#can’t blame a guy for getting that bread

[slashrabbitbunny]

Sorry I haven’t been posting art it’s all been furry commissions 😭

[thedensworld]

Out The Door | l. c

Pairing: Idol Chan! x Reader!

Genre: exes au!

Type: angst, fluff

Word count: 15k

Summary: Chan was certain that you two should never have broken up. So, he made up his mind—he was going to find a way to be with you again.

Chan smirked at the bouquet of roses sitting on his counter, the vibrant petals almost mocking him. He felt betrayed—by himself, by the memories that refused to fade. Who was there to blame? It was February 14th, after all. A day that used to mean something. A day when he’d pick out flowers for you—never chocolates, because you didn’t like them.

Now, he was on the verge of laughing at himself. How pathetic was it that, even after a year, he still remembered every little thing about you? The way you preferred lilies over roses but accepted them anyway because he had terrible taste in flowers. The way you’d roll your eyes at grand gestures but secretly adored them. The way Valentine’s Day had never really mattered to you—until it did.

And yet, here he was, staring at a bouquet that wasn’t even meant for you, feeling like a fool.

"That's pretty," you had said a year ago, your gaze lingering on the red roses displayed in the flower shop window as you passed by.

"You want it?" Chan had asked playfully, his tone light but his intent obvious. He would have gotten them for you in a heartbeat.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "There's no reason to get me flowers."

Chan had only smiled, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek as he steered the wheel with his other hand. His voice was soft yet certain when he said, "I don't even need a reason to give you the world."

Now, standing in his kitchen, Chan exhaled sharply, shaking his head at himself. How pathetic. How utterly ridiculous that even after a year, the memory still clung to him like a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

Pushing himself up from the barstool, he grabbed the bouquet in one swift motion. His strides were long and deliberate as he walked to the bin, gripping the same exact roses you had once admired. Without a second thought, he tossed them in.

The petals rustled against the trash bag, a quiet, almost mocking sound. Chan stared for a moment longer, then turned away, jaw clenched.

It was just a bouquet of flowers. Just another February 14th. And yet, it still felt like letting go.

The doorbell rang. Chan let out a sigh, already knowing who it was. It had to be Hansol and Seungkwan.

Dragging himself toward the monitor, he glanced at the screen and chuckled when his guess was confirmed—his two friends stood outside, waiting.

"Go," Chan muttered as he pressed the button to let them in.

He barely lifted his finger before Hansol’s amused laughter came through the speaker, followed by Seungkwan’s dramatic whine. "Why? We brought chicken!"

Shaking his head, Chan unlocked the door. Moments later, they strolled into his living room like they owned the place, setting down a box of fried chicken and a few cans of beer on the coffee table. Chan simply stood there, watching them move around, as if they had done this a thousand times before.

"Why are you guys here?" he finally asked, settling onto the couch.

"Can’t we visit our favorite little brother?" Seungkwan teased, grinning.

Chan cringed. "Never say that again."

Hansol chuckled, stretching his arms before reaching for a can of beer. "There’s a new chicken shop nearby. Everyone says it’s good."

Chan smirked at the excuse. Yeah, right. Deep down, he knew the truth.

A year ago, they were here too. Sitting in this very spot. Eating chicken. Drinking beer. Trying to distract him the night you walked out of his life.

*

Chan stepped into the bakery, his eyes instinctively scanning the space. The warm scent of freshly baked bread filled the air, but it did little to calm the nervous hammering in his chest. His breath hitched at the thought of seeing you again.

Hansol—completely out of sobriety that night—had blurted out something that caught Chan off guard. His so-called "new favorite bakery," the one where he always grabbed kaya bread before practice, was your bakery.

"She opened a bakery?" Chan had blinked, his voice laced with disbelief. Opening a bakery had always been your dream.

Hansol had nodded, looking almost guilty. "I've known since, like, half a year ago."

Seungkwan had chimed in with a sigh, "We’ve known. I told him about the bakery… and we met her."

Chan had tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you telling me this?"

Then, as if catching himself, he shook his head. "No—I mean… That’s great news. She always wanted this." He let out a forced chuckle, but the nervous energy lingered. "I just don’t get why you’re telling me now."

Seungkwan and Hansol exchanged glances before Seungkwan exhaled. "I met her last week," he admitted, pausing for a beat before continuing. "And… she asked about you."

Chan's stomach twisted. He swallowed.

"Now—hear me out," Seungkwan pressed on, his voice softer, more careful. "I know the breakup wasn’t great. I get it. But from where I’m standing, it seems like you two still have feelings for each other."

What made him say that?

Had he been that obvious? Had he been showing everyone that he still had feelings for you?

Chan didn’t like the thought of it. The idea that his emotions were visible—that anyone could see right through him—made his stomach churn. He didn’t want people to think he was pathetic, still holding on to someone who had walked away.

Still loving someone who had already left him.

"What can I help you with?" a shopkeeper asked as Chan wandered through the bakery, his eyes subtly scanning the space.

He turned his head, expecting—hoping—to see you. But it was just the shopkeeper.

Forcing a polite smile, Chan bit down on his lower lip, trying to push away his disappointment. "Do you have any recommendations?" he asked, shifting his attention to the employee.

The shopkeeper's face lit up as he gestured toward the sandwich section. "Here’s our new menu! We have tuna, beef, and bacon sandwiches—perfect for breakfast."

Chan nodded absentmindedly, barely registering the words. "I’ll take ten bacon and ten beef, please." He pulled his wallet from his pocket, handing over his card.

The shopkeeper quickly packed the order, then, to Chan’s surprise, handed him a cup of Americano with a bright smile. "This one’s on the house. Thank you so much!"

Chan hesitated before lifting the cup slightly in acknowledgment. "Oh, you don’t have to… but thanks," he murmured, accepting the drink.

Once he settled into his car, he glanced at the neatly packed boxes of sandwiches in the backseat. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head at himself. Pathetic.

Taking a sip of the Americano as he pulled onto the road, he let the familiar bitterness settle on his tongue—except, something was different. His brows furrowed as he pulled the cup away, eyeing it curiously.

That taste.

Americano with berry syrup.

Your favorite.

*

Chan scrunched up his face the moment the taste hit his tongue.

You burst into laughter at his expression, quickly pulling the cup away from him. "Why do you look like that?" you teased, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"It's weird!" Chan exclaimed, wiping his lips as if that would rid him of the lingering taste. "It’s bitter, sweet, and sour all at once. Coffee shouldn’t taste like this."

You smiled, holding the cup close to your chest. "No… it tastes good. It has everything—the sweetness, the bitterness, and the tang of berries. Just like life."

Chan let out a chuckle, raising a brow. "Since when did you get this sentimental?"

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "Excuse me? I’ve always been a sentimental person!"

Chan shook his head, giving you a playful look of disbelief. "You? Sentimental?" He scoffed. "You literally just leave my goodnight texts on read every night."

You giggled, tilting your head at him. "That’s because they’re too sweet. I was speechless."

Chan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Oh, so you were so speechless that you couldn’t even type a single reply?"

Chan shook his head, exhaling as he tossed the empty cup into the trash before stepping into the practice room.

From across the room, Seungkwan’s sharp eyes immediately caught sight of the plastic bags in Chan’s hands. He recognized the logo instantly—it was your bakery. His gaze flickered to Chan, suspicion creeping into his expression.

Hansol, however, was too excited about the food to notice anything. The moment he got his hands on a sandwich, he eagerly unwrapped it and took a huge bite. "This is delicious!" he mumbled, already reaching for another.

Seungkwan, still observing Chan, took a bite of his own.

"It does taste good. Where did you get this, Chan?"

Before Chan could answer, the other members in the room—who had also helped themselves to the sandwiches—started chiming in.

"Whoa, this is really good."

"I could eat this every day."

"Seriously, where did you buy these?"

Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the growing pile of empty sandwich wrappers. He hadn't planned for this much attention.

"This is from the place where I always get my kaya bread," Hansol said nonchalantly, taking another bite.

But the moment the words left his mouth, his chewing slowed. His eyes widened as realization sank in, and he snapped his head toward Chan.

"Wait—really?!"

As if finally processing his own words, Hansol immediately glared at the younger, his eyes practically screaming, You went there?!

Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided Hansol’s accusing stare. He knew this was coming. Meanwhile, Seungkwan let out a knowing exhale, arms crossed, as if he had expected this exact scene to unfold.

The other members, noticing the sudden shift in Hansol’s behavior, exchanged confused glances.

"What’s up with him?" one of them muttered, glancing between Hansol and Chan.

Seungkwan, ever the smooth talker, quickly waved them off with a casual grin. "Ah, you know Hansol. He’s just being a little extra again."

Hansol scoffed but kept his mouth shut, though the way he kept side-eyeing Chan made it obvious—this conversation wasn’t over.

*

"He came again today."

You glanced up as you packed the leftover pastries into the boxes Sunoo had set up on the counter. You knew exactly who he was talking about—Chan, your idol ex-boyfriend. But for the sake of keeping up appearances (and maybe your own pride), you feigned ignorance.

"Who?" you asked, keeping your voice light.

Sunoo shrugged, his legs dangling off the counter like a kid who had just discovered something amusing. His knowing smirk didn’t help.

"That well-known ex of yours," he mumbled.

You snorted. "No one even knows we were dating. Never got caught." There was a hint of pride in your voice, as if that secrecy had been some kind of achievement.

Sunoo rolled his eyes. "I mean that well-known person who also happens to be your ex-boyfriend. Stop pretending you're not affected! He’s been coming here almost every day for a week."

Your hands stilled for a moment, but you quickly resumed packing, forcing a chuckle. "Maybe he just really likes the sandwiches."

Sunoo gave you a deadpan stare. "Right. And I’m the Crown Prince of Korea."

"And?" you asked, sealing the box filled with leftover donuts before heading to the sink to wash your hands.

"And you’ve been hiding in the kitchen every single time he comes in, i thought you still love him." Sunoo huffed in frustration, arms crossed over his chest. The pout on his face made him look even cuter than usual, which only made you laugh.

"I do..." you admitted, drying your hands.

Sunoo’s eyebrows shot up. "Then?"

"That’s it," you shrugged, lifting the box into your arms.

Sunoo let out an exaggerated sigh, grabbing another box and trailing behind you as you made your way to the exit where your car was parked.

You popped open the backseat door and carefully placed the boxes inside. Tonight, you’d be dropping off the leftovers at the nearest police station—something you did regularly.

Sunoo, still not letting the topic go, leaned against the car with a pointed look. "With him constantly visiting, don’t you think it’s time to get back together? I mean, he might feel the same way."

You froze for just a second before turning to face him. Sunoo shifted under your gaze, suddenly looking unsure.

"Having the same feelings isn’t enough to get back together," you said softly.

Sunoo shrugged. "But at least it gives you a reason. Isn't love about finding a reason?"

You chuckled at his comment. "You're right. But how do you know that? Didn’t you just graduate high school?"

Sunoo snorted as if you had just said the dumbest thing he’d heard all year. "I might’ve dated more people than you, and I only graduated high school."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, his voice softened. "But really. Stop denying your feelings. That’s what’s hurting you the most."

You sighed, slipping into the driver's seat. Sunoo stood there, watching you expectantly, but you simply started the car and drove away.

You weren’t denying your feelings. You never had.

You let them flow, like water, even after breaking up with Chan. You still celebrated his birthday and his band’s anniversary by preparing special treats at your bakery. You still kept up with his activities on social media.

You never once denied the warmth that still lingered in your heart.

But you refused to give yourself false hope.

The idea that Chan might still feel the same way—it was too dangerous to entertain. When Seungkwan and Hansol had shown up at your bakery out of nowhere, catching you off guard, they reassured you that they held no resentment toward you. Then, just as casually, they mentioned that Chan had gone through the hardest year of his life after the breakup. That he hadn’t shown a single sign of moving on.

And that was unlike him.

This was Chan—a man who had never let himself be alone for long. A man who, before you, had always found himself in a relationship.

Yet, a year had passed since you walked out that door. And he was still alone.

*

Meeting you at the police station wasn’t something on his to-do list—not today, not this month, not even this year. Yet, here you were.

Chan had just been about to step out, his younger brother trailing behind him, when he saw you standing there, frozen in place, holding a box of what he assumed were pastries. The sight of you made his heart race, and he felt a mix of surprise and anxiety.

Beside him, his brother cleared his throat awkwardly, as if he wasn’t the reason Chan was here in the first place.

Great. Another reason to slap the remaining puberty out of his high school brother:

1. Getting into a fight with another student.

2. Making Chan come all the way here to pick him up.

3. And now—leading him straight to you.

Also, what the hell were you doing here with pastries?

Chan's mind raced. He hadn't seen you since the breakup, and now, here you were, looking as beautiful as ever.

Before either of you could speak, an officer approached, breaking the thick tension hanging between you and Chan.

"Ms. Ji, good evening. Long time no see," the officer greeted politely.

Chan immediately shifted his gaze, suddenly very interested in the interior of the police station. He kept his expression neutral, but his ears burned at the sound of your name.

You smiled at the officer, handing him the box of pastries. "Good job for today, Officer. Thanks for the hard work." Your voice was soft—just like it used to be when you’d ask him if he had eaten after a long, exhausting day.

The officer beamed at you. "You didn’t have to come all the way here for this, Ms. Ji. But thank you so much!"

Then, as if only just noticing the thick, unspoken air between you and Chan, the officer glanced between the two of you.

"Do you two know each other?" he asked, clearly curious.

Chan stiffened. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat felt dry.

But you? You barely hesitated.

"We’re acquaintances," you replied smoothly, sparing Chan the briefest glance before looking away again.

"I should go, good evening." You bid the officer goodbye with a polite nod, turning on your heel to leave. The officer walked you out to the entrance.

Chan looked conflicted, exhaling sharply before running a hand through his hair. Then, with a pointed look at his younger brother—a silent command—he made his intentions clear.

Go hail a cab.

For once, his brother didn’t argue. He simply sighed, pulling out his phone as he stepped toward the curb. Thank goodness. Even though he had just been detained for fighting with another student, at least he had the decency to recognize that Chan’s love life was a bigger mess.

Chan, however, had no time to dwell on that. His long strides carried him after you, his heartbeat picking up as the crisp night air bit at his skin.

"Hey."

You stopped.

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the strap of your bag before you slowly turned to face him.

"Hey."

It had been over a year, yet your voice still sounded exactly the same—soft, steady, untouched by heartbreak.

Chan swallowed, his hands digging deeper into his pockets. How did you still manage to look so unaffected?

"You, uh… come here often?"

A dry breath of amusement left you as you tilted your head slightly. "If you’re trying to make a joke, that was a terrible attempt."

He huffed out a short chuckle, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, figured." His gaze flickered to the police station building, then back to the box in your arms. "You do this a lot? Bringing pastries to the station?"

You shrugged, adjusting your grip on the box. "Yeah. They work long hours, and I always have leftovers. Seemed like a good way to put them to use."

Chan nodded, but his expression remained unreadable. A small muscle in his jaw twitched, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how.

Of course you’d do something like this. Thoughtful. Considerate. Always looking out for others.

Still the same.

And yet, he couldn’t say the same about himself.

The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words. The last time you had been this close, it had been different. Warmer. Familiar. Now, there was a distance that couldn’t be measured in steps.

Chan exhaled, his breath visible in the cold. "It’s been a while."

You gave a small nod, your gaze unreadable. "Yeah, it has."

There were a million things he wanted to ask. How have you been? Are you happy? Do you still think about me the way I still think about you? But instead, all that came out was—

"You look good."

The words settled between you, heavier than they should have been.

You pressed your lips together before offering a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Thanks."

Chan wanted to say more, to keep you standing there just a little longer, but before he could, a car honked nearby. His brother waved him over from the curb, signaling that the cab had arrived.

You took that as your cue to leave, adjusting your grip on the box before turning slightly. "I should get going."

He nodded, even though everything in him wanted to stop you. "Yeah… me too."

Another pause. Another breath caught between the past and present.

"Take care, Chan."

And just like that, you were walking away.

Chan stood there, watching as you disappeared down the sidewalk, his hands clenching into fists in his pockets.

Funny. He had spent so much time convincing himself that seeing you again wouldn’t change anything.

But now, he wasn’t so sure.

*

That night, Chan found himself doing something he never thought he would—scrolling through your social media. The account he had unblocked just hours ago.

You didn’t post often, just the occasional pictures with friends or snapshots of your bakery. But as he scrolled, his eyes caught on the details—the way your hair had grown out before you cut it again, the soft waves framing your face in a way that tugged at something deep in his chest. That image stayed with him longer than he expected, lingering in the back of his mind like an old song he couldn’t shake.

Then his finger stopped.

A photo of your bakery.

Decorated for his birthday.

Chan’s eyes narrowed, his breath catching slightly as he took in the details. His face on the banners, the pastries colored to match his band’s theme—every little thing meticulously arranged. And the post date? Just last month.

Why would you do this?

You had no reason to. You weren’t together anymore. If anything, he thought you resented the fact that he had chosen his career over you.

Wasn’t that why you broke up in the first place?

A strange feeling curled in his stomach. He didn’t know what it was—regret? Hope? Confusion?

But then, as he scrolled further, the feeling twisted into something else entirely.

A group photo.

You, smiling, standing among friends. And beside you, a man.

His arm slung casually over your shoulders. Too casual. Too comfortable.

Chan’s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around his phone as he zoomed in slightly, analyzing the guy like it was second nature. As a man himself, he knew that kind of touch. It wasn’t just friendly. There was something in the way the guy stood close to you, the way he seemed at ease, like he belonged there.

"Who the hell is this?" he muttered, brows furrowing.

Like a magnet, his eyes kept finding the same man in different posts. Sitting beside you. Standing beside you. Slinging his arm around yours. Even touching your cheek in one picture—something that had Chan’s stomach flipping uncomfortably.

"What’s up with this guy?" He snorted, irritation creeping into his tone.

He tried to check the guy’s profile, but you hadn’t tagged anyone. Not a single name. Smart. Frustratingly so.

And then—

A notification.

You had just posted an Instagram story.

Chan tapped on it immediately.

A simple, cryptic sentence:

“Even if there’s a reason… could it be the reason?”

His brows shot up.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He stared at the words, trying to decipher them, trying to connect them to the birthday post, to the pictures with that guy, to you.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt something unfamiliar creeping in—

The unsettling thought that maybe, just maybe—

He had been too late.

*

"That's your problem, Lee Chan. You're too possessive but insecure at the same time."

Seungkwan didn't hold back as he took a sip of his drink, lounging comfortably in his apartment. He, Jeonghan, and Chan had settled into an impromptu drinking session after Chan had shown up unannounced, dragging along bottles of soju and cans of beer—clearly looking for an outlet.

Jeonghan raised a brow, intrigued by the turn of conversation. “That could be true…”

Seungkwan chuckled, shaking his head. “That is true. If you want to have a good relationship, you only need one—either confidence or possessiveness. Look at Mingyu and Seungcheol hyung.”

"Seungcheol is a bit possessive, though," Jeonghan pointed out.

Seungkwan waved a dismissive hand. "That’s just a concept. It makes him look cute."

Chan groaned, running a hand down his face. “But think about it—how could I not be insecure when she never wanted to introduce me to her friends? Was it because of that guy?” His voice tightened on the last part, irritation creeping in.

Seungkwan sighed, exasperated. He pointed a finger at Chan to Jeonghan. “Look at this fool. You’re an idol, Chan. How could she introduce an idol as her boyfriend? Where’s your brain? Did you leave it behind at practice?”

Jeonghan nodded, though he was still weighing both sides. "I actually get where Chan’s coming from, though. Y/n is very beautiful, and she’s competent too—a lot of men want her. But she never really made it clear that she was off-limits.”

Chan’s eyes widened in relief. “Right?! And I was so patient, trying to understand her, trying to make it work. But she was the one who broke up with me?” His voice rose slightly, frustration evident. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a fresh wound rather than something that had happened a year ago.

He put his can of beer down a little too abruptly, the sound echoing in the quiet of Seungkwan’s living room.

Jeonghan glanced at him, amused but also slightly concerned. “What did she say when she broke up with you?”

Chan inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. The memory crashed into him like a wave—too vivid, too raw, even after all this time.

It had been the day after Valentine’s Day.

Chan had just gotten back from a three-day trip abroad, exhausted beyond belief, desperate for nothing more than a proper rest. He had been on edge all day, feeling sensitive after the long flight. But the moment he stepped into his apartment, his fatigue was replaced by confusion.

Your suitcase was sitting in the living room.

Your bag rested beside it.

His heart sank.

Hadn’t you two been arguing all week? Was this about Valentine’s Day? Had it really come to this?

"Let’s not do this," Chan had said the moment he saw you emerge from the bedroom, another bag in your hand.

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t even pause. You simply walked forward, grabbing your luggage as if he wasn’t even standing there.

Chan moved quickly, stepping in front of you, blocking your path. “Where are you going?”

Your expression was unreadable when you finally met his gaze. "Home."

Chan’s chest tightened. "This is your home," he insisted.

But you shook your head. "Let’s take a break."

Chan had never believed in breaks. There was no such thing in his dictionary. A break was just a softer way to say breakup. And if you wanted to break up, then he deserved to at least know why.

"Is this because I chose work over spending Valentine’s Day with you?" he demanded, irritation creeping into his voice.

You frowned slightly. "That’s what you think of me?" A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "Then let’s say that’s the reason."

Chan’s frustration spiked. "What do you mean? At least explain it to me!"

You just shook your head again, gripping your luggage and moving past him.

"How can I let you go if you don’t tell me the real reason?"

That was when you turned to face him, your voice quiet but firm.

"You said it yourself— you chose work over me. That’s the reason."

Chan had stared at you, searching for something in your face. A crack in your expression. A hesitation. Anything that would tell him that you didn’t mean it.

But you nodded, steady. Unwavering.

"Yeah."

And then you walked out of the door, left him.

Back in Seungkwan’s apartment, silence stretched between the three of them after Chan finished recounting the memory.

Seungkwan was the first to break it, crossing his arms over his chest. "If I were you, I wouldn’t believe it."

Chan shot him a skeptical look. "Why? She said it herself."

Seungkwan sighed, shaking his head. “You know… sometimes women don’t tell the truth—not because they want to lie, but because they don’t want to hurt you more than necessary.”

Jeonghan, who had been silently listening, hummed in agreement.

"And maybe," Seungkwan added, his voice softer, "that was the least painful thing she could say to you."

*

"I'm sorry, but we're clo—"

Your words faltered the moment you saw who stood in front of the entrance.

Chan.

There, standing just beyond the threshold, was Chan. His presence felt almost out of place against the warm glow of your bakery’s lights, his frame silhouetted by the dim streetlamps outside. He held a paper bag in one hand, gripping it just a little too tightly. He looked unsure—out of place, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be standing there at all.

For a second, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was filled with things unsaid, memories neither of you had dared to touch for too long.

Then, finally, you found your voice.

"Chan… Hey," you greeted, pushing open the counter divider to step closer to him.

You glanced at the clock. 10 PM. The bakery had closed an hour ago, yet here he was, standing at your doorstep like he had something important to say.

"I haven’t come here in a week," he said abruptly, as if that explained his presence.

You nodded, already aware of it. It wasn’t hard to notice when someone like him stopped showing up. He had been coming almost every morning—until that night at the police station. After that, he disappeared.

Your eyes flickered to the bag in his hand. Before you could ask, he extended it toward you.

"I was in Italy for a week," he said, shifting slightly. "I got you a bottle of wine from a local winery there."

Surprise flickered across your face as you carefully took the bag from him. You peeked inside, fingers tracing over the sleek packaging before your eyes landed on the label.

Made in 1999.

Your lips parted slightly. That was the year Chan was born. The wine was as old as he was.

"You didn’t have to," you murmured, glancing up at him. "This must’ve been expensive."

Chan shrugged, his eyes darting toward the bakery’s interior instead of meeting yours. "I just… I wanted to thank you. For the birthday event. The fans must’ve loved it."

Your heart clenched at that. He was referring to the special decorations you had set up last month—his face on banners, pastries in his band’s colors. At the time, you weren’t even sure why you had done it. Maybe it was just an old habit you couldn't shake, or maybe it was something else.

You bit your bottom lip, your gaze shifting to the wine glasses sitting on a cabinet nearby.

Without thinking, you walked over, grabbing two and setting them on a small table near the counter.

"Let’s drink it together," you said, glancing at him over your shoulder.

Chan immediately waved his hand. "No, it’s a present. You should keep it."

You smiled, tilting your head slightly. "It’s okay." A small chuckle escaped your lips. "I don’t like drinking alone."

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Because once upon a time, he had been the one you shared drinks with. Late-night conversations, quiet moments, the kind of familiarity that felt effortless.

And now, standing across from him, you weren’t sure if you were trying to relive a memory—

Or trying to forget one.

"Your worker..." Chan started, his voice casual yet laced with something unreadable.

You turned to him as you poured the deep red wine into his glass, the rich aroma filling the small space between you. He looked as charismatic as ever, effortlessly commanding attention even in something as simple as denim pants and a loose white shirt. His long hair, tucked neatly behind his ears, framed his face in a way that made your breath hitch—a sight you hadn’t expected to affect you so much. Unfair. So much unfair.

"Sunoo?" You guessed, already knowing your overly enthusiastic employee was the likely subject. Sunoo had a knack for keeping the bakery alive with his energy and charm, but sometimes—just sometimes—you wished he’d mind his own business, that little menace.

Chan nodded, confirming your suspicion. "Yeah, I think it’s Sunoo. He always makes me that Americano with berry syrup."

You froze.

Oh, dear god.

You needed to sit down. Or disappear. Preferably both.

Internally, you launched into a full-scale attack on Sunoo. That little rascal. That absolute traitor. You should’ve known better than to trust him near the espresso machine unsupervised.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Oh my god. Chan, I am so sorry. You hate that flavor, don’t you?"

Chan chuckled, waving it off. "Yeah, but it’s fine. He didn’t know."

"No, it’s not fine!" you wailed dramatically, gripping the wine bottle like a lifeline. "I can’t believe he’s been sabotaging your morning coffee all this time. What should I do to make it up to you? Free pastries? Free coffee for life? A legally binding contract that bans Sunoo from touching the espresso machine ever again?"

Chan laughed, shaking his head. "You don’t have to do all that."

"No, I do," you insisted. "And while I’m at it, I might need to stage an intervention for Sunoo. What was he thinking? Who just decides to put berry syrup in an Americano?!"

Chan grinned, watching your mini meltdown with mild amusement. "Maybe he was just trying to be creative?"

You pointed an accusatory finger at him. "No. No. We do not encourage Sunoo’s creative coffee experiments. That’s how we ended up with the Matcha Espresso Disaster of last year."

Chan laughed even harder, and for a moment, the bakery felt a little lighter, like you weren’t two exes dancing around old wounds.

Still, you were going to have a very serious conversation with Sunoo in the morning.

"Have dinner with me."

Chan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the bakery, steady but carrying something unspoken—something heavy.

Your breath hitched for just a second. "I’m sorry, what?" The words tumbled out before you could catch them, your brows furrowing in disbelief.

Chan didn’t flinch. He only nodded, his gaze locked onto yours with a quiet urgency. "Have dinner with me this weekend. You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?"

A soft, nervous laugh escaped you, but it did nothing to ease the sudden tension that thickened the air. "Chan… I don’t think—"

"As a friend," he cut in, his voice quieter this time, almost pleading. "Just as a friend. Please." His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers curling slightly against the counter. "It’s been a while since we really talked."

Your chest tightened. You glanced down at the glass in your hand, as if the deep red of the wine might offer you an escape. "We’re talking now, aren’t we?" You tried to sound casual, but your voice came out softer than you intended.

Chan let out a breath—part scoff, part something else. Then, he leaned in just slightly, the warmth of his presence making it impossible to ignore him.

He licked his lower lip, eyes still on you, unwavering.

"Are we?"

*

You stepped into his house just as the clock struck seven. Chan’s eyes immediately landed on the plastic bag in your hand—probably filled with your favorite food, just like always. It was a habit of yours, bringing something to eat whenever you came over, as if his kitchen wasn’t enough. It was something so familiar, so you, that it almost made him forget how long it had been since you last stood here.

He held the door open as you slipped off your shoes and made your way to the living room.

"It's clean…" You remarked, your eyes scanning the space with mild surprise.

Chan let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous tick. "Yeah… I try to keep it that way. But, you know, sometimes a hectic day hits, and it turns into a shipwreck."

You chuckled, settling onto his couch like you belonged there. And maybe that was what threw him off the most—you still fit into this space.

Chan swallowed and turned on his heel, heading toward the kitchen. He quickly grabbed a couple of containers for the food you brought, his hands moving on autopilot. But as he reached for a dish towel, he caught himself—he was stalling. Wiping down a bowl he’d already washed an hour ago just to keep busy, to calm the subtle panic creeping up his spine.

Because if he stopped moving, he’d have to face the fact that this was completely insane.

It had been an impulsive text, one he barely thought through before hitting send. Asking his ex to come over and hang out in his barely put-together apartment on his day off? He should’ve known better.

But what shocked him more was your response.

"Sure."

So casual. So effortless. So unlike the emotional mess he’d expected.

Chan had to check his phone twice to make sure it was actually you who replied.

And now here you were, sitting on his couch like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he stood in his kitchen trying to push down the ridiculous amount of effort he put into cleaning just because you were coming over.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Or maybe… he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Chan approached you, setting the containers down on the coffee table before crouching beside you to help unpack the food. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he pulled out a box, and for a moment, he wondered if you noticed. If you cared.

"You didn’t have to bring anything," he commented, glancing at you as he reached for another container. "We could’ve just ordered something."

"You say that like you don’t miss my good taste," you teased, but there was something softer in your voice—something familiar.

Chan let out a chuckle, shaking his head. But the moment his eyes landed on what you’d brought, he froze.

His favorite snack.

He blinked, his fingers still hovering over the box as realization settled in.

"I brought this for you," you said, casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "It’s from your favorite place."

Chan finally looked up at you, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. "That’s pretty far…"

He knew neither your place nor your bakery was anywhere near the restaurant.

You shrugged. "I went there this morning and got this on my way home. It’s already cold, though."

Cold? Did he care about that? Not at all.

The only thing that mattered was that you thought of him. That you saw the place, remembered him, and stopped to grab something for him.

His chest felt tight, like something warm was curling inside it, something he couldn’t quite name. Instead, he exhaled a quiet laugh and nudged the box closer to himself.

"You remembered," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

And for the first time that night, he let himself believe—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, he still had a place in your heart.

Chan cleared his throat, pushing away the warmth creeping up his chest. He didn’t want to dwell on it—not now, not when you were sitting here in his living room, casually unpacking food like old times. So instead, he latched onto the first neutral topic that came to mind.

"What about your bakery?" he asked, picking up a piece of the snack you’d brought. "Who’s taking care of it while you’re here?"

You glanced at him before reaching for a pair of chopsticks. "It’s closed today."

"Really?" Chan raised a brow. "You barely take a day off."

You nodded, leaning back slightly against the couch. "Sunoo, my part timer, his grandmother passed away. He went back to his hometown for the funeral."

Chan’s expression softened at that. He remembered that part timer, the one that always gave him americano with berry syrup. "Ah… That’s tough. He must’ve been close to her."

"He was," you said, stirring the food absentmindedly. "She basically raised him. That’s why I went to his hometown this morning—to pay my respects."

Chan stilled for a second, his grip on his chopsticks tightening just slightly.

You went all the way there?

His eyes flickered to you, studying your face, but you looked calm—like it was only natural for you to go.

Of course. That was just the kind of person you were. Always showing up for the people you cared about.

Chan exhaled, setting his food down. "You must be exhausted then. Going all the way there and then coming here?"

You tilted your head, as if just realizing it yourself. "Maybe a little," you admitted. "But it’s fine."

Chan clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You should’ve just gone home to rest."

You shot him a small smirk. "And miss the chance to see your shipwreck of a house? No way."

Chan let out a laugh, finally letting the warmth settle. Once again, maybe, he wasn’t the only one holding on to things that felt familiar.

*

Chan woke up feeling refreshed this morning. He stretched his limbs, tossing and turning in bed to shake off the lingering sleepiness before finally rolling out and heading to change into his workout gear.

On his way to the gym, his fingers were busy scrolling through his phone, instinctively opening your chat from last night after you went home. He hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to send you a message.

A morning text? Too much.

A witty text? Maybe something playful—

"Hey... I dreamed about you last night ;)"

Chan grimaced. Nope. That sounded like a terrible idea for a text to an ex.

Before he could think further, his thumb betrayed him.

"Hey.."

His eyes widened. He gasped.

Did he just—

Chan stopped in his tracks, staring at his screen in horror. Maybe if he deleted it fast enough—

Ding.

Your reply came almost instantly.

"Hey."

Chan blinked. Then exhaled, pressing his lips together to suppress a stupid smile.

Chan: In your bakery?

You: Yup!

Chan: Can I visit after my gym session?

You: Sure. I'll get your sandwich ready then. Bacon?

Chan: Perfect. See you then!

Chan breathed a sigh of relief, his heart feeling oddly lighter as he continued his walk to the gym.

Upon arriving, he spotted Jihoon—a rare sight at this hour. Given that it was still their day off, the older guy usually wasn’t functional before 1 PM.

"You’re here early," Chan noted as Jihoon finished his set, placing the dumbbells down with steady breaths.

Jihoon nodded. "Got an agenda this afternoon."

Chan smirked, whistling playfully. "Oh? That sounds suspicious—"

Jihoon shot him a glare. "Don’t look at me like that as if you weren’t with your ex last night."

Chan’s smirk instantly dropped. His eyes widened. He stepped closer to Jihoon, lowering his voice. "How do you know?"

Jihoon gave him a flat look. "I saw you sending her off. We live in the same area, genius."

Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. Right. He forgot about that.

Jihoon tilted his head slightly, arms crossed. "So… you two back together?"

Chan shook his head, trying to dismiss whatever was running through Jihoon's mind. "We’re just talking again. As friends, I guess? Yeah..." He nodded, as if saying it out loud would make it more true.

Jihoon hummed, wiping his hands with his towel. "Uh-huh."

Chan shot him a look. "What?"

Jihoon shrugged, tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Nothing. Just funny, that’s all."

Chan rolled his eyes and checked the time. "I don’t know why I still talk to you."

Jihoon chuckled. "Because you need someone to call you out on your denial."

Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not in denial."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Jihoon said, patting his shoulder before grabbing his own water bottle.

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair before finally giving in. "Alright, fine. I’ll tell you what happened."

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Go on."

Chan leaned against a nearby bench, crossing his arms. "Yesterday, I invited her over. It was kind of impulsive, but she said yes."

Jihoon nodded, waiting for more.

"So, I spent the whole damn day cleaning my place—like, deep cleaning, man. I don’t even know why, but I just wanted it to look nice."

Jihoon smirked but didn’t interrupt.

"She showed up with food, her usual thing, right? But this time, she brought my favorite snack. And guess what? She got it from that place across town—the one that’s way out of her way."

Jihoon let out a low whistle. "That’s commitment."

Chan ignored the way his stomach flipped at that. "I didn’t even know what to say. I just—man, she thought about me while she was out there. That kind of messed with me a little."

Jihoon gave him a knowing look. "And you’re still calling this just talking?"

Chan shot him a glare. "Let me finish."

Jihoon held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Continue."

Chan exhaled. "We talked, she told me about Sunoo, her staff—he’s dealing with some family stuff, so she visited his hometown earlier that morning."

Jihoon’s expression softened. "Oh, that’s rough."

"Yeah, she closed the bakery for the day because of it. Which means she didn’t even have to be up early, but she still went out of her way for all that."

Jihoon hummed, the teasing tone fading slightly. "She cares, Chan."

Chan rubbed his neck. "I know."

A beat of silence passed before Jihoon smirked again. "And then this morning?"

Chan let out a short laugh. "Woke up feeling... I don’t know, refreshed? Like, it wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t exactly normal either."

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. "You felt happy."

Chan groaned. "Why do you have to say it like that?"

Jihoon chuckled. "Because it’s the truth."

Chan shook his head. "Anyway, I’m stopping by the bakery after this. She’s already making my usual sandwich."

Jihoon grinned. "She remembers your usual? And you’re still trying to act like this is casual?"

Chan shot him a look. "Hyung."

Jihoon laughed, slapping Chan’s shoulder. "Alright, alright. But I’m telling you, man, this? This is not just talking."

Chan sighed but didn’t argue. Because deep down, he knew Jihoon was right.

*

Days passed, and without either of you realizing it, things started to shift.

It wasn’t a sudden, dramatic change—it was subtle, natural, as if the distance that had settled between you was melting away piece by piece. Conversations stretched longer, laughter came easier, and before Chan knew it, you were slipping back into his life the way you always belonged.

And then, one night, it happened.

A kiss.

It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t talked about—it just happened. Maybe it was the way you looked at him when you laughed, maybe it was how the night air felt warmer with you by his side, or maybe it was just that deep, undeniable pull that had never really left.

But the moment his lips met yours, he knew.

This is it.

This was the cue. The silent signal that everything was starting again, that whatever had broken before was slowly, steadily piecing itself back together.

From then on, Chan didn’t hesitate. After his schedule, he would drive to your bakery just to pick you up, sometimes without even texting beforehand. He’d lean against the counter, watching as you wrapped up the last orders, his presence so familiar that even your staff stopped questioning it.

"Long day?" you’d ask, handing him a cup of tea or whatever you’d decided he needed that day.

And he’d smile, nodding as he took the cup from your hands. "Better now."

Sometimes, the two of you would just drive around with no real destination, the quiet hum of the car and the city lights making everything feel weightless. Other times, you’d take slow walks through empty streets, talking about your days, about nothing and everything at once.

It felt easy. It felt right.

And Chan?

Chan felt like he was finding a part of himself that had been lost all this time.

You.

Chan stepped inside your house, his gaze instinctively sweeping over your living room. It looked different from last year. The cute trinkets and soft pastels that once decorated every corner were gone, replaced with a more refined, mature aesthetic. The change was subtle, but he noticed. It wasn’t just the decor that had shifted—something about the entire space felt different, as if time itself had settled into the walls.

His eyes drifted to the kitchen, where a few dishes sat in the sink, remnants of breakfast still lingering on the counter. Maybe you hadn’t gotten around to cleaning, or maybe you’d spent the night experimenting with new recipes for your bakery. Either way, it was lived-in, real—you. And Chan liked that. It felt warm, like home, like the way you used to make his kitchen feel.

"You want tea? Coffee?" you asked, already moving toward the kitchen.

Chan shook his head, stepping closer. "No need to get your hands busy. Just sit with me," he murmured, tapping the empty space beside him on the couch.

You hesitated for a second before joining him, barely getting comfortable before he pulled you into his arms.

"I like this…" he muttered, his voice low, as if he was admitting something to himself more than to you.

A soft laugh escaped you. "Like what?"

"This," he whispered, arms tightening around you just enough for you to notice. "Being here with you again."

Your breath caught for a moment. His warmth, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne—it all felt so natural, so right. Like something neither of you had ever truly let go of.

You sighed, relaxing into him. "I missed this too."

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside and the steady rhythm of your breathing against Chan’s chest. His arms tightened around you slightly, as if grounding himself in this moment, as if afraid that if he let go, you’d slip away again.

You shifted just enough to look up at him, and Chan’s gaze met yours—warm, searching, lingering. His fingers brushed lightly along your arm before trailing up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"You’re staring," you murmured, a teasing lilt in your voice.

"Yeah," he admitted without hesitation, his lips curling into a small smile. "I missed looking at you."

Your breath hitched slightly, your heart betraying you with the way it picked up pace. There was something so effortless about Chan, the way he could make you feel like the only person in the world with just a look.

"Then make up for lost time," you whispered.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation flashing in his features for just a second—one last moment of restraint before he closed the distance between you.

The first brush of his lips was slow, careful, almost like he was testing the waters. But the second? The second was deeper, fuller, laced with all the unsaid words and emotions that had been hanging between. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face to his as he pressed in closer, his thumb stroking gently along your cheek.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed—it was unhurried, savoring, like both of you wanted to memorize this moment, to make sure it wasn’t just a fleeting dream.

Chan sighed against your lips, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. "Tell me this isn't just nostalgia," he whispered, voice slightly breathless.

You shook your head, brushing your fingers through his hair. "It’s not."

Relief washed over his face before he captured your lips again, this time with more certainty. Like he wasn’t just falling—he was diving headfirst. And this time, he wasn’t afraid of the landing.

Chan woke up with you in his arms almost every morning. Not that he planned it every time, but he tried—and he could. Sometimes he crashed at your place, claiming it was too late to drive home. Other times, he dragged you to his, using the excuse that his bed was bigger, softer, warmer. The truth was, he just wanted to see you first thing in the morning.

Like now.

He blinked against the morning light filtering through your curtains, the weight of your body pressed against his chest grounding him in the best way. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, your hand lazily resting on his hoodie, the fabric bunched slightly in your grasp as if even in your sleep, you didn’t want him to go.

Chan smiled, his fingers brushing along your back, tracing idle patterns. You stirred slightly, a soft hum escaping your lips before your body relaxed again.

"You're staring," you mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

Chan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Yeah. I like looking at you."

"You say that too much," you whined, but the way your fingers curled against his hoodie betrayed the warmth spreading through you.

"Then you should get used to it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "Because I don’t think I’ll ever stop."

You sighed, tilting your head up just enough for your lips to find his. It was slow, lazy—like the morning itself, like neither of you were in any rush to move, to leave the bubble of warmth you’d created. Chan sighed into the kiss, his hand slipping under the hem of your sweater, resting against the bare skin of your waist.

"You have to open the bakery today?" he asked between kisses.

You hummed, but made no move to pull away. "Not until ten."

Chan smirked. "That means we have at least two more hours."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already curving into a smile as Chan flipped you onto your back, leaning over you with that mischievous look in his eyes—the one that always, always made you weak.

"Two hours," you reminded him, though the way you pulled him closer told a different story.

"Plenty of time," he whispered before capturing your lips again.

*

"You're back together."

Hansol mentioned it too casually one day during their recording session for the next comeback, his voice carrying over the hum of instruments and the quiet chatter of the producers.

Chan raised a brow, glancing at him from his seat. "How do you know? Jihoon hyung told you?"

Hansol furrowed his brows. "Jihoon hyung knew?"

Chan let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean—he saw us. So..."

Hansol nodded slowly, then sighed, arms crossed over his chest. "I saw her in your clothes this morning. That shirt—I gave it to you."

Chan’s mouth formed an "O" as realization hit. Right. That oversized, faded gray shirt you had grabbed from his closet before rushing out the door.

"You're right..." He huffed a laugh before shrugging. "And yeah, we’re talking again."

Hansol smirked. "Isn’t it a bit much to be wearing your clothes in the morning while still in the ‘talking again’ phase?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "Hey, respect all the effort. It took me a whole year to finally realize everything."

Hansol’s smirk softened into something gentler. "Well, I’m happy for you, though." His voice was quieter now, more sincere.

Chan met his gaze, the corners of his lips twitching up. It felt nice, hearing that from Hansol—like the pieces of his life were finally clicking back into place.

"Did Seungkwan know about this?" Hansol asked suddenly, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Chan blinked, then quickly shook his head. "Haven’t told him yet."

Hansol snorted. "Oh, that’s gonna be fun."

The next day, Seungkwan strolled up to Chan with an unreadable expression, arms crossed over his chest like he was about to deliver some sort of life-altering news.

"You’ll never guess who I ran into yesterday," Seungkwan started, watching Chan’s face closely.

Chan barely looked up from his phone, tapping out a quick message before pocketing it. "Who?"

"Wonha."

That got Chan’s attention. He blinked, brows furrowing slightly as he tried to place the name properly. Wonha. His ex from his early twenties. One of the few exes he actually had a good relationship with after the breakup.

"Huh," Chan muttered, tilting his head. "How’s she doing?"

Seungkwan raised a brow. "She’s doing well. And—" He leaned in slightly as if dropping a bombshell. "She asked for your number."

Chan blinked again, this time in mild surprise. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Said she wanted to catch up."

Chan leaned back in his chair, processing that. Wonha had always been a good friend, even when they realized romance wasn’t for them. There was no dramatic fallout, no resentment. Just two people who grew apart but still wished each other well.

"Did you give it to her?"

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. "Would I be telling you this if I didn’t?"

Chan chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess not."

And so, he waited. Not anxiously, not with any particular anticipation, but with a vague curiosity. He knew he wouldn’t reach out first—that wasn’t his style. If she really wanted to talk, she’d text.

And she did.

A simple Hey, Chan! It’s been forever. How’ve you been? popped up on his screen later that evening.

Chan hesitated for half a second before typing back.

Hey, Wonha! Yeah, it has been. I’ve been good. You?

The conversation flowed easily after that, casual and familiar. Like two old friends catching up. Because that’s all it was. A friendly catch-up.

Or at least, that’s what Chan told himself.

The next day, Chan found himself spending the entire afternoon at your bakery, pretending he was just there to help out but mostly just looking for excuses to be near you. He chatted with Sunoo, stole a few samples of the new pastries you were testing, and even helped clean up when things got a little messy in the kitchen. But really, he was just waiting for the clock to hit nine.

And the second it did, he was already grabbing your coat from the rack and tossing it over your shoulders.

"Let's go," he said, nudging you toward the door.

You raised a brow, amused by his impatience. "I need to close up first, you know?"

"I’ll help," he insisted, already moving to flip the sign to closed and gathering whatever needed tidying up.

It barely took five minutes before he was pulling you to his car, a familiar routine by now—one that neither of you questioned anymore.

"Where to?" he asked, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he glanced at you.

You hummed, thinking. "Han River. Convenience store. Instant noodles and maybe a can of beer."

Chan grinned, nodding as he shifted gears. "Classic."

The drive was smooth, city lights blurring past as the two of you fell into easy conversation about your day. It was moments like this that made Chan realize how much he had missed this—the late-night drives, the effortless company, the way you made him feel like no matter how exhausting his schedule was, this was always worth it.

When you arrived, the convenience store was quiet, only a few other night owls scattered around, either enjoying their own late-night snacks or lost in their own worlds. Chan grabbed a basket, filling it with your usual picks—two cups of instant noodles, a can of beer for you, and a bottle of water for himself. He threw in a bag of chips for good measure before heading to the cashier.

As you both settled at one of the outdoor tables overlooking the river, the crisp night air wrapped around you, but it wasn’t cold. Not with Chan beside you.

"You ever think about how we always end up here?" you mused, watching the steam curl up from your noodles.

Chan chuckled, tapping his chopsticks against the rim of his cup. "Yeah. It’s like our thing, isn’t it?"

You nodded, smiling softly. "Our thing."

Chan watched you for a moment, something warm settling in his chest. Maybe it had always been this simple. Maybe it had always been you.

After a while, between bites of noodles and sips of beer, the conversation flowed effortlessly—talking about anything and everything, teasing each other, reminiscing old memories. The laughter came easily, and for Chan, it felt like breathing.

Then someone approached.

"Chan?"

He looked up, chopsticks frozen mid-air, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Wonha?"

She smiled, standing there with casual ease, as if running into him was the most natural thing in the world. They greeted each other, the familiarity still lingering despite the years apart.

Then her gaze shifted to you, curiosity flickering in her expression. "And you are...?"

Chan blinked. He hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about how to define this, to define you. Girlfriend? Ex? Friend? What were you now?

"We're close," he finally said, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

You, ever composed, simply smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Y/n."

Wonha shook your hand, offering a polite nod. The conversation that followed was friendly—catching up, lighthearted small talk. Wonha mentioned she was back in town for a while, talked about work, asked about Chan’s schedule. But despite the casual nature, there was an underlying awkwardness, a tension Chan couldn’t quite shake.

And when Wonha finally excused herself, the silence she left behind was even heavier.

You didn’t say anything at first, just finished the last of your drink, eyes focused on the rippling water of the river. Chan shifted in his seat, glancing at you, waiting for you to say something—anything.

Then, after what felt like forever, you spoke.

"Let’s go home."

It was simple, but it carried weight.

Chan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Finally, the silence is cut.

He nodded, standing up and grabbing the trash, his mind racing as he followed you back to the car.

*

Chan couldn’t reach you for almost a week. At first, he thought you were just busy. He texted, called a couple of times, but the replies were short, if they came at all. He even stopped by your bakery, only to have Sunoo mention in passing that you had gone on a business trip to another town.

That was when the uneasy feeling started creeping in.

You hadn’t mentioned anything about a trip to him. And worse—when he thought about it, he realized you had been slowly distancing yourself for the past week. Maybe even longer.

He wanted to believe he was overthinking, but deep down, he knew better. You were avoiding him.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, another problem decided to make an appearance.

That morning, his phone was bombarded with notifications—texts, calls, mentions. At first, he thought it was just another work update or a group chat going off. But then Seungkwan's name flashed on his screen.

"Congrats, man. So, when were you planning to tell us?"

Chan frowned. "Tell you what?"

Seungkwan sighed dramatically. "The dating news, obviously. Your article is everywhere."

Chan's heart dropped. He pulled up social media, and there it was—a headline with his name splashed all over the place:

"Seventeen's Dino spotted on a date? Rumors of a relationship surface after café sighting!"

Accompanied by a picture.

A picture of him sitting across from a girl at a café.

And the girl in the photo?

It wasn’t you.

It was Wonha.

Chan froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. His members started chiming in one by one—congratulations, playful teasing, all assuming the article was true.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "This isn’t true."

The only thing he could do now was call the company, demand a clarification, and make sure the world knew that Wonha was just a friend.

But even if he could fix this problem, there was still you.

And right now, you were already slipping away.

"Why don’t you ask the girl you met at the café about her?"

Sunoo’s response was sharp, his words slicing through the tension in the air. Chan had barely stepped foot into the bakery before being met with that cold remark.

It had been a week since the scandal broke, a week since he had last seen you. And now, here he was, standing in the familiar warmth of your bakery, trying to explain himself.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Chan started, his voice firm but laced with frustration. “The media twisted it, like they always do.”

Sunoo didn’t look convinced. He crouched behind the counter, rummaging for something, before standing back up and placing a small sign in front of the register.

Chan furrowed his brows, reading the words aloud.

"House reserves the right to refuse service to anyone."

"Wait—this is a thing?" Chan asked, blinking in disbelief. He had never seen that sign here before.

Sunoo nodded, arms crossed. "House rule. F&B industry stuff. You wouldn’t understand since you come from entertainment."

Chan let out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes. "You keep talking about industries. Why don’t you just tell me where Y/n is?"

Sunoo’s expression hardened. He leaned against the counter, gaze unwavering. "Why? You want to see her? Talk to her? Do you always check in on your ex like this?"

Chan felt his breath hitch. "What are you talking about?"

But before Sunoo could respond, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new customer. In an instant, his demeanor shifted.

"Welcome!" Sunoo greeted with a bright, polite voice, flashing a smile at the guest. But just before he turned away completely, he cast Chan one last glance—one filled with something unreadable.

And just like that, Chan was left standing there, feeling as though the ground beneath him had suddenly become unsteady.

"He's gone..." Sunoo murmured, still watching through the bakery window as Chan disappeared down the street.

You stepped out of the kitchen, wiping your hands on a towel before settling onto one of the bar stools. Your expression was unreadable, but Sunoo could see the tension in your shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked, leaning against the counter.

You let out a chuckle, though it lacked humor. "Why wouldn’t I be okay?"

Sunoo raised an eyebrow. "Well, for starters, you’ve been avoiding him for a week. And second, you were just hiding in the kitchen the moment he walked in."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "I was busy."

"Right," Sunoo drawled, crossing his arms. "Too busy to tell him you were going on a business trip? Too busy to tell him you're upset?"

You exhaled, resting your elbows on the counter as you looked down at your hands. "What do you want me to say, Sunoo?"

"Maybe the truth?" he suggested. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're running away."

You bit your lip, but didn’t say anything.

Sunoo sighed, softening his voice. "You know, whatever it is you're feeling, you're allowed to feel it. You don’t have to act like nothing happened."

You glanced at him, eyes flickering with something close to hesitation. Sunoo didn’t push further, but he didn’t back down either.

"Just… think about it," he said before turning back to work, leaving you with your thoughts.

*

You went home, exhausted, only to halt in surprise at the sight of Chan squatting in front of your unit, scrolling through his phone. The glow of the screen illuminated his furrowed brows, but the moment his eyes caught yours, he stood up immediately.

"Now we meet," he said, his voice firm. You could hear the frustration laced in his words, see it in the way his shoulders tensed. But you were more upset than he was, and in your mind, he deserved every second of silence you'd given him.

"You're just going to give me the silent treatment? Like you always do?"

Your hand froze on the door handle. Slowly, you turned to face him.

"I thought we were over a year ago," you said, your tone indifferent.

Chan sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "And here I thought we had a chance."

You crossed your arms, looking at him with unreadable eyes. "What do you want, Chan?"

"You have no idea how crazy I’ve been this past week. After everything between us, you just disappeared, like you always do. This isn’t how you handle things. You don’t just vanish when things get tough."

You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked down at your shoes. "Oh, sure…" Lifting your head, you met his gaze with something sharp, something cold. "You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Playing with someone’s heart."

Chan's brows furrowed, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "What are you trying to say?"

"You’re good at it," you said, voice unwavering. "Messing with people's feelings."

His frustration cracked into something closer to disbelief. "You’re the one who left me. A year ago and now. Don’t make it seem like I was the one who walked out that night."

Your jaw clenched as you turned away, gripping the door handle once more. "You have no right to tell me that."

"Grow up."

You stopped.

"Nobody in this world is a mind reader," Chan continued, his voice quieter but no less firm. "So grow up and say what’s in your head. I can’t guess what you’re thinking, and I need you to tell me what’s wrong, what needs fixing. I know I lack a lot, but after everything—after seeing you again—I want to be better. But the way you treat me... it's making me feel small."

You didn't respond immediately, your heart pounding in your chest. His words hit you in places you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Have you ever thought," you started, voice softer now, "how things would’ve been different if you had asked me to stay that night?"

Silence.

You let out a breath, your lips curling into something bitter. "You wouldn’t know, would you? Because you never even tried. And that’s what hurt me the most."

Finally, you turned fully to him, looking straight into his eyes. "You never knew how hard it was to speak my mind just to be ignored. And that’s why you never understood how much it hurt."

Chan exhaled sharply, as if your words had physically struck him.

"And now, you want me to speak?" Your voice didn’t waver, but there was a slight tremble in your fingertips. "Tell me, Chan, if I do—will you actually listen this time?"

Chan stared at you, his lips parting as if he had something to say, but no words came out. The weight of your words sank into his chest, heavy and suffocating. He had spent so long trying to understand you, but he had never really asked himself whether he had truly listened.

His silence was enough of an answer.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned back to your door. “Exactly.”

Chan stepped forward, desperate. "I know I messed up. I know I should’ve done things differently, but Y/n, do you really think I didn’t want you to stay?"

You let out a dry laugh, gripping the doorknob but not turning it yet. "Wanting and actually doing something about it are two different things, Chan. And I waited—God, I waited for you to just say something. But you didn’t."

"I was scared," he admitted, voice raw. "I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without being selfish. I thought maybe—maybe if you left, you’d be happier."

You turned around, eyes narrowing. "And who gave you the right to decide what would make me happy?"

He faltered, guilt flashing across his face. "I—"

"Chan," you sighed, your voice softer this time, tired. "I don’t want to do this again if it's just going to end the same way."

"Then don’t let it," he pleaded. "We can be better this time. I can be better. But I need you to talk to me. No more running, no more silence. Just us—figuring this out together."

You searched his face, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the desperation, the regret. But was it enough?

"You broke my heart," you whispered.

Chan swallowed hard, his own heart aching at your confession. "I know," he said quietly. "But if you let me, I'll spend however long it takes putting it back together."

The air between you was thick with emotion, the past lingering like a ghost neither of you could quite shake. The choice was yours now. To let him try—or to walk away for good.

You let out a quiet sigh before pushing the door open wider. "Come in."

Chan hesitated for a second, as if he didn’t expect you to actually let him in, but he stepped inside nonetheless. You didn’t want anyone witnessing the two of you arguing in the hallway, and frankly, you were too tired for a public spectacle.

The door clicked shut behind you as you walked to the dining table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. You didn’t look at him. Instead, you focused on the smooth surface of the table, tracing invisible patterns with your fingertips.

Chan, meanwhile, stood by the window, three meters away. His hands were in his pockets, his back against the frame, his posture tense yet composed. His eyes weren’t on you either. The space between you was filled with silence—thick, suffocating, and louder than any argument you could’ve had outside.

Seconds stretched into minutes, neither of you speaking. The weight of the past, of everything left unsaid, settled heavily in the room.

Eventually, Chan broke the silence. His voice was quieter this time, hesitant but firm.

"Why did you leave that night?"

Your fingers stilled against the table. You swallowed, debating whether to answer honestly or give him the same indifference you had been holding onto.

"Because I was tired," you finally said. Your voice was calm, but the bitterness in it was unmistakable.

In the past, you had always known that Chan was friendly and well-liked. That wasn’t the problem. The problem started when you kept hearing from other people—friends, fans, even strangers—that he was still close with all of his exes. Some people even made jokes about how he had never been single for more than a month before jumping into another relationship.

At first, you brushed it off, trusting him. But over time, it started to bother you—not just the rumors, but the way Chan never reassured you about them. Instead of addressing your concerns, he dismissed them like they were insignificant.

“Why are you listening to those people? You know me.”

“Come on, it’s just people making up stories. Don’t let it get in your head.”

“So what if I’m on good terms with them? It’s called being mature.”

Every time you tried to talk about it, he shut it down, making you feel like you were overreacting. He never cheated, but he never made you feel secure either. And that’s what hurt the most—his failure to recognize that trust isn’t just about being faithful, it’s about making your partner feel like they’re the only one who matters.

As months passed, you tried to hold on, tried to trust him, tried to ignore the way doubt kept creeping into your heart. But it became exhausting—feeling like you were the only one fighting against the rumors, the only one trying to hold the relationship together.

Then, there was one final moment that broke you. Maybe it was another passing comment from someone about him still being close to a particular ex. Maybe it was seeing a picture of him with one of them, looking too comfortable, too familiar. Whatever it was, you tried one last time to make him understand.

“Chan, I’m tired of always hearing about you and your exes. I’m tired of feeling like I’m competing with ghosts.”

But instead of listening, he got defensive.

“You don’t trust me at all, do you? Why are you making this such a big deal?”

You sighed deeply, crossing your arms over your chest, as if trying to hold yourself together. “I was tired of fighting with my own thoughts. Because whenever I tried to bring them to the table, you brushed them away.”

Your voice was steady, but Chan could hear the exhaustion beneath it. That quiet kind of hurt—the one that lingers long after the wound is made.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I did that?”

You let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yes. And I started to feel alone. Alone… alone… while you were out, hanging out—a lot—with your exes. And I was left by myself. I saw you that night. You were with your friends, and there was her…”

You didn’t have to say her name. He knew exactly who you were talking about.

Chan exhaled sharply, looking away. The weight of your words pressed against his chest, tightening like a vice.

He remembered that night—the night everything between you fell apart.

He could still hear his phone ringing, your name flashing on the screen. He had answered casually, thinking it was just another call. You told him you were at his place. You wanted to talk.

He said he’d be home soon. But he hadn’t meant it.

Instead, he stayed. Another drink. Another story. Another hour.

When he finally did go home, you were already waiting—but not in the way he had expected. You weren’t curled up on his couch, waiting to be held. You weren’t upset, demanding an explanation.

No, you were standing there—rigid, distant, already pulling away.

And before he could even process what was happening, before he could even reach for you—

You ended it.

Just like that. No screaming, no accusations, no dramatic fights.

Just quiet devastation.

“You didn’t trust me.” His voice barely broke the silence.

You met his eyes, and it sent a shiver down his spine. There was no hesitation when you answered.

“You’re right.”

The finality of it crashed into him like a wave.

Chan clenched his fists, his mind spiraling back to that night. He had stood there, watching you walk away, unable to move, unable to say a single word. Because at that moment, he was too caught up in himself.

He hadn’t thought about you. About how you had tried—again and again—to tell him what was wrong. About how you had begged, without ever raising your voice, for him to reassure you.

Instead, he had let his own frustration consume him. He had spent so long convincing himself that you were the problem—that you were overthinking, being irrational, asking for too much.

But now, hearing you say it so plainly—

You didn’t trust him. And he had given you every reason not to.

His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant. “You never told me why…”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable—hurt, regret, maybe even disappointment.

“Because you weren’t on the same page as me.”

Silence.

And it was deafening.

Because he knew it was true. Even if you had explained back then, he wouldn’t have understood. He would’ve dismissed it, convinced himself that you were just being insecure.

But this wasn’t insecurity.

This was trust breaking, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to hold onto.

And suddenly, he realized—you hadn’t left because you wanted to. You left because, at that moment, you had no other choice.

And that realization hurt more than he ever thought it would.

Chan knew he had lost you once because he failed to listen. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He stood there, leaning against your window frame, the weight of everything sinking in. The silence between you was thick—so many words left unspoken, so much hurt neither of you had truly acknowledged until now.

But this time, he wasn’t going to brush it aside. He wasn’t going to let his own emotions overshadow yours.

Chan took a slow breath and finally spoke, his voice steady but filled with raw sincerity. “I was selfish.”

You didn’t say anything, but the slight twitch in your expression told him you were listening.

“I thought I was doing enough just by being with you. I thought… if I wasn’t doing anything wrong, then there was nothing to fix. But I never stopped to ask myself if I was making you feel safe with me. If I was making you feel like you mattered.”

He pushed off the window frame, stepping closer. Not too close—just enough to show you that this time, he wasn’t running from the conversation.

“You were right to leave me that night,” he admitted. “Because I wasn’t ready to hear you. I wasn’t ready to understand. But I am now.”

The room felt smaller with Chan standing there, his presence filling the silence between you. The weight of everything—the past, the heartbreak, the unspoken words—pressed down on both of you, but for the first time, neither of you looked away.

You exhaled slowly, your arms still crossed, the shield you had built around yourself refusing to fall so easily. "You say all the right things now," you muttered, your voice quieter than before. "But words don’t erase what happened."

Chan nodded, his expression serious. "I know." He took a cautious step forward, just enough to close the emotional distance without overwhelming you. "I know words aren’t enough. But I’m not saying this just to make you forgive me. I just... need you to know that I finally get it."

His voice carried none of the frustration or defensiveness you had once been so used to. Instead, there was something raw—an understanding, a regret that felt real.

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. "It took you losing me to understand?"

"Yeah," he admitted, a small, humorless smile on his lips. "I guess I had to lose you to really see how much I took for granted."

Your shoulders eased just slightly, the tension in your chest loosening. You weren't ready to forgive him, not yet. But something about the way he was speaking—**without excuses, without pushing blame onto you—**made you feel like, for once, he was truly listening.

He glanced down at his hands, exhaling deeply before meeting your gaze again. "I don't expect things to go back to the way they were. I don’t even expect you to give me another chance. But if you ever think there’s even the slightest possibility of trusting me again..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Then I want to be someone worth trusting."

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t as suffocating this time. The anger that had once flared between you had softened into something else—something uncertain, something hesitant, but no longer painful.

You sighed, finally lowering your arms. "I don’t know if I can just believe you overnight."

Chan nodded, the corner of his lips twitching into the smallest, most understanding smile. "Then let me prove it to you. No rush, no expectations. Just… let me be here. This time, I’ll listen."

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he would.

*

"Have you seen this?"

Attached was a screenshot—an official announcement from Pledis Entertainment.

"Dino of SEVENTEEN is currently in a relationship with a non-celebrity. We ask for your support and understanding."

The news took you by surprise.

Your name wasn’t mentioned in the official announcement, but you knew. You were the non-celebrity. The one the world was suddenly talking about. The one they were wishing happiness for.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—friends, acquaintances, even people you hadn’t spoken to in years, all reaching out with the same excitement. "Is it true?" "Are you really dating Dino?" "How did this even happen?"

You stared at the screen, overwhelmed, heart racing.

And then, there was the photo. The one of Chan in an apron, standing behind the counter of your bakery. Box on his hands, sleeves rolled up, a soft smile as he handed a customer their order. It had been taken just last weekend, completely candid. You knew because you had been standing right beside him, laughing as he struggled to tie the apron properly.

You weren’t sure how the photo got out. Maybe a customer had snapped it. Maybe a fan had recognized him. Maybe it didn’t even matter anymore—because now, the world knew.

And surprisingly, they were happy for you.

You had been terrified of this moment. Afraid of what people might say, of the scrutiny that would come with being associated with him again. But as you scrolled through the comments, you saw nothing but excitement, nothing but support.

"Dino looks so happy!"

"He really found someone special."

"He’s literally boyfriend goals, helping out at her bakery like that."

"I hope they stay together for a long time."

Your chest tightened. It felt surreal.

It had taken months to get here. Months of hesitation, of slow conversations, of learning to trust again. Months of Chan proving to you—through actions, not just words—that he had changed.

That he had finally understood.

You thought back to the first time he had shown up at your bakery. He hadn't said much, just stood there awkwardly, asking if you needed help. You had been hesitant, but you let him stay. Then he kept coming back. On his free days, between schedules, whenever he could.

And somewhere in between rolling dough, wiping flour off his face, and sneaking bites of pastries when he thought you weren’t looking—he became part of your life again.

Not as an idol. Not as the Chan you once fought with. Just as him.

You put your phone down, heart still racing.

Chan had yet to text you about the announcement. He was probably waiting, letting you process it on your own.

And for once, you weren’t afraid.

You looked toward the kitchen, where he was now—tying his apron, completely unaware that the world had just found out about you two.

You took a deep breath, stepped forward, and smiled.

"Hey, boyfriend," you teased, leaning against the counter.

Chan looked up, confused for a second, before his phone finally buzzed. His eyes widened.

"You okay?" he asked immediately, concern flickering in his gaze.

You nodded. "Are you?"

He exhaled, then grinned. "Well… at least they got my best angle."

You rolled your eyes, but you laughed. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking at the past anymore.

At first, you weren’t sure how things would change.

Chan had always been social, always surrounded by people, and a part of you feared slipping back into old patterns. The nights where you’d feel left out. The moments where you questioned your place in his life. But this time, things were different.

He made sure of it.

The first time he invited you to hang out with his friends, you hesitated. You still remembered how it felt before—watching from the sidelines while he laughed with people who had known him longer, had history with him in a way you didn’t. But Chan noticed.

And instead of brushing it off, he reached for your hand.

"Hey, come here," he had said softly, pulling you into the conversation. "They’ve been wanting to meet you properly."

Properly.

Not as someone in the background. Not as just another presence in the room. But as his girlfriend.

From that day on, he never made you feel like an outsider. You were part of his world now, not just someone looking in.

Whenever he was with his friends, his arm always found its way around your shoulders. If you were feeling quiet, he’d gently pull you closer, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head, whispering, "You okay?" If he laughed at an inside joke, he’d take the time to explain it to you. If his friends teased him, saying he had changed, he’d just smile and say, "Yeah. I did."

And then there were his exes.

Chan never cut them out of his life—not because he was holding onto the past, but because he had learned how to balance things. He didn’t hide it from you. He was transparent, always telling you if he happened to run into them, if they caught up once in a while.

But the difference now? He never let it make you feel small.

If his exes were around, he made it clear where he stood. His hand in yours. His attention on you. His presence next to you, always.

"You don’t have to worry," he’d say, eyes sincere. "I know what I want."

And he showed you.

When someone brought up his dating history, he never entertained it. If an old friend joked about how he’d never been single for long, he’d only shrug and say, "That’s in the past."

And if there was ever a moment—even the smallest second—where doubt crept into your mind, he always knew.

One night, after a dinner gathering, he noticed how you grew quiet as an old conversation about his past relationships resurfaced. He didn’t wait for you to bring it up.

In the car ride home, he reached for your hand and held it against his chest.

"Talk to me," he murmured.

You sighed, unsure how to put it into words. "I know you’re close with them. And I don’t want to be the kind of person who’s insecure about it. But sometimes…"

"Sometimes it still lingers?" he finished gently.

You nodded.

Chan didn’t get defensive. He didn’t dismiss it. He just squeezed your hand and said, "I get it. And I’m not asking you to ignore your feelings. Just… let me remind you, whenever you need it."

You looked at him, heart softening. "How will you remind me?"

He turned to you, eyes full of certainty.

"Like this."

And before you could react, he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

Not rushed. Not just for reassurance. But because he wanted to. Because he chose you.

And he would always make sure you knew that.

*

Seungkwan had absolutely nothing in his head as he stood near the break room, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. It was one of those rare moments where his brain wasn’t running a hundred miles per hour—no schedules to stress over, no members to yell at for losing their things nor refusing to take their vitamins. Just mindless scrolling.

That was until he overheard Hansol’s voice from inside the room.

“She sent me some pictures. It looked good.”

Seungkwan barely paid attention at first, but then Chan’s voice followed, casual as ever.

“Yeah, she was developing a new recipe last night. She told you about that? Jeez, you’re still her favorite member, hyung.”

Seungkwan’s thumb froze mid-scroll.

She?

Recipe?

His eyes narrowed. He replayed the sentence in his head, dissecting it like a scientist analyzing a new discovery. There was only one “she” in their circle who was obsessed with baking.

His heart dropped to his stomach.

His brain took a second too long to process the words. The next thing he knew, he was barging into the room, his eyes darting between Hansol and Chan.

"WAIT, WHAT?! WHAT’S GOING ON?!"

Chan looked up lazily from his phone, blinking at Seungkwan like he had just asked if water was wet. "Uh… what do you mean?"

Seungkwan’s jaw dropped. "DID YOU JUST SAY SHE—AS IN Y/N?!"

Hansol smirked but said nothing, sipping his drink.

Chan nodded, still looking completely unbothered. "Yeah? Why?"

Seungkwan’s face contorted in a mix of betrayal and disbelief. "YOU’RE BACK TOGETHER?!"

"Uh-huh."

"AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!"

Hansol chuckled, leaning back. "Dude, it’s been months."

Seungkwan gasped dramatically. "Months?!" He placed a hand on his chest as if he had just been personally attacked. "And I was the last to know?"

Chan shrugged, completely unfazed. "We didn’t exactly keep it a secret. You were just… too busy freaking out over the whole scandal thing."

"Busy freaking out—Chan, I lost SLEEP over that! I thought I ruined your life! I was having nightmares about it!" Seungkwan clutched his head as if reliving the trauma. "And the whole time, you two were just happily together behind my back?!"

Hansol patted his shoulder, failing to suppress a laugh. "Yeah, man. You really stressed yourself out for nothing."

Seungkwan groaned, collapsing onto the couch. "Unbelievable. This is betrayal. I feel so betrayed." He pointed an accusatory finger at Chan. "You should’ve told me! I deserve better than this!"

Chan chuckled, finally setting his phone down and walking over to ruffle Seungkwan’s hair. "Alright, alright. I’ll make it up to you. How about we all hang out at the bakery tomorrow? She’s testing out her new recipe."

Seungkwan’s ears perked up slightly, but he kept up his sulking act. "...The one with the cream filling?"

Chan smirked. "Yup."

Silence.

"...Fine," Seungkwan muttered, crossing his arms. "But only because of the food."

Hansol shook his head. "He forgives fast."

Seungkwan scoffed but didn’t deny it. "You’re lucky I love desserts. But I’m still mad at you."

Chan laughed, slinging an arm around him. "Sure, sure. I’ll let her know her favorite member is coming by."

Seungkwan rolled his eyes, "liar. You said it was Hansol earlier." But he couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at his lips.

And just like that, the weight of the past lifted, leaving only laughter, warmth, and the start of something even better.

End.

[see-arcane]

You know the one good thing about being a pessimist?

It feels great to be proven wrong.

Bravo, Bobby Egg.

I was so happily surprised by this. This film went through a fantastic puberty between the leaked script and the screen. The main points to note:

-No, Ellen is not hot for Count Orlok. She and Thomas are 110% in love. There are even certain Harker-flavored quotes thrown in to prove as much. (Details under the cut.)

-Count Orlok is a terrifying bastard and a half. Significantly more imposing than classic Orlok’s spindly rigor mortis-stiff figure and only wearing a sliver of Dracula’s performative charm. He is a Devil-Death archetype playing a monster who operates in deceit and contracts to wring out what he wants. That and a lot of corpses.

-This film is so beautiful. No gothic touch is skipped.

In sum, I more than like this film. I love it. It isn’t perfect, because no film can be, but damn. I am so proud of this nightmare you made, Bobby Egg.

SPOILERS FOR Nosferatu (2024) BELOW

-Getting some cons out of the way. There are points where a few of the actors lean maybe a bit too heavy on the ham-and-cheese in their deliveries (I’ll not blame the kids, they’re very young, but yeesh. That’s some cartoon acting.)

Yes, the g-slur is still used; though while I wish it hadn’t appeared in Eggers’ script at all, it does make sense within the context of the setting, i.e. Thomas and the Innkeeper probably only having the one word they know, same as in Dracula. And yes, naked teenage girl-on-a-horse does happen for the vampire hunt scene. Whee.

-Now, an early pro: Eggers nixed the ‘hot teen girl tries to pickpocket Thomas’ bit, and the ‘land of phantoms and thieves’ line never happens. All that happens after Thomas wakes in the inn—post witnessing the vampire slaying in the local graveyard, mud on his shoes to prove it was real—is he discovers himself utterly alone. No people, no horse. Cue the long walk.

-Ellen doing the ‘Come to me,’ bit early on is her in adolescence. It’s revealed that her Weird Girl elements have been turned up to 11, tragic lonely past included (replete with dad threatening to send her to a madhouse), and her prayer was just for company. The psychic ping was picked up by Orlok, who took advantage, turning an isolated and desperate barely-more-than-a-kid’s wish into a ‘covenant.’

-Thomas was met not long after this, cue them being genuinely in love <3

-Knock Does Not Jerk Off On Screen. If he does, his back is to us, and Little Knock is covered with some occult tablet or suchlike while he’s doing his ritual business. Also he kills a guy in his cell. Using his teeth.

-Castle time! Thomas is greeted by a driverless carriage at a crossroads and seems to be hypnotized into stepping in. A lot of things Thomas does once in Orlok’s territory seem to very clearly have psychic puppet strings attached. That and some increasing terror on Thomas’ part. There is no warm Dracula-style welcome from Orlok when he arrives, but a terse and strange leading to the dinner table where paperwork is demanded.

- We get a glimpse of this version of the Count’s ego. Thomas calls him sir. Orlok demands Thomas address him as my lord. And then we get the bread cutting scene. Thomas’ thumb bleeds. Orlok get far too interested. His voice, a very guttural and rasping bass, turns into something closer to an animal trilling and growling. Thomas is paralyzed beside the fire; cut away as Orlok closes in.

-Ellen and Anna Harding have a bit of a Mina and Lucy deal going on at the beach. It’s sweet <3 (Prepare for pain </3)

 - Orlok starts getting tricky. He 1) borrows (steals) Ellen’s locket from Thomas and 2) Tricks Thomas into signing a contract to ‘sell’ Ellen/break their marriage via a strange contract in a language Thomas can’t read, with Orlok using the prop of some gold to imply that this is merely a document in ~his native language~ to complete the property sale. Thomas signs, less for the gold than to be gone from the castle and back to Ellen…only for Orlok to insist Thomas is not well. He must stay the night.

- No mind games here. Just Thomas pleading to leave and Orlok’s parting word being that he will stay, and that he will obey his orders.

-Orlok has already chomped Thomas on the tiddy as of last night. Next night, after Thomas almost lands a blow on him in the coffin—Orlok sleeps with his Orcock out in the box, by the way, alongside several rats—Orlok wills Thomas to unlock the door he shut between them. Cue Thomas being tranced onto the bed, pounced on, and basically dry-humped by Orlok as he drinks Thomas all but dry. Thomas is left that way, only to be woken by Orlok’s wolves—he has those too!—and go clambering out the window, dropping to the river below.

-Orlok makes Ellen’s life hell. Holy fuck. The 1838 quality ‘medicine’ definitely doesn’t help—corsets for correcting posture, draining blood because there’s too much in there, binding to the bedposts to stop sleepwalking, general drugging etc etc—but FUCK. Lily-Rose Depp did a great and terrible job of reproducing shaking fits and some of the faces and sounds she made had me thinking I might choke on my own tongue. And for all the sexually provocative poses/noises that happen, every time she comes out of it it’s clear that she hates this. It’s on par with psychic rape.

-The only times we see Ellen respond positively~ to Orlok’s dream-advances is when she’s telling Thomas about the ‘marrying Death’ dream where everyone died and she was deliriously happy and then the infamous trailer line about Thomas not being able to satisfy her as Orlok can~~~

Well guess what.

Guess fucking what.

That was Orlok leaning on her brain. The same way he did to Thomas when, eventually, after the nuns rescue him and pray the plague/vampirism out and he makes it home while half-dead, he lays in bed with Ellen and gets a panic attack combined with Orlok’s image being grafted over Ellen’s face…

…a reverse of the illusion Orlok gave him in the castle, with Thomas imagining it was Ellen on top of him instead. The effect terrifies Thomas all over again and he unwittingly tosses Ellen away, I can't breathe, get off of me, get off!

-Orlok does his murder snacking. Knock, who escaped, offers to find and kill Thomas to please the Count, literally on his hands and knees. Orlok calls him a dog and backhands him, insisting Ellen must be given, not stolen.

-Orlok has already visited Ellen by this time. He presses her to keep her deal with him. She tells him, flat out, I abhor you. In response, Orlok grabs her and chucks her like a ragdoll in a rage. He fumes, telling her he will give her three nights to pledge herself to him, and in the meantime he will start killing. (RIP to Anna and her little girls, the latter of whom ORLOK KILLS IN FRONT OF HER, EATING THEIR THROATS OUT AS SHE ENTERS THEIR ROOM.)

-Before all that, he spins bullshit about Thomas ~selling her to him for mere gold~. A technical truth that Ellen, mid-Orlok spell, spits back at Thomas amid a rage, along with details that are likewise based in only a granule of reality; but which Orlok did not mention in their scene together. Things like Thomas being weak and childish, that he ‘fell into Orlok’s arms like a fainting woman.’ Interesting choice of spin there, Orlok. But whatever.

This all culminates in what is either reality or a dream or a blend of both as Thomas makes sudden desperate love to her, Ellen weirdly heady about it, telling him yes yes yes they will show Orlok their love. Cue her snapping back to full cognizance (awake? dreaming?) as her eyes and mouth spurt blood in a vision. She collapses in fear and tears as Thomas holds her. AND THEN:

-Ellen. Drops. The I am unclean line. She wants Thomas away from her, she is not worthy, she puts him in danger.

-Thomas goes full Jonathan and clings to her. Nonsense. I love you. I love you. I love you.

-V i n d i c a t i o n

-Anyway.

-Dafoe-Von Franz-Van Helsing is a kooky science occultist. Finds a book that Knock had which fills the role of highlighting Orlok as Solomonari (hey, Scholomance shout out!) and Knock as a would-be beneficiary. Also includes the ‘maiden offers her body and blood to the monster to kill it via sunrise’ bit.

-While he reads this, he does NOT actually spell any of these details out to Ellen when they have their secret mini talk about tricking Thomas into hunting for the coffin with him and Sievers. He gives her a big ~you're the only one who can save us magic maiden martyr~ pep talk, but that's it. Meanwhile, Ellen was already preparing to offer herself to save Thomas and whoever’s left in Wisborg. Not the same kind of agency as the original, but still better than I was expecting.

-Harding, Thomas’ rich friend whose wife and children got drinked to death, dies of plague in the family tomb. They burn the bodies.

-In the ruin Orlok bought, cue the iron stake slamming down as they open the coffin..! But whoops. Knock’s in the box, not Orlok. Von Franz says Ellen offering herself is the only way~ Thomas doesn’t waste time throttling him, just makes a run for their home.

-Too late, of course. Orlok is there (with a very cool homage to the original stalking shadow silhouette routine) and Ellen welcomes him. While they are both naked in bed and it’s implied that they are/or intend to have sex, the bulk of the scene centers on Orlok taking Ellen’s blood from her breast. No clear shot of the Orcock on screen for that bit—Bobby Egg saved that pleasure for the Count flashing Thomas at the castle.

-Orlok’s death throes. Are so. Fucking. Cool. Definitely up there with one of the best vampiric demises I’ve ever seen on film. No spoilers there. You’ve got to see it.

-Heartbreak o’ Clock as Thomas bursts in just as Orlok has died and as Ellen is dying under him. There’s time for them to hold hands. And then she’s gone.

-We close on Von Franz popping up with some poetic soliloquy shit and a bunch of lilacs. The final beat is an overhead shot of Ellen, the Maiden, laying under the now-skeletal Orlok, as Death. Looks almost like a painting. Unlike the implication in the leaked script, she does not look happy/at peace. Simply asleep. The End.

-Other important notes:

1) Orlok has a little combover’s worth of hair on top and mighty and powerful ‘stache. Not Dracula-white, but it is there. Finally.

 2) The guy who plays Dr. Sievers has Alan Rickman’s voice. If he isn’t in opera, he should be.

3) I was too late to get a popcorn coffin box. I shall be in mourning until the New Year.

4) Bobby Egg if you can give me one more gift, let it be a deleted scene of Thomas beating Von Franz over the head with the iron stake, please and thank you <3

[steddieas-shegoes]

matches my weird

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote "we are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." - dr. seuss

rated t | 1069 words | no cw | tags: pre-relationship, steve has a crush on eddie, open ending but assume they're gonna kiss later

🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒

Steve knows it’s gross, which is why he never does it when someone else is around. He opens the jar of pickles and the jar of peanut butter.

He scoops out a spoonful of peanut butter because he’s not an animal. He would never risk pickle juice getting in the jar when so many people come over to his house and ransack his cabinets. God forbid Robin try to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and end up with the taste of pickle on it.

She hates pickles almost as much as she hates Vecna. Seriously.

He dips the pickle into the peanut butter and puts it up to his mouth to take a bite.

“What is happening right now?” Eddie’s voice is high pitched and Steve jumps, nearly dropping his snack.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks. He can’t hide what he’s doing at this point, so he might as well embrace it.

“I left my jacket here last night, remember? I called and told you I would be by to get it before I went to work?”

Eddie is holding said jacket in his hands and looks…not as disgusted as he probably should be. He just looks surprised.

“Oh, right.” Steve does vaguely remember this phone call, but he was half asleep this morning when Eddie called. He can’t be blamed for forgetting.

“Are you putting peanut butter on your pickles?” Eddie asks as he steps closer.

“I obviously am,” Steve replies.

“Bread and butter?” Eddie clarifies.

Steve checks the jar to be sure. “Yeah.”

“You should try it with the dill ones.”

Steve blinks. “Huh?”

“The regular dill ones are really good in peanut butter. These ones are too, but the savory– Oh! And the sweet and sour ones! I ran out of peanut butter once and used chocolate syrup. Wasn’t as good, but got the job done,” Eddie explains as he walks over and takes a pickle from the jar to dip into the scoop of peanut butter.

“Um. What are you doing?”

“I’ve never known anyone else to do this! I did it when I was little and Wayne thought it was gross, but he always kept pickles and peanut butter in the house for me,” Eddie shrugs as he chews.

“This isn’t you just trying to make me feel like I’m not weird?” Steve doesn’t think someone would go to such lengths, especially not Eddie, but who knows.

“No. Who would do that?”

“I…dunno. I didn’t know anyone else did this. It’s kinda weird.”

“Yeah, have you met me?” Eddie laughs. “I’m a pretty weird guy. Wait until you see what I do to my hot chocolate.”

“What do you do?” Steve takes another bite.

“This is Wayne’s fault, but I usually make it with a mix of milk and cola.”

Steve makes a face, but immediately realizes that’s actually probably pretty good. He’s heard of people using cola in chocolate cake before, so why not make hot chocolate with cola?

“I should try that,” he says.

“Yeah, I can make it for you after work if you want. I only have a four hour shift today.”

“I can go get some hot chocolate packets from the store.”

“We don’t need packets if you have syrup,” Eddie says.

“I always have syrup. El and Dustin drink chocolate milk every time they’re here,” Steve sits back in his chair. “But is that really gonna make it sweet enough?”

“Trust me, Harrington.”

“I do.”

It’s a loaded sentence, and Steve recognizes almost immediately that it’s a bit heavy for a very simple discussion about hot chocolate. His face is warm as he reaches over to grab another pickle from the jar.

“So…I can be here around eight?” Eddie continues after a long pause.

“Yeah, man, sounds good.”

Eddie reaches over Steve to get another pickle from the jar. Steve holds his breath as their arms brush against each other. His heart stops for a moment.

“You know, Wayne always says I gotta find someone just as weird as me. I don’t think he meant this, but maybe it’s that simple.”

Steve blinks, staring ahead so he doesn’t do something stupid like stand up and kiss Eddie or pull him into his lap. Now’s not the time to explore the feelings he’s had simmering in his gut for months, not when Eddie has to go to work. They’ve got plans later, maybe he can be brave about it then.

“Anyways! See ya later, Steve.”

Eddie leaves. Steve waits until he hears his truck start up before he throws his head back and groans. He’s ridiculous.

The phone rings and he groans again. He’s almost positive he knows who it is, and her timing is always impeccable.

“Hello?”

“Steve. You have to hear what Keith just told a customer. We would have been fired it it was us,” Robin whispers into the phone.

“Are you calling me while Keith is next to you?”

“Obviously I am.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “What did he say?”

“He told them that if they wanted to watch kid movies as an adult, they should keep that to themselves,” Robin sounds half-crazed. “I promise it sounded more scathing when he said it. The customer left and said he’d never come back. But I always got the creeps from that guy anyway. You know the one who always asks if I turned 18 yet?”

“Gross. Hate that guy. Maybe he won’t come back,” Steve says as he closes the peanut butter jar. “Hey, you know how I have a crush on Eddie?”

“Duh,” Robin says, half-distracted.

“Think I’m gonna do something about it tonight.”

He’s met with silence.

“You there?”

“I’ve been trying to get you to do something about it for a month now. Why tonight?”

Steve looks at the jar of pickles and smiles. “Because our weird matches.”

“O…kayyyy. You’re probably right about that.” He hears Keith say something about getting off the phone. “I gotta go, but good luck with that tonight.”

“Thanks, Robs. Do you like pickles dipped in peanut butter?”

“That’s disgusting, Steve. Seriously.”

“Just checking.”

“Do you?” Robin asks, but Keith starts yelling about personal calls on the clock and she rushes to hang up the phone before he can answer.

Steve hangs up and leans his head back against the wall.

“He matches my weird,” Steve sighs, smiling to himself.

[strwbrryeyes]

helooo i just saw your one year event and im so excited >< im thinking of suna rintarou, and we met through meet cute (basically strangers to friends to lovers)🙈🙈

that someone can be a music artist if it fits your idea 👀👀 but it’s ok if it’s not 🫶🏻🫶🏻

༊·˚ Muse

⟡ featuring: suna rintarou

⟡ cw: angst if you squint real hard at the beginning bc reader was going through it

⟡ a/n: they are both big dorks

The only reason you're out at nearly midnight on a Wednesday is because you’ve hit the kind of rock bottom that involves eating sandwich bread with ketchup and pretending it's some sort of godsend meal. Your fridge holds half an eaten, expired milk, and a single, pitiful slice of cheese. So as much as you'd love to be in your bed right now, the corner store a few blocks away feels like your last hope. It been a tough couple of weeks with being dumped by your long-term boyfriend and having awful experiences with management lately but the least you can do is buy some food to get you through the next two days before you can officially go grocer shopping the following Saturday.

The night air is damp and cool, the kind that clings to your clothes and makes your cheeks sting just a little. Streetlights flicker above you as you cross to the 24/7 convenience store, its glowing sign humming like it’s tired too. Through the glass, everything inside is lit up by the white fluorescent lights, but from the outside, it almost looks gentle like it was oddly calming..

You push open the door, greeted by a soft chime and the scent of long put out cigarettes and cleaning fluid. The cashier barely looks up from his phone but you can’t blame him, who would want to be working at this hour? You grab a basket and head toward the snack aisle, rubbing your hands together for warmth.

As you turn the corner into the ramen section, something slips from your hoodie pocket. A page falls to the floor, landing near the feet of a guy crouched low in front of the instant noodles.

“Hey,” he says, reaching down to grab it before you can react. “You dropped this.”

He hands the crumpled sheet of notepad paper. The lyrics to the song you scrapped moments before leaving your apartment to go to the convenience store. Entire scratched out choruses in your messy handwriting, a half finished song you weren’t even sure was salvageable.

“Oh,” you mumble, quickly smoothing it out and folding it. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t stare too long, just gives a small tilt of his head. “You a songwriter?”

You meet his eyes, surprised by how relaxed he sounds. “That obvious?”

“Not until that fell out,” he says, nodding to your now folded page. “But it checks out. You’ve got the distracted genius look.”

You let out a half-laugh and shake your head. “It’s just a chorus that won’t cooperate.”

“Looks like it’s got potential though,” he replies, like it’s a fact, not a compliment. “If the bridge doesn’t betray you.”

Your eyebrows lift. “You know about how bridges are the death of every songwriter?”

He smirks. “I know enough to know they’re evil.”

There’s a pause, long enough for your gaze to flick down to the miso cup in his hand. He’s already dropped another one into his basket, glancing at your ‘spicy’ chicken soup selection with mild amusement.

“That one’s dangerous,” he says, nodding toward your cup.

You glance down. “It’s not even that spicy.”

“I didn’t say it was spicy. I said it’s dangerous. You eat that, next thing you know you’re crying on the floor and texting someone you shouldn’t.” At this point it sounds like he’s describing alcohol but you brush it off because after all it is midnight no one is in their right state of mind.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You sound like you’ve been through it.”

That earns a small, crooked smile. He stands up showing off his tall but fit frame, and slightly messy hair that looks like he’d just gotten out of bed. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing faint bruises and a small scratch on his forearm.

He holds out a hand. “Suna.”

You hesitate a moment, then shake it. His grip is loose and warm, fingers a little calloused.

“[name].”

He nods once, eyes gleaming. “Cool.”

And then he turns and walks off toward the drinks without another word. Honestly, it caught you off guard but once again, you’re tired and you don’t expect to see him again anyway.

But about a week later (at midnight again because god forbid you sleep at a decent time), you’re in line at the sandwich shop two blocks from your apartment, phone in hand, mentally preparing to eat a an overpriced grilled cheese in your bathtub while you contemplate life. You hear a slightly familiar voice from two people behind you that makes you glance over your shoulder.

“You again.”

There he is. Hoodie, joggers, that same annoyingly calm expression. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and he looks like he just wandered in without a plan.

“Don’t tell me you followed me here,” you say as you let those two people in between you cut you in line to be able tot alk to him without them being disturbed.

“Maybe I did,” he replies, one eyebrow raised. “Or maybe it’s fate.”

“Or maybe you just like neon lights and greasy food.”

“Both things can be true.” 

You end up eating your sandwiches on the curb outside. The pavement is still a bit chilly from the fall air, and the city buzzes around you, but in your little bubble of late night conversation, everything else seems to blur. He tells you he plays volleyball professionally, which makes your eyebrows shoot up until he mentions he’s a middle blocker. That part makes sense. The height, the bruises, the way he moves like he’s used to reacting fast and thinking faster.

“So you just get in people’s way for a living?” you tease, taking another bite of your grilled cheese.

He nods like he’s proud. “Exactly.”

You text after that. It starts slow. Memes, random photos, half-baked jokes. You send him snippets of lyrics or chords you’re working on, asking him for feedback. He sends you videos of himself trying to cook and burning the rice every time. You don’t expect him to pay attention to the things you share, but he always seems to catch the little details. And you pay attention to everything he does and says.

“That second verse?” he texts one night after you send him a voice memo. “That line’s gonna wreck someone in the middle of a park while they’re on their run.” It makes your chest tighten, even though you laugh.

Eventually the texts turn to calls, and the calls turn into visits. He comes by your place on his off days with new snacks and weird drinks he found. He lays down on your couch like he belongs there, always poking through your playlists and journals with your songs without asking. He listens to you work, doesn’t talk much while you record or write, but his presence is steady and comforting.

One afternoon, while you’re adjusting mic levels and quietly humming through a new melody, you notice him watching you. Not in a judgmental way, not even curious. Just watching, like he’s memorizing you in real time.

“You always do that thing with your nose when you mess up,” he says finally, voice low.

You glance over with a confused look on your face. “What thing?”

“You scrunch it. Like someone just told you your song was bad.”

You laugh and toss a pencil at him, which he catches without looking.

“Well is it bad?.”

“No, it’s a good song…even when you mess it up” He grins, but his voice is warm.

Your songs start sounding a little like him. Not literally, but you catch pieces of him in them. Quiet notes between the verses, lines you wouldn’t have written without his voice in your head. You don’t bring it up, and he doesn’t mention it either, but you think he knows that somewhere along the lines, he’s affected not only your writing, but your life. And you’ve changed his.

The first time he comes to one of your shows, he stays in the back, hood up and hands in his pockets. You spot him midsong and nearly miss your cue. He just lifts his chin slightly when your eyes meet, like he’s telling you to keep going.

Later, once the room empties and the buzz of performing settles into your bones, you find him waiting outside, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand.

“You changed the second verse,” he says casually.

“You remember the original?”

He nods. “I liked it. Sounded like something you wrote at 3am while spiraling.”

“It was something i wrote at 3am while spiraling…you were there .” You say letting out a dry chuckle.

“Keep it next time.”

You don’t kiss him that night, but the thought and desire lingers. The tension is thick between you, quiet and persistent. It’s in the way he brushes his fingers against yours without fully holding your hand, the way he pauses at your door like he might come in and stay. The way you let him.

When it finally happens, it’s in a bar with sticky floors and a broken jukebox that plays the same six songs in a loop. You’re sitting across from him, mid sip and telling a story you don’t even remember the punchline to when he cuts in.

“You know I like you, right?”

Your words die in your throat. You blink, caught off guard by how casually he says it, like he’s commenting on the weather. But his eyes are steady, and he’s not smiling this time. His face is serious, like he wants you to truly know how he feels.

“I was hoping you did.” you say quietly.

“I can tell I inspire half your songs now in some ways,” he murmurs. “Least you could do is give me a happy one.”

You meet his gaze and smile, heart thudding loud in your ears.

“If I write it, will you be in the music video?”

“Only if you get my good side.” He strikes a funny pose making you laugh. Your laugh makes him feel things he didn’t know were possible and when he realizes that in that very moment,

He leans in and kisses you.

It’s warm and slow, like he knew you’d kiss back. He tastes faintly of soda and fries. His hands settle at your waist like he’s done it before a million times.

You kiss him back like you’ve been waiting for the cue, like your body already knows this rhythm.

Later, tangled up in your apartment, your shirt traded for one of his hoodies that are way too big on you, you rest your cheek against his chest. He scrolls lazily through your playlists, adding anything he thinks fits the vibe. Leaving himself engrained in one fo the things you love the most.

“I could write a whole album about you,” you mumble against his skin.

He hums thoughtfully. “Make it a double.”

You laugh. “Ambitious.”

“You’ve got range, I believe in you.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “What kind of songs do you want?”

He taps his chin like he is deep in thought. “Surprise me.”

You smile, already thinking up the melody in your head.

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit - pt.v

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi

summary: An unlikely group forms—did someone say road trip?

word count: 10.8k

a/n: It's officially been a month since I've started posting Over the Limit on Tumblr! Thank you everyone for the overwhelming amount of support💚

————

How are weekends meant to look for the average 20-year old? Finally sleeping in after having a week of 8am classes? Scrambling to your job that funds all your stupid vices? Maybe it was stressing over picking the sluttiest outfit you can wear since you had a frat party and needed all eyes on you?

That realm of life seemed impossible for you. When you’re from Brimstone you don’t have the privilege of worrying about those things—no, instead on this fine Saturday morning you’re groggily rubbing your eyes open at 6am, while Hunter is panicking about the land lord who’s five seconds away from knocking the door down.

“Dude just answer,” you say annoyed, you could barely sleep last night and the last thing you needed was this antsy land lord playing drums on the door.

“I fucking can’t!” Hunter whisper yells, crouching down to your position on the floor where you had slept the night prior. “He’s gonna hand me an eviction notice when he sees me!”

And that is how your weekend begins when you’re from Brimstone.

After ignoring the loud knocks for some time, the land lord left grumbling angry curses at Hunter.

“So you’re backed up on two months of rent?” you ask, learning the information from the man that was once outside the door.

The older guy sighs with a nod, “Yeah, you know how it is. I haven’t been getting much races lately. I should’ve put a wager on you when you raced that Blond douche,” he says with a hollow chuckle.

You frown. You know exactly how it is. It’s not rare for you to walk into the garage and hear the whispers of unhappy Sinners about their pay cut.

Race clubs had their own economy. The quickest way for racers to make money was by paying an entry fee to compete, with the total pool going to the winning racer or crew. Crews like the Sinners also occasionally hosted parties, collecting entry fees to boost their earnings.

But gambling was the bread and butter—side bets, wagers, and deals made on the outcome of races. Anyone could place a bet, whether it was on their own crew or against them, but most of the money came from outsiders: third-party crews or devoted townspeople.

And then there was the fastest, most dangerous way to make cash.

“Didn’t you have a sponsor?” you asked.

Hunter's jaw tightened, and a shadow of bitterness crossed his face. "Yeah, I did. But things went south," he muttered. "Sponsors aren't what they used to be. They're too caught up in politics, or they want a cut so big it's not worth the payout."

You nodded, understanding that finding and keeping a sponsor was a double-edged sword. While they offered financial stability and access to better equipment, they came with strings attached—controlling interests, unwanted appearances, and expectations that sometimes choked a racer's freedom. You had to be in at least the top 5% of racer's to even be considered by a sponsor, and Hunter was just that good. But that lifestyle was clearly not worth it for him. You don't blame him, you've heard the stories of sponsor's having crazy asks for their prodigies.

"You'd be a sponsor's dream you know?" he suddenly says.

You quirk a brow up, not knowing how so.

"You're a great racer, you get along well with the rich, you're submissive—

"I am not submissive!"

————

After some more banter with Hunter you finally proceed with your morning and freshen up. As you're standing in front of the bathroom sink, wondering how you're going to brush your teeth, you noticed two toothbrushes in the holder.

Hunter lived alone.

Not knowing the origins of the second toothbrush and not willing to risk it, you opted to brush your teeth using your finger, and splashed some cool water on your face, trying to chase away the exhaustion and pull yourself together.

As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, a chill slid down your spine. Shock had a strange way of altering a person’s expression—jaw locked, eyes hardened, gaze steely. The revelations of last night were etched into your face like battle scars.

You were scared. Everything you heard last night was real—things that will directly impact you and your loved ones. It wasn’t just some joke, it was real life. And about your father...ever since the revelations of last night, it's been weighing on you—if you should tell your mom about the foul play in her husband’s death. How do you even tell someone that?

Your hands tightened around the edge of the sink, water dripping off your face and pooling on the counter. You thought about how it didn't shock you more to learn that your father’s death was no accident. Did that make you a terrible daughter? You thought of Anton, always armed, always prepared for whatever might come his way. Of course this life was brutal. Your father had been a founder, a leader—how could it not be dangerous?

But who wanted your father dead?

That was rather the question that gnawed at you, digging deeper with every passing second. Who could have wanted him gone, and why? Your fingers clenched the porcelain sink harder, the tremor in your hands matched by the anger coursing through you. And then the tears came undone, streaking down your face and mingling with the water already on the counter.

“Y/n?” Hunter’s voice cut through the fog of your mind, followed by a knock on the bathroom door. “Hey, you okay in there?”

You sucked in a shaky breath, fighting to steady yourself. Now was not the time nor place for breaking down.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you called out, forcing your voice into something resembling normalcy. You wiped your face with the back of your hand and swung the door open. Hunter stood there, a towel draped over his arm, eyes shadowed with worry.

He frowned as you brushed past him, taking the towel and pressing it to your damp face. The silence hung between you.

Hunter’s gaze followed you as you moved, his eyes full of questions. “Y/n, look” he started his voice soft, hesitant, as if he was afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter you. "I don't know what's going on with you. But I know it's a lot. I already know that Jenna is a Viper and now this Ghost Smoke shit. You can talk to me about whatever you're dealing with if you want."

You paused, towel clenched in your fists, staring blankly at the wall. The weight of everything threatened to crush you, but you felt the warmth of Hunter’s hand as he reached out, resting it on your shoulder. That simple touch was enough to crack the fragile shield you’d tried so hard to maintain.

Tears welled up again, this time falling freely. Before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out, each one tugging at the raw wound inside you. “Hunter, I don't know what to do.”

He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a firm embrace. The warmth and steadiness of him anchored you as you broke down, sobs shaking your frame.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, his hand gently rubbing your back. “We’ll figure this out, I promise. You’re not alone.”

The floodgates opened, and you told him everything—how you met Jenna, her request to find dirt on Percy, your dad supposedly wanting out of the Sinners, and the revelation that Bullet and Apex weren’t just names, but legacies tied to betrayal and death. Hunter listened in silence, holding you tight, his own expression darkening with every word.

In that moment, the fear and uncertainty didn’t vanish, but they felt a little more bearable. You had someone who knew, someone who would stand by you.

————

You and Hunter sat side by side on his worn couch, the late morning sun casting a soft light through the window. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable now; it was a shared reprieve after an outpouring of truths.

Hunter leaned back, one arm resting along the back of the couch, the other in the bag of chips he pulled out for you two. Your breakfast. He let out a breath, shaking his head slowly. “So, Jenna came to you with this whole thing about Percy and the Ghost Smoke operation, and you just… jumped in? Talk about submissive.”

You punch his shoulder lightly, and managed a small smile, the relief of finally sharing the truth giving your chest room to breathe. “I didn’t think it would spiral like this,” you admitted. “It was supposed to be simple—find out what Percy was up to, help Jenna. But now, with what we know...”

Hunter’s eyes darkened as he nodded. “It’s more than just racing politics. It’s deeper, more dangerous.” He glanced at you, concern still etched into his features. “And you’re sure Anton has no idea you’re involved?”

The question hung heavy between you, but you felt more grounded now. You nodded. “For now, he doesn’t. But I don’t know how long that will last.”

A sudden thought crossed your mind, and you straightened. “Do you think Mikey knows Jenna is with the Vipers?”

Hunter shrugged, "She give you any reason to think that?"

"She was just... observant man. The other day—when we went on the drive. She remembered the Aston from the footage she saw of me and Jenna. Said something about how it was the car I rolled in with 'my girl' in."

Hunter’s smirk returned, and he nudged you again, playfulness edging out the tension. “Maybe she’s paying close attention because she’s totally into you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered. “I’m being serious, Hunter.”

“Alright, alright,” Hunter said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But on that note... we need to talk about the Aston.”

You frowned, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “What about it?”

Hunter leaned forward, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by seriousness. “Think about it. We crashed that meeting last night and got caught snooping around. The only lead they have on us is the car. They know we escaped in the AM. If they’re looking for anything, it’ll be that.”

Fuck he was right.

"I say we demolish it. Scrap it for parts or something."

"—no!" you exclaim interrupting his thought. "I'll find a place to have it stashed. Don't worry."

The older guy squinted his eyes in confusion. You were a mechanic, you never got attached to your cars. You knew better than anyone that cars come and go. Yet you couldn't let go of this one.

————

Being a mechanic had its perks, and one of the best was the network of wealthy clientele you’d built over the years. If someone had enough money to buy a custom-built, fully modded car from you, chances were they also had plenty of land—land that could discreetly store a car like yours. Now, you just had to hope their generosity matched the size of their bank accounts.

You stepped out onto the balcony as you scroll through your phone, siffling through your contacts.

"Hmm, maybe John might help me out," you mummer to yourself pressing call.

John was one of your more calm clients. He was the proud new owner of a 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1. You’d delivered the car just over a month ago—the same night Anton nearly gave you a heart attack by pulling a mock robbery, complete with a gun pointed at you. You shook the memory from your mind, focusing instead on the call as it began to ring.

You first engaged with some small talk before you asked him for help. For all you knew he was a sponsor involved in some shady shit, maybe even involved in Ghost Smoke. Is this what paranoia is?

"I hope there's no complaints about the Mustang," you laugh lightly.

"No complaints Y/n."

"Amazing...so I actually need a favour," you said, leaning on the balcony railing. “I’ve got a car I need to tuck away for a while. Somewhere discreet. Think you could help?”

There was a brief pause, then a hum of consideration. “Hmm, yeah, I’ve got a lake house not too far from here. You can stash it there. No one will bother it.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll swing by later today.”

“Anytime kid,” he said before the call ended.

You exhaled, relief washing over you. One less problem to worry about—for now.

————

After letting Hunter know you’d secured a spot for the car, you set out for the address John had texted. The drive felt almost reflective, the Aston Martin humming beneath you like it understood the significance of this moment. Arriving at the secluded lake house, you carefully parked the car— the car that had genuinely started it all for you.

The Uber ride back to Hunter's was quiet, except for occasional small talk with the driver and faint chatter of the radio. You leaned your head against the window, letting the scenery blur as you reflected on everything that had unfolded.

Your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. Hunter’s name flashed on the screen. You swiped to answer.

"Hey," you greeted.

"Hey, where are you?" Hunter's voice was calm but direct.

"In an Uber. On my way back to yours."

"Cool, change of plans. Head to Brenda’s Diner instead."

You frowned, the name clicking in your memory. "Brenda’s? That’s in the next city, like forty minutes away. Why there?"

"Just meet me. We’ll grab breakfast, Hunter said nonchalantly. "I’m almost there already,"

Your confusion deepened, your brows furrowing. "Why are you suddenly all the way out there? And why can’t we eat closer to your place?"

He sighed, "Jenna texted me, okay? She asked me to come here, so I’m here. So just come.”

You blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, what? Jenna texted you? Why does she even have your number?"

Hunter chuckled lightly, clearly amused by your confusion. "Relax, Y/n. Just come here. Who knows, maybe she’ll butter your biscuits or drizzle your pancakes."

"Excuse me—what?" you sputtered, but before you could say more, he hung up, leaving you staring at your phone in disbelief.

You slumped back in the seat, your mind racing. What in the actual hell is going on?

————

“Thank you sir," you say as you get out the Uber. You squint your eyes as you take in the red and yellow sign that said that read Brenda’s. Even the sun shined brighter in this town, from what you knew the town you were currently in—Countsville, wasn’t tainted with race crews and class differences. It was an average suburban town.

You couldn’t help but wonder why Jenna had called you here of all places. Did she have some secret life here? A hidden family? The absurd thought made you chuckle under your breath as you shook your head.

Pulling out your phone, you caught your reflection in the camera and quickly fixed your hair. A pang of nervousness hit you out of nowhere, making you hesitate. Why were you even nervous? Shaking off the feeling, you squared your shoulders and stepped inside.

“Ah, there she is! Y/n!” Hunter’s voice boomed, his arm shooting into the air to wave you over like you were lost in a crowd.

Your eyes darted to him, already settled comfortably in a booth, and then to the two women seated across from him—Jenna and the girl from last night. The one whose name you still didn’t know.

Your steps slowed as their hushed conversation came to an abrupt halt. Without a word, you slid into the booth next to Hunter.

Hunter leaned back in the booth, a smirk playing on his lips. “Took you long enough. Thought maybe you needed a treasure map to find this place.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned. Your gaze darted to Jenna, sitting across from you with her arms crossed and her focus firmly planted on the coffee in front of her. She didn’t even glance up when you sat down.

The girl sitting next to her, however—was the complete opposite. She was all smiles, her gaze bouncing between you and Jenna like she was waiting for something to happen between you both.

“Uh, hey. I don’t think we’ve been introduced?” you said, leaning forward slightly.

“I’m Aliyah,” she replied, her grin widening as she reached across the table, hand outstretched.

You took it, chuckling softly. “Nice to meet you.”

Aliyah’s smile turned teasing. “I’m Jenna’s sister.”

“Sister?!” Your jaw dropped as you let go of her hand, the word practically punching its way out of your mouth. Was she a Viper too? Did you get caught up in a family of snakes?

“Well it's nice to meet you,” you muttered, your attention flickering to Jenna. “So, uh, what’s this all about?” You doubt she invited you here to introduce you to her family.

Nothing. Not a word. Jenna’s silence was loud, deafening even, as she swirled her spoon in her coffee like you weren’t even there.

Hunter glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on the tension. “Oh, this is fun. Should I just grab some popcorn, or…?”

You shot him a glare. “Not helping.”

“Not trying,” he quipped, leaning back with a lazy grin. “Anyway, why don’t you ask Jenna why we’re here? She’s the mastermind behind this little breakfast summit.”

You turned back to her, trying again. “Jenna?”

Still nothing.

“Seriously?” you asked, the irritation creeping into your voice. “You’re just going to ignore me?”

Jenna finally looked up, her expression cool and indifferent. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you talking to me? Hard to tell when you’ve been acting like I don’t exist for the past few days.”

Hunter snorted, barely holding back a laugh. “She got you there.”

You sighed, sinking back into your seat. This wasn’t what you had anticipated. Sure, you figured she’d be upset about you ghosting her, but you thought you’d moved past that. Last night at the meeting, it felt like you’d reached some kind of unspoken understanding. Yet here she was now, stone-faced and silent, her cold shoulder speaking louder than words.

“Anyways, can we get some actual food in here before someone combusts?”

Aliyah snickered, clearly amused by the dynamic. “Sure, Hunter. Anything to save the day.” She turned her attention to you. “You have to try these pancakes, Brenda’s makes the best pancakes in town!"

Jenna muttered under her breath, just loud enough for you to catch. “Probably too busy to eat pancakes these days.”

Your jaw clenched, but you forced yourself to stay calm. This wasn’t the time or place to start something. Instead, you turned to Aliyah, doing your best to ignore Jenna’s jab. “Yeah, pancakes sound good. Let’s do it.”

Hunter raised his hand to flag down a server. “Pancakes for the table, and maybe a side of good vibes, yeah?”

————

For the past 20 minutes, the table had been quietly enjoying their pancakes, the clinking of cutlery filling the gaps in conversation. You caught Hunter sneaking a glance at your plate, his eyes drifting to the fluffy stack of pastries and then to the glass jar of maple syrup conveniently sitting right next to Jenna. With a sly grin, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, clearly not letting his earlier joke die.

Aliyah finally broke the silence, her voice cutting through the calm. "Alright, since Jenna's committed to this whole silent act, I guess I’ll get us started. Last night was absolutely insane, and I think we seriously need to talk about everything we learned."

You frowned, glancing between the two girls across from you. “Wait, we? What do you mean, we?”

Aliyah looked at you like you’d asked a ridiculous question. “I mean we, as in all of us sitting here. Jenna, Hunter, me—you. We’re in this now.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your brow furrowing deeper. “But… Jenna got her dirt on Percy, didn’t she? That’s what all this was supposed to be about. What more does she have to do with any of this?”

The words came out sharper than you intended, and for the first time since you’d arrived, Jenna’s eyes snapped up to meet yours. Her expression was calm but laced with a distinct edge—and some hurt?

“Are you serious?” she said, setting her coffee cup down with a soft clink. “You think I can just walk away now?”

“Why not?” you shot back. “You wanted proof of what Percy was doing, and you got it. That’s what you asked me to help you with. This whole Ghost Smoke thing—it’s not your problem.”

Jenna’s jaw tightened, and her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, it looked like she was biting back a retort. Aliyah, however, was quick to jump in.

“It’s everyone’s problem,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension. “Ghost Smoke isn’t just some petty racing drama, Y/n. It’s destroying lives, and if the Vipers start pushing it harder, it’s going to get worse. Way worse.”

Hunter nodded, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced by something more serious. “Aliyah’s right. Last night wasn’t just some casual run-in with Percy’s people. That dealer wasn’t joking around, and you saw how he talked about the ‘boss.’ They’re planning something big.”

You leaned back in your seat, the weight of their words sinking in. But still, a part of you couldn’t shake the nagging thought that none of this should fall on Jenna—or you, for that matter.

"I don't want you two getting involved," you said, your tone flat and detached, though the tightness in your chest betrayed the storm underneath. You stared at your plate, pushing a piece of pancake around with your fork, avoiding their eyes.

Jenna scoffed, the sound sharp and cutting. “Are you serious right now? You don’t want us involved? After everything last night?”

Your gaze remained fixed downward, even as her frustration bristled against you. “It’s not your fight,” you muttered.

“Not my—?” Jenna’s voice rose, and you finally looked up to see her glaring at you, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “You don’t get to make that call! You think you can just decide when you want me around and when you don't? Newsflash—you’re already in deep, and so are we. There’s no undoing it now.”

You stayed silent, your jaw clenching as you tried to tamp down the surge of emotions threatening to surface. She wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand.

You couldn’t drag them further into a world where people are pushing drugs—where people are capable of taking lives, just like they had taken your father’s and uncle's.

“It doesn’t matter why,” you said finally, your voice still low. “I just… I don’t want you involved. Either of you. That’s all.”

Jenna let out an incredulous laugh, throwing her hands in the air. “Unbelievable," she muttered, pushing back her chair abruptly and standing up, her frustration was palpable as she strode toward the diner’s exit.

You watched her leave, a pang of guilt twisting in your stomach. Hunter sighed beside you, leaning back in his seat.

“She’s not wrong, you know,” he said quietly. “You can’t do this alone. They were there last night. As much as you don't it to be true, they're now part of it.”

You didn’t respond, the weight of your own thoughts pressing down too heavily. Even though your intentions were to protect them, you couldn’t help but feel like you were only making things worse.

————

"If you grip the wheel any harder, it’s going to fuse with your hands," Aliyah quipped, casting a cautious glance at her sister.

Jenna shot her a sharp side-eye but said nothing, her focus fixed on the road ahead as they made their way home.

When it became clear that Jenna wasn’t going to return to the table, Aliyah had reluctantly followed her, leaving behind the unfinished business that had brought them all together in the first place.

“I don’t get it,” Aliyah said, breaking the silence. “I thought you two were fine last night. What’s with the sudden mood swing?”

Jenna’s grip on the wheel tightened even further, her knuckles white against the leather. She thought she had been fine too. Last night, things had felt different—maybe not perfect, but at least... manageable. But seeing you again today had stirred something raw and unexpected inside her.

It's not your problem, you said.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, her voice strained, as though admitting it hurt.

"Well I don't think your girl—sorry Y/n had any bad intentions. And if you really want to get involved in this Brimstone drama, then you have to make up with her eventually" Aliyah said, her tone gentler now.

Jenna let out a slow breath through her nose, her eyes never leaving the road. “It’s not that simple,” she murmured. “She ghosted me, Aliyah. And now she’s acting like she has to carry everything on her own, like I can’t handle myself. She wanted me around at first and now she decides I'm out? Oh I'm sorry I wasn't aware I was some fucking doll.”

“Or,” Aliyah countered, “maybe she’s terrified of something way bigger than you realize and doesn’t want to drag you—us into it.”

That struck a nerve. Jenna’s fingers twitched against the steering wheel as she mulled over her sister’s words. Was it fear? Was that why you were pushing her away? Her frustration softened slightly, but the knot in her chest didn’t loosen.

“Even if that’s true, she’s going about it the wrong way,” Jenna said after a moment. “I can’t help if she keeps shutting me out.”

Aliyah smirked faintly, crossing her arms. “So tell her that. You’re not the type to sit around and wait for someone else to fix things, right? Go confront her, like the fiery little Viper you are.”

Jenna rolled her eyes at her sister’s teasing, but the words stayed with her. Maybe Aliyah was right—waiting wasn’t getting her anywhere, and the Brimstone situation wasn’t something she could handle without you. As much as she hated to admit it, you were already too entangled with one another for her to pretend otherwise.

She exhaled sharply, determination taking root. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll figure it out. But if she tries to pull some shit on me again, I won't hold back."

Aliyah grinned. “Now that’s the Jenna I know.”

Aliyah sighed in relief, glad her words had managed to ease her sister’s frustration. She could have kept up the teasing, sure, but she knew better. Deep down, she understood the root of Jenna’s anger—it wasn’t just about the danger or the argument at breakfast.

You weren’t wrong, after all. As far as Aliyah knew, the terms of whatever arrangement you and Jenna had were clear: you’d help her get what she needed, and once she had it, that was that. Simple, transactional, with no strings attached. But that simplicity seemed to be the very thing eating at Jenna now.

It wasn’t just frustration; it was hurt. Hurt because Jenna realized you seemed okay with it all ending there—with the two of you going your separate ways. And it wasn’t okay for her. Aliyah could see it—the sadness in Jenna’s eyes, the way her jaw clenched just a bit tighter than usual. It wasn’t about the Ghost Smoke or Brimstone drama anymore. It was about you.

Her sister wasn’t mad at you for walking away. She was sad that you didn’t seem to need her the way she found herself needing you. Sad that she no longer had a reason to stay connected.

Aliyah glanced at her sister, who was staring straight ahead, her grip on the wheel lighter now but still firm. Jenna didn’t want to admit it, not yet, but she was falling. And Aliyah could only hope she didn’t hit the ground too hard.

As Aliyah mindlessly glanced at her side view mirror, she noticed something.

"Uhm sis, do you think that car's been following us?"

Jenna raises her gaze up to the rear view mirror and she spotted the same car that had been trailing them for a while now—a solid black Escalade. But California traffic is like that, the typical resident wasn't going to lane change like a racer. "I'm sure it's nothing."

Still, to be safe, she made a series of deliberate right turns, one after the other, her pulse quickening with each corner. When she glanced at the mirror again, her fears solidified. The car was still there.

“It’s not nothing, Ali. They are following us,” Jenna said, her voice low but tinged with rising panic.

Aliyah stiffened beside her, her wide eyes darting to the side mirror. “W-what? Who do you think it is? Percy? Or those guys from yesterday?”

Jenna’s jaw clenched as she considered their options.

"Aliyah, call Y/n. Now," Jenna ordered, her voice steady, tossing her phone to her sister.

Aliyah fumbled with the phone, her fingers trembling. “What do I even say? ‘Hey, someone’s following us, want to join the party?’” she muttered nervously, trying to mask her fear.

Jenna shot her a sharp look. “Just tell her where we are and what’s happening. She’ll know what to do.”

Aliyah hesitated for a split second before dialing your number. “It's ringing.” Aliyah whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat.

"Jenna?"

The girl driving couldn't help but feel relief upon the sound of your voice, maybe it was because you both have faced many high stakes situations together and have always made it out on the other side. And in that moment, she felt certain you’d all make it through this one too.

“Okay, so, there’s this car, and it’s been following us for a while. Jenna took a bunch of right turns, and they’re still there. We don’t know who they are, but—”

“Aliyah,” you interrupted, your tone sharp with focus. “Put Jenna on.”

Aliyah quickly handed the phone over, and Jenna brought it to her ear without taking her eyes off the rearview mirror.

“Jenna, can you lose them?” you asked, voice soft, sensing her hesitation.

“I-I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I’ve never done this before—what if I mess up? What if—”

“Jenna,” you interrupted gently, but firmly. “Take a deep breath. You’ve got this. But I need you to help me help you, okay? What’s up ahead?”

Jenna blinked, her focus flicking back to the road. “Uh, there’s a left turn coming up, and... a main road with a lot of traffic.”

“Alright, take the left. Make it clean.”

She nodded, her hands slightly shaky as she turned the wheel, the tires squealing lightly.

“Good,” you encouraged. “Now tell me what’s next. What do you see?”

“There’s an on-ramp to the highway coming up,” she said, her voice tight with nerves.

“Perfect. Get on the highway. Blend into traffic and use the cars to block their line of sight.”

“Okay,” she whispered, guiding the car toward the ramp as Aliyah sat rigid in her seat.

“You’re doing great, Jenna,” you said, keeping your voice calm and steady. “Just focus. You’re faster and smarter than them. Trust yourself.”

Jenna weaved into traffic, her grip still tight on the wheel. She glanced in the rearview mirror and tensed. “They’re still back there.”

“Stay calm,” you said. “What’s in your lane? Any big vehicles?”

“Yeah... there’s a semi up ahead,” she replied, her voice rising with nervous energy.

“Good. Get in its blind spot. Use it as cover. When you’re close to an exit, slip off. They’ll have to stay on the highway.”

She exhaled shakily, maneuvering into position as you guided her through. The tension in the car was thick, but she followed your instructions to the letter.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you said softly.

Jenna swerved off the highway, her heart pounding as the pursuing car sped past the exit.

“They’re gone,” she whispered, her voice thick with disbelief.

“You did it, Jenna,” you said, pride clear in your tone.

She let out a shaky laugh, her shoulders finally relaxing. “We did it,” she corrected, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The line went silent for a moment, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air. Then, breaking the tension, your voice cut through with a sudden, determined tone.

“Jenna, listen. Can you go home, pack a bag for you and Aliyah, and meet me and Hunter at the mall we went to?”

Jenna’s brow furrowed in confusion. Moments ago, you were adamant about keeping her out of your life, and now you were asking her to pack a bag? She glanced at Aliyah, whose puzzled expression mirrored her own.

Aliyah shrugged dramatically, mouthing, “YOLO.”

“Why?” Jenna asked, her tone cautious.

“I’ll explain everything when we meet. Just trust me and do it, okay?”

Jenna hesitated, her mind racing with questions, but something in your voice made her pause. Finally, she exhaled. “Okay. We’ll meet you there.” And hung up the phone.

“Well, would you look at that—your little lover’s quarrel is finally wrapping up,” Aliyah teased, her grin wide.

“Shut up,” Jenna shot back, though the corners of her lips betrayed her as they curved into a reluctant smile. “I’m still mad at her.”

————

“You two are so confusing,” Hunter chuckled as he drove, his laughter filling the car. “Do you hate each other? Or are you about to jump each other’s bones? Seriously, I can never tell.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you couldn’t help but think he had a point.

“So, care to explain why we’re all packing a bag and meeting up with them again?” Hunter asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

“We’re going on a weekend getaway,” you replied nonchalantly.

Hunter’s head whipped toward you, excitement lighting up his face. “No way! I’ve always wanted to do the Bahamas.”

You laughed. “Not the Bahamas, Hunt. Just somewhere a few hours away. After everything that went down—the meeting, the girls being followed—I think it’s smart for all of us to lay low for a few days. I’m not taking any chances.”

Hunter nodded dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like he was pledging allegiance. “Protecting your girl and your sister-in-law. I respect it.”

Ignoring his teasing, you redirected him. “Just drive us to the garage,” you said firmly. “I need to let Anton know we’ll be out of town for a few days. The last thing I need is him freaking out and sending a search party.”

————

As Hunter pulls into the garage, you take in the sight of the Sinners hard at work, each one laser-focused on their tasks. Was there a race coming up?

Stepping out of the car, your eyes land on Anton at the back, working on a car with Mason. You hadn't seen Mason in a while—not since the Sinner-Viper race nearly two months ago. Not that you missed him; Mason was one of the most aggravating members of the crew. Apparently, Anton in the moment thought so too, judging by the way he was yelling at him for some reason.

"Hey! Long time, no see."

You turned to see Mikey approaching, her brown eyes bright with curiosity.

She tilted her head, eyes scanning both you and Hunter. "So, what have you two been up to?"

"Oh, you know," Hunter chimed in, "just the usual. Saving the day and eating pancakes"

Mikey raised a brow, her skepticism softened by amusement. “Uh-huh. Sounds like you two are living the dream.”

She shifted her attention to you, crossing her arms. “Haven’t seen you around for a few days. No more late nights at the garage?”

You felt a flicker of unease. Something about Mikey always made you cautious, as if she could see right through you. Keeping your tone casual, you rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, the Aston’s finished, so I’m finally catching up on sleep. Not much reason to be here right now.”

Mikey tilted her head, clearly not satisfied with your vague answer. “Really? And here I thought this place was your second home. What’s been keeping you busy?”

Before you could formulate a response, Hunter swooped in. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re not slacking off. We’re just gearing up for a little road trip.”

“Road trip?” Mikey repeated, her interest clearly piqued.

Hunter nodded, grinning. “Yeah, figured it’s time for some fresh air and open roads. Recharge the batteries, you know?”

You shot him a subtle glare, but he just winked at you, unfazed.

Mikey narrowed her eyes slightly, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Interesting. Well, have fun with that. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Us? Trouble?” Hunter gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Never.”

"We actually came here to let Anton know we’ll be gone for a couple of days,” you say, flashing Mikey a polite smile. “Catch you later.” Without waiting for a response, you grab Hunter’s arm and drag him along.

“Would it kill you not to spill everything?” you hiss under your breath.

Hunter shrugged, his usual carefree grin firmly in place. “Relax. It’s gonna get out eventually that we’re taking a couple days off. If we act shady, it’ll just make people more suspicious.”

You sighed, shaking your head at his nonchalance. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Together, you made your way toward the back of the garage, where Anton and Mason were knee-deep in their latest project.

“I don’t know why I keep you around, Mason,” Anton groaned, his hands dragging down his face in exasperation. “You incompetent fool!”

Hearing your footsteps, he glanced up, his frustration momentarily melting into surprise. “Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“Hey,” you greeted, keeping your tone light. “I'm kind of in a rush, but just wanted to let you know Hunter and I are heading out of town for a couple of days. Figured I’d let you know so you don’t worry.”

Anton’s brows furrowed as he straightened up, eyeing the both of you. “Heading out? What for?”

“Just a road trip,” you said casually, shrugging like it was no big deal. “You know, get some fresh air, clear our heads. Nothing major.”

His eyes flicked to Hunter, then back to you, his suspicion barely veiled. “Where to and who’s going?”

"We don't really know yet, wanna see where the road takes us you know? And just us two," you replied smoothly, lying without hesitation.

Anton’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he was going to press harder. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But something feels off about this, and I don’t like it.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If this is about something dangerous, you better tell me now. You know I’ll have your back.”

You swallowed hard but maintained your composure. “It’s not, I promise. We’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced. Anton studied you for a moment longer before nodding, though his concern was evident. "Alright. Just be careful out there, okay? Keep your phones on and don't do anything stupid."

"Got it," you promised, trying to sound reassuring.

Hunter gave Anton a mock salute. "We'll be model citizens, swear."

Anton rolled his eyes but didn't press further. As you turned to leave, Mason chimed in from where he was leaning against the car. "Bring me back something cool! Like a souvenir or somethin'!"

Hunter snorted. "Sure thing, buddy. How about a map so you can finally figure out how to navigate a racetrack without crashing?"

You couldn't help but laugh as you walked away, though Anton's lingering concern weighed heavily in the back of your mind.

————

The SUV you “borrowed” from the garage rumbled along the highway as you adjusted your grip on the wheel, glancing at Hunter slouched comfortably in the passenger seat. Your packed bag sat in the back alongside his, evidence of your brief pit stop at home. 

The memory of Anton’s concerned expression lingered, gnawing at you. You hated that you hadn’t told him the truth. He’d lost his father too—same as you—and you knew better than anyone how much that loss shaped him. How much it shaped both of you. But unlike you, Anton didn’t know there was more to the story. That it wasn’t just a tragic accident.

You felt awful for keeping it from him, for standing there and letting him believe everything was fine. But what were you supposed to do? Drop that bombshell and then tell him you were heading out of town for a few days? There was no way he’d have let you leave. No way he wouldn’t try to step in, to get involved.

And as much as it tore you up inside, you couldn’t let that happen. Not yet. Protecting Jenna—and by extension, your fragile alliance with her—had to come first. There was too much at stake, and dragging Anton into it now would only complicate things further. Still, the weight of your silence felt heavier with each passing mile.

“You good?” Hunter’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, pulling you back to the present.

“Yeah,” you muttered, though the word felt hollow.

He raised a brow but didn’t push, thankfully. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, letting the conversation from earlier drift back in.

“I gotta admit. I thought Anton would take a lot more convincing.”

Hunter glanced at you with a smirk. “What, you thought he’d put his foot down? He knows you’re stubborn as hell. Probably figured there was no point fighting you on it.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though a part of you wasn’t so sure. Anton letting you go that easily still didn’t sit right. He’d been wary, his words cautious, but ultimately, he hadn’t stopped you. You wondered if he trusted you more than you expected—or if he had reasons of his own for letting you leave.

Shaking the thought from your mind, you shifted the conversation. “By the way, you seemed pretty comfortable with Jenna and Aliyah back at the diner.”

Hunter shrugged nonchalantly. “They’re cool. Aliyah’s funny, and Jenna’s… well, Jenna. We were just chatting for a bit before you showed up.”

“Before I showed up?” you echoed, glancing at him skeptically. “She didn’t seem in a chatty mood when I got there.”

Hunter chuckled. “I guess I have that effect on people. Smooth-talker, remember?”

Something about the way he said it made you pause, a memory resurfacing. “Wait. Jenna texted you, didn’t she? How do you even know her?”

Hunter tensed ever so slightly, and you didn’t miss it. “Uh… well…”

The gears in your head were starting to turn. “Hunter,” you pressed, narrowing your eyes. “How do you know Jenna?”

He fidgeted with his hands, clearly stalling. “It’s complicated, alright? Don’t worry about it.”

Before you could demand an answer, the bright lights of the mall parking lot came into view, and you spotted Jenna and Aliyah parked and waiting near the back of the mall. Hunter exhaled dramatically, clearly relieved to be off the hook—for now.

"We're here," he announced unnecessarily, pointing out the obvious.

You rolled your eyes but focused on parking the SUV. As soon as you stepped out, Jenna's sharp gaze locked onto you, her arms crossed, while Aliyah waved with a cheeky grin. Whatever Hunter was hiding would have to wait.

You park the SUV next to their car and step out, heading straight for the trunk. Without a word, you pop it open before turning toward Jenna and Aliyah. Stretching out your hands, you motion for their bags.

Aliyah hands over her duffle bag without hesitation, but Jenna hesitates, squinting at you with suspicion. Her scoff cuts through the quiet as you turn around and load the bags into the trunk.

Following you to the back of the SUV, she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. "Uhm, are you planning to explain what's going on anytime soon?"

You close the trunk with a sharp thunk and meet her gaze, keeping your tone steady. "I will."

You glance over your shoulder, flashing her a grin. "Oh, and hey—nice work shaking those guys. Not everyone's got those skills. Seriously, you were impressive."

As you turn back to the SUV, Jenna's voice comes softly, almost shyly, "Thanks."

You don't catch it, too focused on adjusting the bags in the trunk, but Aliyah and Hunter exchange knowing looks. Jenna's rare vulnerability wasn't something they saw often, and the faint pink dusting her cheeks didn't go unnoticed either.

————

You merge onto Interstate 5, the highway stretching south through California. The evening sun dips lower on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of gold and fiery orange. Hunter has his window down, one arm draped lazily over the edge, while Aliyah hums along to a faint tune playing on the radio. Jenna sits diagonally across from you, arms crossed, her gaze fixed out the window. The soft pout on her lips and the sharpness of her glare suggest she’s deep in thought—and likely still mad at you.

You glance at her through the rearview mirror, unable to help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Even in her frustration, she looks ridiculously adorable.

As you bring your eyes back to the road, they flicker back to the mirror—and that’s when it happens. Jenna catches your gaze, her sharp brown eyes locking onto yours.

Crap.

She breaks the silence, her tone firm but tinged with curiosity. “Alright, enough stalling. Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

You’re relieved she doesn’t make a snarky comment about catching you staring. Instead, you sigh and focus back on the road, deciding it’s time to answer her question.

“I’m sorry,” you start, glancing briefly at her reflection, then at Aliyah. “To both of you. You were right earlier… about being involved in all this.”

Hunter nods in silent approval from the passenger seat, encouraging you to keep going. “…As much as I don’t want either of you involved,” you continue, catching him facepalming out of the corner of your eye, “there’s no avoiding it now.”

"Neither one of can help it, and that car following you? It kind of put things into perspective for me. So I think the safe option for all of us to get out of town for a few days."

Jenna raises a brow, her expression unreadable, but she doesn’t respond right away. Aliyah and Hunter both glance at each other, waiting for someone to fill the silence. When Jenna finally speaks, her voice is softer than you expected. “Still didn’t answer the question,” she says. “Where are we going?”

You shrug one shoulder, keeping your eyes on the road. “I don’t know,” you admit with a lopsided grin. “I’m just driving.”

Jenna stares at you for a long moment before exhaling and shaking her head. She doesn’t voice the acceptance of your apology, but something in her gaze softens, and you can tell she’s made her peace with it—for now.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We’re on the run, and you’re winging it? Great plan, genius.”

Aliyah bursts into laughter, and Hunter cheers, “This is classic! Road trip roulette—who needs a destination when you’ve got vibes?” 

Jenna pinches the bridge of her nose, mumbling something under her breath, but you swear you catch the faintest hint of a smile.

————

The next hour passes surprisingly smoothly. Everyone keeps themselves entertained in their own way, avoiding any mention of the issues that pushed you all to leave town in the first place. Aliyah has her headphones in, swaying gently to whatever music she’s listening to, while Jenna scrolls through her phone, occasionally glancing out the window. Hunter fiddles with the radio, switching stations until he finds a faintly decent song, only to switch it again moments later.

You keep your focus on the road, but your mind drifts. A part of you wished you could bring back the easy banter you used to have with Jenna—back before you ghosted her. It would've made the drive so much more fun. Instead, there’s this quiet tension hanging in the air between you two, one you’re desperately hoping will dissolve sooner rather than later. At least Hunter agreed to take over driving on the way back. Maybe by then, things between you and Jenna will be better.

Suddenly, Hunter starts humming, his voice cutting through the silence. At first, it’s aimless, but then it takes shape.

“Ninety-nine bottles of milk on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of milk!” he sings loudly, grinning as he looks around at everyone.

You groan. “Oh, no. Don’t.”

Aliyah chuckles behind you, joining in softly, “Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of milk on the wall!”

Jenna sighs dramatically but mutters, “This is so dumb,” just before she jumps in on the next line. Within minutes, the whole car erupts into an awkward yet oddly harmonious singalong, voices overlapping and laughter spilling between verses. By the time you hit ninety-five bottles, everyone’s belting at the top of their lungs.

It’s ridiculous, it’s cheesy, and it’s exactly what you all needed.

When the laughter finally dies down, Jenna clears her throat. “Uh, I need to pee.”

You glance at her through the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow. Internally, you can’t help but think, Really? We’ve only been on the road for an hour. Did she not go before we left?

But you don’t voice the thought. Instead, you nod, spotting a route stop up ahead. “Alright, we’ll pull over.”

As you exit the highway and roll into the rest stop, Hunter claps your shoulder. “Road trips, man. This is what it’s all about.”

You just shake your head, chuckling as you park the SUV.

————

As everyone steps out at the route stop, the golden light of the setting sun casts long shadows over the parking lot. Hunter stretches dramatically, mumbling something about his aching legs, while Aliyah is already darting toward the brightly lit convenience store, proclaiming her hunt for snacks. Jenna heads to the bathroom, and once she returns she lingers by the SUV, her arms folded, her body language closed.

“Need anything?” you ask, hesitating slightly as you approach her.

She shakes her head but doesn’t look at you. “I’m good.”

You nod, biting back the urge to say more, and join Aliyah and Hunter into the store. The shelves are stocked with everything from bags of chips to questionable gas station sushi.

Hunter immediately gravitates toward the candy aisle, gleefully holding up a pack of gummy worms. “You know you want some,” he teases, tossing a pack at Aliyah, who yelps and tries to dodge.

You chuckle at their antics but can’t help glancing back toward the SUV, wondering if Jenna’s still standing there, or if she’s wandered in.

She hasn’t.

Grabbing a couple of bottled drinks and a bag of chips, you head to the register. Aliyah sidles up beside you, arms full of snacks. “Do you think we should get something for Jenna? She barely ate earlier.”

You hesitate, and recall her eating a chocolate the day you both hung out at the mall and then grab that brand of chocolate from a display near the checkout.

Outside, you find Jenna leaning against the side of the car, scrolling through her phone. You hold out the candy as you approach. “Figured you might want this.”

She glances at it, then at you, her lips twitching like she’s suppressing a thank-you. “Thanks,” she says quietly, taking it without meeting your eyes.

There’s a pause. The others are still inside, their laughter faintly audible from the store. For a moment, it’s just you and Jenna in the fading light.

“You okay?” you ask softly, unsure if you’re even expecting an answer.

She finally meets your gaze, her expression guarded but not unkind. “I’m fine,” she replies, but her tone doesn’t match the words.

You want to push, to ask what’s really on her mind, but something about the way she holds herself stops you. Instead, you nod and step back, giving her space.

She seemed fine interacting with you in the group, she was more vocal. But once it was just you two she got all quiet. But she surprised you with her next words.

She finally glances at you properly, her eyes searching yours. “Thanks, by the way. For this. I know you didn’t have to.”

You swallow, suddenly aware of how close she’s standing. “You don’t have to thank me, Jenna. I just… I want to make sure you’re safe—and your sister!”

She nods faintly, looking down at the ground. For a second, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you under the flickering lights.

Before the moment can stretch too long, Hunter sticks his head out of the car window. “Yo! Are we road-tripping or setting up camp here? Let’s go!”

Jenna chuckles, the tension breaking as she steps back. “Guess we should get going.”

“Yeah.” You push off the SUV, giving her a small nod. “Let’s hit the road.”

As you both climb back into the car, you can’t help but glance at her through the mirror again. She doesn’t notice this time, and you’re glad she doesn’t.

————

"Hey, Y/n, remember the car I was driving yesterday?" Aliyah asks, her voice breaking the comfortable silence that’s fallen over the SUV.

It’s been about two and a half hours since you hit the road, and everyone is busy with their snacks. Conversations drift in and out, short bursts of chatter punctuated by the rustling of wrappers.

You hum softly, urging her to continue.

Aliyah glances at you in the rearview mirror, her tone casual. “It’s pretty cool that you own that car. My dad used to have the same one, and I remember him always going on and on about how rare it was. Small world, huh?” She shrugs, clearly amused by the coincidence.

You and Jenna freeze. For a moment, no one says anything, and the awkward silence hangs in the air like a weight.

You glance at Jenna through the rearview mirror, and she avoids your gaze. Great, you think. Of all the things to come up right now, this had to be it.

“Well…” you clear your throat, deciding Aliyah deserves to know at this point. “That was your dad’s car.”

Aliyah’s brows furrow in confusion. “What? No, his was black.”

“Yeah,” you admit with an awkward laugh, “and then I wrapped it green.”

The realization dawns on her, and she turns to Jenna, her jaw dropping as she whisper yells, “Oh my God! You like the girl who stole Dad’s car?”

Jenna’s eyes widen, and her face flushes. “Aliyah, shut up!” she snaps, but her tone lacks bite.

Aliyah smirks, clearly reveling in her discovery. “I mean, this is peak comedy. She stole Dad’s car, and you’re just fine with it?”

“I’m not fine with it,” Jenna retorts, but her lips curve slightly as if she’s holding back a smile. “And for the record, it was both of us who stole it.”

Aliyah raises her hands in mock surrender. “Oh, so now you’re an accomplice? Love that for you.”

While they bicker in their private conversation, Jenna’s eyes soften, and her gaze turns nostalgic. “That day was insane,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. “We had no idea what we were doing, but it was... kind of thrilling."

Not knowing what the two girls were talking about, you glance at her in the mirror for the millionth time today. Jenna’s smile, faint and genuine, tugs at something deep in your chest, but before you can dwell on it, Hunter’s voice cuts in.

“Well, look at you,” he says with a laugh, nudging your arm. “Stealing the car of the dad of the girl you like. That’s one for the books, huh?”

“Shut up, Hunter,” you groan, shoving his arm off you.

He just grins wider. “Nah, I’m serious. You’ve really outdone yourself here. Romantic and criminal—who knew you had it in you?”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back into the seat, but an idea suddenly strikes you. "Alright, since we're all in a sharing mood, how about this—Hunter, how exactly do you and Jenna know each other?" Your tone pointed, almost teasing.

Silence.

Not a word, not even the rustle of snack wrappers from the backseat.

Aliyah breaks the tension, her brows knitting as she glances at her sister. "Wait...what? I thought we both met Hunter this morning?"

You glance in the rearview mirror. Jenna’s expression is stone cold, her face unreadable, like she’s mastered the art of giving away nothing. She doesn’t so much as blink, just stares out the window as though the question didn’t even register.

Hunter, on the other hand, looks like he’s sweating bullets. His hand fidgets with the strap of his seatbelt, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, well… you see…”

Before Hunter can dig himself into an even deeper hole, Jenna suddenly bursts out laughing. The sound is so unexpected, so completely jarring after the tension-filled silence, that your head whips around to look at her.

Her laughter is light and melodic, the kind that shakes her shoulders and makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. For a second, you forget about the chaos in the car and just stare.

Her laugh is kind of… cute, you think, catching yourself and quickly looking back at the road before anyone notices.

Jenna waves a hand, her laughter dying down just enough to speak. “Relax, Hunter. Seriously, it’s not a big deal. Go ahead, tell them.”

Aliyah sighs loudly from the backseat, crossing her arms. “Okay, my patience is wearing thin. Someone better spill before I start throwing snacks.”

"Okay fine, you tell them Jenna, since you think it's so funny," Hunter mumbles defeated, shrinking into his seat.

Jenna glances at Hunter, who is clearly trying to become one with his seatbelt. With a small shrug, she answers casually, “I walked in on Hunter… being intimate.”

You blink, nearly missing your next lane change. “Oh, wow. That’s… embarrassing,” you mutter, trying not to laugh. But then your brain starts piecing things together, and you frown. “Wait a second. How does that even happen? Like… was this in public or something? Did you come to Brimstone, or were you—”

Hunter interrupts, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I was in Summer Valley, okay?”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, okay. Get that bag, I guess. But, man, from the way you were sweating, I thought it was something really bad.”

For a second, you think the tension has finally lifted. But then Hunter lets out a resigned sigh, muttering, “I was with someone from the Viper's crew.”

It all made sense now, why Hunter was so understanding of the idea of you being affiliated with a Viper—why there was two toothbrushes in his bathroom.

He had his own fucking Viper.

“What the fuck?!” you shout, your voice climbing a whole octave as you instinctively swerve the car.

Hunter grabs the oh-shit handle. “Whoa, whoa, focus! You’re driving, not judging!”

“What the fuck Hunter?!” you yell again, steadying the wheel as the SUV veers slightly back into the lane. Thankfully, it’s almost 8 pm, and the highway is relatively empty, so you narrowly avoid disaster. "You're fucking a Viper?! What the actual—"

Hunter throws up his hands defensively. “What’s the big deal?! You are too!”

You slam the brakes—figuratively, of course—your head whipping around to glare at him. “EXCUSE ME?!”

Your face goes red-hot, and you stammer, “I’m not—what—literally who?! I’m not fucking anybody!”

Hunter smirks, sensing your flustered state. “Oh, sure. But you wish you were fucking a Viper.”

If you thought you couldn’t blush any harder, you were wrong. From the backseat, Aliyah is howling with laughter while Jenna buries her face in her hands, her own ears tinged pink.

“You’re delusional,” you snap at Hunter, but your embarrassment only fuels his laughter. “Seriously, who even—"

“Doesn’t matter!” Hunter interrupts, his grin practically splitting his face. “I’m just saying, don’t judge me when you’ve got your own Viper situation brewing back there.”

“Hunter, I swear—”

Aliyah cuts you off, gasping between giggles. “Oh my God, I can’t breathe. This is the best road trip ever!”

Jenna groans softly, pressing a hand to her forehead, but the small, stupid smile tugging at her lips betrays her. She hated being teased, especially by Aliyah, who had the precision of a sniper when it came to embarrassing her. Yet, as the chaos bubbled in the backseat, Jenna found her thoughts wandering to the things Hunter had been saying to poke at you.

What had you two been talking about? Hunter clearly knew something she didn’t, and now, curiosity gnawed at her despite herself. She glanced at you, watching as you muttered under your breath and tightened your grip on the steering wheel like it might save you. It wasn’t just the teasing; something else was making you squirm, and Jenna couldn’t stop the faint curve of her lips from growing into a fuller smile.

She didn’t know what Hunter was hinting at, but the way your ears burned red and your gaze stayed glued to the road… she couldn’t help but find it a little endearing.

————

The freeway stretched ahead in an endless ribbon of asphalt, swallowed by the inky darkness of night. The faint glow of distant city lights barely pierced the dark sky, leaving only the occasional flash of headlights to illuminate the passing road signs and surrounding emptiness. It was quiet now, except for the hum of the tires against the pavement and the faint sound of Aliyah’s soft snores from the backseat. The earlier chaos had subsided, leaving the SUV calm in stillness.

You glanced over at Hunter, slumped against the window with his head bobbing slightly with the movement of the car. He and Aliyah had devoured the candy earlier like children on Halloween and, predictably, crashed hard. For the last thirty minutes, they’d been completely out, and you were silently grateful for the reprieve. Any more teasing, and you were sure your heart would’ve leapt out of your chest.

Your heart was still pounding, though.

You sigh as you wrestled with a thought you’d been avoiding for a while. You never addressed ghosting Jenna. You mentioned to her at the meeting that you’d talk later, but then you didn’t. And now, things between you were stuck in this strange, awkward limbo. You hated it. You hated the distance and the way your banter had evaporated into stilted exchanges.

More than anything, you wanted this trip to be enjoyable for both of you—for her.

“Hey, Jenna you awake?” you said softly, testing the waters. You knew she was awake. Her breathing wasn’t even enough to fool you. You just needed something to break the ice.

“Yeah, what’s up?” she muttered, her voice low to avoid waking her sister.

You hesitated for a moment, your hands flexing nervously against the steering wheel. Then you took a deep breath and decided to do what needed to be done.

“I just… I want to apologize,” you began, keeping your eyes fixed on the road ahead. “For ghosting you. I know it was shitty, and you didn’t deserve it.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel her eyes on you, listening.

“I… I had a conversation with my mom the first day I didn’t reply to you,” you continued, your voice soft and unsteady. “And it—it messed with my head. I found out my dad wanted out of the Sinners. That completely flipped everything I thought I knew. I was already so confused, and it just made things worse. And then…” You paused, forcing yourself to push through the lump in your throat. “It made me feel terrified. Of everything. Of this whole situation. And of you. Of what you made me feel—what I felt for—”

You clamped your mouth shut, cutting yourself off realizing you spilled too much. Your mind was already coming up with excuses for what you meant by what you made me feel. Heat crawled up your neck, your knuckles stark white against the dim light from the dashboard. You scrambled internally for a way to gloss over your slip-up, but the words weren’t coming.

“I’m not trying to excuse what I did,” you said after a beat. “There’s no excuse for it. I just wanted to explain, to tell you why I acted the way I did. And to say I’m sorry. Really sorry.” 

She's not saying anything. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and you risked a quick glance in her direction, her expression unreadable in the faint glow of the passing headlights.

Panic began to claw at your chest.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you blurted out, your words rushing now. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know what I did was shitty, and I know I have no right to expect forgiveness—”

"I know you didn't mean to hurt me, Greaser."

Greaser.

You smile.

And that was all she said until Hunter and Aliyah awoken from their slumber twenty minutes later. But it was enough.

————

"Damn, how long was I out?" Hunter grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted in his seat.

Aliyah stretched with an exaggerated groan, yawning as if she'd been asleep for days.

"Only about forty minutes," you replied, glancing at them. The weight in your chest felt lighter after your moment with Jenna, but a part of you braced for the teasing chaos that might erupt now that they were awake.

Aliyah groaned dramatically. "Ugh, I was hoping the driving part would be over when I woke up. Are we seriously just gonna spend days cooped up in this car?"

"We’ve only been driving for like three hours," Hunter pointed out with a shrug.

"And that’s not far enough?" Aliyah raised a brow.

Hunter nodded, turning his gaze to you. "She’s got a point, you know."

"...I have a suggestion." Aliyah finally says.

"Shoot," you encourage her.

She leaned forward slightly, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she looked at Jenna. "How about we visit Markus? We’re probably close to him already."

Jenna’s face lit up instantly, her smile matching her sister’s excitement. "That would be amazing, Ali, but… are we really gonna risk leading trouble straight to him?"

Aliyah waved the concern off with a dismissive hand. "Come on, you really think those bad guys are gonna follow us all the way to LA?"

While the sisters debated, you leaned toward Hunter, lowering your voice. "Who the fuck is Markus?"

Hunter smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "What’s the matter? You jealous?"

"What? No!" you snapped, scoffing like the idea was ridiculous. But your mind betrayed you, lingering on Jenna’s radiant smile. Who was this guy, and why did she look so happy talking about him?

The sisters’ conversation quieten down, and Aliyah finally addresses you, her grin still firmly in place. "Y/n, how does a trip to UCLA sound?"

next chapter

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[unluckilyimnot]

Hi there please could i get headcanons for umemiya, suo, kyotaru and togame on what their love languages are/how they display their affection?

Love language - sakura, umemiya, suo, kaji, kyotaro, togame, kiryuu

m.list | rules

Note: omg that's my favorite thing to do !! If you didn't ask I would've done it anyway. Thank you so much for asking ! Also !! We're close to hitting 2k ! Thank you sm everyone, I'm making something for you ♡

Sakura - quality time

He's anxious at the idea of touching you to be honest, he needs time for this but wants to in the end. Yet it's too much for him, so instead he wants to spend time with you. At your place or his, when he's walking around the street. He doesn't even try to touch your hand or anything but he's on alert all the time because he would hate himself if something happens to you.

He shares the things he gets from the citizens with you, so he can spend more time with you and you always look so happy when he brings you those small pieces of bread.

Suo - act of service + physical touch

He can tease the shit out of you, he will always do it while carrying your bag or opening the door for you. He wants you to rely on him, to trust him and if you need anything, to just ask him. He will get it for you. You're scared to come home alone ? He'd gladly walk you home. You need to clear your mind or want to see him when he's already busy ? He's not anymore, and he's going wherever you like with you.

He's subtle about touching you, but he's constantly doing it. It can be fixing your hair with a kind smile when it doesn't really need to be fixed. It's guiding you with his hand on your back or letting his fingers linger on the back of your hand and your arm. He sometimes lets his fingers smooth the side of your thighs if you're sitting next to each other. He just really likes it when nobody can really tell. Unless it's Sakura, then he's all on display, hugging you, touching your cheeks and kissing it.

Kaji - gifts giving + word of affirmation

By gifts, I think he wants to give you things like food or candy and eat with you. He feels better when he sees you smile and accept it gladly. Even more if you're not really into sweets. He makes you a playlist out of the blue, with songs you two might like or even listening to your fav artist even if he doesn't like them to make a playlist with the songs he likes so you know.

He tells you things that seem like nothing serious but you know it means a lot for him. He lets you know that he trusts you, that he feels better and calmer around you or whenever he appreciates something that you do. It gets you all the time, making you blush

Kyotaru - quality time + act of service

He's not big for words, instead he wants to do things with you and for you. He kinda follows you around. When you ask if he wants to do something with you, he always nods and carries your bag or what you brought for you. He likes to come shopping with you, so he can nod when he finds something pretty on you.

He also really likes it when you come around and do things with him ! Including gardening, sadly if you don't really like it. But you know it makes him really happy.

Umemiya - word of affirmation + physical touch

He tells you that he loves you or how good you look all the time. He notices every change and compliments you all the time. He lets you know what he likes the most about you, physically or with your personality. It can go from how you styled your hair to you bringing him snacks during the day ‘cause he forgets to eat sometimes.

He’s a very cuddly guy. He always wants to welcome you with a hug or a kiss - mostly both - and same for goodbyes ! Don’t you dare go without kissing him and squishing his hand in yours. He’ll get sulky. You get shy sometimes at the fact that he spends his time with his arms around your shoulders but at the same time that makes you both feel safe that you can’t blame him. 

Togame - physical touch

He’s on you all the time. He likes to have you close so it's easier to check on you and make sure that everything is alright. He can lay his arm around your shoulders, pulling you to him and nuzzle his nose into your neck or cheek. He loves the fact that it makes you blush all the time. He lays his head on yours or your shoulders too, and closes his eyes. He likes to take naps on you as well ! On your thighs particularly. 

Kiryuu - quality time + physical touch 

He really likes to do his own things with you next to him, but literally. He wants to feel your thighs against his. Or you laying on him/his laps while being on your phone or reading and vice versa. It's his favorite place to play video games. It works too if you just want to cuddle and let him play, so that's perfect. He's always holding your hand outside, no questions. He puts it in his pocket if he feels that your hand gets cold. 

Let me know if you liked it !

[catscidr]

YANDERE DOTTORE X READER JAHEKWHZBAKNA

happy to see most dottore enjoyers sharing the same braincell. even happier to provide that good good dottore content (〃ﾉωﾉ) answering two asks in the same post bc it would be too repetitive if i made them separate agshfjns- next post will feature either childe or al haitham (depending on which one i finish first) (giving everyone a break from dottore for a hot sec) ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: yandere dottore (obvs), not quite proofread, dottore is named zandik in the mini-fic includes: gn!reader, dottore, his clones are kinda there, pierro and the tsaritsa are also mentionned. a handful of headcanons + a mini-fic wc: 1,8k

-ˋˏ Despite what most people might think, Dottore isn’t a sadistic man. He only hurts people if it’s necessary- if it helps with his research- and even then, it’s not like he enjoys inflicting pain, he enjoys the knowledge he gathers as a result of such experiments

-ˋˏ ...That doesn't apply with you though. He likes to see you squirm, to do things that make you react, whether positively or negatively. He’s that desperate and needy  

-ˋˏ He’s a man that doesn’t go out much because of his work. So how could you blame him for wanting your attention? 

-ˋˏ I think he’d be the type of yandere to just be incredibly obsessed with you. Always having someone checking in on you (his segments, of course) to report back to him so he knows what you’re doing at all times, probably the type to have an entire folder with your personal information in it as if you were one of his test subjects

-ˋˏ Not to mention he would be extremely manipulative, too. Dottore is the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing; a handsome face with dubious intentions. 

-ˋˏ He wants to have your attention 24/7, to never have you take your eyes off of him, but he can’t do that if he stays holed up in his lab. Unfortunately for him he's very clingy

-ˋˏ But Dottore is a patient man (he was able to create an artificial God y’know- that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight), so he takes his time with you- getting to know you, having his segments stalk you (he’s not the one doing it, so it’s fine, right?) 

-ˋˏ You’re just like a frog in a pot boiling water. If you put it in the pot immediately, it’ll jump out as soon as it makes contact with the hot water; but if you put it in room temperature water and boil it slowly…  

-ˋˏ The Harbinger knows your “relationship” isn’t an experiment, but at the same time it’s hard to say that he isn’t studying you. Having a mask that obscures his wandering eyes is definitely an advantage  

-ˋˏ It doesn’t matter who you are, he would bend his schedule just for you. He’s that thoughtful! Since he’s practically his own boss (aside from various deadlines and meetings) he can do whatever he wants. Who’s going to tell him off? Pierro and the Tsaritsa don’t care how he achieves results as long as he gets results. So, expect to “accidentally” run into him more times than a regular person would  

-ˋˏ You’re a fatui agent? Suddenly one of his experiments requires him to watch how soldiers (you) fight and train. You’re just a normal civilian? He’ll figure out where you work and find excuses to come see you just to chat 

-ˋˏ It’s even better if you work a customer service job. You work at a cute coffee shop? What a coincidence, he loves coffee! Now he’s a regular and you know his order by heart. (I like to think he actually hates coffee but powers through the bitter taste and energetic aftermath just because it gives him an excuse to bond with you) 

-ˋˏ You work at a grocery store? That’s perfect, he’ll start doing his groceries at your store from now on (you don’t point out how every week his groceries- without fail- consist of mozzarella sticks, a whole rotisserie chicken, cheap red wine, a pack of cigarettes and a singular loaf of whole wheat bread.)  

-ˋˏ If you’re not in the fatui, chances are you don’t know who he is (he doesn’t go out much, after all) so it’s easier for him to play up the “good guy” role (wolf in sheep’s clothing from before nudgenudge). He’s a very smooth talker 

-ˋˏ Of course, you’ve heard rumors about “the Doctor”, one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers, a feared man all across Teyvat. So it’s a good thing that your new friend’s name is Zandik and he’s just a normal surgeon that works in a private hospital! Nothing suspicious, 'course not

-ˋˏ Both of you engage in small talk whenever you cross paths. He’ll ask questions about you (even though he already knows the answer to them), all so that you can feel seen and heard- who cares about him, about what he does? This is about you. He wants you to tell him everything 

-ˋˏ The kind of person to use the excuse that he had a Ph.D. for a lot of things. You whine that your shoulders have been sore for longer than usual? He’ll get up from his seat and get behind you, sliding a hand just under the collar of your shirt to press and prod at your muscles to check if there’s anything wrong (good thing you can’t see his expression from behind you), saying he "knows best" whenever the (your) human body is brought up

-ˋˏ His patience isn’t endless, however. If he sees that this isn’t going anywhere, that you seem to be keeping him at arm’s length despite your “connection”, he’ll just take things into his own hands. And even though he doesn’t really get off from causing pain, he’s not afraid to make you squirm either

It wasn’t unusual for you to grab a bite to eat with the Doctor occasionally. Working at a local coffee shop had its perks; one of them being how you could make drinks for free and eat snacks at a discounted price. Though you never needed to worry about money since your friend would always tip you handsomely, basically paying you for the snacks you brought to the table. 

Closing shop was easy enough when you had someone to keep you company while you swept the floor and wiped counters clean. He sat at one of the booths, cup of coffee in hand (you started making it decaf when you noticed his nose scrunch one time when he drank his usual order), watching you work idly. 

“Rough day?” you ask with a gentle smile, looking over where Zandik sat. Being quite some distance away from him you couldn’t catch the twitch of the corner of his lips as he sighed, bringing one hand up to rub his face beneath his pointy mask. 

“You could say that” he grumbles, laying his arms on the table, holding his cup of coffee with both hands. The man tilts his head to the side, focusing on you rather than his pesky thoughts. You put the broom away and saunter over to his booth, sitting across from him with a plate of various pastries in hand. 

“What’s on your mind? Maybe I could give some advice and help! Or you’ll feel better if you just... talk about it,” you chuckle softly, taking a sip of your own drink. Zandik’s gaze never leaves your form, his gaze burning the sight of your lips into his mind. 

If he told you even a smidge of what he was thinking you would, without fail, run and never look back. Even the tamest of things he’s thought about you would drive you away. From him fantasizing about how your skin would taste, to how your heart would look like in a jar on his desk when he worked... he shudders, swallowing down the urge to do something impulsive. Zandik takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flickering from your lips to your wide, innocent eyes. 

“Thank you for offering,” he begins slowly, “but that’s alright. I wouldn’t want you to worry about it,” he says smoothly, losing the tension in his shoulders to seem more approachable. With the first two buttons of his shirt undone, hair lightly tousled, and overcoat thrown over the back of the booth chair, he looked nothing like the deadly Harbinger he was. Looked like an overworked businessman at most. 

You puff your cheeks, disappointed that he wouldn’t open up to you. You’ve been doing it this whole time, and yet he won’t talk about what was bothering him to you? It made your heart flutter- he was so considerate- but at the same time you couldn’t shake the idea that maybe he was hiding something. Inhaling slowly, you calm your nerves, deciding that today would be the day you confront him. After all, a good friendship is built on trust, and you can’t stay good friends with someone that hides things from you. 

Oh, how naïve you are. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” you say gently, placing one hand on his. The feel of his rough hand beneath yours made you shudder, almost instinctively- are surgeons’ hands supposed to be this rugged? 

“I want to be there for you in the same way you’ve been here for me...” you add, voice trailing off as your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I think you’re nice to be around. Don’t I owe you for the number of times I’ve complained about customers to you?” you say, chuckling lightly at the memory. 

Zandik doesn’t react, not at first. His eyes fix your face with an underlying threat, gaze hidden by his mask. Although you can’t see his eyes, a shudder runs up your spine at the feeling of being watched so intently. Where have you felt this before... 

“You’re right,” he responds quietly, voice hoarse. “You owe me.” 

His words caught you off guard. Owe him? That was a joke! You were trying to lighten his spirits, to take his mind off whatever was troubling him for even just a second. How come you felt your nerves screaming at you to get up? 

His free hand covers the hand you had laid on his, the grip on your skin becoming firmer the longer you two sat there. Your heart rammed against your ribcage, ears ringing from the sudden wave of adrenaline washing over you. 

“You said you wanted to help me, right?” Zandik says in a sickly-sweet tone, leaning forward to stare at you, gaze unrelenting behind his mask. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you nod dumbly, staring back at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He grins in response. 

Did he always have teeth this sharp? 

“Then you won’t make my life harder than it already is by resisting, right?” he adds. You could hear how heavy his breathing had become in just a few seconds, how his hands had a death grip on your own. His cup of coffee was long forgotten; how could he possibly focus on something as useless as that when you were giving yourself to him? 

The snow pelleted the windows harshly, essentially trapping you inside the coffee shop with him. Even the weather outside couldn’t compare to how cold your blood ran in the face of the Doctor; maybe if you had listened to your gut earlier you wouldn’t currently be skewered in the jaws of the shark that had been circling you for months. 

[batsycline69]

Chapter Two: Night & Day

Summary: Jason's night doesn't go as planned. As a result, neither does yours.

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Words: 4,365

Content/warnings: profanity, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood

SERIES MASTERPOST

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Jason wakes in a sweat.

He’s had this dream before; his body throbs, slick and sticky with blood. Each hit of the crowbar jerks his body.

He pushes himself up from the bed, his feet meeting the cold wood floors beneath him. He huffs, his head falling in his hands as he slumps towards his knees.

There’s no blood. Hell, there aren’t even the scars to prove what he went through anymore. It’s just Jason trapped in his own mind. The laughter echoes in his ears long after he wakes up, but the pain eventually fades into the back of his mind, a lingering nagging as he tries to grip onto reality and find something to distract himself.

Lines of light fall across the floor from the streetlamps pouring in through the venetian blinds. He’s been meaning to get curtains. He feels too exposed, even if the blinds are always shut.

When he was first resurrected, there were only so many memories he had to comfort himself with. Anything from his life with Bruce was immediately off limits, so he usually sought out Talia. The comfort she’d managed to offer him after all of that just by showing a little kindness.

A few days ago, he met you. You’d been kind to him too.

He told you to just call a ride instead of taking the train. He knew what happened in this neighborhood at that time of night. But you didn’t listen.

Jason knew you weren’t going to get onto that train without a hitch. He chose following you over the stupid drug bust. He figured there’d be time to take care of them later. He’d been right, of course, but after that, he froze.

You hadn’t been intimidated by him at the shop. But you’d seen him—the real him—and flinched. Not that he can blame you. It was a hell of an introduction on his part, barrel of his gun up against some guy’s head. In a city like Gotham? God, he could have been any creep.

But he’s him. He’s the same he’d been at the shop, but you don’t know that. And you can’t.

That doesn’t stop him from thinking of you. As he wakes from his nightmare, you’re there, and he’s not entirely sure why. Maybe because your kindness is so straightforward. It’s not shrouded by trauma and odd gestures meant to translate to kindness. You talked with him, laughed with him. You got him food that you insisted he eat.

You’re better off without him. There’s a natural path for the two of you to never see each other again. It’s more work to not lose contact with you. Even with every part of him saying no, Jason makes the effort.

How’s your tattoo healing?

It’s still dark out, but it’s nearing 6 am now. As he sends the email, he hopes you get the idea he’s some sort of early riser. Maybe you think he’s less of a mess than he is. He’d let you think that, if you wanted to.

Part of him also worries about you. Not in some wild way, but after your close call with the guys at the train station, he doesn’t want you to be scarred for life. That may be overdramatic, but the point remains. That’s normal shit for him, but that’s not something you signed up for. That’s just the bi-product of living in Gotham.

His body collapses back into bed in a heap, his breath finally evening out. He’ll try to fall back asleep for at least an hour before he realizes it’s probably hopeless and gets up.

Mornings like this, he cooks. It passes the time. Dealers aren’t making deals this early. The shop doesn’t open until ten, but he sure as shit doesn’t want to be sitting around dwelling in his thoughts for longer than necessary.

So when Jason finally rises out of bed, he goes to the kitchen. He pulls out eggs and bread. Bacon, tomatoes, and cheese. Good salt, the salt that costs extra. He doesn’t have a lot of good these days, so he takes it where he can.

The Gotham underworld is lucrative, no surprise there. Jason has access to things he never would have as a kid. The sort of stuff he was introduced to at Wayne Manor. Except now Jason has them on his own terms. He didn’t need Bruce for it.

Bacon is on the stove sizzling as Jason’s old coffee machine gurgles. He’ll drink most of the pot by the time the sun rises. By now, there’s enough for him to focus on that he can push the dream to the back of his mind. He doesn’t need to think about the past. That’s why he has his plans. He has a future to look forward to. And if he has to be alive again, he’s going to make something of it.

Just the light above the stove is on. Jason likes the dark. Old habits and all that.

He fries up an egg until the ends get crispy. Toast, egg, sharp cheddar, bacon, and hot sauce. He takes a mug of coffee and his sandwich over to the small table up against the window and watches as the city wakes up.

It’s the most normal his day is going to look. These moments where his brain isn’t completely fixed on the job. He’s not trying to parse through whatever lying scumbag is coming into the shop. There’s no blood. It’s quiet.

The quiet is nice until it isn’t. Until it’s too quiet, and there’s nothing besides the quiet.

When he woke up, buried six feet under, it had been quiet. Except for his breathing. The claustrophobic weight. The crushing weight of the dirt as it pressed against him, as he fought to the surface.

You reply while he’s out taking his smoke break.

The tattoo itches, but it looks good, you say. I’ll send a picture once it’s healed.

His second appointment of the day, the one he goes to after he sees your email, is the type he usually sees. Some asshole that wants a skull on his arm to prove he’s tough. Someone who definitely isn’t you. But it’s not his place to wish it was. He feels ridiculous being so attached to you like a lost little puppy.

He wants to think of an excuse to see you again, but his mind is blank. Can’t just lure you to a dark alley for a chat like the people he’s normally trying to get in touch with. Yet again, just trying to be a regular person, he falls short. He doesn’t know how to navigate this. He spent the years he was supposed to figure this shit out in a box beneath the earth. As much as Talia taught him when he came back, he didn’t get flirting lessons.

There’s so much he doesn’t know about you. Sure, he could dig around and fight out a thing or two. That’s what Bruce would do, but he’s not Bruce. He doesn’t want to do that with you. He wants to just be Jason in your eyes, so that means keeping Red Hood as far away from you as possible.

Are you taking care of it?

It’s not flirting. It’s not smooth, either, but it does keep the conversation going.

During his next appointment, he has to push you to the back of his mind. The guy ends up being a small-time dealer. A guy who works for a guy who works for a guy sort of dealer. His license was scanned when he came in for the tattoo, and that means Jason has his address. There’s a lot he can learn from a license, assuming it’s real. Lucky for Jason, the dealer wasn’t smart enough to use a fake. Now he’s got a new lead, more heads to bust.

After the shop closes, he goes home. As he’s researching, he gets another response.

Yeah, I’ve been going swimming every day and using dish soap to keep it clean just like you said.

He smirks. You’re a smart-ass. That’s part of what he likes about you.

As he eats the leftover fried rice he heated up to the light of his laptop, he thinks about your appointment. The way you’d laughed over your dinner. The mischievous look in your eye as you teased him. He wished he had paid closer attention to that look because when he thought of you now, he saw that look of fear. That look directed at him. Guilt sat heavy in his chest because of it. You couldn’t trust him when he said he wasn’t going to hurt you. It was a good instinct. As much as it hurt, he wasn’t going to blame you for it.

Tonight, he’s going to kill. Becoming a crime lord isn’t pretty work, but he’s not about to shy away from it. If he has to spill blood, that’s what he’ll do. But he isn’t willing to risk that colliding into his memories of you either.

You’re separate from all of this.

Jason doesn’t regret being there for you at the train station. How could he? But at the same time, now you know, and that’s a liability. He doesn’t think you’d go around asking everyone, but he also doesn’t know you, and that fact remains even when his mind runs away from him to focus on your skin. Sure, Jason’s got the training to be able to read someone, but he’s not one to get too comfortable about such things.

This whole thing is still new. It’s precarious. Jason’s been back in Gotham weeks. There’s still plenty to be done, and he doesn’t need to be distracted.

Jason’s night doesn’t go as planned.

The dealers he’d been meeting with had gotten sloppy. A crew that got way too comfortable talking about sales in public. Batman got wind of it, but Jason was one step ahead. He got out minutes before Bruce arrived, and he didn’t leave anyone left alive to talk to. It’s messier than he’d like, but he doesn’t leave evidence. Whatever trail Bruce has picked up through them will run cold.

Just when he thinks he gets away without a hitch, he runs into the boss of the men unlucky enough to cross his path. He gets a shot in, but not before the boss grazed his thigh with a bullet. It bleeds, but it doesn’t go deep. Still, he can’t ignore it. He takes shelter in a residential area. He can keep a lower profile here if Batman is in the neighborhood, so he finds a dark alley to lick his wounds. He steams over how much carelessness has set him back, when a door slamming breaks his concentration.

And there you are.

You don’t see him in the darkness. You’ve got a bag of garbage in your hand heading towards the dumpster just a few feet away from where his back is pressed against the wall. It’s only a matter of time you see the faint glow from his mask, and he’ll see that same startled look on your face. He doesn’t want you to look at him in fear again.

The bag of trash clamors into the dumpster as you toss it in. You turn over your shoulder and freeze at the sight of someone standing just out of sight. And there’s that look. That same startled, caught in headlights look that’s been haunting him since he left you at the train station. He can’t stand it. So he raises his free hand and gives a small wave.

“Just me,” he says.

Recognition crosses your eyes as you fully find him in the shadows. “Oh,” you say, the sound getting drowned out by the light rain falling. Unconsciously—at least, he hopes—you take a half step away from him.

Yeah, maybe Jason should have thought this through a little more. So careful when he’s making his big plans, but all of the sudden, with you, he’s got his foot in his mouth and his brain where it shouldn’t be. Last you ran into him, he had been hidden out of sight, appearing suddenly to come to your rescue. And maybe doing the same thing outside where you presumably live isn’t a good look.

He should have gone on a rooftop somewhere.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he says.

It’s not a lie, but it’s not like the full version of the truth would offer you any comfort. I don’t think you’d like to hear that he’s on the run from Batman for killing a few guys. But is you potentially thinking he’s stalking you any better?

Your body is still rigid, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of your coat. “What are you doing down there?”

He wonders if you’ve got your pepper spray on him. You’d know better than to use it against him from your first run-in, but maybe you’re holding it now as a comfort. He’s not going to humor himself by believing you trust him. Even if he knows you’re safe with him, you don’t.

“Seemed like a good spot for a rest,” he replies.

The shadows across your face make it hard for him to really see where you’re looking, but he sees your back stiffen.

“Is that blood?” you ask, and now he’s sure your eyes are on his leg, fixed to the spot he was grazed. The concern is evident in your voice. Your eyes grow wide, and Jason all but sees the internal spiral happening on your face.

“Don’t worry, it’s mine,” he replies.

You stand, open-mouthed for a moment, the features of your face twisting further into confusion and worry. “Don’t worry?” you ask in disbelief. Your voice pitches slightly.

“Relax, it’s just a bullet graze. I’m fine.”

A moment of silence passes. Jason waits for the bleeding to slow a little. But once time passes without any sort of response from you, he looks up to catch your eyes wide in disbelief. Which is probably fair. At best, he sounds like an asshole being so casual about something like that. Sure, it’s Gotham, but even that’s a little much. Your obviously freaked out, and here he is acting cavalier.

Jason nods once. “Sorry. The people I’m usually around don’t get bothered about that sort of thing.”

You nod once, your arms crossing over your chest. “I bet.”

God, this is such a mess.

Your eyes flicker up from his wounded leg to the glowing white space where his eyes are beneath his helmet. Jason wishes so desperately to know what’s going on in your head. Do you see him as some sort of monster? Is there any bit of Jason you see beneath the helmet, even if you can’t actually know it’s him? Or has he blown all of this?

“Are you...okay?” you ask.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “You don’t have to worry about me.” He thinks it’s silly you would in the first place. People have never worried about Jason; he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. You shouldn’t be the first one to take on the hopeless task of worrying for him, especially not over some graze. Especially not some graze relative to all of the other things that’s happened to him.

If this is what happens when he a bullet grazes his leg, he can’t imagine what you’d think of everything else.

“So...what’s your deal?” you ask cautiously.

“My deal?” Jason replies, even though he knows exactly what you’re asking.

“Yeah. I mean...what kind of guy in a mask are you?”

There’s a rough, modulated laugh from behind the helmet. “Well, I scared off those guys the other night, didn’t I? What kind of guy does that make me?”

“You scared them off with a gun.”

“And? They didn’t hurt you either way, right?” Maybe there was no room for you to see anything in Red Hood, and maybe he was foolish to think otherwise. He wonders if that still leaves any hope for you and Jason.

“And you conveniently are in the same place as me at the same time. I’m not sure what to make of that.”

“So you think I’m stalking you, huh?” he asks with a light laugh.

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” you reply.

You don’t trust him. There’s no hesitancy to voice your skepticism. He has to admire you just a little bit, even if it is a stupid idea to be arguing with the guy you know is carrying a gun. Now he’s the one who’s going to start worrying about you, as if that wasn’t already the case.

“You live in a shitty neighborhood. You’re gonna see guys in masks around here.”

“It’s Gotham. Most of the neighborhoods are shitty. Are you always this evasive?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

There’s a pause as you look him over carefully. Even if you don’t trust him, Jason doesn’t want that to be the case. He wants you to believe that he’s not a threat to you. Not on purpose, at least. He showed up at the train station because the thought of those guys laying a single hand on you made his stomach roll.

He wants you to trust him now like you had trusted him with your skin.

“Listen, I was working in the area. Swear to god, it was a coincidence. I needed someplace quiet to patch up. I didn’t know you were here.”

You don’t seem totally pleased with the answer, but he can tell you could maybe eventually buy it. Again, you watch him carefully for a minute. Gotham is singing her usual song around you, sirens and rain hitting the rooftops. Somewhere a few blocks away, Jason swears he can make out a fight.

“Are you blinking under there?” you ask, sounding a little unnerved by the constant glowing where he can see what’s going on.

He laughs lightly. “Yeah, I’m blinking under here.”

“I tried to thank you the other day, but you were gone already,” you finally say. “So, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jason replies, even though he had heard it. When you were focused on the train rolling in, he’d slipped back into the shadows, waiting until the sounds of the train had long died down just to be sure there wasn’t anything else that was going to interrupt your trip home.

There’s another beat before he speaks again. “So are you okay?”

You look at him, slightly surprised. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. “Just glad you were there when you were.”

Jason nods. “Yeah, me too.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, your eye darting nervously back to his leg.

“I already told you, I’m fine.”

Your weight shifts. You’re hesitating, still not ready to accept his answer. “Do you...need anything?”

He wants to tell you not to offer help to guys like him. You’re being too nice, and not every guy is going to be like him. Maybe he’s just flattering himself, but he gets the idea this isn’t a universal openness. You’re testing the waters, weighing everything he says and does. He thinks about how you must be putting together one hell of a pros and cons list in your head right now.

Jason imagines what would happen if he said yes; maybe you would scurry up to your apartment. You would come back with three towels even if you thought he only needed one. You’d get him water or some food to keep his energy up. What would you bring out to share with the stranger who has a gun?

But Jason shakes his head. “I’m all set,” he replies. “Jacket’s got a lot of pockets.”

Thunder cracks overhead. You startle from the sound, gaze turning towards the sky as rain starts falling down harder around you both. With Jason’s helmet on, he’s not much bothered beyond the drops blurring his vision slightly, but you’re exposed.

“You should get inside,” Jason says, nudging his head back towards the door you came out of.

And, of course, you pause. He sees the way your eyes flicker nervously to his wound.

Jason shakes his head. “Don’t do it,” he says.

“Don’t do what?” you ask indigently.

“Invite me in to be polite and all that.”

You scoff. “Invite you in? Are you kidding me? You’ve given me next to no information about yourself. You’ve openly admitted you hang out with people who aren’t phased by getting shot--”

“’Hang out’ is an overstatement--”

“I am not inviting you up to my apartment. I’m sure you have dangerous friends you can stay with.”

With the helmet, you can’t see, but Jason smirks. You are warming up to him. The you from the shop is getting pulled out little by little. He’s glad to see you again.

When he doesn’t respond, you turn towards the door a little. “Well...good luck with your leg,” you say, fishing through your coat pockets. The movement picks up a little more, followed by a soft curse under your breath.

“Locked out?” Jason asks. He doesn’t bother to hide the pleased tone in his voice.

“I left my keys inside,” you grumble.

Jason rises to his feet, careful to stay off his wounded leg as much as possible. “Bummer,” he says. “Want me to pick the lock?”

You turn back over your shoulder, looking like you’re trying to suss out whether he’s joking or not. With the helmet on, he’s sure it’s hard to tell.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he reminds you. “Just gonna get the door open for you, and then I’m out of here. Promise.”

A bright flash of lightning illuminates your face, and you nod. “Okay.”

You take a step back from the door, letting him at the lock, gnawing on your lips nervously. “What if someone catches you?”

“I’m not worried about it,” he replies.

“And if someone catches me with you and I get evicted? I’m a little worried about that.”

“I get I’m not exactly at the top of the list of trustworthy individuals, but I’m going to need a little more confidence from you.”

There’s a crash of thunder. The rain gets even just a little bit heavier as Jason fiddles with the lock until it opens. It only takes him a few seconds, but you don’t comment on it. He’s not sure if it’s because you’re not surprised he can do it that quickly or because you’re exhausted with everything you’ve learned about him in the past few minutes.

You look at the open door, then back at him. “Thank you,” you say. It’s a little reserved, but he sees the echoes of you sitting in his station at the shop. A hint that maybe his chances aren’t so doomed as he worried.

“You’re welcome. Stay out of trouble.”

One last time, your gaze drops down to his thigh before looking back up. “You too,” you reply, letting the door slam shut behind you.

He should take this as his sign to leave, but he lingers a minute. It’s long enough for him to just barely hear a window slide open overhead.

Above him, he sees your head peek out over the ledge of your fire escape. Your building has the old kind, the wooden ones that are without a doubt a safety hazard. When you see him looking up at you, you quickly disappear out of sight again. The shyness is a little endearing, he has to admit. Not that he’s been doing a great job fighting it to begin with.

He can’t tell what you’re doing, but he knows you’re still out there. The top level is about as tall as the tracks above him. You live close to the station. That makes him feel a little bit better about your trip home after your tattoo. At least the time you were exposed to more trouble was cut down because of that.

There’s a little movement up on the fire escape. You hang something off the edge, but he can’t quite make out what. He sees the top of your head as you climb back through your window, and then the faint glow coming from your window goes dark.

Jason waits one second longer, trying to decide whether he’s meant to see what you’ve left him or not. He decides he is, and makes the trek up the rickety ladder. Some steps give a little from rot. Even if his leg isn’t wounded too badly, he does feel it each of the steps up. He wonders if you left everything up on the fourth floor where you live to spite him for being so nonchalant about getting hit.

When he finally makes it up to where you’ve left him a surprise, he sees your curtains are drawn shut. There’s no sliver of light peeking through. He wonders if you turned the lights off so he couldn’t see you trying to stay hidden while getting a look at him.

Hung over the railing is an umbrella. One he knows you didn’t have with you when you were out with him. You put it out here for him, even with his helmet on. Maybe as a thank you for helping you inside. Maybe as a way of toeing the line of you saying you won’t invite him in.

He could be anyone, but you gave away where you lived. He’d done enough for you to trust he wasn’t going to take advantage of this knowledge. But as the rain starts to get a little harder, he leans up against the brick of your building and opens up the umbrella. He can keep his leg dry until the rain lets up, at least.

Sitting out of the rain in the safety of your rickety fire escape, Jason makes the decision he’s going to ask you out for a drink tomorrow morning. Not him, Red Hood, but the tattoo artist. He knows for certain he’s not going to be able to keep you off his mind now.

He hopes tonight, he dreams of you.

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[admirationandromantics]

Affection

Yay, another request! I felt a bit stumped on this, but I just hope it works out lol. Listened to Fantastic (King Princess) once, and now it's the only thing I listen to. Why am I not sick of it yet? I have listened to it at least 100 times today... Anyway, enjoy some Chris <3

Word count: 2,2 k (Unedited)

We make our way over to the picnic table. Everyone is waiting, some of them already eating. I grab Chris's hand harder, dragging him with me as I walk faster. 

“Hey guys!” I shout, getting to the benches. Everyone is here. Everyone except for Emily and Matt. Matt had a game, and prayed for her to join and watch. Of course she said yes. 

The table is covered in cut up fruit and vegetables, bread, jam, cheese, rolls, cinnamon buns and donuts. It all looks amazing. 

“Why are you only eating the fruit?” Chris asks. 

“Because someone came late, and they had the butter, cutlery and honey” Jess whines, holding out her hand to us. I open my bag, finding the things stated and pulling them on the table. 

“Well, you can only blame this little guy” I smile, pointing my thumb at Chris. He gives a pouty face in return, not liking the nickname. 

“Oh really?” 

“You switched t-shirts three times dear”

“I wanted to look good” 

“All of them were white!” 

“Are you telling me this whole getup took you less time than me?” he asks, hand waving to my whole outfit. It’s true that this would normally have taken longer to plan, considering my style and all the intricate details of the whole fit. 

“Normally, yes. Today? No. I planned this yesterday” I state, clapping his cheek and giving him a small kiss to signal the end of the conversation. 

People go back to their conversations. Jess is talking about some purchase she made a couple of days ago, a white gold necklace which hasn’t been shipped yet. I ask to see a picture, and it’s gorgeous. Small, delicate chain with a circle charm adorned in diamonds. I look over at Ashley and Beth, and they’ve both laid down in the grass, one book each. I try to make out the titles, but the sun’s reflection stops me. I give up, turning to the feast in front of me instead. 

Sam has filled her plate to the brim with fruit, while the others start with bread. I take a couple of strawberries, shoving one in Chris’s mouth and the rest on my plate. 

“Already got my mouth full” he muffles, eyes wide. 

“I’ve seen you take more” I smirk back, and something in his eyes shift. Something dark and different. I ignore it. 

“You guys are nasty. Didn’t think you as a couple would be as freaky as you are” Josh comments, taking a sip of his drink. 

“You’ve got only yourself to blame” I tease, taking a bite of the fruit. Chris lets go of my hand, and I look up to see if something’s wrong. He’s eating, looking over at Mike and talking about our apartment. Not seeing anything wrong, I shift my focus to the food and Sam in front of me. She starts talking about her week and how busy it was. Hannah and I listen intently. That is, before I feel a hand placed on my thigh. I can’t help the blush that covers my cheeks as he kneads. He slowly moves upwards, a little too high. Not relieving the pressure of his touch as he shifts. My breathing gets heavier as I try to stay calm, erotic images appearing in my mind, one after another. 

Despite the distraction, I keep my smile plastered on. Nodding and engaging with the others. 

“You look a little burnt, you should put some sunscreen on” Hannah says, taking hold of my face, looking back and forth on my cheeks. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it” Chris says, giving me a last tight squeeze before standing up and walking to the car. I look down, and he’s left a big red mark. A tad too visible. 

The day continues, and I urge him to put some sunscreen on as well. He whines, responding that he doesn’t need it, and will be fine without it. I don’t listen to him, putting some on my finger and pressing it in his face. Now he has to smear it out. 

As the hours pass by, the hand continues caressing my thigh, occasionally going between them. I kill a whine, feeling myself heat up and get wetter from his touch. 

Slowly but surely, people start leaving. First the Washingtons, then Mike and Jess, lastly, Ashley and Sam. They both take some of the leftovers with them too. As they leave, I turn to Chris, capturing his lips in a rough kiss. 

“Do you know, I’ve sat on this bench for five hours, not moving, because of a certain someone. 

“You don’t say” he smiles, proud of himself. 

“Chris, I swear to god” 

“Nothing to do about it now, too late” he snickers, standing up and packing our things. 

“We are not done talking about this!”

“Are we really not?” he teases, trying to mimic my tone. I’ve been worked up for five fucking hours, and he just makes fun of me? He’s quick, packing everything in one bag, holding it and reaching for my hand. 

“Don’t think for a minute that I’m gonna touch that hand again” 

He laughs, walking over. His arm moves around my waist, and I automatically lean into his touch, even though some part of me doesn’t want to. I want him, I have wanted him for five hours. He holds harder, and before I can react, he swings me up over his shoulder. 

“Chris!” 

“Let’s go home” 

“Chris put me down!” 

“Almost there” he teases, and I can’t do anything but lean against him, waiting to get to the car. I look at his other hand, flexing as he holds both the heavy bag and me. How does he manage? We finally get to the car, and he puts me down. 

“Great trip!” he exclaims, sweaty from the carrying and hot weather. 

“Need some water?” 

“Yes, please” 

I go into the bag, finding a filled bottle and handing it to him. He doesn’t waste time, chugging almost all of it and spraying some on his face. I can’t help but stare, watching as the droplets run down his chin, jaw, down his neck. He gives me a nudge on the shoulder, waking me up. 

“Guess that was today’s workout”

“Wait what?” 

He gets into the car, and I do the same. This was not supposed to be the only workout today. He’d been teasing me the entire day, and was just gonna leave me like this? 

“That’ll not be the only workout for you today, you’ve got a lot to make up for”

“Oh really?” 

“Yeah really”

“What have I done wrong?” He acts innocent, as if he doesn’t know what such touches do to me. 

“You know” 

“You have to tell me, cause I just cannot think of a single thing I’ve done today which could lead to this” 

“Chris!” 

“I mean, the only thing I did today was hold my girlfriend, kiss her, eat food… No, nothing wrong there” 

I roll my eyes, heat pooling and left without attention. When we get home, I walk inside, put some of our stuff in the fridge and go to the bathroom. It was a hot, exhausting day, and I am in need of a shower. I undress, and go into the shower, putting on a little colder setting to wash the heat away. 

The door opening catches my attention. Chris walks in, leaves his glasses on the counter and starts undressing. “I’m using the shower” 

“Alone I hope” he laughs, walking in and standing in front of me. 

“Got something to say Hartley?” 

“Hartley? Got you that mad?” he smiles, leaning down and kissing my neck. His arms go around me, pulling me tighter. I start warming up again, despite the colder water. His arms, hands, fingers. God I want to feel his finger. 

“Chris…” I sigh. 

“You were quite a mess on the way home” 

“Please” 

“All hot and bothered, unable to do anything about it…”

His hands wander to my ass, groping the flesh. He moves forward, causing me to take some steps back till I hit the wall. His lips capture mine in a passionate and wet kiss. 

“You think you deserved it?” 

“Absolutely not” 

He grabs my hips, forcing me to turn around, chest pressed against the cold wall. A loud smack is heard, followed by a sharp pain. I gasp loudly, and he places his hand on the sore spot, rubbing soothing circles with his palm. 

“You sure?” His voice sends shivers down my spine, mouth closing the distance to my shoulder, giving small kisses. Hard contrast to the pain. 

“I-I” 

Another smack, but this time, I shout his name. I’ve never felt so weak and vulnerable in his arms. It’s like I’m turning to putty underneath him. His mouth gets more aggressive, the kisses turning to bites against my neck. I whimper, unable to conjure anything literate. 

“Do you deserve this type of treatment?” 

I whine again, managing to get out a weak “yes”

“You’ve held yourself so high all day… Aren’t you exhausted?” 

He takes hold of my hair, collecting every strand and pushing them aside to get better access to my neck. His hand moves upwards my stomach, groping my breast. I feel him getting harder the more he grinds against me, pressing me harshly against the tiles. 

“Yes, I am” 

“Want me to make you relax a bit?” 

“Yes” 

“Yes…” he teases, dragging out the word. 

“Yes please” 

In a quick motion, he turns me around, capturing my lips yet again. This time, it’s hungry, like he’s desperate for more. His hand moves down to my soaked folds, running over them gently. My breath hitches from the touch, and I feel him smirk against my lips. He kisses down my chin, neck, stomach, and stops when he gets down on his knees. 

“Are you gonna be good?” 

“Yes”

He doesn’t need me telling him twice, and uses his left hand to lift my leg in the air. My arm immediately goes to the side, grabbing hold of the shower railing for support. 

His fingers don't waste time, two of them going inside me, pumping and curling. The sudden sensation makes me give out the most erotic sounds ever, moaning, whining and whimpers. 

His mouth finds its way to my clit, and he starts sucking. The pleasure makes my leg jolt in the air, but he holds it steady, gripping it harder. He starts licking soft circles, and I automatically grab hold of his hair, keeping him down. 

I feel my high come closer. It doesn't take long after being edged all day. I let out a cry as I come all over his tongue and fingers, but he doesn’t stop. He licks me up, taking all of me. 

I throw my head back, getting dizzy from all the pleasure. He rises, pulling my head forth and kisses me. I taste myself on him, making sure to lean even more into it, roaming his mouth with my tongue. My arms go around his neck, pulling him closer. He groans, dick pressed up against me. 

“Jump”

Despite my wobbly legs, I oblige. He catches me in his arms, grabbing both of my thighs harshly so I don’t fall. I press my legs around him, holding myself up while still kissing him. He slams me against the wall yet again, the impact making me gasp. He adjusts himself, and I feel his dick against my folds, sliding up and down carefully before making his way in. I whimper against his shoulder, taking deep breaths while trying to adjust. 

“Shhh, you’re taking me so good” he purrs, breath getting uneven as he keeps lowering me. Every time we have sex, I seem to forget how big he is, how he stretches me out and fills me so much. 

He starts moving, the intense pleasure and pain mixing in a passionate manner. He groans, trying to kill the moans that escape his lips. Bouncing me up and down in the air, I can’t do anything but keep holding on to him. The angle makes him hit my spot deep inside, and I cry out. I’ve already come once, so another is not far away, especially when he goes so deep. 

The water still keeps going, making his hair run down his forehead and sides, it’s surprisingly long when not styled. 

He starts going faster, and I know he’s nearing his own edge. I feel mine closing in, but try to hold it, try to give him more time. I fail, and moan his name as I clench around him. He falls right behind, burying himself as he comes inside. He puts me down, hands still caging both of my sides and body presses against me. He’s breathing heavily, head resting on my shoulder. I give him small sloppy kisses while he regains his strength. 

“Need help washing yourself up?” he asks, looking at me with his signature goofy grin. 

“We’re in the shower” 

“Even better”

[eiraeths]

do you guys want some of my cod 141 headcanons you’re getting them anyways

SOAP

-puts stuff in his mouth a lot to hold it when he runs out of hands (this includes when he’s making explosives, it stresses everyone out)

-gets cute aggression and bites people

-will also bite in a fight

-has bits and pieces of rubble from explosions that he thought looked pretty

-is feral, like he takes a hit to the face during a spar and grins with blood trickling into his mouth

-had a graffiti phase as a teen that never fully left and because of it he writes in all capital letters. this is great when they need something written down where no one can read it. (the 141 probably had a meeting where they went over how to read his handwriting)

-has dreams so realistic he wakes up confused wondering if it was a memory he forgot about even if it didn’t make sense

-military grade anger issues

-never fully grew out of his punk phase

-his childhood room was full of road signs and traffic cones

-is actually a hardass when it comes to training recruits (i think the proper term for privates in the sas is troopers but im calling them recruits cause that seems to be the term everyone uses)(everyone thought his bright attitude meant that he’s laid back and easygoing. no. he’s not. yall ever seen those videos of drill sergeants coming up with the most creative insults? thats him)

-randomly says “i am normal and can be trusted around military grade weapons”

-his journal from the og games is a must in the remaster sorry i don’t make the rules

GHOST

-can play guitar super fucking well, im talking full on fingerstyle ballads

-major staring problem, if he doesn’t want to talk to someone he’ll stare until they go away. sometimes stares at people for no reason. also stares when he wants something. he’s always watching.

-would be interested in getting into blacksmithing if he didn’t grow up poor and hates spending money on himself that isn’t out of necessity (seriously you need like 30k to start a forge)

-can and will obsess over damascus patterns in blades (i feel like his favorite pattern would be fish bone or those really complicated mosaic patterns. he gets soap into it too by showing him fireball patterns)

-never grew out of echolalia and because of this is amazing at mimicking noises (he mimicks smoke alarm battery low noises and phone chimes to troll people sometimes.)

-road rage, but its quiet fuming comments that make you grip the oh shit handle for dear life (“you better turn off your fucking highbeams or i can’t be blamed for the head on collision that’s about to happen”)(no one can tell if he’s serious or not)

-hates tin foil, hearing it or touching it makes him clench his jaw because it feels like he can feel it in his teeth

-secret sweet tooth, but it comes and goes. sometimes he’s disgusted by anything sweeter than white bread and other times he can fuck up an entire box of lil debbie cakes

-can hand sew efficiently and fast as fuck

-his favorite type of blanket is a heavy quilt

GAZ

-is aggressively hydrated and is one of those people who carry around those big 128 oz water bottles

-gets competitive over karaoke (it took him months to convince everyone to join and he only got the idea after finding out soap wanted to be in a band as a teen and that he spent days learning how to properly vocal fry)

-says WOO! when he’s super fucking excited (will throw his arms up as well if soap is around because the two of them are an echo chamber of emotion)(the WOO! might actually be canon theres a voice line in warzone)

-probably the most up to date on modern fashion trends (get this man a long cashmere coat he deserves it)

-he does own a bedazzled cap he found at a gas station though (it’s hideous)

-elaborate skin care routine (he’s conned everyone to have some sort of routine. especially ghost. he got so concerned when it hit him that ghost was always wearing the eyeblack)

PRICE

-listens to black label society (i won’t budge on this its not even a head canon to me anymore its fact it was revealed to me in a dream)

-plays solitaire (he’s a very high level and it took him less than a year to get there. no one knows where he found the time to play for that long)

-drives a manual and shames people who don’t know how to work a stick

-literature nerd (im talking all the classics and philosophy books this man can get his hands on)

-discovered tennessee moonshine and has thought about it ever since

-smacks people on the back of the head when they’re doing something stupid

-if anyone makes a negative comment on his facial hair he gives them the dirtiest side eye

GEN/MULTI

-gaz and soap carry those big contractor waterproof sharpies and leave gaz was here or soap was here everywhere they go (this stemmed from soap’s graffiti phase and gaz turned it into a competition. they once got into a competition on who could leave the most signs until price called them muppets and confiscated their sharpies)

-ghost put soap in air jail once, it was very effective

-gaz and soap go to the gym together and take photos in the mirrors after they’re done (somewhere there’s a photo of the time they got ghost to join and they even got him to flex an arm)

-ghost and soap are professional assholes to each other.

-none of the 141 are allowed play card games and gamble with each other because they’re all dirty charlatans

-price tried to stop smoking only once and carried around gum and peppermints. ghost stole the peppermints and soap wouldn’t stop asking for gum

-gaz and ghost are the only ones who really try to adhere to the lights out rule. price and soap can be seen drinking coffee throughout the day

-all of them can hold a grudge for life

-ghost clears his throat loudly when any of them smoke by him. or stares. depends on the say

-if any of the smokers see another outside smoking and decides to join them it turns into a drawn out conversation about the most mundane topics

-the 141 can have full conversations of pure sarcasm nons

[helcef]

oh just saw the list lol 💍🤔🍝🍔

Ouaisss tyy heres another oc post 🫶🫶 (might draw reub and marci hanging out sometime :3)

💍 does your oc have any piercings? do they want any (more) piercings?

2 on his left ear but one healed weird so occasionally he has to take it out lol, doesn’t want more bc its a hassle (he’s lazy)

🤔 what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms?

- Big complainer if he’s close to someone

- Already drew it but a nail biter, he’s tried to quit and told a few people in his garage to stop him if it happens subconsciously but it just made him bite his nails more secretively…pathetic behaviour

- If he can’t remember a word in english he just says it in german and move on (not great for journalism)

- Snores but never believe it bc his mom never told him when he was younger (first thing my friend said when she saw him)

- Sarcastic humour but a lot of ppl aren’t aware bc he’s quiet as a brick sometimes

- Loves the cold and ice baths (cue admins whoring him out when hes enjoying an ice bath)

🍝 what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)?

On special occasions his mom would make Kaiserschmarrn (pancake dough bits w jam/compote and raisins) so that’s definitely his fav dessert! He also loves a hearty soup with some bread (carb enjoyer, cant blame the guy) and likes to try different soups when in every country he visits. Also a beer guy, is that a food..

🍔 is your oc good at cooking? are they good at baking? which one do they prefer?

He can cook well enough to live (enough where he’d be absolutely horrified if he saw ollie make those fuckass omelettes— he’d make sure ollie never step foot in the kitchen if he could help it). Not a good baker though, he has the clumsiness of a much taller guy and ingredients would get everywhere like an explosion..he still likes both but hates cleanup

If anyones read this far ur a trooper 🫶 building my guy one lego brick at a time!! More art whenever i get the time between assignments perchance

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: A perfect morning with the perfect guy with plans for the perfect life together.

— Content warnings: slightly nsfw, mention of unprotected sex.

— Notes: Welcome back to TV Friday! Please read the notes at the end for an important notice. Don’t be shy to stop by my ask box <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

the thing about perfection

Eren Jaeger has always had a perfect life. He was born to two loving parents with high-paying jobs that provided him with a lovely home, delicious food, fun trips, and any education he craved. 

He had the perfect mix of genes, too. He grew up to be handsome, smart, and kind. He bagged a job he loved straight out of graduating and his parents helped him get his first apartment, one that others could only dream of living in had they not been born into a life of penny-pinching.

Everything was laid out for him to take as he pleased. It's a good thing he was never overly ambitious. 

The only time things were rough was when his father passed, but even then he coped in healthy ways and barely felt the stumble, thanks to his loving mother and tight-knit friends.

Everything had always been perfect, even now as he wakes up in his spacious apartment, to the sleeping face of his beautiful girlfriend, who only has a few minutes before her alarm begs her to wake. 

“Good morning, baby,” he murmurs when you start stirring under the sheets at the first ring of your alarm. 

He smiles when your hold on his waist only tightens, his daily reminder of how much you struggle with being pulled away from his perfect, warm self. He chuckles softly, granting you your usual ten minutes of extra bed time as his hand gently massages your scalp and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

When you finally look up at him, you're wearing a lazy smile, that beautiful lazy smile that only makes him fall deeper in love and drives his heart into a craze.

He kisses you once, twice, then again, and again, and again. Until soon enough, you're fully naked under the sheets, making love and voicing each other's names in breathless saccharine tones. 

It's enough to make you run a few minutes behind on your schedule. But it doesn't matter, you figure you can be late to work at least once. So while Eren heads to the kitchen to make you breakfast after wiping you clean of his cum, you get changed and take your daily pill. 

“What's all this?” you ask once you take a seat at the bar.

There's a spread of fruit, pancakes, hash browns, eggs, bacon, bread and jams. It's a lot, even for the two of you.

He shrugs.

“I just wanna make this day special from start to finish.”

You give him a weird look as you slowly chew on a strawberry.

“What?” he innocently asks. “Five months is a big deal to me.” 

You smile. 

“Every month is a big deal to you,” you tease.

He laughs.

“Okay, fine. Make fun of me all you want. But can you blame me?” he asks as he rounds the bar. You instinctively let him settle between your thighs, ignoring the creases it inflicts on the skirt of your dress. “I'm a man in love.”

You giggle as he brushes his nose against yours and he mirrors your smile before pressing his lips to yours.

“You're so cheesy,” you grin as he pulls back. 

“Maybe so, but you're never getting rid of me.”

You laugh as you help yourself to a hash brown. 

“I never said I wanted to.” 

You take a bite of your hash brown, your face instantly lighting up at the crispy texture and flavor. You give Eren an enthusiastic thumbs-up before sampling everything in front of you.

Eren adores watching you. It fills a cavity in his chest he hadn't known was there until he met you, and it swells him with pride to know he's had a hand in making you happy.

His smile slowly fades into a more serious expression as he watches your delighted reactions to the scrambled eggs cooked to perfection. 

He brings a hand to your hair, playing with the locks between two fingers. 

“I'm so fucking in love with you,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” you smile.

He nods as you turn to him once more, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer.

“No doubt about it. I'm crazy about you.”

“How much?” you tease. 

He pecks the corner of your mouth.

“I'd die for you.”

Your life has never been perfect. You were born into a broken home with a father who wiped his memory of your existence and a mother who would've preferred you'd never been at all. You struggled and suffered, hurt and stumbled many times. You were deceived and tossed away, beaten in more ways than one by life and the people in it.

The only times things were alright have no place in your memory, except for those that happened after meeting your friends and the first real love of your life in your mid-twenties. A bit of a late start for good things to occur in your life, but well appreciated. 

Now, everything is perfect — as perfect as it's ever gotten for you. Your perfect boyfriend holds your hand as he expertly switches lanes and cruises down the highway to take you to your steady job where you get to gossip with your best friend.

The universe can have favorites sometimes, and it's clear to you that Eren is one of them, as he manages to catch every green light on the way to your office building to get you on time. 

It's a popular theory that you attract what you need, so perhaps it's a good thing you found Eren. It's thanks to him that you get to stand in the glow of his good fortune. 

The late March air is crisp and fresh on your face, complemented by the warmth and sweet smell of spring that swoops in through the open windows of Eren's car. 

When he pulls up to your office, you bid him goodbye with a kiss and a promise to see each other that evening to celebrate your five months together over dinner.

“And I have a surprise for you,” he murmurs against your lips, causing you to pull back and raise a suspicious eyebrow. “Well, it's more like news, and of course, I want your opinion, but…” he trails off with a shrug.

“Are you pregnant or something?”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“No, not that. But it's really good stuff. You'll love it, I swear.” 

You hum in contemplation before pressing a kiss to his cheek and hooking your bag in the crook of your elbow.

“I'll see you later, then. I love you.”

He smiles as he watches you get out of the car and shut the door. 

“I love you. I'll be back at six.”

He spares a moment to watch you leave, waving goodbye when you look back after walking a few steps, as you always do, with a big smile on your face and your eyes crinkled in joy.

After you disappear through the revolving doors, he leaves.

The coffee shop is quieter than usual as the early afternoon weather wavers between cool and warm, making loyal customers debate between picking from the cold menu or the hot one. 

You sip on your iced tea enthusiastically, much so that Armin watches you with amusement through the long pauses in your conversation for you to satiate your thirst. 

“Oh, wow,” you sigh after finishing off your drink with a loud slurp. “That's the best iced tea I've ever had.”

You feel the tea refreshing your stomach as you lean back into your chair.

“I can tell,” Armin chuckles as he stirs the ice of his coffee with the straw. 

“What were you saying?” you ask, simultaneously trying to recall where your conversation left off. 

“We were talking about your plans for tonight. Congratulations on your five months, by the way.” 

You smile appreciatively. 

“Oh, right. And thank you. Eren's making dinner for me and, apparently, he has some news to share that he wants my opinion on.”

“Sounds fishy,” Armin murmurs, to which you giggle. 

“He said it's good,” you reply with a shrug. “I'm excited either way.” 

“I can see that, too,” Armin smiles. “You're practically glowing.”

Your face warms as a nervous giggle sputters from your lips. 

“It's just… gosh, he's so great.”

You smile to yourself, your happy expression finding itself mirrored across Armin's features, as well.

“Would it be cheesy if I tell you how in love I am?” 

“It'd be cruel considering I don't have a girlfriend of my own to be cheesy about,” Armin mutters with feigned annoyance. 

“Aw,” you pout. “So much for being Cupid.”

He laughs.

“I know, right?”

“Don't worry, you'll find someone.”

“That's what people who date always tell their single friends so they don't kill themselves,” he deadpans, to which you laugh in return. 

He sighs dramatically.

“It's my own fault for focusing my romantic abilities on getting other people together. I could've been married by now.”

A sympathetic smile finds its way to your face.

“Well, you're a total catch. Maybe you'll meet someone at the big Jeankasa wedding.”

His face lights up with renewed optimism.

“Or yours and Eren's, even.” 

He grins slyly when he notices your efforts to suppress a smile.

“Oh, I don't know if we're there yet. There's still a lot more to experience, I think.”

Armin's brow furrows slightly.

If there's one thing he knows about his best friend, it's that he's not one to date for fun. And considering how adamant you were about not getting involved with someone, to now being the most thrilled when it comes to the mere mention of Eren's name, it's hard to imagine formalities haven't been discussed.

“You guys haven't talked about it?” 

You shrug.

“A couple times,” you bashfully reply. “I mean, not a wedding, specifically. Just… the future, you know? Moving in together has been on the table before. I try not to get too excited but… it's hard. And I don't really want to picture myself with anyone else. They just wouldn't compare to him.”

Armin nods, his lips perked into a small smile at your shyness as he takes a sip of his coffee. 

“I guess,” you murmur pensively. Armin lowers his glass and raises his eyebrows in attention. “If Eren wants to… I'd say yes to anything.”

The walk back to the office is littered with jokes and cheerful banter, as well as the usual bitter remarks from having to return to work. 

But it's odd. It's been a while since you've felt genuine dread for anything. It's as if the past few months have converted you into a more accurate portrait of the girl with a colorful apartment, and you're almost certain you can pinpoint the start of these refreshing times. It's been about five months. 

Armin treads to his side of the floor once outside of the elevator, raising his palm as a goodbye before turning on his heel.

You smile to yourself as you head back to your desk, quietly humming a cheerful tune without any real structure.

It's not until a coworker sitting at their cubicle a few feet away opens the Tupperware container to have lunch at their desk while continuing to juggle their workload that the light drains from your face. 

The smell of their food wafts in your direction, spurring an unpleasant feeling that bubbles from your stomach and crawls up your throat. 

Strange, you think. 

It's not as if there are rotten tones to your coworker’s lunch, or that it's especially pungent, and yet you're having a hard time trying to ignore it. 

You stand from your desk, walking with as much composure as you can manage to the restroom. But once you're in the privacy of a stall, you've no power to stop your stomach from turning inside out.

“Now, just cover with the lid and let it simmer,” Carla's voice echoes in the kitchen from where Eren's phone is propped against the toaster. 

“Should I do the asparagus next?” Eren calls out as he follows his mother's instructions for her bolognese recipe. 

He could've easily looked one up on the internet, but he's been adamant about using the exact recipes for your favorite dishes from the time you've been together, or at least the best he can manage to recreate on his own. Perhaps he was going a bit overboard, but it's not like he cares. Five might not seem as much of a milestone as other numbers, and it's true Eren made a big deal of every month you've spent together, but this one had to be perfect.

At the risk of having time claw at his feet, he left the grocery shopping for this morning, so you couldn't figure out his plans. He made sure to carefully stash the evidence of his big surprise; wiped the relevant search history on his computer, and tucked the pictures and messages with the real estate agent behind a code. 

He's been sneaking looks at the photos all day. An apartment that perfectly matches the cozy vibes from your place and the space and luxury from his. A place he can clearly imagine being decorated with pastel colors, ceramic figurines, books, and hand-made blankets with little effort.

He knows you'll say yes this time, and he knows you'll be especially thrilled to find out he found the perfect pink bathtub to switch out the plain white ceramic one that comes with the place he's been secretly viewing for two weeks. 

Living with you has been on his mind for months. It wasn't until he found the very apartment he's planning to show you in a few hours that he felt overwhelmed with relief — as if things were falling into place. His willpower has been working overtime to make sure he doesn't jump the gun before tonight. And yet he couldn't help from acting extra giddy for the past two weeks. It's a miracle you haven't caught on.

“I think you can leave those until the end. Those are done in twenty, hon.” 

Eren nods along to his mother's instructions as he tackles on another load of dirty dishes. He glances at the time on his screen while scrubbing, exchanging a smile with Carla as he scrubs a pan. 

“Did you see the photos I sent you?” Eren grins.

“The place is incredible,” Carla gushes. “She'll be over the moon.”

“Thanks for calling about the bathtub, by the way,” Eren blushes. Had it not been for Carla and her connections, he wouldn't have gotten his hands on the last standing unit of the discontinued pink bathtub model from the poolhouse. 

“No problem, hon. Keith owed me one.” 

She watches her son as he gingerly stacks a pot on the drying rack beside him before patting his hands dry with a tea towel. 

“Can I see the ring?” Carla asks.

“What?” 

Eren's eyes widen, though it's hard to tell if it's in surprise or confusion. His reaction causes Carla to nervously laugh.

“You're proposing, right?” she asks, though her voice wavers the slightest bit, reflecting her nerves from possibly speaking out of line. 

In any case, Eren is always open to share parts of his life with his mother, but she's never been one to speak out on her suspicions first, always granting him the opportunity to come forward on his own.

Eren knows how much Carla adores you. Their weekly call time has been sliced by half to chat with you, too. So perhaps it's her excitement over Eren's meticulous planning for a special night with the girl he's called the first real love of his life that's driven her to imagine bigger plans behind the scenes. 

He knows his mother well, so he can only shyly laugh at her assumptions before clarifying.

“I'm not proposing yet, mom. I'm just asking her to move in with me,” he smiles. 

Carla could've reacted in embarrassment had her ears not zeroed in on the word ‘yet’. 

So she only nods, her mouth forming an ‘ah’ shape. 

“Okay, okay. I get it now. My god, I thought tonight was the night… but not tonight… not yet… I see.”

She slyly eyes Eren through the screen, to which he sputters an embarrassed laugh.

“Mom,” he partially whines. 

The corners of her eyes crinkle in amusement. 

“Oh, come on! She's an amazing girl and anyone can see how much you love each other. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it.” 

She narrows her eyes, prepared to scold him if he says anything that doesn't align with her wish to have you join the family. 

“We've talked about… stuff.” Eren blushes profusely at the end, which only causes Carla's giddiness to skyrocket. Her image on the screen is more of a girl friend squealing over crushes than that of a mother conversing with her son. 

“Mom,” Eren whines again, though his lips curve into a grin. “Relax. We've got a long way to go. Moving in is just… it makes sense for us, right now.” He smiles. “And we're taking things slow, okay? Give me a few more months and I'll call you from Vegas.”

“Eren Jaeger, if you elope, I swear–”

She's cut off by Eren's laughter. 

“Relax,” he repeats, holding his hands up in defense as if Carla could slap him through the screen. “But to keep you at ease… it's in our plans. Just give us time.” 

It's been seven minutes since you've stepped back into your office building, and ten since you stepped out of it the first time, only to not spot Eren's car waiting for you. 

It's unlike him to be late unless he's behind on work. But as far as you know, he asked for a couple days off, so it wouldn't make sense to say that's it. 

The building is empty, save for the security guard who's doing a final sweep of the floors before locking up. It's only a matter of minutes before they return to find you back inside the lobby. 

You pull out your phone from your jacket pocket. No missed calls, no new messages. 

It's been twelve minutes now.

You press the call button beside Eren's name and press the phone to your ear. 

The line is busy. 

Frowning, you try again. 

He picks up on the first ring. A breath of relief escapes your lips when you hear his voice.

“I know, I know. I lost track of time. I'm on my way, don't worry,” Eren's strained voice comes through your phone's speaker as you can only assume he's rushing around his apartment in search of his essentials for going out. 

You smile sympathetically as you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. With a quick glance at the time, and seeing that the security guard is already stepping into the lobby once more, twirling the keys around on finger, you decide to relieve Eren of his self-imposed duty.

“Relax, it's okay. Just stay there, I'll take the bus,” you reply with nonchalance.

You sense a bit of hesitation on his end. On the other side of the line, Eren is torn between finishing up dinner or going to pick you up. He still hasn't showered, and it would break the flow of the evening if he disappeared to do so after bringing you home to the spread he's so close to completing. The oven timer still has a handful of minutes to go and it's messing with his rationality. 

“Eren?” 

Your voice grounds him.

“I can be there in fifteen. I just gotta… um… finish something here and…” 

You smile. He can't see it, but he hears it in your voice when you reply.

“It's fine, really. I can catch the next bus,” you reassure him, glancing at your watch and mentally calculating the minutes you have to reach the bus stop. “Just stay there.”

A few seconds go by before Eren speaks again, still in limbo for his decision. 

“You got your taser on you?” 

You smile, already knowing he would ask that, and you pat the device over your jacket pocket as if he could see you. 

“Of course.”

He sighs, but gives in. 

“Okay, but call me when you're close, yeah?”

You agree as you begin walking in direction to the bus stop. 

Your hand fiddles nervously with the strap of your bag as you hear more rustling on his end, likely made by his jacket which you can imagine being thrown back onto the sofa before he returns to whatever it was that kept him busy before your call. 

“Eren?” 

“Yeah?”

“Remember this morning? When you said you had news?”

You can hear Eren's smile in his hummed reply as a timer goes off faintly in the background, which he hurries to stop. The beeping ceases and you giggle to yourself as you start to piece together what's going on.

You decide to play the oblivious card anyway as you finish walking the first of four blocks to the bus stop. 

“Sorry,” Eren murmurs. “You were saying?”

A fluttering sensation stirs in your stomach as you take a deep breath. Your voice comes out as soft as always, but with a tinge of shyness that only Eren can pick up on. 

“Just… I have something I want to tell you, too.” 

Eren doesn't know why, but your measured words cause his entire body to warm. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, gently chewing on your bottom lip as you hug your jacket tighter around your stomach. “I'll tell you when I get there okay?” 

He smiles.

“Okay.”

“I love you. I really, really love you, Eren Jaeger.”

An airy laugh comes through the speaker as he voices your full name in the same loving manner.

“I love you more. I really, really love you.”

“I'll see you soon.”

It's been fifteen minutes since Eren got out of the shower, twenty-five since he finished fixing dinner, and thirty-three since your call ended. 

You should be walking through the door any minute. 

Eren lights the candles at the center of the table, humming a nonsensical tune to himself as his giddiness only amplifies and he can practically hear you jiggling your key in the door, swinging it open to his carefully crafted romantic view. 

There's a low, square gift box at your end of the table, tied with a satin ribbon, guarding print copies of the photos from an apartment you'll meet the next day. He can picture you looking up at him in confusion and he'll be wearing the biggest smile on his face and the sweatiest hands when he asks you to live together.

He sits down, pulling out his phone to swipe through the copies of the photos on his phone one last time. With each picture of an empty space, he can vividly imagine where your books would go, where he'll place the sofa that he'll tackle you with kisses on, the kitchen where you'll watch him cook and he'll watch you bake, the window where you'll sit, curled into a blanket in the winter with a mug of tea nursed in your hands. 

His heart beats erratically at his own imagination. 

He taps on his messages, checking for any indication that you might be close. But perhaps it's better if you don't get distracted by texting or calling him. And it makes for the most pleasant butterflies to stir even wilder in his stomach at the anticipation. 

He sets his phone down, tapping anxiously on the table. 

Any minute, you'll be there. Any minute, you'll see the photos. Any minute, he'll kiss you and tell you how much he loves you. Any minute, you'll be over the moon, jumping up to join his daydreams on how to fill the place you'll share. Any minute now, things will fall into place and life will be perfect.

Any minute now. Any minute.

On a relatively quiet alley, at the half point between an office building and a bus stop, where nobody has shown concern to surveil, a broken angel wing cast in silver lays on the ground.

It's too small and too far to catch the light from the street lamp on the main street, but it lies there, hidden in shadows, broken and dirty, its original perfectly crafted form lost forever. 

But the thing about perfection is that it doesn’t truly exist.

Previous chapter | Next chapter (tba) 

Minors and ageless blogs who interact will be blocked

Notes: Tunnel Vision will be going on a brief hiatus. If you are a strings fan thinking history is repeating itself, worry not! I WILL be coming back to this series in a couple weeks. I’m afraid I burned myself out by pumping out so many chapters in such a short time and I don’t want to half-ass this series. Tunnel Vision will be back! I’ll add a tba date to the chapter guide once I start writing for this series again. In the meantime, thank you for the support and feel free to slip into my ask box :)

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[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 14 - That’s what friends are for

Summary: Izuku shows his Sweet Pea around his secret lair. Katsuki doesn’t appreciate being ignored.

One loaf of bread was murdered during the making of chapter. Blame Kirishima.

Warnings: Swear words, a lot of kisses

First Chapter Master List

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“I guess, I owe you an explanation.” Izuku sighs, looking anywhere but you, his cheeks tinted pink.

Honestly, you would be happier to just get a kiss, but the state of this “secret lair” is also quite concerning and would probably be nice for it to make some sense to you before you end up calling the mental hospital on the poor guy.

“That would certainly be helpful, Izu.”

The walls all covered with bookshelves on all the sides except the one with the “door”. There is a massive cork board there filled with pictures, newspaper cutouts and official statements from the agency covering up a map of the word. There is also a bigger map just of japan, that one is filled with several printouts, most of them around the Tokyo area but there are a few articles pinned to Rishiri and Wakkanai in the Hokkaido prefecture then another several to Korsakov and Nevelks in Russia.

The bookshelf are half filled with books, mostly of geography, history and other topics that might come in handy for a case and the other half is filled with thousands of notebooks, all looking worn out from the constant use.

There is a massive corner desktop a meter away from the actual corner so there is enough space for Izuku to move around the bookshelves. He could walk circles around the whole place with no problem and knowing how restless Izuku he probably did that a several thousand times already. The left part of the desktop is full of paperwork and the other one has the same single person CCTV setup as the people in his agency. By the look of it he’s been looking at a footage of a harbor before you came here.

“Okay, so…” Izuku takes a deep breath. “These notebooks are the ones I’ve written about the heroes when I was young. I’ve kept up with this hobby so there are also a few new ones there about the current heroes. This place was supposed to be my little geek corner where I can write my silly little notes and geek out over quirks. This… has changed a lot since this case came by. This place was supposed to be my mind palace, a place where I can re-gain my motivation, my strength, to remember my roots. The cork board on the wall is about this case as well. I think I’ve found a connection between Japan and Russia. I saw an unregistered ship on the CCTV leaving the harbor in Russia heading our way, probably full of illegal drugs or props, I don’t really know. I sent my findings over to my team an hour ago. They probably have all of this information anyway but Katsuki asked everyone to leave me out of the work e-mails for the time being and it frustrates me to not know how the case is going…” frustrated tears roll down Izuku’s cheeks. You can’t help but run over to your boyfriend and hug him to soothe his troubled soul.

“You know I understand why you are doing this, right?” You mumble into his ear and Izuku starts sobbing. “You know you should’ve just told me this and I would have understood. Katsuki made a massive mistake by leaving you out of this. I know it came from a good place but he should have known you won’t be able to sleep well without seeing those e-emails, seeing that they are indeed working on the case.”

“I’ll stop, Sweets. I swear this is the last time…” Izuku begs, but there is no reason for him to do so.

“You don’t need to, Izuku. I’m not mad. You just need to take a deep breath. Relax. Then come back here, do your thing for a few hours and once you close that door, leave all the pain behind. I don’t think you working on this case is a bad thing.” You admit. “It doesn’t make your recovery longer and it helps to soothe your soul knowing that you did your part. As I said, I understand. We will talk to Katsuki, okay?”

“That won’t make this place feel less dreadful, though. It’s not… fun to be here anymore and I hate that.” Izuku mumbles with his cheeks red.

“I can help with that.” You give Izuku a cheeky smile and he perks up right away.

“Tell me the plan, boss.”

“Are those papers on your desk important?” You nod towards the massive mess and Izuku looks at you with a confused face. He’s so cute, even with the dried tears dirtying his puffy cheeks.

“Let’s make paper cranes. Whoever does the most wins.” You give Izuku a shit eating grin while he stares at you incredulously.

“That’s your big plan, Sweets?” Izuku finally laughs, the sound loud and airy. Oh how much you missed that laugh.

“You are laughing, aren’t you? So shut the fuck up and get to work.”

Izuku is terrible at this. His fingers are too chunky to make the cranes look neat but he does his best and the frustration on his face is playful, a face of a kid ready for a challenge. It takes him a whole hour to get the hang of it but after that you two manage to clear out the desk almost completely. There are only a few papers left now, and there are at least 30 cranes sitting on the keyboard, most of them made by you but there is a constant smile on Izuku’s face so the pain in your fingers was definitely worth it.

“And now that the desk is almost clean…” You push yourself up to sit down on it, legs sprawled out to make space for Izuku to come between them. “It’s time for the boss to reward his hard-working assistant with some cheeky kisses!”

Izuku snorts. It’s hilarious.

“Oh, office AU? Forbidden love? I love that trope!”

Now it’s your time you laugh like a maniac.

“Oh my god, Izuku, you sound like me, that’s unacceptable!”

“Hey, where’s the respect for the big bad boss?” Izuku uses black whip pull you towards him, tentacles snaking around your waist until there is no space between you two at all.

“Are we actually gonna role play?” You ask between two snickers.

“No, it’s really fucking weird to be honest.” He giggles back and attacks your mouth with so much fervor you barely have time to reciprocate first but after a few seconds you finally kiss back, your legs snaking around his middle to pull him even closer. The kisses get deeper and deeper as the time goes, his tongue dancing with yours and you somehow end up sprawled on the desktop, your neck bent in a really uncomfortable way as you try to keep your posture so he can kiss you deeply. Izuku takes your head in his hand to help with the strain of your neck, and you just kiss and kiss and kiss, devouring the other until Izuku’s stomach makes a growling noise and you both start laughing, completely flushed and lips red.

“Wanna get a home made bento from me so we can share it on the rooftop of our office and share cheeky kisses while eating?”

“I’m quite sure those fanfictions usually end with the secretary being bent over a desk screaming the boss’s name.” Izuku retorts cheekily. You can’t help but laugh out loud again.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” You mumble as you pepper small kisses on Izuku’s lips who’s smiling like an idiot, content and happy for once.

“Don’t tell her, she’ll cry.” Izuku help you up with one hand and makes his way towards the exit. “Come on, I’m starving.” Izuku takes your hand and pulls you forward but he only makes a few steps before your back ends up against the hallway wall. Izuku steals a few more passionate kisses, moaning about not being able to use his other hand then walks towards the main exit again then stops after a few meters and kisses you again like he’s trying to make up for the time wasted in the last 7 days. Eventually, you make it to the exit, stumbling out of the hallway in each other’s arms (well, one arm in Izuku’s case. Duh.) but a loud “OI” coming from Izuku’s bed ruins the moment.

Katsuki and Eijirou are sitting on the end of the bed, Eijirou looking smug with a knowing smile on his face while Katsuki blushes like a virgin seeing people making out for the first time.

“I told you there is no reason to freak out, Kats.” Eijirou says loudly, a shit eating grin blooming on his face.

“Why the fuck do they even have phones if they don’t fucking use them?!” Katsuki throws your phone in your face and you barely catch it before it hits you straight in the face. You almost burst out laughing as you read the messages.

Group chat: Deku updates

2 days ago

You: He’s still not talking to me. He looks tired. I don’t think he sleeps properly.

Ei: That does sound like Izuku. Don’t worry. He’ll be back in a few more days. Did he eat?

You: Yeah, a bit.

Katsuki: All good, then.

Today

Katsuki: I’m going to the store, need anything?

Katsuki: That protein shit Deku likes is on sale, want me to buy some?

Katsuki: Oi

Katsuki: Don’t fucking ignore me you punk

Katsuki: I bought 10 bags of it, good luck putting that away, you piece of shit.

Katsuki: Oh, they have a limited edition All Might chocolate, there is only one left!

Katsuki: Oh well, someone bought it and ate it. How sad. *picture of Katsuki biting All Might’s head off.*

Katsuki: WHY ARE YOU NOT RESPONDING YOU FUCKING FREELOADER

Katsuki: DEKU ISN’T RESPONDING EITHER WHAT THE FUCK

Katsuki: I’M COMING OVER AND I’LL SHOVE YOUR STUPID PHONES INTO YOUR ASSES YOU USELESS BUNCH!!!

“So here I was, fucking worrying my ass off about you two, while you were busy fucking in Izuku’s secret room. Peachy. Also, I ate the food on the table. It was fucking cold anyway. Fuck you.”

Izuku actually gawks at that, his stomach making a rumbling noise just a second after.

“What Katsuki is trying to say is that we ate the cold food and made you guys some lovely spicy lentil soup instead as it’s way past breakfast anyway. We went into a cute little bakery on our way and got you guys some fresh bread! It was still hot when we bought it!” Eijirou says with dazzling eyes.

“What Ei is trying to say is that he bought two loaves of fresh bread and ate one of them on the way here. The whole fucking loaf. He just… tore into it like an animal. I think I want to divorce. I’m living with a monster.”

“Says the guy who eats a full ass ghost pepper like it’s a fucking apple.”

“I ship you guys so much.” You mumble out without meaning to and Izuku starts giggling.

“You are such a nerd.”

“I’ve never thought I’ll hear Izuku saying that to anyone. You two really are two peas in a pod.” Eijirou adds on, but Katsuki is done with the small talk and ushers everyone to go to eat.

The soup is amazing and when you bring up the topic about the e-mails, Katsuki is surprisingly understanding.

“If you think that’s okay then… yeah, we can do that.”

And that’s it. A few hours after that Izuku gets his first work e-mail and he almost cries from happiness because his findings were actually right and the guys managed to pinpoint the exact location of their warehouse just an hour after he sent them the e-mail.

Then he actually cries, but this time, from the relief.

“This week was so bad. I missed you much. I’m so tired and so stressed about to future, this fucking cast is so itchy and my butt hurts from all the sitting!” Izuku laughs in the middle of his crying fit, somehow happy about feeling all of those things all at once. “Fuck, I thought being stressed is the worst thing but whatever I’ve been through this week was far worse than anything I’ve ever felt. I was so empty. I swear my soul wasn’t a part of my own body. It was so terrible, Sweets! I would rather get another blast in my chest than go through another week like this!”

“Don’t say that!” You reprimand right away. “Also, whatever it was, it’s over now. You are back. You’ll be fine. 2 more weeks and the cast will be gone, too. Now cuddle the shit out of me, you stupid.” You plop yourself down next to him on the sofa, ready to be loved.

“Kiss attack!” Izuku is back to his normal self, giggling and laughing as he kisses you all over until it’s time to go to bed… And finally, you don’t need to go to bed alone.

“I love you, Sweets.” Izuku mumbles, his face hidden in your neck as per usual. The bed is so warm and comforting you can barely keep yourself from falling asleep in the middle of your answer.

“I love you too, Izu-Izu.”

… next chapter!

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- Jesus Christ, finally done with the angst! I hated every second! Every single one of it!!!!

- The next chapter might be late, I got hooked on a manga called “signs of affection”. The first few episodes of the anime is out if you guys wanna give it a go! I swear it’s the cutest shit I’ve ever read/watched! So yeah, I binged the whole manga in a few days after I watched the first episode but I got so distracted I haven’t written the new chapter yet so if it’s late, I’m sorry. I also posted all the angst chapters 1-2 days ahead of my usual schedule so… LET ME BREATHE 😂

- I choose Korsakov and Nevelks because they are the “closest” cities to Japan. Just check the map and you will see the vision. It’s not important though, I won’t go into too much details about the case in the future, but I thought it would be nice to have a peek into it!

- While writing this chapter I realized that technically, Izuku would be able to keep himself on top with the help of black whip… Now the only question is; are these two desperate enough to use Black Whip at their first time or do they wait until Izuku’s hand is healed completely and can lean on it? Let me know what you think. 😂

- Eijirou’s terrible way of eating bread was actually inspired by me. 😂 I’m a celiac so I can’t have bread and most of the gluten free breads taste like ass. There was this small bakery a few streets down from my flat, in Budapest, Hungary, and they were selling freshly made GF bread. Me and my friends went over to my flat and I was too hungry so I took the whole bread out of the packaging and literally just tore into it like an animal and stuffed half of the bread into my mouth in one go and my friend almost died. (Mind you, I’m really small, 158 cm and 45 kg 😂) She couldn’t look into my eyes the whole day. I still miss that bread so much that every time my bestie comes over to England I ask her to bring me some haha

- The next chapter will be called Br0cc0liB0i! 😂

- Also, have you seen the new Kirishima x reader ficc I started to post? It’s super fluffy and cute! Check it out! Please!

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave

[lightninghikaru]

 Sonic hadn’t realized he fell asleep; he must be more tired than he expected. Guess having bread for three days isn’t enough to keep him going. At least not with his unnaturally high metabolism. The door opens as he lifts his head. Leven enters and shuts the door behind him.

               “Hey Lev,” He smiles at the bear as he approaches, “Shadow finally decide what he’s going to do with me?” He waits for Leven to open the door but is surprised to see a red apple being held out to him. “That for me?” Leven nods as Sonic smiles taking the apple, “Thank you.” He signs before taking a bite of the apple.

               He lets out a relieved moan as he savored the taste. The bread that he’s been eating wasn’t bad but this tastes amazing. “I didn’t think there’d be any fruit on the ship, where did you get it?” He asked still eating while watching Leven sign. ‘snagged it from Captain’s stash’

               Sonic almost chokes on his bite at that, “No way!” Sonic smiled, “You stole that for me? Wait, you won’t get in trouble will you?” Leven shakes his head as he watches Sonic eat the entire apple, core and all leaving just the stem.

               “You’ve already done a lot for me, but can I ask another favor?” Sonic asked as Leven looks confused, “I’m a little stiff from sitting here three days straight, you mind if I stretch my legs?” He looks at Sonic conflicted. “I won’t leave this room, just need to get the blood moving again…” He realizes what he just said. “B… Bad choice of words.” Leven lets out a huff as if trying to hold back a laugh.   

               ‘As long as you stay in here. Besides can’t you unlock the cell yourself?’ Leven asked as he steps out of the way letting Sonic walk out. He starts stretching,

               “Yeah well, can you blame a guy for being shell shocked? I thought you all were going to eat me.” Sonic starts running in place, he was surprised at how much energy he had.

               “Man I wish I could run.” Sonic said starting to walk around the room. More than anything he just wanted his feet on solid ground again. He had plenty of time to get used to his sea legs, but that wasn’t the same.

               ‘Do you like running?’ Leven asked, Sonic looks up and smiles at the curious bear.

               “It’s my favorite thing in the world. I was not made to be in small places.” He lets out a sigh,

               The door opens taking them both off guard as the Wolf comes in seeing Sonic out of his cell. “What do ya think yer doing?” He said storming closer,

               “Uh… stretching my legs?” Sonic backed up until he ran into a box, the Wolf slams his hand next to Sonic’s head as he towered over him.

               “Is that so?” He inched closer, “Taking advantage of the mute is a bit underhanded,” Sonic glares at the accusation,

               “Last I checked his name is Leven. Besides, there’s not many places I can go.” Sonic said, as the wolf quickly grabs him by the throat.

               “Ya got a mouth on ya don’t ya?” He lifts him off the ground as Sonic squirms trying to break free. “Cap won’t mind if I rough ya up a bit, get ya to know yer place.”

               Leven grasps the wolf’s arm tightly letting out a threatening growl. Squeezing his arm forcing him to let go of Sonic. He lets out a cough as he’s freed but doesn’t have a moment to compose himself before Leven grabs him and pulls him behind.

               “Aw, ya protecting the little thing?” He said.

               Leven lets go of his arm and quickly signs, ‘Captain wants him alive Grey, don’t make me get Omega involved.’ Grey flinches at that,

               “Fine, spoil my fun.” He snarls, “But Cap wants to see him right now so he’s coming with me or would ya like to explain why he wasn’t brought to him?” The two snarl at one another.

               “Yeesh! You wanna tone it down there? If he needed to see me that’s all you had to say man.” Sonic said rubbing his neck walking out from behind Leven as he looked at Sonic worried, “It’s cool Lev, I’m okay.” Grey raises an eyebrow at the nickname and Sonic signing to him.

               “Come on,” Grey grabs Sonic by the arm and drags him away.

               “Again, why so rough?” Sonic said letting him pull him along at this point. “You literally could have just said ‘Cap wants to see ya’ And that would have been the end of it. I’m literally at the bottom of the food chain here, why keep up the façade?”

               “Because ya annoy me,” He said with a snarl.

               “Okay, but why? We’ve literally only encountered each other a few times…” Sonic thinks remembering their first encounter, “Oh! Is this because I left during our fight?”

               “An underhanded trick while we were fighting,” Grey said.

               “Hey, if you want a rematch I’d happily oblige,” Sonic said as Grey stops.

               “Really?” Grey turns to him surprised, Sonic quickly notice similarities to a certain hot-headed Echidna. He was the type to express himself on the battle field. And probably seeing him fight with Scaro only fueled his need to prove his strength.  

               “Sure, but we might need more room than that stuffy cell,” He jokes as Grey thinks for a moment.

               “I’ll think of something,” Grey said letting go of Sonic’s arm. “Cap’s waiting for you,” He said as Sonic follows him.

[writingwhimsey]

Becoming Comtesse Ch. 29

A/N: Sorry it has taken me a while to update. With my sick little one I haven't had as much time to write as I normally do. Hope you guys enjoy!

Chapter 29

I awoke with a pounding headache. When did I even fall asleep? I wondered as I let out a groan and rolled. “Ngh…” Wait…I was in…bed?

I heard a door opening and closing gently. Footsteps soon followed and the sound of something being set down. Then the feeling of the bed sinking down next to me. A warm gentle hand on my forehead. “Mon amour, how are you feeling?”

Abel’s voice was soft and gentle as he spoke. “My…head…” I answered, my own voice making my head hurt.

“I’ve drawn the curtains and there aren’t even any candles lit, my darling.” He told me. “If you can set up, you need to drink some water.”

“Okay…” I replied, forcing myself to open my eyes.

Abel’s gentle smile greeted me and the familiar sight of our darkened room behind him. His arms were gentle as they wrapped around me and he helped me to sit up, propping me up with the pillows. He was then holding a glass of water to my lips. “Here darling, drink up.”

I sipped at the water, feeling warmed by his tender love and care. Once I had finished the water Abel was getting me some bread. “Here, getting some food should help as well.” He told me.

I took the bread and took a few bites while Abel prepared some medicine for me. “Here this will also help your headache, mon amour.”

“Thank you.” I replied, taking the medicine next and then having to chase it with water.

Abel kissed me on the forehead. “How is your headache now, ma cherie?”

“A little better.” I answered. Now that I was a little more awake, I realized I was in my nightgown. “How…when did I get home and…”

Abel chuckled gently. “Do you not recall me coming to pick you up?” He asked. “You drank even more than I thought.”

I thought back, trying to find my memories of the luncheon. I remembered having a good time…especially once they poured the wine. “I…I don’t remember…” 

“That’s a shame. You were so excited when you saw me.” He told me, lifting a hand to caress my cheek. “Your face just lit up and you had the biggest smile. My darling! You exclaimed.”

I felt my cheeks redden. That’s how I always FELT when I saw him…but when we were in public, I always had to behave myself. Apparently the wine took away my ability to behave myself in the presence of others. “You sound…pleased by that.”

Abel chuckled. “Any man would be pleased to know his wife is excited to see him.” He replied, leaning in to kiss me on the forehead. “Other than your headache, did you enjoy the luncheon?”

“Yes. It was nice getting to chat with the other ladies.” I answered.

“When the Dubois and I arrived, it definitely sounded like you were having fun.” He said. “Giggling and laughing like young girls.”

I felt my cheeks flushing. I then looked into his eyes, seeing mischief dancing in their golden depths. “You…you overheard something didn’t you?” I asked, my cheeks already heating up.

“Mmm…nothing bad. Just that you think I’m good with my hands.” He replied in a casually teasing tone. “A few other little things.”

My face was on fire. My hands flew to my cheeks in embarrassment. “Oh my gods…I can’t…what all did I say? What all did you hear?”

Abel chuckled again, moving to take me into his arms. “Not much really. Though I did overhear you telling them about the conversation you’d had with your mother the night before our wedding.”

I buried my face in his chest, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Oh gods…”

“And then you were telling them how attentive I am and that I have a good memory…”

I pulled back and placed my hand over his mouth. “Stop, I can’t hear anymore.”

Abel laughed into my hand before kissing my palm. He pulled my hand away with his own. “Alright, ma cherie. Though I do have to wonder what could have sparked such conversation amongst ladies.”

“I would blame the wine, but it started before the wine…I just spoke more openly once I had the wine.” I answered. “We were just chatting and they brought up hearing about us being at the opera and leaving during the intermission.”

“Oh?”

“No one mentioned…him…” I hated to say his name. “Or the incident. So far as I can tell at least that’s still being kept quiet. But several other ladies saw me in line for the powder room and all, but then I never went to the ladies’ lounge and we never returned to our seats.”

“Naturally people were curious.” Abel agreed.

“Yes…so I just kind of went with a partial truth and that it was just still you know the early days of marriage and all…” As I answered, my face grew hot once again.

“That makes sense.” Abel replied.

“Of course the conversation really got started because after I said that…all of them with the exception of Nettie were practically giving me their condolences. It seemed like they didn’t enjoy it…and then I had to wonder if there was something wrong with me or if I were indecent for enjoying it…”

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you or indecent about you.” He assured me.

“I know that now.” I replied. “They told me a little more and I realized that it’s just their husbands are either idiots or complete prigs.”

Abel lifted a hand to caress my cheek. “Now what you said to me in the carriage before passing out makes sense.”

“What…what did I say?”

“Just that you loved me and were glad you married me and thanked me for being good to you.”

I smiled. “Well, I do feel even more grateful and fortunate to have you.” I then shuddered. “Some of the things they said about their husbands…it was awful and my heart really goes out to them.”

“It is terrible how some men treat their wives and only care about their own pleasure.” He said. “To me there is no greater pleasure than seeing you lost in your own pleasure and knowing I’m the one making you feel that good. Not only that but a true gentleman makes sure his lady finishes first.”

I felt my cheeks flush and a smile came to my face. “Well, I am very glad that I married a true gentleman.”

Abel smiled as he pulled me in to gently kiss my lips. “I love you, Colette and I will always treasure you and love you and treat you the way you should be treated.”

I wrapped my arms around him, resting my head in the crook of his neck. “I love you, Abel. And I will always be grateful for you and return the love you give to me.”

We stayed there for a moment, just holding each other. I loved being in his arms.

“I have some good news you might like to hear, mon amour.” He said after a moment.

“Oh? What’s that?” I asked, pulling back to look at him.

“It appears my losing control of myself at the opera house worked even better than I imagined.” He began. “Marquis Dubois informed me that Fontaine has left on a ship for the Americas.”

I blinked in disbelief. “You’re serious?”

Abel nodded. “Yes and I had the matter looked into thoroughly. He really has left. We won’t have to worry about him again.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “That is truly wonderful news. Now I don’t have to worry about running into him.” I was then throwing my arms around Abel. “Thank you, my love.”

He hugged me back. “I didn’t do much.”

“You terrified the man enough that he went to another continent. I’d say that’s something.” 

Abel chuckled before hugging me tighter. “Mon amour, I will always protect you.”

“Yet another thing that makes you the most wonderful husband in the world.”

“I only wish to be the best for you, ma cherie.” He replied, kissing the top of my head. “For you are the most wonderful wife in the world and you deserve no less.”

A few days later…

Comte and Colette were in his office together, opening up their letters and invitations. Figuring out which parties they should attend. Colette had received a letter from her mother and sister and was sitting in a chair across from Comte, reading over it.

He couldn’t help but to keep glancing up at her as he sorted through his letters.He adored having her in the same space as him, just casually going about their life together. Sharing their time together. Also just how relaxed she was, wearing a lavender-colored dress that was light and airy, no shoes as they were expecting no company nor were they planning to go anywhere.

Suddenly she gasped and jumped to her feet. “What is it, mon amour?” He asked.

“My mother and my sister are coming to Paris soon.” She answered, an excited smile on her face. “It seems that Edith has caught the eye of Lord Willingham. He has a second home here in Paris and has invited Edith, Mother, and Thomas to come stay with him…and it appears we are to be invited to a party he will be hosting as well. One where my mother suspects Lord Willingham will propose.”

“That would explain this invitation.” Comte said, holding up an envelope bearing Lord WIllingham’s seal. “Though it seems we are invited for more than just a party. We are invited to stay for a week. With a grand ball on the last night.”

“Well, we have to attend.” Colette said.

Comte chuckled. “Of course we will, ma cherie.”

Colette smiled as she came around to kiss Comte on the cheek. “Thank you, my darling.”

Comte returned her smile with one of his own. “No need to thank me, mon amour. You were far too excited. Besides I am sure you will be happy to see your mother and sister again.”

Colette nodded. “Yes and for such a happy occasion…of course I have to make sure Lord Willingham is good enough for my sister.”

“The Lord Willingham I have known recently passed away. So this must be his heir. He had no children, so I believe it will be a nephew or a distant cousin inheriting the estate I believe.” Comte answered.

“Well, then I will definitely need your help in discerning if he’s a good enough man for my precious little sister.” Colette replied.

“Of course.” Comte agreed. “It appears we have some preparations to make, though…and some shopping.”

Colette giggled. “You just look for any excuse to take me shopping.”

“I enjoy spoiling my darling wife.” Comte said, reaching for Colette and pulling her into his lap. “Besides, I have to set the standard for Lord Willingham in how the women of your family are to be treated.”

Colette giggled again. “I think you are the standard for which all men should be measured by.”

Comte chuckled. “As long as you feel that way then I must be doing something right.”

Colette pressed her lips to his in a loving kiss. “You are doing everything right.”

He smiled at her lovingly as he pulled her in for another kiss. He adored her and would do anything so long as she was happy.

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