on her face, "that's Jake for you." 

The doorbell rang just as you were done reheating the food, "I'll open it!" Mina yelled out before making her way towards the door. "Come on, I'm hungry and I need sleep too," you heard Jake yell as he made his way towards the dinning table in the kitchen, Mina following suit. Three of you ate in silence, finally realizing how hungry you actually were. Jake was scrolling through his spotify playlist after berating both your and Mina's taste in music. 

Mina reached over towards Jake's and stole a piece from his plate. Jake didn't blink, didn't even react as he kept his eyes on his phone. "That was mine," He deadpan as he glanced at Mina briefly. "You'll survive," she shot back, chewing on her food like it was just another day, like they have done this before, like they have their own rhythm. 

Mina turned towards you as all of you finished eating your meals, "I hope today wasn't awkward for you, I really enjoyed your company." Your eyes fell upon Jake who was looking at Mina then you smiled at her, "It's fine really. Thank you for the food and your help. I truly appreciate it." She turned towards Jake and put her head on his shoulder as she sighed in relief at your words. 

You smiled at Jake but your heart stuttered, you wanted to ask 'are you two dating?' but the words got stuck between your throat. Instead you just bid them goodnight and watch them get inside the car and drive off. 

"It's been a while, I missed you so much," Jungwon's arms circled around your shoulders as soon as he and Jake arrived at your apartment. You laughed, sliding your arms around his waist nonetheless, "I missed you too." He sat on your couch as Jake made his way towards your kitchen to grab some drinks and you sat beside Jungwon asking about his life updates.

"I heard from Jake you'll be moving away to Japan for a while?" Jungwon nodded his head, hands reaching out to grab the drink Jake bought. "I just came and you're going," you pouted, Jake chuckled from your other side, head leaning on your shoulder to look at Jungwon. You felt a quiet thrill bloom inside your chest and Jungwon gave you a cheeky smile before Jake spoke, "It's okay, it will be for 3-4 months, then we can have our little friend group back."

"And Mina too," Jungwon added, a small smile gracing up on his lips, "have you met Mina yet?" You nodded, "she helped me with the unpacking and also bought me food, I should bring something for her as a thank you." Jake handed you the drink, your fingers brushing against his as you took it from him. "Have you met Heeseung?" Your eyes narrowed at Jungwon, confusion dawning on your face, "isn't he studying law in London?" 

"No, he's here. He wanted to do business instead so he left and came here." You hummed, placing your drink down on the table, "you didn't tell me about him." You turned towards Jake after you pulled away from him and he just shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, "you never asked." Jungwon snickered as you glared at Jake, feeling his heart filled with warmth at the familiar scene playing in front of him, "I missed you two together so bad." 

You smiled at Jungwon, ruffling his hair, "and I missed you." Jungwon pouted, fixing his hair. "I need to leave, I've to pick up Mina from her work," your gaze followed Jake as he grabbed his things, a weird coil building inside your stomach at the thought of him picking her up from the work. "Jake!" Jungwon called out as Jake opened the door to go out, he spun back, raising his eyebrows at the younger one, "I parceled the documents which Mina wanted on your address, tell me when she'll get it."

Jake nodded his head and then the door shut behind him, "Mina's documents?" You questioned, turning in your seat to face Jungwon, "why didn't you just parcel it to Mina's house?" He tilted his head in confusion, "because they live together." You could feel your heart stop as soon as those words left Jungwon's mouth, "live together?" He hummed in response, "yes, didn't Jake tell you?" No he didn't, you wanted to say instead you shook your head and smiled, "the topic never came up." That explained the closeness.

You sat on your bed, looking at the time, 06:30 PM. Jake had called you when you were on your lunch break that he wanted to invite you for dinner and after trying to dodge his invitation a couple of times, you reluctantly agreed. You sighed, contemplating whether it will be a good idea or not but you found yourself getting ready to go to his apartment. 

It was past 07:00 PM when you made your way towards his apartment complex, you decided to walk since he lived only a few blocks away. The evening sky had darkened, streetlights lightening up the path you walked on. You sighed when you spotted the name of the apartment building Jake had mentioned, your eyes unintentionally fell upon the balcony with floor length window, with lights low and golden, you spotted Jake through the open blind and your steps flattered.

You watched as Jake sat on the chair near the window, a slight wince adorning his face. Hoodie sleeves pushed up and hair slightly messy. Mina came up and sat in front of him, on the floor, cross legged, a small box in her hand. She reached up to take one of Jake's hands in hers, opening the box and taking out some ointment and bandages. 

You swallow the lump forming in your throat as you stood there and watch as Mina carefully applied the bandage and flick his forehead when he leaned down. You couldn't hear their conversation but you saw Jake smiling at Mina who was pouting. Jake reached forward to flick her forehead back but she caught his hand midair. She said something which made Jake shake his head and lean away, inspecting his hand. 

Mina gently took his hand in hers, she talked about something you couldn't decipher and Jake just watched her with his soft eyes. You froze in your spot, feeling like you've seen something you shouldn't have, something intimate. You felt like you should turn around, almost. But then you took a deep breath and made your way towards their apartment. 

"Finally, we have been waiting for you." Mina welcomed wrapping her arms around, as soon as you took off your jacket and hung it on the hanger. She took the bag from your hand and made her way inside their kitchen, running past Jake who made his way towards the living room. You slipped off your shoes, smiling at him, "Hey!" You started making your ways towards the couch.

Jake stepped forward, his arms sliding across your waist to pull you closer and dip his head on your shoulder. You inhaled sharply before easing into his hold and sliding your hands across his shoulders. "Hey..." you heard him breathe out, voice low enough for your ears only. He let go of you with a lopsided smile, holding your hand in his as he dragged you towards the couch. 

"What happened to your hand?" You questioned as you sat on one side of the couch, beside Jake. His eyes travelled towards his now bandaged hand, "he cut it while helping me with the dinner, he's so irresponsible." Mina sat on the other side of Jake, and he rolled his eyes but leaned back on the couch. "You should be careful," you frowned and Jake slid his hand behind your shoulders to rest on the couch. "It's fine, not that deep."

Mina leaned towards Jake, her hand reaching out to hold his injured one, examining if it was properly bandaged. "You don't have to keep doing that," Jake said, amusement laced in his voice as he watched her. "You don't take care of yourself properly," she mumbled, and your chest tightened at her words. 

"Um..you guys start the movie, I need to make a call, be right back." You watched as Mina went inside the bedroom, the door opened wide enough for you to spot Jake's favorite artist's poster plastered across his walls, then it closed behind her. You sighed, watching her be so comfortable around Jake, being so comfortable about using his belongings as if they were hers, it almost reminded you of your younger self when you and Jake were close enough to use each other's things without any care. It suddenly dawned upon you how many things you missed while being away from him.

Your gaze was still fixed on Jake's bedroom door, lost in thought when you felt his hand gently cup your cheek. He turned your face towards him, his movements gentle but sure, silently asking for your attention. "You good? Need something?" Your words got lost in your mouth as you looked into his eyes, he tilted his head, waiting for you to say something but his hand felt so warm against your cheek that you found yourself leaning into it.

Jake smiled, his hand moving from your cheek to your shoulder to pull you closer, "guess your work tired you out," you hummed, still unable to form any words. He then slid his fingers in yours, intertwining them together before giving your hand a gentle squeeze. Mina came back after sometime, slumping against the couch before sighing and leaning her head on his shoulder. 

He adjusted his position so she could lean into him properly, his hand still holding yours but suddenly you felt suffocating. Half way through the movie, Mina whispered something to Jake and he laughed, shaking his head as he whispered something back. You could hear them if you focused enough but you decided otherwise. It felt more like trespassing than eavesdropping. Jake's hand left yours to offer you some popcorn, your fingers brushed against his as he passed you the bowl but you pulled back, eyes trained on the movie playing in front of you.

"Jake help me with serving the dinner," Mina requested as she made her way towards the kitchen. Jake followed soon, but you stayed behind, eyes still focused on the TV. You could hear them from the living room, their voices low, you could hear the way Mina complained about something, followed by his voice. Mina laughed after that, loud and clear and you could hear Jake shushing her as he too laughed with her. 

You heard the clink of dishes being placed on the counter, you turned your head to see if they were done, just to see Jake gently patting her head as he passed by her, and how she smiled up at him like it's the easiest thing in the world. You reminded yourself that it shouldn't hurt, but it did. It really, really did. And you weren't sure what to do with your feelings. 

The rest of the hours pass by in blurry haze, your eyes fall upon the clock, "oh? It's getting late. I should head back." You felt Mina grab your hand when you tried to get up from your seat, "stay the night, I like having you around, it's weekend anyway." Your eyes fell upon Jake who leaned against the doorframe, "stay?" You couldn't bring yourself to reject their offer when both of them looked at you with the same puppy eyes. 

"Let me get something comfortable for you to wear," Mina grinned as she disappeared inside her room. Jake tapped your shoulder, "thank you for staying, Mina keeps on talking about you. I think you'd get along well since you're so alike." You nodded, "I feel so too, it will take some time but I'll get used to her." He smiled, leaning his hand on your shoulder. "Does she treat you right?" You couldn't help but ask, you heard Jake hum, "yes she does, I never thought I'd say this but we work well somehow." 

You forced yourself to smile, Mina came out of her room just to drag you inside it, not before yelling, "goodnight Jake, it's girls night now." She gave you a hoodie and shorts and pointed towards the bathroom attached to her room. You cleaned yourself up, Mina following suit, while she used the bathroom, you changed your clothes.

Mina came out of the bathroom, now changed into her own pajamas, "this hoodie is a bit too oversized for you, don't you think?" You questioned, laughing at the way it covered your hands and reached your mid-thigh as you climbed her bed. Mina laughed with you and made her way to sit beside you, "it looks good on you." You shook your head, dangling the sweater paws in the air and Mina leaned on your shoulder laughing at your actions, "It's Jake's actually, that's why it's oversized."

You froze, "It's Jake's?" She nodded, her smile flattering a bit, "why? Is that an issue?" You shook your head, your brows creasing, "that wouldn't be an issue with you right?" She tilted her head in confusion and your heart squeezed at the familiar action, "no? It's not an issue with me." You sighed, if she didn't have an issue then you weren't going to have any issue. 

"Wait!" Mina squealed, reaching towards the nightstand as you pulled up the covers to sleep. "What? You okay?" You asked, feeling concerned. She turned towards you, showing her phone, "I don't have your number or a picture for the contact pic, let me snap it real quick, you look so pretty right now." Your eyes widened as she panned the camera towards you, leaning towards her vanity mirror to check yourself, you smooth down your hair and adjusted the hoodie.

"Smile for me please?" She requested in a sing-song voice and you couldn't help but smile genuinely as she clicked a few pictures as you posed. "Let me take your pictures too," you reached for your phone and clicked some of her photos. "Okay! Let's take some together," you grinned, taking selfies with different poses and laughing obnoxiously at them. 

You look at her as she saved your number and the contact pic, her hair a bit messy with all the movements, but a radiant smile plastered on her face as she proudly showed you the contact. And as you watch her, you realise Mina is too good, too perfect. You couldn't bring yourself to find a single flaw. Maybe Jake was indeed right when he said they both work together very well. 

You woke up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Mina's side of bed was empty, you neatly made her bed and went inside the bathroom to get freshened up. You brushed your teeth and took a quick shower before slipping into your own clothes. You neared the door of her bedroom when you heard hushed voices coming from the living room. 

"You could've just told me about it, Mina." Jake's voice echoed, "it's not that simple!" Mina's voice snapped back. "This is not about you Jake- everything isn't that simple!" There's a silence followed by Mina's words. You opened the door just as Jake turned around and went inside his room, slamming the door shut and Mina looked at you, a concerned expression plastered on her face.

"You okay?" You questioned, stepping towards her and pulling her into a hug. You felt her stiffen under your hold but then she relaxed, hugging you back. "Yeah, I am." You frowned, "did you two fight?" She pulled away shaking her head, "he's just concerned." She smiled, eyes trailing towards Jake's door, "I think he needs someone to talk to, he isolates himself when he gets like this. I need to go out for a bit. It's urgent. Please talk to him." You nodded your head at her and watched her rush out of the door.

You stood outside Jake's room for a second longer than you should have, hand curled into a loose fist, your knuckles ready to knock. You took a deep breath and knocked. The silence followed made you wonder if he'll even open the door. "What?" You could hear the bite in his voice and for a moment it made you stutter but then you answered, "Jake, it's me." There's a faint ruffle of movements from the other side and then the door's yanked opened and you find Jake looking at you, wide eyed. "Can I come inside?"

Jake nodded, stepping aside to let you in. You stepped in quietly, heart in your throat. He didn't say anything as he made his way towards his bed and sat. You sat on his desk chair, eyes raking over his messy hair as if he had been running his hands through it. "You and Mina....are you okay?" You started carefully and he let out a short laugh, "I don't know." You made your way towards his bed to sit down on the floor in front of him, "Mina said you might need someone to talk to." 

"She said that?" He looked at where you were sitting, you nodded. "Of course she did." You sighed, feeling frustration radiate off of him, "I don't really know why you guys are fighting but it will get better." He pulled his hair, groaning, "I hope so." You didn't make any other attempt to talk with him, so you both sat there in silence for a while. "Come sit beside me," he finally said, patting the space beside him. You hesitated for a moment before carefully sitting beside him. 

"Can we just stay like this for a while?" He asked, shifting in his place before he placed his head on your shoulder. You took a deep breath and your heart beat stuttered at his actions, he's close, he's too close for your heart to not ache with longing. You don't dare to say anything, just reach out to hold his injured hand in yours, "it will get better, I'm here."

"You good?" You were bought back from your thoughts when your coworker Jay called your name. You nodded your head back as you handed him the documents which he wanted. He gave you another look, eyebrows creasing, "you're spacing a lot, are you still not used to the office life here?" You smiled at him, shaking your head, "I love working here, there's just something on my mind."

He tapped his finger on his chin as he swirled in his chair beside you, "if you feel comfortable, you can share it with me, you're the only person here that I like to hang around with," you laughed but agreed with him. Jay joined a few months before you did and the two of you are the only people of your age, making him instantly take a liking to you. "Okay, maybe you could help," you thought out loud and he waited patiently.

"So, there's this boy-" 

"A boy? Interesting." You looked at him from the corner of your eyes, "don't interrupt me." He put his hands up in surrender, then leaned up to check if any higher ups were taking a round, "tell me." You sighed, leaning against your chair, "I have feelings for this guy I've been friends with, I went out of the country for university and now that I'm back, he already has someone."

"That's-" he looks at you briefly before averting his eyes somewhere else, trying to find the right words to say, "that's very sad, are you trying to move on?" You pout at him as you lean against your desk, "I don't know, I thought my feelings for him vanished but it didn't. And they look so good together, they even live together." Jay patted your back in an attempt to console you, "it will be alright." You gently hit your head against the desk, "will it really be alright?" 

Jay gave you a solemn smile, "with time it gets better." You sighed, mind swirling with everything that had happened ever since you came back, "they had a fight but then next day everything was fine between them. I think they patched things up, I just want him to be happy." You wondered if not saying anything at all will ever do you any good but when Jake called you next day to inform that everything is settled between them you stopped yourself from saying anything further. "Whatever, Mina said she'll help me with my groceries so I need to go."

You bid Jay goodbye and made your way towards the store Mina had sent the address to, you remember her gushing about them selling the groceries more fresher than other stores. You smiled, waving your hand as you called out her name, she turned around, running towards you and engulfing you in a hug. "Okay let's shop." You followed her lead, "Mina," you called out as both of you were picking up items listed on your phone, she hummed in response, "can I ask you something?"

"Yes, ask me anything." She grinned as she pushed the cart towards the cash counter when her phone lit up with multiple notifications. "You and Jake," you collected your groceries in the bag, "how long have you been together?" Mina hurriedly replied before placing her phone back in her pocket, "hmm? almost 3 years." You nod, taking the bags from the counter and make your way towards your car. "Three years is a long time, so even if you guys do fight, it ends up fine right?"

She glanced at you, helping you keep the bag in the backseat of your car, "I mean yes, it isn't like this is our first fight. We handle it very well." You hum in acknowledgement, three years, no wonder they get along so well. Mina nudged you playfully as you got lost in your head, "you good?" You laugh with all your teeth, "totally." Mina doesn't question you further, both of you sit inside your car and you drive off to drop Mina before going home.

You felt your phone ring when you were about to go to sleep, switching the lamp on, you answered the call, "Jake?" You heard some mixed voices from the other side before it got silent, "why didn't you take me with you for grocery shopping?" You frowned as you heard Jake whine, "she suggested me, I would've went with you if you suggested first."

"Mina this is not fair, you are literally plotting to replace me from her life." You heard Jake accuse and Mina shot back, "I'm not doing that, don't accuse me of things I didn't do." You laughed at their bickering but stopped when you heard Mina's phone ringing followed by a complete silence. "You need to spend time with me too!"

"Yes, Jake. I will, where did Mina go?" You could picture Jake pouting as he let out a huff, "I don't know, she's always on her phone these days, barely spends time with me." You nodded, your mind drifting towards the countless times Mina's phone rang. You figured it wouldn't be Jake since he was working overtime, that made you question who's taking Mina's attention so much. 

"It's okay," you consoled, talking with him for a few more minutes and hung up. It was a long week ahead but you were looking forward to the weekend, maybe you'd be able to relax a bit and explore the city more. Your phone buzzed with a notification and you looked at the screen to see a text message from Mina. 'Don't mind him, he's just dramatic. I won't mind ditching him for you.' You laughed before sending her a reply and drifting off to sleep.

"Jay, don't worry about it. You'll do great," you were on a call with Jay, trying to encourage him for his upcoming presentation. "Figured you'd say this but you were just like this last week when it was your turn." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, "yes that's exactly why I'm telling you not to worry. The clients are very easy going, I have worked with them on a short project." Jay sighed, probably pacing around his room, "okay, I believe you." You smiled, "good, now go to sleep."

You hung up the call and changed into an oversized t-shirt and shorts when you heard it, a faint tap. You frown, halting your actions, then you hear it again, a little bit clearer this time, a little sharper. Your stomach flips when you realise the sounds are coming from the window, you gulped, slowly making your way towards it when you hear another tap. You wipe the sweat formed on your hand on your shorts and move aside the curtain to check.

And there he is. Jake. Standing below your window like it's not a big deal. You open the window, disbelief written all over your face. He smiled up at you before yelling, "Rapunzel, let your hair down." You closed your eyes to prevent saying anything harsh, your mind still hazy with confusion, "I'm not letting my hair down, what are you even trying to do?" He laughed at your words, and you found yourself staring at him, with hoodie half-zipped, hair messy due to wind, one hand still clutching a small pebble in his hand but he's grinning like he had won a lottery. 

"Your window is closer than your phone, I tried calling you but it kept saying you were busy." You stared at him, "it's almost midnight." He nodded, "I couldn't sleep." You shut your mouth after that, knowing all too well how he used to reach out to you whenever he had a struggle sleeping. And just as you were about to yell at him that you'll unlock the door, he started climbing. 

"Wait-Jake? No! What the hell are you trying to do?" He gripped the drain pipe with one hand as his other helped in hoisting himself up, "will you chill?" He muttered, swinging one leg over the windowsill and slipping into your room with a soft thud. You stepped back instinctively, "are you being serious?" You crossed your arms across your chest, "This isn't high school, I live alone now, why would you climb through my window?"

He dusted his hands, slipping his shoes off and running off to keep them on the shoe cabinet near the entrance. He comes back, taking a look at your room like he hasn't seen it before. "Nice bed sheet," he smirked, clearly avoiding answering your previous question. "Nice trespassing," you retorted, which made him laugh. He shrugged his shoulders, slipping off his hoodie, now wearing only a t-shirt, he made his way towards your bed and sat leaning against the headboard, like it's his. 

"I didn't want to be alone," he confessed, his voice quieter than before, "this was the only place I could think of to come, didn't know where else to go." Your heart tugged at the way his shoulders dropped as he talked, you nodded your head as you sat on the edge of your bed, "where's Mina?" He looked at you, his lips pouting a bit, "she's out I guess, told me she'd be busy." 

Jake didn't say anything for a while, just removed his watch, wallet and phone and kept it on your nightstand and laid down on your bed. You stayed where you were, now cross legged as you sat there and watched him without really meaning to. "Did you ever think about me when you were away?" He questioned, his voice low. You glanced at him before focusing your gaze on your lap, "always." 

He looked at you, eyes following the way your hands fidgeted, "Did you ever think about us?" You tilt your head up and he was already looking at you, "of course I did. You're my best friend, without you it felt a bit empty." He shifted in his place, smiling at your words, "it's kind of wild right, how we managed to live our lives without each other, all the time that passed, all the chances we missed." 

You don't answer him, too scared that your voice may betray you, too scared that your feelings would be overwhelmed if you dwell on that topic any more. Jake exhaled a deep breath, slowly reaching his hand towards you, fingers open, palm up. "Come here." Your heart stuttered, but you didn't say anything. You don't ask why, you force yourself to not overthink about it or try to find meaning behind his actions. You just take his hand, get up and lie down beside him, being careful of the distance. Almost touching, always almost. 

Jake cleared his throat, and you huff out a breath, staring at the ceiling. "Still can't sleep?" You ask, head turning towards him as he keeps on staring at the ceiling. "Not really," Jake mumbled, turning his body towards you. "What are you thinking about?" You mumbled, not daring to ruin the moment, he stayed quiet for a second, "nothing in particular, just how things have been lately." You nod, looking away, heart hammering in your chest as you force yourself to sleep.

You're not sure why you asked Mina to meet today, but here she is, sitting in front of you in a cozy cafe she mentioned she wanted to take you to. You watch her sipping her drink, eyes focused on the foam, smiling in a way someone does when their mind is floating in the cloud. "Can I share something with you?" Mina's voice brought you back from your thoughts. "Hm? Tell me," you smiled, sipping on your coffee as you waited for her.

"Heeseung asked me if I wanted to go to the open mic tonight," she started, glancing at you occasionally, "have you met Heeseung yet?" You shook your head no, "I met him in the passing, didn't get a proper chance to talk to him." Mina hummed, "do you think I should go?" You tilt your head, thinking about it, "is Jake going with you?"

"No, he is working overtime yet again. He wouldn't be interested anyway." You hummed, leaning your head on your palm, "then you should go." She smiled at you, a little giddy, a little nervous, "do you remember the dress I wore at Jungwon's party? The red one?" You nodded your head, "yeah, I remember. You looked great in that." Mina sat up straight, placing both her hands on the table, "you think so?" She giggled then her phone's notification went off and you frowned. 

"Jake's really been on the edge lately..." Mina started, making you confused, "why?" You questioned. "He's been kind of very protective of me lately," she looked out the cafe as if she's thinking about something, "I think he is worried." You sit straight, clearing your throat, "why would he be worried? Is everything fine between you two?" She sipped her drink, "everything is fine between us, I guess he doesn't want me to get hurt."

You don't reply to her, focusing all of your attention on finishing your drink. Of course Jake would be protective of her, he has every right to. Maybe he thinks with you in the picture Mina might get hurt because both of you share past memories which she wasn't a part of. You swallow the lump in your throat, "are you planning on going to that music fest you were gushing about?" And just like that the topic of the conversation shifted. 

You were excited to spend your Friday night watching reruns of your favorite show. You showered, changing into your pajamas and arranging your pillows to maximise your comfort when your phone rang, disrupting your peace. You groan, looking at the screen. Jake. "What are you doing?" You frowned before answering, "nothing, why?" There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, "can you come over?" 

"Mina told me you both were planning on going out to eat, why are you calling me?" You heard Jake sigh dramatically, "can't I call my best friend to hangout with?" You rolled your eyes but stood up to get dressed regardless, "I'll be there in few." You hung up the call, getting ready to go to him. You internally thanked yourself that you didn't cook anything. 

You reached his apartment, ringing the doorbell, you waited for him. Jake opened the door, and you stepped in, frowning a bit when he didn't step aside. His hands reached up to take your bag off your shoulder and help you with your jacket. You slipped off your shoes as he hung your jacket, "why's your apartment so dark?" You questioned and instead of answering, he stepped closer, embracing you in his arms. Your arms circled around his neck despite confusion creeping up on you because of his actions. 

He held your hand and made his way towards his bedroom, and you followed him mindlessly. He left your hand as he opened the door of his balcony and your steps halted. "Jake-" you couldn't bring yourself to continue what you were about to say. In front of you was a cozy dinner date set up, with candles and roses perched upon the table. Fairy lighting was hanging up from the ceiling, casting a warm glow on your face.

You swallowed, eyes roaming around the small set up before they landed on Jake, "where's Mina?" You asked, noticing her absence in the apartment. Jake's smile flattered but he masked it just a quickly, "she's busy, something came up so she isn't here." You nodded, making your way towards the set up as he pulled out a chair for you. He had planned a date with Mina but since she couldn't make it, he called you. Your heart tightened at the thought but you understood. With the amount of effort and money spent on this, you'd have done the same.

Both of you ate the dinner in silence aside from occasionally discussing how amazing the food was. And you found your thoughts drifting off to how lucky Mina is to be able to experience this with him. But you wondered what could be more important than spending time with your boyfriend on a weekend. 

You offered to do the dishes while Jake cleaned the table, "Jake, there's stain on my shirt, can you give me a clean shirt?" Jake threw one of his t-shirt at you when you made your way towards his bathroom to get changed. "Put your shirt in the laundry, I'll return it to you tomorrow," Jake yelled as you closed the door behind you. 

You changed into his t-shirt, the scent of his detergent along with a quiet musky smell, mixed with something sweet but so Jake engulfed you. You sighed, feeling your heartbeat quickened but you made your way out of his bathroom and towards their washing machine. You threw your shirt in the basket, crouching down to pick up a grey hoodie that fell off. 

The strong scent of cedarwood and leather hit your nose, a contrast to what you were used to smelling around Jake and Mina. You frowned but tossed the hoodie back inside the basket. You made your way towards the living room where Jake was, "did you change your perfume? Or use an alternate one?" You asked, leaning against the back of the couch.

"No? I only use the one which I'm wearing right now," you hummed, heading swirling with confusion, "why?" Jake asked as he looked at you. "Nothing. Just asking," you shrugged, "let's watch a movie?" He nodded, selecting the movie of your choice as he sat beside you. Hours passed by, the clock struck past 12, the ending credits rolled out but Mina still didn't show up. 

"I think I should go," Jake turned around to protest when the door clicked open, "thanks for having me today Jake, but I need to run some errand tomorrow early morning, it will be better if I'll go." You made your way towards the door to see Mina slipping off her heels, still in her work attire. "Hi babe!" She squealed as soon as she spotted you. You smiled, greeting her in return, then she made her way towards the living room before turning back to you, "had fun on your little date?" She giggled and you followed her inside the kitchen, leaving Jake sitting alone in the living room.

"Where were you?" You asked and she put the glass of water on the counter, "working, you know how bosses can be." She pouted, her shoulders slouched. You nodded your head, "I was just heading out, good night and rest well okay?" She nodded, opening her arms for you to hug and you chuckled, stepping closer to engulf her in a hug. "Good night babe," she mumbled, nuzzling her head at the crook of your neck. As soon as her hands wrapped around you, the strong cedarwood smell mixed with leather hit you again and you stiffened in her hold.

"Mina," you called out, pulling a bit away from her, "were you working late alone?" She shook her head, "yes, that's the reason it took so much time to finish." You took a deep breath, stepping away from her, "I see, I'll meet you tomorrow." You bid Jake goodbye and made your way out of their apartment before your mind ate you up again, trying to read into things. 

You made your way out of the elevator of your apartment after a hectic day at work, grimacing when you opened the door just thinking about making dinner. You came out of the shower, still feeling the tiredness seeping deep in your bones, you decided making ramyeon would be the best option. Just as you were about to head to the kitchen, your phone rang.

"Open the window, Rapunzel." Your eyes widened as you rushed to open the window and lo and behold, there he was, balancing himself and giving you a shit eating grin as soon as his feet landed on your bedroom. "Why can't you knock on my door like a normal person?" You pushed his shoulder, "where's the fun in that? Plus I bought food, let's eat." Your eyes finally landed on the bag of food in his hands, "how did you even manage to climb up with this in your hand?"

You followed him towards your kitchen, and started plating the door as he went ahead to slip off his shoes and clean himself up. "You're been coming here way too much," you squint your eyes at Jake who just scratched the back of his head, laughing awkwardly, "why? Do you not like my company?" He was amused as both of you sat down to eat, "it's not that, earlier you and Mina always visited together, I thought you both would continue to do so, it's slightly surprising she isn't around as much as she used to."

Jake's smile flattered a bit, but he shook his head. "She's too busy these days, things are not how they used to be," then his eyes found yours, "you don't find me annoying right? I can totally stop coming here if you want more alone time." Your chest tightens at his words and you reach out to gently squeeze his hand in yours, "why would you say that? If I did find you annoying, you'd be the first person to read into my actions." 

Jake laughed, nodding in agreement, because yes, he was someone who could read you the easiest and that's why he was confused as to why you were behaving so distantly with him than you used to, almost like you were slipping away. "My door's always open for you, Jake." He looked at you for a second before his hand turned up to hold yours, "I know." 

You sighed as both of you continued to eat the dinner in silence, Mina was spending less time in their apartment, she always bailed out of the plans last minute leaving you and Jake alone. Always so busy, always texting on her phone, you wondered if there was someone who was occupying her time. And somehow you couldn't forget about the scent of different cologne on that grey hoodie and on Mina when you had dinner with Jake, that night.

It was late at night, you had completed all of your chores and were snuggled up on your bed. The series you've been meaning to watch played in front of you, sighing you looked at the time then back towards your laptop screen. "What am I waiting for?" You wondered out loud as you focused your attention back on the screen. Your eyes kept on drifting towards your phone, groaning you closed the laptop and decided to sleep instead.

It was the weekend, after all these months you finally got the time to have a weekend all to yourself, without Jake, without Mina, without Jay, just you. But somewhere along the way, you started getting used to having them around, especially on weekends. You had no idea where Mina was, and Jake had informed you he'd be out with his coworkers. You huffed a breath, pulling the covers over your head and closing your eyes. 

The shrill of your callertune in the otherwise silent room woke you up from your slumber, patting your bed to find your phone, you opened one eye to realize it was Jake. You sat up, looking at the time, it was way almost midnight. You picked up the phone, voice still groggy from the sleep, "hello? Jake?" You called out, you could hear faint music coming from the background yet no one spoke then just as you decided to call his name once again, a voice rang, "um hi, this is Sunoo, Jake's coworker."

"Sunoo? Um where's Jake?" You could hear rustling from the other end, followed by a loud huff and then Sunoo's voice spoke, "Jake's passed out beside me, can you pick him up? I'll send you the location." You got up from your bed, already rummaging through your closet for your jeans and t-shirt, "Passed out? Gosh, why does he drink so much when he knows he can't handle it. I'll be there as soon as possible, send me the location.  Thank you." You hung up the phone, grabbing your keys to get down into your car and your phone screen lit up with a text message from Jake.

You reached the location, eyes wandering around to find Jake and his friends. You called Jake's phone to inform Sunoo about your arrival and he yelled your name when he spotted you near the entrance. "Geez, he isn't even sitting straight," you complained as Sunoo gave you Jake's phone and helped you to carry him till your car. "I tried calling Mina, but she wasn't picking up her phone so I called you instead. I'm sorry if I ruined your night but my house is too far to take him with me."

"It's okay, Sunoo. I'll handle him. Thanks for taking care of him for the meantime. I wasn't really doing anything so it's fine with me," you gave his shoulder a small squeeze in reassurance and got inside the car to drive Jake back to his apartment. You glanced at him as he slept on the passenger's seat, his brows furrowed as if he'd been stressed about something. You sighed, pulling up inside his parking lot. 

"Jake! Wake up," you shook him as you opened his side of the door, "I can't carry you till your apartment, you need to at least be awake, come on." You took off his seatbelt, and he stirred a bit. You sighed in relief and pulled him out of the car, locking it behind you. He draped his hand on your shoulder, leaning all of his weight on you, which made you stumble a bit. "Give me strength!" You muttered under your breath as one of your hands slid across his waist to help him walk. 

The walk from parking lot to elevator and then from elevator till his apartment door was more difficult than you imagined. But you managed anyway, you unlocked the door, internally congratulating yourself for being smart enough to get his keys before you pulled him out of the car. The apartment was dark, with no sign of life. You switched it on and dragged Jake towards his bedroom. 

"Wow, that was one hell of a struggle," you wiped the sweat off of your forehead after you laid him on his bed. You slipped off his shoes and put in the box where he keeps his collection, took off his jacket and accessories he wore and pulled the covers on him. Hesitantly, you leaned in, lifting your hand to his forehead, fingers brushing along the crease between his brows, like you could smooth it out, like you could understand the reason behind it. He looked so far away, and you weren’t sure if you were allowed to reach him.

You pulled back, getting up from the bed to leave his apartment. "Where are you going?" Your steps halted and you turned around, "to Mina's room?" You mumbled to yourself, confused, you stepped forward, checking if he was sleep-talking. You raised your eyebrows as his half lidded eyes stared back at you, "I thought you were asleep." Jake grinned lazily before a frown adorned his features, "why do you always leave me?" He sat up, eyes glossy and his cheeks flushed. 

"Huh?" You sat in front of him as a tear slipped from his, your hand reached up to wipe it and he leaned into it. He sighed, lips trembling, "things are not how they used to be." Your breath hitched as you remembered him saying those exact words when both of you ate dinner a few weeks ago. They weren't for you, he said those words for Mina. Your eyes landed on his intoxicated self, eyes closed as he nuzzled closer to your hand. He wasn't talking to you, he was thinking about Mina instead. 

You pulled away, hands trembling as you clutched your chest to ease the pain. Jake frowned as soon as you pulled away, he reached up, grabbing your neck to pull you closer, "you're doing it again, did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you baby?" Your breath hitched, hands falling on his chest to support yourself. Your nose brushed against his and the smell of alcohol brought you back to your senses. "Jake, you're drunk, what are you doing?"

He whined, tilting his head and leaning closer to trail his lips against your jaw. "I'm not drunk," he sighed against your skin, placing a kiss on your jaw. You closed your eyes, biting your lips and pushed him a little. "Jake please," your voice stuttered as he trailed kisses down your neck, the hand on your neck making your head tilt up and pull at your shirt's collar, another sliding across your waist to pull you closer. 

"Do you even realise how much I missed you?" He murmured against your shoulder before sucking on it. "I love you but you keep on pushing me away," he licked the spot which now adorned a purple bruise. You closed your eyes, I love you he said, yet he didn't have you in his mind. His hand slides down to tug at your shirt's button to get more access to your skin, fingers working efficiently to yank it open. "Jake, no!" Your eyes opened in shock and you grabbed his hands, standing up hurriedly to leave his room. You entered his kitchen, switched on the lights and opened his refrigerator to find something to drink. 

"I'm too sober for this shit," you mumbled, finding a few bottles of soju, grabbing one and opening it to chug it down. The liquid spilled off your mouth as you drank and it slid down your chest, staining your disheveled shirt. You put the now empty bottle in the trash bin, wiping the soju off your chin. You leaned against the counter, trying to shake off the ghost of Jake's lips on your skin. You made your way towards Mina's room, deciding to at least create distance between you and Jake since you didn't want to leave him alone in the apartment fully intoxicated. 

Your steps flattered as you reached for the doorknob of Mina's room, vision titling due to your careless movements. One hand gripped the cool metal while the other reached up to steady the dizziness clouding your head. You barely managed to take a breath when you felt a hand grab your shoulder to turn you around and push you against the door. Your hand slid off the knob, breath shallow as you stared up at Jake, pulse buzzing inside your veins. 

The cold wood pressed up against your spine as Jake closed the distance between your bodies, one hand sliding up to the wall beside your head, the other pressing against your stomach just to drag them towards your side. You winced slightly when his fingers dug in your skin, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek. His head dropped on your shoulder, and you heard a quiet whimper escape his lips before his body started trembling against yours as he sobbed. 

"I'm so sorry," he cried, hands clutching the fabric of your shirt, "Jake? Why are you crying?" You questioned as you rubbed his back to console him. "I don't know where I went wrong," your stomach churned with the way his voice cracked. He pulled away and you wiped the tears that flowed down his cheeks. His hands lifted up to cup your face, cheeks flushed red and eyes glassy as he looked at you. "My baby," he whispered, dipping his head low to capture your lips in between his.

You gasp against his lips, and he took it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, tilting his head to the side. Your hands grab his shoulders, to support yourself or to push him away, you can't figure out because your brain isn't cooperating with your body. The soju you drank hums low in your veins, your limbs feeling heavier and your thoughts lighter. 

He pulled away to catch his breath, your nails dug on his shoulder as you tried to gather your thoughts, "you're drunk." His lips part, and you blink up at him, his name's the only thing echoing in your brain. "So are you," he smirked, eyes darting towards your lips, "but both of us aren't drunk enough to imagine this, are we?" And the way he said those words, mixed with the way his eyes were locked into you as if you're the only thing that mattered made you do something which sober you would definitely regret. 

Your hands reached up, fingers brushing against his jaw, you pulled him towards you, grounding both of you into the moment. His hands settled on your waist, and your spine arched against the door. The soju in your body made you aware of every little thing that happened, the way he leaned his to connect his lips to yours, his breath against your mouth, the slight trembled in your chest, the way his hands bunched up the fabric of your shirt, everything. 

"I love you," he confessed, like it pained him to not say it out loud, he bent down, breaking his kiss and carried you towards his bedroom. You couldn't think of anything else other than his intoxicating scent. You wrapped your hands around his neck as he laid you down on his bed, hovering above you. "I hope you'll forgive me, cause I can't stop. Please, I need you." He kissed you again, his hands working on your shirt's button, this time though, you don't stop him. Your hands instead tug at the hem of his t-shirt and he broke the kiss, pulling his t-shirt over his head and throwing it away without a care.

He stayed like that for a while, kneeling between your spread legs, chest heaving, mouth parted and eyes focused solely on you. His hands traced your thighs, slow and deliberate like he had all the time in the world, and you shivered, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by this gaze. His hands slide up, now lurking dangerously near the waistband of your pants, eyes a little glassy but still focused on you. 

You lift your hips off of the bed, and he took it as a sign to slide your pants down alone with your panties. Your thighs closed around his hips as the cool air brushed against your wet folds, Jake frowned, fingers digging on your thighs as he dragged them till your knees to open them wider, "don't you dare to hide away from me." He grabbed one of your legs, hoisting it over his shoulder, kissing your ankle but never his eyes off you. You gulped, fisting the sheets. "So beautiful," he breathed, laying down on his stomach, one leg still perched over his shoulder, the other pinned down by his hand. 

His lips travelled down from your stomach, trailing kisses and bite marks across as he dipped lower and lower. He kissed your inner thigh before he pulled his tongue out to drag it against your slit. Your hips jolted with his sudden movements, hands instinctively reaching down to grab his hair, "Jake." He hummed against your pussy, sending vibration against it. Your toes dug onto his back as you moaned, back arching against the bed. 

He continued to lap at your core like he couldn't stop, his movements a little messy but eager. You bit your lips to suppress your moans and he reached out one of his hands to grab your chin, "wanna hear you make those pretty sounds baby." He then rested his hand against your stomach and pin you in place as he resumed his actions. "You taste so sweet baby, could stay here for hours," he smirked against your pussy, sucking on you and smiling as your moans got louder. His nose brushed against your clit, "fuck, Jake," you cried, head thrown back, "feels so good."

"Yeah?" He questioned, now rubbing your clit in circular motions as he continued to lick on your pussy. Your body jolted with the added pressure on your clit, a tight knot forming in your stomach, "Jake, I think-" you moaned, unable to express yourself with how good he made you feel, "I'm gonna cum." He nodded, never stopping his actions even when his hair stung from where you were pulling them. Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, sudden and all consuming and he pulled away after he made sure there was nothing left to waste. 

He climbed up, your hands reaching up to wipe the cum that stained his chin. He laughed at your actions, then dipped his head to capture your lips in a kiss, making you taste yourself. You dragged your hands down his chest towards the button of his pants, pulling it open, he stood up to remove his pants and boxers and come back towards you.

A sigh left your lips as you cupped his face to pull him closer, his hands slid behind your back to unclasp the hook of your bra. His other hand pulled one of the bra straps off your shoulder, then removed the piece of clothing fully from your body. 

"Fuck, why are you so beautiful?" He wondered, nibbling one of your nipples while his other hand squeezed the neglected one. He took notice of your blissed out state and adjusted a little to position the tip of his cock against your entrance. You gasped at the contact, gripping his arms to anchor yourself. He shifted his attention on your other boob, lips wrapping around the sensitive bud as he pushed it slowly. "Need you to relax for me," he muttered, looking down to where both of you were connected, "yeah?" He looked back up at your face and you nodded, once he felt your body relax, he slowly pushed more, half moaning, half groaning at the way your walls sucked him in. He nuzzled his head on your shoulder once he bottomed out, resisting the urge to move. 

"Shit, you're so warm and so tight." He groaned, kissing your neck to distract his thoughts, "tell me when you're ready." You nodded against his shoulder, getting overwhelmed by how full you felt. "Jake," you whispered, voice trembling, "move please." He perched himself on his elbows, kissing your forehead once before leaning his forehead against it. He sighed, pulling out till only the tip of his cock was buried in you, biting his lips, he slammed right in. "Jake, shit." You moaned, the friction of his cock against your walls too good to handle. 

He rocked his hips against yours, finding his rhythm. Your breath got caught in your throat, a startled gasp leaving your lips as he picked up his pace. He moaned loudly when he felt your clenching around him, again and again, sucking him right in. His fingers dug against your hips as he sat straight, lifting and angling your hips in order to thrust into you more deeply. Your eyes rolled back, fingers grasping for his hands as the new angle. "Baby, you feel so good, so good I can't stop," he whimpered, head clouded with the thoughts of chasing both of your releases. 

One of his hands slid down to rub circles around your clit, overstimulating your breast sensitive bud. "Jake, I'm close again," your tears fell down your cheeks, the sight making Jake's hips tremble. "Me too baby, fuck you look so beautiful right now, wish I could take a picture," his words made you clenched around his harder and without warning, you felt your orgasm wash over you, soaking his lower abdomen a bit as you trembled in his hold. He followed soon after, ropes of cum spilling inside you, hot and warm, his movements slowed enough and then he stopped completely. 

He dropped his weight on you, still buried deep inside you. Jake's breath evened out, too tired to move, his eyes fluttered close. And you don't remember when your own tiredness washed over you, pulling you back into slumber, too blissed out to mull over the consequences of your actions. 

You groaned slightly when you heard the ringtone of your phone. Your hands reached out towards the sound, patting the bed till it reached your phone. You squint your eyes, adjusting towards the brightness, the call went off. The silence that followed after that was more deafening than any sound, you felt a weight half draped at your side, you could feel another heart beating against your skin. You sucked in a breath, slowly removing yourself away from Jake's hold. Your phone rang again, you lowered the volume and looked back to see Jake was still deep in sleep. 

You threw Jake's t-shirt over your head, shutting his bedroom door behind, you picked up the phone, making your way inside Mina's room for privacy. "Hello?" You cleared your throat, "Hey! I'm so sorry I had to call you this late, you must've been asleep," Mina's cheerful voice rang on the other end of the call. "Wow you're really cheerful for someone who should be asleep," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. You heard a distant voice coming from her end, a call of her name, followed by Mina's awkward laugh.

"Umm...yeah....uh....I just saw multiple calls from Jake on my phone, it was on silent so I couldn't attend it, he puts his phone on vibration mode while sleeping so I knew it would be useless to call him so I called you instead, did you get any calls from him?" You sighed, eyes falling on the faint imprints of Jake's fingers on your thighs. "You there?" Mina asked nervously. "Yeah, he passed out so I brought him back to the apartment," your hands dug into her mattress as you waited for her to say something.

"Oh my god! He can get reckless sometimes, though I'm glad you are there to take care of him, I can sleep well knowing he's safe in your care," the relief in her voice made your heart ache with something you couldn't name, but you hummed in response, "where are you?" You heard her take a deep breath, "my friend's house." You sighed but didn't question her further, "friend?" You reached up to massage your temple, "yeah, Suzy." You frowned, paying attention to the background, you remember watching Suzy's snapchat stories, she isn't even in the city. "Okay, take care." You hung up the phone.

Your mind went back to the voice that called out Mina's name, the voice was soft yet deep and it was crystal clear that it belonged to a man. Mina was in Suzy's house, she lives alone and is dating a girl, so why is there a man? Did Jake figure that out? Was he upset and drank too much because he found out what Mina was upto? Did he drink too much because he realized Mina was slipping away from him and would eventually leave him? 

All of this made you feel more guilty than you previously did, especially after you let your emotions get the best out of you and you took advantage of his vulnerable state. God, how desperate could you get?

You buried your head on your hand, heart racing as fear creeped inside you, how will Jake react when he wakes up? What will be the fate of your friendship after this? You felt angry at yourself for giving in so easily, Mina was cheating on Jake, and he got drunk and you stupidly took advantage of that situation to fulfill your own desires. You weren't sure if you'd be able to see yourself in the mirror feeling ashamed. 

You got up, quietly making your way back inside Jake's room, he was still sleeping, lips parted as he snored softly, you sighed in relief and gathered your clothes. Heading towards his bathroom, you cleaned yourself and got dressed. You washed your face, making sure there weren't any signs that would indicate something happened between you both. You gathered Jake's clothes, throwing his pants and t-shirt in the laundry basket.

Now you just need to clean him and make him wear his boxers but you weren't sure how deep it was in his sleep. Still you made your way towards the bed, and he shifted to lay on his back. You held your breath, waiting to see if he would wake up but when he gave no sign of consciousness, you sighed. Taking the warm cloth, you removed the covers from his body to clean him as much as you could, starting from his mouth, then his hands and finally his lower body. You were glad you didn't leave any marks on him. You put the cloth away, adjusting him a little and made him wear his boxers. 

You wiped the sweat formed on your head and neck, and stepped away after making sure there all the things were placed as they were before you two got intimate and then made your way out of his room. Checking the time, you made your way out of his apartment and into your car. You trembled as soon as your hands fell on the steering wheel, legs bouncing in nervousness, but you took a few deep breaths and pulled out of the parking lot and towards your apartment.

First thing you did after you entered your apartment was to brush your teeth then throw your clothes in the laundry and take a warm shower to calm yourself. Dressing yourself in a fresh pair of clothes, and laying on your bed, thinking about everything that has happened. You felt your head buzzing, the lack of sleep getting into you, the adrenaline fading away in the safety of your apartment. Your last thought before you drifted off to sleep was whether Jake will forgive you after what happened, because Jake may call you his Rapunzel, but she wasn't a homewrecker like you at least. 

You groaned, stirring in your sleep as you sat up to find your phone, grabbing it to see it had a missed call from Jake. Your eyes widened, realising that he would have been awake by now. You were contemplating whether you should call him back when your screen lit up with his name again. "Shit," you bit your nails but picked up the call anyway.

"Where are you?" His voice was sharp, and you winced thinking of the right words to say, "um, my apartment." You heard him suck in a breath, "come to my apartment, need to talk to you." Sweat formed on your palms at the tone of his voice but you found yourself agreeing to come nonetheless. 

You hesitated before pressing his doorbell, he opened the door as if he was waiting for you to ring it. You smiled awkwardly and entered the apartment with tentative steps and he closed the door, walking past you to head towards the kitchen. You followed him, sitting on the high stool beside the counter, you waited for him to speak. You observed as he made coffee, his back was turned towards you, shoulder stiffened and a weird tension filled the air around you. 

He served you breakfast and the coffee, sitting right in front of you as he made himself comfortable on the other end of the counter. "Why were you at your apartment?" He sipped his coffee, "what type of question is that?" You took a bite of the toast, avoiding his eyes. "Mina called me," he started, briefly glancing your way, "she told me you picked me up from the club." You took a deep breath, "yeah I did-" he put his mug on the counter, "she also told me you were here when she called you early in the morning."

"It's because I was here," you frowned, chill rushing down your veins under his intense eyes, "I had some work, so I left early." He put his hands on the counter, tilting his head at you, "is that so?" You nodded more quickly than you should have, "yes!" He sighed and both of you resumed eating the breakfast. You washed the dishes and he cleaned the counter behind you when he spoke again, "okay, I'll not dance around the topic anymore," he breathed, taking your hand and pulling you towards the living room.

Both of you sat on the couch, with you awkwardly glancing around the room and him focused on you. "Did something happen yesterday?" You turned your head towards him, mouth parting then closing, "um, nothing?" You scratched the back of your ear, "are you sure? Did you put my clothes in the laundry?" Your eyes widened but you shook your head, "do you not remember what happened yesterday?" He leaned against the couch, hands folded across his chest, "what happened?" You gulped, eyes darting towards him and then at the wall behind him, "I picked you up, took off your shoes and jacket, and left to sleep in Mina's room."

"That doesn't explain my clothes in the laundry," he squinted his eyes at you, "I got a call from Mina, since your coworker had initially tried calling her, she asked me about you and everything, after that I came in your room to check on you and your clothes were pooled beside the bed so I put them in the laundry." Your words were frantic, but you hoped he'd take a bait and not question you further.

He looked at you for a few seconds longer, eyes losing their sharpness, he took a shallow breath, clasping his hands together as he looked at you, "are you sure nothing happened between us?" You bit your lips out of nervousness, "us? No, why would you think that?" The corner of his lips twitched, eyes turning glassy but he quickly looked away, taking a deep breath, "okay, if you say so," he picked up the TV remote, "I think I dreamed something which I shouldn't have, it felt too real to be a dream though, but now after talking with you I'm glad to know I didn't do anything I'll regret."

You nodded your head in understanding, turning around to face the TV but your mind was far away, Jake's 'I'm glad to know I didn't do anything I'll regret' rang loudly in your ears. So he thinks being with you is something he will regret. It stung more than you had anticipated, but you knew this would happen. He wasn't yours to begin with. 

You sat beside him, laughing at the jokes he tried to crack and comment he made about the scenes but you could hear your heart tearing apart with each passing second. The pain in your chest was suffocating, you needed to distance yourself from him to mend your heart, because you didn't trust yourself around him anymore. 

"Are things not going well with you and Mina?" You questioned after the movie ended and all there left was silence in the room. Jake flinched slightly, not expecting you to say anything, "um you could say that." He sighed, leaning against the couch, "we've been fighting a lot, which is stupid because we always solve it as soon as possible." He rubbed his temple, "I'll talk with her when she'll be back." You nodded, slumping against the couch, of course he would try to mend their relationship, they have been with each other for so long. 

Your phone has been ringing non stop for the past 10 minutes and you sat on your bed, leaning against the headboard. Your eyes were trained on the way your phone's screen lit up every time Jake called but you didn't pick up. After a while, the call stopped, barely before your phone buzzed with a voice note. You reached out, curiosity taking over as you played note.

"Um, I don't know why you're not picking up your phone, I'm getting worried. If I did anything wrong tell me okay? I will make it up to you just like I always have. Please pick up."

Another voice note chimed in, "I had a talk with Mina, everything is fine between us now. We made things up, and cleared every misunderstanding. I was so focused on my feelings that I never sat down and asked her about how she felt. But when she came back that day and we talked properly after such a long time, I finally understood her and I promised to be better from then on." 

Your chest tightened at his words, you remembered Mina telling you about how fights aren't a big deal in between them, of course they would solve these issues too. You exhaled a deep breath, but the sting in your eyes was too overwhelming to control. Your breath shuddered and you buried your head in your hands, trembling, as tears ran down your cheeks. You choked a sob, helplessly gripping your bedsheet to ground you. Avoiding your feelings was the biggest mistake you made, if only you confessed before it was too late, if only. You shook your head, tears streaming down your neck, it was too late, too late.

Another notification erupted and you reached for your phone with a trembling hand, another voice note from Jake. You wiped your nose with the tissue before tossing it in the dustbin, you played the note. "Okay, now I'm not worried, I'm stressed and panicking, are you sick? Maybe that's the reason you aren't picking up the phone. But no worries, I'll take care of you well once I reach your apartment. See you soon, Rapunzel."

What? Your eyes widened, Jake's coming to your apartment? All those attempts at avoiding him only brought him closer to you. Wiping your tears you scrambled you make yourself look at least a bit presentable. You panicked, pacing around your living room to think of any excuse to avoid meeting him. You were deep in thought, fingers tightly clutching on your phone like it personally offended you when your doorbell rang. You screamed loudly, not expecting him to arrive so soon. 

You put your hands on your mouth when the doorbell rang again, "open the door, I heard screaming!" You grimaced, knowing that he would climb up your window if you didn't open up so you made your way towards the door, anger bubbling up inside your heart. He wasn't even allowing you to break down properly, why did he have to be so present and so doting and so caring that you couldn't even hate him properly?

"Hi, I knew you were home," Jake wiggled his eyebrows as he brushed past you to enter your apartment. "Hello to you too," you said through gritted teeth. He turned around with that sickeningly sweet smile of his, "it seems like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed." You rolled your eyes as he chuckled, placing a bag on your coffee table, "don't give me an attitude, I brought your favorite pastries for you." Sighing you called out his name but he avoided your voice, making his way towards the TV remote.

"I knew you'd get this cranky-" he chuckled, finally finding the remote.

"Jake."

He ignored you, plopping on the couch as if it was a muscle memory, "the pastries will instantly lift up your mood-"

"Jake, listen to me-"

"Don't worry princess, your prince is here to take care of you." He winked at you, switching through movie titles.

"SIM JAEYUN!" 

That seems to startle him enough to stop and stare at you, finally paying attention. "Will you listen to me? I'm trying to talk to you and you keep on deflecting!" His eyebrows crease in confusion, worry lacing over his features, "I am listening to you, I'm not deflecting." You scoffed, running a hand through your hair. He got up, making his way towards you. You turned towards him, jabbing your finger in his chest, "you are."

"I always listen to you," He gulped, chest heaving, not entirely sure about your behavior. "Yeah you do," your lips trembled, "but you listen only when you want to." He swallowed, looking away for a second before his eyes found yours again, "that's-," he huffed, "that's not true." 

"Stupid," You whispered but he caught your words. He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything, you stepped forward. Your hands reached up to cup his face, and you pulled him towards you, sealing his lips with yours in a gentle kiss. You didn't try to make the kiss anything more than it was, just a firm press of your lips against his but you hoped he would understand what you wanted to tell him. 

You pulled away, hands pressing firmly against his chest as you pushed him out of your apartment. "I hope this kiss told you everything that my voice couldn't," you mumbled as you pushed him out of your door, "I don't want to be your friend anymore Jake, it's better if we never meet each other after this." Jake's eyes snapped back into the moment as those words left your mouth, realization creeping in. He opened his mouth to say something when you slammed the door shut.

He rang the doorbell, knocking the door when he didn't hear any sound from your side, "open the door, let's talk, please, let's talk." You slumped against the door, crouching down as tears slipped from your eyes at his desperate plea, "go away Jake, don't make it any harder for me, I beg you, please go away, I'll do something to myself if you don't." He slammed his head against your head, shutting his eyes close as he choked back a sob. He waited for a minute, before nodding his head in agreement, "okay, if that's what you want."

"Wow, you're eating a lot, I didn't know you had it in you," Jungwon laughed at your words, but nodded, "I missed this food,  although I love Japan, home is home." You nodded your head in understanding as you continued to eat. Jungwon had called to meet you at a restaurant and even though you were shocked he returned so abruptly, you were glad he called you because you'd started to feel lonely after cutting Jake off.

"This food is actually very good," you mumbled, nodding your head in appreciation, "I've been eating ramen and cereals for the past few weeks aside from occasionally street food." Jungwon's eyebrow furrowed, "why?" You swallowed the food and went to speak when Jungwon continued, "Also I called Jake to meet up but he said he'll be back in a few days, since he went back home." You smiled, though Jungwon noticed it didn't reach your eyes, "I see."

"Did something happen? I also found it weird that both of you didn't go back home together, you always do that right?" You sighed, knowing the truth would eventually surface anyway, "we had something happen between us, so I broke off our friendship." Jungwon's eyes widened and he choked on his food. You rubbed his back, letting him calm down before you passed him a glass of water. 

"Was the fight that bad?" You nodded your head, slumping back against the chair, "yes, it was for the better anyway." Jungwon pouted, squeezing your hand in reassurance, "well if things are bad enough that you need to break off the friendship then you'll be glad to hear that he won't be anywhere near you now." Your eyebrows creased, "what? Why?" Jungwon sighed, "figured you wouldn't know, Jake is moving."

"Why's he moving?" You questioned, feeling your heart race and throat tightened, Jungwon gave you a confused look, "well because of the engagement, what else?" You gave him a blank look and he continued, "I came here early from Japan because of it." 

You clutched on the hem of your top, engagement? Jake was getting engaged and then he would be moving away? Him and Mina? They had already resolved their issues and finally decided to take their relationship to the next level? Your ears rang loudly, whatever words Jungwon spoke couldn't even reach you. Sighing, you focused on fighting back your tears so you won't cry in the middle of the restaurant. 

Your chest tightened, he chose her in the end. You were never the choice anyway, but you were glad Jake at least knew about your feelings and you won't be drowning in the sea of what ifs. You shook your head, trying to focus back on Jungwon, "-I don't know what will happen now though, especially with you and Jake not being friends anymore, plus your friendship with Mina must have also hit the rock."

You nodded, you had ignored Mina as much as you've avoided Jake so you aren't sure where you stand in your friendship with her. And Jake had always been a responsible person, he must've talked with Mina where it went wrong and decided to act accordingly rather than breaking things off. He looked very happy when he visited you that day for it to be otherwise. 

"You didn't break things off with Mina right?" Jungwon questioned, "no, I didn't, not officially at least." He nodded, "then you wouldn't mind coming to the engagement party right? For her sake?" He started cautiously, "I mean, if that's okay with you, I know it would be weird for you to go since Jake will also be there-"

"I'll go," you cut him off, breathing in, "I'll go with you." Jungwon smiled at you, holding your hand in assurance, "you're sure?" You smiled back,squeezing his hand. You don't want to go, but you need to do it in order for your heart to move on, this will be your closure, "I'm sure." 

You found yourself standing in front of your mirror, dressed in a lavender colored dress and your high heels. You frowned, trying your best to make your hair behave like you wanted. Your phone rang and a small smile graced your lips as you saw Jungwon's name on the screen. "Are you ready?" His voice echoed through the speaker, "yes, I am." 

You took a final look at yourself in the mirror, a laugh escaping your throat as you were reminded of the prom night where your and Jake's friendship started. You promised yourself to never forget the moments shared with him, of the way he supported your dreams and how he made you fall in love. You looked down as your feelings overwhelmed but, taking a deep breath, you made your way out of your apartment. The night was young, the moonlight shining above you as you made your way towards Jungwon's car.

"Jungwon!" You called out, slipping inside his car as he closed the door behind you. "You look pretty," he smiled, taking a look at you. "Thank you, Jungwon," you smiled back, adjusting your hair. "Are you sure you want to go? I think Mina will understand if you decide against it, especially since Jake would be there too." You sighed, giving his arm a squeeze, "I'll be fine, don't worry too much."

You took a deep breath as Jungwon started his car, you don't really know how you'll face him, especially what you'll say. 'Congratulations on getting engaged' that sounded so robotic. What else? 'I always knew you two would end up together?' the hell, he will judge you for saying that, especially after you kissed him. "We're here," Jungwon's voice brought you back to the moment and you could feel your heart in your throat. You had to attend in order to move on.

You got out of the car and walked beside Jungwon inside the venue. Your hands trembled as you entered so you clasped them tightly together. Your mind was swirling with thoughts that you didn't even look where you went and you collided with someone, their hands stabilizing you by holding your arms. You felt the strong scent of cedarwood and leather creeped inside your lungs, all too familiar, followed by a soft breathy whisper of your name.

You tilted your head up, recognizing the voice immediately, "Heeseung?" Mina was cheating on Jake with Heeseung? And he's attending their engagement party like it isn't a big deal? He smiled, engulfing you in a hug. "I didn't know we would finally meet like this," He exhaled, hands squeezing your shoulders just the way he always did when you'd stress over your exams and he would give you his notes to make it easier for you. 

Heeseung, Jake's closest friend and yours too. The same Heeseung who always scolded you both when you did something wrong. The same Heeseung who was self righteous enough to always solve the exams without cheating. The same Heeseung who couldn't say no to his parents and tried law to make them happy, the same Heeseung who disappointed them and pursued business instead. You couldn't believe he was capable enough to betray Jake by being with Mina behind his back. This had to be a prank. 

He said something and excused himself and went away, but you stood there, still in shock. Jungwon nudged you, taking your hand and dragging you towards the drink section. "You stay here, I need to meet someone." He left you alone for a while. You ordered a drink, sipping it leisurely as your eyes scanned the room in search of Jake. 

"You came!" You didn't have to turn around to recognize the voice, Mina. She stood in front of you, eyes twinkling in excitement as she hugged you tight. She looked beautiful, more beautiful than you last remember. Well, the saying happiness makes you glow must be right. The ring on her left hand shined brighter but nothing could beat the smile on her face. "I'm so happy to see you here," she pouted. 

Mina grabbed both of your hands, giving it a gentle squeeze but all you could feel was how these were the same hands which held both Jake and Heeseung. "I was worried you wouldn't come," she smiled awkwardly, "especially after...you know..." you looked at her confused, heart beating loudly as you waited for her to continue, "...Jake told me everything." If you could dig up a hole and bury yourself right then, you'd have done it. Surely Jake would tell her everything, this was inevitable but how were you supposed to answer her now? That you kissed her fiancee without his consent then broke off your friendship? 

Mina noticed the way the color drained away from your face and she stuttered, "shit, I shouldn't have brought up that topic, it must be awkward for you, I'm so sorry." You shook your head, "no don't apologize, this is embarrassing but I'm fine." Mina nodded, "thank you for coming to my engagement party regardless, I've always considered you a good friend of mine." 

You smiled at Mina, though you wanted to do nothing more than yell at her for taking Jake's love for granted but the way she looked at you, the way she apologized, maybe she realized the weight of her actions and chose Jake. Mina bid you goodbye when someone called her and you turned back towards the counter to get your drink.

Standing by the counter, with your drink in one hand you realized how complicated your life had become since you came back to the country. You looked at your phone to check any new notifications, sighing when there wasn't any. You groaned, how will it even be possible, all of your friends were currently attending the engagement party, everyone was here. 

Your eyes fell upon the stage and your breath got caught in your throat, there he stood, Jake, in his stupid tuxedo, with his stupid smile plastered on his stupid face as he talked with Mina, Heeseung and Jungwon, laughing at something Heeseung said. You watched the way Mina threw her head back laughing, covering her mouth with her diamond ring cladded hand as she hooked her hand in Heeseung's arm. Stupid Jake, can't he see how the two people he trusted the most are betraying him? Couldn't he see the signs right in front of him.

You couldn't bring yourself to watch him be so stupid. Usually you'd have plenty of reasons up your sleeves in order to run away from your problems but today, Jake's stupidity would be the reason for your escape. You sighed, finishing your drink in one go, taking one last glance at the stage, you frown when you noticed Jake's absence. Whatever, the ring on Mina's hand was enough of your closure, you took a deep breath, texting Jungwon that you'd be leaving early, you made your way towards the exit at the back of the venue. 

Your heels clicked against the floor, you unlocked your phone to book a cab. You groaned after getting your ride cancelled yet again. Who even decided to throw the party at such a venue? And why are these driver's rejecting you as if you aren't going to pay them? With a frustrating sigh, you slipped your phone inside the pocket of your dress. Stupid drivers, stupid venue, stupid Jake, and stupid feelings, fuck everything. 

You stomped your foot in annoyance as you walked and unfortunately you lost your balance as your heel got caught on a cracked space on the floor and broke off. You yelped, losing your balance when two hands gripped your waist, stabilizing you. Grabbing onto the shoulder and blazer of the person, your eyes widened when you realized who caught you. "You have a weird habit of falling right into my arms, Rapunzel." 

Right, out of all the people who could've caught you, it had to be Jake. Destiny was playing with your feelings at this point. You couldn't find your voice as you stared at him but then you snapped back, standing up properly. "You're still clumsy, nothing much changed after high school right?" He chuckled and you cursed at your stomach for doing that weird little flip it did whenever you heard his laugh. 

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, "look, I think you should go back inside." He frowned, stepping closer, "why do you want me to go inside?" You clicked your tongue, did he really ask you that? "What do you mean why? Isn't Mina still inside?" You questioned, tilting your head slightly to look at him in the eyes. "What does Mina being inside have anything to do with me being inside? And why shouldn't I be here? Just because you decided to end our friendship, doesn't mean I'll give up on us."

"What are you even saying?" You snapped, crossing your arms across your chest, "what am I saying? I'm your friend after all, right? A petty little thing isn't going to get in our way." You rubbed your head, feeling the headache creeping in, friend? After the kiss you shared, he still had the audacity to say that you two are friends. Was he mocking your feelings? 

"Go back inside Jake, I'm tired of this," you mumbled, not having energy to yell at him. He scoffed, digging his hands inside his pockets, "why do you keep telling me to go inside? Mina has her fiancee with her there, she'll do just fine without me. Heeseung is there for her." Your eyes widened, and you could feel your heart drop to your stomach in real time, "what? Heeseung? Mina? Fiancee?" Jake nodded his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 

"Yes, Heeseung and Mina, he proposed to her after finally getting the courage." Fuck. All the time you thought Mina was cheating on Jake with Heeseung when in reality they were the real couple all along? And when Jungwon mentioned about the engagement, he didn't really mention Heeseung so you assumed it was of Mina and Jake. "So, Mina and Heeseung were dating, and he finally proposed to her?"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you." He threw in hands in exasperation, "Mina had been in love with Heeseung for so long, and he kept on avoiding her because he thought he didn't deserve her after he disappointed his parents, but finally after a long talk, he finally confessed about his feelings and now they are engaged." You were too shocked to even react to his rambling. All these time you thought Mina was dating Jake but it was never the case? Now you sure looked like a fool standing there with all your delusions.

"Are you even listening to me?" His voice rang in your ears but you dip your head low, too embarrassed to even look at him. You internally cringed at yourself for calling him stupid when in reality it was you. "Rapunzel, come on, don't ignore me like that now." He complained, stepping closer, "I'm trying to say something, can you at least pay attention to me?" 

He sighed, and you could literally feel the annoyance radiate off of him. "You left me with no choice," you frowned at his words, finally tilting your head up only for him to step closer. His palms cradled your face, you barely had the time you let out a gasp before his lips were on yours, sudden but firm, just like you did. 

He pulled away slightly, hands still cupping your face as he mumbled "you weren't listening, I had to do something about it." You felt heat crawl up your face as you looked at him, a simple kiss, yet it spoke so many things your mouths couldn't. He smiled, feeling proud to have your eyes back on him, "see, it worked, now you're paying attention to me."

You didn't speak, too stunned to find your voice. He rolled his eyes, sighing deeply, "come on, don't pretend you didn't get what I wanted to say," his lips curled into his signature smirk as he leaned closer, "even I got the message when you did the same." A tear escaped your eye and he was quick enough to wipe it. "Why are you crying baby?" He mumbled, resting his forehead against yours. "Are you sure about this?" You hiccuped, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he is standing in front of you, and that he loves you, just like you do. 

Jake sighed, tucking your hair behind your ear and tilt your head so he could look into your eyes more clearly, "you don't realize how long I've waited for this, every moment I spent away from you was torture for me. You always have this habit of running away and somehow run into my arms, you think I'd be strong enough to hold you in my arms but I wasn't strong enough to get back up when I fell for you." He kissed your forehead with a shaky breath, "I love you, I've been in love with you ever since you ran straight into my arms at prom night."

"Jake," you whispered, closing the distance between you and easing into his welcoming embrace, "I love you too, always have. I don't mind running away from everyone else if it means I'll run into your arms, I shouldn't have pushed you away." You closed your eyes as more tears pool inside your eyes, Jake dropped his head on your shoulder, rubbing your back to console you as you cried. 

You both stayed like that for a while, just basking in each other's presence after years of separation, and yearning. "Why are you moving out?" You questioned after a while, and you could hear Jake exhale a breath. "Well I shared that apartment with Mina because it's rent was too high, so when she started getting serious with Heeseung and decided she would move out soon we got into various arguments over it. But then both of us talked with each other and I decided I would move out too."

A laugh rumbled out of your chest and Jake pulled away from you, disbelief written all over his face, "why are you laughing? I can afford that apartment just fine but why should I live in an apartment made for two people, I don't make reckless financial decisions." You nodded your head, knowing how well off he really is but it's always fun to tease him a bit. "I know, maybe I could move in with you instead?"

His eyes lit up in excitement and he nodded his head, "I would love that, can we do that?" You chuckled and he leaned in as you pressed a kiss against your forehead. "See, you look best when you laugh, my Rapunzel." He crouched down, unbuckling your heels, "what are you doing?" His fingers hooked around the straps of your heels and he leaned down slightly to pick you up in his arms, just like he did at the prom night. 

"So the Flynn Rider managed to steal the heart, flirt his way out of trouble and got his girl somehow?" You chuckled, hands wrapping around his neck to steady yourself. He laughed, adjusting you in his arms, "hmm, my runaway Rapunzel, I told you I always got you."