#its the chapter called someone is lying

[awrkive]

THE LOVE PROGNOSIS, pt. 2 — JJK (m.)

for as long as you can remember, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic.

the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

PAIRING jungkook x female reader // mingyu x female reader

GENRE r18+ (angst, fluff, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 27.5k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC medical!au, roommates!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!reader (they are both 4th year residents and are co-workers), corporate lawyer!mingyu, oc and jk are bffs since med school but their love language is fighting each other <3, jk and mingyu are bffs during undergrad, hopeless romantic!oc. shirtless jk in almost every scene ijbol he needs to get locked up, jk thigh tattoo 😔 a dash of sexual themes (ie: making out, grinding) and violence, this is pretty much MED SCHOOL LORE GALORE bcs boy, was there so much history mentioned here, 3/4 of this is in jk pov, so ladies.... prepare yourselves 🤔so much fluff, and we counter that with not major but not minor either ANGST, so many conversations and dialogues in this one lol, this hopefully offers every answer youre looking for from part one, when ur done reading the chapter this is how the keyring looks like

NOTES hi!! this chapter was supposed to be longer but i was like.. fuck that 😭 its getting too long. anyway. hope u guys enjoy this one!! this is my most favorite thing ive ever written i think n im weirdly very proud of this one idk. scream into my inbox and the reply section if u have #thoughtss 😄😄 [ important: pls make sure to read the note below ]

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You take your sweet time trying to right your wrongs.

After that day, you were the one to initiate a call with Mingyu which he answered thankfully (you were a little skeptical about him calling you that night). You went over to his place after your shift, apologizing to him for lying about your roommate situation. Admittedly, Mingyu still doesn’t seem to be wholly okay with it – but he doesn’t really say anything more about it. He kissed you better that night, his lips making you forget all about the stress that you’ve went through for the day, convincing you to stay over.

The night bled into two when he said he couldn’t let you go. Mingyu was persistent and you were unwilling to go in the first place. Partly because who didn’t want to spend more time with their significant other? But it’s also because of a certain someone that is no other than Jeon Jungkook.

Those two nights are going on four – which means that you’ve been avoiding Jungkook for the past three days now.

It doesn’t seem like a difficult task though because Jungkook seems to be doing the same. That was your hunch. He replies to you with dry-ass “okay”s when you text him about not going home because you’re staying at Mingyu’s. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Which is unusual of him. Sure, in your almost decade-long friendship, you’ve fought a bunch of times. But it usually gets resolved in a day or two. And Jungkook wasn’t ever cold like he is right now.

See, the regular Jungkook would find you anywhere on your floor at the hospital just to annoy you. When your time allows it, you eat together with your friends at lunch.

But now, he seems to always have something to do – which, okay, fair. He’s a surgeon, after all. But he doesn’t even spare you a glance whenever you two meet halfway in the hallways. Yesterday, you coincidentally scrubbed in together for the same surgery but he did not say a word to you other than, “Scalpel”.

The rest of your friends are already asking about it. Doyeon told you he had lunch with Jungkook this afternoon, but when she mentioned that maybe you were free to go with them, Jungkook suddenly had to look over a patient’s chart.

It’s not just a hunch anymore. He really is avoiding you.

And to be honest, you’re tired of the whole pussyfooting around. He’s being childish – and you’ll be the better person to come and talk to him about it. Granted, you’re three days late. But at least you’re doing it.

You texted Mingyu earlier this afternoon that you’re coming home to your apartment tonight. He was bummed about it, you could feel it through his message, nonetheless he replied saying he’ll miss you, which put a smile to your tired face from work.

When you went home from your shift at 9pm, Jungkook wasn’t anywhere in the house. Which was a shame – because you were planning to talk to him.

Well. Maybe you’d wait for him.

But it seemed like you underestimated your exhaustion for the day because as soon you finished showering, dressing yourself with your bed clothes which consists of comfortable flimsy camisole and panty shorts, you went straight to bed and passed out – forgetting about Jungkook.

It’s past 2 am when you feel yourself waking up from your deep slumber, stomach grumbling at the emptiness, and you realize you did not only forget about waiting for Jungkook but also about eating dinner.

Walking out of your room, you head straight to the kitchen where you immediately go to open the refrigerator to see if there’s something in it you can consume. There are boxes of Chinese food take-out which makes your eyes light up. When you open to smell them, it seems that they’re still new.

You deduce it must be Jungkook’s.

That gives you the predicament of whether you should eat it or not. You take you’re not exactly on good terms as of the moment – therefore you can’t eat his food. But you’re really hungry.

Throwing away your inhibitions, you open one of the boxes, not even bothering to heat the food.

“Hey,”

You almost jump upon hearing another voice. Looking to your side, you see Jungkook approaching, with only his boxers on, upper half naked.  

“H-hey,” you say, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are these yours?” You point to the take-out box in your hand.

Jungkook nods and heads straight to your direction. Taking one of the boxes, he hauls himself to the kitchen island, twisting his body so that he can face you.

“Yep.” he responds, dipping his fingers inside the box and taking out strands of noodles from it.

You wince at the sight. “Look like worms.”

“Just like worms.” Jungkook grins, chewing on them in that obnoxious way because he knows you don’t like noisy eaters.

Frowning, you decide to follow him to the island and haul yourself on top of it as well, sitting beside him. Jungkook scoots to the side to give you more room.

“It’s kind of like eating naengmyeon, I don’t like naengmyeon.” You tell him, opening another box and feeling delighted to see untouched stir-fried rice. “Did you just buy this earlier?”

Jungkook nods. “Left them in the fridge when I realized I wasn’t too hungry.”

“Then you woke up feeling hungry?” You smile at him.

He chuckles. “Yeah. When did you get off work?”

“Nine. You?”

“Twelve am.”

You grimace at that, but nod in understanding.

There’s a beat of silence before Jungkook speaks up again.

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Just wanted to remind you I’m still your housemate…” you joke, brushing your elbow against his arm in a teasing manner.

Jungkook laughs as he shakes his head. He picks up another batch of noodles in his fingers and then offers it to you, prompting you to arch your brow at him. “Try it.”

You shake your head. “I hate cold noodles.”

“Just try,” He insists, placing it closer to your face. You scrunch your nose, skeptical. It makes Jungkook chuckle lowly. “Head back.”

Hesitantly, you tilt your head back and open your mouth as Jungkook puts the noodles inside it. You almost choke on it when Jungkook laughs mid-way, making you laugh as well, but thankfully, you were able to chew all of them just fine.

“What the fuck.” You frown, slapping his arm good-naturedly.

“Wasn’t so bad, huh?”

“It was bad.” You say, going back to eating your fried rice. Jungkook gives you a look that says he’s not convinced. Looking at his face, you roll your eyes, “It’s like eating–” you stop mid-sentence as Jungkook quickly wipes off something on the side of your lips. It’s so quick though that you brush it off just as instantly and continue, “—literal worms.”

“Imagine if worms tasted like noodles. Wouldn’t that be sick as hell?” Jungkook muses, stretching his arm over you to reach for another take-out box on the counter. It’s so sudden that your immediate reflex was to stretch your upper body backwards, feeling a little taken aback when Jungkook’s face gets a little too close to your stomach, with his arm rubbing over your bare thighs.

He seems like it doesn’t move him, though. Just goes back to his position casually and opens another box. As he does, you can’t help but take a quick look at his bulging thighs, the short length of his boxers letting you get a brief view of the tattoo that peeks out of the expanse of his skin. You’ve seen that before many times, but not the entirety – of course not. It looks like it goes up from way above. Anyway, it’s sort of like a flower, but you’re not sure. You never really asked him about it. He never brings it up either.

“Oh, man, the dumplings got cold.” Jungkook picks inside his box as if he’d miraculously find one that’s not cold.

You roll your eyes at his antics. “You stored them in the fridge for like how many hours now?”

Ignoring you, Jungkook takes out one dumpling, trying to eat it, and you watch as he visibly winces. In a moment, he shoots one straight to the trash bin across from you.

“Oh, that’s real mature.” You say dryly.

With that, Jungkook throws another one, giving you a cheeky grin when it lands in the bin successfully for the second time.

Pursing your lips, you sarcastically say, “Wow. Two points to Xavier from Jeon Jungkook.”

That makes Jungkook look at you instantly.

“How the hell do you know that?” He gives you a look of confusion but there’s amusement written all over his face at the same time.

“Well… Mingyu told me you both played for the basketball varsity team back in undergrad, so,”

Jungkook stops. There’s look of something in his eyes that you can’t quite point out, but then suddenly, he nods.

“He told you how good I was?” He says with a teasing tone, a contrast to his sudden and quick drop of mood a few seconds ago.

You throw him a tissue. “Don’t be cocky. He just mentioned it.”

“I was captain. Two-time MOP, 2018 and 2019 NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament.”

You look at him with silent reverence. Well, Mingyu didn’t tell you all that, that’s for sure. It’s a bit surreal to picture Jungkook wearing a basketball uniform, though. You’re so used to seeing him in scrubs and lab gown and his usual casual, occasionally suits when you attend formal conferences. You’ve only ever seen him sweat it out whenever he works out in the living room.

“Impressive.” You say. Jungkook grins proudly. “It’s strange I only know about it now, though.”

“You never asked.” He shrugs. “What ‘bout you? I only know you’re little miss summa cum laude.”

Huffing, you jab at his arm when he mentions it, rolling your eyes at him which only earns you a chuckle. Regardless, you tell him, “2018 NCA College Nationals. We won Coed Division One.”

Jungkook arches a brow. “NCA… National Cheerleading Association?” You nod, eating from your take-out box so as to avoid Jungkook’s look after you do so.

“No fucking way,” He says incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” You bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling too much. You never really get to share this part about you with a lot of people. To quote Jungkook, they never ask. It’s funny when they do get surprised by it though, like he is now. When Jungkook stares at you – you don’t know if it’s just in disbelief – longer than necessary, you realize he’s staring at your face and that makes you consciously fix a strand of hair behind your ear. “Go big blue, go big blue, show ‘em what wildcats can do.” You sing a in fast tempo, chuckling about how silly it sounds.

Jungkook utters a sound of amusement. “That’s… wow. Right now, I’m just picturing you cheering but it’s a bit hazy and shit.”

“You’re saying you can’t picture me cheering?” You playfully accuse, but you know exactly what he meant. Even you still don’t believe that you actually did cheer in undergrad. When you signed up for it, it was just because you had to choose a club, and you weren’t interested in anything other than that. You thought cheering would be fun and it was fun.

“No, I’m just—” Jungkook cuts himself off and looks at you. “Okay, now I totally deserve a cheer for that two-point shot I made just now.”

You laugh loudly at that. Covering your mouth, you look at him to see if he’s joking but he seems to be serious.

“No.” You say, your eyes widening, body stiffening.

“Come on,” Jungkook chuckles.

You roll your eyes. “You have to do more than a two-point shot to get a cheer.”

“Okay, what do you want me to do?” Jungkook eagerly presents a challange. You stifle a laugh when he gears up for something. “I can shoot dumplings further from here with my left hand.”

“Ten feet away,” You muse, giggling when Jungkook suddenly gets off the counter, carrying the box of dumplings, and positions himself further away from you. Laughing, you shake your head before you say, “You can’t do it.”

“Try me.” He says as he begins to pick out a dumpling and concentrate on the trash can. Before he shoots, he tells you, “This one’s for you.”

You watch as the dumpling misses the bin.

Jungkook beats you to speaking first. “I admit. I’m a bit rusty.”

Sneering, you eat your fried rice, not straying your eyes from him. “You have to shoot, like, three dumplings.”

“That was a trial shot.” he insists, eyeing you playfully, before he gears up for another again. You watch closely when he makes a move to shoot another dumpling.

It goes in. Jungkook smirks at you when you look at him, impressed.

“Not bad.” You cock your head to the side.

“Tss.” He shoots another shot again and it’s successful for the second time. “That’s two.” Jungkook shows you his fingers and you chuckle at his enthusiasm.

“Let’s see if you can get the third.”

Jungkook nods, and you cover a snicker again at the way his stance suddenly turns serious, as if he’s really taking the whole thing seriously.

In a few seconds, he shoots the last dumpling straight to the bin just as successfully as the last time.

“What did I say?” Jungkook brags as he goes over to the island across from you, sitting on the high chairs this time. You turn your body to look at him, containing your smile. “Your turn now.” Jungkook says with a smirk.

Your purse your lips. “I’m a bit rusty.”

“So was I!” Jungkook claims which prompts a chuckle from you.

You look at him for a while, unsure. You close your eyes, bobbing your head side to side, covering your face as you suddenly feel a sense of embarrassment at the thought of dancing in front of him.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” You say after Jungkook tries to remove your hands off your face.

He raises his right hand and fixes his sitting posture upright. “Promise.”

“If you show your teeth I’ll stop and so will this friendship.” You threaten as you bring your legs over the island to his direction.

Jungkook chuckles while saying a series of “Yeah”s, holding your hand to help you hop off the counter safely.

You take a few quick strides to place yourself in the space between your counter and dining area and look at Jungkook who settles himself comfortably in the kitchen island chair, watching you with relaxed position and crossed arms.

Feeling uncharacteristically shy, you stand upright, suddenly aware that you’re only wearing a pair of panty shorts and a fitted camisole. You don’t work out so you’re a bit conscious in front of Jungkook who looks really good in his natural form. You don’t even understand how he finds time to go to the gym or do his little work-out sesh during some nights or weekends, but you shake away the thought and smile at him coyly. He has the better body, sure, but you know well enough he’ll never judge you for yours… besides, it’s just Jungkook. He makes you feel safe and secure, no matter the context of the situation.

Off the top of your head, you do whatever it is you remember from your college routines and begin your yell.

“Wildcats, get up and shout! We’re the team that’s gonna take it out! Give it all you’ve got, let’s hear you roar!” You chuckle mid-way, forgetting a step. “Sorry,” you apologize quickly, but then continue right away, trapping your bottom lip with your teeth to prevent yourself from completely losing it. “We’re the Wildcats, and we’re here to score! Go Big Blue! Go Big Blue—" You make a mistake again and skip a beat with your finger snaps, and when you look at Jungkook, you can’t help but give in to the laughter that’s been bubbling up inside you. “I can’t do it!” You say, cutting your “performance” short.

“What? It was good!” Jungkook says, encouraging you to continue further.

You stifle a laugh as you go back to the top again but then your mind forgets the next step and you’re messing up the choreography again. At that point, you start mindlessly cheering; jumping around and flapping your arms to make it look like somewhat of a cheer but none of the coordination. You know it looks messy, so you run over to Jungkook shamefully, plopping on the chair beside him. Bringing your legs up to the seat and covering your face in your thighs, you can’t help but giggle in embarrassment.

“Woah,” Jungkook says, but you can say there’s a hint of laughter in his tone. You know it’s not out of mockery when he lifts your head up and boop your nose. “That was cute. Best cheer I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re pushing it.” You hiss, kicking his knee slightly.

Jungkook captures your leg, and you squeal when he pinches your thigh. You both laugh at that and you thought Jungkook’s gonna let go of your leg but he keeps it on his lap.

“My stomach hurts from laughing.” You tell him, taking a deep breath, trying to regulate your heart. Everything feels funny. Your cheer was funny. You must’ve looked so stupid.

Jungkook chuckles. “Wildcats, get up and shout—”

“Jungkook!” You cut him off, removing your leg from his lap to kick him again on the thigh this time. That only prompts him to laugh louder.

When the high of the moment fades, Jungkook looks over at you.

“Do you feel sleepy?”

You shake your head. “Not really. At least not yet.”

He hums, and then takes your box of fried rice to eat from it.

There’s the silence again, but it’s quiet and comfortable. No weird tension sitting in the air.

“Jungkook,” You call him after a while.

“Hm.”

You clear your throat. “I meant to talk to you,” Jungkook stops eating and looks at you to acknowledge you. “I’m sorry.”

He stares at you for a moment. Then, he chuckles, shaking his head. “You know what’s funny? I was gonna talk to you yesterday to say I’m sorry but then you didn’t talk to me at all in the OR. I thought you were still mad at me.”

With furrowed brows, you tell him, “I thought you were mad at me. You only said “scalpel” in the OR and then that was it. No hi’s or hello’s in the hallways for the past three days.”

“Me? Mad at you?” He says, as if he can’t believe you would even think that. “I mean, you piss me off sometimes, but I don’t think I was ever mad at you.” You pout. Jungkook smiles. “I can never be mad at you,” His look is gentle and warm that you feel a little flustered for a reason unknown. It just ticks a little something in your brain, tugging something at your heart. Then, Jungkook sighs. “I’m sorry, too. For the way I went about it. The “bringing boys here” comment was out of line.”

There’s a wince on your face when you hear that.

That comment did hurt a little.

But you know it was just a heat-in-the-moment type of thing, and he just wasn’t able to think through his words well enough when he was… well, pissed – and rightfully so. Because you did something offensive to him, and you can’t blame him for feeling the way he felt.

You nod at Jungkook. “Thank you for saying that. I’m saying sorry because I realized what you said. I should’ve informed you I was bringing Mingyu home, and I should’ve told him about you being my roommate. We really could’ve avoided that situation.”

“You can just tell me beforehand if you’re bringing him to our place.” Jungkook shrugs.

You chuckle. “No. That won’t happen again.” And it’s true. It’s awkward and it’s rude when you have a roommate.

Jungkook looks at you. “Okay. I won’t do it as well,” You shake your head, playfully rolling your eyes at him. “I’m guessing you settled it pretty quickly with him?” He gestures at your neck and you realize he’s referring to the necklace you’re wearing – the one Mingyu gave you the very same day you fought.

You want to point out it’s not really new, but you settle with, “Yeah. Fortunately.” as a response.

“I really am sorry for what happened.” Jungkook says and you can feel the sincerity in his voice.

“It’s fine,” Touching his arm, you give him a small smile. “Have you and Mingyu talked?”

Jungkook shakes his head. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you think about how that’s… not good. They were friends before you and have just met each other again after so many years – you do not want to be that kind of person who gets in the way of some other people’s relationship.

And you really can’t have Jungkook not liking your boyfriend or your boyfriend not liking Jungkook, either.

But as much as you want to suggest that they talk it out, you know you can’t. Besides, you trust that they eventually will. They’re grown men.

“So…” you trail off. “Are we okay?”

Jungkook’s lips tilt upwards. “Are we okay?”

“Come on,” you roll your eyes. “Do we hug it out or like – I don’t know – handshake on it?”

“Let’s hug it out like we’re twelve.” Jungkook grins and in a moment, he scoots closer to you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your chest.

The angle is a bit awkward with Jungkook crouching too much you don’t doubt his position is anything but comfortable, but it works, and it gives you the opportunity to pat his head as you say, “I missed hanging out with you, buddy.”

“Can’t say the same thing.”

That earns him a slight pinch to the ear easily accessible to you.

“Ow!” Jungkook says and then add, “I hate to ruin the moment but… you’re not wearing a bra.”

You quickly grab both sides of his head to get him off your chest. He comes back sitting upright on his chair, laughing.

“Fuck off—” you flip him off and then look over your box of fried rice, but then you remember he was also eating it earlier. “You ate all of it!”

“Finders keepers.”

“I hate you.”

“Hm.”

You shake your head, standing up and starting to grab all the boxes to take them to the trash bin.

“By the way, I just got my approval from HR for our trip the next two weeks. Have you?” You ask him across the room. You can see Jungkook’s face light up at the mention.

“Yeah, of course. Got approved yesterday.” Jungkook grins. You watch as he stares at you a bit longer, his face showing a hint of confusion.

You arch a brow. “Why does your face look like that?” Jungkook shakes his head, obviously ready to dismiss it. But you’re persistent. “What is it?” You say, walking towards his direction and stopping in front of him.

“Nothing…” he trails off. Then he rubs the back of his head. “I just really thought that you…” You squint your eyes at him. Then he chuckles lightly and swipes his fingers through his hair. “I just thought the trip would be cancelled.”

Your eyebrows furrow. Frowning, you nudge at him. “What? Of course, not! We planned that trip like six months ago. I’m not backing out.”

Jungkook gives you a shy smile.

“Okay.”

You can’t help it. You bring your hands to his cheeks and pinch them.

“He’s so excited for his birthday trip!” You say, intentionally talking like you would to a toddler.

Jungkook predictably forces your hands out of his skin and holds your wrist a bit tight as he rolls his eyes at you.

“Knock it off.” He glares at you. But you’re not done with your fun, so you poke your finger to his waist, knowing that’s his weak spot, and tease him some more. “Seriously.” Jungkook huffs out and your laughter becomes louder because he looks like a grumpy child right now.

“Sorry.” you say, still giggling. He furrows his brows, and you can’t help it, you poke at his waist again. When you do it, though, Jungkook captures your wrist, effectively stopping another one of your juvenile assaults. Suddenly, you start noting the mirth in his eyes.

You’ve seen that look before and it always ends up with you almost dying from too much laughter because he always—

“You’re gonna regret that.”

You let out a squeal as Jungkook takes ahold of your waist, and before you can even voice out a protest, he easily hoists you up against his body, bouncing you up until you're hanging around his shoulder like a sack bag.

“What the hell, put me down, you prick!” You complain, slapping the rugged muscles on his back. But Jungkook just responds with a series of clicks of his tongue, carrying you across the living room.

You know he’s about to put you on the couch to tickle you to death, so you do what you could and bite down on the skin of his back.

“Ouch!” Jungkook immediately reacts, stumbling a little in his stride. You snort at that, but you immediately frown when you feel a slap to your ass.

“You asshole!”

“You just lowered your chances of being spared,” Was his last words before you feel yourself getting put down on the surface of the sofa. Soon after, Jungkook’s poking his fingers to your waist and stomach, prompting you to erupt in fits of giggles and laughter, thrashing beneath him like a caged animal.

“Pl—stop—oh my god!” You say, weakly reaching for his arms. When Jungkook doesn’t relent, you continue wriggling under him, laughing and choking, saying a variety of, “Stop! I’m —” giggle, “gonna—” then another snort, “—die!”

Jungkook chuckles. He torments you some more before finally stopping his fingers in their ministrations.

“You deserve that.” Jungkook says when you both came down from the high, laughing at the messy state of your hair and the way you try to catch your breath like you just ran a triathlon.

You breathe in and out deeply, clutching your stomach that still hurts from laughing.

“Fuck you.” You hiss, giving him the finger.

Jungkook bursts into laughter, and from his position in between your legs, he lets himself fall on top of you.

“Jungkook, no!” Pushing him off you, you try to get away from him but the goof just forces himself beside you instead, sticking his much bigger build in between you and the back of the couch. It makes you scoot near the edge as a result, and you hold onto his arm so that you don’t fall off, tangling your leg against his own for added support. Pinching his waist in which he lets out an ingenuine “Owe!” to, you face him as you say, “You are so annoying.”

Jungkook just gives you a shit-eating grin. “Who started it?”

“You almost killed me.” You say dryly.

“Don’t be dramatic.” He rolls his eyes.

Suddenly, you realize the position you are both in.

Your bare legs are intermingled against each other, Jungkook has one arm wrapped around your waist, and from the lack of clothes on both sides, you can feel pretty much everything.

There’s a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach upon the epiphany.

Jungkook’s looking at you with a playful grin, but as he notices you staring at him, he stills. From such close proximity, you can almost trace out the lines of his features. The scar on his cheek, the mole under his lip, and the pimple scar that was probably from a week ago. At that thought, you think about: if you can see him so close like this, he can also probably see you, and that’s when you break away from the contact.

“Shit.” You hiss as you let yourself fall off the floor by rolling around, away from his hold and touch and him in general.

Jungkook immediately scoots to the edge of the sofa to look down at you with confused eyes. “The hell?”

“Don’t worry,” you wave your hand at him.

He snorts. “Did you just fall?”

You roll your eyes. Of course, he’d think that. But you let him, standing up from the floor.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

You hear Jungkook’s boisterous laughter as you walk towards the kitchen again, stopping in front of the fridge to get some water.

“You’re going to bed now?” Asks Jungkook, following you to the fridge and mirroring your activity.

Nodding at his question, you peer from the rim of the glass as you answer, “Yeah, I don’t want to be sleeping at the hospital later.”

“Fair.”

Soon after, you both decided to clean up a bit in the kitchen and when you finished, you two headed towards the direction of your bedrooms. It’s located just near the kitchen, with the doors located beside each other.

When you turn the knob open to your own door, Jungkook calls you, catching your attention.

You arch a brow at him, waiting.

“Good night,” Jungkook says. You drop your kitted brows and smile. You’re about to greet him the same but then he adds, “Also– that was a really great cheer.”

“Ugh, Jungkook!”

You look across the bed to see Mingyu still on his laptop on his worktable, working on something. An hour and thirty minutes have passed since you arrived at his place, but you’re still not getting the least bit of attention from him.

You get it, it’s work, but he asked you to come over… isn’t it only fair to expect a little bit of something?

Getting up from the bed, you trudge over to his direction.

“Hi,” you say, ducking down to wrap your arms around his neck from the back of his swivel chair and kissing the spot below his ear.

“Hi,” Mingyu meets the kiss you give him on the lips. He reaches for your hands resting on top of chest and holds it there, looking at you. You delight at the hint of attention. “I’ll just be in a few minutes. You’re staying, right?”

You grin. “Of course.”

“Good.”

Rolling your eyes, you take your hands off him and stand upright once again. Mingyu rotates his chair so he can look at you with his undivided attention, voicing out a low whistle when he takes in your outfit – or lack of it thereof.

You arch a brow, knowing well he’s ogling you only in your bra and panties, squinting your eyes at him. Slowly, you glide your leg over his waist and plop yourself down on his lap, waiting for any protest from him. It doesn’t come, and so you give him a grin before planting your lips against his.

The kiss turns heated in a matter of seconds, with Mingyu squeezing over your bra and taking in your soft moans against his mouth, feeling the delicious roll of your hips against his crotch where you feel a semi growing already.  

“Sweetheart,” Mingyu grunts. When you don’t answer that, he cups your jaw, making you look at him. “__.”

“What?” You say, more like a whine, looking at him with hooded eyes. You’re starting to feel sticky in your underwear and you need him to do something about it.

“Not now, sweetheart. I told you, I’m working.”

You frown. There’s a beat of silence before you let out a sigh. “Okay.” You say, getting off his lap.

“I’ll take care of you when I’m done.” He promises, taking ahold of your wrist, looking up at you.

Pursing your lips, you look away. “It’s fine.” When Mingyu lets go, you look at the direction of the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a shower,” you tell him. “You’re free to join me if you want or whatever.”

You know he can’t and that he won’t.

“Alright.” Was the last thing you heard before you walked towards the bathroom door.

You’ve been over at his place too many times to count now, and you’re slowly building your shower essentials in his own bathroom. Your body wash, your face cream, your shampoo, your conditioner – even your moisturizer and your eye mask are already placed inside his bathroom cabinet.

As you step out of the shower box, all clean and fresh, you go over to the lavatory to brush your teeth. At the sight of both your cups sitting beside each other, you smile.

You look in the mirror – noting the way your lips can’t stop from curling up at the thoughts running inside your head.

Shaking them off, you grab Mingyu’s robe and put it over yourself, turning the knob around to step out of the bathroom.

You see Mingyu on his bed this time around, but his laptop’s still perched on his lap.

He looks up when he sees you. “Ready to sleep?”

You nod, feeling at home the way you automatically go towards his closet to pick out a shirt and some panties you left over the time.

As you’re in the process of dressing yourself, a phone’s ding rings in the room.

Looking at Mingyu, you watch as he checks his phone, assuming it came from him. When he puts it down, he looks at your plugged phone on the bedside table.

“What is it?” You ask, now properly dressed, walking to the bed.

You note the way Mingyu’s gaze changes as he hands you your phone.

“It’s Jungkook.” He says with a weirdly clipped tone. Then another ding comes. A beat, and then your phone rings.

Your brow shoots up, taking the device from him and checking it yourself.

Jungkook’s face is plastered over your screen – a picture of him wasted in his room two years ago, taken from your Thailand trip with the rest of your friends. He’s sleeping with his mouth open, shirtless in the middle of the hut, only covered up with his trunks. You remember setting it as his contact photo because it was funny back then. Jungkook hates the photo, and your friends always made fun of him for it.

Right now, though, it doesn’t feel the least bit funny. Not when Mingyu’s certainly saw it. Not when he looks a little put off as soon as he sees a glimpse of it when he was passing your phone to you.

“I’ll just answer this.” You say, standing from the bed again.

You don’t expect Mingyu to suddenly shoot you a question, “You can’t answer here?”

Brows knitting together, you give him an uncertain look. “It’s just Jungkook.”

“Yeah… so, why not here?”

You relent, seeing the point he’s trying to make. Plopping yourself on the bed again, you answer Jungkook’s call and put the phone over your ear.

“Jungkook,”

“__,” he sighs out your name, sounding relieved. “Thank fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” You ask, growing a bit concerned at his tone.

You can hear some shuffling from the other line as Jungkook tells you, “Did you see me with my pager in the locker room earlier?”

“Oh, uh… let me think…” you trail off, trying to remember the events earlier. As you do that, you notice Mingyu’s fingers trailing his hands to your bare legs, but you ignore it as you answer Jungkook, “I think I didn’t, yeah. I didn’t.” Jungkook hisses. “Did you check your car?” you ask, trying to help out.

“Already did. It’s not in there, either. I really think I accidentally threw it out in the bin along with some trash in my pockets.” He says, sounding a little distressed now.

“Well… you can always just go to the operator, you know? Get a new pager?” you offer. There’s a drop of kiss on your shoulder that makes you shudder, and you look at Mingyu with furrowed brows. He doesn’t say anything, though, just let his fingers trail upwards, his hand sliding under your shirt, gripping your thigh. Your boyfriend just gives you a sly smile, and you squint your eyes at him, confused at what he’s playing at. 

“I know. But, ugh, you know I lost two pagers already this year. Sungkyun hates me at this point—”

Jungkook’s answer suddenly drowns out when Mingyu grazes his thumb on your clothed clit.

“Oh.”

“—what?” Jungkook halts, asking about your abrupt reaction.

You bite your lip in an effort to shut yourself up, and when Mingyu’s hand makes another move again, your free hand shoots up to stop him.

“Hold on a second, Jungkook,” you say, quickly pressing mute.

Mingyu looks at you with a smirk, playful smile painting his face. “You know you can continue, right?”

At that, your brows furrow even further.

“What are you doing?” You didn’t mean to sound curt but with the way Mingyu’s expression changes, it may have sounded that way.

You… couldn’t help it.

“I wanted to touch you,” Mingyu tells you after a beat of awkward silence. Then, his hand retreats to himself. “Do you not want to?”

There’s guilt that springs up inside you when you see the look on his face as he says those words.

“No, I’m sorry— it’s just… I want to. I just… not with somebody on the phone?” You put it out like a question, unsure of yourself.

The room is quiet for awhile and suddenly there’s a thick tension that hangs in the air.

You reach out for Mingyu but then drop your hand to your sides when he moves to sit on the edge of the bed.

He turns his head to you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Is it because it’s Jungkook?”

You frown at his tone.

It sounded accusatory.

“Excuse me?” You say, taking immediate offense. When Mingyu shrugs, you feel a bit of annoyance bubble up inside you. “I would’ve still stopped you if it was anybody else on the phone, Mingyu.” you say, tone firm and leveled.

“I’m sorry, then.”

But he definitely doesn’t sound like it. His sarcasm makes you snap. “What’s up with you?”

Mingyu opens his mouth to say something but then he closes it again. You watch him with confused eyes, completely at loss of context where he’s at. The night was going fine as usual and suddenly, there’s this.

After a few seconds, Mingyu sighs. “What are you even talking about right now?” He glances at your phone.

“It’s—” you take a glance at it too. “It’s just his pager.”

“Pager?”

“Yes.”

“He asks you about his pager in the middle of the night, knowing full well you’re with me?”

“I—” you stop yourself, words suddenly getting lost in your tongue. Not because you don’t know the answer to his question, but because you hate the way he phrased it – and honestly, you’re starting to feel icky about how he’s going with it. What was he trying to do? Pin you down with accusatory notions?

You don’t fucking get it. Jungkook’s his friend. It’s so bizarre to even think about how Mingyu is seemingly acting jealous over his supposed friend.

“You know what?” You say instead, not wanting to discuss it further with him anymore. It’s just gonna lead to an unnecessary fight – and frankly, you don’t want to deal with his jealousy. It seems so… futile. “Can we just sleep this whole thing off?”

Mingyu looks at you and for the first time, his eyes don’t look gentle. He looks at you with a bit of a frown, and you get it. You do. You’re not exactly happy, either. Not right now, with the way he’s acting.

“Do you want me to go?” You ask, ready to step out of bed.

“I didn’t tell you to.” Mingyu says, voice equally strained.

You sigh. “What do you want me to do, Mingyu? Are you jealous, is that it?” You meant it to be completely rhetorical, not at all expecting him to say anything.

But he answers instantly. “What if I say I am?”

Your lips part. You’re surprised at the confirmation, but you shake your thoughts off it.

“Then it’s completely unnecessary,” you tell him, as genuine as you can sound. When Mingyu doesn’t move in his position on the edge of the bed, you crawl towards him. Testing the waters, you touch his arm to see if he would avoid your touch, but when you do rest your hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t stray. “I like you, Gyu.”

Cocking your head to the side, you watch as his face still sports a cold expression. But he says, “I like you too, you know that,”

“But…?” you try to get out the words from him, because you knew there’s more.

“I don’t want you to think I’m being irrational about this whole thing,” he starts, and you nod your head, trying to show him that you get it. Mingyu licks his lips before he continues, “I just… I guess I just want you to put boundaries around your friendship with Jeon.”

That makes you stop. Nevermind the strange way he called Jungkook by his surname.

“How do you mean by that?” You ask with furrowed brows.

“You’re just really close with him. And you live in one apartment together.” He points out.

“Mingyu…” you say, suddenly feeling tired all over again. “I thought we already talked about that.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m a hundred percent comfortable with it, you know?”

It feels like you got electrocuted by his words the way you quickly retreat your hands. “That’s…” you trail off, not really knowing what to say.

Thankfully, though, Mingyu interjects before you can slip into a dilemma.

“I know, I know about why you’re living with him and all that stuff. We talked about it. It’s just…” he reaches for your hand. Entangling your fingers together, Mingyu brings your knuckles to his lips and presses a kiss there. “I want you all the time. And I guess I really am just jealous – even though it’s juvenile. I’m jealous that he’s known you far longer than me.”

“But— I’m here thrice a week. I make time for the both of us. And it doesn’t really matter how long you’ve known me for, Gyu,” you respond truthfully.

He nods.

“I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. I guess I just— I got in way over my head that I also forgot to take your feelings into account,”

Mingyu smiles, and there goes his soft gentle expression again.

“I know. It’s fine. You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It’s me who’s being unreasonable.”

“No, it’s not unreasonable,” you tell him. “I get it. Boundaries, Mingyu. I know what you’re talking about.”

Mingyu scooches closer and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You gladly bask in it, smiling against his lips, keeping your gentle gaze towards him as he breaks away.

“I’m sorry for being a bummer.”

You kiss him again and the way he inserts his tongue in your mouth distracts you a bit but you manage to break the contact. Soon, he’s lying down beside you and when you check your phone, your call with Jungkook has already ended, but there are two messages from him on your notifications.

[12:35am] jaykay🤠: are you still alive [12:38am] jaykay🤠: ok nevermind i’ll hang the call i actually found my pager just now 😭 [12:38am] jaykay🤠: it was in the kitchen counter LOL [12:45am] jaykay🤠: ok bye. night

You were going to reply but decide against it for some reason.

Putting your phone down to the bedside table, you follow Mingyu under the sheets and as usual, you face against his direction just like he does.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t really like cuddling that much. He’d share his space to a certain extent, just like how you got into his bed in the first place, but not the lengths of cuddling together in bed. Mingyu didn’t tell you why – and you don’t want to come off as clingy, so you don’t bother asking.

It’s strange, though. Now that he told you a while ago that he, apparently, “wants you all the time”. Shouldn’t he like to cuddle you in bed, then? But you don’t want to dwell in it too much, afraid that you may be digging yourself a hole if you were to keep it up.

As you lay your cheek on your folded hands, you play back the events of the night and think about how you’ve seen this film before.

When you were in med school, Eunwoo always had something to say about your friendship with Jungkook. He wasn’t direct with it, but with the way he never bothered to make friends with Jungkook or always had a grimace on his face when you mentioned him in passing, it was enough for you to conclude that Eunwoo was always… wary of Jungkook – and definitely in a jealous type of way.

He said almost the exact same thing as Mingyu – that boundaries should be built; that Jungkook and you are too close, why is he calling you in the middle of the night to ask about mundane things, why does he know too much about your mother’s preferences, and why is he buddy-buddy with your dad who otherwise always had an uninterested expression on his face?

It wasn’t even just Mingyu. Your past flings for the past four years you’ve been single always got put off when they heard that you’re rooming with a guy – even more so when you mention that he’s your bestfriend.

You’re not stupid to not see how it looks like from the outside perspective – and you’re not dense to not ever consider the possibility of something romantic brewing within the friendship. You have thought about it before – had an instant crush on him the first time you met at the law library back in post grad school. But it was fleeting at best, especially when Eunwoo came into your life a few weeks later.

Nayeon, Doyeon, and Taehyung have also hinted at it. Sometimes – most of the time, really, teasing you two, especially Taehyung. Even the most mature one among your friends – Yoongi – once told you both to get married at forty. He was joking, though he looked way too serious for someone who was just supposed to be joking.

And there was that one dreadful time in third year of med school when Jungkook almost kissed you.

You buried that memory in the very depths of your mind – not ever wanting to revisit it again. It was a bad time, and it was just not a good thing to look back at. Jungkook acted irresponsible, and you stupidly let yourself be complicit in it, even though you knew better.

Nothing even happened – but that memory was just that. A mere memory. You doubt Jungkook even remembers that himself.

Here’s the thing: you’ve just never seen Jungkook past the person you consider as a friend. You’ve never been weird about the women he dated – or if he dated, at all. He’s also always been supportive of your relationships… as far as you’re concerned. Regardless of what everybody says, you both seem to agree that you’re just better off as friends. You work better that way.

Jungkook’s a good guy, though. He does have tons of flings – but he’s just conventionally attractive and works hard for a body that is to die for. Women like that. Additionally, he has a stable job and even though he annoys you about splitting the delivery fee when you do take-out, he’s actually quite rich – or, his family is – he’d always insist.

You get it though. As a co-resident, you both don’t really make that much (for the work that you do) – at least not yet.

But he was indeed born in generational wealth, coming from a family of doctors, which is why it’s quite impressive that he knows how to handle his life by his own hard work. His intelligence and perseverance are some of the things you admire about him, his drive to make a name for himself and never leeching off his family’s name. Jungkook doesn’t ever brag about how his neurosurgeon dad is one of the best in the country and how his mom is a legend in cardiac surgery – even though sometimes, he could use it a little. He’s playful yet charming; quiet when you’re just knowing him, but he’ll eventually talk a lot when you get close.

As a friend, he’s quite the best you’ve ever had.

And even though you don’t really see him past that, you know in your heart that whoever ends up with him romantically will be a very lucky person.

“You’re a pussy.”

“Doyeon.”

Doyeon huffs, rolling her eyes so hard at Taehyung’s reprimand and then goes back to glaring at Jungkook again who just looks at her with a pathetic expression.

“What? I’m right. He’s a pussy and you’re an even bigger pussy for defending him being a pussy.” She says, furrowing her eyebrows angrily.

“Why are we talking about pussies?”

Nayeon suddenly enters the on-call room and Jungkook nearly has a heart attack.

“What the hell, you should at least knock. Jesus.” Jungkook says, clutching his chest, looking at Nayeon with an almost offended expression who closes the door behind her.

“Were you scared it was __? See!” Doyeon sighs out in frustration. “Such a fucking pussy.”

“Such a fucking pussy,” Jungkook mocks, using a higher pitch to imitate Doyeon poorly.

“And a child too.” She rolls her eyes and throws him a pillow. It misses Jungkook and hits Taehyung instead.

“Seriously, what are you so mad about today? You have that mood. Did you and your secret boyfriend fight?” Taehyung spits out.

Everybody stills in the room when Doyeon gives him a sharp glare. That pretty much makes everyone shut up, especially Taehyung who makes a show of physically zipping his mouth.

Nayeon fakes a cough and trudges towards Jungkook sitting on one of the beds. She throws her heavy hands on his shoulders, more like slaps, and then looks at Doyeon as she asks, “What are we calling this man a pussy for?”

“Oh, ask him. Or his dumber best friend.” Doyeon rolls his eyes and looks at Taehyung, crossing her arms and leaning her back on the chair she’s sitting on from across the room.

“You’re starting to hurt my feelings and I hate you.” Taehyung says from the other bed.

“Why?” Nayeon ignores their banter and furrows her brows at Jungkook curiously.

Jungkook hisses under his breath. “It’s nothing. She calls me a pussy for literally everything.”

Doyeon butts in. “Yeah, are you gonna cry?”

“If __ was here, she’s gonna be on my side, you know that?” Jungkook rebuts.

“If __ was here, you’d be panicking because she’ll know about your little secret.”

“Oof.” Taehyung comments.

“Oh, Jungkookie…” Nayeon looks down at him with worried eyes. When he looks up with a sad look, she starts rubbing his shoulders as some sort of comfort, already knowing about what this might be about. “This is about… the thing?”

He nods weakly. “Yes. And no. Uh, well, this is… you know about the birthday trip in the next five days, right? So, she asked me if she could bring, uh, Mingyu along.”

“Oh.” Nayeon utters, looking at Doyeon for confirmation.

Doyeon nods, and then nags, “Ask him what he said.”

Nayeon looks at him. “What did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook looks down in slight shame at Nayeon’s reaction. She completely stops her hands’ ministrations on his shoulder, indicating that even she could not believe what he just did.

This makes Jungkook even feel worse.

Leaning his elbow on his thighs, he runs his fingers through his hair as he says, “I mean, how could I have said no? I would’ve looked like an asshole. Besides, Mingyu and I are college friends. There’s no reason for me to prohibit him from this trip. Like, at all.”

“Yeah, you and Mingyu are college friends but, ultimately, it’s our trip, right? __ would’ve understood if you said no.” Doyeon says, still not over her justification from a while ago.

“I know, I know. But still… I didn’t want to say no to her.” Jungkook tells Doyeon, not having a lot to say more than that.

It’s the plain truth, anyway. He truly, simply does not want to say no to you. Not ever.

“But Jungkook…” Nayeon interrupts. “Would it be okay for you? We know how you feel about the whole – er – Mingyu thing. Can you really take them being close together? Especially on a trip for your birthday?”

Though Nayeon’s voice is soft and her gaze gentle, her words hit him like a ton of bricks.

Truthfully, he doesn’t know what to feel about the whole thing. You dating Mingyu is one thing, but you bringing him along on your trips is another. It means that he’s it.

That you’re getting serious.

He hates himself for hating the idea. Jungkook’s always wanted to be nothing but supportive of you. He’d done it perfectly well with Eunwoo before, and your flings in the past four years have never upgraded past to being solely flings so he never worried about them, but now with Mingyu… it’s hard to pretend like it’s not killing him when you talk about how much you like him.

You have that lovestruck look on your face when Mingyu comes up in a conversation. For the first time in a while, you look genuinely happy. Jungkook always thought that your feelings for Eunwoo still lingered over the past few years – and how could it not, when you were literally engaged to him for a year? You told him one time that he may have been your greatest love… and he fears that it might be the same with Mingyu.

Where does that exactly leave him?

“What I think doesn’t really matter. And it’s just for week.” he murmurs, but the others hear it anyway.

“An excruciating week, you mean.” Doyeon says. She stands up from her chair. “You know what, I’m over this whole thing. I’ve witnessed you pine over her for whole eight years – and I’m just – I’m moving on from this. And I have a surgery. I’m going out.”

Jungkook grimaces when Doyeon heads towards the door.

“Doyeon, don’t be mean to Jungkook. He’s trying his best, you know? The timing is just not right and—”

“What timing?”

As soon as Doyeon twisted the doorknob, pulling the door open to completely head out, you came barging in, cutting off Nayeon’s words.

Her eyes widen a little at your sudden arrival. And Jungkook scrambles to think of an effort to swerve the subject, but Taehyung beats him to it.

“__, heyyy,” he prolongs the word quite unnaturally, chuckling at the end of it for no reason. Jungkook internally notes to tell him later never dare try to save anything ever again.

That makes you furrow your brows in confusion. Directing your look to Doyeon who stopped on her tracks, you ask her instead, “What’s going on? What about Jungkook trying his best?”

Doyeon looks at Jungkook and then you. You wait, but then she just rolls her eyes – just completely done about the whole thing. Like she said earlier.

“He’s trying his best not to be a pussy – well, allegedly.” At that, she goes out of the room, ignoring your calls to pull her back in.

“Uh… I think I have a surgery in twenty. See you guys around. Gotta scrub in.” Taehyung jumps from the other bed and Jungkook makes sure to extend his leg forward so that the older guy trips on it as he walks. “What the fuck, man.” Taehyung looks at him, offense written all over his face.

Jungkook gives him a glare. Taehyung chooses to ignore it rather than prolong it and walks past you at the door.

“Bye, fuckers.”

“Don’t call me a fucker!” Nayeon chimes in but Taehyung’s already out of the room.

“Hey, seriously! What was that?” You head towards the bed where Jungkook and Nayeon are, situating yourself on the far end of the bed to lean on the frame. You take off your sneakers in one swift move and lay your feet on Jungkook’s lap.

“It’s nothing. You know how Doyeon always bullies me…” Jungkook says, ignoring the tingling sensation that starts to creep up his spine at the way you casually initiate physical contact.

He needs to get a grip. You most probably don’t really mean anything by it.

“She does not bully you.” Nayeon rolls her eyes beside him.

“You probably deserve it.” you say, pulling out and eating some strawberry yogurt.

Nayeon laughs at your remark, but then it’s cut short when a pager suddenly beeps. Instantly, all of you take out your own and check if it was yours.

“Alright, that’s my call.”

“Bye. Good luck.” You say, offering your cup to Nayeon, but she only shakes her head. Meanwhile, Jungkook gives her a pair of thumbs up.

When Nayeon leaves the room, you nudge Jungkook with your foot.

“Hey,”

Jungkook looks at you with a brow raised.

“Can you rub my foot? Please rub my foot.” You say, making the best rendition of puppy face, extending your sock-cladded foot in his direction.

He scoffs. “Do you think I’m a pushover?”

You gasp dramatically. “I do not! I think you’re a cool person who’d totally give me foot rubs.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not a cool person who would give you foot rubs.”

You groan. “I gave you a massage weeks ago.”

“That was, like, two months ago.” Jungkook says drily.

“It counts because you didn’t do anything to repay me for my kindness.”

“Oh, you need your kindness paid back?” Jungkook teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You pout at him and then whine. “Please, just three minutes, I swear. I’ll even put up a timer.”

Indeed, Jungkook is a pushover. Pushover to your cute pout and every request. Again, he could just not find it in himself to say no to you. Not even in his wildest dreams.

But it’s never not fun to tease you before he relents. “Fine. Two minutes.” He says, pretending to begrudge the thought of giving you a foot massage, even though inside, he’s quite thrilled to be doing so.

It would be a lie to say that it isn’t one of his favorite past times in the quiet evenings of your apartment. Jungkook loves the weight of your leg on his lap, loves the way you thank him in between groans, and loves that he just gets to be close to you in almost such an intimate way.

“Your feet stink.” Jungkook decides to tease, scrunching his nose, feigning disgust.

“Don’t lie. Also, your feet stink even more, don’t try me.”

“My feet do not stink.”

“Let’s just agree to disagree,” You grin. “I’m starting a timer.” You say, grabbing your phone, pressing some stuff on it before you put it on the mattress.

“Let me see, for all I know, you set it to five instead of three.”

You look at him with widen eyes, stiffening.

“It’s three minutes.”

“Your nostrils are flaring, you’re lying.”

You groan. “Please. Dinner is on me later.”

That obviously catches Jungkook’s attention.

“You’re staying at home for the night?”

You look at him weird. “Yeah, of course. What’s with that face?”

Jungkook shakes his head, hides a small smile as he looks down to your feet on his lap and takes a hold of one. He takes off your sock for you and begins massaging the tendons of your foot, noting the way you immediately lean back and relax.

“Nothing. I just thought you’d be staying at Mingyu’s again.”

“Ah,” you nod your head. When Mingyu's name is mentioned, you visibly frown. It’s the kind of face that you make when you’re deep in thought. “I was supposed to. But I don’t know… we fought this morning.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “You wanna talk about it?”

You shrug. “Not really. It’s a weird argument. I don’t know.”

He wants so badly to poke around and find out… but somehow, there’s something in him that tells him not to bother.

Anyway, you’re going home tonight so that’s all that matters. Jungkook begins to think about what to eat for dinner… he’d love to cook something, nevermind that he’s tired from his overnight shift yesterday. He also only got around four total hours of sleep in the past 48 hours, and that was not even consecutive hours – just the sum. That is why he was in the on-call rooms, until Taehyung suddenly barged in, followed by Doyeon, Nayeon, and then you.

“Oh– there, that’s so good, Jungkook,” you say after a particularly hard press against the ball of your heel.

Jungkook knows better than to let his mind wander upon hearing that from you. He’s massaging you, of course that was gonna be the natural reaction.

It’s also quite pathetic to be even thinking about it in the first place – considering that your mind might most likely be weighed by yours and Mingyu’s argument – your boyfriend.

“Hey, about what I said a few days ago,” you started to speak again, breaking the momentary silence. Jungkook hums to acknowledge you. “I know you said yes to me bringing Mingyu along, but, uh, I’m not sure if he still plans to.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods. Was the argument that bad? “Okay.”

“Yeah. He has to fly over to Arizona for something that week. Told me he may be able to arrive and join us on the second day, which is the exact date of your birthday, but honestly, I’m not sure. His sched changes a lot.”

Deep down, Jungkook wishes Mingyu just opts out of joining in altogether.

But he doesn’t have to tell you that.

“That’s a shame.” he comments, not really meaning it. He massages your other foot with ginger hands, which has you letting out soft sighs again. Jungkook buries them in the back of his head, lest his mind goes to territories that are absolutely humiliating.

“I know…” you trail off. You look like you have more to say as well, but then the door to the room opens. Again.

“Forgot my pager.” Doyeon announces, crossing the room with quick steps to reach for the forgotten thing she left on the table.

When Doyeon’s gaze falls back to the both of you, she raises a brow, and then her eyes direct their way towards Jungkook’s hands on your foot.

You’re about to say something when Doyeon rolls his eyes at Jungkook. Then, without giving you the opportunity to speak, she heads out of the room quickly, leaving Jungkook to look in another direction in quiet shame.

“What was that?” You comment, confused at what just happened.

“Eh, she’s in a sour mood today. It’s regular Doyeon.” Shrugs Jungkook, trying to swerve the subject.

You pout. “Are you two fighting again for real?”

Jungkook chuckles. “No, it’s not serious. You know how Doyeon and I get.”

You squint your eyes, but say nothing nonetheless.

Meanwhile, Jungkook hisses internally.

Jungkook gets Doyeon. You all have been friends since freshman year of med school – the founder of your study group – and she was also the first one to find out about Jungkook’s little crush. He didn’t even have to say it explicitly, she just knew. Eventually, Jungkook told Taehyung. He has quite a big mouth, unfortunately, so when you started your internship at the hospital – he lets it slip in a conversation with Nayeon who was just becoming your friend that time – leading the situation to where it is right now.

Out of all of them, though, Doyeon got it pretty hard. She’s witnessed the early stages of Jungkook’s infatuation towards you in the first semester of med school, had to keep quiet during study sessions. She was even supportive that time, telling Jungkook to just go for it – but then Eunwoo happened, and the confession never saw the light of day.

When they broke up, Doyeon became hopeful again, just as Jungkook was. But you were showing no signs of moving on and Jungkook had no choice but to step back for a bit.

The past two years, though, Doyeon became more insistent, telling him you’re single and it’s the fattest chance Jungkook can ever get.

But she’s right, after all. Jungkook’s a pussy. He hides his feelings well – a pro at the sport, really, at this point.

When Mingyu happened a few months ago, Doyeon’s just over it. She told Jungkook one time in a drinking session that the ship has sunk and he’s going to be in his sixties regretting not ever confessing to you. Sometimes, he wakes up at night in sweat from a nightmare that involved Doyeon murdering him because of his emotional constipation.

Jungkook knows she just wants the best for him – even though she’s more on showing him tough love instead of a gentle one. Doyeon’s always been like that, but she’s a good friend. When things went haywire, she was there to genuinely sympathize with him and console him – together with Taehyung and some of his other friends.

But in Jungkook’s defense, Doyeon just also doesn’t get it.

It’s so easy to just say fuck it and make a confession already, so easy to think about how things could turn positively – but she’s not – they’re not – in Jungkook’s shoes. They will never be.

So many things could go wrong if he ever were to listen to his heart. Sure, he’s had the chance over the past four years – most would say that. But it’s not a chance when you’ve spent half of it moving on from Eunwoo. It’s not a chance when you spent the other half trying to go on dates and fail – each one making you more miserable about your love life, as you told him so many nights ago in those rare special moments in the balcony of your apartment.

Those four years you were single was never a chance – not when you never showed any bit of interest.

It’s the reality that his friends always somehow miss when encouraging him to confess his feelings.

You’re friends for almost a decade now – eight years to be exact – but not once did you ever hint at wanting to be in a relationship with him. Your reaction to that always involved a disgusted expression and a variation of “No way!”. Might be a joke just to tease him – but also might be rooted in something genuine deep down.

Jungkook likes to think that physically, he doesn’t look so bad. He’s nice when he wants to be, especially towards people he cares about. He’s a resident surgeon who makes enough. Could be funny, charming… whatever.

Most of all, he likes to think he could deserve you one of these days. That he could be the man that you’re searching for.

But it’s been eight years and you’ve never once looked at him like how he surely does at you.

God knows how many times Jungkook has tried to move on – how many sleepless nights he has trying to erase the feeling of so much longing for you. Sometimes, it works, when he’s on his casual dates and hook-up with all those women that thankfully fancied him enough. He momentarily forgets about your laugh and your hair and the crinkles on the sides of your eyes when you smile and your soft hands and your gentle voice – but it cracks when the sex is done and he’s staring at the blank ceiling of his date’s apartment, hating himself for yet again seeing your picture in his memory when he’s buried in somebody else, wishing it was you instead.

It hurts so badly. Especially when you seem to look at everybody else except him. You wanted to weed out someone for you – meanwhile, he’s just right under your nose, and yet you don’t see him. It’s at this point, when you have Mingyu as your boyfriend now, that Jungkook is starting to realize that you don’t see him not because you can’t, but because you choose not to.

Regardless, he knows you love him. Knows you care about him on a deeper level. Would probably sacrifice a bit of your time to tend to him if he needs it. But it’s the kind of love that’s not comparable to the one he has for you. Jungkook’s feelings encompass every single kind of love a human could have for another being – but you only have one kind for him. The platonic kind.

And even though it’s painful to face the reality of that very idea, Jungkook thinks that maybe… just maybe… Mingyu’s actually it.

Mingyu wasn’t exactly a saint the last time Jungkook saw him, but people change and the way you seem so genuinely happy these days tells Jungkook that maybe Mingyu’s another version of himself now – the better one who will never hurt you or make you cry.

Maybe this is what love’s all about. You’re content with seeing them happy, even if it’s not with you.

Jungkook thinks that as he steals a glance at you looking at your phone – most probably playing that landlord game on your phone you’ve been obsessed with the past few weeks – and you’re so beautiful like this. Even when you’re probably running on limited hours of sleep just like him.

Your hair is put up in that tulip hairclip you have a lot of, stray hairs framing some parts of your face. But he sees your features just fine – notes the way they are structured so perfectly it truly awes him that men and women didn’t beg for your attention whenever you went out in public.

Because he would. He did. He does. He always teases you for the purpose of your reaction… because Jungkook likes it when you pay attention to him. So much that it kills him to think that maybe, that attention will die soon as you and Mingyu get closer as another week passes by.

The timer that goes off on your phone snaps Jungkook out of his thoughts, and you look at him with widened eyes.

“Don’t st–”

“It’s my turn now,” Jungkook cuts you off and gently places your legs on the mattress, bringing his own on the soft surface as well.

You jut your bottom lip out – and Jungkook feels himself wanting to give in.

“Five minutes is so quick.” You say, but nonetheless takes his shin to your lap.

Jungkook tries hard to sway the butterflies in his stomach at your touch.

“Favor for a favor, remember?” He teases, lifting one of his foot to your direction.

You pretend to gag. “I hate you.”

Jungkook laughs, quite boisterously. Because he knows you don’t mean it. I hate you basically just means I love you but you’re annoying me right now in your own little dictionary – and he always gets giddy whenever you tell him that – as weird as it may sound.

But Jungkook likes this, though.

Sure, it would be so fucking great if he could just confess and lay out his cards all at once, but the chances of you not taking it well is too big – and even though Jungkook’s usually a risk taker, he couldn’t ever risk you all over his dead body.

He can keep his hurt to himself over you feeling anything but romantic towards him – because if he confesses and you don’t feel the same way, he knows damn well that he’ll lose you completely.

And the thought makes him shudder.

That probably catches your sight, so you ask him about it.

Jungkook tells you it’s the AC.

[ DAY 1 | August 31st, 11:04am ]

The beating sun feels uncomfortable on Jungkook’s skin, but there’s no way he’s wasting a day like this holed up in the villa he and his friends chipped in to rent. It costed you all a shit ton of money – might as well enjoy every waking day he gets to spend here.

It’s why he decides to goad Taehyung and Nayeon into coming with him along the shore where sun loungers are lined up to accommodate the few visitors who were also at the resort. He tried to convince Doyeon, but she goes straight to sleep as soon as the rooms were assigned.

He gets it – you all did travel by plane instead of car (because that would've taken you twelve hours) and Doyeon gets airsick whenever she rides in a plane. Jungkook also tried to talk you into it, but you said you were just going to lounge about by the pool at the villa and follow after a while.

Your “after awhile” takes about thirty minutes, and Jungkook thinks you’re missing all the fun, especially when Nayeon and Taehyung are starting to strip off their clothes to submerge themselves in the ocean.

With his loaded watergun, he goes straight back to the villa, and it doesn’t take much time to spot you by the terrace, lying down on a sun lounger with your big hat and sunglasses on, a book opened in your hands.

Unsuspecting, you let out a sudden squeal when Jungkook presses the trigger of the toy in his grip, a spring of water meeting your bare legs. Jungkook obviously tries hard to ignore that you’re wearing a flimsy pair of white bikinis. He saw you pack it two days ago… and he remembers taking too long to move on from the image he’s conjured up in his head upon seeing it.

“Jungkook!”

He chuckles at your reaction, poorly hiding the watergun behind him. “What?”

“I’ll kill you.” You seethe, your body coming forward to sit upright, hastily taking your sunnies off so he can see the cute glare on your face.

“What are you going to do? I have this,” He points to his weapon. “Are you challenging me into a hand-to-hand combat?” Jungkook teases, wiggling his eyebrow.

You groan. Then, you lay back on the lounger again, opening your book, deciding to ignore him.

Jungkook can’t have that, of course. So, he walks closer to your direction, stopping beside you, effectively blocking the sun and in turn, dimming the light source of your book.

“You’re blocking my sun.” You say, looking up at him.

“You’ll get all the sun you want if you haul your ass off to the shore. Come on, we’re all swimming in there,” he tries to convince you, nudging your thigh with his knee.

You give him a pout. You sound whiny when you say, “But it’s too hot.”

“That’s why we’ll get in the water.”

“Don’t be sassy.” You roll your eyes. “I meant the water would be way too hot.”

“It’s not, Nayeon said so.”

You glance at the pool across from you. “Why can’t we all just swim in here?”

Jungkook deadpans. “Because this is a five-foot pool and absolutely no one will enjoy it.”

You frown at him, quietly telling Jungkook he’s right.

“Ugh,” you groan. “But I’ll have to reapply SPF first…” You grab the bottle of lotion that’s just placed on the small table on the side of the lounger. Then you look at him with squinted eyes, “Did you wear sunscreen?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes but nonetheless says yes, knowing how you always nag him about it whenever you guys are at the beach. It’s not even just him. It’s also with your other friends.

He watches as you rub lotion over your body, but when you get to the back, you look up at him and extend the bottle towards his way.

“Can you help me with this, please?” You say.

Jungkook automatically takes the bottle but it takes him a full five seconds to understand what you’re getting at.

You’re asking him to put sunscreen on your back. You’re very naked back that sports nothing but the tiny strings of your bikini holding your chest.

Of course, you don’t notice his dilemma. Twisting in your seat so that your back faces him, you gather your hair to the side, obviously waiting for him to do your request.

But Jungkook’s distracted behind your back. He’s distracted at how smooth it looks under the scorching sun and how easy it would be to paint it with something other than the natural color of your skin.

It’s not even the first time he’ll do this – you’ve been to trips before and putting on sunscreen over your friend is about as natural as it gets like how he would do it as well to Taehyung or even Doyeon or Nayeon if they ask to.

But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect him one bit when it comes to you.

Needless to say, his mind is pre-occupied as he sits down behind you where you left some space for him to sit, squirting the lotion into the palms of his hands, gingerly spreading it over your back once he got it.

“Be sure to cover everything,” you say, obviously not aware about Jungkook’s mental crisis behind your back.

He thinks it’s worth the crisis over though, as you’re so soft under his touch. Jungkook kneads the span of your back, squeezes your waist lightly to even out the cream, and makes sure to put it over your shoulders as well. When his hands fall, he hesitates.

“Should I – uh—”

“Yeah, just go under the strings.” You tell him before he can even finish.

There’s a lump in his throat that he swallows before he goes under the strings of your bikini top, his heart doing funny somersaults against his ribcage as he spreads the lotion over your skin. It guilts him to no end that his mind thinks about how he’s just inches away from your breasts.

He retreats his hand right away. “Done.”

You turn back to him. “Thanks. You want me to do yours?”

“Sure.”

Jungkook sits on the edge of the lounger and lets his back turn to you. He hears the cap of the lotion bottle being opened again and soon your hands are lathering the cream over the expanse of his back.

It’s embarrassing the way he lets himself savor the seconds of your every touch. Embarrassing the way his mind zeroes in on the way your soft hands caress the tendons of his back muscles. He thinks about the weight, how good this feels; your hands on him. Suddenly, there’s a zap of electricity that goes through his spine, and then he feels it.

The twitch in his dick and the blood that he feels rushing to it.

“Okay, you’re done.” You say, tapping his back twice so he can turn to you.

It snaps him out of his thoughts, but his dick is thinking about something else and as he subtly looks down, there’s already a growing semi on the crotch of his trunk shorts.

Jungkook curses himself internally, shutting his eyes close in slight frustration.

Fucking uncooperative dick.

He stands up from the chair when you nudge his back with your foot, thinking that he’d see you coming along in a few seconds. But you don’t, and as he turns his heel to look at you, you’re back in your cozy lying position on the lounger, with your book opened, just like how he saw you when he came in a while ago.

Jungkook parts his lips in disbelief, but also finding the whole thing funny.

“You minx.” He muses, playfully squinting his eyes at you upon realizing the trick you just pulled.

“Enjoy the beach, Jungkook. Send my regards to Taehyung and Nayeon.” You say, giving him a taunting flying kiss. “And thank you for reapplying my sunscreen.”

Jungkook chuckles at your remark, and just like that, he forgets about his stubborn dick, and goes over back to you, blocking your sun once again.

“You’re blocking my sun again— Jungkook!”

It’s predictable the way you hurl a series of creative curses at him as Jungkook forcefully picks you up from the chair, knocking your hat and your book on the ground as he hoists you against his shoulder, carrying you upside down like a sack of potatoes.

“Jungkook, I swear to god!” You squeal, repeatedly slapping his back as he walks to the direction of the shore, but Jungkook’s nothing but a solid muscle, firm over his hold on the back of your legs.

“Be quiet.” He says, chuckling at your sounds of opposition.

“I hate you, you’re such a prick, ugh!”

He picks up his walking pace and you scream again when you see the ocean water from your view.

Jungkook chuckles as you continue to plant your fists on his back, and when the water reaches his knees, he throws you in it.

“Fuck. You!” You say, glaring at Jungkook in the middle of his uncontrollable laughter.

“Come on, Taehyung and Nayeon are over there,” he points to the deeper part of the ocean a few feet from where you are, and when you turn your head, you see Taehyung and Nayeon with their floaties.

“Ugh…” Jungkook hears you groan before you follow behind him. When Jungkook looks back, he sees you paddling around the water like some puppy, and he snickers to himself. That earns him a splash on his way, with you rolling your eyes at him.

“Jungkook! __!” Yells Nayeon over their direction, waving her hand around. Taehyung and her are perched on the big floatie they fought over with at the villa earlier.

“Jungkook,” calls you behind him.

You’re starting to cross the deeper part of the ocean and it’s within Jungkook’s chest now. Meanwhile, your friends are still about a few feet away, so the level would definitely be on his neck by the time. You’re considerably tall, but Jungkook’s still half a head taller than you, so when he looks back at you, the water’s already reached your shoulders.

“This is way too deep!” You complain.

“Don’t be a pussy, __!” Comments Taehyung from afar.

“Fuck off,” you murmur and then beckons Jungkook to you. “Help me a bit here.”

Jungkook shakes his head, chuckling as he moves a few steps back to get to your direction.

“You big baby, you never learned how to swim, have you?” He teases, playfully clicking his tongue.

“What for?” You say when he gets near.

Jungkook feels pleased with himself about you asking for his help to cross the deeper part of the ocean, but he’s met with surprise when you heavily plant your palms on his shoulders, causing him to be out of balance and tripping over his feet under the water.

It causes a misstep and he nearly chokes as he comes back up for air again only to see you laughing your ass off. Nayeon and Taehyung are also laughing along, even from afar, and Jungkook wipes the back of his hand over his eyes to see clearly.

“That’s for throwing me in the water earlier,” you say in between your snickers and Jungkook’s just about to say something back when you suddenly wrap your hands around his neck from the back, your legs locking around his waist. “Carry me to the floatie, pretty please,” you say against his cheek in a sing-song voice.

With that, Jungkook feels your whole entire body against his back, your breasts pressing against his skin. He ignores the way the physical contact makes his body tingle, and he hopes you don’t notice his blush when he raises his arms to hold the back of your legs.

“Only because you’re annoying.” He pretends to sound annoyed, but the laugh that comes out of you at the remark makes him smile anyway.

[ DAY 1 | August 31st, 11:35pm ]

Your daytime activities at the beach included jetskiing – one that knocked Taehyung off the water way too many times that he just gave up halfway through it. When Doyeon woke up a little later in the afternoon, all of you decided to get food from the dining hall and ate your hearts out at the buffet.

The day ended with all of you back in your assigned rooms again. Since you rented a two-bedroom villa, Jungkook’s rooming with Taehyung in the secondary bedroom while Nayeon, Doyeon, and you are all inside the primary one since it’s bigger.

It’s past thirty minutes to eleven in the night when somebody knocks on Jungkook’s shared bedroom with Taehyung. When Jungkook looks at him from across the room, he’s knocked out on the sofa, soft snores coming out from his mouth. Him and Jungkook decided to take turns with the bed itself throughout the whole vacation. There’s an extra cushion Taehyung could’ve laid on the floor, but he was way too tired to set it up and to even care – looks like he doesn’t really need it, though, since he looks so peaceful in his position.

Grumbling, Jungkook gets out from the sheets, scratching his bare chest and rubbing the back of his head as he walks over to the door to open it.

When he does, he’s welcomed by the sight of you in your big grey hoodie and some shorts.

“Wear something.” You say as soon as you take in his appearance.

Jungkook’s habit of going to sleep with only his boxers knows no bounds. Even when it’s below 20 degrees Celsius outside, he always opts out of his pajamas, choosing to go bare in his sheets instead. In his defense for now, the duvet is thick and it provided him with enough protection against the cold of the AC and the summer night.

“What are you doing here?” He says as he trudges back inside the room to wear a pair of sweatpants hanging from the chair.

“Rude.” You comment, following him in the room. You look at Taehyung’s passed out state in the couch. “He’s going to wake up in the evening tomorrow and miss your birthday.”

That makes Jungkook smirk, remembering Taehyung’s high energy in the morning.

“No consequences. It’s vacation week.” Jungkook raises his eyebrows. “Seriously, what brought you here? It’s almost midnight.”

You sit on the edge of the bed. That’s when Jungkook notices the black plastic you’re carrying in your hand. “It’s not that late. Let’s head out for a bit.”

He raises a brow, confused. “Where to?”

“You’re going to find out. Wear a jacket, it’s a bit cold outside.” You say as you stand up from the bed again, heading for the door.

Jungkook’s confusion just grows with passing seconds. Nonetheless, he can’t say he’s not intrigued.

Unsure, he goes for his small luggage and takes out the only hoodie he packed. It’s grey as well, matching the one you have on. Jungkook tries to shake that thought off his head as you both quietly head out of the room.

It’s late into the night and when you head out of the villa, there’s not many people hanging along the shore anymore.

“Follow me,” you tell him, and Jungkook does.

It may have been his drowsiness that kept him quiet throughout the whole walk – just quietly following along with you, your rented villa no longer in his line of sight. Jungkook couldn’t exactly pinpoint where you currently are, but this side of the beach is a bit rocky, and much, much colder. He feels it even through the thick material of his hoodie.

“We’re here.” You announce, a proud lilt to your voice. Jungkook bumps with your back when you suddenly stop on your tracks. It prompts a chuckle from you, turning back to him so Jungkook sees the crinkles on the sides of your eyes as you do so.

It makes his lips curl. “What’s this?” He curiously asks, looking around.

Your grin grows wider. “We’re gonna take those stairs and it’s gonna lead us to some pretty view.” Jungkook looks to the direction you pointed at, seeing the stairs you just referred to. Still unsure, he glances back at you. You laugh. “You remember when Doyeon and I went out for a walk earlier for a bit? We found this place.”

Jungkook nods. “I see. Thought for a second there you found a place to dispose my body at.”

You snort as you take Jungkook’s wrist to hold on to as you climb to the stairs.

“I won’t do it as such a public place.”

“So, you really are thinking about it in the first place.” Jungkook nods his head, guiding your back up the jagged stairs. You manage to get to the smoother surface and Jungkook’s quick to follow you towards the straight path of the narrow walkway.

“It’s my favorite past time, really.” You look back at him cheekily, a playful grin painting your lips. Jungkook scoffs.

The hallway is colonnaded with some flags, and there’s an edge where the concrete stops, the ocean water splashing against the big rocks beneath the broken bridge.

You set aside the black plastic you’ve been carrying around and Jungkook realizes they’re Smirnoffs. Sitting on the concrete, you let your feet hang on the edge.

“Hey, be careful,” Jungkook comments as he sees you do that. This part of the ocean isn’t necessarily far – where you were earlier when you were swimming was far deeper, but still, it could be dangerous if you make a mistake. Jungkook wonders what the designers of the beach thought about when they made this plan.

“Come on, don’t be fussy. Sit here with me.” You say, patting the space beside you.

Jungkook follows, of course, and you scoot to the side a little to give him more room.

“It’s nice, right,” You look at him, cocking your head to the side.

Jungkook feels the breeze of cool wind passing, and it’s a bit strong that it moves his fringes and yours as well. You put your hair up as usual in that big metal clip you always wear, but some strands of your hair escape and they frame your face.

With your big hoodie on and smile, Jungkook thinks you look extra cozy. He may have been hot and bothered by your bikini ensemble earlier, but now he’s bothered for another reason. He can’t stop thinking about cuddling you under the night sky full of stars at the very moment.

“Feels good.” Jungkook comments. He plants his palms on the hard surface of the concrete behind him, leaning back as he looks to your side. “You wanted to drink here?”

“Oh, yeah,” You say, twisting your body a little to pick up the plastic cellophane. You take out two bottles of Smirnoffs and offer one to him which he gladly takes. Taking a bottle opener out, you’re about to open your drinks when Jungkook offers to do it for the both of you. You don’t protest, just let him do his thing, smiling when he hands you your Smirnoff.

“This is really nice.” Jungkook sighs after he takes the first sip, looking straight ahead to the mountainous view in front of you.

You hum, seemingly enjoying the moment as well. Jungkook takes a quick glance at your side profile and then quickly looks back ahead when he feels you do the same.

“Why’d you bring me here?” He asks.

“Nothing. I couldn’t sleep, and I thought I could bring you here. So.” You shrug.

Jungkook nods.

“I’m turning thirty-one tomorrow. Or, in an hour, actually.” He says, automatically looking at his wrist but then realizing he took off his watch and left it at the bedside table. He didn’t take his phone with him either.

“I know. You’re so old now.” You tell him with a teasing tone in your words.

“Fuck off,” he snorts. “I’m only a year older than you.”

“Hmm… still old. Imagine, you turn fifty, I would still be forty-nine.”

Jungkook laughs at that.

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, babe.” He lets the pet name slip, and he did not mean to. It just rolled off his tongue for some reason. Quite easily, too.

You don’t seem to care – or even notice – as you chuckle.

There’s a comfortable silence that hangs in the air again when Jungkook decides to break it.

“Hey, I really appreciate you for coming along. You and the gang, really. This is a really good trip so far.”

You give him a smile as you look at him. It’s one of those pretty ones that are a bit small but there’s a certain shine to your eyes and Jungkook just really loves looking at you with a smile on your face. You’re so pretty, he thinks he’s so lucky to even get the chance to look at you.

“You know we all need this trip, right? I think it’s all our first time vacationing in two years.”

He nods, chuckling to himself. It’s true. The last time was the Thailand trip and it felt like eons ago. Being a resident surgeon means less free time for leisure – and so you always make sure to spend your days off wisely. Even this trip took a lot of pre-planning to be possible just so all of your schedules would match.

“It’s crazy, though…” you say suddenly.

Jungkook cocks a brow at you. “What’s crazy?”

“That we’ve known each other for like – what? Eight years?”

Eight years and four months to be exact. Jungkook’s not keeping count – he just will never forget the exact moment he met you for the very first time.

It’s truly one of his core memories – knowing you. He remembers having to pass by the law library to meet Jimin – one of his closest friends who was studying law at the same grad school as him at the time. They were planning to eat out for lunch, but then he saw a woman at the individual study areas with a reading material that’s familiar with his. Netter’s Atlas of Human Anatomy. You wore that maroon hairclip you loved so much during first year (Jungkook remembers you losing it in the second semester and how he bought you another one in your birthday), and when you looked up from your book for awhile, taking a break from taking notes on your iPad, that was when Jungkook saw your face and he nearly falls over back then.

It’s common knowledge among your mutual friends and acquaintances that you’re pretty. It’s the first thing that Jungkook noticed about you, the reason why he harbored an instant crush. That pretty much turned into… well – something deeper as the years passed by and he got to know you more than just your beautiful physical appearance.

He found it strange at the time to find somebody who was obviously a med student studying at the law library, but he soon found out it was because you didn’t like studying at the med lib, said you felt too much pressure being among your fellow med students. Jungkook understood that in a spiritual level, and so when you became friends, you studied a lot at the law lib, until you met Doyeon and she formed a study group. It wasn’t long before Taehyung joined the equation.

Looking back at it, Jungkook thinks it’s surreal. How knowing you led to him knowing more people that would soon be important in his life up until the age of thirty-one.

“Almost a decade.” He says, can’t help but smile at the thought.

“Right? It feels so surreal sometimes that we all knew each other at, like, twenty-three and twenty two. And now we’re in our thirties.”

“When you put it like that…” Jungkook trails off, laughing at how young you actually were eight years ago.

“Yeah, I know!” You giggle. You look ahead, then you laugh again to yourself. Jungkook looks at you in confusion, giving you a questioning look at your sudden burst of laughter. Looking at him, you shake your head, “This is a bit of a TMI, but I was twenty-two when I entered med school, so I just lost my virginity three years ago. You know what’s funny? I’ve always thought I would lose my virginity, at like, thirty. Or twenty-seven. But that was even way too early for me.”

Jungkook almost splutters at the way you casually bring it up. He takes the bottle of Smirnoff away from him and looks at you with a chuckle. “Losing your virginity at nineteen is common.”

“Well, did you? Lose yours at nineteen?” You arch a brow.

“Nope.” Jungkook shakes his head, tipping his head back to drink again.

“Younger?” You ask again.

Jungkook chuckles at your curiosity. Much to your surprise, he shakes his head again. “Nah. Junior year. I just turned twenty-one. Lost it with my first girlfriend.”

Your lips part and Jungkook meets your shocked stare, brow cocked upwards.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“What? No, I’m not.” He laughs. He gets your surprise, though. Taehyung couldn’t believe it either when it came up in a random conversation.

You still look incredulous as you say, “You mean, like you never dated until junior year of undergrad?”

Jungkook shakes his head once again. “Yes, and no…? I mean, I had a… sort of girlfriend? Back in highschool, yeah, but it was more of like a mutual crush thing rather than an official relationship. But yeah, never dated and never had sex ‘til I found my first girlfriend in third year.”

You look at him suspiciously still, and Jungkook can’t help but laugh even more at your reaction.

“I really don’t believe you.”

“What’s so surprising about that?” Jungkook knows the answer, though. He sleeps around, and you know that. It’s probably why you can’t believe he’s only started having sex until third year of college.

You’re quiet for a bit.

“So… you and that girlfriend broke up, and then…” you trail off, letting him finish the pieces.

Jungkook chuckles, recalling some memories that he thought were already hidden well at the back of his head.

Jiyeon. Her name was Park Jiyeon, his first girlfriend. He was the one who ended things – and not because he didn’t have feelings for her. It was the other way around.

“Yeah,” Jungkook fills in. “Didn’t date seriously after that.”

“Uh… was it a bad break-up?” You say, and there’s hesitance in your voice. When Jungkook looks at you, you open your mouth to take your question back, probably, but Jungkook just gives you a warm smile.

“Yeah. It was bad. But I don’t really think about it now.”

You nod. “I see.” You say, looking ahead at the ocean again. “You dated… quite seriously again in our last year of med school, though.”

“Sora?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook nods, remembering the only one-year relationship he had. Min Sora was a fashion magazine director at the time. Jungkook liked her as she did, but they had too many differences that lead to too many arguments. Sora ended things before the relationship dragged out. Jungkook was grateful for it. They’re casual as of now… good friends, maybe?

“I always wondered why she broke up with you.” You say quietly.

Jungkook doesn’t expect that. “You wondered about that?”

“Yeah. I mean, you seemed like you were both really into each other, so I just thought… you know,” you shrug.

“Ah. That,” Jungkook looks afar, recalling the day when she ended things with him. It had been because of the stress that the last year of med school brought – he likes to think that. But it was also during the time when Eunwoo proposed to you and what he thought was feelings forgotten for you came back resurfacing and Sora just… figured him out. She told him he loved you, and she’s got no spare time to compete with that. Denying it at the time was futile – Sora was smart. A wise, independent woman. She ended the relationship herself before she got deeply hurt. Jungkook has always felt sorry about how things turned out. No, he doesn’t regret the break-up – just regrets the way he hurt her – unintentionally – even though she didn’t show it.  “Just didn’t work out, I guess.”

You nod again.

Silence sits in the air.

It feels a little strange to talk about these things now. It’s not that you both never share these aspects about your lives to each other, but it’s the first time you ask him about Sora. He never really bothered to share, though, for the record.

From his periphery, he sees you taking your phone out from your pocket, then gasping.

Jungkook immediately looks at you to see what’s wrong. You show him your phone and he notes nothing of significance first before you say, “It’s 12:01 am. It’s September first!”

“Oh.”

“Happy birthday, Kook.” You say, smiling at him, and it’s an underestimation for Jungkook to say he nearly gets blinded by it. You look so gorgeous in your happy smile, so genuine, so warm, so cozy in your big grey hoodie.

Jungkook wants so bad to plant his lips on yours right then and there, but he reminds himself that he can’t do that. He reminds himself that you’re taken. That you like somebody else. The somebody else arriving tomorrow, as per your words earlier this day when he asked about Mingyu.

Still, it doesn’t stop Jungkook from mirroring your smile.

“Thank you.”

“And, before I forget,” you stuff your hands in the pocket of your hoodie and Jungkook watches as you take out a small rectangular box. As he pays you a glance, you’re a little bit shy, not looking straight into his eyes as you say, “Uh. I saw this somewhere, and I thought you’d like it.”

You extend your hand to him and Jungkook lets go of his beer to take the velvety green box from you.

He feels jittery as he takes it in, caresses the ribbon first before opening it altogether.

What’s inside surprises him.

“It didn’t cost much so don’t throw it away,” you say, uncharacteristically defensive. Jungkook can’t see your expression, but he bets your thoughts are going haywire as it takes him awhile to say anything about your gift. You always get nervous when it comes to gifts. “... and anyway, it’s not even my real gift. My real gift is a hairdryer, so I’m sure you’re gonna like that better. But it’s cute, right? You can hang it in your keyholder or something—”

“__,” Jungkook cuts you off, his eyes still on the keyring laying on the box. “You’re giving this to me?”

“Y-yeah. It’s… uh… cute, right? I thought it was cute.” You say, and when Jungkook looks at you, he sees the adorable way your brows furrow.

He chuckles, looking at the keyring again. It’s a silver Claddagh.

“Do you know what this means?” Jungkook asks.

“The what?”

Jungkook points to the Claddagh. “This symbol.”

You look away as you say, “No, not really. I just thought it’s a cool keychain. You told me you like keychains, but I don’t ever see you with a keychain. So.”

With your nostrils flaring a little, he knows you’re lying. You definitely know what the Claddagh symbol means.

But instead of goading you about it, Jungkook takes the keyring out of the box and hangs it over his finger, admiring the item.

“Thank you. This is really cute, and I love it.” Jungkook tells you, giving you a soft smile.

You stare at him and then cave into a smile of your own. “I’m glad you do.”

Jungkook looks at the Claddagh again and smiles heartily.

His heart aches with so much yearning and longing when you go back to the villa that night, spending about three minutes staring at the Claddagh you gifted him that he immediately hangs in his key holder. Jungkook thinks he’s going to transfer it to his work bag or the back of his rearview mirror, but his keyholder would do for now.

You love him alright, certainly not the way he does, but it’s enough for him.

[ DAY 2 | September 1st, 11:55pm ]

It was not a secret among Nayeon, Doyeon, and Taehyung that Jungkook’s mood considerably plummeted down as soon as Mingyu called you early in the morning that he’d be landing in the afternoon.

Afternoon came, and he tried to suck it up like a grown man – and because as far as you know, they’re both friends. And Mingyu’s your boyfriend. He should be nothing but supportive.

But it was especially hard when you gushed about being excited that he was finally here. It’s been four months since you started seeing each other, two months since you officially dated, but somehow, Jungkook still could not process it.

He knows he’s being unfair. To you and to himself. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help the feeling of ugly bitterness that sat in his heart as you told him about how Mingyu rented another villa so you both could room together, effectively taking you away from the rest of your friends.

Of course, you all spent his birthday together – doing tons of water activities in the ocean, eating at the dining hall, and roaming around for some more leisure time, but Jungkook could not help but think that ever since Mingyu’s arrived, you’ve been sticking with him, even taking the time away from the gang to show your boyfriend around the resort.

Even at the villa’s porch where all of you took out your foldable chairs to drink outside, you were with Mingyu, perched on his lap, laughing at the jokes getting thrown around in the circle.

He tried not to look too much at how Mingyu comfortably wrapped one arm around your waist while the other held a drink, how you leaned into his touch, and how easily he blended with the group with his charm.

“Where’d you get the ice cream?” Doyeon asked as Taehyung sat down on his chair with a small bowl of the sweet treat.

“Fridge. Nayeon and I bought it earlier.”

“There’s ice cream?” Mingyu asked, in which Taehyung nodded to. He turned to you. “Do you want it?”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed in confusion. “__’s lactose intolerant.” He noticed everybody suddenly looking at him. Feeling cornered, he drank from his beer to avoid their gazes.

Mingyu, obviously surprised by the declaration, glanced back at you. “Baby, you didn’t tell me that?”

You winced. “It’s not really a big deal.” you waved him off and when you laugh.

“Yeah, she’s stubborn about it. She can inhale five cones in one sitting.” Taehyung said which made everybody laugh. Jungkook knew it was to lighten the mood. So, he laughed as well, even though from his periphery, he could see you giving him daggers through your eyes.

Jungkook doesn’t know why you had to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. Sure, Taehyung’s right about you not taking your lactose intolerance seriously sometimes, but you’ve also gotten into a lot of trouble because of it, hence why you’ve been making conscious efforts to not eat dairy.

The whole day leaves a sour impression on him with Mingyu around. Quite a shame, really, since he started his birthday so well with you taking him to the far-end of the beach to drink and give him a Claddagh.

When the night becomes much darker, Jungkook sits on the terrace near the pool all by himself. Everybody’s fast asleep at this point. He doesn’t know about you, though, ‘cause you’ve probably transferred all your stuff to the other villa Mingyu rented around.

“Hey,”

Jungkook looks at the embodied voice that suddenly calls. He sees it’s Doyeon.

“Hey,” Jungkook smiles, taking the other bottle of beer on the coffee table and offering it to her.

She waves his hand. “Nah, I’ve had enough for the whole day.” Doyeon situates herself on the folding chair next to Jungkook.

Jungkook nods, looking straight ahead to the pool. They sit in comfortable silence for a while until Doyeon speaks.

“Hey, I’m sorry for the last week,”

Jungkook glances at her with a small smile. “What for?”

“For calling you a pussy. And just… being harsh. Had a tough week and your emotional constipation just pissed me off more. You’re still a pussy, but I shouldn’t have rubbed it off your face.” She says.

Jungkook stares at her with parted lips.

“Wow. I don’t know if that’s an actual apology.”

“It’s an apology with a hundred percent realness, you know I don’t baby anybody.”

“Hah,” Jungkook scoffs, amused. “Yeah. Well, you’re right, though. Today’s been…”

Doyeon sighs. “It’s hard on you, right?”

Jungkook can only give her a meaningful smile.

“But you don’t exactly have the right to get jealous… she’s not your girlfriend and you two are not anything,” Doyeon says, and it tugs at Jungkook’s heartstrings. Meanwhile, she looks ahead and continues to speak. “It’s hard when you have all these feelings for someone, but you have to hide it. You just want to show everybody they mean so much to you, but you can’t. It sucks.”

Jungkook thinks she’s still talking about his situation with you but then as he glances at her, she seems to be deep in thought. As if she’s actually speaking from her own experience.

He’s intrigued by that, of course.

“Woah, are you still talking about me?”

That seems to get Doyeon out of her trance.

She rolls his eyes. “Who else would I be talking about?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something. You guys have always had the theory that Doyeon has a secret boyfriend. It’s silly at best but sometimes, he thinks it’s true. Doyeon has never been the type to wear her heart on her sleeve, though. She’s tough and she’s frank a lot of times. But she’s the kind of friend who’d call you a bitch in your face but then would go to all the lengths to defend you from everybody.

“Okay.” Jungkook nods, dropping the subject.

“Has she told you yet?” Doyeon asks suddenly.

“What?” He mirrors back, knowing exactly who the she Doyeon’s referring to.

“She’s planning to move in with him some of these days.”

“I…” Jungkook stops, his mouth opening and closing like a fish in water. To say that he’s stunned is an understatement. Obviously, you haven’t told him anything.

“You don’t know.” Doyeon says upon realization.

Jungkook shakes his head. “She didn’t tell me.”

Doyeon lets out a loud sigh. “It’s not really set in stone, though, that’s what she said. But they’re discussing it.”

“Ah.” Jungkook nods and looks ahead at the pool. Another beat of silence, a sip of beer, and then he scoffs. “I really should’ve confessed even way back then, huh?” He laughs but there’s no humor in it.

Doyeon stares at him. “I didn’t tell you about that so you can regret not telling your feelings for her earlier.”

“I didn’t—”

“I told you that so you can move on, Jungkook.”

Jungkook closes his mouth shut.

She looks away. “You remember the time I liked you in med school?”

“Doyeon…” Jungkook’s lips part, not at all expecting for her to bring that up. It’s been so long ago and ever since… Doyeon’s confession, they never really talked about it again.

“Oh my god, look at your face,” She laughs. “God, do you think I still like you? I moved on the day after you rejected me.”

“I didn’t reject you.” Jungkook defensively says.

She rolls her eyes. “I asked you if you were interested and you didn’t say anything. You just looked at me like this,” Doyeon stiffens her body and widens her eyes in a comical rendition of Jungkook’s famous OJO face.

Jungkook can’t help but scoff. “That was the strangest confession that happened to me, though. You told me you liked me in the straightest face ever, I still think it was a cruel prank of some sort.”

Doyeon bursts into laughter, and Jungkook follows along, recalling that time.

“Yeah… that was funny. But… it was real, not a prank at all. I don’t remember why I liked you, though.”

Jungkook looks at her incredulously. “Okay, but that’s actually the most hurtful thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Doyeon rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips still. “Anyway, I brought it up because that was the same day when I realized you like __. I mean, I had my suspicions, but I confirmed it around the time.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Was really surprised when you told me that. I thought I hid it pretty well.”

“Yeah, but not to me. You know, I don’t even know how __ didn’t figure it out herself. You’d always follow her around and in our study sessions, you always stayed up late with her and was overly attentive. Whenever Taehyung asked you too much, you sort of like reached a point where you just told him to suck it up. But if it was __, you were so patient,” Doyeon giggles. “She had a really hard time with Biochem. I remember you tutoring her all the time.”

“That was…” Jungkook bows his head down, a bit embarrassed at being read like that. “She cried a lot during first year.”

Doyeon purses her lips. “Yeah…”

Both stare ahead again, with nothing to say for a few more seconds. Jungkook continues to sip his bear while Doyeon quietly sits.

“I have this biased notion about Mingyu,” Doyeon speaks up. Jungkook looks at her she continues, “I keep on telling myself, he’s probably gonna fuck up anytime soon – and that’s because deep inside, I still want you and __ together. You know I’ve always wanted you both to be together. It’s hard to see __ struggling with her love life. She almost failed the internship when Eunwoo broke up with her, and I don’t want her to go through that again as her friend. It’s hard, because I can’t do anything about it. I think of you, and how much you love her, and I think you’re good for her… but at the same time, I feel bad for thinking that. Because I can see that Mingyu makes her happy. It’s different with the other guys she dated before him. She’s truly happy with him, and I find it hard to think that Mingyu’s gonna break her heart. He seems… nice… and that he’d be good for her, you know what I mean?”

Jungkook’s quiet, processing her words.

Doyeon sighs before she speaks again. “But that hurts you in the process, doesn’t it? Seeing her happy but not with you. You’re both my friends and I’m in the position where it’s hard for me to situate myself in a certain place. Because I want __ to be happy, but I also want you to be happy – but your happiness is interconnected and it’s… tricky. It’s a tricky situation.”

Jungkook doesn’t realize that he’s gripping the neck of the bottle quite tightly at Doyeon’s words, but he listens.

“I don’t normally say things like this, Jungkook, but I’m your friend so I’m just gonna let this go,” Doyeon finally looks at him, and he meets her gaze. “It hurts me to see you hurting like this. It hurts Taehyung and Nayeon as well, but they won’t say it. Just… just be… just be okay, please?”

Jungkook exhales a sharp, shaky breath.

He knows what Doyeon meant by that. She’s asking him to… find happiness on his own. Happiness that doesn’t lie on __’s reciprocity because with the way things are going, that’s impossible. She’s planning to move in with Mingyu, and most of all, she seems genuinely happy.

“I… I know. Thank you.” Jungkook says, not really knowing what to say.

Doyeon chuckles. “Do you want a hug?”

He looks at her with a smile. “I could use one right now, yeah.”

Doyeon laughs before standing up and going over to where Jungkook sits on his own sun chair. When she steps in front of him, Jungkook wraps his arms around her waist and lets himself rest the side of his head on her stomach, closing his eyes when Doyeon pats the crown of his head.

“Belated happy birthday, Jungkook.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Thanks. You’re unusually mushy today.”

Doyeon pinches his ear slightly which earns her a groan.

The two stay like that for a few more seconds when suddenly, Jungkook hears a familiar voice.

“Oh, h-hey guys,”

Jungkook immediately looks ahead to see you standing from the other side of the terrace, looking at him and Doyeon. At that, Doyeon lets go of him, twisting her body to look in your direction. Jungkook retreats his arms back to his side and smiles to acknowledge you.

“I thought you were sleeping already.” He says.

“Yeah, what brought you here?” Doyeon asks.

You approach them with unusually slow steps, as if reluctant. “Left my wallet here. Just realized it a while ago,” you say. After that, you stop on your tracks. Your gaze falls between them with an unsure smile on your face. “You two drinking?”

“Nah, Jungkook is.” Doyeon says, pointing to the bottle of Smirnoffs on the small table beside Jungkook’s chair. Then, she looks under her own. “Where’d you leave your wallet?”

“Over my chair earlier.” You give her a smile again. But somehow, it looks a bit awkward. A little forced. Jungkook knows you well enough to identify your smiles.

And as he looks at you longer, he realizes you have a certain color on your face, but it’s one of those expressions he can’t read.

“Well,” you blurt out after a beat of silence. Looking around, you go over to where you were sitting earlier then duck. “I think I left it here…” you trail off. Jungkook’s just about to stand up to help as well when you suddenly pull up a brown leather, grinning at both of them. “Yay.”

Jungkook chuckles. “That would’ve been the third wallet you’ll lose this year.”

You mirror his laughter, and Doyeon joins in.

There’s another pause and then hesitantly, you ask, “Did I… uh… disturb something? Or…”

“What?” Doyeon asks with furrowed brows. “No,”

“Ah, okay,” you smile at her and then insert your wallet in your shorts. “Anyway, I’m heading back to Mingyu. The villa he rented is just at the back of ours, so… feel free to visit anytime or whatever.”

“Sure.” Jungkook says. He didn’t mean it to sound clipped and short but he must have unintentionally let the tone slip, as you and Doyeon immediately give him a look. He clears his throat. “I mean, of course. Tomorrow?”

You nod.

You look at him. And then, you point between him and Nayeon. “Are you two staying up here late?”

“Nah, I’m heading to bed actually.” Doyeon says, picking up her phone from the sun lounger.

“Yeah, me too.” Jungkook puts the beer to the coffee table and stands up.

You nod. “Okay, then. Well, good night to you two.”

“Alright, good night. I’ll head out first.” Doyeon says before disappearing into the sliding door that leads straight to the villa’s living room.

You soon turn your heels back to head out as well, but Jungkook calls after you. Turning around, you hum, acknowledging him. “Hm?”

“Good night, stinky.”

You deadpan. “Night, fucker.”

Jungkook laughs, watching your retreating back as you leave.

[ DAY 4 | September 3rd , 3:05 am ]

Jungkook likes to work out when he has a lot in his mind. But sometimes, he opts for jogging or walking around to clear his head.

With the turn of events since Mingyu’s arrival and Doyeon informing him about your plans on furthering your relationship with Mingyu, he finds himself along by the shore at three am with high hopes to clear his mind. It doesn’t give the solution, but it temporarily does the job.

Inserting his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, he looks ahead at the view of the ocean, trying so hard to shut his head down with overbearing thoughts of you. It’s no use, though, it’s always filled with thoughts of you and you alone.

Jungkook thinks about the time in med school when he thought he was completely over you. It had been after you made it official with Eunwoo two months into seeing him. He thought it would be a “bigger person” thing to do, moving on, that is, after you announced that you got a boyfriend – but then later on, when he slept with other women or had his casual dates, you suddenly popped up in his head randomly, and his heart suddenly ached when Eunwoo would drop by the university to fetch you. He felt ugly bitterness when you smiled too much whenever Eunwoo was brought up in the conversation. He found himself wishing it was him instead – the guy you thought of buying shirts for, the guy you randomly thought of when you saw something at the mall or the park, or the guy you called when you needed anything.

It was that spring break in second year when he realized that he loved you, after trying hard to brush his feelings off for you as a mere infatuation because you were gorgeous and smart.

He finds himself thinking about the time when he almost let out his heart when you had a fall-out with Eunwoo during your third year. Thinks about how pathetic he was for thinking that he finally had the chance. It had been when you called him at midnight, crying onto the phone as you asked him if he wasn’t busy. Jungkook had been studying for a Clinical Skill Assessment at that time, but he’d have been a fool to make you feel lonely when you already seemed like you were not fine. So, he had set aside his studying that night and went right over to your place. You told him about how Eunwoo was going cold, how Eunwoo was getting too close to the senior architect at his firm which you’d been having huge arguments about during those days – Jungkook remembered feeling broken at the sight of you crying, could feel himself building up hatred for the guy who was fucking up his chance with the woman he did not deserve. He thought about how he would never do that to you, thought about how he could be better for you – the envy bubbling inside his heart too big to ignore.

Jungkook remembered thinking how he would never fuck up any chances with you, and how Eunwoo was a fucking idiot for even making you feel that way.

That night, he almost kissed you. And the day after that, you avoided him like the plague.

Doyeon told him he was just as much of a big fucking idiot as Eunwoo for doing that. And Jungkook remembered regretting that night, and swearing off to never, ever make a move on you ever again because your avoidance of him made him feel like the biggest fucking piece of shit to ever exist on Earth.

He remembers you didn’t talk to him for about a month. And he remembers fearing that that was finally it.  

Of course, you made up – you’re still in his life. You let him still be in your life even though he betrayed your trust. The trust that lies on the fact that he was your best friend. Someone who was not supposed to take advantage of your vulnerability, someone who did not suddenly try to kiss you when you were at your worst.

It was a memory you two weren’t fond of. Heck, you’ve never ever brought it up not even once since it happened. When you finally talked to him again after that, you did not let him apologize for what he did – just shut him down by saying that you two should just forget about it and never mention it again. You made it clear that you did not want to talk about it – not at all, not in a million years.

Again, Jungkook has had a million attempts to move on. Especially when you got back together with Eunwoo. He did temporarily, when Sora came into the picture. He genuinely did like her, even more than his first girlfriend in college, and he thought he could eventually love her the same way he does you, but Eunwoo suddenly proposed… and his defense came crumbling down. The fear of losing you once again was too overwhelming that he ruined the relationship with Sora because admittedly, he had always been pathetic like that.

Even now that you’re with Mingyu, he’s still pathetic. He still thinks that one day, you can finally look at him. Like, really look at him and feel anything but friendly towards him. It’s extremely pathetic that he keeps on telling himself that your friendship will be enough, but then deep down, it’s not.

Jungkook shuts his eyes close when he feels the cool breeze of the wind hitting his skin under the hoodie. He lets himself stand there for a while, just trying to bask in the surroundings, ignoring the heavy feeling that sits in his heart.

But then he smells a sudden waft of smoke, and he knits his brows as he opens his eyes back again, turning to the direction of the smell.

When he turns back, he sees a familiar figure of a man.

“Mingyu?”

Mingyu glances back at him with the same surprised look on his face, but it disappears just as quickly. Pinching the cigarette between his fingers, he blows smoke in the air and inserts one hand in his shorts.

“Jeon.”

“Still Jeon to you, huh?” Jungkook sneers, walking over to where Mingyu is. “Why are you here?”

Mingyu arches a brow. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Woke up a few minutes ago and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

Taking a hit of his cigarette again, Mingyu shakes his head. “That’s tough.”

“Same with you?” Jungkook asks.

“Nah. Had a discussion with my girlfriend. Just wanted to clear my head.”

Jungkook nods, not saying anything to that. It’s weird that you’ve been fighting a lot lately. He wonders if you’re okay.

Pulling out a pack of Marlboro and a lighter, Mingyu extends them to Jungkook.

He looks down at it and thinks about how this exact thing happened in college. Mingyu always had the pack of cigarettes and the link to the best weed man in college. He used to think they would be fond memories.

But Jungkook shakes his head, looking ahead.

“I quit years ago.” He says. And it is true. He wasn’t much of a smoker and only did it occasionally when he was extremely stressed, but it took him awhile to stop the habit completely, only dropping the cigarettes during second year of med school. Jungkook would say it was due to his own concern about his health – but there was an incident in the same year where you caught him smoking at the uni’s park after a particularly taxing exam, and how you did not hesitate to tell him that you hated – absolutely abhorred – smokers. You said you didn’t care if he smoked, but as a med student he should’ve known better.

He never touched that shit again.

“Changing your ways now?” Mingyu says with a teasing – more like mocking – tone, inserting the pack and lighter back in his pants.

Jungkook shrugs at that, which earns him a scoff from Mingyu.

“Do you smoke around her?” Jungkook suddenly asks.

“Who?”

“__.”

A beat of silence. And then Mingyu laughs.

“No. She doesn’t know I smoke. She doesn’t have to.”

Good. Jungkook thinks. Good that he doesn’t smoke around her. But what did he mean by saying she doesn’t need to know?

“She doesn’t like smokers, you know.” Jungkook tells him.

From his periphery, Jungkook sees Mingyu glancing at him. It takes a while for him to say something.

“You’d know that, huh?”

The dip in his tone makes Jungkook meet his gaze. Suddenly, the smirk on Mingyu’s face is gone, and there’s something behind his eyes that he can’t quite put a finger on.

Jungkook tries to ignore that. “I’ve known her for a long time. The others can also tell you that.” He says, referring to the rest of your friends on the trip.

“You think I don’t know?”

With furrowed brows and growing confusion, Jungkook stares at Mingyu.

“What?”

“That you like my girlfriend.” Mingyu spits the words out like venom in his mouth, but it’s in a way that tells him it’s been sitting with him for far too long. Jungkook’s surprised at the declaration, feels himself being taken aback by the blunt way he said it as if he’s so sure.

But Jungkook doubles down, to Mingyu’s surprise.

“So?”

That obviously wasn’t the answer the other man wanted to hear. So, what? He can dish it, but he can’t take it?

“You’re goddamn pathetic, then.” Mingyu says after awhile, taking a hit on his cigarette again.

It itches the bubbling anger Jungkook has had for him for the past ten years.

“I like __, and I’m not gonna deny that to you,” Jungkook faces him. “But you don’t have to worry about that, because unlike you, I have enough self-respect to not sleep with my friend’s girlfriend.”

It’s another response that Mingyu does not expect. Jungkook also did not mean to let that out. But his tongue glided with the words and he couldn’t help it. Suddenly, memories of junior year in undergrad comes back flashing to him; Jiyeon and Mingyu, fucking in his goddamn bed, his girlfriend cheating on him with his best friend.

Jungkook’s already moved on from that. Jiyeon was not a loss, even though she was his first girlfriend – heck, first love even, but she cheated on him. And not just with anybody but his best friend at the time. The worst thing was that Mingyu was completely in on it, and Jungkook doesn’t think he ever felt remorse about what happened back then. Mingyu gave him a half-assed apology the day he walked in on them, even had the gall to “explain” Jiyeon’s side, that apparently, she just wasn’t “feeling it” with Jungkook anymore, and that Mingyu and her had been hitting it off. Jungkook realized it was why Mingyu suddenly came over way too often over at his apartment.

It’s exactly why he never bothered to meet with Mingyu after graduation. Why he was not enthusiastic meeting him at the engagement party.

But that happened so many years ago that he thought Mingyu’s changed. He didn’t want to burst your bubble and tell you what happened between them back then because he’d be the one to ruin the happiness you’ve wished for all these years.

“I see you’re still hung up on that.” Mingyu says after a while. He throws the cigarette away and steps on it with his heel.

Jungkook’s jaw ticks in what he feels is growing rage. “I’ve moved on. I’m just letting you know that even though I like __, I’m never doing what you did back then.”

“You’re such good guy, then?”

“If not cheating makes me a good guy, then maybe I am.” Jungkook shrugs.

“Jiyeon was a bitch. She was never gonna be good for you.” Mingyu suddenly says.

It makes Jungkook seethe. “And so you fucked her?”

“She liked me better than you. Women always liked me more, that’s why I was going through them while your goody-two shoes virgin prude ass was daydreaming about dating to marry.  You remember that, right?” Mingyu looks at him with a mocking stare. “And Jiyeon was smoking hot. She offered, I just delivered. Said you couldn’t make her cum properly. We could have shared her, you know?”

“Fuck you.” Jungkook spits out. He feels enraged and pissed and disgusted all at the same time.

“Are you getting mad?” Mingyu levels him with an infuriating smirk. “You always got a stick up in your ass, Jeon. Kyungmi told me you’re just a regular playboy these days, said it was the effect of your first girlfriend cheating on you. Right now, though, is that just a front to hide your feelings from my girlfriend? A pathetic boy best friend just wanting to be noticed by his hot girl best friend? You play that role so well. Telling me she’s lactose intolerant, she doesn’t like smokers… you want to fuck her so bad it’s laughable because you know you can’t.”

“Don’t… fucking talk about her like that.” Jungkook growls, and he feels blood rushing through his veins.

Mingyu shakes his head. “You know what I thought when I first met her? I was completely interested right away, but when you showed up…” He chuckles in the way that makes Jungkook’s skin prickle. “It just made me want her more.”

“You’re fucked in the head.”

“This fucked in the head guy got the girl you want wanting to commit to him. I don’t know if she told you, but we’re moving in together.”

Jungkook pokes his tongue to his cheek. “You think I won’t tell her about this?”

“You think she’s gonna believe you?” Mingyu fires back. Jungkook closes his mouth, doesn’t really know if he’s confident enough to say yes. That earns him an arrogant smirk from Mingyu. “That’s right, she won’t. I have no doubt she’s gonna choose me over you. Jiyeon has had before. And if you’re gonna fight the same battle again this time, you’ll lose.”

Jungkook regulates his breathing hearing his words. He’s starting to not see clearly, his fist clenching on his side and he knows better than to resort to violence, but Mingyu’s testing his patience.

He’s completely wrong for thinking that he isn’t the same asshole he was back in college. He’s completely wrong for not telling you about him sooner. He’s completely wrong about everything.

Glancing at his hand, Mingyu looks him in the eyes, leaning forward. “You wanna hit me just like how you did back then? You almost fucking killed me when you gave me that head injury that kicked me out of the fucking team.”

The head injury. That fucking head injury. Jungkook was so mad when he found out that he just saw pure red. It wasn’t his best moment – he knows. He lost control and just… went for it. He still regrets doing it – not punching Mingyu – but for losing it when he could’ve shown him that he’d always be the bigger person between them both.

He’s quiet and Mingyu takes that as a win. Scoffing, Mingyu says, “I could’ve reported you to the admin and you could’ve been expelled, and if that happened, you couldn’t have gone to med. You are where you are right now because of me, so don’t fucking show that animosity towards me because you fucking owe me one.”

Jungkook can’t help but laugh. But he does so humorlessly. “You really think that?” He stares at the other guy. “You’re just as delusional as you were back then, Gyu. You think everybody liked you – but that was just because you were a touch-deprived loser who would fuck anything that breathed near him, and I wasn’t. I only entertained women I liked. You thought you were smarter, but I was always the one who got the better and higher grades, even though you studied way harder. Is that why you went with law? So you won’t have to compete with me in the med field? I also know you were pissed as fuck when the captain title was passed on to me instead of you,” Jungkook leans closer as well. “You’ve always thought of yourself so highly, but deep down, you were just an insecure little boy trying to compete with another guy that didn’t even see you as competition because you were that irrelevant.”

Mingyu, in his own fir of rage, grabs Jungkook’s collar, but Jungkook stays in his place, face stoic as Mingyu snarls, “You keep running your mouth while you cry yourself to sleep because those don’t mean anything when I’m the one fucking the love of your life,” Jungkook visibly recoils to that, and when Mingyu notices, he smirks, adding, “Yeah, yeah, you wanna know how __ is in bed? Because you’ll never see her sopping wet when you give her cock. That angelic face of hers… you’ll never know she’s a slut the way that filthy mouth asks me to fuck her harder because I am that goo—”

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence when Jungkook’s heavy fist suddenly lands on his cheek.

That effectively gets Mingyu to let go of Jungkook’s collar as he loses his balance and steps backwards limply, thumbing the side of his mouth only to see blood.

Whisking away his fist, Jungkook looks at Mingyu with fire in his eyes and venom in his voice when he says, “Don’t you ever fucking dare talk about her like that, you fucking piece of shit.”

The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a silvery white glow over the beach, but the comforting sound of waves and the calm of the surrounding is a contrast to the rising tension between Jungkook and Mingyu.

When Mingyu doesn’t say anything, Jungkook turns on his heel, ready to leave, but suddenly, he feels the back of his shirt getting pulled and being met with a fist right on his cheek, close to his nose. He barely dodges the hit, taken aback by the unexpected attack.

“Fuck you.” Mingyu grits, eyes blazing.

With that, the fight intensifies, with Jungkook throwing a quick jab back. Mingyu retaliates with as much fury, the two of them grappling, their bodies colliding with violent force. Soon, the sound of their grunts and the occasional crash of a punch against flesh is drowned out by the crashing waves.

And then a familiar voice calls their names.

“Jungkook! Mingyu!”

“Oh my god!”

Jungkook’s suddenly being taken away by somebody by his arms, and he realizes it’s Taehyung when he speaks up again once he and Mingyu are off each other.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Taehyung asks incredulously, rightfully shocked at what he’s seen. Jungkook forces his way out of Taehyung’s hold in frustration, wiping the side of his mouth. Mingyu’s on the other side a few inches away being hesitantly held down by Nayeon, who looks at all of them with deep worry in her eyes. Turning to her, Taehyung says, “Call Doyeon and __. They’re sleeping in the same room together at the villa.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Jungkook says, glaring at Taehyung.

He looks at him angrily. “You’re fistfighting with somebody at fuck o’clock in the morning. We’re going to get run off by the police, be thankful we saw you.”

“I-I’ll call Doyeon and __.” Nayeon stutters, reluctantly pulling away from Mingyu and going to the direction of the villas.

When she leaves, Taehyung looks between the two beaten up men, not believing their busted faces. Rubbing his own with his hands in frustration, he looks back at them again, saying, “What the fuck happened to you guys? Why were you fighting?”

“It’s none of your business.” Mingyu says.

Taehyung glances at him with irritation. “None of my business? Fuck off, Kim Mingyu. You joined in on this trip. Everything that happens here is quite literally each other’s business.”

“Tae.”

“I can’t believe you guys,” Taehyung shakes his head, ignoring Jungkook. “Fighting like goddamn immature teenagers… are you not embarrassed?”

Looking away, Jungkook decides to sit on the sand and let Taehyung’s words go from one ear to another. His energy is waning and the rage he had a while ago is just simmering down to… nothing. He feels absolutely empty.

“Jungkook?” He doesn’t realize the steps that were coming towards them were you and Doyeon. It’s obvious that you’ve both been sleeping, still in your pajamas as you rush towards their direction. He looks at you when you call his name, but then suddenly, you turn to Mingyu. “Ming— what happened?”

Jungkook feels his heart break when you come towards Mingyu’s direction first. He knows why you did. He’s your boyfriend, of course you are going to tend to him first.

Suddenly, he remembers what Mingyu said. About you choosing him over Jungkook.

Jungkook didn’t doubt that, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt a little to see it fully realized.

“Jungkook– Jesus Christ,” Doyeon comes over to him and quickly checks his head. With knitted brows, she casts him a look.

“I’m fine.”

She’s about to say something, but then she closes her mouth and then glances at you.

Sighing, she turns to everyone and announces, “Look, let’s just get them back to the villa. Treat their wounds before they get infected.”

“Right.” Taehyung says and then comes over to Jungkook to help Doyeon guide him in walking. He relents first because he doesn’t need their assistance, but Taehyung looks at him and he knows he’s pissed. So, he lets them.

As he tries to subtly look over to where you were, you have your arm around Mingyu’s waist while Nayeon helps guide him as well.

It takes a tedious few minutes to get back to the villa where Doyeon and Taehyung decide to take care of him in his room while Nayeon and you tend to Mingyu back in your room.

Doyeon nor Taehyung doesn’t say anything the whole time. Just let the silence fall in the room as they clean his wounds and put bandages around the cuts on his face and treat his busted lip.

He knows they’ll talk to him in the next few hours. It’s inevitable. But at least they’re sparing him for tonight – or today, since it’s almost four am.

Jungkook regrets not seeing the sunrise.

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[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 12: You Are The Reason

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter(coming soon)

Chapter Summary: To make a fresh start, you need to deal with the struggles from the past. For Harry, this became his main goal, focusing only on the love between you two and leaving no space for anything else. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 9,3k, FEELINGS, romance, violence, emotions, making up, redemption, intrigue, tension, mention about guns, love, propose (its happening!), sharing a bed, confessions, a little tiny angst, happy ending... authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

On a Sunday morning in Manhattan.

Waking up early can feel like the hardest thing in the world—no matter who you are. Whether you're a student, a regular employee, a wealthy CEO, or even a billionaire with an empire, the struggle is universal.

After all, Sunday is often the only day to truly unwind.

At least, that's what Harry believed. He thought he'd treat himself to a late morning, hoping to linger in bed a little longer. Sleep had been hard to come by lately, and even though he splurged on a sleep mask—something he’d never tried before—he was still nodding off at three in the morning.

Letting out a quiet groan, he fumbled around on the nightstand, his eyes still covered by the mask, trying to grab his ringing phone.

He knew it wasn’t Oliver calling; it was probably Maria or, more likely, someone else entirely. He figured you wouldn’t be calling, especially after Zoe caught the two of you in your room. But there was still a tiny glimmer of hope, so he cleared his throat and answered.

"Yes?"

“Code red, Harry,” a woman’s voice responded, urgent and serious.

Harry’s heart raced as he tore off the sleep mask. He slowly realized it was Sofia's voice. What he hadn’t realized was that he had just answered a video call from his mother. The alarm in Sofia's voice alerted him, and when Valeria appeared on the screen, he barely managed a coherent thought.

“Jesus Christ!”

Harry squinted through the haze of sleep as he tried to adjust to the bright morning light blooming across his room, puzzled by his mother’s reaction.

“Sofia, look at him. He looks utterly miserable! Oh Harry, my son, I don’t even know what to say," Valeria exclaimed.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Good morning to you too, mother.” He raised an eyebrow. “Wait, did you just call me miserable?”

Valeria leaned the phone closer to her face. “You wear a sleep mask because you can’t sleep! I can see the bags under your eyes from here; plus, waking up alone in bed is downright miserable.”

“Maybe getting you that phone with a 4k video quality wasn’t such a great idea after all,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“At least I can watch over you from here, since I can't leave the house.”

Harry frowned, noticing the clock on the nightstand reading 7:45. “If you're done with your early Sunday morning ritual of waking me up and criticizing me, I’d love to get some more sleep, Mrs, Castillo,” he muttered, sinking back into his pillow while keeping the phone propped on its side in his hand to stare at his mother.

“You no-good son! What are you waiting for? Why haven’t you made up with her yet? You should be up doing something to win her back!” Her voice rang loud, and as she leaned forward, Sofia had to catch the phone before it slipped from her grip.

“Calm down. We’ve agreed to start over. I offered to take her out to dinner, and she said yes. We’ll sort things out.”

“Sofia, hold the phone properly,” Valeria scolded, lifting it higher to frame her face. “You should ask her to marry you! Come and get the ring—unless you want me to ask Harry Winston's to give it a polish first, since it’s been stuck in the drawer for years.”

“You definitely should; it’s one of their first, rare pieces,” came another voice from somewhere off-screen.

“Is that Maria?” Harry squinted, recognizing the teasing tone.

“Hey bud,” Maria waved at the camera.

“Of course, it’s you. Who else would be spying on my life with my mother?”

“If you visited your mother more often, I wouldn’t have to keep her in the loop,” Valeria retorted.

“I’m a 45-year-old adult. I can handle my own problems,” Harry grunted.

“It’s tough to say your methods of problem-solving actually work,” Maria chimed in.

“Sofia, show him that picture on the tablet,” Valeria instructed. The image displayed was of a small child.

“Who is this?” Harry asked, squinting at the screen.

“Mateo's son—he’s five years old now.”

“His second son,” Sofia corrected, looking at the screen as if sharing a well-kept secret.

“Oh right, his second,” Valeria echoed.

Harry sighed heavily.

Valeria flicked through her phone and showed another pic of a newborn baby with a guy holding her. “Hugo just had a baby girl last week.”

“Didn’t he just get married last year?” Harry muttered, surprised.

Valeria nodded and continued, “Maybe he wanted to make his mother happy by giving her a grandchild.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and guess what? Daniel is engaged and getting married soon. Can you believe it?”

Harry was struggling with the news. “Well, it’s his second marriage; that doesn’t really count.”

“He’ll be tying the knot for the second time while you’re still single, just so you know,” Valeria pointed out.

“Come on, Sofia, why don’t you pull up Uncle Fernando’s son’s Instagram? He just got married,” Maria suggested.

Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “Enough already. I get it.”

“You do? Then it’s time to take action.”

“And don’t take too long,” Maria said sipping her coffee.

“Stop bossing me around. I’m not ignoring what she wants. She asked for time, and I’m giving her that.”

“Ugh, men... They just don’t get it,” Maria replied.

“Not at all,” added Valeria.

“They’re all the same,” Sofia said with a disapproving look.

“Maybe it’s because you’re all are more complex than the hardest riddle,” Harry retorted before ending the video call.

It was too much.

Not a moment passed without him thinking about how to win you back, and the pressure from his mother only added to his frustration. He ran his hand over the pillow and sheet, glancing at the empty side of the bed.

He sighed deeply, holding the pillow in his lap, his heart aching at the thought of wrapping you in his arms instead. Each minute without you made the bed feel as cold as ice, while it once felt so warm with you by his side.

He frowned as he remembered that you were postponing the dinner arrangement the last time you spoke on the phone.

Once again, he picked up his phone, resting his chin on the pillow as he opened your chat screen. As he did every morning, he gazed at your profile picture and sighed. You had changed it two weeks ago; you smiled sweetly at the camera, holding a tray of the cheesecakes you baked when you first opened your shop. And, like every morning, gloom washed over him, mixed with anger.

You were just a short distance away in your cousin’s apartment, likely sleeping in your own bed instead of beside him in his.

In your absence, he lost the excitement to plan his free days; nothing felt appealing when you weren’t part of it.

He couldn’t even let himself dream anymore.

How could he?

Nothing held meaning without you.

You were everything he ever longed for, and you would forever be intertwined with every dream he would have.

You were all he ever wanted.

The truth hit Harry harder than ever before. It had been four days and eighteen hours since he last saw you, since he last felt your touch, and time continued to tick away.

What the hell was he waiting for?

With a sudden burst of frustration, yet fueled by determination, he threw off the covers and climbed out of bed.

The same morning in Brooklyn...

Sunday morning wasn’t shaping up any better for you either. The moment you woke up, just like Harry, your eyes drifted to the other side of the bed, thoughts of him flooding your mind. But your guilt paled in comparison to the weight of his. You had managed to come to terms with your feelings, promising yourself there would be no physical contact until your first date—a crucial step toward reconciliation after the breakup. You resolved to avoid him as much as possible, but it was proving to be an uphill battle. It felt like your heart was trapped in an iron cage, desperately trying to break free, and you had to suppress the painful thudding for now. To help keep your mind off things, you found a new pastime: develop new recipes for the bakery. The busier you kept yourself, the more you could listen to your head instead of your heart.

You decided to enter the upcoming chef competition to elevate the bakery’s unique offerings, but you needed a standout product to present. So, you set out to shop for inspiration. Many of the fruit markets were either closed or opened late on Sundays, but the one on 14th Street in Manhattan had fresh produce and was open every day of the week.

Having finished the morning’s cooking at the store and getting everything prepped and ready, you left Zoe and the others in charge. As you strolled toward the fruit shop, your phone rang. It was Jack, peppering you with questions about Melanie. You answered honestly, but it was clear he wasn’t buying her act of being the innocent daughter.

Despite everything, he seemed genuinely grateful for your helping her work at your bakery. His mood shifted to anger when you mentioned Alan buying the shop, and his fatherly instincts kicked in. Jack often expressed that he wished you were his real daughter instead of Melanie—a sentiment that resonated with you. There were times you envisioned him as your father rather than your own, considering how strained your relationship was with your grumpy, withdrawn, hard-ass dad.

Yet, despite the differences between Jack and your father, they shared one glaring flaw: both ignored their own mistakes. Jack was blissfully unaware of Alan's involvement in drug smuggling, and you were relieved; you didn't want him to get caught up in that mess. Besides, he probably wouldn’t have approved if he knew you were helping the NYPD commissioner with this situation. It had to remain a secret.

The fruit market was quiet, most New Yorkers likely still busy with brunch. As you browsed through the aisles, your phone rang again. This time, it was a video chat from Valeria.

You sighed and glanced around before picking up. “Hello, Valeria,” you said, waving.

Her smile beamed back, brighter than your own. “Hey, cariño. I wanted to check on how you're doing—”

Suddenly, a hand reached from behind you and grabbed your phone. You turned in shock to see Harry, holding your phone and looking at his mother through the screen. “Leave her alone. You can pester me all you want, but not her.”

“What the— Harry—”

Harry ended the video call and handed your phone back to you. You stood there, trying to wrap your head around what had just transpired. “Harry, what do you think you’re doing? Why did you hang up on your mom?”

“I just saved you, darling,” he replied with that charming smile.

Oh, that smile—so disarming it made you forget everything: where you were, what you were doing, who you were.

You turned your head away, trying to shake off your attraction. “What are you doing here anyway? How did you know I was here?” You fidgeted with a package of blueberries. “Only Zoe and Nick... Wait a minute. Is he your spy?"

Harry picked up a mango, inspecting it. “Spy? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Harry...”

"Baby..."

You shared a long gaze, each lost in the other’s eyes.

“...We promised not to see each other until dinner, to create some distance between us.”

He smirked. “Darling. If we put any more distance between us, we might as well be two neighboring countries with no diplomatic relations.”

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh.

“Besides, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not here to break our agreement. It’s just a coincidence.”

“Oh really? Then why are you here?”

Harry glanced around the fruit section. “Fruits. I came to buy some. This was the only place open in the neighborhood.”

“Are you saying you came here to shop by yourself? All right, Mr. Castillo, what fruit are you planning to get?”

Harry looked over at the nearby fruit display. “I think I’ll go for the blueberries. I love them; I’m going to toss them in my smoothie.”

You chuckled. “That’s not blueberries, that’s cranberries. And a smoothie might not be the best choice since you don’t like sour flavors.”

You both exchanged smiles, pleasantly surprised by the detail you remembered about him. Harry put the cranberries back, looking a bit sheepish. “I honestly thought they were unripe blueberries,” he admitted. “But what about you? I haven’t seen you with a bag yet.”

You glanced at the berries again. “I actually came here to rediscover a flavor I can barely remember.”

“Is this about your special dessert?”

“Yeah. When I was a kid, my mom would make a pie in the summer with fresh fruit from the farm. The aroma was so intoxicating; I can still recall the smell, like a warm breeze. The cream was infused with wild strawberries. Unfortunately, the ones here just don’t measure up to what I remember. I still need to buy some and give it a try.”

"You could just order online. It is a waste of time coming here, especially with how busy you are. Don’t you ever get exhausted?"

You picked a fresh strawberry and held it out for him to smell. “Take a whiff of this.”

Harry inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet scent.

“Why would I choose to order online when I can savor the vibrant colors and intoxicating scents of this fresh, succulent fruit right here? Plus, life is out here on the streets, Mr. Castillo. When was the last time you fed or petted a cat or a dog?”

He couldn't find the words to respond, instead simply smiling with admiration.

You bought the mountain strawberries, and Harry settled on the blueberries.

As you both exited the market and wandered through Central Park, you generously shared some dog food you had purchased earlier with a few stray dogs, giving one a gentle pat on the head. Harry followed suit, smiling at the experience, clearly appreciating this side of you.

“How can you be so amazing?” he murmured, locking eyes with you. 

You smiled back, feeling your cheeks warm. 

"Sometimes I wonder if you're a real Cinderella, a fairy tale beauty—more a product of my imagination than reality." 

You giggled. "I’m not sure that’s a very healthy compliment." 

You both shared a laugh. 

Just then, a dog emerged from the trees, making both of you tense.

“That dog,” Harry pointed out, nervous.

“Muddy and soaked,” you said, mirroring his tone.

As you feared, the dog instinctively shook itself dry, flinging mud and water everywhere. You closed your eyes and shielded yourself, while Harry did the same for you, but it was too late. The dog’s fur sprayed you with a torrent of wetness.

Now both soaked and dirty, you caught each other’s surprised expressions. Onlookers, including children and tourists, couldn’t help but laugh at the scene.

You burst into laughter, taking in your drenched state down to your underwear. “You naughty dog,” you muttered, looking at the oblivious animal, which was too busy enjoying the food to care.

“Great, just great,” you said in exasperation.

“What was that, honey? Something about ‘life on the street’?” he teased.

“How was I to know a wet dog would come out of nowhere?” you grimaced. “Oh, I smell terrible. There’s no way I’m going back to the bakery like this.”

“Well, hello? I stink too, Cinderella,” he said with a laugh. “Come on, we’re heading to my place.”

You widened your eyes in disbelief. “What? No way, I’m going home to take a shower and change.”

“Your apartment’s on the other side of the city, and I doubt they’ll let you on the subway like that, baby,” he quipped, still chuckling.

You huffed, tugging your wet and filthy dress and sneezing unexpectedly. Harry grabbed your wrist. “Stop being stubborn. Just come with me. I’ll call the driver.”

That afternoon in Harry’s penthouse.

It was undeniably strange.

Awkward, too.

Everything about it seemed off, especially after all the promises you had made to yourself. But this was no choice you had made deliberately, was it? You never could have anticipated it would come to this.

After all this time, standing in this room where you once shared your last conversation sent a wave of memories crashing over you. You could still hear his words echoing in your mind, a haunting reminder of what had been shared that night.

To your surprise, you didn’t feel as terrible as you thought you would.

“You can use the shower in the bathroom here, and I’ll take the one upstairs,” Harry suggested, his voice laced with caution and trembling slightly as he studied your face.

He must have sensed the mixed emotions stirring within you, especially given the memories this place held—memories of laughter and deep conversations. You sighed, attempting to gather your thoughts, and nodded in response. As you made your way to the bathroom, he headed upstairs.

After your shower, you crossed paths in the hallway, both wrapped in bathrobes. The atmosphere felt strange, undeniably weird, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was anything but humorous. 

“The clothes in your room are still there,” Harry ventured, breaking the thick silence. “If you want to get dressed—”

“I can wash and dry the dress I just took off in the laundry room. Besides, those clothes are too valuable to wear only at the bakery,” you replied.

“In terms of money, maybe,” he said firmly, “but they’re just pieces of fabric. They’re practically worthless compared to you. It’s you who brings out their true value.”

A shy smile crept onto your face at his compliment as you lowered your gaze. But as he stepped closer, you dared to look up at him again. “Your hair isn’t completely dry,” he added softly, reaching out to run his fingers through your damp strands.

“It’s hot today; it’ll dry quickly,” you murmured, trying to keep your cool.

Thanks to the promises you’d made to yourself, you stood frozen as he touched you. Actually, you should have pushed him away, but in this whirlwind of emotions and memories, blocking him out felt impossible.

Harry must have gauged your hesitation, as he slowly pulled his hand back. “I should get dressed. Are you sure you can wait for the dress to dry?”

“The dryer only takes fifteen minutes, Harry,” you replied, noting the edge of sadness t in his tone.

“Right,” he said, frustratingly, making his way toward the bedroom.

You returned to the bathroom to grab your clothes before heading to the laundry room. By the time you both joined again, he was dressed in a cream and beige t-shirt paired with jeans, while you were still in your robe, feeling a bit nervous. He settled beside you on the small seat in the laundry room, and you shifted slightly to make space.

The two of you fell into a weird silence, watching the washing machine spin your dress. From the corner of your eye, you felt his gaze lingering on you.

“Saturday night,” he remarked suddenly, as if a lightbulb had gone on in his mind.

You raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Are you free next Saturday night?”

You knew this wasn’t just about dinner; it was more profound, a promise of returning to each other, a step you had been avoiding until now. But in that moment, you felt ready.

Resolutely, you nodded, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m free that evening.”

He gently took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “Thank you,” he said, sincerity ringing in his voice.

At that moment, the washing machine beeped, indicating it was done. You got up to transfer your dress to the dryer, and once it finished as well, he gave you some space while you got dressed. When you finally emerged, fully changed, you found him on the phone in the living room. You waved as you headed for the door, but just then, he ended his call and called out your name.

“Please don’t leave like this.”

You froze in place.

There was more than just pleading in his voice; you could sense it, a deeper emotion lurking beneath the surface.

You turned to face him.

He stepped closer, taking your hand gently in his. "That night, I should have said that. I should have stopped you, should never have let you walk away." Suddenly, he knelt before you, and your eyes widened in surprise. "I should have groveled, begged for you to stay."

Tears blurred your vision as you whispered, “Harry.”

He gripped your hand tightly, as if it were his lifeline, his expression pained. "You were right. I am like a child... when it comes to love. I've always felt that way, like an idiot. It's so hard for me to process. It's as if figuring it out is a math problem, but with you, everything changed. I saw how cowardly I really was, because with you, love felt easy—natural, free of complications." You touched his cheek softly, brushing away the tears that threatened to spill. He sighed, closing his eyes to savor your touch. When he opened them again, a single tear slipped down his cheek.  "Baby, I beg for your forgiveness. Without you, I’m a ship adrift in an endless ocean; you're my beacon, my only compass. The love I feel for you is unlike anything I’ve ever known."

“Harry,” you murmured, kneeling beside him. “What I should have said that day was that you hurt me so much I might never be able to forgive you.” The truth burst forth from your heart. “I should never have allowed you to get close, should never have slept with you, should never listened to what my heart was saying."

Harry swallowed hard. “And what does your heart say now?”

You smiled softly. “It says I should forgive you and wrap my arms around you.”

"Will you follow your heart?"

You sighed, sinking down onto the floor. “I don’t know. Maybe I should, but it doesn’t feel the same as before.”

“Let it be then. We’ll start over,” he murmured.

“That’s the problem, Harry,” you said, wiping the tears away. “You can be impulsive and sometimes a bit materialistic, especially when it comes to making amends.”

"What do you mean by that?"

“Like when you planned to go to Paris. Leaving me your shares and your penthouse as if that would fix everything instead of just apologizing.”

“Would you forgive me if I simply said I was sorry?”

“At least that would show me you’re trying. I’d recognize the effort, not just in a material way, but something deeper.”

He grasped your meaning. “I’m such an idiot, aren’t I?”

You leaned in closer, cradling his face in your hands. "We’re both to blame. I shouldn’t have gone there that night; we could have found another way."

You both sighed deeply at the realization, feeling lighter for sharing it.

"I think we’re in phase five," Harry said as he sat beside you, stretching his legs out.

You knew he was referring to the fifth stage of grief.

"Yeah, which means that what we did last week was merely a sign of depression. All that sex we had."

"That’s right. We chose physical intimacy over conversation," he said, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face. "But admit it, it was amazing."

“It truly was,” you confessed, chuckling together.

Another heavy sigh escaped from both of your lips.

“So, Saturday night,” he murmured, standing and offering you his hand.

“Saturday night,” you echoed as you took his hand and stood up. He watched attentively as you straightened your dress.

“I have to head back to the shop,” you mumbled, your heart longing to stay, but you forced yourself to move on.

“Sure, I’ll see you then,” he said, his tone hesitant, a flicker of something in his gaze.

“Yeah, bye,” you said with a shy smile, leaning in for a kiss on his cheek as he leaned in at the same moment.

So awkward.

Again.

Come on, why was it so tough to just give a simple kiss on the cheek?

Each time you aimed for it, he instinctively found yours, your lips almost brushing together in perfect unison, dangerously close.

You knew you must look silly.

Neither of you could contain your laughter at the absurdity of the moment.

Then, your lips met in a kiss, and the playful mood shifted to serious.

Harry's hand found its place on your waist, pulling you closer.

He was kind, and yet you found it all too easy to lose yourself in that kiss.

It ignited a fire within you, turning passionate and hungry, enveloping you completely, as if you had poured gasoline onto a flame. You clung to him, pressing closer, desperately craving that connection.

Then your phone rang, breaking the spell.

For the first time, you were relieved for the interruption, reminded of the promises you'd made to yourself.

You pulled your lips away just enough to speak, breathless. “Harry, we better stop.”

He placed a tender kiss on your neck and nodded, reluctant to let you go. When he finally withdrew, it was with pain as he felt the loss of your warmth.

The ache continued as you answered the phone and stepped out of the penthouse, both of you left in a whirlwind of emotions, the connection still lingering in the air.

On Wednesday morning in your bakery.

You couldn't help but chuckle at one of Harry's classic, humorous texts that popped up on your phone after you arranged the sweets in the display case. Ever since you two decided to start fresh, he had been sending you a string of funny messages and reels that brought a lightness to your heart.

One of the messages read: 

"My Crush: I'm not that cute.  Also her: A photo of an adorable kitten with a pink bow clip by its ear."

You laughed a bit too loudly, catching the attention of some customers at a nearby table who turned to glance your way, prompting you to offer an apologetic smile.

“At least one of us is in a good mood today,” Zoe remarked as she approached you, while Melanie and Nick tended to other customers.

"Has John called yet?" 

"Who cares? You know what? It's better this way." she put the tray on the counter. "Now tell me. What had you cracking up so much, Miss Happy?"

Right, you hadn't mentioned that you saw Harry last Sunday. You couldn’t let Zoe know you were on better terms with Harry while she was dealing with her fallout with John. “Oh, just some funny videos online,” you shrugged, sending Harry a laughing emoji before slipping your phone into your pocket. 

"Isn’t that Lucy, the matchmaker bitch?" Melanie said.

You both turned to her voice. It was her, and you instinctively tensed. What was she doing here? As Zoe squinted at Lucy in annoyance, you stepped out from behind the counter to join her.

Lucy glanced between the three of you, surprise flickering in her eyes as she stopped on Melanie. Then she looked directly at Zoe. “Can I have a word with you?”

Zoe hesitated at first, but after a reassuring look from you, she agreed. Your jaw dropped when you noticed the car parked out front. Theo was here.

Great. 

You realized you hadn’t been fair to him, especially after you’d ditched him last time. 

Melanie smirked at the sight of Theo entering the shop. “Looks like I picked the best place to work—there's never a dull moment around here.” 

You shot her a dirty look and turned to greet Theo with a smile. “Hey. What brings you here?” 

"I stopped by to check just how swamped you were, hoping it would explain why you haven't replied to my messages," he said with a grin as he glanced around the bustling shop. "And, wow, you really are incredibly busy."

“Yeah, sorry, it’s been a hectic week,” you admitted, eyeing the flashy sports car behind him. “A Lamborghini? Are you, like, the son of someone famous or something?” 

“Kind of,” he said, smiling “There are things about my family I haven't told you yet, stuff I would have shared if you’d come over that night.” 

You felt a flush of embarrassment remembering why you hadn’t gone to see him. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” 

“Would you like to talk outside for a bit? Maybe take this beauty for a spin? I remember you mentioned you love sports cars.” 

It was an exciting offer, and you knew you should have a serious talk with him before things went any further. Zoe and Lucy had wrapped up their conversation by now, so you asked Zoe to cover the shop for a bit and hopped into Theo’s car. 

After an exhilarating ride on a private, traffic-free track, Theo treated you to coffee and began sharing stories about his family. He explained that his father, a well-known senator, was unaware of his acting aspirations, as Theo wasn’t ready to come forward and share that side of himself. Despite the circumstances, you sensed his genuine interest in you.

Deciding it was best to be honest and end things on a good note, you leaned against the hood of the car, gazing out at the cityscape. “I think I already knew,” he said softly. “You’re still in love with him.” 

You couldn't deny it; your silence confirmed his intuition. 

“Can we stay friends? You’re a wonderful person, and I enjoy our conversations. When others find out I'm a senator's son, they often act differently, but you’ve treated me just like anyone else, and I appreciate that.” 

You laughed, “I’ve heard that before. Did John know?” 

“Yes, he has been known for a long time. He introduced me to the agency. You, Zoe, and he are such kind people. I’m glad to know you all.”

“You’re kind too, Theo. I have no doubt you’ll find the true love you’re looking for someday.” 

After sharing a friendly hug, you exchanged warm goodbyes, promising to see each other again.

Thursday evening in your apartment.

You and Zoe were lounging in separate couches after a long day, chatting about yesterday's events. "So Lucy mentioned that John helped her with something, but he won’t say what it is?" What could be so crucial that he couldn't reveal it? "Maybe it really matters; John cares about you, after all."

"Then why isn’t he doing anything to make it right?" Zoe replied, frustration evident in her tone.

"Some guys just aren't all that romantic, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you."

"I don’t care. He promised me his ex wouldn’t be a part of our lives, and I can't be with someone who breaks that promise even before we’re married. And that woman? She's no saint."

You had to admit Zoe wasn't wrong; you didn’t have the best impression of Lucy. But still, John had always seemed like a good guy to you. You believed there must be a reasonable explanation for all this. Your thoughts were interrupted when you noticed a message from Harry pop up on your phone.

"I can hear your heart racing for Saturday. I have several surprises planned—want a hint?"

Curious, you quickly typed back, "Surprises? Hmm, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued."

His reply came just as fast: "Check the door."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

You jumped up excitedly from the couch, and Zoe squinted her eyes, sizing you up. "Were you expecting someone?"

With a mischievous smile, you headed to the door, but when you opened it, nobody was there. Puzzled, you glanced around before spotting a teddy bear on the floor, holding a red heart-shaped balloon and an envelope on its lap. As you bent down to retrieve the envelope, you tucked your hair behind your ear. Inside, you found a polaroid photograph of Paris, featuring the Eiffel Tower in the distance—exactly the view from your hotel room that day, and the same picture Harry took back then.

"Who's there?" Zoe called from the living room, making you jump. Just then, you noticed John lingering in the hallway -lost in thought- and invited him over.

What a lucky coincidence.

"Tell Zoe you got this for her; I haven’t told her I made up with Harry yet," you whispered quickly, pressing the teddy bear into John's hands and slipping the envelope into your pocket.

"But I already bought flowers," he muttered, holding up a bunch of pink roses.

"So? Listen, she needs all the romance she can get right now," you insisted.

"John?"

You both turned to Zoe, who was giving you a curious look. "Oh, and you said John wasn't romantic," you teased, nudging him lightly.

Zoe crossed her arms and eyed the flowers and teddy bear in his hands. "What do you want?"

"Can we talk? Please?"

"Yes! Talk! Great idea!" You took John by the arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. "Oh, I just remembered—gotta make an important phone call in my room. You two talk."

Zoe called after you, but you ignored her and dashed to your room; John's timing couldn’t have been better.

Quickly, you pulled out your phone and called Harry. It rang twice before he answered.

"Hey, beautiful. Did you get the clue from the teddy bear?"

"Yes, but Paris? Really?"

"It all started there, and I thought it’d be the perfect place for us to start fresh."

You smiled at the sweet memories. "But Harry, I can’t just leave the shop, and you have work at the company. We’re both swamped."

"Can’t you leave it with Zoe for a few days, or at least shut it down? We at castillofunds.co would be more than happy to cover any losses for The Vanilla Vine."

You chuckled at the idea. "Hmm, well, but I do have a competition at the end of the month." 

"Only three days, sweetheart. Just you and me," he replied in a low, enticing voice. 

You smiled back playfully. "Alright, ol'man."

As soon as you ended the call, an incoming call interrupted you—an unknown number.

It was Gerardo.

You’d almost forgotten about him. He informed you that they had received word that Alan was leaving NYC tomorrow morning, and this was your only chance to take him down. You felt a wave of annoyance at yourself for agreeing to help, but you knew you had to.

That bastard had gotten away with too much.

You remembered Harry's outburst from last time when he had angrily said he wanted to kill Alan—not literally, of course. However, Alan was different; his demeanor was chilling, indicating that he was not just a nuisance but a real threat. If helping the NYPD meant you could finally rid yourself of him once and for all, then you felt you had no choice.

Friday morning at Alan’s hotel.

The plan was straightforward: break into his penthouse and access the safe containing crucial documents, including details of his illegal drug shipments. While the police had the combination, simply entering the hotel posed significant risks. Alan wasn’t naive; he had connections with nearly every NYPD commissioner, carefully keeping his enemies close and collecting intelligence on them whenever he could.

Some of the hotel staff recognized you, while others did not. You were familiar with the kitchen team, but you needed the cleaning staff to gain easy access to the elevator and the upper floors. When you approached the head of housekeeping and laid out your situation, he appeared apprehensive at first. Yet, his allegiance to the police prevailed, and he agreed to help.

The housekeeping team had access cards to reach the penthouse, allowing you to use the inconspicuous service elevator—after all, no one ever paid much attention to them.

This was a benefit you appreciated from your time as a maid.

With the chief's assistance, you donned a cleaning uniform and rolled the service trolley into the elevator. You couldn't help but chuckle nervously as you gazed at your reflection. You never thought you’d find yourself in this outfit again. As the elevator ascended, your anxiety mounted, your heart pounding in your chest. You held your breath when you reached the penthouse floor, mentally replaying the the commissioner's instructions: find the safe, use the code breaker, retrieve the document, and make a swift exit.

Easier said than done, of course.

They had briefed you thoroughly and would be watching your every move from outside, providing a phone similar to those seen in movies for communication.

Still, you felt a wave of nerves wash over you.

The elevator chimed as it reached the penthouse, replacing your fears with a different brand of anxiety. Adrenaline coursed through your body, and your palms grew slick with sweat. Memories of the last time you were there ignited a flicker of anger, fueling your determination to carry out your mission.

The question remained though, where was Alan’s private safe?

Having cleaned numerous hotel rooms, you had a good sense of where it might be, yet it eluded you. After about half an hour of searching, exhaustion set in, and you collapsed onto the couch.

Gerardo called for a status update, and you told him that despite your efforts, you hadn’t found it. He suggested a few other spots, but none of them panned out.

As you leaned against the bar counter, a memory flickered in your mind. That night—when Alan approached you from behind the bar with documents in hand...

Could it be?

It struck you as ridiculous, but what if Alan had a safe behind the bar? “I feel like I’m starring in a crime movie or something,” you murmured to yourself.

You slipped behind the counter and bent down to inspect. Lifting lids revealed nothing but glasses and barware, but as you were about to close it up, you noticed something sticking out from behind the glasses on the bottom shelf. Carefully, you removed the glasses one by one, exposing a hidden hatch. With a determined tug, you pulled it open.

“I found you,” you whispered with a sense of triumph. Beneath the hatch lay a safe with a digital keypad—just what the cops had described, a fingerprint unlocker. Remembering your instruction, you placed the code breaker against the lock. You marveled at this device, intrigued by its technology. In just minutes, the lock switched from red to green, and the safe door creaked open.

“Please be certain to pick up the correct documents,” the commissioner’s voice came through the phone, steady and authoritative.

You froze as you peered inside the safe.

There was a pistol, 9mm ammunition, valuables, cash bundles, and various documents. Even though Alan was a criminal and a jerk, rifling through someone’s personal belongings felt wrong, but you had a job to do. While examining the files, the commissioner interrupted once more, reminding you of how the file should look. Just then, someone called his name and whispered in his ear. He picked up the phone to speak to you again. “Get out of there now,” he urged sharply.

“What did you say?” you asked, startled.

“Finnegan has returned to the hotel. He left the airport before boarding his jet. Mission’s off. You need to get out now. I repeat, get out now.”

“Hurry up,” Gerardo added urgently.

“Damn,” you muttered, realizing you had gone to great lengths for this. But just then, as you skimmed through one last file, you found what you needed: everything—drug routes, sellers, suppliers, schedules—was there.

You placed the file into the bag, organizing the remaining papers back in their proper spots.

Time was slipping away as you locked the safe, closed the lid, and carefully rearranged the glasses one by one, your hands trembling, head spinning, heart racing, and palms sweating. Just as you were about to throw the bag over your shoulder and make your way to the elevator, the chime of the other elevator and Alan’s voice made you freeze.

You quickly crouched down, hiding in the most secluded corner of the counter, muttering a curse under your breath.

Why did he have to come back?

Fuck my luck, you cursed.

Alan was arguing with someone; his voice was laced with anger, and fortunately, he was too furious to think about drinking. But that didn’t ease your nerves. You felt a jolt when you heard the other voice.

“Lucy, what the fuck? Who do you think you are? I had to cancel my flight because of you!”

Oh great, thanks a lot, Lucy.

“You will listen to me this time.”

“I told you, that baby isn’t coming into this world. Get rid of it, or I’ll do it myself.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing; your mind was racing.

“She’s almost four months along. It’s too risky to abort now.”

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Not taking your pills to blackmail me? You’re pathetic!”

“No, you’re the pathetic one! You’re so obsessed with him that you’re willing to reject your own child!” Lucy shouted.

“Shut up,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

You didn’t need to see his face to feel how furious he was.

“If I had known you were this obsessed with Harry, I would have never dated you. You’ve made hating him your life’s mission; it’s sick.”

“I told you to shut up,” he warned again, his anger palpable and even more menacing this time.

“You watched us from a distance while we were together; you were thrilled when I dumped him, weren’t you? I know you roped John into all this too. You are responsible for everything. I lost them both because of you. Then you threatened me over my job just so I could pretend to be with you. But when Harry fell for that girl, you tried to get rid of me, didn’t you? She became your next target.”

“Don’t even put yourself in the same category as her. I genuinely love her.”

“Love?" She laughed, her voice tinged with distress, and you could hear her trying to stifle a sob. "No, you don’t know what love is. If you truly did, you wouldn’t treat her like this. All you want is to watch Harry suffer. You’re the most obsessively twisted person I’ve ever encountered.”

Alan let out a chilling, unnatural laugh. “Maybe you should stop talking to me that way. You have no idea what a truly twisted person is capable of.”

He moved closer, and you felt Lucy’s fear echoing your own. "I will kill you, and no one will ever find your body. Do you understand me?"

This was beyond what you could stand; you should have acted instead of just being afraid. Looking around, you spotted several liquor bottles. Grabbing one, you knew you had no other choice.

“Get rid of that baby, or I swear I’ll kill you.”

“No, I can’t, I won’t.”

“Is that so?” Just then, Alan lunged at her, gripping her neck tightly as you were startled by the sound of her bag hitting the floor.

You stood up, shocked by the scene.

What should I do? What should I do?

You glanced at the bottle in your hand—there wasn’t a choice.

You came up behind him and brought the bottle crashing down on his head with all your might. "Let her go, you piece of shit!"

He staggered from the blow and released Lucy, who gasped for air as she fought to recover, coughing.

Alan groaned and placed his hands down for support, struggling to regain his balance as blood oozed from his head. In that instant, only one thought raced through your mind: grab Lucy’s wrist and run for the elevator.

It wasn’t exactly professional, but that didn’t matter right now. You just needed to escape. As you pressed the button for the elevator and selected the ground floor, Lucy looked at you, confusion etched on her face, trying to make sense of everything.

“He…” she croaked.

“No, no, he’s not dead. Don’t worry,” you replied, even though you couldn’t be entirely sure that was the truth.

“You saved me,” she whispered, nearly fainting, her face ghostly pale.

You gently touched her cheek. “Are you okay? Hang in there; we’re almost there. The police are outside. Don’t worry, I’ll ensure they call you an ambulance.”

As the elevator dinged and reached the ground floor, you used your private key—one the maids had access to—to lock it behind you before rushing out. Once in the lobby, you dialed Gerardo's number. "I've got the file. I locked Alan in; he can't escape. And we need an ambulance for a pregnant woman who was attacked here," you said, glancing at Lucy.

Lucy stared at you with wide eyes, mumbling. "Who exactly are you?"

Just then, police officers burst into the lobby, and a nervous laugh escaped you. "You mean right now? Well, I’m the girl who just saved your ass."

She smiled back in response.

Your statements were taken later at the police station, alongside Lucy's, after she was cleared by the medical team. Alan was officially apprehended, and thanks to your efforts, the police now had concrete evidence of his crimes. His offenses included attempted murder, leading to his detention until the upcoming court date. It felt like a weight had been lifted; after everything you had been through, you had finally succeeded.

Zoe and John arrived at the police station simultaneously, both concerned and surprised to see Lucy there. While you quickly filled her in on what had happened, John engaged Lucy in conversation, revealing why they had been seeing each other so much lately. Given Lucy's delicate situation, it was evident this had been a tough time for her.

The commissioner and his team came over to thank you, you missed seeing Harry watching you from a distance, filled with both concern and relief.

As he called your name, you turned to see him, his anxious voice resonating throughout the police station and catching everyone’s attention.

He hurried towards you, wrapping you tightly in his arms and pressing you against his chest. The moment felt even stranger than everything else you’d experienced leading up to this point.

“Are you really trying to kill me?” he grumbled, his hand resting on the back of your head.

“Sorry.”

But just then, he noticed Gerardo, pulling away and fixing an angry glare on him. “How dare you put the woman I love in danger?” he asked, stepping towards him. “Isn’t what you’ve done enough?”

Gerardo stayed silent.

The commissioner cut in, “Mr. Castillo, please remember you’re at a police station.”

Harry retorted, “I’m well aware of that. I’ll sue all of you. What if something had happened to her?”

“Your girlfriend agreed to help of her own free will. Neither Mr. Alvaro nor anyone else forced her.”

“Harry, they’re telling the truth. I asked to help.”

He turned to you, confusion etched on his face. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Zoe echoed, both of them looking for an explanation. John and Lucy were equally puzzled.

“I wanted to help them catch Alan.”

So, you recounted everything from the beginning  but Harry's anger just wouldn’t subside. Just then, Maria arrived and quickly got up to speed on the situation. After a brief discussion with Gerardo, you bid them farewell. John took Lucy home, and Zoe decided to join them. Harry walked you to his car to take you home.

“What a day,” you murmured, resting your head on Harry’s shoulder, fatigue washing over you.

“You really are incredible. I can’t believe you had the courage to do something like that.”

“But it worked,” you said, smiling at him.

"You've obviously seen your fair share of James Bond films; otherwise, I couldn't explain your foolish bravery," he quipped. 

"You know, being a spy must be a real challenge. I don't think they live long."

“Why do you say that?” he asked, running his fingers through your hair.

“When I was there, the fear of being caught was so intense I felt like my heart would burst. Living with that kind of stress every second can’t be good for the heart.”

“Thanks to you, I think my heart’s going to give out too; it raced all day, worrying about you. I was going crazy."

You gazed at him. “I’m sorry; that wasn’t my intention. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Hm, a kiss wouldn’t be a bad start,” he said teasingly.

You giggled and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. His frown melted away, replaced by a bright smile. “That felt nice,” he said, grinning.

“Our plans for tomorrow are still on, right?” you asked.

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“I don’t know; maybe you don’t like me anymore now that you know my secret agent identity. Perhaps you’re thinking of running away,” you teased.

He laughed and sighed, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “You silly woman, nothing you do could make me give you up. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”

You smiled back at him. "So, that means never then. ”

“Never, my love, never.”

Saturday evening in Paris.

As you gazed out the jet window at the enchanting city below, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, you couldn't help but smile and sigh. Coming back here with Harry felt both meaningful and unique—your emotions were deeper this time, infused with a renewed sense of hope that you would both make it home together.

Really together.

As the jet began its descent, Harry sat across from you, fastening his seatbelt.

“Are you hungry, baby?” he asked.

Considering you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, you nodded enthusiastically. “Starving,” you replied with a laugh.

He chuckled too. “Everything’s set. We’ll head straight to the restaurant while Oliver takes care of our bags at the hotel.”

You smiled as he reached out and held your hand.

“It’s going to be perfect this time. These next three days together will be so much better than before, I promise.”

“I know, and I believe that with all my heart,” you said, returning his smile.

His grip tightened around your hand until the jet touched down safely.

The restaurant where you dined that night offered the same breathtaking view as before, the Eiffel Tower standing beautifully in the distance. While enjoying dessert, Harry reminisced about the treats you had made — he claimed they were the best desserts he had ever tasted, and you both shared a hearty laugh.

Although you were both excited upon arriving at the hotel, exhaustion had set in. You missed him deeply, and the feeling was mutual—his body language spoke volumes of his love for you. But instead of giving in to desire that night, you chose to simply lie in bed in your bathrobes after a shower. This intimate moment held more significance for both of you than any physical act. You felt you were making real progress together.

In contrast to weeks ago, when your interactions were guided more by physical urges, tonight was about connection. You both wanted to enjoy the thrill of make-up sex, but not just yet; tonight was dedicated to understanding each other through quiet moments and meaningful glances.

As you shared a long laugh and finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, your heart felt content.

Upon waking to the warm light streaming into the spacious room, you suddenly realized it had been ages since you had slept so deeply for such a long stretch. As you stretched and lifted your head from the pillow, it struck you that Harry was nowhere to be found; the other side of the bed lay empty. That sight was unsettling. Where could he be?

Checking the clock, you noted it was around ten o'clock. “Wow, did I really sleep that long?” you murmured as you climbed out of bed. “Harry!”

The stillness of the room greeted you, your voice echoing back. Noticing his bathrobe draped over the chair, it was clear he had gotten dressed and slipped out. But where had he gone? You quickly grabbed your phone and called him.

“Good morning, Cinderella. I'm waiting for you near the Eiffel Tower.  To find me, just follow the trail of flowers and breakfast,” Harry's voice rang with cheerfulness.

“Flowers? Breakfast? What do you mean? Harry—” But before you could finish your sentence, he hung up.

What the hell?

The Champ de Mars, where the Eiffel Tower stood, was vast—where exactly was he? Questions buzzed in your mind as you got ready. You slipped into a summer dress, perfect for the warm day, ran a comb through your hair, applied some light makeup, grabbed your bag, and made your way out of the room.

As you stepped outside the hotel, you were greeted by Oliver. “Ollie, what's going on?”

"Sorry, I’ve been told to keep quiet about it, and I really love my job."   

You narrowed your eyes. "Harry's going to fire you? No way."   

He chuckled. "I know it would’ve all fallen apart without me."   

"Exactly," you said, laughing again. 

"Go on, he’s waiting for you," he urged. 

Was Harry planning a surprise?

Your curiosity piqued. As you stood in line to buy ticket for the Eiffel Tower, a man approached and handed you a red peony. "No need to buy a ticket, ma'am; it's already taken care of, this way," he said in a charming French accent. 

"All right," you murmured, following his direction.

As you stepped towards the tower, a little girl handed you another peony. Moments later, a boy came up and handed you both a peony and a small package. "Bon appétit," he said in French. 

"Thank you," you replied. Inside the package was a croissant that smelled absolutely divine, tempting you to take a bite. 

Just as you did, another boy presented you with a steaming cup of coffee. 

That’s when it clicked—you understood what Harry had meant. 

Follow the flowers and breakfast.

But where was he? 

One boy after another approached, and you felt a mix of excitement and intrigue. As your view of the tower opened up, flowers in hand along with your breakfast, you turned towards the voices behind you. The children who had gifted you the flowers were all happily following along. 

You were surprised but found it delightful. A little further ahead, you finally spotted him.

Harry stood there, waiting for you in his light-brown jacket, his signature smile lighting up his face. "Welcome," he greeted as you reached him. 

You smiled, responding.

"Did you enjoy your breakfast?" he asked. 

"Yeah, it was wonderful, but I wish we could have shared it together," you said, smiling at the kids surrounding you, though your expression was puzzled. "Harry, what’s going on?" 

All the kids are now holding heart-shaped balloons, leaving you to gaze at them in wonder.

He gently took what was in your hand, handed it to one of the boys beside you, and turned back to you, taking your hands in his. 

"I want to say a few things now. I hope it doesn't sound too cliché." 

You laughed, shaking your head. He looked deeply into your eyes. 

"My darling, my light, the moment I first saw you, I knew you were the one." 

"Cliché," one of the kids chimed in. 

You all burst into laughter. 

"Give it another try, sir," a girl encouraged. 

Harry sighed and cleraed his throat. "My love, you are the most beautiful, intelligent, resourceful, and extraordinary woman I know. Not a moment goes by that I don’t think of you. You’re a wonderful person—helpful, clever, and a bit stubborn and reckless all at once. You've pushed me to do things I never imagined possible, and the most thrilling and beautiful moments of my life began the day you walked into it. I could never have envisioned giving this speech in front of so many, thinking it was embarrassing, but now I realize it’s because I had never truly fallen in love before." 

With a swift motion, he drew a small velvet box from the depths of his jacket pocket, and your breath caught in your throat as your heart began to race wildly. As he sank to one knee, a ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd surrounding you, their whispers filled with excitement and joy. With trembling hands, he carefully opened the box, unveiling a dazzling diamond ring -you saw it before- that sparkled brilliantly, reminiscent of a thousand stars scattered across the night sky, now glimmering in the warm embrace of the sunlight. Locking eyes with you, he said your full name. "I love you with my entire being, more than anything else, and I promise to love you for as long as I breathe. Will you honor me by becoming my wife?" 

"Harry," you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. 

An intense fire dancing in his gaze, and spoke with a conviction that made time stand still. He uttered two simple words, often brushed off as clichés, yet they carried a world of meaning within.

"Marry me."

You could hardly find your voice, overwhelmed with emotion. 

"Say yes! Say yes!" The crowd cheered, urging you on. 

You both looked around, emotions bubbling up as you realized the moment was being witnessed by so many. "Just so you know, I hope you won’t say no—there are a lot of people with their phones out. This could be live on Instagram right now!" 

Through your sniffles, you let out a laugh before taking a deep breath. “Yes! Harry Castillo, I will marry you. So, absolutely yes!”

At that moment, cheers erupted from the crowd, with a few whistles for good measure.

Harry stood up, slipped the ring onto your finger, and pulled you close, kissing you passionately.

The crowd erupted in applause.

The children's laughter rang out as they released red, heart-shaped balloons into the sky, the cheering surrounding you in a wave of joy. 

You broke the kiss, gazing at the floating balloons and the crowd celebrating, then back into each other’s eyes, relishing this fairytale moment. Harry wiped your tears away just as you did the same for him, and you kissed again, more deeply this time, as if the world around you had faded away. 

It was just the two of you.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

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lots of love 💋💋❤️❤️

[cosmosluckycharms]

[base on your last post]

CAN WE GET A CHAPTER ON THE READERS LIFE WHEN THEY WERE LIVING WITH MIGUEL⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️

SOREY I GOT TO THIS SO LATE (70 days oops)

this is also ass cause writers block is a bitch sigh

i hate this LMFAO

also bla wont be getting an update until i finish showtimes next chapter cause ive been neglecting it LMFAO

Bug Like Angel

Coming home

Living with Miguel wasn't easy.

It was a strange change from living in the manor.

As soon as you moved in, you realized how differently you were going to live.

Sure, you'd been at his apartment lots of times, so you knew how to get around the apartment, but having to downsize from a mansion to a tiny apartment for two slightly annoyed you.

You made your way to your room and ignored all the pictures of Gabriella in the hallway and laid down on your bed.

Your room wasn't as decorated as the one back in the manor.

It mostly was decorated with items from past hangouts you had with your friends and forgot to take with you back to the manor.

It was a lot smaller than your room back at the manor.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss your room back at the manor.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss how big the manor was.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss the garden in the backyard.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss all the room the manor had.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss using Bruce's credit card to go on shopping sprees.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss all your expensive clothes and makeup.

What you didn't miss was your so-called "family."

Back when you lived in the manor, you were free to go wherever whenever due to your family forgetting about you

Sometimes, you wouldn't inform anyone, and no one would notice you were gone, not even Alfred.

Sometimes you'd be gone for weeks at a friend's house before Alfred noticed you had left.

So it was surprising to you when Miguel actually noticed you leaving.

You were about to go walk around New York and make a new friend or two.

If you were going to move here, you might as well meet some new people.

With your phone in hand and keys in the other, you started making your way out the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, looking up from his hologram computers.

You tilted your head in confusion. "Out?"

"No way. Do you know how dangerous that is? It's 8 pm, it's dark out, and you could get hurt." He spoke in an authoritative tone.

That whole interaction left you somewhat confused.

Not because it didn't make sense, because it did.

Children are supposed to be seen.

You, for once, were seen.

It was also strange living with someone who cared about you enough to check up on you.

You were also used to sitting by yourself for hours on end, not speaking to anyone.

Sometimes you'd be in your room for days at a time, not coming out for anything.

Alfred would leave food at your door, and you had everything you needed.

You used to have a big bedroom with its own bathroom and window.

So it was surprising when Miguel would check in on you every hour or so.

It was annoying at first; you liked your peace and quiet.

You liked being able to have a moment to sit down and be by yourself for hours, days on end.

But you got used to it.

You understood this was his way of making sure you weren't running off and getting into trouble.

You were used to not having to cook or clean, so suddenly having to do chores around the apartment was slightly annoying.

And also concerning. How do you not know how to do simple chores?

Sometimes, while Miguel was at work, you'd get hungry and try to cook.

But you had no experience due to Alfred always making food and never teaching you, so usually you'd either make it inedible or burn the food.

One time, you almost burnt the kitchen down.

Miguel had just come back from work, only to see you trying to put out a fire with water.

"Mija, move!" He panicked and pushed her out of the way to grab a fire extinguisher.

You froze up watching him frantically push you out of the way and put out the fire.

"What were you thinking?!" He put the extinguisher away.

"I—I'm sorry! I was trying to cook some ramen!" You trembled.

He put his hands on his hips. "How did it catch on fire?"

"I was boiling the water, and it caught on fire!"

"You burnt water?"

"…yeah."

"Dios mío...How did you manage to burn water?"

"Don't ask me how I did it; I just did it. It was hard."

"Hija de tu puta—You know you could've gotten hurt? You could've burnt down this apartment with you in it!" The way Miguel was scolding you reminded you of when Bruce had yelled at you for almost hurting Damian.

After a while longer of scolding, you walked off to your room.

You walked past all the pictures of Gabriella on the walls. You pretended not to care about how you knew that if Gabriella had done what you did, Miguel wouldn't have scolded her.

You didn't cry in your pillow.

You put on your headphones and scrolled on your phone.

Due to you having your music on full blast, you didn't hear Miguel knocking on your door.

"Hey, mija," He spoke.

"..."

"Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you like that. I was scared you were going to get hurt." Miguel sat down on the edge of the bed.

"…really?" You put your phone down.

"Mhm."

You stayed silent, fidgeting with the bracelets on your arm.

Miguel cleared his throat, continuing, "Look, how about next time you're hungry, we can work together to make a meal instead of you struggling alone."

"I don't need help," you snapped, sitting straight up. "I've practically helped myself for 15 years; I'm perfectly fine."

"It's okay to need help."

"It's not okay. I'm not a child, and I don't need help." You argued, attempting to hide your angry tears in the sleeves of your shirt.

You felt a hand on your shoulder.

You instantly melted into his touch.

"Listen," he spoke, "you don't have to deal with this alone. I know how big of a change this is for both of us."

"I'm fine," you argued, avoiding his eyes.

"It's okay to ask for help."

"I don't want to be a burden."

"You aren't a burden; you never have been and never will be."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure."

You stayed quiet, processing his words.

He sighed and walked out your door quietly.

You ended up taking his offer up, the one where he taught you how to cook.

It was a mess because of you both mostly playing around and not taking it seriously, but at least you didn't burn down the kitchen this time.

Miguel was getting tired of driving you around, from parks, the gym, the mall, etc.

Plus, to your new friends' houses and hangouts.

So, he took you to finally get you a car.

It wasn't until you chose the car and were about to drive it that you realized:

"...I can't drive."

"What do you mean you can't drive?" he asked in disbelief.

"I mean, I never learned. No one ever taught me." You had asked Jason to teach you, and he never did.

From then on, Miguel attempted to teach you.

He would teach you for roughly an hour every day.

The conversations you both would have usually went like this:

"Ve a la derecha," he said, pointing at the GPS.

"What's derecha?" you asked.

He let out a sigh. "Right."

Out of habit, you put your hands out into an 'L' shape to figure out your right.

He let out another sigh. "Dont tell me you dont know—."

You cut him off "I don't know my lefts and rights!"

Miguel started rubbing his temple in annoyance.

It took a while for you to be fully able to drive; even then, it wasn't flawless.

Once you got pulled over by the police for accidentally speeding, and they had to contact "your parents."

That'd be fine if you weren't literally in another universe you technically shouldn't be in.

You had to lie to the police and tell them you lived by yourself, and they let you off with a warning.

As you made your way home, you realized you should probably blend in as Miguel's daughter.

"Can I have your last name?" you didnt want to ask to be adopted, you didnt want to be an annoyance to him.

"Well, good evening to you too."

"It'll make it easier to blend in here. I'm the only Wayne in New York." You argued

"Listen, I have to have paperwork to do it—"

You cut him off, passing him the paperwork you've had for him from a month ago.

"Alright."

From then on, you were an O'Hara, which you preferred over Wayne.

You didn't want to be connected to your "family."

Living with Miguel wasn't easy, but it was easier than living with the Waynes.

GHIS IS SO BAD AND YOH PROBABLY DONT WVEN RWMEMBER SENDING TBIS IM SL SORRY

oh god this is buttcheeks

also taglist is closed 😭

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[greenwitchfromthewoods]

new normal. l Joel Miller

Summary: your life went on, only the worries were the same

Warnings: some smut (+18) but not too much, fluff, some worries, Reader is pregnant, Ellie and Tommy show up here, boring chapter

A/N: i wanted to write something before i leave and give it to you when i'm not home. i hope you'll welcome these scribbles warmly. i love their story so much and I hope you like it too.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

Joel Miller was in bed when he felt a sweet-smelling weight settle on his back. Something wet touched his neck, and then someone kissed his cheek. A muffled groan escaped his throat.

"Are you asleep?" a quiet but self-satisfied voice sounded in his ear.

"Not anymore..." he murmured. Another kiss. He reached his hand back and felt wet and soft skin under his fingers. "What time is it?"

"It's almost seven." you replied. Another two kisses and a gentle bite on the ear.

Joel rolled over on his back with difficulty, because you weren't going to make it easy for him, and when he rubbed his eyes he saw the sweetest sight in the world. Your hair, still wet, fell over your face. Smiling eyes stared at him, and the open robe revealed that you had nothing underneath.

"You couldn't sleep?" you shook your head. "What's gotten into you, huh?"

"I have no idea, but you know what?" Joel raised his eyebrows and you leaned down and whispered in his ear. "I want you. Now. Please..."

"Please always works." he replied and a moment later he took your face in his hands and moved to capture your lips with his. 

You tasted like mint toothpaste. He didn't know why it was so important to him at that moment. Nimble fingers quickly took off your robe and a second later you were lying on your back and Joel was nestling between your spread thighs.

For the past few days you had been in a honeymoon state, or at least that's what Joel called it in his head. You were full of energy and your appetite for intimacy grew at a very fast pace. There were days when Joel would come home and you would greet him with such sparkling eyes that you didn't even have to say anything more. No, he wasn't complaining, but if he was fifteen or at least ten years younger, he would definitely be able to do more.

But there was something about it that pleased him the most - normalcy. His mind was filled with thoughts of everything that was happening, and most of all, you.

"Fuck, I love you so much..." he moaned as he started moving inside you.

"I love you too, Joel Miller." you replied and pulled him in to kiss him hard.

Sometimes he imagined the world was normal. Like in that bed, with your body right underneath his, that was a slice of normal. If it weren't for this fucking pandemic, that would be your normal. 

He'd be making love to you in your shared bed. You'd be married, engaged, or just together, because would that even matter? Sarah would be all grown up, maybe have her own family, kids... And you'd be carrying another child of his, a new beginning. Maybe it was crazy, but the thought was really beautiful to Joel. 

But then he'd remember Ellie. If Sarah were alive, he probably would never have met Ellie. She'd be living with her parents, her real ones. How could he not have her in his life? Joel didn't think he could give her up now.

And you? Did anyone really give him a guarantee that he would have met you if the world hadn't lost its mind? Maybe that was the only normality he could have. Maybe that was how his path was supposed to go.

But Joel really appreciated it, every single day. Every morning when he saw Ellie and you, every minute spent together, every kiss. It was like tearing something for himself from the claws of changing fate. And Joel wanted to hold on to it.

He met you at the moment when it was supposed to happen. In the place and time right for both of you. You had walked such a difficult path that he was already grateful for what you had together. And you were supposed to have even more. Fate was kind to him.

You didn't notice him when he entered the bedroom, too busy looking at yourself in the mirror. He watched as you rolled up your shirt, looking at your belly. Your clothes still hid it well.

Finally, you looked up and saw Joel's reflection. A smile formed on your lips.

"Hey, beautiful." he said quietly with a smirk.

"I look like I ate two solid meals at Russo's." you said with a sneer. "I thought it'd be bigger by now."

Dark eyes stared at you with awe but also amusement. Joel could see perfectly how your body changed almost every day. He loved it.

"It's perfect. It looks better than I could have imagined." he said and your face lit up. "Are you going to Ann?" You nodded reaching for your sweatshirt. "I can walk you out, I have to meet Tommy."

"Is something wrong?" 

He came closer and slid his hand under your sweatshirt where your treasure was hidden. The roundness of your belly was palpable under his fingers. A sweet kiss landed on your temple. "No, nothing like that. Don't worry."

After the attack on Jackson, you knew that many people had taken it badly. Fear and dread hung in the air like a strange fog for weeks. Even Joel was more restless, sleeping worse. You felt like he was awake at night, listening to every creak and rumble. Like the threat was standing on your porch, waiting.

He wanted to protect you, he still had it in him, and you understood that. Living in Jackson had let your guard down for a while, and now you couldn’t afford it.

“We need to reinforce the walls around Jackson. Maybe add more guard posts?”

Joel looked at the map on his desk and pointed to a few places. “We can put them here. But we’ll need more men to build them,” he said. “We’ll also reinforce the gates.”

“We’ll be working with more patrols over the next few weeks. I want to make sure there aren’t any strangers hanging around.”

“Jesse didn’t find any leads?”

Tommy shook his head. “Maybe it was just one group? But we can’t risk it.”

For a moment, they both thought. The faint rays of sunlight streamed into the room as both men were lost in their thoughts. Finally, Tommy spoke up.

"The ones we caught said there were no more. That it was just this one group."

Joel rubbed his chin and shook his head. "Possibly. But can we trust them?"

"Maybe two groups of Riders joined forces, huh? They wanted to try their luck. They're all dead, so we should be safe."

Joel leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, wondering something. "What if someone was watching from outside? They sent a message to the rest of the group."

"Do you think there might be more people like that?"

Joel shrugged. "I have no idea, Tommy. We need to reinforce the gates though. We have too many people here." Too valuable people, he wanted to add, but he stopped himself. It was already hard enough to convince Tommy to hide the weapons in the basement of the house. You didn't know that, but Joel preferred to be prepared for anything. Your backpacks were packed too, because if the need arose...

They both jumped when they heard footsteps on the stairs, then someone knocked on the door. Tommy's face lit up at the sight of you.

"Hi! Nice to see you." he greeted. Joel noticed how Tommy had instantly hidden all of his previous worries on his face so you wouldn't notice. Did he do the same? Did you read Tommy as well as you read Joel?

"I hope I'm not interrupting," you said, walking in and unzipping your jacket. "Beautiful weather, isn't it? I saw Maria and Benji. She told me to tell you she was waiting for you with dinner."

Tommy's smile widened. "Thanks. I'll be right over. And how's my favorite nephew or niece?"

“Good. We’re growing up slowly.” You looked at Joel, his hand clearly moving the papers to cover what he and Tommy had been poring over moments earlier. “Joel says he sees changes every day, but I’m not so sure.”

Tommy looked at his brother, clearly impressed. “That old guy is observant, isn’t he? When spring comes, you won’t be hiding anything anymore.” He stood up and gathered his things. “I’m going home. I promised Maria I’d take Benji. See you for dinner on Sunday?”

You both nodded, and Tommy left. You took his place in front of the desk, watching Joel carefully.

“How’s Ann?” he asked.

“Good. But she’s worried about Shane patrolling more often.” You sighed. “She understands it’s necessary, but… You get it.”

"Yes. But we have to get through this. Tommy wants us to reinforce the walls." 

"That's good, right? They got here pretty quickly last time." 

Joel nodded. "We can't let that happen again."

Quiet sounds reached the bedroom where you were changing the sheets. Joel and Ellie were sitting downstairs. The girl had been learning to play the guitar for a long time, and Joel was very involved in it. He had a lot of patience, and the time he spent with Ellie was very important to both of them.

The fact that you were a family was simply obvious to you. Back then, by the river, you didn't just find this young girl, you found a home. And now you created this home together. You were already finishing folding the laundry when Joel quietly slipped into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

“She went to Dina’s,” he sighed. “If this keeps up, we’ll forget what she looks like.”

You smiled. “You weren’t like that? I’m sure you were out late wandering around.”

“That’s why I know now why it bothered my mother so much. Sarah wasn’t like that.”

The name of his dead daughter fell from his lips so naturally that for a moment you didn’t even notice. It took a moment for you to speak up again.

“Do you think about her?”

He nodded, sitting on the bed. "Almost every day, and now even more often." He sighed. "Ellie's older than her now and we're having a new baby soon. I wonder what she'd think of that."

"Do you think she'd like Ellie?"

"Yeah. They're different, but they're teenagers, right? They'd get along." He ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. "I think you'd love her too."

You smiled softly, putting his washed shirt aside. "She was a part of you. I'm sure I would have loved her in an instant."

You were silent for a moment. The warm memory of Sarah hung between you. Finally, it was Joel who broke the silence.

"When Sarah came along, I was too young. Now I feel too old." he said, as if he had blurted out something he'd been thinking about for a long time. He looked at you lovingly, but like he really needed you. “I love you so much and I really want this. I just hope I can do it.”

You stood up and carefully straddled his lap, placing your hands on his shoulders.

“We’re in this together, remember? You and me. I see how you feel about Ellie, I hear you talking about Sarah. Our baby will have the greatest father in the world.”

“I think you’re overestimating me.”

“And I think we have a lot more to worry about. You’re not as old as you say. And I wanted this too, so…” He placed his hands on your hips, and you brushed your lips against his. “I’m grateful for what I have. I never thought I’d ever have so much.”

“You’re too good for me, you know that?”

“Sometimes.” You chuckled. “Come on. We’re alone. Let’s take a shower together, and then I’ll show you how good I can be for you.” 

He captured your lips in a tender kiss. It was soft, full of what he wanted to tell you but couldn't put into words. But you understood. You knew him so well that he didn't need to say anything more.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait @mmmunson @grace-928 @umadirectioner

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER FIVE: DON'T HATE THE PLAYERS

violet; 5,460 words; fluff, suggestive content, drama, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, smau-intermissions, miscommunication, fake dating, lesbian situationships rly hit diff, toxic ex!cait, simp!vi, rival!sevika, inappropriate use of locker rooms, vi is down so horrifically bad its kind of sad tbh

summary: in which instagrams are posted, texts are sent, hockey games are played, and you try your best to make it back in time to gie vi her present.

a/n: a lot of things happen here. LOL but i promise they're not all bad! ALSO. the insta post picture IS NOT PERFECT but it was the best i could do. and i didn't have time to commission an artist to draw the exact image that i wanted :( but i hope it at least gives the vibe of the post. and... it starts getting frisky here so... yall have been warned!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ "OH SHIT, she said that?”

Vi grunts, rolling her eyes as she drops the deadlift bar with a loud thunk, flicking her belt off with her thumb.

“Yeah. I told her to fuck off.”

“Atta girl!” Jayce says, thumping her on the shoulder. Vi casts him a disgusted look.

“If you value your future offspring, Talis, never call me that again.”

Jayce laughs, reaching down to help Vi put the weights back onto the rack.

“I honestly thought it was gonna take much longer for you to, y’know —”

Vi pauses before straightening to pin him with a look.

“What? You thought I’d super hung up on her or something?”

Jayce shrugs, “Well, yeah. You seemed pretty deep in it when you two were together so…”

Vi sighs, carding a hand through her sweat-slicked hair.

“I mean, I was, but… I dunno… seeing her with that new girlfriend of hers… and just… her reaching out to try and — what… sabotage my…” Vi bites back the word ‘relationship’ so she just makes a vague sort of gesture and continues, “really kinda put things into perspective for me.”

Jayce hums thoughtfully, “Yeah, but that Nolen girl’s no joke either. Her whole family’s been in the military — her dad’s some sort of war hero, and her mom’s the daughter of a politician, I think.”

Vi casts him a sidelong glance before scoffing, “Wow. Mel really did her research, huh?”

At this, Jayce jerks up, sputtering, “Well — she just — you know — her family’s also — I —”

Vi laughs, waving him off, “Whatever dude… but I already knew all that — why d’you think Caitlyn even ditched me in the first place?”

Jayce frowns, “Wasn’t it… because her mom didn’t approve of you or something like that?”

“Yep. We had one dinner together, and her mother made it very clear that she didn’t think someone of ‘my elk’ was worthy of being with her daughter. Apparently, having an adoptive father who owns a local watering hole and coaches college hockey isn’t the exact pedigree she’s looking for.”

Jayce lets out a low whistle.

Vi grabs a dumbbell for bicep curls.

“And… it seems like Caitlyn really look her mother’s words to heart. Cause a few weeks later… well, you know the rest.”

Jayce sighs, “That’s… unfortunate. But hey, look on the bright side. Without Cait’s mom, you would’ve never had the chance to date an Olympic athlete, right?”

Vi’s mouth twists into a half-grimace as she puffs out a breath and flexes her arm up, her eyes focused on her form in the mirror.

“Yeah well — not sure what exactly we are right now so… who knows.”

Jayce folds his arms, “Give her time. I haven’t known her as long as Mel has but she’s still a really good friend and…” Jayce allows himself a tiny, slanted grin as Vi pushes through her reps, “Mel wasn’t lying when she told you that we’ve never seen her like this with anyone else before.”

Vi finishes her first set with a loud exhale, glancing up at him.

“Don’t go getting my hopes up like that, pretty boy,” but she’s smiling when Jayce bends down to hand her a bottle of Gatorade, “hasn’t anyone told you it’s not good manners to toy with a girl’s feelings?” she pitches her voice up at the end, wiggling her fingers through the air even as Jayce rolls his eyes.

A few minutes later, Jayce frowns as he turns back to Vi.

“You’ve blocked her number, right?”

Vi huffs, still counting beneath her breath, “— twenty-two, twenty-three — who? What? — Twenty-four —”

“Caitlyn’s.”

Vi grunts, straining through a few more reps before stopping to glance up at Jayce.

“No. Why? Should I?”

Jayce licks his lips, frowning slightly.

“Yeah. Might be a good idea.”

Vi shrugs, “Yeah. I’ll do it later.”

Jayce nods, “Good. Alright — abs, lets go.”

You’re antsy all the way to the airport, checking your phone every four seconds, your knee bouncing even as the cab driver pulls up into the terminal and opens the trunk to grab your bag with a smile.

You bolt through the doors, thanking the heavens that the TSA Pre line is nearly empty.

Just as soon as you get through security, Mel calls.

“Have you got it?” you ask, without even saying hello.

Mel sigh, “Yes, yes, but it won’t do much good if you’re not here to give it to her —”

“I know! I know — I’m at the airport, and just got through security. Are you and Jayce —”

“I’ll come pick you up at the airport — thank god it’s only 16 minutes away from campus.”

“And you’re sure we’ll still make it on time for the game?”

“So long as your flight doesn’t get delayed —”

“It won’t.”

Mel laughs, the sound soft as you speed-walk your way through the terminal, slumping down next to your designated one with a long breath.

“Alright then, darling. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Mel says.

You make a loud kissing noise into the speaker and hang up, your fingers automatically flicking through the open windows till you come to yours and Vi’s text history.

You grin down at it stupidly for a few more seconds before jolting out of your seat as one of the gate agents comes to shake your hand and help you board first. As you sink into the wide, business-class seat, you close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Your fingers fiddle with a thin gold chain around your neck and you bite back another grin.

You tug out the small teardrop locket dangling from the chain and flick open the clasp. Inside is nestled a single violet flower, pressed and perfect, preserved behind a thin pane of shimmering glass.

Vi makes a round of the rink, scanning the crowd with furrowed brows.

Nope. Nope. Nope…

She swears silently to herself, rolling her shoulders as the crowd roars.

You promised you’d be here tonight.

“And tonight, we’ve got our season’s top two favorites for the NCAA’s Frozen Four Championship — the Piltover Enforcers, and the Zaunite Barons!”

Vi grins as the stadium positively shakes with applause. It’s always nice playing on home-ice. Across the rink, she can see the huge, lumbering shapes of the Barons, and her jaw clenches as she catches Sevika’s eye.

They’d been something like childhood friends once upon a time. But after a falling out of meteoric proportions, they’d settled somewhere between grudging acquaintances and mortal enemies. Where they land on the scale on any particular day typically depends on the weather, the orbital tide height, and whether or not Mercury is currently in retrograde.

Though judging by the smirk that’s visible from beneath Sevika’s helmet, Vi thinks it’s nearing the mortal enemies end of the spectrum today.

All the players line up for the face off.

Vi bites down on her mouth guard and smacks her stick against the ice. Sevika skates up to her, bending down so close their helmets clack.

And for a brief, interminable second, Vi thinks Sevika’s going to stay quiet. But the moment passes and Sevika chuckles, the sound low and hoarse and utterly derisive. It sets Vi’s teeth on edge even before the first word leaves her mouth.

“Heard America’s snowflake-sweetheart’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“Tch. What’s it to you?” Vi’s eyes flash up.

Sevika’s smirk has morphed into a full blown grin, sharp as freshly turned blades.

She shrugs, keeping her voice low as the official says something or other to both the teams.

“Well… just a lotta people buzzin’ online about her perfect skate at her competition this past weekend and I’m just thinkin’… man… you must not be fuckin’ her right —”

“You —” Vi nearly jerks up, but Sevika presses in just a bit tighter and Vi grounds her teeth down over the mouth guard.

“Cause if you lemme **take her for a spin, you can bet your scrawny ass that she won’t even be able to stand up straight, let alone skate clean.”

The puck hits the ice as if in slow motion; Vi feels a white-hot anger mixed with something very much like hurt surging up the length of her spine as she watches Sevika’s stick make contact with the puck first. But she doesn’t care — she slams her body forward and feels her shoulder check into Sevika’s chest as they both go sprawling across the ice and the puck goes wide.

They scramble up and take off after the puck, now in Zaunite possession, Sevika’s shoulder ramming reflectively into Vi’s as they jostle down the length of the rink.

Vi cracks her shoulder back into Sevika and the momentary gap is all she needs to break away, circling wide behind the goal. Someone shouts Reverse! and Vi feels more than sees the tiny black puck make contact with her stick. Her body moves on instinct, and she’s halfway down the rink before the others catch up to her.

She allows herself a single, tight-lipped grin before someone slams into her back with the force of a speeding firetruck. The world spins, but a second later, Vi hears the unmistakable sounds of Sevika’s heaving breaths.

“Ha. Aren’t you glad your little girlfriend isn’t here to see you eat shit?”

Vi flips around and before she knows it, she’s swinging her left arm into Sevika’s helmet, knocking it askew.

“Vi!”

Vi’s whole body seizes at the sound of your voice, and she looks up wildly, but she pays for it a moment later as Sevika’s fist connects with her jaw and her head snaps back. She brings her elbow down against Sevika’s extended arm, her free hand grappling to keep Sevika’s head shoved against the ice.

A whistle blows and they shove apart, shaking their heads and spitting blood. Vi tastes iron on her tongue and winces as she rotates her jaw. There’ll be a nasty bruise, but it’s not dislocated, and Vi’s suffered much worse at Sevika’s hands.

Half a foot from her, Sevika is shaking out her arm, looking murderous as the official comes up to point them towards the penalty box.

Vi looks around, and halfway across the rink, she sees you, your eyes wide, your hands pressed over your mouth, Mel and Jayce sitting next to you, both looking worried. But you’ve got dark streaks painted on your cheeks, and it takes her a second to recognize the large “VI” written there — her number, her name.

The world melts around her as she meets your eyes, and you look so worried that she almost laughs. This is nothing, she wants to say, you ain’t seen nothing yet, princess.

But the second is short lived as the official skates over and jerks his head towards the penalty box. She sighs, begrudgingly skating over and settling herself as far away from Sevika as humanly possible as the clock starts on their five minutes.

When all’s said and done, the game is a good one — with the final score of 3-2 in Piltover’ s favor. Sevika gets another penalty, but Vi manages to keep her cool. And by the end, everyone’s sweaty and tired, but riding high, and Vi can’t help the way she once more scans the cheering crowd for your face.

But, you’re not there. The seat next to Jayce and Mel is empty, and Vi can’t help the clawing, hollowing sensation that burrows up her chest from the base of her stomach.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Margot teases, bumping Vi as they all clamber off the ice.

Vi narrows her eyes, “What’dyou mean?”

Margot only grins, shooting Vi a wink before following the rest of the team towards the lockers.

Her phone buzzes and Vi glances down, only to see a single line of text from you:

come to the figure skating lockers. i’ve got a present for you.

Electricity zings up Vi’s limbs as she pivots hard left and makes her way down the heavily padded hallway towards the figure skating lockers, tugging off her gear as she goes. By the time she gets there, she’s managed to get most of her upper pads off, shucking them outside the door, leaving her in her loose jersey and pants.

She pushes through the thick metal door into the figure skating lockers. They’re smaller, brighter, and generally cleaner than the hockey team lockers. Vi’s never thought herself a stickler for things like nicer locker rooms but stepping in, she can’t help the way that her eyebrows shoot up.

“Whoa.”

“They’re not all this nice.”

Vi whips her head around so fast she almost gets a crick in her neck at the sound of your voice. And there — standing next to the far row of pure white lockers, with your hands behind your back and her number (her name still painted on your cheek), you.

“Yeah?” she asks, even as she drops her helmet on the thickly padded floor and shuffles forward in her skates. She takes her time looking you over — and objectively, she knows it’s only been a few days since she’d last seen you, but it feels like forever, the way time stretches endless when you’re a little kid on the playground and eternity is just another thing you can take for granted.

You purse your lips around a shy grin and Vi almost groans as she notices the bright pink ribbon tied around your neck like a choker. You’re wearing the little black dress that you’d worn to that sorority party, the one that’s been the subject of one too many of her dirty daydreams — her varsity jacket slung around your shoulders.

“Sweet god, princess… is this the present you have for me? Please tell me it is —”

You let out a soft puff of exasperated laughter.

“No! I mean —” your eyes cut away as you shift your weight from one foot to another, falling back half a step as Vi takes a few steps closer. “I-if you want it to be — this can be — uhm — an additional present —”

“Mm… I don’t think I want any other present if I’ve got this one —” Vi says, inwardly thanking the heavens that she’d kept her skates on as they give her a few more inches as she corners you against a row of snow-white lockers, so bright they’re almost blinding.

“I — well that’s —”

“Mm… cat got your tongue, princess?” Vi asks, reaching up to tug your chin back towards her as you try to glance away.

You suck in a short breath, your lashes fluttering as you meet her gaze with yours — dark to light, amber and ice.

There’s adrenaline coursing through her system, and Vi knows she’s still riding high off the win, off the knowledge that you’re here, and that you’re here for her. She looks you over with reverent eyes, her gaze lingering on the dark paint now slightly smeared across your cheeks in a large “VI”.

“I… I got this for you a while back…” you say, pressing something into her chest. Vi pauses, glancing down to see a small black box wrapped in a length of bright pink ribbon the exact same make and color as the one around your neck.

Vi falls back a step to take the box in her hands, turning it over.

“What is it?”

You shrug, a tiny, bird-like movement. Sweet and almost daring.

Vi grins as she traces a finger along a single ear of the perfectly tied bow.

“Can I?” she asks.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

Vi tugs on the ribbon and it comes loose with a whisper. She opens the box to reveal a simple, teardrop locket set on a golden chain. She picks it up, letting the locket dangle from her fingers.

“Go on, open it,” you prompt, looking both bashful and eager. Vi gives you one more glance before fumbling open the locket to reveal a single snowflake, carved into the thick glass set into the middle of the locket.

“Oh.” Vi breathes, her voice nothing but a whisper. She stare at the locket, at the simplicity and delicacy of it. And then, she looks back up at you.

“It’s — Mel and Jayce helped me pick it — I didn’t know if you even wore stuff like this but —”

“I’ll wear it,” Vi says, letting the pendant drop into the palm of her opened hand. She offers it to you with a lopsided grin. “Can you help me put it on?”

You nod, a bit breathless, even as you take the locket from her and undo the clasp with trembling fingers. Vi grins as she leans in to let you fasten the chain around her neck, reveling in the tiny kiss of cold metal against her sweaty skin as she pulls back.

“So? How’s it look?” she asks.

You stare at the locket, and then up at her, and she swears she can see your eyes go molten.

“It looks… good.”

“Good,” Vi whispers, reaching up to finger at the tiny pink bow still tied around your neck. You suck in a breath, going still against her as she ghosts her breath along the long column of your neck. And she thinks she can almost hear the sound of your heart pounding against your ribcage by the way your pulse flutters in your neck — she sure as hell can feel her own traitorous heart thundering away in her chest as she glances from the bow around your neck up to you and back down again.

“Can I?” she asks again, though this time, her voice is gentle, imploring, something like a plea as opposed to question.

She revels in the way your pulse flutters beneath the bright pink of the satin.

“Y-yeah —” you say, your own voice a harsh scrape of sound over a burgeoning need that Vi can almost taste on her tongue. But, she wants to take her time with you, she thinks, so she trails her fingers up to your neck and teases at the rabbit ears of the butterfly bow before tugging one end loose. And just like before, the ribbon gives way much too easily, and something gold shimmers as it drops from beneath the pink satin.

She stares.

It’s a gold chain identical to the one around her neck, with a teardrop pendant strung from it that mirrors her own.

This time, when she glances up, her eyes are wide, almost disbelieving.

Your throat bobs as you clench your fingers at your sides, resisting the urge to lift your hands and help her.

“What…” her voice trails off, disbelieving.

You lick your lips. “Go on — open it.”

Vi nearly fumbles the locket twice before she gets it open, and her short intake of breath is the only sign you get that she’s seen what’s inside. You hold your own breath, watching her face as it flickers through a film-frame series of emotions.

“Is that —” her voice is hoarse; she clears her throat, running a thumb over the glass.

“Yeah,” you say, reaching up to take the open pendant from her, glancing down at it yourself, heat pricking into your cheeks as your eyes settle on the pressed violet.

She’s kissing you before either of you can say another word, and the force of it nearly slams your head back into the lockers but Vi’s hand is somehow there to cushion you, her fingers digging into your hair as you gasp open for her wanting mouth. It’s not a sweet kiss and there’s nothing gentle in the sting of her nails raking against your scalp as she presses you close, and then closer.

It’s a clash of teeth and tongue, skin and sound — your tiny, surprised squeak eclipsed by the low moan that reverberates from her chest to yours as she licks into the hot cavern of your mouth and feels you soften against her — sweet as sun-warmed honey.

“F-fuck princess —” Vi hisses, pulling back with a panting breath as you let your head fall back, gasping for air even as she yanks you towards her till both of you are toppling onto one of the long benches, your legs falling open to straddle her thighs, her hands poised over the round of your hips.

You look down at her, running your thumbs along her cheeks eyes flickering over her face — and the admiration caught behind the fractured glass of your eyes is so obvious that Vi almost turns away, embarrassed. Instead, she leans up to nose into the triangle of your threading pulse, delighting in the shiver that chases down the shape of you, in the involuntary way your thighs squeeze on either side of hers.

She grins, inching her fingers beneath the hem of your little black dress, groaning as she finds the winged hollows of your hipbones and realizes, half a breath later, that you’re not wearing any panties.

“Holy shit — w-were you like this the whole game?” she asks, her eyes going wide with awe.

You bite your lips, cocking your head to one side as you reach up to brush away a strand of hair from her forehead.

“No…” you say, but your voice trails off and you glance towards the side. She follows your gaze to the left, only to find your bookbag sagging against one of the far lockers. A smirk twists her lips as her eyes slingshot back to you.

“Oh wow… so…” she drawls, trailing her fingers ever so slowly up the bare skin of your hips, hitching the hem of your tight black dress further and further up till it’s barely covering what she now knows is your bare cunt.

“You came in here and took them off… just for me?” she bats her lashes at you, her skylight eyes going dark and liquid as she watches you fidget above her. Your tongue swipes across your bottom lip and Vi has to physically bite back a moan.

“Maybe I did — what of it?”

Vi’s smirk stretches as she reaches up to tug your face down towards hers, so close you can taste her breath dissolving on your tongue like sugar into tea.

“Princess…” she says, and her voice is so thick with desire it might’ve been spread there with a butter knife, “I thought… you wanted to take things slow.” Her fingers have successfully rucked your dress up high enough for it to gather at your waist, though she keeps her eyes on yours and makes no move to take advantage of the fact that you’re now entirely naked from the waist down.

You shrug up a single shoulder.

“Right… but I also remember telling you that I’m not the best with impulsivity…”

Vi laughs, the sound bright and honest. You giggle, pursing your lips, your cheeks tinted such a darling shade of crimson that Vi doubts rosy-fingered dawn would’ve had the power to eclipse it.

“Good,” she says, reaching up to cup your face with both her hands, bringing you down to tease her lips over yours, her words soft and indulgent, “cause honestly, I’ve never been the best with that either.”

She’s about to kiss you again, content to lose herself in the intoxicating drag of your lips on hers, but a text message alarm blips from her pants pocket and it jars the both of you from your desire-induced trance.

You blink, a slight frown creasing your forehead as she reaches into her hockey pants and digs out her phone. You sit back slightly as Vi clicks on her screen to see a slew of notifications dating back till god knows when, but the latest is sent from a few seconds ago and only reads:

New iMessage from cupcake 🧁

“What the —” Vi frowns.

But a second later, you’re pushing off her lap, and Vi catches a glint of the hurt in your eyes before you’re tugging down your dress and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“That’s Caitlyn, right?” you ask, your voice tenuous.

And for a second, Vi seriously considers lying to you, telling you that it’s someone else — that it’s Powder or even one of the girls from the hockey team, but she sees the fractured look in your eyes and knows that she can’t.

“Y-yeah — it is but —”

You suck in a deep breath, your fingers twisting in front of you even as Vi pushes up from the bench to try and reach for you. You jerk away, your back hitting the lockers with a loud clang that set’s Vi’s teeth on edge, even as she clenches her fist and drops her arm.

“No, it’s — it’s fine,” you say, making your swift way to your bag and snatching it up, digging around for your phone before shouldering the straps and rounding the benches again. And maybe it’s the sheer desperation curling up her chest, or the fact that the name had just come up on her screen but when she opens her mouth again, Vi says the worst possible combination of words —

“Wait, cupcake —”

You physically flinch at the pet name and Vi squeezes her eyes shut with sigh. Fuck.

When she opens her eyes again, you’re by the locker room door, your hand poised on the handle. You shoot her a single, broken backwards glance before pulling it open and slipping away.

Vi stands there, held still by the oppressive silence and the bleached-white metal all around her. She’s frozen for a single second longer before she swings her fist into the row of lockers next to her and pain ricochets up her arm from her knuckles, and her fingers pull away, already bruised.

“Fuck!”

Your fingers are shaking so badly it takes you three tries before you manage to punch the call button on Mel’s speed dial. She picks up after a single ring.

“Hey there, darling — well that was quick — we’re all heading to the after party if you —”

“Mel — c-can you come and p-pick me up?”

Mel goes quiet, and then —

“Darling? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“N-Nothing I just — can you come pick me up?” you hiccup halfway through your sentence, wiping at the fat, traitorous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

Distantly, you can hear Mel saying something and Jayce’s voice answering back. A moment later, she’s back on the line.

“I’ll come get you, but you have to tell me what’s wrong. Why’re you crying? Did Vi do something?”

“No — it’s — it’s nothing — I just d-don’t feel very good —”

Mel sighs, “Alright then, stay where you are and I’ll come get you. I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Yeah — t-thanks Mel.”

You hang up the phone and dart into the nearly abandoned parking lot, the crowds have long since dispersed, leaving you thankfully alone. You slump against the outer wall of the rink and suck in a deep, shuddering breath, reaching up to rub at your eyes with an angry palm. You cast your eyes up at the ruefully clear autumn night, the moon hanging fat and low, the stars twinkling with their cold, far-off light.

Approximately five minutes later, Mel pulls into the parking lot, mercifully alone, rolling down the windows as you rush forward and let yourself into the passenger’s side of the car, sinking into the seat with a bitten-off sob.

“Oh my darling… what happened?” Mel reaches over to give your hand a squeeze.

You bite your lips, blinking hard at the dark tarp roof of her convertible, clutching at your bag.

“Sh-she got a text from ‘cupcake’.”

Mel stares at you for a solid three seconds before slumping back into her seat and reaching up to pinch her nose bridge.

“I’m going to murder Jayce.”

“I fucked up — I fucked up —”

“Whoa, whoa — slow down — what the hell happened?”

Vi nearly chucks her skates into the already dented lockers just as Jayce makes an abortive move forward as if to stop her. She drops her skates and buries her face in her hands instead.

“Caitlyn texted me, and — and I never changed her contact from ‘cupcake’ —”

Jayce groans, running a hand through his hair.

“I thought I told you to block her?”

“I forgot, okay?” Vi says, tugging so hard on her own hair that Jayce has to reach out and smack her hands away.

Jayce sighs, leaning back against the lockers, looking over the shape of her. He can’t help the tiny grin that hitches his lips or the small puff of helpless laughter.

“Wow.”

Vi looks up, “What?”

Jayce just shrugs, “No, it’s just — been a while since I’ve seen you down this bad.”

Vi flips him off, “Fuck you, Talis. Yeah, laugh it up — look! It’s Vi! Piltover’s favorite train-crash lesbian, fumbling yet another —”

“Y’know, one of the things about being in a nice, committed, completely non-toxic long-term relationship —” Jayce says loudly, cutting her off despite the murderous look in Vi’s eyes, “is that you learn real quick that you’re always gonna be the one that’s wrong, and that your dear, darling, perfect girlfriend will always be the one that’s right.”

He grins, bitten-lipped and open-palmed. Like this, he looks almost like the politician that Vi knows Mel’s parents so desperately want him to be.

Vi frowns, “What’re you getting at, pretty boy? Spit it the fuck out — I don’t have the patience for your bullshit right —”

“And you know what people do when they’re wrong?” Jayce continues in that chipper, Sunday-morning commercial voice of his. He leans forward even as Vi leans back, the frown digging ever deeper between her brows.

“Uh… cry and punch things and shoot for a new PR at the gym?”

Jayce snorts, but at least Vi’s smiling.

“No, you fuckin’ fratbro son of a — you apologize.”

Vi’s gaze goes flat. “Ah. Right. Of course — why didn’t I think of —”

“And then — ” Jayce continues, raising his voice even higher, a finger pointed up in the air as if he were delivering the valedictorian speech at graduation, before he twists his hand and pokes it into Vi’s jersey-clad chest.

“You do better.”

Vi’s breath catches; she blinks up at Jayce before swallowing around the peach pit in her throat.

“R-right…”

Jayce hikes both of his eyebrows comically high. Vi glances up towards them before puffing out a breath.

“Think you can do that?” Jayce asks, his voice now finally back to normal.

Vi chews on the inside of her cheek before shrugging up a shoulder.

“Dunno, but… I really wanna try.”

Jayce thumps a fist into her chest.

“Good answer, Lanes. Now. Phone.” He opens his hand palm up.

She blinks at it for a second before sighing and digging her phone from her pocket and dropping it into his hand.

Jayce punches in the password without breaking eye contact, pulling up her text history and turning the phone around to face Vi as he clicks — Contact > Info > Block Caller — on Caitlyn’s number.

He hands it back just as the screen goes dark.

Vi stares at the long crack running through the center of her screen before the phone lights up again, this time, with a text from an unknown number.

Jayce barely glances at it before smiling.

“That’ll be Mel.”

Vi’s eyebrows knit as she flicks open the screen. There are two texts in quick succession:

i’ve gotten her to agree to come to the afterparty.

Do not. Fuck this up.

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[echo-exco]

Wait wait wait . I LOVE healer!reader!! But like what about Duke? He’s a meta and becomes part of the batfam.

Does that bother healer!reader? Since they were hiding their powers out of fear and then comes duke strolling in and easily finding a place where reader hasn’t?

What if that inspires reader to mention their power but no one believes them and that’s why reader finally leaves which is whh they think reader is having a tantrum because reader was called out for “lying”?

Thank you for the question! I’m really glad you like healer!reader, it truly means a lot.

And don’t worry, I completely understand your concern regarding Duke.

I’ll try not to go into too much detail since I want to explore healer!reader’s mindset regarding both her powers and her relationship with Duke more thoroughly later on. That’s actually why I hadn’t mentioned him before, among other reasons :)

So yes, the absence of Duke was completely intentional! I purposely didn’t bring him up because I plan to develop his appearance in the next chapter. His presence is meant to highlight a key contrast with healer!reader.

In general terms, and avoiding spoilers, no, healer!reader doesn’t dislike Duke. She doesn’t see him as a threat or feel jealous of how easily he was accepted. In fact, she sees him as everything she’ll never be: a good person, with a power that’s valuable on the battlefield, useful, visible… reliable.

Healer!reader has never seen herself as a “good” person, just someone who can help… when she’s allowed to.

And that’s exactly the problem: in Gotham, she doesn’t feel allowed.

Masashi, in a very twisted way, taught her that her powers only have value in the “right” hands, meaning hospitals, clinics, or under his guidance. Using her ability around people who don’t understand its medical nature feels wrong to her. Even dangerous. So even though Duke is a meta, healer!reader doesn’t feel any freer to show herself. She’s still afraid. Revealing her power means so many things: trust, exposure, usefulness… and vulnerability.

So no, healer!reader doesn’t reveal her power out of inspiration or courage thanks to Duke. In fact, she doesn’t do it willingly at all.

BUT eventually, the batfam will find out about her powers. It’s a critical moment (which I won’t spoil!) that brings everything to light, and Duke plays a big part in it… but not because healer!reader wanted him to.

It was a desperate reaction, a moment where there was no other choice.

So no, she won’t say anything. Not even with Duke around. Because even if Duke was accepted, that doesn’t change how she sees herself: she’s not in Gotham to be a hero. She’s not there by choice. She’s there because she was sent. Because someone else decided her fate, and she hasn’t found a way to take it back yet.

That tension is only going to grow, of course. Because the longer she stays unseen for who she really is, the more she’ll start to break.

Overall, healer!reader’s situation is Masashi’s fault. Unlike the Batfam’s neglect, which was more unconscious, he deliberately instilled every one of her issues.

Because Masashi knew they wouldn’t be able to help her, and he made sure she knew it too. I mean, what do you do with a kid who only knows how to save… even if it means destroying herself in the process?

And again, thank you so much for such a great question! The relationship between Duke and healer!reader is central to her development, and I seriously can’t wait to bring the next chapter! ❤️❤️❤️

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

A life worth living:

Niragi x reader

Requested: Before Borderlands, Y/N and Niragi were close, but during the King of Spades' attack, the reader is gravely injured.

----

"If only everything had stayed as it was. If we were still at The Beach, or back home. Yes. I wish we were home. Or at school. Maybe we could still be at school. That's where everything began to unravel, wasn’t it? When those boys first harassed him in that alley behind the school. When they attacked him with baseball bats for the first time. Or maybe it was when they took his textbooks and rolled them through the mud. I couldn't even remember... If only... if only everything had stayed the same..."

Y/N felt the searing pain in her abdomen long before she heard the gunshot. By then, the blood was already flowing freely from the wound, threatening to end her life. She had collapsed to the ground when her legs gave way, scraping her knees against the rough asphalt. She hadn’t even noticed it, and now, lying there on the cold ground, her hands pressed desperately against her abdomen, all she could think of was him.

Niragi had been her confidant, her friend, her refuge. He had been everything to her, and in her selfishness, she liked to believe she had been everything to him, too.

She gazed up at the blue sky, not a cloud in sight. She squinted against the blinding sunlight, its heat warming her skin, though perhaps it was the blood that was bathing her body in warmth.

Niragi had been with her in her darkest moments, and she had been with him in his. By fate, or perhaps coincidence, they had found a shoulder to lean on during the bleakest chapters of their lives. And then, when life finally began to smile on them again, they were hesitant to sever that bond. They had stayed in touch during the early months of their university years. Maybe it was the distance, or their conflicting schedules, but inevitably, their connection had cooled. Though... upon reflection, perhaps it was also because of Chishiya. But that was much later, wasn’t it?

Y/N brought one bloodstained hand to her forehead, attempting to rearrange the fragments of her memories. Thick red liquid trailed down her cheek.

Yes, Chishiya came later, after arriving to Borderlands.

The day the people of Tokyo vanished, the day she played the deadliest game of hide-and-seek of her life, was the day she met him. That man with white hair and a hood, more intelligent than the rest, with an aura of mystery that stirred something deep within her. Oh! It was also the day she ran into Niragi again. She remembered it as it was yesterday, though weeks had passed. Months? Perhaps even years? Yet, it was all so vivid, so clear. He was so... different.

He was no longer the Niragi she had left behind years ago in high school. This one wore piercings and had a sharp tongue. Of course, he melted when he saw her.

Y/N stifled a small laugh at the memory, which was quickly drowned by a cough and a sharp, stabbing pain in her stomach.

Niragi had stared at her as if seeing a ghost. She recalled how he grabbed her wrist, nearly dragging her without hesitation to his room, and there… there, he embraced her. A hug she had waited years for, one reserved only for someone very special.

She closed her eyes. She could still feel that embrace, still remember the sensation, his scent... she could almost feel it again now.

"Y/N! Y/N! No, no, no—don’t fall asleep! Don’t close your eyes!"

She could even hear his voice.

"Y/N, damn it! Look at me! Look at me!"

It was so cruel, so perversely cruel of fate, that in what she was certain was her deathbed, her thoughts uncontrollably turned to him. To his voice, his scent, his very essence.

A smile tugged at her lips, and suddenly, the pain in her abdomen seemed almost insignificant. Was this what it felt like to die? If Niragi were here, he’d call her stupid. He would say it in that irritable, frustrated tone of his, the same one he used when explaining math homework in high school and she couldn’t understand a thing. But wait, why would he call her stupid? She didn’t want to die, not willingly… So why had she jumped in front of that bullet? No. She hadn’t jumped. She had run. She had run and pushed someone else aside. She… she had thrown herself in the path of the bullet. In the path of the bullet… meant for whom?

"Y/N, I swear, if you die now, I will never forgive you. Do you hear me? Never!"

Niragi.

It was almost as if some otherworldly force compelled her to open her eyes, and there, eclipsing the sun, was a face, contorted in anguish, backlit by its harsh light.

“That’s it, Y/N. Open your eyes. Open them! I’m here, I’m with you… You’re so stupid, do you know that? What the hell were you doing jumping in front of that bullet? It was meant for me! You are so damn stupid!"

Y/N stretched out one trembling hand, trying to touch the face that hovered over her. Her arm felt weak, as though it could hardly bear the effort, but she needed to touch him, to feel him, to be sure that it was truly him and not her imagination playing tricks.

"N-Niragi," she heard herself whisper, her voice low and cracked, rougher than she remembered.

"Shh, shh, don’t talk. Just stay calm. I’m here," he said, taking her hand and guiding it back to her abdomen, pressing down to try to staunch the bleeding. Y/N writhed in pain as another wave surged through her body.

"Where’s your idiot boyfriend when you need him, huh? Isn’t he a doctor? I told you he wasn’t good for you, that I didn’t like him, but you just had to go after him anyway, didn’t you? When do you ever listen to me, huh? Not even when we were kids, and I swore up and down that six times nine was fifty-four! That’s why you failed math!" He kept ranting, but Y/N had stopped listening.

Her eyes remained fixed on him, on the figure leaning over her. She could barely make out his features, swallowed by the backlight that surrounded him like a halo. Her vision was growing blurry, and as her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, and a high-pitched ringing filled her ears, another voice entered the mix.

"Were you looking for me?"

© 2024 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

----

I hope you enjoy it, and to the person who requested it, I really hope it’s exactly what you were hoping for... or even better!✨

[joemama-2]

a dead end | chap. 3

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ wc: 9.6k

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

༺♰༻ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The hospital buzzed with its usual rhythm—a steady pulse of urgent footsteps, muffled voices over intercoms, and the hum of medical equipment. Gojo stood in the bustling trauma bay, scrubbing his hands meticulously under the scalding water, mentally preparing for another long shift. Just another day, he thought. Another set of lives to save. While Nanami and Ito haven’t even clocked in yet, he was stuck here. He sighs, trying not to dwell too much on it. He studied for this and dedicated hours, days, months, and years to this profession. Just suck it up, suck it up.

“Dr. Gojo!” A frantic voice broke through the air, slicing into his focus. He turned to see a nurse rushing towards him, eyes wide, panic etched across her face. “We’ve got an emergency intake—severe trauma. Possible bite wounds.”

Bite wounds? Gojo’s brows knitted together as he grabbed a pair of gloves. “Alright, let’s move,” he commanded, slipping into his role seamlessly.

The trauma bay doors swung open, revealing chaos in motion. Paramedics wheeled in a stretcher, the patient thrashing weakly against the restraints. Blood smeared across her limbs, and her skin was a sickly, ashen gray. Her eyes, wild and unfocused, darted around the room. “Late twenties, found unconscious and bleeding in an alley. Found by someone walking by,” one of the paramedics reported, struggling to keep the patient still. “Possible drug overdose, but… she’s been biting and scratching. Unprovoked.”

Gojo moved in quickly, assessing the situation and silently nodding along to the information being told to him. “Let’s get her stabilized,” he ordered, voice steady. “Push 5 milligrams of midazolam, and get a tox screen running. We need to figure out what’s going on.”

The nurses moved in sync, following his commands, but something felt off. The woman’s movements were erratic, too strong, almost inhuman. Her fingers clawed at the air, mouth snapping open and shut as if trying to bite through the very air itself. Gojo leaned in, shining a light into her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, unfocused. “Can you hear me?” he called out, keeping his voice firm but calm. “Ma’am, can you tell me your name?” The woman doesn’t respond, attempting to bite at his ear before he moves away in time. 

A collective gasp rippled through the room as the patient’s teeth clamped down on nothing but air, her jaw snapping shut with a sickening click. Gojo’s expression remained unreadable, but his grip on the stretcher’s railing tightened. The nurses took a cautious step back, glancing at each other for reassurance, but their unease spread like wildfire. “She almost bit you—” one of them started, but Gojo cut her off with a sharp nod.

“I noticed,” he said dryly, but his mind was already spinning. This wasn’t normal. Overdoses, withdrawals, even extreme psychosis—he’d seen it all before. But this? The sheer aggression, the unnatural strength, the way her body fought against sedation like a cornered animal—it didn’t add up. “Her vitals?” he asked, directing his attention to the monitor as one of the nurses fumbled with the blood pressure cuff.

“Heart rate is… Jesus,” the nurse muttered, eyes widening. “168 beats per minute. It’s skyrocketing.” Gojo frowned. That wasn’t just stress—it was something else. A body under that kind of strain should be shutting down, but she was still moving, still fighting as if sheer will alone kept her conscious. 

The nurse with the syringe hesitated before stepping forward again. “Administering midazolam now.” The second the needle pierced the woman’s skin, a guttural snarl ripped from her throat, raw and animalistic. She lunged upward, nearly toppling the stretcher as her body convulsed.

“Hold her down!” Gojo barked, moving to restrain her arms as another nurse grabbed her legs in order to place straps on her limbs.

But she was strong. Too strong.

A sickening crack echoed as the leather restraints dug into her wrists, her muscles tensing unnaturally. The veins beneath her skin bulged, an eerie blackness creeping up her forearms. “Doctor, I don’t think—”

Then she stopped.

The room fell silent except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Her body slackened. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. The fight was gone as if something inside of her had finally given out. Gojo slowly loosened his grip, exhaling through his nose. “Alright,” he muttered, glancing at the monitors again. “Get a full panel workup on her—blood tox, organ function, everything. And someone check her—”

A sharp gasp cut through the air. It was the nurse standing closest to the patient. Gojo turned just in time to see the woman’s eyes snap open—pupils blown so wide that her irises were nearly swallowed by darkness.

And then she lunged. The poor nurse didn’t have time to react. A wet crunch filled the room as the woman’s teeth sank deep into the nurse’s forearm. Screams erupted. Blood splattered onto the crisp white sheets, pooling onto the floor in sickening ribbons of red. The nurse staggered back, her face twisted in pain and disbelief.

Gojo acted before he could think.

He grabbed the nearest crash cart and shoved it between them, using it as a makeshift barrier. The patient—no, the thing—snapped its teeth wildly, blood dripping from its mouth as it fought against the stretcher’s restraints. The nurse clutched her arm, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “Oh my god—oh my god, she bit me—”

Gojo’s stomach twisted. His mind screamed at him to do something, to take control of the situation, but a terrifying realization settled into his bones. The room had erupted into chaos. The other nurses scrambled back, knocking over trays and equipment in their haste to put distance between themselves and the thrashing patient. Someone was screaming for security. Someone else was already reaching for the emergency call button. Gojo barely registered any of it. His gaze locked onto the nurse clutching her arm, fingers trembling as blood seeped through them. The bite was deep, the wound ragged, and the sheer force behind it—

It wasn’t normal. Nothing about this seemed normal.

“Get pressure on that wound,” he ordered sharply, breaking from his momentary paralysis. “Now.”

The injured nurse—Yuki, his mind supplied—nodded weakly, her breaths shallow, ragged. One of her colleagues rushed forward, pressing a wad of gauze onto her arm, but Yuki didn’t react. Didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out. Just stood there, swaying slightly, blinking as if she were trying to force herself to stay present. Shock. Maybe blood loss. Maybe— 

The patient jerked violently, snapping Gojo’s attention back. The crash cart he’d shoved between them rattled under the force of her struggle. Despite the restraints digging into her wrists, despite the blood smeared across her lips, she kept fighting, kept lunging, animalistic grunts spilling from her throat. The guttural sound sent a chill down his spine. “Doctor, what do we do?” someone asked, voice tight with barely contained fear.

Gojo’s jaw clenched. “We—” His words faltered as he looked at her again. The way her body contorted, the unnatural sharpness of her movements—it wasn’t human. It wasn’t just an overdose, or psychosis, or anything that made sense.

And Yuki—

He turned back toward her, but his frown deepened when he saw what had already begun to happen. She was trembling now, violently, like something inside her was coming undone. Her breathing had grown erratic, a wet, gurgling rasp behind each inhale. Her pupils—God, her pupils. They were dilating, swallowing up every trace of brown, leaving behind only an abyss of black. Gojo had seen overdoses. He’d seen trauma. He’d seen people die on his table. But he had never seen anything like this. The realization settled into his bones, cold and unshakable.

This wasn’t a patient. This was something else entirely.

The nurse who was helping Yuki with pressure on the wound was next to go, and so was the other nurse, then the security, the older woman at the desk who always offered him donuts from her daughter’s shop, and the other patients. Everything was a mess; people were running and screaming everywhere. Satoru was used to chaos and panic, but this—this wasn’t the same. Sharp eyes darted around as he tried to make sense of the bloodbath happening in front of him, fingers twitching by his sides. The sounds seemed to blend into one, his eyes closing momentarily—willing himself to take a deep breath and calm his body. 

“Dr. Gojo!”

A shout for his name has him moving instantly, head whipping over to one of the newer nurses.  She was backed against the supply cabinet, eyes wide with sheer terror, hands shaking as she gripped a pair of trauma shears like they were her last line of defense. “They’re—” Her breath hitched, and she shook her head violently. “They’re attacking everyone!”

No shit.

Gojo didn’t waste time responding. He could see it, hear it, feel the horror crawling under his skin like an infection of its own. The nurse who had tried to help Yuki was on the floor now, her throat torn open, gurgling as her hands weakly clawed at nothing. Another had barely made it two steps before the security guard—no, the thing that had been the security guard—tackled her to the ground, teeth sinking into her shoulder. The older woman at the front desk. The patients waiting for help. The paramedics who had wheeled in that first patient.

One by one, they fell, and one by one, they rose again.

Screams shattered through the air, but Gojo forced himself to push forward. His mind raced, trying to grasp at some kind of explanation, some kind of rationalization, but there was none. His body was running on autopilot, instincts screaming for him to do something—anything—before he was next. He reached out, grabbing the younger nurse’s wrist, his grip firm but not cruel. “We need to move,” he ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Now.” She didn’t argue. She couldn’t. The moment she nodded, he pulled her with him, shoving past overturned chairs and blood-slick floors, trying to navigate the quickest way out. Every second counted. Every turn was a gamble.

And just as they rounded the corner toward the exit—

Another figure lurched toward them, half of its face missing, blood dripping down the remnants of its jaw. “Shit!” he manages to evade the attack, simultaneously pushing the nurse to the side. However, it proved to be useless when one of the paramedics grabbed at her ankle with ungodly strength and took a bite out of the flesh.

Her scream pierced through the chaos, raw and agonized. She thrashed, kicking at the paramedic-turned-monster, but its grip was relentless, teeth tearing into her calf with sickening force. Blood sprayed across the linoleum floor, pooling beneath her as her body twisted in desperation. “Fuck!” Gojo moved before he could think, his hand finding the nearest IV pole. With a forceful swing, he brought it down onto the thing’s skull. Once. Twice. The dull crack of bone giving way under steel echoed through the hall. The creature twitched before finally going still, its jaws slackening, releasing the nurse’s mangled leg. 

She was hyperventilating, trying to scramble backward, her fingers slipping in her own blood. “It hurts—oh god, it—”

“Get up no—”

He doesn’t finish that sentence when her body twitches, jerking in ways that look like they could break bones. Her eyes, wide with terror only a second ago, rolled back into her head. A violent convulsion wracked her body, limbs twitching unnaturally as if something inside her was seizing control. Foam bubbled at the corners of her lips, her chest heaving in frantic, uneven spasms. Gojo had seen people die before. He had seen bodies succumb to the limits of mortality, had fought against it with everything he had. But this was wrong. He didn’t know if he could save these people.  This was all getting out of hand way too fast.  “Sumi.” He crouched beside her, one hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder. “Stay with me. Breathe.”

But she wasn’t breathing. Not properly. Her gasps came out in short, shallow bursts, her pupils dilating until nothing remained of their original color. Her fingers twitched, curling like claws against the floor. The convulsions stopped. And then…her body went completely still. Gojo swallowed, dread pooling in his stomach like lead. He knew what was coming before it even happened, but a small, desperate part of him still hesitated.

“Sumi?” he tried again, softer this time.

She moved. Not like a person. Not like someone regaining consciousness. Her head jerked to the side with a sickening pop, her gaze snapping up to meet his. A slow, eerie smile stretched across her face, lips splitting over teeth now stained red with her own blood. And then she lunged. Gojo barely had time to react. He threw himself backward, her teeth missing his throat by inches. She scrambled forward on hands and knees, faster than she should have been able to move. A guttural snarl tore from her throat—a sound that no human should be able to make.

He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the IV pole again and swung. It connected with a sickening crunch, but she kept coming. Even with her skull caving in, even with blood pouring from her shattered face—she kept coming. "Fuck," he hissed, bracing himself.

This wasn’t an illness or whatever it may have been. This wasn’t a psychotic episode. This was something else entirely. And if he didn’t get the hell out of here—

He was next.

He collides the pole into her head three more times before her body goes slack, a gaping hole that pours blood out onto the floor. Satoru doesn’t look back as he quickly scrambles to his feet and runs to the door leading to the stairwells. Doesn’t stop moving forward even after the snarls and growls of whatever those fucking things are chasing him up, but gets ultimately distracted when other nurses, doctors, patients, and family members open the doors leading to their floor—completely unaware of what kind of hell just took place below them. He’s running and running until there’s nowhere to run to anymore. The top floor of the hospital that’s been under renovation, almost close to finishing. It’s empty for the most part until the construction workers decide to grace the place with their presence. 

He opens the double doors with quickness, rushing inside and closing them right behind him. t’s a temporary refuge. The space is large and open, construction equipment scattered around like remnants of a dream left unfinished. The sterile white walls have been interrupted by half-constructed walls and loose cables, the sharp smell of fresh paint and cement mixing with the foul, metallic stench of blood that clings to him. Looking around, he grabs one of the longer cables and wraps it in and around the handles of the door, essentially ensuring the doors can’t be opened from the outside.  He steps back slowly, his chest heaving. His thoughts are a blur, too fast to catch up with, too fast to make sense of. How the fuck did this happen? He thought he was in control. He thought he understood everything.

But what just happened outside? He has not a damn clue. 

“I—w-what?” you gulp out, eyes wide and staring at the man who holds your fate in the palm of his hand. 

“You heard me,” he dryly scoffs, his smirk unnerving. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“A-Are you fucking insane?!” your face scrunches when he presses the axe closer, pressing a hand down onto the handle in an attempt to keep it at bay.

“Maybe, but I’m also not taking chances, even if you are pretty.”

Your heart races as his words hit you, and for a moment, you freeze. “Pretty?” You repeat, your mind struggling to focus through the adrenaline rush and fear.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he cuts you off, his voice low and dangerous, though there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “Pretty people don’t get a free pass. You’re either useful... or you're one of them." The tip of the axe shifts, hovering dangerously close to your throat. "So, what’s it gonna be?"

“Listen,” you stammer, trying to think fast, “I—I’m not part of whatever the hell’s going on out there. I’m just trying to survive, okay? I’m not a threat to you.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, but his gaze never wavers from you. It's like he's waiting for you to say something more.

“And how do I know that? You could be lying to my face for all I know,” he quips back, head tilting in a scrutinizing way. His eyes scan down your body, lingering a bit too much on your legs—though not as much as your chest.

You huff, trying to ignore the way his gaze makes your skin crawl. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I’m bleeding, exhausted, and just barely survived getting ripped apart out there?” You gesture wildly toward the door. “Does that scream ‘like one of them’ to you?”

Gojo hums, tapping his fingers against the handle of the axe. “Mmm… could just mean you’re a tough little thing.” His smirk deepens, and he finally meets your eyes again. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Mostly ‘cause you’re pretty.”

But he just said….  Your face twists in disbelief. “That’s it?”

“Hey, don’t look so disappointed.” He finally lowers the axe, resting it against his shoulder. “I could’ve gone with my first instinct and chopped your head off. But lucky you—” his grin turns downright cocky— “I’m a sucker for a good underdog story.”

He steps back, grabs what looks to be a wire or chord of some sort, and loops it through the handles of the doors, tying it roughly. And only then do you allow yourself to look him over as well. He’s wearing green scrubs and a white coat layered overtop. The material is stained with what you can only assume is blood, his hair unkempt and white strands poking up in all different directions as he runs a hand through it. A thin pair of silver-framed, rectangle glasses sit on his chin, the lenses look scuffed up. He must have been through some shit too. Not like you’re going to ask. He watches you carefully, his stance still tense, as if he’s waiting for the slightest reason to raise that axe again. But then, as if some invisible weight lifts off his shoulders, he exhales and takes another step back. The distance he gives isn’t much, but it’s enough for you to stop feeling like you’re seconds away from death. You take a slow breath, your limbs still trembling from everything that just happened.

His sharp blue eyes meet yours again, and the smirk he wore earlier has faded into something unreadable. “So,” he says, voice casual despite the tension still thick in the air. “What’s your deal? You really come all the way up here just to bang on my door and scream for help?”

You frown, straightening your posture even though exhaustion still weighs you down. “I had nowhere else to go. Excuse me for believing there were other survivors. I ran here, I–I thought there’d be help. Doctors…something.” 

He scoffs. “Little late for that.”

“No shit.” 

He turns his back to you, striding over to the window and looking out. “So,” he begins. “This….stuff…it’s happening outside the hospital too, I assume.”

“Yeah,” you nod, letting out a big and tired huff of air. Grunting to yourself as you allow your body an ample amount of time to recover from the shock it just experienced. Sinking down to the floor and sighing in relief—the floor has never felt more comfortable than it does right now. Satoru hums in acknowledgment, but there’s an edge to it, like he already knew the answer before you even said it. He places a hand on the windowsill, fingers drumming idly against the surface as he stares down at the wreckage below. The city that was once bustling with life is now a graveyard, streets littered with abandoned cars, bodies—some moving, some not—and plumes of smoke rising in the distance.

His jaw tightens. “Figures.”  You watch him, taking in the way his shoulders are drawn tight, the way his fingers twitch like he’s fighting the urge to grip something—maybe the axe still resting against his hip. He’s trying to stay collected, but you’ve seen enough people break today to recognize when someone is on the verge of it. Not that you care. You’re barely holding it together yourself. “Did you see anyone else on your way here?” he asks, still looking out the window.

You hesitate, thinking about your friends losing their lives right in front of you and the fact that Sayo is still lying out there in the middle of it all. You press a hand to the side of your head, eyes squeezing shut, stomach churning. “No one made it,” you mutter, voice hoarse. “Not in a way that mattered.”

At that, Gojo finally turns back around, studying you with an unreadable expression. He leans against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. “That so?” 

You nod, but you don’t elaborate. You don’t want to talk about it.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the occasional distant sounds of chaos outside. You furrow your brows, just for a moment, allowing your body to sag against the cold floor. It feels like the only solid thing in your life right now.

“You’re hurt.”

Your eyes snap open. Gojo is looking at your arm now, at the blood staining your sleeve. His brows furrow slightly. You blink down at it, almost having forgotten the wound entirely with everything else going on. “Oh. Yeah.” You move your fingers, testing how bad it really is. A sharp sting shoots up your arm, making you hiss. “It’s fine,” you lie.

Gojo clicks his tongue, pushing off the wall. “Yeah, well, I’d rather not get stuck in here with a liability. Get up.”

You glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“I said get up,” he repeats, walking over to where a few carts with wheels standby. You see him open one of the drawers, a basic first aid kit coming into sight. “You want to live, don’t you?”

You don’t answer right away, but eventually, with a groan, you force yourself to your feet. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Haven’t you seen any zombie movies? It’s a scratch but maybe you already have whatever the hell those things do. You’re lucky you’re not spazzing out on the floor right now, then I’d really have a reason to kill you.”

Your lip curls up, walking over to where he is. Opening the kit, and moving some of the supplies to the side to grab a few anti-bacterial wipes. “For a doctor, you talk about killing someone way too easily. Are you sure you’re certified?”

He lets out an amused huff, shaking his head as he leans against the cart. “Certified? Honey, I’m overqualified.” 

He watches as you take off your jacket with one hand, his lips twitching. You grab one of the wipes he opened, hesitating to apply it to your wound. You catch the barely concealed smirk, shooting him a glare. “Are you just gonna stand there and make jokes, or are you actually going to help?”

He sighs dramatically, pushing off the cart. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Before you can protest, he snatches the wipe from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second. The way he moves is so effortless, so natural, that you almost don’t register what’s happening until he’s gripping your wrist with a firm but gentle touch. “Relax,” he drawls, dabbing at the wound. The sting burns deep, making you suck in a sharp breath, arm jerking involuntarily. His grip tightens for just a second before loosening again. “You’d think someone who just ran for their life wouldn’t be such a baby over a little antiseptic.”

You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to yank your arm away. “Says the guy who pulled an axe on me two seconds after saving my ass.”

Satoru shrugs. “You looked suspicious. Plus, it was funny.”

“Yeah? Almost getting your throat slit is funny to you?”

His grin widens, but there’s something sharp in the way he looks up at you, something unreadable behind those piercing blue eyes. “I like to keep things interesting.”

You swallow, refusing to let the unease creeping up your spine show. Instead, you roll your eyes, looking away. “Whatever.” The silence resumes between you again, but this time, it’s not as…weird. He works quickly, applying some of the ointment before pressing a bandage over the wound and giving your arm a light pat. “There. Good as new.”

You snatch your wrist back, flexing your fingers. “You could’ve just given me the supplies. I know how to take care of myself.”

Satoru rolls his eyes and steps back. “Yeah? You mean the way you ‘took care of yourself’ by running in here screaming for help?” Your jaw clenches, but before you can snap at him, a noise echoes from outside the door—a low, guttural groan, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps. Your heart rate spikes. Gojo, however, merely tilts his head, his expression unreadable. Then, with a teasing lilt, he murmurs, “Looks like we’ve got company.”

“We should—”

“Don’t worry, they’re not getting through it.” His footsteps carry him to the double doors, giving the wire another small knot. “This can hold ‘em back.”

“Really?” you can’t help but scoff in disbelief. Eyes wide and hurrying over to his side. “That? That can hold whatever the fuck those things are back? This is a hospital and you guys can’t afford to have regular locks on your doors?”

Gojo hums, seemingly unbothered by your concern as he gives the doors a light push, testing the strength of his handiwork. “Locks slow things down. Not exactly ideal in a place where every second counts.”

You let out a sharp breath, glancing between him and the doors. “Yeah, well, I think we’re a little past ‘every second counts’ now, don’t you?”

He turns to you with a charming smile, shoving his hands into the pockets of his scrubs. “Relax. If they do get through, I’ve got an axe, and you…” His gaze flickers down to your empty hands before lifting back up to your face, his smirk deepening with an amused chuckle. “Well, you’ve got a strong set of lungs.”

Your eyes narrow, lips parting to throw some kind of retort at him, but another groan from the other side of the door makes your blood run cold. It’s closer this time, more urgent. The sound of nails scraping against the wood sends a violent shiver up your spine. He merely tilts his head, listening. “Sounds like they really want in.”

You stare at him incredulously. “And you’re still just standing there?”

“Would you rather I open the door and say hello?”

You groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you grumble under your breath. The sound of something heavy slamming against the door makes you both freeze. Your breath catches in your throat as the doors rattle in their hinges, the knot in the wire straining under the pressure. 

Gojo clicks his tongue. “Huh.”

“Huh? What the hell is ‘huh’ supposed to mean?”

He turns to you, and for the first time, the teasing glint in his eyes dims slightly. “It means we should probably get moving.”

Your stomach drops. “I thought you said they weren’t getting through?”

He grins, reaching for his axe. “I also said I like to keep things interesting.”

You let out a string of curses under your breath as you back away from the door. “You are the worst person I could be stuck with right now.”

Gojo slings the axe over his shoulder, flashing you a wink. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“Do not call me that,” you tell him firmly, lip curling in disgust. 

“Fine, whatever your name is.”

“My name is—”

“Look, enough talking and more trying to figure out a way out of here. One that doesn’t involve the stairs, if possible.”

You rub your face, panic setting in once more. “D-Don’t you work here? Shouldn’t you know?”

“I haven’t been up here. It’s been closed off for renovation.” He replies, looking up towards the ceiling and walking around. 

“Renovation… renovation,” you repeat lowly, huffing. “Well, that’s just great. We’re gonna fucking die, and it’s all your fault.” You sink down to your knees, fingers twitching on your thighs. You didn’t think it would be possible to feel closer to death multiple times in one day, but here you are now. Bangs and groans from outside the doors interrupt your goodbye monologue. 

Gojo pauses mid-step, glancing down at you with a raised brow. “My fault?” he repeats, amusement creeping back into his voice. “I don’t remember dragging you into this hospital and locking the doors behind you.”

You glare up at him, hands clenching into fists on your lap. “You could’ve at least had a damn plan!”

He sighs dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did have a plan. Step one: don’t die. Step two: don’t let some random stranger get me killed. And, so far…” He gestures vaguely toward the barricaded doors. “We’re still on step one.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Great plan, doctor. Real detailed.”

“Hey, I’m a trauma surgeon, not a survivalist. Cut me some slack.” He turns away, scanning the dimly lit hallway. “But since you’re so eager for a plan, let’s make one.” The doors creak again under another heavy slam. You flinch. Gojo merely rolls his shoulders, unfazed. “Alright,” he muses, tapping the handle of the axe against his palm. “No stairs, which means we need another way down.” His gaze flickers upward again, lingering on the ceiling. “If this place was under renovation, there should be scaffolding somewhere.”

You blink. “You want us to climb out of a hospital window?”

He shrugs. “Got a better idea?”

You press your lips together, stomach twisting. You really don’t.

Gojo grins, taking your silence as agreement. “Thought so. Now, get up. We’ve got some window shopping to do.”

Your lips purse, but the weight of the situation brings you to your feet. You let out another string of curses, glaring up at your unforeseen ally.“If we die, I’m haunting you.”

He nods. “Kinky.” Ignoring the comment, you tie your hair back. If you’re going to have a final day on Earth, firstly, you’re not dying at the hands of other…people. And two, you’re most certainly not dying next to an infuriating man like him. He’s rolling the sleeves of his white coat up, twisting his neck from side to side. “There’s an underground parking garage. Employees only. We can go there but that means going down and facing those things.” You feel your chest tighten at the thought, pressing down on your chest. Another life or death, sticky situation. It’s one thing to be running for your life; it’s another to know that the only escape route is through the very thing you’ve been desperately avoiding. Your heart races, the pulse of panic threatening to override your every thought. The way this guy speaks about it so nonchalantly, like it’s just another inconvenience, makes you sick. Does he even understand the gravity of the situation? Does he realize that going down there means walking straight into the heart of danger? You shake your head slightly, trying to push the rising dread aside. You can’t afford to be scared right now. You can’t.

But it doesn’t help. It’s still there, gnawing at your insides like a constant pressure. You glance over at Gojo, his posture relaxed, almost too confident. He’s already thinking about the next step, mentally preparing for the mess ahead while you’re still stuck back in the reality of what’s happening. The very idea of going through those things makes you want to vomit. You can almost hear their gnashing teeth, the wet, hungry sounds that have been haunting your every step since you stepped foot in this nightmare.

You can’t do this. You can’t—

But the thought dies as soon as it forms, buried beneath the heaviness of your survival instincts. There’s no other way. If you want to live, you’re going to have to face the very thing that terrifies you the most. You clench your fists, trying to keep your breathing steady, the sting of your arm a minor distraction compared to what’s coming. “Then we’re fucked either way,” you mutter, voice harsh, though the words do nothing to quiet the internal noise swirling in your mind. You push yourself to stand taller, to act like you have everything under control—even if you don’t. You won’t show weakness. Not now, not here.

Your eyes shift to Gojo, who’s still fiddling with the equipment, glancing at you as if expecting something. His words earlier, the ones about not getting stuck with a liability, echo in your head. Is that what he thinks of you? That you’re a liability? It stings more than it should, especially given the situation, but you can’t afford to linger on it. "Fine," you force out, standing up straighter, squaring your shoulders. “Let’s go. Just... just don’t slow me down.”

Gojo's expression flickers again, an unreadable glint in his eyes, but he doesn't respond. He doesn't need to. You both know that the clock is ticking, and right now, all you have is each other—whether you like it or not. He finishes tight-knotting the end of another wire to one of the pipes on the wall, connecting it with another chord, and then two more. It creates a familiar representation of what should be a rope. “We’re fifteen floors up.”

“Fifteen?” you repeat back with incredulity, eyes wide. Damn, did you really run up that many flights? Must’ve been the adrenaline because you’re usually tired after just two. You shake your head and walk over to where he’s opening the window and throwing the loose end of the long conjoined wires out. 

“We’ll use this climb down.” He gives the wire a few tugs and after seeing the pipe holds it pretty well, he moves to climb out. 

Your hand shoots out to grip his arm. “Wait! W-What if it’s not long enough?”

“Then we hop into the nearest window and go down from there.”

“Well, what if it snaps and we fall to our death?”

“You said you ran here, right? You should be down at least a pound or two. That’ll help us.” He shrugs. 

This guy! “This isn’t a joke!” you exclaim, he turns to look down at you, eyebrow raised. “I’m not falling to my death and I’m not trusting you either. If we’re doing this, we have to be sure it’ll work.”

Gojo's gaze sharpens, just for a second, before that smirk of his reappears, more teasing than reassuring. "Don't worry, I'm not letting you die on me just yet. That would be too anticlimactic."

You grit your teeth at his response, irritation bubbling up again. It’s the kind of flippant attitude that, in any other situation, might make you walk away from him. But here? With the sound of snarling creatures growing louder outside the door and the weight of the situation pressing down on you, you don't have the luxury of being picky about your companions. You swallow hard, fingers tightening around the sleeve of his jacket, as though holding on to something—anything—that might give you the tiniest shred of control over this madness. "I’m serious," you say, your voice softer now, but no less intense. "One wrong move, and we’re done. I’m not asking for a guarantee, but I need to know you’re not going to fuck this up."

For a moment, Gojo’s eyes change with something you can’t quite interpret. He looks at you like he’s about to crack some sardonic joke, but then the edges of his expression soften—just barely. It’s a fleeting glimpse of something deeper, something more human than the cocky façade he’s been wearing. “I’m not gonna fuck this up,” he says, quieter than before. “But we need to move. I’m not here to lose time arguing.”

Your breath hitches as his words hit, that tension returning, knifing through your chest. You glance out the window, your mind running through the worst-case scenarios: falling to the ground, your body snapping under the impact, the wire giving way to the weight of your desperation. But it’s not like you have a choice. There’s no other way out. You draw in a slow, deliberate breath, your hands shaking slightly as you release his arm and step toward the window. The world outside feels like another universe—chaotic, terrifying, but somehow still just beyond reach. You force yourself to meet Gojo's eyes, ignoring the flash of doubt that tries to creep in.

"After you," you mutter, voice almost drowned out by the cacophony of the chaos below. He flashes you a grin, far too confident for your liking, before stepping onto the ledge and disappearing over it. The faint thrum of your pulse fills your ears, your heart hammering with every passing second. You don’t have the luxury of hesitating. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. He’s first out the window, using the wire to grip onto. 

The wire stretches out below you, and you can hear Gojo’s voice calling up from beneath, the sound of his boots scraping against the side of the building. “Let’s go,” he shouts. “You’re not dying up there.”

You force yourself to swallow the fear choking your throat. There’s no turning back now. If you want to survive, you’ll have to trust him, even just this once. With one final glance at the locked door behind you—the thing keeping the chaos at bay—you grab hold of the wire. Your fingers slip a little, the metal feeling cold and foreign in your hands. The weight of everything makes it hard to breathe, but you don’t stop. Not now. One step at a time. Very slowly, you climb out the window, gripping your savior for dear life. The soles of your running shoes stamp down onto the side of the hospital building. Your breathing feels shaky and uneven, but you will your body to climb down. 

Every muscle in your body protests as you inch your way down the side of the building, the rough texture of the concrete beneath your feet scraping against your shoes. Your fingers ache, but you cling to the wire, each grip desperate and frantic as you descend into the unknown below. The air feels thicker and colder, the sounds of the hospital—the pounding, the growls, the chaos—fading to nothing but a distant memory.

Your breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts, and your mind races, replaying every terrifying moment up until now. The face of Sayo flashes through your thoughts, the guilt already gnawing at you, even though your survival instinct tells you there's no time to dwell on what happened back there. Every inch lower feels like a countdown to a disaster, your stomach twisting, tight with nerves. "Take it slow," Gojo calls up to you from below, his voice loud enough to cut through the fear ringing in your ears. "You don’t want to make it worse by rushing."

You don't answer, too focused on the descent. Your foot slips for a brief moment, a sharp jolt running through your body, but you catch yourself just in time, heart racing. You curse under your breath, forcing yourself to calm down to breathe, but it’s hard when everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control. As you both climb your descent, you pass by multiple windows of the hospital, barely having time to look in before one of those creatures gets too close to the glass, mangled faces pressed to the glass, and forcing you to hide off to the side. You keep your eyes away from the windows, focusing entirely on the wire beneath your hands. It’s your lifeline now. Your only hope. But the tension in your fingers only grows with each inch you descend, like the wire’s becoming slick with your own fear. Just keep going, you tell yourself. Just keep going.

Gojo’s voice breaks through the pounding in your head again. “You’re doing fine. Just don’t look down.”

It’s a futile piece of advice—too late for that—but you squeeze your eyes shut for a second, trying to block out the height. The wind blows harder as you continue downward, the hospital walls below fading into an indistinct blur. You try not to think about what happens if you fall, if the wire breaks, or if one of those monsters happens to look up at the wrong moment. But the thought of Sayo, Yui, and everyone else; the guilt that gnaws at your insides, pushes those fears aside. You can't let that weigh you down. Not now. Not when there’s still a chance to survive.

"Don't stop. Just keep going," Gojo’s voice calls up again, louder this time, but with a tone that’s almost… comforting. Even if his words are wrapped in layers of sarcasm, there’s something strangely steadying about his presence.

You’re not sure if it's the adrenaline, the tension, or just the fact that you’ve been hanging onto this wire for what feels like forever, but you feel a little more steady with each passing second. Your hands are raw now, the skin on your palms chafed, but you don’t let go. Not for a second. The wind picks up even more, swirling around you, carrying with it the smells of burning rubber and smoke. Your hands are starting to burn. The world outside feels vast, too vast, and your head spins as you force yourself to stay focused on the task at hand. The ground seems so far away. It feels like you’ll never make it. You finally manage to glance down, just for a split second, and the ground below makes your stomach lurch. The parking garage’s concrete floor looks miles away, the edges of your vision blurring with the pressure. Your heart slams in your chest as you look up quickly, trying to keep the vertigo from overwhelming you.

You can hear Gojo below you, his voice sounding closer now, his hands gripping the wire with practiced ease. “Almost there,” he calls, though his tone doesn’t seem too urgent, as if he’s been in worse situations than this.

You shake your head, teeth gritted, trying to shut out the panic creeping into your chest. There’s still a part of you that wonders if this was a mistake—if you’re not going to make it. You can’t help but wonder if Gojo’s not just as clueless as you are. But his presence, his confident tone, keeps you moving. Then, just as you're nearing the final stretch, your foot slips again, sending a jolt of panic through you. You catch yourself, but not without a sharp cry, a gasp of air leaving your chest as your stomach drops. For a moment, you just hang there, suspended in midair, body trembling. "Shit," you mutter under your breath, eyes squeezing shut, breathing out and focusing.

His voice cuts through the panic. “You alright?” There’s a hint of concern now, masked by his usual cool demeanor.

“Yeah,” you call out, “I’m fine.” But even to your own ears, your voice sounds shaky. You push yourself forward again, hands clutching at the wire like a lifeline. You’re close. So close. The ground is finally coming into view—barely more than a few feet away. Your body aches, and your head is spinning, but you can’t stop now. 

The wind picks up again, and your foot slips once more. Catching yourself is even harder this time, combined with your sweaty but burning palms. You can faintly make out him calling up to you once more, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of your body jolting as you slide down in a momentary free-fall. “Shit!” 

The wire feels too slippery for you to catch, and you begin to have that epiphany of your life flashing before your eyes for what must be the hundredth time today. Until, a firm arm catches you by your waist, locked and secured around it. The sound of his hissed grunt hits your eyes, and the two of your bodies swing side to side, back and forth, until he steadies you both against the wall. Breathing heavily, he huffs as he adjusts his hold. Your eyes open after closing them after what you thought would be your death. His chest is pressed against your back. “Hold,” he gruffs out. 

You do so quickly. Your heart beats wildly, out of sync with everything, but the panic begins to fade, slowly—bit by bit. The world around you sharpens again, and you’re aware of how precariously close you were to falling. To dying. The thought makes your stomach flip. “Not today,” you murmur, your voice hoarse, raw from the strain of the climb and the near-death experience you’ve just had.

“Not today,” he repeats, a strange softness in his tone, a touch of something almost reassuring.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the thundering of your pulse loud in your ears, as the adrenaline from the near-fall surges through your body, shaking your hands and making your legs feel like jelly. Every breath feels like it’s ripping through your lungs, but it’s a strange sense of relief that comes with Gojo’s grip around your waist, anchoring you to the side of the building like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed. His chest pressed to your back serves as a grim reminder of how close you were to plummeting, but it also feels like an odd comfort—something solid in a world that's falling apart. Your thoughts are too scattered to make sense of much. The ground still feels so impossibly far away, the wind whipping through your hair, tugging at your clothes as though the earth itself is trying to pull you down. It’s dizzying, suffocating. But you manage to focus on his voice, low and steady, cutting through the panic that threatens to overtake you.

“Breathe, slow down. You’re alright,” he mutters into your ear, his breath warm against the cold air. It’s a strange thing to hear him say. A little gentler, less cocky than the usual bravado, but just as firm. And for a split second, you almost believe him. You almost start to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’ll make it through this.

The steady pressure of his hold keeps you from losing control, even as your body trembles. His grip tightens around you, not with urgency, but with intent—like he’s waiting for the right moment to push you forward. It makes something stir inside you, a complicated knot of anger and gratitude that you can’t quite untangle. You don’t want to rely on him, not like this. You don’t want to admit how much you need him to get through this. Still, you force yourself to steady your breath, eyes flickering open for a moment to glance at the ground below. It’s even closer now—so close you can almost taste the concrete. The garage is just a few more feet down. But the thought of trying to make it the rest of the way on your own, after what just happened, is enough to make your stomach twist. What if I fall again? What if this was a mistake?

But then Gojo’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts again, this time with a touch more force. 

“Stop thinking so much,” he says, his grip shifting as he pulls you up slightly, adjusting his hold around your waist. “We’re almost there. Just focus. Just focus on getting your feet on the ground.”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. Your hands are slick, your body worn from the climb, but you manage to find some semblance of focus, forcing your limbs to obey. Just a little longer. The ground is so close now, and though your head spins with vertigo, you push yourself forward, feet sliding along the building, each movement controlled, even though every muscle in your body screams in protest. You can feel the tension in Gojo’s grip as he pulls you closer to the final stretch, his voice barely a whisper against your ear now, “Almost there. Don’t stop now.” The air feels thick, every inch of movement dragging on, but you finally feel it—your feet graze against something solid, the rough concrete finally meeting the soles of your shoes. The relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming. You’ve made it. You’ve actually made it. You stumble, catching yourself with a grunt, and then, finally, you collapse—your legs giving way beneath you as you hit the concrete. You're breathing heavily, but you’re alive. "That was a close one," you mutter, trying to push yourself up. Your limbs feel like lead, each movement sluggish and strained, but the fear, the tension, it slowly starts to lift, replaced with a faint but undeniable relief.

Gojo doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looks down at you for a moment—his expression indecipherable, like he’s sizing you up in the aftermath of it all. But there’s something different in his gaze this time. Less amused, less cocky. Maybe even... appreciative? You can’t tell, but it’s there. “Yeah,” he finally replies, his voice steady as ever, but there's a flicker of something beneath it. "But we’re not out yet."

You nod, slowly rising to your feet, the muscles in your legs protesting, but you push through. You look up at him—his white coat now stained with the grime of the descent, his hair even more wild, but still carrying that aura of unshakable confidence. He adjusts his glasses and nods in the direction of the parking garage. “C’mon.”

You don’t hesitate in following him, heads swiveling around in wariness and anticipation—as if something will pop out of the shadows out of nowhere. The tension in the air is suffocating, every step feeling heavier than the last as you follow closely behind Gojo. Your breath is still uneven from the climb, your hands aching from gripping the wire so tightly, but you push the discomfort aside. There’s no time for weakness. Not now. Not when the world around you feels like it’s on the verge of collapse.

Gojo moves with a controlled urgency, his sharp gaze darting from shadow to shadow, scanning every inch of the dimly lit parking garage. The flickering overhead lights cast eerie, shifting shapes along the concrete walls, distorting reality into something far more menacing. Your grip tightens around the weapon in your hand—whatever little defense you have left. Your nerves are on edge, every sound amplified. The distant groan of metal, the faint echo of dripping water, the shuffling noise that could either be the wind or something far worse. You swallow hard, keeping close, your body tense, waiting—expecting—something to lunge at you from the darkness.

It’s quiet, luckily. The dim setting of the parking garage offers a surprising amount of comfort than it usually would. He stops, causing you to do so subsequently. Reaching his hand in his pocket, a momentary look of surprise flashing over his face. He pats his pants down. Your eyes widen. “I don’t think I have my keys.”

“What?!” you cry out, hands shooting out to feel for yourself. Your face falls when you feel something, looking up at him with a tight expression. 

He giggles, pulling his keys out and dangling them in front of you. “Juuust kidding, got you.”

“That’s not funny at all,” you grumble, following him. 

Gojo laughs lightly at your response, the tension of the situation momentarily dissipating as he continues toward the exit. His pace quickens, urgency returning as his eyes shift to scan the corners of the garage, still sharp, focused. The light flickers again, casting long, jagged shadows across the concrete. You try to steady your breath, feeling a mix of irritation and relief. He seems like he’s always like this—trying to break the tension with his stupid jokes. But you can’t afford to let your guard down now, not when every shadow could hide danger. You move in close, staying right behind him, though part of you wants to keep your distance. He holds an arm out and you think it’s to alert you of something in the distance. But there’s a car beeping.

You look over and spot an eccentrically blue BMW. The BMW M4 sits in stark contrast to the grimy parking garage, its electric sapphire paint catching the dim light. Dirt and faint scratches mar its sleek surface, a testament to hurried getaways. The black carbon fiber hood and tinted windows add an air of mystery, while the low growl of the engine as it unlocks is a reminder of its power. It looks almost out of place here—too flashy, too pristine—but right now, it doesn’t matter. “Stranger, meet Baby. Baby, meet stranger.” Satoru grins, puffing his chest out like he’s won a race or something. 

Your lip downturns.

“So,” he looks at you. “What do you—”

“Pussies drive BMWs,” you cut him off, walking forward and over to the passenger side. “Mercedes is better.”

Gojo freezes mid-sentence, lips parting in mock offense before breaking into a loud, incredulous laugh. "Excuse me?" He places a hand over his chest, feigning deep betrayal. "Baby did nothing to deserve that slander."

You don’t spare him a glance, yanking open the passenger door and sliding in. The interior is just as sleek as you’d expect—black leather seats, ambient blue lighting humming softly along the edges, the faint scent of something expensive lingering in the air. Gojo slides into the driver’s seat, shaking his head with a smirk. "You wound me, truly. But you know what? I’ll let it slide since you clearly have bad taste."

You scoff, buckling your seatbelt. "Says the guy who just giggled at his own joke five minutes ago."

He gasps, pressing a dramatic hand to his forehead. "Unbelievable. I offer you my protection, my car—my beautiful Baby—and this is the thanks I get?"

You roll your eyes. "Just drive, Dr…." You tilt your head to look at his nametag. “Gojo.”

At the sound of his title, he hmphs triumphantly and buckles up, you follow suit. “Maybe call me Satoru. You’re not a patient of mine nor do you work with me.”

“And I’m glad I’m not.”

“That’s your cue to say your name now, silly.” Putting the car in drive, he slowly peels out of the parking garage, eyes scanning outside from left to right in a constant motion. 

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not to give him your real name. But then again, what does it matter now? “It’s Y/N,” you finally say, watching the streets as the car glides smoothly onto the road.

Gojo hums, testing the name on his tongue like he’s committing it to memory. “Hmm, suits you. I like it.”

You don’t respond, instead turning your focus to the eerily empty streets. The city feels wrong—too quiet, too still. Neon signs flicker in and out of life, casting the sidewalks in a dull, ghostly glow. Storefronts sit abandoned, some doors left wide open like their owners had no time to shut them. You sigh and rub your face. “Where are we going?”

“Dunno, maybe my place.”

“For what?”

“If an apocalypse is starting, I’m not forgetting my moisturizer.” 

You grit your teeth but decide to hold back on an insult. For now. “Fine. Then mine.”

Gojo raises a brow, amused. “Oh? You wanna grab your moisturizer too?”

You shoot him a glare. “No. I need my things. Clothes, supplies—” you pause, glancing out the window at the desolate cityscape. “Weapons.”

He whistles. “Damn, didn’t peg you for the paranoid type. You keep an arsenal under your bed or something?”

You exhale sharply, not in the mood for jokes. “Just drive.”

Gojo shrugs but obeys, making a turn onto the main road. His grip on the wheel tightens ever so slightly, his eyes flicking between the rearview mirror and the darkened streets ahead. “Alright, boss. Just don’t be mad if I judge your taste in home decor.”

You lean back in the seat, watching the quietness of the city fly past you. Luckily you haven’t seen any of those things—zombies?—yet. That’s a good thing, it should be. But you’re starting to find out that the still eeriness of just nothing might be even scarier. The city feels more and more like a ghost town the further you drive. It’s unsettling—how quickly everything unraveled, how an entire population could just vanish, leaving behind only flickering lights and abandoned cars. You tighten your grip on your seatbelt. “How far is your place from here?”

“Fifteen minutes, give or take. Yours?”

“About the same.”

Gojo drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Good. Then we grab what we need and figure out the next step. And then…” He sends you a sideways glance, an excited lilt to his voice. “We’re stopping by a gas station.”

You furrow your brows. “For what?”

He grins. “Snacks.”

(if i forgot to tag you, pls let me know) taglist: @sukuxna0 @heartsteelkaynconsumer @myahfig4 @kirachuyuu @sypnasis

@ducky1232 @oromanticism @2late4breakfast @beabamboo @dickktektive

@sleepyyammy @tbzzluvr @beabamboo @lovely-maryj @n1vi

@ojdubije @reixtsu @istha5 @ritsatoru @sadmonke

@zoeyflower @topmeyelena @sourairi @jlandersen01 @vamppirez

[reidology13]

meet me in the hallway - chapter one

Spencer Reid x fem victim!reader

cw: fluff, angst, attempted murder, drug use, drug addiction, hospitals, badly written withdrawal, bad parenting mention, gambling mention, set around season 4, that's it I think wc: 2.6k a/n: this is the first part of a fairly short series I have planned for the next while, hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You registered the blood before you felt the pain. The beat of the music pumped the blood through your veins, sweat hanging in the air alongside the cloying scent of perfume.

You popped a pill into your mouth, unsure what it was or where it had come from, stumbling over to the bar for a shot of vodka to wash it down. You’d just made it to the bar when a man shoved past you, hitting you roughly in the torso. You could tell something was off by the way that the pressure lingered after he had walked away. Your hand reached for the feeling, trying to figure out what was causing it, and found an odd, slightly sticky liquid soaking your dress.

You cringed, pulling your hand back to look at it, expecting to see nothing, the clear remnants of a sugary cocktail spilt on your dress. Instead, you were faced with a darkness painting your palms, and even then it took you a moment to realise what it was, the coloured lights altering its appearance. When you did recognise it, the pain still lagged, and you wondered if the plethora of drugs in your system were acting as an anaesthetic. 

You stumbled outside, growing lightheaded from the blood loss, holding your hand over the wound to stifle the seemingly endless stream of blood that flowed between your fingers. You flipped open your phone, about to call 911, when, finally, the pain hit. Something between the blood loss, the drugs, and the excruciating pain you were in sent your head spinning towards the ground, and the last thing you remembered before you passed out was the thought that you were never going to wake up.

.*☆¸•

You did, however, and when you regained consciousness, you were lying down in a hospital bed, the sharp, sanitised smell instantly recognisable. You had spent enough early mornings recovering from exceptionally dangerous highs to know your way around most of the hospitals in the Upper East Side with your eyes closed. Which, at the time, they were. When you did open them, you regretted it immediately, squinting against the blinding whiteness of the room in an attempt to see your surroundings. There was someone sitting next to your bed, a blurry figure that you were sure you had never seen before. You blinked repeatedly until your vision cleared slightly, and you were faced with a greasy mop of hair, underneath which might have been a man.

“You’re awake.” He sounded too relieved to be a stranger, and you momentarily questioned if you were suffering from amnesia. Then you saw the badge attached to his belt, which made a lot more sense as a reason to be invested in your wellbeing.

“What happened?” You rubbed at your eyes with a shaking hand, trying to ward off the headache that was already forming in the harsh light. You were surprised by how fine you felt, given the fact that your most recent memory was of being covered in blood. 

“Well, you were stabbed two days ago by a serial killer. You’re lucky, he’d been shooting his victims until now. He needed to be closer to his victims, and he made a mistake.” The man leaned towards you, his features growing clearer with proximity.

“Oh. Who are you?” You weren't quite prepared to process just how close to death you had really been just yet. Changing the topic seemed to be the only way to postpone the impending interview that would force you to face it.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, I’m with the FBI.” The way his voice went up as he spoke was a little bit annoying, and wasn’t doing anything to help the steady throbbing in your skull. Scratch your original plan of postponing the serious talk, you wanted to get everything over and done with as fast as possible so that you could get some rest.

“Well, I didn’t really notice at first, he knocked into me. I didn’t feel any pain ‘cause, fuck-” You groaned, a painful shiver running down your spine.

“Yes, they found GHB, cocaine, methamphetamines, and alcohol in your system. That pain you're feeling right now is withdrawal, something I’m guessing you haven’t felt before.” Despite his words, his voice carried none of the sympathy or disgust you would have suspected from someone like him. It didn’t feel like a judgement, but an acknowledgement of how hard it was: it was understanding.

“That… that makes sense.” Your thoughts were foggy, stopping just before they were fully formed, leaving incomplete puzzles with a single piece missing, words without any vowels. Enough that everything you said or felt was left wanting.

“Since you’re the only person so far to survive him, you’re the best witness we have. You’re also the most at risk.” He paused, and you took the chance to butt in, asking the question that seemed the most pertinent before you could forget it.

“What do you mean, ‘at risk’?” You grumbled, the roughness of your voice doing its best to cover up the genuine curiosity in your tone. This was a negotiation, no matter what he said, and you knew negotiations. If your father had taught you one good thing, it was that you never showed anyone your hand. Technically, at the time that hadn’t been metaphorical, he had been teaching you how to play poker at the ripe age of six.

“There’s a fairly significant chance that he’ll come back, try and finish the job. If he finds out you’re still alive, that is.” He said it like it wasn’t anything at all, like it wasn’t the most terrifying thing you had ever been told, just common sense. To him, you supposed it was.

“He’s going to try and kill me again?” There went keeping your cards to your chest. Whose voice was going up now, huh? To be fair, he hadn’t just been told that he was the target of a serial killer who had just landed him in the hospital by stabbing him.

“If you’re willing to do exactly what I say, then no.” His tone had gained a seriousness that it had been lacking before, and maybe that was what had been annoying you, because it was suddenly mostly bearable.

“And so, your plan is for us to…” You trailed off, painfully aware of your loss of footing in the conversation. Again, only one of you was coming down from a high while also healing from a stab wound, and you felt that it was deeply unfair of him to use your circumstances to his advantage.

“You and I would stay in an FBI safe house, working on the case and reporting any breakthroughs back to my team until they find and arrest him.”

“Safe house?” You baulked, “Like, stuck inside with you all of the time, no going out, no fun? That kind of safe house?” The thought of it sent a shiver of anxiety and apprehension through you. For one, you didn’t know this man, and you would be locked in a small space with him for who knew how long, you could only imagine all of the gross habits he had. He probably didn’t wash his hands after going to the toilet.

To be completely fair, you had snorted coke off of a public toilet roll holder before, so you couldn’t really judge him when it came to hygiene. That brought you to your second problem with the propositioned arrangement: any time spent in the safe house was time where you would be fully, stone-cold, sober. It wasn’t a feeling you were particularly accustomed with, nor was it one you wanted to be.

“If by ‘fun,’ you mean what I think you mean, then yes. Personally, I’m sure that we, if you agree to help, will have plenty of fun while we’re there. More importantly, I’m sure we will solve the case.” He spoke like he was trying to sell you something, like you really had a choice at all in the matter. Death or time in a house with some guy. The answer was pretty straight forward.

“Okay, fine, I’ll be your witness.” You conceded, hoping that your agreement would be enough to make him go away for a while. If you were going to spend the next however long with him, you would like to take the short span of time you had as a free woman and keep it to yourself.

He did, standing up and silently leaving the room, as well as you to your own thoughts. You hoped that they would report you as dead on the news, that they wouldn’t tell your parents what was going on. A little bit because you wanted to scare them, make them care about you for a moment. Mostly because it sounded fucking hilarious.

.*☆¸•

You didn’t have to wait long for your answer, depending on what we’re going to consider a long period of time. It was only a few days that you spent in the hospital, but they were painful, and to be completely honest, fucking terrifying. It was like a four day fever, but with added muscle spasms, constant paranoia, and anxiety unlike anything you’d ever felt before. No matter how stretched out those days felt, the moment the time came to leave, it felt as though you’d only been given a few minutes to prepare yourself mentally. Spencer walked into your room on the third day, bringing with him two other people, one was a man you had never seen before, while the other was a woman you’d seen outside your room on your first day at the hospital. Well, technically, your third. Spencer introduced you, although you were sure they both already knew your name, and probably all of your darkest secrets. Then he turned back to you, gesturing to the duo as he introduced them.

“This is Aaron Hotchner and Jennifer Jareau. They’ll be our point of contact while we work on your case.” Aaron nodded simply, and Jennifer offered a wave alongside a short greeting.

“Hi.” You waved back weakly, your arm aching with the movement. Jennifer gave you a kind, if not slightly pitying, smile as you dropped your arm with a wince. She seemed nice, but you were glad that it wasn’t her you were sharing the safe house with.

“Call me JJ, I’m the media liaison with the BAU, so I’ll be in charge of keeping the media from endangering you by reporting your survival.” She took a few steps forward, standing directly in front of you, and you could tell she was expecting you to ask questions. Luckily for her, you actually had one.

“What will my parents get told?” You tried not to sound too anxious for an answer, knowing that she would assume you wanted them told the truth of your circumstances.

“Due to the fact that you're not a minor, we have no legal reason to tell them. So unless there are any extenuating circumstances we’re unaware of, they will be told that you are dead. I know that might be hard for-” You cut her off before she could continue to believe that either party cared about the situation.

“Good, I don’t want them to know.” You spoke bluntly, a clear statement, leaving no room for questions or misunderstandings. JJ stepped back, taking your words as her sign to leave.

The man didn’t speak, simply standing beside Spencer as the number of people in the room dropped from four to three. There was silence for a while, none of you willing to speak and break it. Eventually, Spencer must have decided it had been long enough, clearing his throat in that pointed way people think is subtle, and glanced over at the man – Agent Hotchner, you reminded yourself. 

“We’ll check in on you via phone calls regularly, so that you can update us on the case and tell us what you need delivered to the safe house.” Spencer had already told you that, but you didn’t say anything, just nodding and thanking him, “Please write down a list of things you want to be moved to the safe house from your apartment.” He handed you a notepad, along with a pencil, and you wrote down all of the basics you could think of, as well as a few less necessary items—well, that depends on the definition of ‘necessary’ we’re using, you value your sanity—including makeup, your violin, books, and a few other hobbies. You gave him the notepad back, before grabbing it again, scribbling down to include your iPod and your headphones. He looked over it, nodded, and walked out of the room without another word. You liked him.

When it was just Spencer and you left in the room, he came and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at you softly.

“How are you? You look a bit better than you have for the past few days.” He was being ridiculously nice and understanding, just like he had been since you’d woken up in the hospital. It made you feel even more guilty for yelling at him the day before when he had come into your room and asked how you were doing. You’d thought it was pretty obvious that the answer was ‘not good’ and made sure to tell him just that, in probably the meanest way possible.

“Yeah, I feel better.” You gave him your weak attempt at a grin, accompanied by a small wince because your whole body ached, that muscle deep ache that sinks its claws into your soul just to ruin your day.

“Good.” He smiled, tight-lipped and stilted, the kind that never appeared on a red carpet or magazine cover, but now that you’d seen it, you decided it definitely needed to.

“When are we going to the safe house?” You kept your eyes on him, waiting for an answer as you pushed yourself up in the bed, sitting with a soft grunt. 

“It should be fully set up by now.” He tapped his fingers against the paper thin sheets as he spoke, the constant movement slightly distracting. “Hopefully we’ll be able to go tomorrow after your personal items are moved in.”

“Perfect, this hospital is so not hot.”

“They do have a very good air conditioning system.” You tried—and miserably failed—to hold back a very ungraceful laugh at his words, deciding quite quickly that this was going to be an entertaining few weeks, if nothing else.

“That’s not what I meant.” You winced at the soft pain that reverberated through you alongside your laughter.

“Oh, um, what did you mean?” He was completely oblivious, and seemed rather embarrassed about the fact, you couldn’t help but attempt to comfort him.

“It means, like, something is bad. ‘Hot’ means it’s cool.” You figured any mentions of Paris Hilton would only further confuse him, given how pop culture blind he clearly was.

“Um, okay.” He gave you that awkward smile, waving as he stumbled towards the exit of the room. He looked like he was fairly used to not being in the know, and like that was something he was judged for fairly frequently. You felt a little bad, but more than anything you wanted to be alone, the headache from the previous days creeping back in. So you settled for just being as nice to him as you could, and letting him leave.

“See you tomorrow?” You smiled softly at the sweet face he made, halting on his way out the door to speak again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“See you.”

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tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast - Comment to be added <3

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter eight ⭐︎ Say my name and everything just stops

Warnings: 18+, minors don't interact! jealousy, angst, low self-esteem (kinda?), mentions of the upside down. weed and alcohol consumption. I will not spoiler anything here, so read with caution

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You blindly began to follow your feelings, hanging onto a hope that died just as quickly as it came.

Word count: 10k+

Author's note: @hellfire--cult and I came up with this whole idea and we kept talking about this moment for weeks and now its finally here, I hope you guys are gonna enjoy it as much as we did hehe

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

The spring wind blows through the open windows in your room, touching your skin and slightly lifting the ends of your new dress. The smell of vanilla and the floral scent of your perfume lingers in the air. You’re leaning closer to your mirror as you apply your favorite gloss to your lips. 

A tingling, exciting feeling bubbles in your stomach, your heart jumping every few seconds or so at the thought of seeing him today. 

Steve’s reactions were everything you were hoping for when you teased him at the diner and in his car, yesterday. His blushing cheeks and the wide, darkened eyes filled you with victory after you had placed a kiss upon his flushed skin. You are still not sure what had caused you the sudden rush of courage, but you’re glad that it hit you because the way he looked at you, the way he reacted, the way his breath hitched in his throat finally gave you the last push to do what you had always wanted to do. Today, you’re finally going to give in to your feelings. 

The nervous, insecure part of you is telling you that there is still a big chance that he might reject you, that you will ruin this thing between you both by making the final move. 

And usually that weak part of your mind would win, it would fill you with enough humiliating images to pull back, to make you rethink your decision, to keep you hiding in the shadows, the way you always did. 

But you’re no longer letting it win. 

You will do this, even if you might lose your dignity. 

Placing the lip gloss back on your vanity, you reach for your favorite necklace, and put it on. You touch up your hair one last time, fixing your bangs before you take a step back, eying the red and white sundress, the little bows on the straps, the dainty flowers on the material, the shortness of it that exposes enough of your skin to drive him crazy… you hope. 

‘Just make your move, babe. Do you really think King Steve would reject you?’

Your smile falls a little when Billy’s voice echoes in your mind. 

Every memory of your best friend brings a hurtful pang to your heart. 

He was the only one who knew about your feelings for Steve and surprisingly he kept encouraging you to ask him out, to make your move. 

Would he be proud of you now? 

Or would he still make fun of you for liking someone like Steve? 

You step away from the mirror and walk over to the window, closing it before you leave your room and make your way downstairs. Eddie isn’t picking you up for once, even though he called you three times already, asking if he should come pick you up and if you’re truly feeling good enough to drive yourself again – you are. The headaches are gone, the dizziness is gone too. All that is left are the nightmares and the sudden rushes of anxiety but you are okay, you feel okay. 

You walk over to the dresser in your hallway, reaching inside the key bowl to retrieve your car keys when something else catches your eye. The one single key, lying in there, you reach for it, furrowing your brows as you trace your finger along the metal, letting it fall in your palm. 

You still remember the day when Max had showed up at your house, asking for you to take Billy’s car before Neil would destroy it in a moment of rage. 

‘He’d want you to have it anyway.’ She said as she handed you the keys. 

You remember how you broke down crying the moment you got into the driver's seat. You missed your best friend and it felt so wrong to sit in the place that once belonged to him. 

You got the windshield fixed and anything else that needed to be repaired, before you parked it in your garage, planning to never open the gate again and just leave the car there until Max would ask for it back. And, you did leave it there, for a few weeks at least. 

Your car broke down on a hot Friday afternoon and the mechanic at the local shop told you that it would take a few weeks to get it fixed. You walked and used the bus for a few days, and then the rain and the storms crashed upon Hawkins, giving you no choice but to take the blue Camaro.

Max even joked about it, she told you that it was Billy who caused your car to break down and who somehow let it rain and storm over the town so you would finally take his beloved car out for a ride because it’s just too pretty to be hidden and locked away in a dark, cold garage.

You’d sometimes drive around at night, when the streets were empty and no one was around. 

When you visited your sister in Indianapolis, you took his car. 

But now it’s been a while, the last time you sat behind that steering wheel was right before the apocalypse almost hit the town. 

A sigh falls from your lips as you stare at the key. 

“Not today,” you murmur as you place it back where it laid before and reach for your keys. 

The drive to Eddie’s new place isn’t a long one, he only lives a few streets away from you now, it would only be a ten minute walk but you desperately waited for the moment when you could finally drive again, and you didn’t want to pass up on the opportunity today. 

You missed this, sitting behind the steering wheel, instead of the passenger seat, longing to be the one in control. You missed picking the music yourself – not that Eddie’s music taste is a bad one, you just need a mix of everything, not just rock and heavy metal, sometimes you just need a girly pop song – not that you would ever admit it to him. 

When you arrive at your destination and you pull up to Eddie’s driveway, you notice that Steve’s car isn’t there yet. Only Jonathan’s car is parked next to Eddie’s Impala. 

Steve is never late, yesterday being the first time that he was the last one to arrive, so he is either still waiting for Robin or… running late is his new thing. 

“There she is!” Eddie chuckles as opens the front door at the same time as you get out of your car, “and she’s here in one piece!” 

A laugh tumbles from your lips as you close the door and lock your car before you make your way over to him, eying the new shirt he’s wearing – which is just another band tee that you have never heard of before. His curly hair up in a bun and a can of beer in his hand.

“I’m a good driver, what are you talking about, Eds?”

He furrows his brows, lips curling into an amused smile, “are you?” 

You walk up the steps to his porch, greeting him with an eye roll, “you know what, next time I’ll pick you up.”

He smirks, using his index finger to point at your car. 

“What, with your baby Mustang over there?” 

You squint your eyes at him, “nope, I’ll take the hidden gem in my garage.” 

“Wait what… What hidden gem?” 

“You’ll find out,” you wink at him, trying to brush past him when he stops you, placing his hand on your arm, he pulls you back softly. 

“Wait.”

You raise your brows at him, “yes?” 

He’s got the twinkle in his eyes, the one he always has when he’s happy about something. His lip twitches, pale cheeks slowly changing color, he’s barely able to contain his excitement as he bounces on his feet.

“Guess who scored a date?” 

Your eyes widen, lips parting as you remember the pretty waitress from the diner. 

Eddie is blushing, lips now curling into a full smile. 

“Oh my god, really?” You ask as a grin appears on your face. 

“Yeah! I’m gonna take her out tomorrow night, I can’t fucking wait, sweets.” He says with a dreamy look in his eyes. “She was so sweet a-and fuck… she’s gorgeous, don’t know how she said yes to me.” 

You frown at him, reaching your hand out to pinch his cheek, “you’re a handsome, sweet boy, Edward, now shush. You’re gonna knock her off her feet. Any girl would be lucky to have you.” 

His eyes soften, he rubs the back of his neck before his fingers trace the scar on the side – you know that it’s now an insecurity of his, just like it is one of yours. Scars litter your skin from where a bat had left a gnarly wound on the back of your shoulder, from where Jason had hurt you, from where he had left reminders for you that he was the one who did this to you. 

But your scars aren’t nearly half as bad as all the ones on his skin. 

“I’ve never been on a date before,” he murmurs, eyes flashing with doubt. 

“So? It’s gonna be even more special then,” you shrug.

“I just don’t wanna mess it up.” 

“You won’t,” you smile at him, “you’ve got that special charm, one that makes others like you right away, you’re funny and you’re sweet, now stop doubting yourself or I’ll kick your ass and hunt down every asshole who ever made you feel otherwise.” 

He chuckles at your words, though his eyes are still soft as he looks at you. He doesn’t doubt you, he knows that you would actually hunt down every name on the list of people who hurt him. 

“Got it?” 

“Got it.”

“Good,” you say, sternly.

“Good,” he nods. 

You stare at each other for a moment before you both burst into giggles. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and he pulls you inside his house, narrowing his eyes as he takes in your dress.

“Who’d you dress up for, sweets?” He asks, “there’s no hot guys here.” 

“Well, aren’t you humble?” 

“No hot guys besides me, of course,” he corrects himself after clearing his throat, smirking at you. 

You only shake your head in response. 

You pass by the kitchen and the big shelf that was specifically customized for Wayne’s mug collection. Vinyls are on the walls in the long hallway that leads to the living room where you hear the chatter of your friends and the faint music that sounds through the house. 

The smell of weed already lingering in the air. 

The sound of Nancy’s giggle, followed by a voice you hadn’t heard in a while makes you furrow your brows.

“Argyle is back?” 

Your surprised voice along with the wide eyes you look at him with make him chuckle. He knew you weren’t paying attention when he told you about it days back. You were too distracted by whatever daydream you were stuck in as he let both you and Steve know that Argyle was coming back to spend the summer in Hawkins before going off to college in September – something that Eddie definitely won’t be doing, he won’t be going to college, he won’t be going anywhere, at least not now, not yet, maybe not ever, even though it’s all he ever wanted. 

He walked the stupid stage, he snatched his diploma and he finally flipped Higgins the bird, despite the glares, despite the whispers of the people who still blamed him for what had happened weeks back but it doesn’t matter, he tells himself. It doesn’t matter what they say or think because he got people who believed him, people who care about him, people who were willing to fight for him, people who are worth staying for. 

“Yeah, he’s here the whole summer.” 

“Ooh, means we’re gonna get high a lot, cool,” you giggle. 

“Like we don’t do that all that time,” Eddie rolls his eyes, though a smile tugs at his lips as he pushes towards the living room, your feet carrying you closer and closer to your friends. 

Despite Steve not being here yet, you already feel the rush of excitement mixed with the nervousness of what you plan on doing, flushing through your veins. 

Your eyes first fall on Jonathan and Nancy who are standing by the door that leads out into Eddie’s backyard, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, a smile tugging at her lips when she sees you. 

“Hi!” She waves at you, a friendly look on her face. 

“Hey,” you smile at her before you look over at her boyfriend, greeting him as well. You then turn your head to your right, your smile widening when your eyes meet Argyle’s already very dazed ones.

He stands up from his seat on the couch, his hair falling in front of his face a little, he opens his arms, revealing his Bob Marley shirt to you. 

“Well look at what the cat dragged in,” he jokes as he steps towards you, “come here, chica.” 

You chuckle, leaving Eddie’s side to greet Argyle, who instantly pulls you into a tight hug. The smell of weed enveloping you, right away.

“I didn’t know you’d be back so soon!” 

“So soon?” He slurs, patting your head when you pull back again, chuckling when you swat his hand away. “You didn’t miss me?” He jokes as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, just the way Eddie did before, he pulls something out of his pocket, handing it to you, “here, got you a little gift from California.” 

Your eyes lighten up in amusement, a smile tugging at your lips as you look at the blunt he’s holding, you take it, holding it up as you look up at him with a grin, “why thanks.” 

“You gotta share that one with me,” Jonathan grins at you, lazily. 

“You’ve had enough already,” Nancy rolls her eyes, though not without a smile on her lips. She pats his chest, “come on, let’s go outside.” 

“Yeah, you guys go ahead, I’m gonna grab some more drinks,” Eddie says before he leaves the living room. 

You all step out into the backyard, walking over to the little fire pit where the flames are already glowing, surrounded by the comfortable seats. The sound of water flowing from the stream filling the air with a fresh scent, the smell of flowers and the trees giving you a sense of peace. 

Eddie’s backyard is comforting and nice, despite being close to the forest, it’s making you feel safe. He wouldn’t have this now if he hadn’t been dragged into a world of darkness – unlike you, he didn’t grow up in wealth, he didn’t have a fancy house, a fancy backyard with a pool. No. Eddie grew up in a lonesome house, one that certainly wasn’t as luxurious as yours or the one he lives in now. The house he grew up in was haunted by painful memories of his mother that he lost at a way too young age and his father who came and went as he pleased, it was the only thing that he had, the only thing he called his own, but that was taken from him too and he had no choice but to move in with his Uncle Wayne, who had done everything to give him a home – and now, Eddie gave him that back, he gave Wayne a home, a nice house with a nice roof over his head, a garden that he always wanted to have. Eddie had tried to keep the upside down a secret, he didn’t want to talk about what was out there, he didn’t want to worry him, he didn’t want to tell him where all the money actually came from but Wayne isn’t stupid and Eddie isn’t exactly the best at keeping secrets from the people he loves and cares about. 

You wonder what you would have told your parents if they were still here – would you have told them the truth about what actually happened at the Creel house? Or would you have kept it all a secret? You are certainly much better at keeping secrets hidden. Eddie couldn’t even look Wayne in the eyes when he told him that the bite marks on his skin came from a rabid dog and not from interdimensional bats. 

Something cold touches your shoulder, making you flinch in surprise. You tilt your head up, meeting the eyes of your best friend again, “where’s your head at, sweets?” He chuckles, holding the can of diet pepsi out to you. 

With furrowed brows, you look down at the drink and reach for it, “thanks,” you murmur, “and uh, nowhere. I’m just fascinated by your backyard.” 

His dimples show when a laugh escapes him, he takes a seat beside you, snatching away the blunt from your lap, he places it between his lips and uses his red lighter to light it up. He lets out a content sigh as he leans back, puffing out the smoke into the sky before he takes a look around, “it’s nice isn’t it?” 

You nod, pulling the tab on your pepsi, it opens with a pop. 

“It’s better than mine.” 

He turns his head to look at you, a bewildered look on his face, “you’re crazy, sweets. You got a pool.”

“You got one too!” You chuckle, pointing to the pool that has yet to be used, it’s warm out, not hot yet. 

“Yeah, well yours is fucking huge, and you got a hot tub too!” 

“You got a hot tub, chica?” Argyle gasps from your right, “oh, you’re rich rich.” 

“Correction, my parents were rich.” 

“Correction, we’re all rich now,” Jonathan adds, pointing at you with a dazed smile. 

“Rich isn’t exactly the term I would use,” Nancy mumbles as she takes a sip of her soda. 

“Then what term would you use, Wheeler?” Eddie asks, shaking his head at her, “enlighten us.” 

Nancy clears her throat, placing her elbow on the wooden armrest, “we’re taken care of.” 

Jonathan snorts, putting his hand on her thigh as he gives her an amused smile, while she already rolls her eyes at whatever is about to leave his mouth – there’s no annoyance behind her eyes though, no tension in her body from where he touched her, unlike with Steve, who she always looked tense and irritated with. Back then you didn’t understand why, there were so many questions in your mind when you watched them and when she left him – how could anyone be irritated with Steve? How could anyone be tense with someone that provides so much love and warmth to the people he so deeply cares about? How could she leave him? How could she break his heart? Who could ever hurt Steve Harrington? 

“Just admit it, we’re rich.” 

A groan echoes through the backyard, one that doesn’t belong to Eddie, Nancy or anyone else sitting in the circle. You all turn your heads towards the house, finding a very annoyed Robin making her way over to you, a six pack of beers in her hand, sunglasses perched on her nose even though the sun is starting to go down already. 

Eddie isn’t surprised at her barging into his home, she does it all the time, to him, to you, to Steve, he doesn’t mind it though. 

You straighten your back, holding your drink tighter as you look away from her, waiting for Steve to walk through the door. 

The feelings inside of you start to rise again, your heart picking up the pace as your skin starts burning from the excitement.

Robin plops down in the seat next to Eddie, placing the beers on the ground as she slumps back, sighing loudly. 

Everyone’s watching her, expecting a rant already but you’re still fixated on the door, waiting for him. 

“Buckley, why so angry?” 

She pulls her sunglasses up into her hair, turning to face him, “I’m glad you asked,” she murmurs as she reaches for one of the beers, “Dingus ditched me, so I had to walk all the way here!” She throws her arms up dramatically. 

You furrow your brows at her words, the burning on your skin beginning to die down just as fast as it came. 

Argyle and Jonathan chuckle at her. 

“You live 3 blocks away from here…” Nancy mumbles. 

“Not the point, Nance,” she argues, glaring at her friend. 

“Wait, so Steve isn’t coming?” Jonathan slurs. 

Your eyes are wide and hopeful, your hand clutching the can tighter as you dig your feet into the grass beneath you, a weird feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. 

“Wetting his dick with Heidi seems more fucking important today,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes as she raises the beer to her lips. 

Your heart drops. 

The burning in your skin disappears completely as the fire is replaced by ice, the coldness of it freezing your whole body, stopping your heart and taking the false hope away as it kills every feeling that had taken home inside of you just seconds ago. 

Your eyes are stuck on her like you’re waiting, waiting for her to laugh and say it was a joke, that he will be here soon, that he isn’t out with some other girl after what happened between you and him yesterday. 

“Whoa, what?” Eddie mumbles, holding his hands up, “so… he’s on a date with the girl he didn’t want to keep seeing?” 

“Yep.”

Every ounce of excitement is now replaced by the sickness in your stomach, the lump in your throat that makes you struggle to breathe. 

What were you thinking? 

That the game you played wasn't just a game to him? That it was something more than that? That he wanted you just the way you always wanted him? That he could ever feel something for you? 

You don’t know whether you want to laugh at yourself or cry. 

How saddening it is to long for someone who was forced to like you. 

While you were getting ready, making yourself look pretty for him, thinking that he might like you in this dress – he was getting ready to take out another girl, a girl that he chose to like. 

You slowly slump back in your seat when Eddie’s laughter pulls you back into reality. You blink, masking the shocked, pained look on your face with a relaxed one as you take a sip of your drink, hoping that it will get rid of the lump sitting in your throat – it doesn’t. Nothing does. 

Your friends move on to another topic, while you stay there, where you will stay for a while now. The pain of the rejection that has never even taken place, slowly sinking in and everything around you begins to suffocate you – the dress you are wearing, the necklace around your neck, even the presence of your friends. 

You don’t want to be here any longer, you need to be alone. 

But you can’t go, not now, not yet. 

It would be too soon, too obvious and they can’t know, no one can know about your feelings for Steve, about how much it hurts to feel that way for him. 

So you hide the pain as best as you can, you nod along to your friends' conversation, you speak and you laugh when you have to, even when everything inside of you wants you to cry both out of sadness and anger. 

You’re not even angry at him, you couldn’t be angry at him even if you tried to be. He doesn’t know about your feelings – if he did, he wouldn’t have filled you with false hope, you know he wouldn’t. 

He wouldn’t string you along, you know he’s not the type of person to do something like that, not even to you. But you really thought that you had something, that there was something between you, that’s why you let your walls crumble, that’s why you started acting upon your feelings, that’s why you were ready to do more than just the subtle touches and the flirtations. 

You wait, you wait for the right moment to leave, when everyone is distracted enough, you get up, after whispering an apology, a lie into Eddie’s ear, knowing that he doesn’t believe you, that he will probably call you later or even show up to check on you. But he lets you go. 

And as you leave your friends, making your way back into the house, their laughter echoes in your ears, their happy voices and the cheerfulness they’re all feeling, that you were supposed to feel too. 

You blink back the tears, not wanting them to fall just yet. 

You make your way back to your car, not wasting a second to start it and drive home, your vision blurred and your throat hurting from how much you want to cry. 

How foolish it was of you to think that you could ever stand a chance – there was never one to begin with. You will always be the one in the shadows, the one to secretly watch him, the one to secretly want him, the one with the jealousy and the heartache, the one wishing to be anyone but herself because maybe then, he would want you too. 

The smell of smoke from the campfire is now lingering on your clothes and in your hair, tears are now falling freely, ruining the makeup that you have spent hours on, the makeup that you can’t wait to wash off now. 

You don’t even want to think about him. 

You don’t want to ask yourself what he’s doing now. 

He touched you so softly, so subtly, and yet it did everything to set your insides on fire, to make you feel special, even if only for a short moment. 

Now he is touching someone else, in far more special ways. 

A frustrated sigh falls from your lips when you step inside your home, it’s cold and empty, something that you have felt like for a very long time until he started the fire inside of you, only to make it die again… and all without his knowledge. 

You walk up the stairs and past your room, going straight into the bathroom, feeling the need to wash away the day, as though it could ease the aching in your chest. You start the shower before you turn to the sink, not even bothering to look at your reflection in the mirror, it would only make you feel more pathetic. 

You can feel the hot tears rolling down your cheeks, the quivering in your bottom lip. 

You hate this, you hate the sadness that you shouldn’t be feeling in the first place. 

You got no reason to be sad, you should have put your feelings aside, knowing that nothing would ever come out of it. 

It was all so obvious, it was just teasing, nothing more, nothing less. Nothing ever happened, so why would it happen now? He just found another way of messing with you, so that you two wouldn’t go at each other's throats like before.

You just have to go back. No more teasing like this. No more letting yourself get sucked into delusions. He is just having fun while you crave something more with him and get hopeful. 

You aren’t having fun. You wanted more.

You have no choice but to go back to how you were before this… thing started. 

Once your makeup is off and your dress is now laying on the bathroom floor, you step inside the shower, letting the warmth envelope you, hoping for a sense of comfort from it. 

Standing there for a moment, you let the water rain upon your skin, matching the pace of your tears that you’re willing away. 

You will hunt Billy in the afterlife for making you believe that King Steve could ever want you. 

You use your scented shampoo, hoping that it will get rid of the smell of smoke in your hair. You love campfire’s but you can’t stand the stench it leaves on your clothes and your hair. 

Your hands run over your smooth skin as you wash your body, reminding you of the fact that you even shaved this morning – you couldn’t feel more stupid than you do right now. 

Despite the loudness of your own voice cursing at you inwardly and the water hitting the glass, you hear the sound of your doorbell going off – multiple times. 

“What the fuck,” you murmur in confusion. 

It keeps ringing again and again – once, twice and it stops after a third time before it turns into rapid knocking. 

You know it isn’t Eddie, he wouldn’t even have the patience to ring your doorbell and wait for you to open, he’d just barge right in. 

You’d choose to ignore it if the person outside wasn’t so goddamn persistent. 

You turn off the shower, squeezing the water from your hair before you get out, and wrap a towel around your body. The mirror is fogged, as the rest of the room is, you open the door and step out into the hallway, that now feels colder than before. 

The knocking continues, filling you with anger. 

Who shows up at night, knocking like a mad man? 

Maybe you shouldn’t make your way downstairs now, maybe you shouldn’t open the door to whoever it is on the other side. It could be anyone or anything but you doubt that Vecna came back from the dead to knock on doors now and hunt you of all people – he could have done that weeks back, you went through enough trauma, he could have easily chosen you but even he didn’t want you. 

You rip open the door, ready to curse and yell at whoever is terrorizing you at this hour but every word gets caught in your throat and even your breathing halts for a second as your glassy eyes meet the hazel ones that you have been missing all day. Frustration and anger swirling inside them, blazing fire raging behind his eyes. His cheeks are slightly flushed, his chest rising up and down heavily as he stands on your porch, looking better than ever. 

“Steve?” His name tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it as you stare at him in confusion. 

He eyes you up and down, taking in the sight of your exposed skin that is still dripping with water before he clenches his jaw, raising his hand to run his fingers through his hair, tugging at it. 

Steve Harrington is fucked. He is utterly fucked. You have cursed him in every way possible, he can’t get you out of his mind, he can’t get you out of his system and the thought that you were only playing with him drove him insane. His hunger for you made him desperate, desperate for release. 

So in his state of frustration and desperation, he called up Heidi, thinking that a date and sex with a girl he had been with before would help him move on and stop thinking about you but who was he fooling. He couldn’t even kiss her when she leaned in to greet him with her lips, he dodged her. He couldn’t even listen to the things she was telling him after they ordered their drinks. He couldn’t care less about her. All he could think about was you. All he wanted was you. He wanted your lips to kiss him, he wanted your hands to touch him, he wanted your body under his and the more he thought about it, the more he stopped caring about a possible humiliation after he’d finally make a move on you, he needed you, and he needed to try – if you’d reject him, then so be it, at least he would know and not live with the what if’s in his head. 

He canceled the date in the middle of it, not caring about how messed up that was. He drove her home and without a second thought, he drove here, he came to you. 

And now, you’re standing in front of him, in nothing but a towel, water rolling down your soft skin, big eyes filled with confusion, lips parted, lips that he wants to kiss until he grows breathless. 

The sight in front of him does little to make any of this easier for him. You look like you’ve just walked out of one the dreams he had about you. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” he murmurs under his breath, surprising you when he invites himself into your home, brushing past you with an intensity that almost knocks you off your feet. 

You blink, turning around abruptly, a bewildered look replacing your confused one. 

As you take in the sight of him, your sadness begins to dissolve as the anger you started to miss floods through your veins the longer you look at him. 

You slam the door shut when the wind causes goosebumps to rise on your skin, you hold the towel tighter against your body as you glare at him, “what the fuck?”

“I have to be the one to say that!” He argues.

“Excuse me?” You scoff, your face now burning with rage. Every second that passes now makes you forget about the tears you just shed over him, irritation sparking inside of you so wildly that you want nothing more than to kick him out of your house for behaving that way towards you for no reason. “Weren’t you on a date with… Heidi?” 

Steve clenches his jaw at the mocking voice, at the smirk now tugging on your lips. He chuckles, though not in amusement, he points a finger at you, “see, that’s what I’m fucking talking about!”

Your brows knit together at his outburst, the fire in his eyes growing stronger and bigger. 

“Harrington, if you came to yell nonesense at me, just fucking leave!” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, making your way back towards the stairs. 

But his scoff stops you. 

“Oh, so you keep running away huh!? Didn’t you already get over that!?” 

You turn around with nothing but anger boiling inside of you, “running away!? From what!?”

This should have been enough to make him turn around and leave, because clearly nothing changed, clearly this is still just a game to you – but he has hope, and he is desperate enough to throw every bit of his dignity away and risk something. 

“Oh, don’t play fucking dumb right now. Acting like that for two weeks and pretending to be stupid is not a good look on you, Blondie.” 

You take in a sharp breath, digging your fingers into your towel as you frown at him. 

What does he want from you? 

Why did he come here? 

Was the date so bad, was the sex so awful that he had to come here to torture you? 

Without another word, you turn around and you stomp up the stairs, not wanting to see him, not wanting to hear his voice anymore. 

Your heart starts pounding in your chest again, and you can’t help but wonder – did he figure you out? Did he figure out your feelings? Is that why he is here? To confront you about them? To reject you?

You feel more and more stupid about what you had wanted to do when you woke up this morning. 

Just when your feet carry you up to the second floor, and you rush across the hallway to walk into your room, his footsteps echo behind you, making you more irritated than before. You turn around to face him, but before you can even say anything, Steve is suddenly right in front of you, and his hands reach out to grab your waist, he pushes you against the wall behind you, gently, careful not to hurt you. 

The gasp that falls from your lips startles you. His hands that touch the only thing that covers your body leaving your skin on fire. Your heart rate picks up so rapidly that it nearly steals your breath away. You look up into his golden brown orbs, the ones that are nearly black as he steps even closer, invading your space completely, making you breathe in the scent of his cologne, the one that has butterflies swirling in your stomach. 

He catches you off guard completely. 

You feel so vulnerable, so exposed as you stand there, caged in by his arms, his breath on your skin, his eyes that are filled with so much hunger. 

The words die on your tongue, and yet, after you breathe in more of his scent, you open your mouth to speak. 

“Shut up, Blondie… Just shut up for a second,” he murmurs, interrupting whatever words you had prepared to lie to him with. 

His right hand leaves your waist, inching closer to your stomach as his fingers trace the hem of your towel, drool already forming in his mouth at the sight of you, he is ready to take you, ready to devour you and make you scream his name before he fucks you for only this time. 

He notices the way your chest is moving, the way your breathing stutters. 

“W-What are you doing, perv?” You stutter as you watch him play with the opening of your towel. 

He can’t help but laugh, shaking his head at your insult. 

“Perv? Are you going to continue to play fucking dumb?” 

“Dumb? You are the dumb one if you think that I’m going to be the one to break into your teasing.” 

Steve’s eyes flash with satisfaction. 

This is what he wanted – to hear you admit that you were playing that game with him after all and not because you were playing him and stringing him along just to turn him down to gain something from it, whatever it might be. No. You were doing just what he was hoping for, all along. 

You want him just as much as he wants you and that’s all he needs to know. 

You roll your eyes at him, turning your head as you try to push your way out of his grasp but before you can even step away from him, his hands stop you but not on your waist this time. His large hands cup your cheeks, making you freeze. You stare at him wide eyed when he brings you closer, and you can’t even react before his whole body is suddenly pressed against yours, your heartbeat lurches into your throat. 

As though his touch wasn’t shocking enough, his next move almost causes you to collapse, because now it isn’t only his body against yours, his hands on your cheeks or his breath on your skin, now it’s his lips… his lips on yours, his lips moving against yours in desperation as he takes every last of your breath and makes it his own. 

You can’t do anything, you can’t move, you can’t breathe, you can’t even blink as you stare at him – how his eyes are closed and his cheeks are flushed, the furrowed brows as he kisses you with a kind of passion no one has ever kissed you with before. 

Steve is kissing you. 

Steve Harrington is kissing you. 

His lips are moving roughly against yours, his hands holding your cheeks so softly, yet with an intensity. 

This is all you ever wanted, to feel his touch and his lips on yours but you are too stunned to move, too surprised to kiss him back right now, too distracted wondering if this is real or not.

Along with the shock, you feel the slightest bit of insecurity flooding through you because even though he is kissing you, you can’t help but wonder why. Why isn’t he with Heidi? Why isn’t he kissing her right now? Did she turn him down? Did he come here because he just needed someone? Because he knew that you would fall for this? Or is this just another way for him to tease you? 

Those questions prompt you to push him away, forcing him to break the kiss that he was so deeply lost in. 

You notice the way he begrudgingly pulls away, the way he seems so drawn to your lips, the way his brows furrow in confusion now, his face is flushed and his pupils dilated as he looks at you with nothing but desperation in his eyes – he isn’t teasing, he wants you, he wants you right now and isn’t that all that matters? That he wants you?

His eyes stare into yours as he is breathing heavily. A flash of rejection takes over his features and by the look in his eyes, you can tell that he is beginning to get lost in his anxious thoughts – thoughts that you quickly shut down by making the move that he just made. You cup his cheeks and you pull him down, closing your eyes as you slam your lips against his for the very first time. 

Unlike you, he wastes no second to reciprocate the kiss, a sigh of content leaving him as he presses you back against the wall. 

Warmth blooms in your stomach, one that doesn’t stay the same temperature for long because the moment he deepens the kiss, the moment his hands hold you tighter and his knee parts your legs, sliding his thigh in between yours as the kiss gets rougher and rougher, you feel the warmth evolving into a deeper, burning sensation – a fire inside of you that only he can mend. 

You can’t believe that this is happening, that something that you had been craving for years is now here. 

And Steve, he feels his heart pounding in his chest from the rush, from the adrenaline, from his desperation that grows bigger and stronger when he feels just how much you want him as your lips move roughly with his. 

You're hesitant with your touch, but when he grabs your face and pulls you even tighter against his body, his thigh pressing stronger against your core, you can’t help but throw your arms around his neck, digging your fingers into the hair that you’ve always wanted to touch. 

You can feel him smirking against your lips when you moan into the kiss, which prompts you to tug at his hair and press your tongue against his bottom lip.

He welcomes it into his mouth so eagerly, his tongue now clashing against yours as his palms slide down to your waist while your hands reach for the front of his shirt, fisting the material tightly as you begin to drag him into your room. 

You both know, you both feel where this is going, what this is leading to – what the past few weeks have been leading to. 

You want this, you need this, you need him, even if just for tonight. 

And you know, you already know that you will be done for, that he will ruin you for anyone else but you couldn’t care less, right now. Especially when he kisses you with so much roughness, everything about this setting all your insides on fire, leaving your skin burning and yet aching for more. 

Steve is careful not to step on your bare feet as you lead him backwards into a different room. Excitement bubbles in his stomach and he grows even more breathless than before, he pulls away and breaks the kiss but doesn’t hesitate to latch his lips onto your neck, kissing and biting your flesh, “I fucking hate you, Blondie. I hate that I want you so much.” 

Your lashes flutter as you close your eyes, tilting your head to the side as you feel your stomach and your heart fluttering at his touch, at his lips on your skin but especially at his words. 

Your knees grow weak and a needy whimper falls from your puffy lips. 

All that echoes in your mind now is I want you. I want you. I want you. 

You don’t even care about the other things he said to you, you only care about the three little words you have only ever dreamt of before. 

You almost fall when you feel the back of your legs hitting your bed, but he keeps you upright, not pushing you down just yet. He keeps nibbling on your neck, kissing, biting, sucking as he breathes heavily against you, growing harder against your stomach. 

“Couldn’t even finish the fucking date, couldn’t do anything cause I kept thinking about you, Blondie,” he speaks into your neck, fingers now dangerously close to your bare skin behind the towel. 

Your heart nearly explodes at his words and you can’t help but sigh in relief, knowing that nothing happened between him and Heidi. And all because of you. 

“You drive me fucking crazy, I want to rip the towel right off–”

“Then do!” You whine, not caring about how eager and desperate you sound, “show me how much you hate me, Stevie.” 

He pulls away from your neck after placing another wet kiss to your skin, strands of your hair getting caught in his as he faces you again, with flushed cheeks and almost black eyes he looks at you and takes in the sight of you, the pout on your lips, the flustered look on your face, big eyes that you are begging him with. 

He doesn’t even bother to look around the room, just caring about the bed behind you. 

He rips the towel off your body, letting it fall to the ground, his hands find your bare waist that he grips tightly as he throws you on the bed, smirking at the gasp that leaves your lips again. 

Without hesitating to, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and rips it off. 

Just like back then on the boat, when he took his shirt off before he jumped into the water, you stare at his chest, almost drooling at the delicious sight in front of you. His broad shoulders, the scar around his neck that makes him look even hotter, the hairs on his chest, the muscles in his arms that have visibly gotten bigger since high school. You bite your lip as your eyes move down, almost whining when you see the bulge in his tight jeans. 

You wish you could run your finger down his chest and his stomach, tracing every little scar that the bats have left behind, but instead, you push yourself up, blushing at the fact that you are completely bare in front of him. You reach for his belt, fingers beginning to fumble with the metal when he stops you with a simple touch and a headshake. 

“None of that,” he murmurs as he leans over, his hands digging between your ass and the mattress as he suddenly pulls you to the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees before you, he throws your legs over his shoulder and looks up at you with hooded eyes, “I need to hear you first.” 

You nearly combust when you feel his breath on your pussy and his lips on your inner thighs. A whimper falling from your mouth as you try to close your legs out of instinct, blushing even harder than before. 

“You’re fucking soaked,” he smirks, holding your thighs open as he teasingly slips a finger through your folds, “all for me, huh?” 

You don’t answer but you don’t need to, the loud moan that you let out when he dives right into you with his tongue, gives him everything he needs to know. 

He moans in content as he grabs your ass roughly, eyes rolling back when he tastes you for the first time, he almost starts drooling over you, finding pleasure in this. 

He teasingly licks a stripe up from your entrance to your clit, circling the tip of his tongue around your already aching nub as he uses his fingers to part your lips. 

You scrunch up your face as his tongue pleases you in ways your fingers never could, sighs and whimpers start escaping you as he now presses his thumb against your clit and he starts eating you out, his moans vibrating against you. 

Your mouth falls open as your back arches in pleasure, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you as you fall apart completely. 

No words are spoken as you both just enjoy this moment of bliss, him getting lost in you, you getting lost in the pleasure he blesses you with. 

You focus on everything and also on nothing – his whimpers send shivers through you, his tongue that he fucks you with making you gasp and drool, and despite the heaviness in your eyes, you manage to open them, wanting, needing to see him. 

He eats you out slowly, yet desperately, fingers and tongue now working together to unravel you. His eyes are closed and he keeps moaning and whimpering as saliva runs down his chin. He looks so content, so pleased from only this. 

Steve curls his fingers inside of you as he keeps his thumb on your clit, rubbing circles on it. 

Tears of pleasure prickle in your eyes as needy sounds keep escaping you. You hold the sheets even tighter now, closing your legs around his head, caging him in between them. 

Steve finally opens his eyes, they darken even more now when he sees how you are falling apart for him, it only prompts him to fuck you even harder with his tongue and his two fingers. 

Your moans and whimpers are enough to drive him crazy, enough to make the erection in his pants feel painful but he wants more, he needs to hear his name falling from your lips and he gets what he wants only seconds later when your body grows tense and your back arches again as a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Steve!” You nearly scream as you come undone, writhing beneath his touch. 

You tilt your head to the side, bringing your hand up to your face, you bite your teeth into your knuckles as hot tears run down your flushed cheeks. 

Steve laps at your pussy, moans still falling from his mouth. Only as you whimper weakly does he pull away from you, but not without giving your clit another teasing lick, causing you to spasm which only makes him chuckle darkly. 

He carefully removes your legs from his shoulders and lets go of you before he rises back to his full height. 

You instantly press your legs together, breathing heavily as you try to calm down from the orgasm he just gave you. 

What Steve didn’t do before was take in the sight of your bare body, and now as he does it, he has to swallow harshly, his dick twitching in his jeans, begging for release. He finds himself aching for you, even more than before, he not only wants you, he needs you in ways he can’t even describe. 

He watches the way your chest glistens with sweat, your nipples hard from the pleasure that curses through your body, your eyes are shut, your brows pulled together. He licks his lips before he bites down as his eyes trace every inch of your skin, the scars that make you look even more attractive. 

It takes everything in him not to drop to his knees and taste you once again. 

He needs you, he needs to feel you wrapped around his dick, he needs to hear your moans as he fills you to the brim, he needs to fuck you. 

Steve unbuckles his belt, the metal clinking against each other, causing you to open your eyes at the sound. 

You look at him through your glassy eyes, pushing yourself up on your elbows as you watch him unbutton his pants but before he pushes them down, he reaches for his wallet in his back pocket and you watch him curiously. 

He opens it to take out the condom he had prepared for a different… less exciting occasion. He hastily pushes his pants and boxers down, his dick slaps against his stomach and he fails to notice the way your eyes widen or the way your lips part in surprise at the sight, at the size of him. He steps out of his shoes, cursing under his breath as he pushes them aside before he uses both hands to part your legs, getting on the mattress.

Before he rips the foil apart, he looks into your eyes, wanting your consent first but no words have to leave his mouth because you are the first to make the move, you sit up slightly, taking the tiny foil pack from his fingers, surprising him by bringing it up to your lips and ripping it open with your teeth. 

Despite the streaks of tears on your skin, the fucked out look in your eyes, the shakiness in your body, you look at him so dangerously. 

And he can’t do anything but watch you in awe for a moment, how you wrap your much smaller hand around his dick, pressing your thumb against his slit to tease him. 

“O-Oh fuck…” He shudders, eyes nearly closing at only that. 

You bite your bottom lip, trying not to drool as you roll the condom over his length. You look up at him again to find him staring at you with flushed cheeks and lust in his eyes. It’s dark in the room, but you can see each other just well enough, the moon shines brightly into your room tonight. 

You can’t even help yourself when you cup his cheeks and pull him down for a kiss, closing your eyes when your lips meet again. 

He grabs your waist, making you crawl back until you’re far enough on the mattress for your head to hit the pillows when he pushes you down. He presses his hands on your knees and you part your legs eagerly for him. 

His fingers trace your skin as he brings his hand up, passing your hip bone and your waist and grabbing your boob with roughness as he slips his tongue into your mouth, wanting you to taste yourself. He pinches your nipple with his fingers, smirking against you when you whine and writhe underneath him. 

You reach your hand down, not wanting to waste any more seconds, you wrap your hand around his dick again, jerking him off a few times before you line him up with your entrance, whining desperately again. 

Steve breaks the kiss and opens his eyes to look at you, “you’re so desperate for my cock, huh?” He breathes, still playing with your nipple. 

You raise yourself up a little, pecking his lips again as you nod your head. 

He can’t believe that you are this needy for him, that you are giving him those eyes. 

If only he knew how many times you have dreamt of this moment. 

“Please,” you whimper. 

“Please what, Blondie?” He teases you as his hand now slides down your stomach, fingertips brushing your clit, making you shiver. 

You blink and you breathe heavily as you place your hand on his shoulder, “please fuck me, Steve… Please…”

A satisfied smirk appears on his face, your desperation making him feel smug – but the smugness quickly dissolves into something else when he pushes inside you and feels your tightness around him for the very first time. 

You breathe in harshly and hold it, shutting your eyes when you feel him stretching you out. Nothing could have prepared you for this moment, not his tongue, not his fingers, nothing. The stretch is both painful and delicious, it makes you gasp but it also makes you drool as he inches deeper and deeper. 

Steve can only curse and whimper in pleasure as he watches his cock disappearing inside of you, he doesn’t push in fully though, too scared to hurt you. 

He bites his bottom lip, bottoming out again before he pushes back in, listening to the wet sound and the neediness in your voice as you moan. 

“M-More,” you whine, your eyes now watching him, “please…”

His dick twitches at the sound of that and at the look on your face. 

“Fuck me, Steve.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, he pushes in deeper than before, until he’s buried inside of you completely. Usually, he would take a moment to catch his breathe, to adjust to the tightness but he is too eager, too desperate for this. So he grabs your hips and he starts thrusting, slowly at first, not wanting to hurt you. 

You gasp, hands finding the sheets beneath you again as your eyes follow the movement of his hips, watching the way his dick slides in and out of you. You throw your head back and look at his face next.

Strands of his hair fall in front of his eyes, his lips are puffy from all the kissing, his cheeks are flushed. He is moaning, for you, because of you. You are in utter bliss, feeling pride swell in your chest when he moans even louder as you clench around him. 

He watches the way he fucks you, eyes growing darker and darker and then, he looks at your chest, the way your tits bounce from the movements, something that prompts him to move his hips even faster, fucking into you harder now. 

“F-Fuck,” you whine loudly. 

His eyes meet your face and the pleasure on it is suddenly not enough for him, he wants to throw you over the edge, he needs to hear you scream for him. 

He curses under his breath when you clench around him again. 

Steve’s knees dig into the mattress, his fingers now holding you even stronger than before, he is sure to leave bruises but you don’t mind, you would never mind. He fastens his pace, railing into you and thrusting in and out of you, making you fall apart in the matter of a few seconds. You can’t speak, even if you tried. All that you can do is moan pathetically, letting him use you. 

“You take me so well, holy shit, Blondie,” he whimpers, voicing out his thoughts, brows scrunching together as he watches you, your lips parted, moans that he only ever dreamt of leaving you. “L-Look at you, fuck. If I knew that my cock would shut you up, I would’ve done this a long time ago.” 

“S-Steve!” You whine with a high pitched voice, something that only leads him to pound you even harder even if a tiny part of him wants to mock you. 

Your eyes roll back, the tension in your stomach rolling back in, only stronger and hotter this time, and you already don’t know what to do with yourself, but when he suddenly reaches for your legs, hooking the back of your knees around his forearms, your eyes widen when they meet his again and a wicked smirk appears on his face as he starts fucking you from a different angle, snapping his hips into yours so wildly that you can’t help but cry out as your eyelids become droopy, tears now begging to be released, just like the drool that starts coming from the corner of your mouth. 

The room now filled with nothing but the dirty sounds of your skin slapping together, the squelching noises from your pussy and his pleasing moans. 

Steve watches you in awe, eyes growing wide when he sees just how cockdrunk you are for him. 

He fucks you recklessly, eagerly and as though it is the last thing he will ever do. 

Your tears fall freely, your whimpers turning into cries the moment his thumb finds your clit again. 

He feels your walls clenching around him, gripping his twitching cock tightly – and he knows you’re close, he knows that he is close but he doesn’t want to stop, he doesn’t want this moment to be over. 

Steve savors every second, pounding into you roughly and harshly, grabbing your face with his left hand when your head falls to the side, he needs to watch you, he needs to see you when you cum around him. 

“You wanna cum for me?” He asks breathlessly. 

You nod eagerly, without letting a word fall from your lips, you only nod and whine. 

You feel the overstimulation rushing through you, the fire in your stomach that is about to burst into something bigger. You can feel him everywhere, he is so deep inside of you that it makes your body shake like crazy, but it feels good, so good that it almost wants to make you cry for different reasons when you think about how this could be a one time thing. 

His hand leaves your face, he throws his palm into the pillow next to you, holding it tightly as his own eyes fall shut now, moaning your name as he picks up the pace of his fingers against your clit, his hips snapping faster into yours now. 

“I-I’m–”

“I know, I know…” He coos, letting his face fall into the crook of your neck. 

You feel the urge to feel him even closer, so despite the weakness in your body, you use every bit of your strength to lift your hand and press it against his warm back. 

“Cum for me,” he whimpers into your neck before he bites into your flesh, marking you up for anyone to see. 

A loud gasp tears out of you as his last thrusts grow rougher and his fingers move faster, you can’t help but dig your nails into his back, scratching him as stars blur your vision and the shockwaves grip your body so tightly as you cum around his cock, just as he spills into the condom, moaning into your neck. 

You can’t even feel your tears nor the drool still coming out of your mouth, all that you can feel is him. Your arm now falls back onto the mattress and your eyes shutting as the darkness starts to envelope you. 

“F-Fuck,” he whispers as he stops moving, pressing another kiss to your neck before he pulls out of you, hissing at the feeling. 

He can feel your trembling body beneath his, the sighs that keep falling from your lips, he smugly pulls away to take a look at you, only to see your eyes dropping as you start to lose your consciousness. 

“Shit,” he whispers, cupping your cheeks, “you okay, Blondie?” 

You nod as best as you can, slapping his hand away as you snuggle into the pillows, not even bothering with the blanket. 

He scratches the back of his neck, pressing his lips together as he watches you fall asleep so quickly. He can’t help but feel smug as he looks at the way your thighs are trembling still. 

He stands up, leaving the room to walk into the bathroom, where the light is still turned on. He steps inside, noticing how the mirror is a little fogged, the smell of vanilla and strawberries lingering in the air, making his stomach flutter ever so slightly. 

Discarded clothes lay on the ground, he picks them up and puts them on the counter before he rolls off the condom, tying it up before he throws it into the trash. He turns towards the sink and washes his hands before he walks back into your room, a smile tugging on his lips. 

He plops down beside you, pulling the cover over you and himself, scooting closer to you. 

He doesn’t know where this will go or what is going to happen tomorrow but as he looks at your stained face, and every single previous second replays in his head, he is sure of one thing. 

There is not a single fucking chance that this is going to be a one time thing. 

♡

tagging friends and mutuals!

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @maroon-cardigan @munson-mjstan @sherrylyn628 @munsonlore @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

isekai and in over my head.

chapter two | this is fine (i am absolutely lying)

it starts with you waking up in what might be a coma, probably isn’t a otome game, and is definitely not your life. It ends with five dangerously attractive men forming an unofficial committee to keep you alive, loved, and under constant emotional surveillance.

ABOUT | 3.3k words. f!reader x 5 LI (non-romance so far). slice of life.

TAGS | isekai. for shits and giggles. flirting. banter. fluff. survivors guilt.

NOTE: before anything else: thank you. genuinely. for the likes, the reblogs, the tags that made me clutch my heart, the comments that felt like being seen in a thunderstorm. i write these things half-feral and full of feelings, and the fact that any of you resonate with them?? i’m holding that close. i'm so, so grateful.

INDEX | chapter one ✧ chapter two ✧ chapter three ✧

chapter two | this is fine (i am absolutely lying)

THE THING...—the Wanderer—moved with the grace of a nightmare.

Not fast. Not slow. Just… deliberate. Like it didn’t need to rush because it already knew how this ended.

Its limbs—those too-long, too-smooth limbs—coiled inward, then snapped outward with a twitchy, too-slick motion that flung it forward across the fractured terrain. Each step felt wrong. Reversed. Like someone had animated it backward and forgotten to hit undo.

I couldn’t look away.

Not because I was brave.

Because I was locked.

Some deep, animal part of me had short-circuited, whispering ancient survival strategies like: Play dead. Think smaller. Maybe it eats confidence.

Caleb didn’t hesitate.

He stepped ahead of me with the kind of solid, unshakable certainty that made the world shrink around him.

And then he fired.

Light tore from his weapon, clean and precise, slicing across the Wanderer’s chest.

It hissed.

Not in pain. In acknowledgement.

Like Caleb had just rung the dinner bell.

The glowing sigils along its skin pulsed—faster now. Urgent. Hungry.

Then it surged forward.

“Back!” Caleb shouted, still firing, still unshaken. “Stay behind me!”

Yes. Good plan. Excellent plan. I loved that plan.

I did not move.

I didn’t even breathe.

Because that was the moment my brain chose to whisper:

Hey. What if this is real?

Not a dream. Not a coma. Not a dissociative episode with disturbingly good CGI.

But real.

Real monsters. Real guns. Real consequences.

Caleb fired again—this time hitting something vital. One of its limbs buckled with a wet, crunching snap. The Wanderer shrieked, the sound slicing through my skull like glass.

“Your sidearm!” he called. “Draw it!”

My what now?

Then I remembered.

The gun.

Strapped to my thigh like I was starring in a Bond film I hadn’t auditioned for.

I looked down.

Still there. Neatly holstered. Like it belonged.

(It didn’t. We both knew it didn’t.)

But my hands moved anyway. Mechanical. Detached.

I gripped the handle. It was heavier than it looked. Warm from my skin. Too real.

My fingers didn’t shake until I pulled it free.

Then they wouldn’t stop.

“Breathe,” Caleb said—firm but steady. “Line of sight. You've got this.”

Do I? Is that a thing I've got?

My arms lifted. The barrel wobbled.

The Wanderer—still fixated on Caleb—tilted. Just slightly. Like it had sensed something else.

Something smaller.

Something me.

I aimed for center mass. Or maybe center goo. It wasn't exactly big on traditional anatomy.

I swallowed. Pulled the trigger.

The gun kicked harder than I expected. The sound wasn’t just loud—it was a crack, sharp enough to slap the air sideways.

I stumbled, ears ringing—

And then—

Contact.

The shot landed.

The Wanderer reeled, spasming violently, as if something had yanked its spine from the inside. It shrieked, staggering back on its misshapen limbs, sigils flashing in a frenzy.

I blinked.

Stared at the gun in my hand. Then at the smoke curling off the barrel like it belonged in a movie. Then—

I laughed.

Loud. Breathless. Wild.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, turning to Caleb with my mouth hanging open and my face lit up like someone had just crowned me Miss Post-Apocalyptic America. “Did you see that? I did that!”

Caleb glanced over.

Still calm. Still alert.

But something flickered in his expression.

Approval.

Not a smile.

But close.

“Not bad,” he said.

And I—swear to god—I beamed.

For a solid three seconds.

And then the Wanderer shrieked again.

And my legs remembered how to panic.

I stumbled backward without meaning to—my heel catching on a crack in the concrete that hadn’t existed a heartbeat ago. The ground tilted—just slightly, but enough. My balance slipped. My arms flailed for something, anything.

But there was no anything. Just air. And noise.

The creature was recovering.

Its limbs jerked once. Then again. Twitchy. Violent. Like a puppet being yanked by too many invisible strings. The sigils across its body flickered like dying neon, re-igniting one by one. One pulsed a furious, unnatural blue—and I felt it.

Not in my ears. Not in the air. Inside.

Like a hum beneath my skin. A frequency just wrong enough to itch in my bones.

Caleb said something—short, sharp—but I didn’t catch it.

Because that’s when the Wanderer lunged.

Not at him.

At me.

And just like that, every brave thought I’d had a minute ago—every triumphant laugh, every “hell yeah I just shot a space demon” glow—shattered like wet paper in a thunderstorm.

The world rushed forward. Or maybe I rushed backward. Didn’t matter.

Because the thing hit the ground in front of me like a meteor wrapped in bone, and the impact exploded.

A shockwave ripped out in all directions—raw, concussive power that hit before I could brace. And suddenly I wasn’t standing anymore.

I was airborne.

No scream. No thought.

Just instinct.

Then impact.

Hard.

And not the cinematic kind. No slow motion. No graceful tumble. Just me, slamming into the ground like a collection of limbs and bad decisions. Elbows scraped, breath punched from my lungs in one graceless exhale.

Something sharp bit into my shoulder as I rolled.

Glass? Metal?

A fractured idea of who I thought I was before today?

I lay still for a beat, blinking up at a sky that had gone weirdly pale. The edges of my vision pulsed. My ears rang. My body hummed like I was made of exposed wiring.

Then—

Weight. Heat. Movement.

Caleb.

He was over me—in front of me—on me, really. One hand gripping my forearm, the other braced beside my head, solid as steel.

His body curled around mine, forming a shield. A wall. Like he’d dropped out of orbit and made me his crash site.

“You okay?” he asked, voice close. Breath brushing my cheek.

I blinked.

Swallowed.

Tried very hard not to notice how… present he was. Everywhere.

His chest pressed against mine. One arm curled around my waist. His knee—oh, hello, we’re very familiar now.

My mouth opened. Nothing clever came out.

“I think I forgot how to have bones,” I whispered.

A pause.

Then—to my absolute disbelief—he huffed a quiet laugh.

“Still sarcastic,” he murmured. “Good sign.”

He shifted his weight, giving me enough room to breathe without accidentally inhaling his shirt.

(Which, by the way, smelled like metal and clean sweat and something faintly smoky—like the air right before a storm.)

He reached up, brushing something from my hair. Dust. Debris. Possibly a chunk of my dignity.

“You took the hit better than I expected,” he said, scanning my face. “Not even a scratch.”

I didn’t know what to do with that.

Not the compliment exactly—but the way he said it.

Like he knew me.

Like we’d done this before. Like I’d fallen before. Gotten up before. Always survived. Always gotten right back in the fight.

I wanted to say: You've got the wrong girl. I wanted to say: I shouldn't even be here.

But I didn’t.

Because maybe one wrong word would break the logic of this place. Maybe it would shatter him. Maybe it would snap this whole thing like paper in the rain.

So I said the only thing that felt safe.

“I think my watch is broken.”

Caleb looked at me for a beat too long—like he was reading a language etched across my face.

Then he shifted back on his heels and offered me his hand.

I took it.

His grip was warm. Steady. Grounded.

Mine was cold and static and not entirely sure it belonged.

Still, he pulled me up like I weighed nothing. Like the universe had decided I wasn’t a problem worth resisting.

“Stay close,” he said, eyes flicking toward the still-flickering rift. “We're not out of this yet.”

I nodded.

Because my lungs were working again.

But my heart?

My heart was still somewhere on the ground.

Caleb stepped ahead of me again, moving like the fight wasn’t over.

Because it wasn’t. Not really.

The Wanderer was still alive.

Sort of.

It dragged itself through the rubble with a stuttering limp, one leg folding at the wrong angle beneath it. Sparks flickered where the sigils on its body had begun to decay—like a dying circuit board—but it didn’t stop. It didn’t surrender. It just kept crawling.

And Caleb didn’t hesitate.

He raised his weapon.

Eyes steady. Stance sure. No uncertainty. No delay.

The blast was quieter this time.

Mercy has a different kind of volume.

The creature folded in on itself with a final, twitching shudder. Its limbs curled inward, its glow sputtered. And then it slipped back into the rift it had come from—like someone pulling a zipper shut on another dimension.

One last hum of static. Then nothing.

Gone.

The silence that followed was deafening.

For a few suspended seconds, all I could hear was my own heartbeat—tight and steady in my ears. A drumbeat written just for me.

Then Caleb turned.

“You're bleeding.”

I looked down.

So I was.

A thin red line trailed down my arm, seeping slowly through the fabric of my sleeve. It wasn’t gory. Barely even painful. Just… there. Unignorable.

“Oh,” I said. “How rude of me.”

Caleb didn’t smile. But something behind his expression eased, almost like a twitch of warmth behind glass.

He thumbed his comm device.

“She's hit,” he said. “Not bad. But we need med.”

I stiffened.

Med?

No. No, no. Not yet. Not until I understood the rules of this place. The logic. The boundaries. I hadn’t had a tutorial. No dialogue tree. No pause menu.

I needed time. Not trauma kits.

“I'm fine,” I said, too quickly.

“You're not,” Caleb replied, calm and immovable.

He wasn’t being mean. Not annoyed. Just factual.

And that somehow made it worse.

He stepped forward again and extended his hand—like it was nothing. Like shielding me from monsters, catching my fall mid-battle, and now guiding me out of the wreckage were just routine maintenance items on his daily checklist.

I took it.

Because my pride was somewhere beneath a pile of cosmic shrapnel.

He guided me toward a tilted slab of what used to be a road divider, his palm pressed lightly to the small of my back. Steady. Warm. Grounding.

I tried not to notice it.

Or how close we were. Or how my legs still hadn’t fully signed the walking contract.

But mostly, I tried not to speak.

Because every part of me wanted to say something dangerous. Something obvious.

Like: You're even hotter up close.

Or: I downloaded your character arc on a rainy Thursday two months ago and now I'm bleeding inside it.

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not.

So instead, I focused on walking.

Left foot. Right foot. Don’t trip. Don’t overshare. Don’t mentally short-circuit in the presence of fictional military-grade jawlines.

And then—

Buzz.

My wrist console vibrated sharply.

A low beep echoed, followed by a voice crackling through the speaker—smooth, composed, and just faintly amused.

“Well. That's not the worst field report I've seen.”

I froze.

No.

No way.

Caleb didn’t miss a beat. He tapped his wrist and replied, all steady calm: “She's stabilized. Light laceration. Possible minor concussion. We're en route to evac.”

But I wasn’t hearing him anymore.

I was hearing him.

That voice.

Zayne.

I swallowed hard.

Don’t react. Don’t panic. Don’t do anything that might implode the fictional atmosphere currently pretending to be your life.

“I'll prep medical,” the voice said, as cool as a snowstorm. “Bring her in gently.”

Caleb muted the channel with a flick of his wrist.

“Almost there,” he said, voice low. “Just keep walking.”

Sure.

Right.

Walking.

Left foot. Right foot. Don’t cry. Don’t blurt Doc Daddy? out loud.

Don’t say anything.

We crested the edge of the crumbling hill and—

There it was.

The evac shuttle.

Matte black. Sleek. Still humming like it had somewhere more important to be. A few Farspace medics moved between open panels, their motions brisk and impersonal—like this was just another line on the Thursday rota.

Caleb led me toward the boarding ramp.

His hand was still at my back. And while some part of me was undeniably thrilled about that, the more rational, anxiety-ridden portion of my brain had questions. Like: How long am I expected to play along with this? What if I get caught? What if I sneeze and break the gravity engine or—

“Careful,” Caleb murmured as I stumbled.

The ramp hissed beneath our feet as we stepped inside. I blinked against the dim lighting.

Sterile. Clean. Cold-gray walls etched with glowing panels. A row of fold-out medical chairs that definitely doubled as interrogation seats. And in the center of it all, standing with his back turned—

Zayne.

He didn’t move at first.

He was typing something into a console—deliberate, precise. His lab coat hung perfectly from his shoulders, sleeves rolled and collar crisp. His hair was pulled back, revealing the clean cut of his jaw.

He hadn’t even looked up.

And yet my entire body had already decided to classify him as both threat and imminent system overload.

I froze.

Not from fear.

From buffering.

Brain short-circuited. Tongue gone. Stuck somewhere between what do I say and what if I forget how to say anything at all.

Then he turned.

His gaze swept the shuttle once—clinical, detached—before landing on me.

And holding.

His expression didn’t change. Not exactly.

But there was something slow in the way he looked at me. Measured. Like he was reading a chart only he could see.

“I was told you'd taken a hit,” he said.

Oh no.

That voice.

That voice had a body.

And that body was here. In 3D. Breathing. Wearing tailored sleeves and weaponized cheekbones.

“I—uh. Yeah. Sort of. Light scratch.” I cleared my throat. “Barely counts. Definitely not worth interrupting your very important... science?”

Science. Brilliant. Absolutely nailed it.

Zayne blinked. Slowly. Like a lizard assessing prey.

“I wasn't aware a concussion came with a stand-up routine.”

Caleb didn’t react.

Of course he didn’t.

This was his normal.

But me? I was a puddle in boots pretending to have bones.

Zayne stepped closer. His gaze didn’t waver.

I had the very stupid thought that if he stared any harder, I might forget my name and start answering to Patient just to please him.

“I need to assess you.”

Right.

Yes. That made sense.

Medical things. Healing. Professionalism.

None of which prepared me for the moment he touched me.

Just two fingers under my chin—light, practiced, impersonal. He tilted my head toward the light. Scanned my temple. My pupils. The line of my jaw. Each motion precise, cataloguing damage like a surgeon mapping a battlefield.

“You're flushed,” he murmured. “Could be trauma. Or stress. Or... other causes.”

His thumb brushed my cheekbone once.

I blinked.

“I—um. Sorry. I usually have better... circulation?”

Zayne arched one brow. Barely.

Behind me, Caleb made a sound. Low. Indecipherable. Disapproval? Amusement? I didn’t look.

I was too busy trying not to combust beneath the pressure of one hot, gloved, fictional doctor’s undivided attention.

Zayne’s fingers dropped away.

“Sit,” he said. “Before you fall.”

I nodded too quickly and backed toward the nearest seat, trying not to trip over my own limbs or dignity. I perched like a Victorian ghost unsure of modern furniture.

Zayne turned back to the console. A screen lit up, displaying vitals I didn’t recognize.

And then—

My name.

Except… not the one I was born with.

The one I typed in two months ago, wine in hand, assuming this game would be a harmless distraction from real life.

Now it pulsed on-screen in bold white letters.

Familiar. Intimate.

Not mine.

Zayne’s voice cut through again. “No cranial bleeding. Vitals steady. Light metaflux disruption.”

“I don't know what that means,” I said, trying to sound casual and not like someone quietly hiding the apocalypse in their back pocket.

Zayne didn’t answer. He tapped a few keys, then turned to Caleb and said, with surgical precision:

“She's stable. You did well.”

Caleb nodded.

My chest ached.

Not from the injury. Not even from fear.

But from the quiet gravity of this moment. This place.

Because they knew her. They believed in her. And I had no idea how long I could keep the illusion from cracking.

Zayne’s voice broke the silence.

“You have a concussion.”

Not a question. Not a suggestion.

Just truth—delivered with the blunt finality of an email notification. No emotion. Just inevitability. Probably followed by a PDF.

I blinked.

“You'll need rest,” he continued, already typing. “Monitored, ideally. You're lucid now, but I'd prefer someone nearby in case symptoms shift.”

I nodded. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. Lucid was doing some heavy lifting.

“I'll take her,” Caleb said smoothly, arms folded across his chest.

The effect was immediate.

Like someone pressed a button labeled Mild Tension: Now Simmer.

Zayne didn’t look up from the data pad. “She needs medical supervision.”

“She needs peace and quiet,” Caleb replied. “And space.”

Zayne’s tone edged a degree colder. “Yes, well. Space is my specialty.”

And that was it.

That was the moment I realized I had walked into a full-blown Caretaking Standoff between a deadly sharpshooter and a terrifyingly composed neurospecialist with the emotional availability of a marble bust.

They weren’t shouting. They didn’t need to.

The testosterone was deafening.

“I've brought her in once already today,” Caleb said, voice casual as a trigger. “I think I can manage a few more steps to a couch.”

“While ignoring possible neurological trauma?” Zayne countered, not missing a beat. “How comforting.”

“I know her limits.”

“I know her brain.”

Okay.

Time to intervene.

I sat up straighter, willing my spine to perform under pressure. “I could just—uh—go with whoever's... closest?” I offered, voice high, smile brittle.

Neither of them moved.

It was like watching a very intense chess match, except the pawns were my internal organs and the grand prize was me.

And then—

“Hey, you're still alive!”

A voice burst through the shuttle doors like sunlight cracking through a hangover.

Tara.

She strode in like chaos incarnate—dark eyes wide, bobbed brown hair half-tucked under her gear hood, fringe spiking from static.

My entire body lifted.

Tara.

Friend. Game character. Comic relief. One of the few people I knew wouldn’t overanalyze if I tripped over my own existence.

I stood too fast. Wobbled.

Then pointed a slightly trembling finger at her, full of righteous, cliff-dangling dramatic flair.

“Tara will take me home.”

The room paused.

Zayne raised a brow.

Caleb’s jaw flexed.

Tara blinked. “Uh, I mean—sure?” she said, stepping inside like someone had just invited her to a surprise talent show. “I'm heading to HQ anyway. I don't mind a detour.” She beamed. “You can crash in my bunk if you want. Still smells like those vanilla wax tablets you made me smuggle.”

I nodded furiously, already moving toward her like a baby duck who had just imprinted on survival.

“Perfect,” I said. “Yes. Wax tablets. Love those. Let's go.”

Behind me, Caleb exhaled through his nose. Barely audible. Not quite a sigh. Not quite approval.

Zayne clicked his stylus against the screen.

“Monitor her,” he said, still not looking up. “Any sign of nausea, confusion, disorientation—call me immediately.”

Tara gave a lazy salute. “Roger that, Doc.”

And just like that, we were out.

The air outside was cool and sharp—like the aftermath of something you didn’t want to name. The terrain stretched wide and broken, shadows crawling where the light hadn’t returned. Above us, stars blinked faintly through thinning clouds.

Tara looped an arm around my waist, steady and casual.

She didn’t question the clinginess. Just matched my pace, like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

I nodded.

Not a lie. Not exactly.

She gave me a sidelong glance. “Sooo... you're gonna tell me what the hell that was, right?”

I smiled at her. Tried not to cry. And lied through my teeth.

“Later.”

To be continued...

♡ taglist : @spicypomegrana2 @asilaydead

[winterarmyy]

Welcome Home... Soldat? | Part II

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 4.2k++ (of fluff and filth)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, no minors allowed, nsfw, dub con, fingering, pussyjob, thighjob, soldat being manipulative yet maintains to be so loving at the same time, another round of google translated russian, filthy praises, soldat just want to make you feel good, wet & messy everywhere, loud & whiny soldat, and at the end of the day, despite the manipulation, the soldat just want take care of you.

A/N: omfg 1k++ notes from the previous chapter?! i didn't think this would get so much attention that it had, tbh. Like wtf. What did I do to deserve this 😭 Thank you so much for your support! I can't even begin to tell you guys how much joy y'all bring me. So, I decided write more of our soft soldat for all of us cause let's be honest, we need him so bad. It's gonna be 3 part mini series. I hope you enjoy!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

The darkness in his sight seemed permenant, at least until it transitioned into a dim-litted scenery. He recognized softness of the bed, and the blank white color of the ceiling.

He was in his room.

But, when he realized the emptiness of his bed, it was as if a force jolted through his body, yanking his lying figure into a sitting position. The dead silent was broken by the sound of his gasping breaths, followed closely by the beats of his pounding heart.

"Родная (darling)?" His voice shivered in his shaky breath.

When the silent replied his call, cold sweat drenched the roots of his hair. He almost jumped into a defensive position when the door of the walk-in wardrobe seemingly opened on its own.

But to his relief, her voice broke the silence, "Soldat?" Y/N peeped out her head when she heard his voice but the moment she saw the panic in his blue eyes, she quickly made her way towards him.

As soon as she was standing near enough, the soldat pulled her into a crushing hug, rubbing his face into her stomach a relief washed over him. Y/N ran her hands through his hair as she coaxed, "I'm here, I'm here."

He hummed in reply, "You're here." He repeated as a sigh escaped his lips.

Y/N didn't know why she expected that Bucky would be back after their "sleepover" but it was a shock for her when she woke up that morning with several tender kisses on her face by the soldat, who was very much still present.

"So, you're saying he's is not the winter soldier?" Sam cocked his head to the side as he tried to wrap up the overwhelming information thrown by Shuri.

The woman rolled her eyes, "No, I didn't say that. I said, he is not fully relapsed into the winter soldier." She reclarified.

"How was this possible? I thought he was gone?" Y/N asked as her worried gaze glanced over Bucky's unmoving figure in the examination pod.

Shuri sighed as she approached her, they watched Bucky's peaceful features resting through the glass, "We only remove the trigger that were attached to a switch to activating the winter soldier from Bucky; the soldat was never gone."

Y/N's eyebrows creased as the wakandan continued to explain, "It's like removing the toggle from a light switch; you can't turn it on just like that. But if, let say we use a toothpick to poke through the hole and trigger the switch, then..."

Steve intercepted her words before she could finish, "...then it'll be turned on." The woman nodded, "Precisely."

"That does not explain why Bucky is partially... not himself." Tony quickly probed as he casually threw a red M&M's into his mouth.

Steve paced back and forth in the room as he tried to replay the day of the incident, "Maybe it has to do something in that Hydra base that we raided. Bucky did look troubled on the jet home, then when we arrived he suddenly went berserk, looking for something; well... someone". He stopped as he threw a knowing look to Y/N.

"Yeah, why he is suddenly acting lovey dovey with y/n if the soldier was triggered? I don't get it." Sam crossed his arms against his chest as he questioned.

A smile almost cracked on Shuri's lips when they mentioned that, "This is just a hypothesis; but I reckoned that Bucky knew that the soldier is slowly taking over his mind and he didn't want to let himself vulnerable, exposed for people to give him orders."

Shuri leaned her back towards the table as she continued, "So instead, he latched himself on something else, to act as his mission. Some kind of desire that's buried as deep as where his winter soldier persona was concealed."

"So, you're saying that grumpy old man's deepest, darkest desire is to suffocate y/n with kisses and cuddles?" Tony quirked his eyebrow as he chewed on the sweet chocolate snack; there was certainly sarcasm in his voice.

Y/N intictively took the nearest object within her reach, which turns out to be a thick manual book, and struck Tony on his arms. The man repulsed with a confused frown on his forehead, mouthing a soundless, "What?"

Y/N mouthed back, "Shut up!" while Sam chuckled amusingly at the silent banter between them.

Ignoring the back and forth between Y/N and Tony, Shuri answered, "Well, those urges are derived by a certain key emotion, which I'm sure put you that genius title of yours into a good use, then you should've known the answer already."

"Love." Steve's revelation cuts through before Tony could throw his banter at Shuri, "He loves y/n." He repeated his words as if all of this made absolute sense.

Which only made Y/N stop on her tracks, "He loves me?" she questioned herself but everyone in the lab can practically see the confusion on her face.

Shuri agreed to Steve's deduction, "Yes, perhaps. I supposed that is why he is protective over her and like he said, wanted to suffocate her with kisses and cuddles." Shuri pointed at Tony as she return his sarcasm.

"Wait wait wait." Y/N held her hands forward as she stepped in the middle of the conversation, "Why are we casually agreeing to that as if it's normal? I mean, I know I'm not a genius but that is absolutely ridiculous. Bucky doesn't love me, as a friend maybe, yeah, but not like that." She couldn't help but to blush as she recalled the way the soldat hands and lips mapped on her skin.

"Yes, you are absolutely not a genius, especially when you are one of the two idiots who's in love with each other." Tony casually laid out the fact as everybody in the lab nodded in agreement, including Steve who she thought would back her up.

Y/N shook her head in denial and revert the conversation back to its original destination, "So, how do we get Bucky back?"

Shuri opened the terminal screen as she watched the progress of her observation, "Well, we're still figuring that out." Y/N's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"But what I can say is, it is best to let him stick with y/n for now." Shuri concluded.

They took the whole day running tests on the soldat, which he obediently cooperate as long as Y/N was there to hold his hand.

Between resting for breakfast, lunch and snack break; the soldat spend his time to be forced to put to sleep and out of it through out the day.

Right after dinner, and the final test run, he was just left to sleep off the rest of the night and Y/N finally had time to prep herself to sleep, when she heard Bucky's voice from the bed.

"Just finished showering. Hope you don't mind me wearing your shirt, they kinda lock me in here." Y/N frowned when she thought back on how the team managed to bring most of her things over but then forgot to pack her signature iron man pyjamas.

A fond smile curved on the soldat's lips as his gaze raked over her small body wrapped in his baggy shirt, which fell right at the middle of her naked thighs.

Y/N swore that there saw a flash of Bucky in his gleaming eyes. Or maybe she was just being delusional at this point.

She let him pulled her by the hand as he slowly brought her towards him. In no time, he had them both on the comfy matteress with soldat's back propped up against the headboard, while his arms found their place around Y/N's waist, cocooning her in between his legs.

It amazes her to think how comfortable she was, being this intimately close to him; when Bucky would've been too cautious to even approach her platonically.

So she decided rather than being constantly hesitant around the soldat, she thought that she might as well just enjoy the moment as it presented itself.

Y/N's exploring eyes stopped to the side of the bed when she saw a book next to the night lamp. She reached her hand as she leaned closer.

"Prince Caspian." She whispered to herself as her fingertips grazed across the title, "The Chronicles of Narnia, huh?"

It makes sense that Bucky would be interested to read this series, knowing his quirky yet undying brag about having the experience of reading The Hobbit back when it first came out.

Y/N couldn't help but to smile to herself, especially when her train of thoughts stopped at those memories of him.

She lifted the book towards the soldat, "What do you think, Soldat? Want me to read it to you?" She asked as the soldat rested his chin on her shoulder, peering at the deep blue, hard covered book.

He briefly hummed before replying, "Yes, please." The soldat loved the idea of being able to hear more of his darling's beautiful voice. It was his favourite thing in the whole world. Well, one of the things but surely all them were involving her.

Y/N settled herself as she leaned back against his sturdy chest. One of her legs were bent up towards her chest while the other was lazily thrown over his, spreading them as far as they could go.

The soldat placed light kisses on the back of her head all the way to the side of her neck, relishing at how soft her skin was and how good she smelled. The quiet of the room only enhanced the presence of her calming voice, luring him to close his eyes as he drowned himself the melody of it.

Minutes gone by and it was passing the half hour mark.

It wasn't that the soldat find the story boring or her voice drowsying, but he was feeling rather needy, almost greedy, to have more of Y/N to the point that he got slightly distracted.

She had been such a darling to him ever since he came home; fed him, letting him touch her, kiss her, pamper her, held her hand during those long lab tests, having her in his arms through the night and against his nightmare, and making him feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

And yet, she didn't get anything in return.

His darling deserved to feel good and he wanted to give it to her so badly that he was getting distracted from the story that she was passionately reading for him.

Soldat's hands carefully explored her body, from the side of her waist then slowly down to her naked thighs. Too engrossed with the plot, she almost instinctively opened her legs wider for him. Though she never intended to do so, her actions surely were quite sinful.

He used the opportunity to glide his metal hand deeper into her inner thighs, lightly caressing up higher towards where her thighs meet, until the tip of it brushed over her core.

Now that's when she realized the situation, her head shoot up to face him. The book in her hand almost thrown to the side as she reached to grab his, gripping it tightly as she tried to pull him away.

Failing to stop him, she whispered "W-what are you doing?" She stuttered as she felt his fingers slide across her clothed pussy.

Soldat looked down at the smaller, "Wanna make you feel good, мое Родная (my darling)" he innocently whispered back as his dangerous fingers provoked her.

When her silence remained, the soldat lifted the corner of his eyebrow in curiosity. Was she hesitating? He sees it as an opportunity to coax her to his will.

He cooed softly when he explained, "You deserve it, darling. Deserve it so much. Please, let me?" He sounded so desperate when he begs like that.

It feels like her whole body was burning, his touch were igniting flames wherever he drags his fingers. She knew it was wrong to feel like this, but she couldn't help it.

Oh, how his fingers works wonders even with the thin fabric were blocking his access.

Y/N bit her lower lip as she looked down to her thighs. The way she was grabbing onto his hands as he moved around; it looked like she was guiding him to touch her more.

The soldat knew she was close to be tempted to submit, "I promise it'll feel good. So good." he almost growled in her ears as he saw patch of the dampness started to appear on the center her panties.

"Don't." she whispered quietly, but that only made the soldat to futher seduce her as he add more pressure on his middle finger.

She hesitated for a while before she slurred "D-don't stop." her head thrown back into his neck, finally giving in to his promise of pleasure.

Lust took over the soldat, "Gonna make you feel so good, Родная (darling). Promise gonna treat your pretty pussy right. Make her cum so hard." He whispered lovingly as his breath sends shivers down her spine.

The soldat groaned, dropping his head to her neck to press open mouthed kisses on her untainted skin as he slipped his hand into her panties.

"Already wet for me?" He chuckled, biting his lip before his long finger slid between her folds.

"Hmmm." she tried to suppressed her voice as his finger moved up and down so deliciously.

"Of course," He said with a smile. He went on to tease her sensitive clit with slow, torturous circles, which force her to close her eyes, biting down on her lip to suppress a shrill moan.

"Родная (darling)," the soldat cooed. "You can scream as loud as you want. Let me hear those pretty noises, yeah?"

Y/N thought to reply but her own breath hitches when that one finger that has been circling her hole finally dips in, proceeding to spread her open for more.

She moaned louder this time, "Soldat..." The movement was completely involuntary; when her hand latch on to hold his wrist as her thighs try to squeeze shut at the feeling of him pressing another finger into her wet stretching cunt.

But, of course he was quick to spread her legs back open, preventing her to shy away.

"p-please soldat, ahh." She mewled, scratching the metal of his arm.

The soldat nibbled on the shape of her ears as he hushed, "There, there darling. Open up for me." His two long, metal fingers thrusts and rubs the inside of her pulsating pussy, occasionally scissoring her cunt as he took her right hand into his fleshed one; intertwining her fingers with his.

Her other hand scrambled to dug into his thigh as she arched her back, grinding her hips down against his metal hand. The soldat smirked proudly at her reaction, moving his fingers a little faster, a little rougher. Just enough to make her whine and move against him in search of more stimulation.

She cried out as his thumb circled her clit, "Ahhh fuck" she moaned shamelessly, while his eyes followed each jerk of her body as if he was memorizing it all.

"Hmm, you're so wet, Родная (darling). So warm too." The soldat hissed as he felt his hand were soaking by the minute. The muffled sound of his thrusts against her wet heat filled the room.

He looked down to her hidden pussy; his hand covered by the panties she was wearing, "Look down baby, open your eyes and look down." he lured her with low groan.

Completely loss in bliss, she complied without asking any question. Both the soldat and Y/N was looking at the same sight, the same shape of his hand clinging tight to the fabric, barely hidden under the thin layer of her panties, moving up and down; in and out of her pussy.

Somehow, watching the way it moves made her closer to her orgasm.

In one swift move, the soldat lifted her slightly to pull the barrier off by the waistband. An animalistic groan rumbled from deep within his chest, when he was completely revealed to the sinful sight of her naked pussy.

So wet and full with his fingers.

The soldat teasingly entered a third finger into her, stretching her out so good that she felt tears prick her eyes. Y/N's head snapped forward along with a buck of her hips. "S-soldat,, ahhhh" Her whines grew louder than before and she felt the flame in her stomach growing yet it wasn’t enough.

"Look at you. Look how well you're taking me. My darling is such a good girl, isn't she?" The soldat sounds sickeningly sweet when he murmured in her ears.

He pressed his thumb harder against her swollen clit, rubbing hard and fast circles as he pumped his fingers knuckle deep in and out of her cunt, causing her to gasp from the sensation.

He twisted and curled his fingers around to find that delicious spot inside of her, giving that delicious friction as he fucked her open. The noises coming from her pussy were so lewd, so crude and it only spurred him on.

"Sounds so perfect, Родная (darling). These pretty noises from your lips up here." The soldat murmured as he kissed the corner of her lips, "and down here." his fingers pumped faster, curling over and over again, creating the lewd squelching sounds of her juices leaking out.

Almost seeing stars, Y/N moaned desperately, "Cummin',, so good, 'm cumming." Oh, how sweet does her moans sounded in the soldat's ears.

"Already, Родная (darling)?" he groaned as he felt her hole pulsated, "But you need more, little one." He persuaded her edge a little more; but with the way he was fucking into her weeping pussy, she certainly wasn't able handle it anymore.

She whined needily as she shook her head, "Wanna cum now, please soldat ohh god please please please." She begged deliriously.

The soldat hummed as he worked his fingers up her hole, "Oh darling, you don't need to beg for it. You're so precious, I'd give you anything." He mumbled against her cheek as he kisses her, "Now, cum for me. Let me see you wet my bed, Родная (darling). Go on, cum."

All words die in the back of her throat when a he cooed at her. She threw her head back as a squeak of whine dies in her mouth; eyes squeezing shut, her body tensing as the soldat makes sure that she rides out the high for as long as she should.

"That's it darling, cum for your soldat. give it to me,, aahhh" He motioned, forming an 'O' with his mouth as she clamp down on his fingers; with his wide eyes looking down at her exposed pussy. Her orgasm gushed and flowed out onto his hand, dripping on the sheet as she quietly cry out in pleasure.

"So pretty," he praised, as his fingers kept pumping slowly in and out of her pussy, "So gorgeous, cumming so hard for me," he grunts in her ears as her high begins to settle.

He pull out his fingers, leaving her feeling empty for the sudden lost of touch. But that didn't last long when he proposed something else.

"One more time Родная (darling), with me." He moaned he sunk his metal hand into his pants and pull out his aching cock. The soldat tugs himself in his palm, rubbing the wetness on his hand around his length before settling it between her throbbing cunt.

Y/N didn't manage to let our her protest when he intercepted her, "Won't put it in, darling. Just..." his words linger as he squeezed her plush thighs together, engulfing his warm cock between them, "...wanna snuggle in between your thighs, Куколка (little one)."

"So keep them pressed together, okay?" the brunnete coaxed as his hands took a hold on her,  "Will you do that for me?" The soldat asked sweetly.

She gave a small nod of affirmation, looking down at where the soldat's hands squishing both side of her thighs. The feeling of his length throbbing, wet with her slick, had her squeezing her thighs together more.

"That's my sweet girl. Promise you, it'll feel so good, darling." He let out a pleasurable groan as his hips jerked all the way forward, his skin meeting the back of her thighs while the head of his cock was peeking out from the other side.

With a squeeze of her hips in his hands, that will definitely leave bruises afterwards, he started to grind her into him. Back and forth, for the few experimental thrusts. And the moment her pretty little moans started to spill, he knew she needed more.

"More?" he moaned lowly, rocking his hips mindlessly.

Y/N limped back against his chest, whimpering sweetly for him as her needy little cunt drools messily all over her thighs and his cock; effortlessly making the thrust of his length between her thighs even easier.

If she was already so sensitve from him fingers before, now it's just oversimulating for her, "Hmm,, s-soldat,, that feels s-so good," she slurred, eyes rolling back.

"Yeah?" he gloated as he grunts, "Are you gonna cum again, darling? Come on, sweet one, I want to feel it." The soldat almost whimpered as he felt the thudding beat of her cunt on the stroke of his cock.

Y/N simply nodded, mouth falling open. His cock works over her sweet little pussy, nudging the sensitive bundle of nerve as he urged her to orgasm alongside his own.

He watched the way she drag her nails into the flesh of his thighs, "There she is, come on. Let it out, darling. That's it. Hmmm." His chest rumbled a deep groan. It was such a turned on for the soldat, to see the sight of him humping her legs faster until her slick finally wetting her thighs and his cock, making a mess everywhere.

Even if she has reached her high, his thrusts didn't flatter as his own orgasm was still at the edge. "Ahh,, darling,, please-- c-can't stop,," The upperside of his cock harshly rubbed between her sloppy folds, the feeling of the creamy mess between her thighs, making him fucked her faster.

The soldat whined needily into her neck as he drag her tightness back and forth. "So good, don't wanna stop." he squirmed as his voice hitched into a needy whimper, letting his head fall back to the headboard, his disheveled hair hanging by his face, some of it sticking onto his sweaty skin.

The room echoed with the several sinful sounds; his whimpers, her mewls, their skins slapping, the bed creaking, the wetness squelching.

It was such a dream for the soldat, especially when her folds spread around his fat cock every time he rolled his hips forward. The sight was beyond compelling, addictive to a certain extend.

"S-soldat,, please i'm,,hmmm,, sensitive." She can feel how thighs burned from the friction, and her slit abused with pleasure.

The soldat leaned into her until his hot breath blew across her neck, "Just a little more, Родная (darling)? Please? Wanna cum around your soft thighs, between your pretty pussy. You'll let me, right sweet one? You'll let me make a mess all over you? Paint you with my cum. You'll look so gorgeous, Родная (darling)"

His filthy thoughts started to spill out uncontrollably, as his body trembled in pure pleasure. His heaving chest rested on her small back when he whimpered, almost forcing her on her knees, pushing her down the mattress.

He wanted that so bad.

Just fuck her thighs and folds while she's on all fours, abusing her body for his pleasure and maybe slot the tip of his cock inside that tight cunt just before he cum, give that greedy little cunt a taste of his load, but he rather than that the soldat hold back on his thought, because truthfully he very much wanted to make a mess all over her right now.

His mouth sucking on her neck, leaving another one of his mark on her skin; one of many between those shades of purples and reds.

"Cumming for you, darling." He moaned loudly, eyes locked between her thighs, as his leaking cockhead occasionally peeks out. "Have so much cum for you,, gonna cream all over these thighs" He groaned, clenching his teeth as his cock throbs.

She clenched tighter as a unexpected orgasm were coming fast, letting out a desperate squeal as she reach her high. He growled at the feeling of her gushing pussy, fucking their orgasm into a higher level ecstacy.

The rolls of his hips were flattering into a slower and and sensual tempo, as both of them watched his cock; the way it pulsed and throbbed wildly, before white spurts of his hot cum started gushing from the little slit.

The soldat trembled through his orgasm, mouth falling open as he moaned lewdly at the sight of her skin being painted by his seemingly endless amount of cum.

Y/N panted heavily as her lips hanged open; failed words just at the tips of her tongue, unable to be formed properly. It didn't take long for the drowsiness to cloud her eyes, caused by the aftershock of the pleasure.

"There, there." The soldat cooed breathlessly in her ear, "So pretty, darling." Pampering the mark on her skin with gentle kisses, "So good for me." He mumbled as he languidly thrusts his cock, stroking the sides of her thighs, memorizing the sight of their wet mess.

Her body felt so good and satisfied, and the lid of her eyes slowly flutter into a longer close. She didn't hear much of his praises as he as laid her down, especially when his voice going in and out of her ears, as she was fighting through the temptation of slumber.

But, her body absolutely remembered how soft his touches on her skin, and the warm of the wet cloth swiping on the burn of her inner thighs, carefully over her swollen cunt.

"Love you, my precious darling." She couldn't make up what he was whispering under his breath. But she remembered the soldat pulling her close to his chest as he laid her on top of him, and the sweet kiss on her forehead before complete darkness engulf her sight.

"Your soldat loves you so much."

<< Part I || Part III >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

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[mandalhoerian]

(5) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

Your time in university is a downward spiraling disaster temporarily put on hold whenever you get to visit home and resume attempts to reconcile with your beloved seal, who seems like he'll never forgive you for leaving. A band being pulled from both ends is bound to snap eventually.

genre: fluff, comedy | word count: 12k | read on ao3

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note: i apologize for the wait (again)!! i hope the word count makes up for it !!!!! im a lying liar who lies though. human raf next chapter . sorgy </3 and if any of you is a museum major, remember this is a fantasy land where seals can turn into humans and im allowed to make mistakes even tho i researched. thank you!

You come home for spring break with your sketchbook spine cracked from overuse and your first-year, first-semester syllabus crushed beneath half-finished elevation diagrams, smudged object labels, and two drafts of a museum display plan you still don’t understand. Your tote still smells faintly of plaster from the failed mount-building demo in your Material Culture and Object Handling class, fingers bearing charcoal from rushed object sketches and dry glue from a labeling prototype you smudged the night before critique.

There's also a bent metro card. A crumpled worksheet on humidity control from Fundamentals of Conservation. A balled-up napkin scribbled with a reminder to fix the syntax on your object description draft for Writing for Cultural Institutions.

It’s the quiet clutter of someone trying too hard to catch up in a world where everyone else seems to have already memorized the map.

You tell Mom you’re helping with the harbor cleanup, though the truth is you couldn’t spend another minute under fluorescent lights or in a dorm shared with three girls who somehow all seem impossibly ahead.

One’s a biology major who’s always lugging around a lab manual and her phone alarm goes off three times a night to remind her to check some ongoing culture assignment. Another is in photography and just got a feature on the campus arts blog, she spent the break taking foggy morning shots around the reservoir and somehow made them look like a film set. The third is majoring in media studies and recently joined the university’s documentary club, she’s been recording mock voiceovers at 2 a.m., softly narrating into her phone with the lights off like the room’s a sound booth.

You’re still figuring out how not to smudge your object labels or second-guess how to pronounce vitrines.

She doesn’t question you. Just hands you an old jacket and tells you to wear a scarf because she knows your next stop. The air bites harder this time of year, and you look like you’ve been hollowed out by deadlines and dorm-room junk food.

You take the ridge path out of habit. The same winding switchbacks carved into the cliffs, softened by briny grass and your own childhood footsteps. Your boots skid a little like you've already forgotten how to walk on this terrain. It’s stupid, probably. You haven’t been here since August. But your feet carry you to the cove where he used to wait for you — where he could still be. Maybe. You wouldn’t know.

The tide’s out. The sand is coarse and wind-swept, strewn with driftwood and slick stones that catch the light like wet coins. You sit on the rock you always claimed, smoothed by time and salt, and let the cold climb up through your jeans until it settles into your spine like a held breath. You hunch forward, listening to the water breathe in and out, over and over, like it’s trying to tell you something you’ve forgotten how to hear.

He doesn’t come.

You don’t whistle. Not this time. The sound is still tucked behind your teeth, tight in your throat, where it aches like something half-swallowed. It’s your call, your note, and it would rise easy if you let it. But right now, it would feel too much like an apology.

Instead, you press your hands to the earth, grounding yourself in its silence. Near your boot lies a broken fish spine, arched and pale, a tiny crescent of something once alive. You pick it up without thinking and tell yourself it’s just habit. Just instinct.

Back in the city, it ends up pinned beneath mylar in a shadowbox for your Introduction to Museum Studies course. Labeled neatly in pencil: "Unidentified specimen, coastal origin." You write it with disgruntled detachment, trying to echo the tone your professor used when reviewing everyone’s labeling drafts the week before. Your classmates brought in bits of pottery, manufactured junk, bones bleached too clean by city air. Yours smells faintly of brine.

You imagine Raf, briefly, nosing it toward shore like a gift. 

You come home again in April, skipping a mandatory field visit at the Maritime Conservation Annex. You were supposed to be cataloguing replica ship parts, jotting down environmental exposure notes, and identifying surface decay patterns. Instead, you take the overnight ferry with a knot behind your eyes and a sketchbook full of crossed-out exhibit themes and poorly shaded elevation diagrams. You haven’t slept. You haven’t called ahead.

You tell Mom you missed her, the fact that you’re already burnt out hidden under your tongue, affecting your speech with its sheer size. You say that you miss the foghorn’s groan in the morning and the smell of the tide seeping through the floorboards. She doesn’t argue. She just hugs you with arms that smell like rosemary and old soap, tells you the storm passed last night, and lets you sleep until noon, doesn’t comment on the dark circles under your eyes, and leaves a thermos of tea waiting for you on the windowsill.

The beach is wider than you remember. Stretched out and wind-swept, as though the tide’s been dragging its fingers farther inland in your absence. Or maybe you’re just weaker now, after months of stairs and static and deadlines. You walk anyway. Your body remembers how.

The cove is empty. But not untouched.

Shells form a crescent near the waterline. But that’s only what you notice first. Look closer, there’s more.

A pocketknife you lost in tenth grade, rusted but unmistakable.

The twist of ribbon from your old field journal, weighed down with a pebble. Even a museum flyer — sun-bleached, soggy at the corners, but somehow intact — folded into a crude triangle with teeth marks on it and pinned beneath a polished clam shell.

Your pink hair tie from last summer, faded and stretched, looped carefully around a shard of sea glass.

A cracked keychain from the ferry gift shop that had once jingled off your backpack.

A dried daisy chain from that sun-glutted afternoon you spent lying face-down in the dunes, your voice hoarse from reading funny tweets aloud and laughing when he splashed too close.

A bottle of cheap, glittery nail polish you swore you’d use for toe-dipping pictures but never did.

A torn polaroid, the edges warped with salt, showing a particularly flattering picture of you taken by your cousin just this summer.

Even your library card, still laminated, still bent at the corner, with a picture of a 15 year old you. 

Not scattered — placed. Tucked into the sand with intention, like offerings. Like memory made physical.

You crouch, brushing your fingertips over the nearest shell. Damp. Fresh. A trail. A message. A stubborn, silent kind of loyalty.

You sit down on the cold, salted stone, the one you always claimed, and pull your knees to your chest, fingers digging into the familiar grooves along the edge. Your hand brushes the lining of your pocket and closes around something small — your enamel ferry pin, the one from your very first shift, belonging to the family business. The metal’s dulled and the backing is loose, but the weight of it feels like everything you’ve been holding in.

You hesitate only a moment before you set it down between two stones, nestling it beside the knife and the ribbon like you're adding to an altar you hadn’t realized he’d built.

Then, using your index finger, you drag a line through the sand beside the offerings. It starts as an oval circle, round and oversized, and then you give it flippers, a belly, and an exaggerated frown that hooks comically toward its chin. Two tiny dots for eyes, drawn close together with a tight squiggle between them, a makeshift furrow where no brows exist, and curly whiskers of course. A giant, miserable seal stares back at you from the sand, all pout and slump and silent accusation. You snort despite yourself. It’s terrible. It’s perfect.

You whistle. A low, rising note that used to send ripples across the water, used to make him appear like something conjured. It hangs there in the salty air, stretching out toward the horizon, unanswered.

The wind pulls at your hair. The sea keeps its secrets.

You wait longer than you should. Long enough for the cold to settle under your fingernails, for your hope to thin out into something quieter.

And then, finally, you stand. Brush the sand from your palms. Turn back toward the path and go back home. 

The departure for summer break isn’t the relief of the finish line everyone else made it out to be. Your roommates had been buzzing about it for weeks — finishing final submissions, stealing extra dining hall muffins, swapping playlists for their train rides home, romanticizing porch naps and home-cooked meals and feeling proud of a year well survived. They spoke about it like the reward phase of some coming-of-age movie, like they had earned the softness waiting at home.

For you, it’s the world’s slowest walk of shame.

There’s no big exhale. No victory lap. Just the sun biting at the back of your neck and a guilt-shaped stone lodged somewhere under your breastbone. Your suitcase is heavier than the time you left with it, not with books or clothes, but with the silence of multiple failed classes, and a transcript that feels like a wound folded up in your back pocket.

You’ve already told your parents you needed the summer to "reset." They nodded. Didn’t ask. You think that’s worse. Like they’re afraid pressing would crack you open.

You don’t tell them about the grades. About the meetings. About the email with the subject line: "Academic Standing Review." You don’t tell them about the week you spent avoiding the registrar’s office or how you couldn’t sleep without hearing the chime of overdue assignment reminders in your head. Or the way you started flinching at the sound of email notifications altogether. Like the ping alone could pierce skin.

You don’t tell them how you cried in the library bathroom for an hour after your group presentation fell apart. Or how you walked out of your conservation final halfway through because you couldn’t remember the relative humidity range for organic textiles and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Instead, you clean your room. Fold your sketchbook closed without looking at the last page. You pretend. Harder than you’ve ever pretended before. Smile through dinner. Nod when spoken to. Sleep like it’s your only job. You spend a week pretending to be fine.

And then you go to the cove when you feel like you've earned the right to breathe.

You spot him just offshore the first day you return — a sleek dark head bobbing between the waves like a buoy with an agenda. Your heart skips, already caught halfway between hope and apology. But then, as if summoned solely to deny you, he dips back under before you can even part your lips.

You whistle anyway. The tune, meant to be light and teasing, comes out brittle. It cracks at the end.

He doesn’t come.

The next morning, you wake up early and rinse out a chipped enamel bowl, the one he always used to nudge with his nose like a dinner bell. You fill it with sardines and leave it by the tide line like an offering. By evening, they’re gone — but so is he. Again.

Day three, you escalate: you bring the ridiculous honking pink rubber duck he used to steal from your basket when you were in your horse desensitizing era and treat like sacred treasure. You place it in the sand and turn your back with forced indifference, sitting cross-legged and reading an old paperback you aren’t really following.

An hour later, he appears at the edge of your vision. He doesn’t approach — just watches. Stares. Then, without warning, he lunges forward, snatches the duck, and flings himself backward into the surf with an almost theatrical flip of his tail.

Day four, you whistle three times. He surfaces once.

Day five, you wade knee-deep into the water and shout his name. He appears a good thirty feet out and just... floats. Watching. Blinking. Drifting.

Day six, you bring the duck again. He doesn’t come. Later, you find the duck dragged halfway down the beach, left deliberately nose-down in a pile of seaweed.

Day seven, he waits until you’re packing up to surface. You turn around with the folded towel in your arms and catch him mid-dive, as if he’d timed it for maximum annoyance.

It’s become a battle of wills. He’s there, always. Just far enough to be unreachable. Just long enough to remind you he’s choosing this distance.

You whistle. He disappears. You sit. He surfaces. You move closer. He vanishes like smoke. Like he’s punishing you. Or teaching you a lesson. Or just enjoying the torment.

He hadn’t even made you work this hard the first time you met him, when you were fifteen and barefoot and slightly sunburned and he’d come right up to you like the sea itself had sent him.

But now? Now it’s like you have to earn him back.

You don't mind, you keep bouncing back. It’s like all the bad luck in the whole world has found their way to you once you left this creature’s side.

Nothing else is working to remedy this. Not the sleep, not the food, not the long walks with your phone turned off. You’ve done everything the counselors suggested. Advice from Reddit threads bookmarked at 2 a.m., typed by people who’d never met you but somehow still sounded kinder than you could stand. You tried all of it. Traced your breathing. Made gratitude lists. Journaled until the pages bled. Some of it helped for a few seconds, like aspirin against a broken bone. But you’re still unraveling.

You spend your mornings rewriting assignments that no longer count for practice to get better at academic writing. Afternoons rereading course emails with dates burned into your brain like scars. You’ve taken to organizing your notes by color-coded failure — red tabs for zeros, blue for extensions, yellow for all the things you said you’d redo but never did.

Even now, in the refuge of summer, you’re still chasing a version of yourself that keeps vanishing into the surf just like him.

You’re a string pulled tighter and tighter. A rubber band about to snap. Keep waiting for a release that doesn’t come. Even your dreams are full of waiting, missing trains, late exams, searching for classrooms that don’t exist. You wake up breathless, mouth dry. Every day feels like trying to outrun something just out of sight.

And the one place you thought you’d feel safe again won’t let you in.

It’s on the tenth day that you snap.

You come down to the beach after dinner, barefoot, your hoodie damp from where you dropped it in the sink. The sky is lavender and low. Your breath won’t even out, throat raw from holding back everything you can’t name.

He’s there. Lounging on his rock like a king. Indifferent to you.

It's the final straw.

You just crumple. One moment you’re standing there with the whistle still echoing out of your lungs, and the next you’re on your knees in the sand like the weight finally caught up to you mid-step. It’s not graceful. It’s not cinematic. It’s just broken. Pathetic. You curl up tight in the same spot you used to nap in when you were younger, half-shielded by dune grass and shadow, and dig your phone out of your hoodie pocket with hands that won’t stop shaking.

You open the group chat with Tara, Macie, and Simone. Hit record.

"Okay," you whisper, then immediately press the heel of your palm to your eye. "I — fuck, I’m sorry, I know this is so abrupt. I don’t know how to say this. I’m — I feel like I’m gonna fall out of my body or — I don’t know. I didn’t tell you guys. I didn’t tell anyone. I failed. Three classes. Not just badly — like, failed-failed. Like I have meetings and I’m on probation and I can’t — I can’t keep up and I thought if I worked harder it would get better and it didn’t, it just — it just got worse."

You’re crying too hard to sniff. Your breath is hitching like something’s wrong with your lungs. You keep recording.

"I can’t tell my parents. Not — not after I screamed about needing this. How I had to leave, how I was suffocating here and — and now what? I come back with nothing but a GPA circling the drain and I can’t—"

You make a sound like a laugh but it cracks halfway through.

You swallow this part down, but your brain cites it like tacks being rattled around in your skull. And Raf — he won’t even look at me. He won’t come near me. Like I’m nothing. Like I’m gone. I thought maybe — maybe it’s like, object permanence? Like babies? You leave too long and they forget you exist? Maybe he doesn’t remember me. Maybe I left too long and now I’m just—

You cut off with a sob you try to swallow, but it just rattles out of you louder.

"I don't know. I don't know, it's so fucking stupid. I feel so stupid. I thought I was gonna be — fine. Like, I thought I could handle it, just keep my head down and get through it, and now I’m on probation and I don’t even know what that means, not really, like how close am I to getting kicked out? How bad is bad? What happens if I can’t fix it next year, what if I can’t fix anything, what if I already ruined it — ? And I keep telling myself I’m gonna catch up but it just keeps slipping, and I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what any of this was for—"

You choke. Cough. Curl tighter.

Somewhere behind you, the sand explodes in a flurry of movement — snorting, huffing, frantic slapping. A full-body rustle and a high, unmistakable blubbering honk. It’s been happening for a while now, just filtering into your ears after the ringing in them starts fading away the more you let the poison drain by finally talking it out.

You pause the recording. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

Then you hear it: a wet, frantic percussion — flippers slapping against the sand in a staggered staccato, speeding up like something big and heavy hurtling downhill. It's fast. Too fast. Just chaos and wobble and blind, blubbery urgency. Like someone dropped a weighted water balloon and it decided to sprint.

You barely have time to turn your head before it happens.

He rounds the dune like a meteor with a mission, sand flying in every direction, his eyes wide with purpose and panic. Raf barrels into view like a runaway suitcase filled with guilt and righteous offense. His body jiggles so violently with momentum that every bounce forward looks like he might detonate.

And he doesn’t slow down. If anything, he speeds up.

He slams into your side with the force of someone who’s never learned the meaning of caution, knocking you flat onto your hip with a surprised grunt that bursts out of you like a punched balloon. It’s not gentle. It’s not coordinated. It’s not even particularly graceful.

But it is immediate. And it is him. 

The shock of it jolts something loose in your chest. Your panic attack hiccups. Stalls. You suck in a breath that almost turns into a laugh. Almost.

He shoves his nose under your arm with a whimper and settles his full, ridiculous weight against your ribs.

You let the sobs come in full this time, but they’re softer now. Messy. Grateful. Raf makes a warbling, almost defeated sound, then promptly rolls onto his back like he’s surrendering to fate itself. One flipper flops out like he’s fainting. The other tucks to his chest. His stomach rises like a little hill of warmth and resignation.

You blink at him, chest still heaving, nose running, and before you can think twice, you collapse onto him like he’s a novelty beanbag chair you’ve been emotionally blackmailed into needing, it's a travel pillow made of grief and blubber and the kind that will most likely scurry away once you’re okay again.

By your second year, the returns aren’t marked by breakdowns or urgent flights from failure. They creep in like late rain. Unannounced. Not unwelcome, but damp with something you can’t quite shake off.

The travel is tiring in the dullest way — long waits, bad vending machine coffee, a stiffness in your back from sitting still for too long while your mind keeps moving, always spinning on what you should’ve done differently. There’s nothing glorious about it. You arrive with skin that smells like someone else’s laundry soap and a mind still half-occupied by half-finished drafts.

You’ve started disciplining yourself not to go back home often. Not every setback is a reason to run. Not every bad grade should end at the cove. You tell yourself this like it’s a rule, a boundary, a growing pain. The windows to return feel narrower now, less like open arms, more like checkpoints you have to earn your way through.

You think, if you treat it like medicine, measured and sparing, it’ll mean more. That it’ll hurt less to stay away if you’ve decided to do it on purpose. It’s an experiment in self-control. In learning to stand on your own two feet. You even write it down in your planner like a mantra: "Earn your quiet. Don’t escape to it."

But the restraint frays at the edges the longer it holds when it comes to the kind of silence that grows between living things when time stretches too far. Not quite a grudge. Not affection either. Just distance that’s had too much time to settle in its shape. That’s what you and Raf become. A shape that no longer fits the way it used to.

You think about the story your parents used to tell when they wanted to scare you and your siblings off your recurring "I want a pet" phases — the one about the cat they had to rehome when Mom got pregnant with your oldest brother. It used to sleep above Mom’s head every night, curled like a question mark on her pillow, purring against her scalp. They’d had her for years. She was part of the household. Then, overnight, she wasn’t.

Your parents didn’t sugarcoat it. The cat never forgave them. The neighbor said she’d hiss if she so much as smelled Mom’s perfume. She’d turn her back whenever Dad entered the room. Once, she growled loud enough to make Mom cry.

That story used to make you cry. Now it just makes sense.

You wonder if Raf has the same mechanism wired deep inside him — not quite revenge, not memory in the way people understand it, but something animal and old that withholds affection not out of cruelty, but out of instinct. A quiet kind of rejection. A closing off. Something cold-blooded in the way he recognizes you, but doesn’t rise to meet you. That primitive, wordless ability to turn away and mean it.

You try to explain it to yourself the way a naturalist might: that bonds can decay in the wild when time goes unaccounted for. That animals forget scent, forget the way something felt when it was constant. Even social species will let go of their own after too long apart. In flocks. In herds. Maybe this is just that — an adaptation. A recalibration. Nothing personal.

But it feels personal.

You tell yourself you haven’t cried over it. That you’re grown now. You know what he is. But every time he stays in the water, every time he looks at you and doesn’t move, it stings. Not like punishment. Like being erased from something you thought was permanent. Like being forgotten by someone who used to run toward you with open arms — or flippers.

He’s adjusted to the long gaps. You can tell. He doesn’t pace the shore or look toward the house. He’s not waiting. But he knows when you come back. He always knows.

When you come back in the autumn — briefly, for the week the university grants between midterms and burn-out — he doesn’t rush to the shoreline. He’s out in the water when you arrive, bobbing just past the drop-off like he’s part of the sea itself. You whistle once. He doesn’t respond with the same matching melodied chirps. Just snorts in response, slow and unbothered. You sit on the sand anyway, shivering through your hoodie, and talk about how you’re passing now. Barely. But still.

The sky darkens. He doesn’t come closer.

When you stand to leave, he’s gone.

You tell yourself it’s okay. You’d already decided not to need him the way you used to and start relying on the companionship of human beings like your roommates. But even then, you still find yourself slipping little things into the beach when he’s not looking — offerings without ceremony. A piece of your sandwich. A bandana that smells like you. Once, a silly pebble shaped like a heart that you almost pocketed but didn’t. You leave them near where you sit and pretend not to watch.

Sometimes, they vanish. Sometimes, they don’t. But the next time you return, there's something different. Arranged driftwood in a crooked ring. A crab shell turned upright like a bowl. That pebble in the middle of that bowl. 

You try not to read into it, but the pattern starts to form. You leave something. He answers. Never directly. But clearly.

So it becomes a back-and-forth. You bring objects. He rearranges the shore. Maybe leaves something in return like a weird trading conversation. It's not forgiveness. It's not closeness. But it's something. Like playing a slow-motion game across weeks and waves. Like he's reminding you that while he might not come close, he hasn’t forgotten how to speak to you.

You start playing back. You bring him things that are more intentional now — not random. A pink shell shaped like a comma. A bottle cap with a fish on it. You leave them in a particular corner of the cove, beside a rock he used to sun himself on.

When you return, they’re stacked differently, like he's shifted them with his nose. Once, you find the bottle cap perched carefully atop a stone like a crown.

It becomes a game with no score. You never talk about it, of course. You never even look at him when you do it. But he knows. And he answers.

Winter comes. You don’t make it home. Snowed in by assignments. Stranded by train delays and emails that stack up like debt. You keep a seal keychain clipped to your backpack. Talk to it sometimes when the dining hall’s too loud. It smells faintly like sunscreen and stress.

Spring break, you visit again. He meets you halfway down the beach this time. Doesn’t wait on his rock. Doesn’t flinch when you sit. You watch him nap for a full hour just as how things used to be like it’s a sacred ritual, your fingers itching to pet him, but feeling like you're probably not allowed to do that anymore.

Later, as you’re brushing the sand from your jeans and readying to leave, you notice something at your feet. A shell you didn’t bring. Pale and ridged, curved like a crescent moon. Nestled into the print your heel left behind.

And so it goes.

The summer before your fourth year arrives with more noise than usual. There’s luggage on the porch that doesn’t belong to you. Voices in the hallway. Bright sandals left by the door. The smell of someone else’s shampoo in the bathroom and the clatter of your name being called from the kitchen in someone else’s cadence.

You brought them here — Theo, and the girls.

It still feels strange to say it in your head that way. Theo, and the girls. As if he’s earned his own category. As if he belongs to the orbit that’s always just been yours. Like naming him among them makes it more permanent, more real than you’re used to admitting.

Theo... Your first ever boyfriend, is a law major with immaculate notes and a resting face so unreadable it makes you want to fluster him on purpose. You only met because of an elective you got roped into by the girls — something general and discussion-heavy that promised easy credit and turned out to be anything but. The kind of course where you had to talk more than listen. Where participation was part of your grade, and no one let you disappear into your own thoughts.

You sat across from him, expecting nothing. But Theo asked questions like he wanted the long answer, like he was collecting your words instead of waiting for his turn to speak. You remember the way he used to furrow his brow when you talked about maritime heritage and museum archiving in that offhanded way you did — like your interest wasn’t worth noting, so you just cut your ideas short so the next person could start talking. He disagreed. Kindly. Plainly. Made you feel your voice belonged in the room.

Perhaps it was the constant turn of his head to your direction that pulled you in. Recognition and acknowledgment after being deprived of it.

It started small. Shared readings. Group projects. Walks back from lectures when the hallway buzz had quieted. Jokes over cafeteria food that weren’t really jokes. You noticed how he took up space without pressing against yours, how he listened without waiting to speak. He had this way of holding silence after you said something, like he was letting the weight of it settle before he answered. Until one day he showed up outside your studio with a coffee you didn’t know he knew you liked.

And slowly, it became a thing. Not a crush. Not fireworks. Just a closeness you didn’t pull away from. You didn’t even realize that’s what was happening. It wasn’t a thunderclap. It wasn’t even a spark. It was more like a slow tide pulling up to your ankles — gradual and persistent. Letting yourself be comfortable. Letting someone stay.

So, your answer was an automatic "Yes," when he asked if you wanted to go out with him. 

There was a safety in it. Someone to text when your class let out early, someone to split snacks with at the library, someone to carry your bag when you were too tired to ask. Someone to go eat out with when you’d otherwise stay inside because the act of being perceived felt too sharp that day. Someone who sat next to you on the train and didn't feel the need to fill the silence. You didn’t feel the burn of longing around him, and that felt... sustainable. Manageable. It felt like something you could keep without breaking it.

So when summer came, and the suggestion floated — "What if we went somewhere quiet?" — you offered.

You talked it up the way someone talks about a childhood pet they’re not sure is still alive, all warmth and vague descriptions. “It’s peaceful,” you said. “You’ll like it.”

They were curious. Of course they were. Macie wanted to swim. Simone asked about your favorite tidepool spots. Tara just smiled and told you it’d be good for you to breathe island air again. Theo didn’t push to know more about your life back at home. He just held your hand under the table when you brought it up to them, like the decision had already been made the moment you opened your mouth.

When they asked about Raf, you lied without blinking. Told them he didn’t always stick around this time of year — something about seasonal wandering, maybe mating behaviors. You said it like you’d read it in an article, even though you hadn’t. Even though you knew exactly where he would be if he were around.

Not because you were hiding him. Not really. Your girls already knew about your seal friend because you wouldn’t shut up about him. Your wallpaper and lockscreen were both of him, after all. Not to mention the album on your phone titled simply: “Cutie.” You’d shown them old videos. Clips of him flopping through the surf, close enough to touch. Of him screaming and making funny noises. 

But still. Still. Your friendship with Raf felt too private to be shared with anyone else. Like opening a box you hadn’t touched in too long, afraid the air would ruin what was inside. You were gatekeeping him before you realized there might not even be that much of a friendship left to show off. But that didn’t matter. You still didn’t want to introduce him to them.

Not even your parents had seen you with him. Not really. Not the way he used to follow you through the shallows like a shadow, not the way you used to press your face into his side like a warm, living stone and let the tide rise around you both. He was special and he was yours. You were proud of this connection you had carved out for yourself. Something wild and tender and unsupervised.

So, you don’t take them to the cove.

You pick another beach, one of the broader ones farther down the island — the kind people use for engagement shoots, family barbecues, the kind of place that shows up in someone else’s scrapbook, not your memory. It’s less intimate, less burdened by history. And that’s the whole point.

You tell them it was the easiest to reach. That the sand is fine, the tide pools were especially photogenic in the afternoon light. But deep down, you didn’t pick it for them. You picked it for your own comfort — because you know he wouldn’t be here. He doesn’t like crowds or people at all.

The sand here is pale and packed tight, the color of sifted flour. Flat rocks sit like little stages along the shore, and the tide pools glint with mica and tiny darting fish. Children shriek in the distance. Someone’s playing a bluetooth speaker nearby, something tinny and sun-soaked. The wind doesn’t bite here, it flutters its lashes. Everything about this place feels engineered for memory-making. Safe, palatable, curated. A beach designed to be preserved in pixels.

Theo lifts the cooler with one arm. Simone has the umbrella slung over her shoulder like a rifle. Tara trails behind, her flip-flops slapping rhythmically against the packed sand, laughing like the sun’s already sunk into her bloodstream. Macie’s filming everything — seagulls, a crab fight, the uneven hem of the horizon — and providing a running commentary in that absurd, exaggerated British documentary narrator voice that always makes the rest of you laugh.

You lag behind a few paces, pretending to dig through your tote bag for chapstick. Mostly, you’re watching their silhouettes bob forward, listening for how much of yourself is still tethered to them. You smile when they glance back.

They lay out the towels and start divvying drinks. Theo opens the cooler and gestures for you to pick first. You choose a juice box, half out of nostalgia, half because it’s easy. He leans into your shoulder with a quiet sort of ownership, chin pressing lightly against the curve where your neck meets your collarbone, his hand warm as it slides over your thigh.

The others break off like strands of sea foam — Simone crouching by the tide pools, pointing out green anemones and prodding gently at barnacles with the end of a sunglasses arm, Macie dancing backward to film a reel, Tara announcing she’s going to find “a rock with the most powerful energy.” You sink into the blanket, drink in hand, and pretend the sun is doing its job. The condensation slicks your palm; Theo’s elbow keeps knocking into yours each time he shifts, rummaging in the cooler for his drink.

Someone starts talking about sea glass. Macie thinks the little green shards come from old soda bottles. Simone insists some of it’s from shipwrecks. Tara finds a piece shaped like a heart and says she’s keeping it forever. Theo listens to them like it’s a podcast he’s only half-invested in, but he smiles whenever you laugh.

It feels ordinary. In that stretched, sugar-glazed way summer days do when you don’t look at the clock. You’re halfway through your juice when Macie’s voice cuts the day in two.

“Seal!” she cries, delighted.

You pause mid-sip.

Not startled — more like… struck. That word slices through the ambient noise like a tuning fork. Your body reacts faster than your brain. Somewhere in your chest, a thread pulls taut.

The others are already rushing toward the shore, sneakers kicking up sand. Simone’s got her phone out again. Tara gasps. “It's a chonker!”

“Are they common around here?” Theo’s voice is light as he squints toward the water. “I read something about conservation efforts in the northern colonies — tagging for tracking migratory habits.”

“They haul out sometimes,” you say. Your voice sounds far away. “Usually early in the season.”

You don't notice Tara staring, as if she's trying to ask you why Theo seems to be confused about the seal when it's common knowledge that you haul from a place with a seal population. 

“Get a load of this unit,” Simone says, laughing. “That’s not a seal, that’s a sentient ottoman.”

“I’m naming him Barnaby,” Macie announces. "Bernadette if female."

You rise without thinking.

The voices of your friends flatten into background static. Theo’s muttering about population markers again, something about dorsal notches and flipper scarring. Someone suggests a group selfie with the seal in the distance. You’re already stepping past them.

You move toward the shoreline like someone being pulled forward by the collar. The closer you get, the more the light shifts — the kind of shimmer that makes everything blur at the edges, like film that’s been left in the sun too long.

From a distance, it could be any seal. Big, lazy, glinting like riverstone in the tide. But your eyes track instantly to the shape bobbing just beyond the last rock.

You pass Macie, who’s still narrating. “Seriously, look at the spot pattern. He’s like a limited-edition beanbag.”

You stop just at the lip of the water, salt wind catching in your hair. The waves break around your feet like hands brushing past. The light fractures. You squint.

Then he shifts. Just slightly.

A tilt of the head. A flash of familiar scarring on the shoulder area. The slope of the skull. The unruly whiskers. The uneven patch where fur never quite grew back right.

That’s Raf, alright. No question.

What the hell?

It isn’t just that he’s here — it’s that he’s somewhere he never should be.

Raf doesn’t come to beaches like this. You know by heart now that he sticks to his own territory, avoiding crowded places the way skittish animals avoid noise, the way anything too aware of its own edges avoids spectacle. He has always preferred the cove, quiet and thick with sea mist, where nothing moves unless it belongs. Even during summer’s peak, when the whole island feels like a postcard come to life, he stays tucked away, content in his own paradise. You’d have to wait until sunset, until the last paddleboarder left, before he’d even dare surface. Sometimes not even then.

So seeing him now, in daylight, under the loudness of other people’s joy, within reach of clumsy sandals and cell phone lenses…

If you had to explain it, you might say this: that all those things you try to swallow — the loss, the homesickness, the worry — well, it all congeals into the same ache deep beneath your sternum. It manifests physically as if there was a physical place inside your chest cavity where emotion collected like sediment or rust or bruised fruit. It comes out in flickers, in ways you can't control. Things set it off: memories, sounds, smells, sensations you'd grown up being conditioned to associate with nostalgia and happiness in your subconscious, regardless of whether those things actually did make you happy anymore or not — just the trigger stimuli alone would bring about the longing that'd cause tears to prick at your ducts immediately, if only for a second.

Seeing him suddenly brings your feelings surging up in the same abrupt way they do when you're alone in your dorm room, trying to survive finals week. Now that he's there on the other side of the sea when you're over here with new friends surrounding you when it used to be just you two, a familiar tightening sensation unfurls inside, like something getting caught and torn in the cogs of your ribcage. It aches worse than you expected.

"Wait, though. Do we know if that's your seal buddy?" Macie asks, grinning widely. "Do you think I can pet him?"

"It is Raf, and no," you tell her firmly. "Just leave him be."

She gives you a surprised look. "You sure? They don't bite, do they? Or slap?"

"They won't but still..." You gesture vaguely towards the rest of them with a helpless shrug as you attempt to maintain control over your emotions, willing the lump forming at the base of your throat to dissipate.

"Seal buddy?" Theo asks. He's come up to your side without you noticing and has placed a comforting hand on your waist.

"You haven't told him about Raf?" Simone arches an eyebrow, looking amused. "The familiar to your sea witch?"

"C'mon..." you whine, not noticing the look you're being given by your boyfriend.

"Huh," he confirms after studying you intently for several long seconds.

A beat of silence passes between your group, a few questioning glances exchanged, before Theo speaks again, his tone carefully neutral. "We were dating for almost five months and you've never mentioned being friends with a seal?"

You couldn't just say that it naturally didn't come up when you in fact did not stop yapping about Raf to your roommates. It felt... childish. Self-centered, like bragging. Theo had a certain level of maturity beyond what you possessed, so it seemed fitting to keep quiet about how special and close you were with your adorable animal companion rather than risking exposing yourself as someone who talks about seals more someone with a marine biology major. You weren't exactly trying to hide it per se, either, more so keeping the information regarding the subject matter private and away from any potential prying or mocking... or perhaps the feeling itself.

Despite having already shared it with your friends.

…

Yeah, honestly, you don't know why you didn't tell him earlier, now that you think about it. It makes for a particularly awkward silence, as well.

One that gets interrupted by Tara's, "Oh my god, is he coming over here? Look!"

You whip around and indeed see Raf paddling his way onto shallow waters before picking up speed as he closes in on your location.

"That settles it. We gotta film this. Do you think it'd go viral?" Macie says excitedly, pushing play on her camera app while taking aim at you and Raf approaching.

"Viral," you mutter drily under your breath as you slowly start walking deeper into the water with the intent of greeting your friend properly for the first time since arriving at home.

Theo watches from the shoreline silently as everyone else bursts into applause and cheering once Raf arrives and immediately hops closer to you instead of anyone else present despite them attempting to coax him over with promises of food and various petting session offers, something they complain loudly about behind you.

"Hey, you little fucker," you grouse once within earshot, crouching down like a gangster stationed by a random corner on the pavement, elbows on knees. The words hold absolutely zero heat to them. "You've been giving me attitude bigger than your body mass ever since I left and now you decide to hobble on over when I'm with company? Really? You're like my mom trying to keep up appearances when guests come over. Who the heck do you think you are?"

Raf croons and chatters in response, nuzzling your bare legs affectionately before flopping heavily on your feet. He proceeds to roll around in the wet sand, looking every bit of pleased with himself for drawing a laugh from you when he looks up expectantly with wide, adoring dark eyes blinking innocently up at you.

Ha, look at this guy acting cute.

As if you weren't literally deprived of his presence for nearly the entire time you were away because he was too pissed to see your face, you realize with a sharp twang of bitterness, shaking your head in mock annoyance at the unfairness of the situation. What bullshit timing. He has to be doing this on purpose at this point. The big brat.

"Wow," your friends remark in awe simultaneously at the display occurring before their very astonished selves.

"So tame,” Theo remarks.

He pays them no mind whatsoever. Instead, his sole focus remains on you as he rolls upright so he may rear onto hind paws and balance against your bent knee. His whiskers tickle your skin, hot snorts stirring loose strands of hair fallen over your face, dampness from his breath transferring to your forehead. It's like he's giving you a vibe-check, sniffing you all over with little to no care towards the peanut gallery currently filming everything happening.

"This is fascinating," Theo comments from somewhere nearby, likely observing your interactions closely together with Tara and the rest. He comes to crouch beside you for a closer look. "I honestly thought they wouldn't engage humans unless approached first. Then again, I guess you've managed to build enough trust with that one to encourage friendly interaction..."

It's almost in slow motion that Raf turns his head towards your boyfriend, and to your absolute shock, curls his back in a way you've never see him do before, baring his teeth at Theo in the most hostile display you've ever seen from a creature known to have such a placid temperament.

It's when the unfamiliar purring-rumble starts rising from his throat that you come back to reality and tilt your body away from a jaw-dropped Theo, effectively making a barrier between the two. "Oh my god, no, Theo, I'm so sorry! Please back off, okay? Just take a couple steps back, please, and I'll handle this—"

The rumble becomes louder, sharper. To the surprise of everyone present, Raf crawls over your leg and hip possessively like a large lapdog might climb into a couch and lie on their owner for warmth, deliberately placing himself in between you and a wide-eyed Theo, staring pointedly at your boyfriend until he backs away completely to rejoin the girls watching with horrified fascination on the beach. You breathe a sigh of relief knowing he did not bite nor hit anyone in his frenzy.

It takes you pulling back to sit flat on your butt that he relents finally and allows you to maneuver him onto your lap so you may bury fingers deep into the thick, dense fur around his neck area and massage him into calm submission. "What is with you today," you reprimand softly as the aggressive sounds gradually subside into gentle yips. "I thought you forgot me or something, and now look at you. Like no time passed at all."

Raf doesn't seem apologetic in the least, if the way he snuggles even closer in your arms and throws in a lick across your cheekbone indicates anything. With his chin hooked securely over your shoulder, tail thumping loudly against the water splashing quietly against your entangled legs, it seems pretty evident he has no plans of going anywhere anytime soon.

"I know I shouldn’t be surprised after seeing everything on your phone, but are seals really supposed to behave like this?" Macie asks aloud uncertainly, putting her camera down.

You shrug, absently continuing to knead downwards along Raf's side. He shifts under your hands, the smooth, slippery texture of his skin bunching under your fingertips pleasantly as he leans further into you with increasing insistence.

"He's just domesticated," Simone offers, coming closer to better assess the situation. "Look, he's not food motivated."

"An expert family friend of mine told me I could have formed a small pod with him without knowing it. Like, a unit of a colony."

"Like a bonded pair?" Tara joins in.

"Maybe the word you're looking for is just bonded. He could have imprinted on her. Like a duck," Theo adds helpfully, gesturing to where you've now begun rubbing down your sulky seal friend's tummy while he rolls over unashamedly on his back for easier access. He's got his phone on his hand, gesturing to some article he found in no time. "This says young pups follow people they initially attach to for several minutes after birth sometimes and perceive them to be their mother. When exposed to higher levels of maternal influence after development, the bond grows stronger than it would have otherwise been possible to sustain by nature alone."

Raf grumbles soft under his breath, seeming disgruntled. What the fuck does he have to sigh about like that as if he's a single mom who works two jobs? He's not even an arctic seal who has to deal with diabolical orcas gunning after him 24/7.

But you're more concerned with this scene unfolding right now when you barely had any interaction with Raf over the past couple of years. He's being clingy when it was so obvious he was being distant and cold like a normal person would've behaved after a falling out...

And yes, it does sting quite badly for having the reunion be made to witness and scrutinized over by near-total strangers while your friends are having a conversation about seal behavior and looking things up on the internet in the background.

It really hurts even more since you expected a much earlier reception given your efforts at reconciliation... and then here comes Raf randomly deciding he's now okay on a random day for seemingly no reason whatsoever. Talk about emotional whiplash. What happened to the sulking and stubborn refusal to interact? Where did that go?

Well. Better late than never?

Hours pass. Eventually, the beach is emptying out.

The laughter is gone, or far enough to feel like it. Distant chatter rides the salt wind, but it doesn’t reach you, not really. The sky has bruised into mauve, sea lavender and charcoal layered thin across the horizon, all color is being dragged out like a damp cloth wrung slow.

Macie was the first to suggest heading back when the sour mood of Theo didn’t get any better, already talking about post-beach showers and cooking for your parents who’ve yet to return from the ferry for having them over. Simone followed with a promise to upload the best photos. Tara stayed behind just a little longer, watching you in that gentle, perceptive way of hers, before slipping away to give the two of you a space. Your towel is still damp beneath you, your bag a mess of half-unpacked things. And Raf hasn't budged from your side, pressed warm and firm into your hip as if anchoring you to this exact spot.

Theo stands a few feet away, arms crossed, half-turned toward the sea. He hasn’t spoken in minutes. You can feel it brewing though, like pressure in your ears before a storm.

When he finally does speak, he doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s a moderated accusation to it that makes your stomach tighten. “So... were you ever planning to tell me about him?”

You keep your eyes on your towel, fingers worrying at a loose thread that’s already frayed beyond saving. “It's not like I was keeping it from you, it must have just slipped my mind to mention it or something.”

He shifts, crossing and uncrossing his arms, feet grinding into the sand with impatient little pivots. “That’s not the part I’m stuck on,” he says, voice level. “It’s that everyone else knew. It didn't slip your mind with them.”

You lift your gaze briefly, catching his silhouette framed in the bleeding dusk. “I really wasn’t trying to hide him or something. I don’t talk about a lot of things.”

Theo’s shoulders fall with a tired breath. He’s not angry. Just tired. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

The air between you feels suddenly thinner.

You turn toward him fully. He’s wearing the expression you’ve come to recognize when he’s calculating every word before he says it. It’s hard to tell if it’s a personality trait or something his law professors taught him.

“I didn’t tell you about Raf because I didn’t know how,” you admit, the words small, almost fragile. “He was my best friend for years. And then... he wasn’t. I haven't properly spent time with him for three years now, the best I do is just seal watching from afar, and that's whenever I get home, which is. Sparse.”

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, jaw flexed.

“And then today, out of nowhere, he’s back. Like nothing happened. It's like my first proper interaction with him in forever.”

“I’m not asking for a play-by-play. I just want to know why you couldn’t share that part of your life with me. You're changing the subject.”

“I don't know,” you mutter, rubbing your palm against your leg. “It didn't occur to me I could. And I liked... I liked how clean things were with you.”

His brow knits. “Clean?”

“Like I didn’t have to unpack the past every time we talked. I could just be in the moment. Maybe that's why it didn't cross my mind at all.”

Theo exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair with restless fingers. “And what moment are we even in now?”

You blink at him, the question hanging too heavily to dodge.

“Because I’ve been your boyfriend for five months—"

The seal in your lap jerks so suddenly as if shaken up from deep sleep to do a double-take between you and Theo with a distinct sputter and a sneeze, and you momentarily miss some of what's being said to you from watching the weird flailing in front of you.

"—sometimes I still feel like I’m waiting to become one. You sit beside me. You let me hold your hand. You even sleep next to me. But half the time, I feel like I’m dating someone who’s barely in the room.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Isn’t it? You’re nice to me. You show up. You laugh. You don’t want to hurt me, I know that. But it’s like I’m an accessory in your day, not a person you’re choosing.”

Your gaze drops. Raf is staring off into the distance like a shell-shocked war veteran for some reason and you swear his eyes are about to look in different directions.

Theo watches your fingers curl into the seal’s coat.

“Do you even like me?”

Your head snaps up. “Of course I do.”

His next words are quieter. “I mean... do you like me? Not just the idea of being with someone. Not just what I represent, or how I don’t ask too much. Do you like me?”

You part your lips, the response on the tip of your tongue — except it isn’t. The panic hits before the words come, tightening your chest, making the air feel wrong in your lungs.

Theo closes his eyes like he already has the answer.

“I think I’ve been trying really hard not to admit how one-sided this feels,” he says. “But I can’t do that forever.”

You reach toward him — instinctively, helplessly. Your hand hovers mid-air.

“Listen, Theo, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he says quickly. His face twists for a fraction of a second. “I know you didn’t. That’s the thing. You’re not cruel. You just... keep your distance. You never come to me for anything. Not once. I know you’re struggling with your classes. You get weird when someone mentions midterms. You disappear for days when grades drop, and when I ask how you’re doing, you say ‘fine’ like a robot. You don’t talk to me about any of these things.”

“I don’t need to dump that stuff on you.”

“It’s not dumping if I’m your boyfriend,” Theo says, caught between ache and frustration. “You don’t lean on me. You don’t share anything with me. I’m just... here. Being reminded I’m that insignificant and held at arm’s length every. Single. Day.”

Raf shifts again. There is a slowness to his breathing, a cadence like the tide. If he is listening, you cannot tell.

Your throat feels too tight. Theo sees it before you manage an answer.

He sighs. It sounds weary, like someone reaching the bottom stair.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Everything in you wants to refute it, deny him. But you know it wouldn't matter, because he isn't asking questions anymore; he's stating facts. And somehow, that makes everything worse.

You pick anxiously at the dead skin at your thumb's cuticles until the urge to apologize overwhelms everything else.

"I'm so—"

Theo raises his hand abruptly, stopping you short. "Don't. I don't need an apology."

A beat passes in uncomfortable silence. Raf grumbles, unhappy.

"Then what do you need?" You mumble under your breath.

"For you to see me as your person," Theo responds bluntly, staring intently down at your stunned features. "Or maybe just as someone who matters more than the stupid seal on your lap you're petting like a dog while having an important discussion."

You wince as if scalded, retracting your hands. "I don’t, I—!"

"Then look me in the fucking face when you speak to me," he barks harshly, scowl growing increasingly prominent. You've only seen Theo mad once or twice before, but he doesn't explode or break things. His anger is contained and icy cold instead. Raf doesn't like the way he's raising his voice at you, his huffing is getting more frequent now. "Or maybe stop sitting there like the victim and give me the courtesy of standing up and talking to me with actual intention rather than treat our relationship like some hobby you take on between finishing whatever homework is due? How would you feel if I treated you like a second choice friend whenever we meet up together? Think carefully."

There's something final about the way he ends the sentence, like shutting a door. Or snapping shut a notebook. Like wrapping up a case and moving on. For someone so impossibly empathic, so effortlessly considerate, you wonder if he finally reached the end of his rope. If you had worn him down, after all.

"I'm sorry," you find yourself saying anyway, hoping he would be kind enough to accept the olive branch.

But Theo only shakes his head slowly with lips thinned in repressed irritation. "Don't do that," he cuts you off curtly. "I told you I don't want apologies."

Something tenses in your gut. Maybe it's guilt. Maybe shame. It sours too quickly for you to sort it out.

Raf has been statue-rigid for a while now, his body coiled tight underneath your palm resting just over his ribcage — sensing the discordance, no doubt, alerted by the spike in tensions among the two of you.

"I think we need to rethink this whole thing," Theo says, looking directly at you with solemn, resolute conviction gleaming in his eyes. You understand what it means immediately. It isn't anger so much as sadness that draws itself around him, making his shoulders round, his mouth stern. He rubs a knuckle absently against his temple. "I seriously need some space. I can't keep putting in effort on my end while getting practically nothing back on yours. Frankly, it's been taxing and frustrating beyond belief."

"We could—" you pause, realizing there's absolutely nothing you can offer that would be viable. You don't have the same qualifications to make things work out as he did, nor can you convince him otherwise knowing this much of what you put him through. It wouldn't be fair to either of you. So all that's left for you to say is: "Is there anything I can do to fix this? Do you want me to..."

There is nothing more pathetic to finish your sentences with besides crying, begging and offering ultimatums — and none of those are appealing options.

"Look," Theo says, visibly restraining himself from pacing the way you've seen him do whenever frustrated with a difficult case to crack, and you feel horrible knowing full well that most of your interactions will likely leave him feeling this way. "I appreciate what we had over these past few months... It was good to spend time with you. But honestly, it'd just be healthier for us both if we put it on hold right now until you figure out what it is that you really want, and then I'll reopen negotiations."

Silence follows for a brief moment. Raf lets out a long whine, which causes you to snap out of the funk of despondency you momentarily sunk into, remembering he's still very much present, listening to everything, perhaps like a child overhearing his parents arguing.

"Okay," you croak, suddenly feeling unworthy of your boyfriend's presence. "Yeah, okay, I get it."

You don't even get the last part of your sentence out, which was thanking him for being patient with you before he's talking again.

"I'm gonna try to catch the last ferry," he tells you calmly despite the heartbreaking disappointment written all over his features. You nod along mechanically without meeting his searching stare, looking downwards in avoidance. There's a twinge of resentment at yourself for treating someone as wonderful as him this way, regardless of whether your actions were consciously intentional or not. "It's been nice here but the space thing, you know... Give my apologies to your parents and tell them it was a family emergency. I’ll talk to the others.”

All you can do is bob your head woodenly as an acknowledgment while keeping your line of sight trained elsewhere lest he notice the tears beginning to build up inside your lower eyelids. Everything feels wrong in this exact moment, like nothing you could've done or said will rectify anything.

His footsteps retreat away after a short silence, the distinct sound of the plastic handle on the cooler creaking softly under its increasing pressure, sand rustling audibly underneath.

Then you're alone — truly alone — for the first time in hours. The breeze kicks up, salty and cool off the water. You wait till the crunching pauses; until Theo reaches the place where footpath meets pavement, out of earshot. Until the world contracts around you. You let out a shaky sob, one fist digging into Raf's coat. A series of pitiful squeaks respond.

"I got dumped over a seal," you wheeze out shakily, fingers clenching deeper into damp fur.

You realize it's more than that, but the shock numbs everything else. You not mentioning Raf to Theo somehow snowballing into being perceived as emotionally distant and disengaged is such a surreal thought to contemplate that it takes awhile for your brain to catch up.

Your stomach knots so tight that you bend double, forehead dropping against your knuckles. Raf brings his nose to rest at your temple. Wet heat slides along your cheekbone, snuffles once, then again, the edge of his whiskers twitching against your temple like he’s thinking hard. He lets out a chuff, a ridiculous, gravelly little exhale that vibrates against your skin. You don’t know if he’s annoyed, apologizing, or just reacting to the taste of your tears.

You sniff. Wipe your face with the back of your wrist. “You’re really a homewrecker.”

He makes a low, rumbling sound in his chest.

“Don’t sass me,” you whisper.

But the way he edges in closer, until your whole side is engulfed in damp fur and quiet warmth, makes your throat seize. You shut your eyes. Let your fingers dig into the pelt at his shoulder, where his scar discolors the fur. Your grip trembles.

“But I really didn’t think he’d leave,” you say, barely audible.

Raf’s head nudges under your chin, blunt and persistent, until you have no choice but to raise your face again. He’s looking up at you with that same familiar gravity behind his eyes that always made you feel seen. Not observed. Seen.

And it unnerves you a little.

“I didn’t think you’d come back either,” you admit, voice cracking. “So I guess it’s somewhat of a law of equivalence.”

He presses his forehead to yours, gently, like something instinctive and unceremonious. You feel he’s not trying to comfort you so much as just… be there. And for a second, it really does feel like time folded back in on itself, and you’re seventeen again with sand in your socks and unburdened giddiness in your chest, laughing into his neck after some awful day at school like he was the only part of your world that made sense.

“I missed you a lot though, buddy,” you whisper. You’re not sure whether it’s a confession or an accusation. Maybe both. Underlying with the strange emptiness of what this separation means to you. The fact that you’re here with Raf right now means a lot more than Theo leaving you. And you’re not sure how to feel about that other than the fact that you must be a grade A douche.

Usually it’s a man that exhibits this behavior. You don’t know how to feel about that, either.

Raf noses your collarbone, then burrows closer with a dramatic grunt. Like he never left. Like this spot — your side, your lap, your shoulder — is still his, and he’s reclaiming it without apology.

You laugh, but it cracks open into something hoarse. Something wet. An egg dropping an embryo to the pan instead of yolk. You bury your face in his neck like it’s the only place left you can do that safely. He smells like salt and sand and the faintest undertone of seaweed, but his warmth remains unchanged.

You don’t know if you should be angry with him or grateful. He might’ve cost you your relationship. Or maybe he served you a lesson about one that was always a little too one-sided. You don’t know. You don’t know anything except that he’s here now, curled into your ribs like a message in a bottle finally finding its destination.

You sigh into him, your voice small. “You really couldn’t have picked yesterday to be emotionally available, huh?”

Raf whines softly. Rolls to his back and kicks his flippers like he’s throwing a tantrum. His belly’s damp and ridiculous and offered to you like a truce.

You let out a snort and swipe at your eyes.

“I can’t believe this is my life.”

You flop onto your back beside him as the tide kisses at your ankles again, more gentle now. As if the sea itself is easing back. Raf’s breathing slows, matching yours.

And in the quiet between waves, you think, not for the first time, not for the last, that maybe he came back because he knew this moment was coming. That maybe he knew you’d need him, right here, right now.

Some part of you says, Nah, he’s a homewrecker.

You graduate, and eventually end up right back on where you started with your shoulders braced like someone expecting to be hit.

You don’t join the cap throwing ceremony, or any other party with the excuse you unfortunately don’t have time for any of that. You get your diploma like it’s a shady deal in an alleyway and go your own way.

The thought of maybe — maybe — coming back home for the last time would feel like slipping into warm water is at the back of your mind — strange at first, but comforting once your body adjusts.

It doesn’t.

The sea greets you the same way it always has — without ceremony, without apology. Not like a mother welcoming her child, but like an old employer who never removed your name from the roster. You step off the boat with all your belongings, and the wind claps you on the back, and the salt is in your mouth before you even say “I’m home,” as if to tell you to get back to work.

That’s all there is to it. Slap the, “That’s all folks!” title card on it.

The sea still smells the same — wet iron, salt, the distant sweetness of fish — but it doesn’t comfort you. It clings like dead weight you have to carry on your back, stains your clothes, settles in your hair, crusts behind your ears like it’s trying to remind you: you belong here. Like it never really let you go. Like you’re Sisyphus rolling his boulder up the hill as always, except you drag it around like a pet rock now, one that is visible to everyone. One everyone recognizes.

You’re the girl who left. The one who came back with nothing.

You wanted to leave, though. God, you had wanted out so badly.

So you picked something clean. Something quiet and shiny that didn’t come with fish guts and engine grease. Museum studies. Archival work. Something that would let you tell stories about the sea without having to live inside its salt-stung grip. Something you could point to and say: See? I made it out. I became someone else.

You imagined glass cases and curated lighting. Climate control and respectability. People in linen suits asking for your opinion on preservation techniques. You imagined being good at it. Sharp. Polished. Like you were a cultured socialite and your hands had never once smelled of fish and that white-collars didn’t look down at you as though you were a second-class citizen for it. You clung to that dream like it was a life raft. Like it would keep you from becoming Dad, Mom, your whole line of weary sea-anchored ghosts.

University didn’t spit you out so much as it starved you slowly.

You told yourself it would be delicate — artifacts and silk gloves, white walls and whispered, distinguished voices of explanation and storytelling. But you weren’t ready for how different it would feel to be constantly behind. Always catching up. You watched people glide through it all — the lectures, the essays, the study abroad placements — like they were born into it. You weren’t.

You didn’t speak the language. You wrote too plainly, too tangibly. You didn’t know how to dress your thoughts up in academic language or play the intellectual performance they all seemed to have memorized. You didn’t know how to use a theory as a shield or a weapon, didn’t know how to say absolutely nothing in five polished pages. Your sentences were called “too literal.” Your ideas “lacked depth.” You began second-guessing everything you wrote. Every time you turned in a paper, you waited for it to come back bleeding red, like a wound reopening.

You sat in the back and took notes while others quoted theorists by name, confident and smooth and laughing with professors after class like they were friends while you could curl into a shrimp trying to show respect to their profession. That’s what you were taught. You didn’t know you had to ‘befriend’ those professors to get to places. Didn’t even know it was an option in the first place.

You stayed up until your eyes burned. Took out loans that made your stomach twist. Lived on discount noodles and cold coffee while kids in pressed coats talked about internships their relatives arranged for them in cities lacquered with prestige — all colonnades, opera houses, and museums with wings named after patrons whose names you’d only ever seen etched in gold above arched doorways. They breezed into networking events while you stood near the drinks table, gripping your plastic cup and trying not to sweat through your only decent shirt.

You couldn’t afford the unpaid internship your program said was "essential." You tried. God, you tried. Sent emails. Wrote cover letters. Offered to do anything, even just data entry. But you weren’t the kind of student they wanted — no fancy last name, no family connections, no recommendations from tenured faculty who actually remembered your face. You weren’t someone they saw potential in. You were just... competent. Just fine.

You spent a whole semester trying to figure out your thesis — circling topics like a vulture over carrion. And per usual, everyone else seemed to already know what they were writing about, already had advisors clapping them on the back, already had titles that sounded like published books. You kept second-guessing yourself. Too narrow, too vague, too personal. Everything you proposed sounded childish out loud, stripped of the wonder you felt privately.

Eventually, you landed on something about regional maritime artifacts and their cultural displacement — a fancy way of saying: the things that reminded you of home, stolen and pinned to museum walls. You thought it might be enough.

It wasn't.

Your advisor called it "charming but unfocused." You rewrote it four times. Each time it became less yours. By the end, you barely recognized what you were arguing. It passed, technically. You walked the stage. But it didn’t feel like a win. It felt like crawling across the finish line on bloodied knees.

You went to info sessions and forced yourself to shake hands. You printed business cards and smiled until your jaw ached. You went to office hours and tried to form a rapport with professors who always seemed to be glancing past you. You sat in lobbies for interviews you never heard back from. You applied for conference scholarships and didn’t get them, starting to realize there were doors you simply weren’t meant to walk through.

Your professors were polite. Detached. "Consider a gap year," one of them suggested, when your final project fell short. Another one smiled and told you that museum work was competitive — very competitive — and that maybe you should consider broadening your horizons. Maybe try the local heritage angle. Maybe lean into your background.

You knew what that meant.

Not giving up that easily, you toured gallery basements and museum backrooms during student field trips — rooms lined with crates and relics you weren’t allowed to touch. You watched a conservator handle a centuries-old scroll with hands steadier than yours would ever be. Every inch of the job looked holy from the outside, like something sacred you might be allowed to enter if you studied hard enough. But behind the velvet ropes and institutional polish, you started to see the cracks.

There were whispered complaints about underfunding. Stories of interns made to catalog entire collections alone. Older curators who treated provenance like personal territory. You volunteered once at a small regional museum just to get experience and ended up cleaning display glass and scrubbing exhibit floors. You told yourself it still counted.

And then there were the interviews, where they asked if you'd be comfortable lifting crates, running fundraisers, handling social media, and managing guest tours — all for minimum wage. Positions with beautiful titles and nothing behind them. It started to feel like the job was less about protecting history and more about convincing donors to keep the lights on. The past, you learned, only matters if it’s profitable.

You applied anyway — less out of hope, more like inertia. You tweaked your resume. You Googled synonyms for "passionate" until the word meant nothing. One of them called you in for an interview. You didn’t get it. Another place called you back for a position that paid less than the ferry ever did. You didn’t get it either.

And then Dad fell. Blew out his knee. Couldn’t walk the dock anymore.

You came back because you were broke and tired and humiliated and out of reasons not to. You packed in the middle of the night. Left behind a box of books on your old desk. Deleted the job alerts from your inbox. Told yourself it would just be temporary.

Now you’re here, back in the same boots, walking the same boards, answering the same questions from the same kind of tourists. You’re twenty-something with a degree that means nothing here. A diploma that doesn’t fit in your coat pocket when you’re loading cargo. A piece of paper that couldn't save you. A history of unpaid internships you never got. Professors who’ll forget you in a semester.

The archipelago hadn’t changed. Same bleached dock planks. Same rust-ringed ladders. Same old ferry with its bucking engine and stubborn throttle. And you were the same, too. Worse, maybe. Just older. More tired. A degree heavier. A dream deader.

You don’t know what comes next. There is no next, not really. Just water and wind and the hollow thump of your boots on damp wood. You’re stuck.

And worse — you’re starting to wonder if maybe this is all you’ll ever be.

Not a tragedy. Just another quiet failure folded back into the landscape. The girl who once swore she’d vanish past the horizon, only to wash up years later just like one more piece of flotsam the sea decided to keep.

Slap the, “That’s all folks!” title card on it. Fade to black.

(Except, well. As far as Raf’s concerned, the main titles had only just begun.)

[smoothlikealikeasnake]

Strong Coffee and Sweet Cakes

Chapter Five ‘Love: redefined’

Genre - BTS FF, a/b/o dynamics, a/b/o BTS and MC, Ot7 x fem MC/reader, so fluffy, little angst, eventual smut

Warnings - uncertainty, tension and little bit of characters being upset, tiredness and exhaustion, lmk if there’s anything to add! x

Summary - A new cafe near the Hybe building will change the 7 members of Bangtan’s lives forever, 7 alphas in a pack? A recipe for disaster. Until a sweet omega starts to stir up their world with a little bit more sugar and slowly their loneliness dissolves

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Author Notes - Okay I STRUGGLED here. I wrote the final scene before I wrote the rest and i worry it doesn’t quite fit in but… oh well. If it doesn’t then imagine it as a bonus scene 😭

Walking into the dorms after the car ride had Jimin hit with a wave of exhaustion, wanting to get to his bed and just crash, half lulled to sleep already. He explained what happened to Yoongi; Yoongi listened intently and gave his comments here and there; mostly he just watched Jimin talk fondly, a sense of calm and satisfaction settling in his bones from it. By the time they were back, Jimin looked lovestruck from recollecting it all.

Yoongi had already begun to think that you’d potentially, most definitely, grow into someone more than just the cafe owner to them; he felt it; he saw it; and he welcomed it.

Jimin’s intent to get in and fall straight asleep was paused when, the moment he stepped into the home, multiple pairs of eyes shot straight to him and steps could be heard rushing in because Jimin smells so heavily of you that it flooded through the house 10x more than his own scent.

It smells like you’ve spent hours scenting him, his own scent mild underneath it all, it’s primarily because he did just spend over an hour in your apartment, completely surrounded by your scent and none else. He’d showered so his scent was mild in comparison too and with your clothes on- Yeah.

What doesn’t help is the droopy eyes, sluggish movements and lovestruck sort of look in Jimin’s eyes whilst Yoongi is standing behind him with a content, calm and satisfied smile.

“Why do you-”

“You smell like Y/n-”

“Jimin where have you-”

The voices all call out at once. Jimin spots the couch and makes his way over, dragging his limbs and ignoring them momentarily except when he gets there and rounds it; instead of simply sitting or lying down, he's tackled. In a split second, he’s grabbed, dragged down and flopped on top of; his yelp is high-pitched, he’s absolutely shocked and he can’t even scramble to get up before trying to work out what’s happening.

On top of him is a heap of muscle, half-asleep, instinct-ridden muscle, pulling him down in his sleep haze, nose taking deep inhales of his clothes and hair.

Jungkook had been asleep on the couch, a nap, when he half-woke up to the ruckus of the other members voices and then his nose began twitching, eyebrows furrowing and that scent-—so close-— So rather than really waking up, his alpha kind of just took over, grabbing onto Jimin’s sleeve when he was in reach and tackling him down, seeking out more and more as he layed pretty much flat on top of him, eyes still closed, ears blocking out most of the noise.

He’s sniffing all over, clumsily trying to find a scent gland, the source of your scent, but since he can’t find one, he’s just scrambling to inhale across the collar of the hoodie and at Jimin’s hair, where the scent glands in your wrists had brushed over and over it, depositing your scent there subconsciously.

“Jungkook-” - Jimin gets out, trying to move the lump of muscle and kicking his legs under him; he's actually struggling because Jungkook's just laying deadweight on him, not even conscious yet. Jungkooks kind of just grumbling, instinct ridden mind so confused on why he can smell that scent so heavily but not find a real source, a raw source; its more secondary but so strong-

Everyone is stopping momentarily- frozen, shocked. Then, cutting through the silence is Yoongi, doubling over in hysterical laughter, as if this is the funniest thing in the world.

Of course everyone knows Jungkook took a very specific liking to your scent from when you first met- it was strange and shocking considering his pickiness, and now he’s desperately seeking it out, so close yet so far away. They just never thought it was to the extent where, half asleep, Jungkook would tackle Jimin and seek it out.

Jimin’s clothes are riddled with your raw scent, not your half-potent, scent-blocked scent. His own is extremely mild, which is why it makes sense that Jungkook’s alpha is confused.

Kind of coming back to himself, Jimin wrangles his arms free and shakes Jungkook a little, waking him up just enough to have his eyes squinting open, and then he’s also freezing, so confused it’s maddening. What is he doing and why does Jimin smell like that-

“Jimin?” - He groggily asks, head tilted and then rolling to the side and consequently rolling onto the floor with a thump that positively wakes him up, rubbing his head and just staring in confusion.

Jimin sits up, finally able to breathe properly, and puffs out an absolutely flabbergasted breath, running his hands through his hair to fix it where Jungkook had rubbed his nose and cheeks all over it and messed it up.

“Yes, Jimin- Not Y/n” - He says with a grumble; he just wanted to come in and go to sleep, but instead he got manhandled down and crushed.

“What?...” - Jungkook asks, so confused. Why is Jimin saying not Y/n and why was he there? It takes another inhale to fully wake up, eyes shooting open and looking at Jimin like he's just murdered someone. He takes in his appearance; he recognises those trousers; those aren’t Jimins, definitely don’t smell like them either…

“Jesus christ, Jungkook” - Jin says, coming over and helping him up from the ground. Jungkook’s hair is ruffled and messy, one of his eyes still trying to shut and block out the bright lights. Yoongi’s on the other side of the room, still laughing; they all just look at him incredulously.

Jungkook is clingy to them; he will happily pull them down or drop down next to them and wrap his arms around them whenever he can, and none of them really mind, Jimin especially since he’s the exact same, but he’s never done that before.

If Jungkook had puppy ears, they’d be pinned against his head right now. He doesn’t understand; he doesn’t understand why they are all looking at him like that and what he was doing.

It’s not like he was trying to harm Jimin at all-—of course not; none of them think that—but he’s never acted quite so instinctual before in front of them all; it’s a thing they’ve only seen in fleeting moments. Jungkook keeps his instincts on a very tight leash; they all do, of course, but he has never taken an interest in any omegas. That's what makes this all so much more shocking. He was grumbling out as if he was going ‘mine, mine, mine,’ smelling that scent.

Namjoon rubs a hand over his face because they’ve not known you all that long, but it seems like you’re taking a big impact on their lives and behaviours without them truly knowing the extent.

“Im sorry…” - Jungkook says, tone like a scolded puppy, looking at Jimin in shame, but Jimin isn’t angry, of course not; he was just- surprised.

“It’s okay kookoo-ah.”

It’s safe to say Jungkook had a long, hard think trying to decipher what was going on with his instincts and mind after that; why does he feel jealous after Jimin tells them all about his evening? In fact, why do they all feel jealous after?

“Okay, so note to self, don’t let Jungkook fall asleep in Y/n’s cafe” - Taehyung says after, trying to brighten Jungkook’s dampened mood. He’s always so in control, so why are you making him feel like this?

Instincts are strange things; many believe that your counterpart is meant to be a guide, that you should oblige with what they are trying to tell you. Of course, you should be in control and be able to resist your instinct at times; it's just hard to differentiate when those times are. If you listen well enough, your counterpart will push you towards fate; that becomes hard when you teach yourself to completely resist everything your instincts tell you to; it makes you confused, nervous, even shameful. Finding a balance is incredibly hard; once you’ve got the hang of it, pushing it away is easier than giving in. That isn’t always the right choice, though. Sometimes you need to listen; sometimes it's right, and things will come for the better.

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“Jimin couldn’t get here today so he asked me to return your clothes, ‘sugar’” - Yoongi had come in when it was less busy, a small bag of your clothes in hand, teasing with his gummy smile when he called you by Jimin’s favourite nickname for you. You glare at him half-heartedly, reaching out and taking the bag of clothes. It’s only two days after the day it rained; in that time, Jimin-—and the others-—had absolutely devoured your scent on the clothes even if they won’t admit it, and when it was time to wash them, Jimin couldn’t resist lightly scenting them. They smell of clean and Jimin and faintly of everyone in their pack even without you bringing them up to your nose, and it nearly knocks you clean off your feet, a blush heavy over your cheeks.

“Thank you; would you like anything?” - You try to push down the blush by distracting yourself and speaking like normal even if you did clear your throat; Yoongi knows; he can clearly see the fluster on your face, but he doesn’t prod, not at first at least.

“An iced americano and one of the slices of cheesecake, please” - He’s taken a liking to your raspberry cheesecake, and you can’t blame him; it is good if you do say so yourself. You nod with a smile and begin to work on it; Yoongi waits by the counter, but maybe this is a good time to dig a little deeper.

“Do you wear scent blockers, Y/n?” - Yoongi knows you do, you look at him with a little furrow of your brows; He’s always been blunt, so you should really expect it by now, but it’s not the question you’re expecting.

“I do, patches.” - You touch just under your ear and push your hair out of the way to show him; he hums and nods

“Why? Is it because you can’t smell me?” - You tease, smirking a little and laughing. Alphas, always curious.

“No, in fact, your scent is very strong to me; it’s been stronger since yesterday though” - He says it so casually you nearly drop the espresso you’re holding because that’s not right-—he really shouldn’t be able to smell you much at all, and what does he mean stronger?!

“Maybe you're getting mixed up with the smell of the pastries; they are similar” - You try to reason; that's what your friends always say anyway, that it easily blends in. He shakes his head, certainty in his voice.

“Nope, similar but not the same.” - You falter. Are your scent blockers not working anymore? Do you need to use stronger ones? The girls havent said anything and surely they would-

“But then, I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you we all wear them every day too” - ‘We all’ meaning him and his pack. You turn to him fully this time, cup of ice abandoned momentarily because he’s playing tricks on you surely; you know for certain they don’t wear scent patches, they can’t; you know they are there before they even walk through the cafe’s door; the chime of the bell isn’t even needed to alert their presence because their scents are so potent.

“You’re lying” - You say and laugh it off, regain your composure and continue making his drink, ignoring his next response until you walk over to hand him his coffee and cheesecake.

“Am I?” - And then he's leaning his arms on the counter casually, brushes his hair out of the way, and there it is-—not just on his neck but on the scent glands on his wrist too-—scent blocker patches, almost identical to yours. But that’s not possible because Yoongi’s whisky-like scent is washing over you in waves, just as strong as anyone else who comes in, dare you say a lot stronger than anyone else.

But then again, he could be wearing cologne the same as his scent; some people do that to enhance and strengthen their scent- which would be weird since hes wearing blockers but then again-

You try to reason with yourself, but you can’t deny the way the smell seems to alter your brain chemistry every time he comes in, alongside the rest of the boys scents too.

Schooling your face into one of faux annoyance, you roll your eyes at him and laugh it off again. Place down his order in front of him and jokingly shoo him away; he smirks, knowing he's going to get you to think about it properly, and says his goodbyes over his shoulder while he leaves.

Thinking years and years back, you recall a lesson you had in school, basic counterpart biology. Nowadays, scent blockers are incredibly effective, but if the will of your counterpart is strong enough—your omega, in your case—they can overrule them for certain people, allowing you to smell them even through scent blockers.

It’s something that developed centuries ago, with people your counterpart deems worthy or rather- safe-—even from a first meeting, your scents can almost triple in intensity. Scent blockers make your scent mild to others; they can still identify whether you are alpha, beta or omega and identify some of the notes of your scent, but the effects and intensity of the scents are miniscule.

The intensifying case originally developed in your biology to allow packs and mates to be able to find you even in dire situations, even if your scent has significantly weakened. You know that some parents experience it with their children; mates experience it sometimes too. It’s something that used to be followed in identifying what people often call ‘fated mates’, the other person, or people, your counterpart feels is perfectly aligned with you. In other words, it signifies an incredibly strong, fated or biological connection.

It’s a lot less common now; living in urban environments made it nearly die out too. Therefore, that surely can’t be the case and can’t possibly even be relevant, so you don’t know why you’d even think back to it.

Pushing it out of your mind and refusing to dwell on it is a whole lot easier than listening to your omega whine about it being true and facing that potential reality.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening you’ve swarmed yourself in your job so much that it’s slipped out of your mind, just like you wanted it too until its nearly closing. You haven’t seen any of the other boys other than Yoongi today- not that it matters or anything-

Around this time, you turn the music a little louder, for your own satisfaction really, theres usually barely anyone here so it becomes your little heaven, looking more like a jazz club than a cafe when it gets dark from the warm, dim lights and the furniture you had picked.

Right around 10 minutes before closing, Hoseok and Taehyung walk in, waltzing over to the counter, ordering their preferences for the day and you go about it as usual, they ask how your day was, you ask it back, that sort of thing.

“Sit in or to go?” - You don’t see Hoseok look down at his watch and frown, realising how close it is to closing and then you look back up, they had planned to sit in but hadn’t checked the time before coming.

“Your closing soon right?” - He asks, you nod but before he can say anything you quickly add a few words on, you don’t know why but you really dont mind the 7 staying a little after closing if its just them, they are nice company, you enjoy it. In fact, its become a sort of routine for you and Namjoon to stay long after closing together a few times a week anyway.

“I’ll probably have another hour-ish before i leave so you can sit in if you’d like” - Smiling gently, not pushing but you doubt he would of mentioned it had they not been considering staying. Taehyung looks at you in surprise, answering before Hoseok could.

“Are you sure?”

“I am, i really don’t mind” - You nod firmly, you just have a bit of cleanup and then to check on the prep for tomorrow and maybe you’ll bake a few batches of cakes and cookies for tomorrow anyway.

“We’ll sit in then, kick us out as soon as you want too though” - Hoseok tells you, he says it firmly but theres a teasing smile there, you laugh a little and nod

They go and sit down, you make their drinks, a tea for Taehyung and a fresh fruit smoothie for Hoseok, you take it as they don’t have to go back to the studio after because Hoseok isn’t ordering a coffee and it brings a smile to your face, glad they are atleast leaving at a sensible time today.

“Do you think Jungkook’s seen her since?” - Hoseok asks, Jungkooks been particularly quiet since the whole Jimin, you, scent tackle incident. Taehyung frowns.

“I think he’s scared too, you know” - Hoseok huffs out at Taehyung’s answer. Jungkook isn’t going to get anywhere avoiding you, you don’t even know what happened anyway.

“Funny to think Mr Seven Days a Week is acting like this over a girl” - Hoseok tries to lighten Tae’s mood a little, it does bring a smile to his face though.

“Alright, well Mona Lisa is borderline explicit too” - Taehyung defends, laughing out a little now

“Key word: borderline, and- im not avoiding her” - Hoseok gestures to around him and you, as if to say look where we are, to prove his point.

“Everyone in the group with an explicit song seems to get a bit clumsy around her you know” - Taehyung laughs out thinking about how Namjoon, usually confident and bright, acts like a lost puppy around you.

“Are you talking about Mr. Pro rider?” - Hoseok smirks and pushes but then he thinks and adds

“Although, Yoongi is particularly bold with her so maybe those two are just the unlucky ones” - It’s fun to tease eachother, they always do, pushing and prodding at eachothers new songs whenever their even somewhat explicit.

“Well if we are talking borderline explicit you and Jimin seem to do well with her too so maybe they are just unlucky” - Tae shrugs, both of them agree there.

“I get him though, Jungkook” - Hoseok sighs out, he pities Jungkooks current internal battle, hes running from his own instincts because he doesn’t know what to do about his body reacting like this.

“So do I; I don’t think he’s felt like this before, we know hes had his experiences and whatever, but he values that control; he fully pushes away what his alpha tries to tell him unlike you and and pretty much all of us who embrace it a little more” - Taehyung tells him, thinking back to what he knows about everyone and their relationship history. Jungkook is particularly closed off, he likes being in his comfort zone.

“And how about you?” - Hoseok already knows how he is starting to feel about you, how he’s felt pulled to you from your first meeting, he has just enough balance with his alpha to keep himself in check, listen and give in sometimes, hold back at others.

“Im… just… seeing how it plays out” - Tae says, scratching at his neck because although his alpha isn’t having him drop onto Jimin because he smelt like you, your slowly invading his brain more and more, you’re scent driving him a little more crazy every time he sees you.

Before Hoseok can respond, your coming over with their drinks and cakes, your hairs down now, having just turned the sign to closed and you’ve foregon your apron, it lets them see how your t-shirt clings to you in all the right places, tucked neatly into your jeans which Taehyung finds himself really hoping arent uncomfortable on your skin, okay maybe he is more affected than he’s letting on because the thought of the denim being scratchy on you is enough for him to have to refrain a snarl from slipping out.

You tend to douse yourself in oversized clothes and the only time they’ve seen you other that is in your usual jeans and shirt and an apron, it hides pretty much everything about your body but with it off they can see the curve of your waist, the way your thighs pull at the wide-leg jeans and your t-shirt a bit tight around your breasts but they try to rid that thought from their minds- quickly at that. They can’t really think about it any longer without feeling their own alphas rise to the surface despite just talking about pitying Jungkook for the same thing.

You’re just about to leave when you contemplate for a second and look at them both, they wait exptectantly for you to speak

“Do you mind if i turn the music up a bit louder?” - You turn it up close to closing but when you have actually closed, you like to turn it up a bit more and dive into the music whilst you finish up.

“You can do whatever you want, angel” - Hoseok says a bit too fast to stop the nickname from slipping out and he freezes, Taehyung looks at him a bit shocked, you absolutely stun on the spot, lips parted in a silent gasp and cheeks flushing at a record-breaking rate, you puff your cheeks up and merely reply with a little ‘mhm’, a bit too high-pitched to be normal and spin on your foot booking it across the room to distract yourself.

Your hands fall to your cheeks, feeling the heat there and goddamn it your about to purr again- what is it with them and making you feel like this?! Your omegas chanting something distantly in your mind, purring away ‘angel, angel, angel’ like its a mantra you live by. And now, why are you smiling? Scrap that, beaming?! Your hearts racing faster than you can quite comprehend so you quickly turn the music to try and busy yourself.

“I think we should stop talking about Jungkook’s avoiding issue and start keeping it to ourselves because…” - Taehyung trails off, Hoseok agrees with a curt nod and they try and act like nothing happens. Hoseok’s alpha is pushing and growling in content, trying to make him voice it but he won’t.

Luckily for them, and you, as you had said, your music gets louder, a slow song that Taehyung is oh so familiar with ringing throughout the cafe. ‘Strangers in the night’ by Frank Sinatra. He perks up as it begins, looking at you across the room and to his delight, your gently humming and ever so slightly swaying as you neaten up the other side of the cafe, you hardly notice Taehyung’s scent spike in delight and the way he’s just staring at you.

Hoseok watches, amused, knowing Taehyung isn’t going to get up and do anything without a bit of encouragement but he sees a memory to be made, a joy to have. You make your way closer to them after just a moment, they can hear you humming along more clearly now.

“Go, get up” - is all Hoseok says and Taehyung looks at him as if asking him what he’s talking about, trying to play it off but he gets a kick to his ankle under the table and then Taehyung’s jolting up, taking his chance when you’re about to walk past them.

You don’t notice him getting closer as your back is to them both but Taehyung takes his courage and walks behind you, gently taking your hand and spinning you to face him, the touch electric and surprising, you let out a quiet yelp and there he is, standing over you, gently leaning down to your ear and whispering oh so intimately.

“Dance with me” - You stare at him in shock for a moment, giggling a bit and telling him the truth.

“I can’t dance” - Is all you say, he shakes his head at you and whispers again, his warm breath dancing over your air and you feel like your suffocating, in the best way, your heart tight and breathing a little uneven.

“You can, trust me” - He leans back and holds out his hand to you, letting you pick whether to take it, you do. You slowly put yours in his, he brings it up to his neck, wrapping it around and your other hand follows, his skin warm and soft against your fingers, the soft hairs at the nape of his neck tickling you and then he gives you a warm smile, hovering his own hands over your waist and guides you into the same soft sway you’ve been doing subconsciously, but this time, with him. Your both a little clumsy at first, getting used to eachothers rhythm or rather- you trying to replicate his and giggle together until you find a good pace.

Taehyung’s own heart is racing as you wait for his guidance, he settles his hands on your waist softly, your gasp swallowed by the music, theres a small bit of room between you two and its like you’re in a different world, gently swaying and turning, theres a smile you cant hide on your face, your heart in your ears.

One of Taehyung’s hand’s leaves your waist to hold one of yours, his arm guiding you to spin and you do, the turn eliciting a giggle out of you, this time, when you’re back facing his front, you close the distance, your feet between his own and you rest your cheek on his chest, swaying so softly around the cafe. When the song ends you feel disappointed but Taehyung doesnt let go, ‘Misty’ By Ella Fitzgerald begins to play and he simply sways you even slower. You can hear his heart beating fast through his broad chest, hes firm and warm, his hands big and you feel safe, comforted, romantic. Your eyes close, letting him completely guide your every step, arms clinging around his neck and he dips his head to rest it on your own, even if it hurts his neck a little. Your flush against eachother, two souls as one.

Taehyung has never felt so blissful, watching you occasionally, feeling your soft breathing against him and it feels like his thoughts just disappear, your small, soft under his hands and he loves it, your scents even sweeter than normal, he’s sure it’ll stick to his clothes after this. Against his chest, your deeply inhaling his own scent, sighing out in blis and your mind feels a little hazy, you could stay here forever. If there was even the tiniest gap between you, you both lean in to fill it, pressing close to eachother. Your purring, you don’t realise but Taehyung does, so does Hoseok, he can hear it from where he’s watching you two. Taehyung reciprocates your purrs with his own sweet grumbles.

A few songs play after, neither of you are too sure what they were because theres better things to focus on, he spins you occasionally, you giggle everytime, spinning right back into his waiting arms seemingly even closer than before. His arms are wrapped fully around your waist rather than just holding the sides now, when you slowly come to a stop you both just stand there holding eachother, you feel relaxed enough to sleep right then and there, against his chest and you reluctantly open your eyes and look up at him with stars in your eyes, he looks down at you with the same and you break into the biggest smile he’s ever seen on you.

Its hard to break away from eachother but you do, eventually.

“I definitely still can’t dance but its a start” - Is all you can manage to say and Taehyung gives you that boxy smile, the one that cold melt thousands of hearts

“I’ll teach you more” - Its a promise and one that allows you to fully step back and tell him you’re just going to keep finishing up. He nods, and as you pass Hoseok, he gives you a wink, finally setting in your brain what just happened. You’re blushing so heavily it looks like you’re going to blow up, and every step you take feels hazy; your eyes are a little low. It’s the kind of look that makes alphas like Tae and Hoseok want to leap to protect you. You’re a little vulnerable like this, and it’s unfamiliar. A lot of things are unfamiliar lately, but you have to embrace change, especially when it feels this good.

You can hardly get around to the few small tasks you were going to do-—let alone even think about any baking right now. you almost feel intoxicated; you almost feel a little dizzy with it all but you want to stay in this exact state, and- you want to find a nest, build a nest, anything to do with a nest, right now…

You can’t- theres nowhere right to make a nest here… There are chairs and blankets and pillow though… It would be weird for you to make even a half nest here- without knowing, you stand at one of the blanket piles, kneading the top one over and over, deep in your own battle. It’s all you can do to not make any kind of nest.

Taehyung falls into the chair and slumps with a big, almost sleepy smile. Hoseok laughs at him a little.

“I’ll send you the videos” - Is all Hoseok says, and Taehyung’s eyes shoot open because not once did he see Hoseok recording, but then again, he had other focuses.

Under the dim, warm lights, dancing around the cafe with you, his heart beating so fast he could simply pass out, but he’s too happy for that. They both sit in a comfortable silence with your music playing in their ears until Hoseok glances over and spots you across the cafe, your back towards them, but your hands are moving over and over something… the blanket pile. He keeps leaning back in the chair to get a different angle, and from there he can see you staring at the blanket a little conflicted and holding it tight, kneading it over and over.

Tae looks over too, trying to work out what your doing when a possibility flickered through his mind-

“Is she…” - Is all he can say before Hoseok gets up and out of his chair, quietly walking over to you. It doesn’t click at first, but then it does- all of the dancing, so close to Taehyung, the hazy look in your eyes after and now… You're trying to nest, or at least thinking really hard about it, somewhere else in your mind, subconcious. His alpha whispers in his ear, more like screams at him to take you somewhere safe and lead you to nest, but he knows realistically he can’t really do that; he has to do something though because he can’t stand that conflicted look on your face. You’re confused; you look at your hands like you don’t know what you’re doing, and then you remind him of someone, Jungkook.

Hoseok finds a blanket on the back of a chair; it's thick and relatively heavy and just right. He walks over to you slowly, unfolding the blanket as he nears you. You don’t seem to hear nor smell him approaching even when he puffs his scent out in a soft wave once he nears you. Your nose twitches, but that's all.

Hoseok frowns, walks up to you, and gently wraps the blanket around your shoulders from behind you; in an instant, your body relaxes a little, and your hands grip at the edges of the blanket, tugging it around your body. He can hear how your breathing is unsteady, and when you slowly turn, the glassy look you have over your eyes and the confusion so prominent pull at his heart, and he really has to resist pulling you into his chest so you can use his scent and embrace to calm down.

“Angel…” - Hoseok speaks slowly, trying to get you to really focus on him; you're deep in another sort of headspace, one that's often brilliant, but should you be upset and confused like you are now, it can be terrifying.

Your heart beating in your own ears is louder than Hoseok’s voice; he sounds almost far away. There’s something soft and heavy and warm wrapped around your body, and you’d quite like to slide to the ground right now. You shouldn’t do that though. You’re so deep in your mind that you don’t notice that Hoseok is fluttering his scent around you in small waves, ones that make you breathe in instinctually and subconsciously and then let go again. He saw you were breathing in a weird pattern, hardly enough to be healthy, and when you didn’t respond to him calling out your name, his alpha clawed at him to let him try something. He did, and the scent waves got you in a lot more regular breathing pattern, although the flushes of his scent make your eyes all droopy again. You are more present now, just a little dizzy.

“It’s time to go home, angel; I’m going to drive you. Is that okay?” - He speaks quietly, firm enough for you to feel grounded but not enough to scare you. You’re still only half here, slowly getting back, but you need to be somewhere you feel comfortable, asap and he’s not letting you walk home like this.

You’re confused; you don’t quite know what happened but you nod because the idea of going home like this alone feels really off-putting right now. Namjoon has begun to walk you home after your evenings like this anyway and Jimin and Jungkook do too-

Taehyung sees it happening, clears up their plates, and grabs both of their bags. He couldn’t see what was happening with Hobi standing in front of you, but he can hear it, and he feels bad for not noticing sooner, but he can’t dwell on that right now.

They make sure you lock up and do anything desperately needed, and then they take a short walk with you down to near the Hybe building, Taehyung helping you into Hobi’s car, and it’s only a short ride to your house, but in that time you slumped to the side, leaning your head against Taehyung’s shoulder, who’d opted to sit next to you in the back. His warmth envelopes you enough for you to half-fall asleep, eyes barely open. He has to gently shake you to wake you up enough to get into your building.

You thank them, and Hoseok walks you to the door, his hand hovering over the small of your back, protectively, maybe a bit possessively, never quite touching but nearly. When you get in, all you can think about is your nest, and you don't even unravel the blanket still held around your shoulders before barreling in and dozing off.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What was that, hyung” - Taehyung slowly realises that while he thought he wasn’t, he might be in a very similar boat to Jungkook because he has absolutely no idea what just happened; he wouldn’t have known what to do- not unless he listened to his alpha- whom he pushed back in that moment.

“Something kind of similar to what happened with Kook, except she was physically awake and he wasn’t” - It’s the only way Hoseok can compare it to something, this way it makes sense, at least more than it did

“Probably being so close triggered her instincts and put her in a less conscious state; i don’t think she is used too it… Most omegas get like that with scenting, and it often forces a need to nest and scent amongst other stuff.” - Hoseok hadn’t yet moved the car, not taking his eyes off the door in case you suddenly came rushing back down. Taehyung furrows his brows because…

“But i didn’t scent her” - Taehyung mumbles out in confusion but Hoseok just gave him a ‘are you serious’ kind of look

“So rubbing your cheek all over her head wasn’t you scenting her?” - Hoseok asks, eyebrows raised in sarcasm. Taehyung slumps; he hadn’t noticed he was scenting you.

“I mean, yeah, it’s probably the mildest form of scenting, but she was rubbing into your chest and your arms too; it probably rubbed off on her a whole lot more than either of you think” - Hoseok reasons. Taehyung frowns because he really hadn’t realised; he wishes he had.

“Anyways, i don’t think she’s used too it, scenting nor her headspace.” - Hoseok continues, shaking his head, finally putting the car in drive and slowly pulling away.

Taehyung’s alpha is full of pride for being able to lead you into said headspace but he’s also internally whining since he wasn’t the one to help you or comfort you and bring you back to being calm when you were so confused.

“It’s only really safe for her to fall into that sort of space when she’s somewhere she can comfortably nest and do anything she needs too, imagine if Jungkook had tackled Jimin and done that anywhere but at home” - Hoseok is conflicted for leaving you alone but also knows you might not have appreciated him staying, he can only hope that you won’t feel upset after you come back to yourself.

Taehyung realises quickly that he isn’t nearly as confident with the relationship you are all slowly beginning to form as he thought he was and the moment they get back he is researching and researching, anything and everything to do with Omegas so he isn’t caught not knowing what to do once again. You’d think he would know, even just instinctually but not quite, their world means they have to learn to get a hold of their instincts and heavily suppress them often.

Scenting is common in packs, they all scent eachother in their pack, some more often than others and they all have their methods, most primarily using their wrists but Jimin and Jungkook and occasionally the others tend to use nuzzling as another form. Its for comfort, calms their instincts enough to be manageable, it’s needed. You on the other hand, only scent your own belongings, of course your friends puff their scent around you when they are out with you but you don’t scent eachother.

A sort of gap, a hole feels a little more full after being mildly scented by Taehyung, a more intense version of the fuzzy feeling you got a glimpse of when Jimin had dried your hair for you and his wrists had occasionally brushed over your head. It lulls you deep into sleep in your nest, laying belly up, strange and different for you- you always curl into yourself or sleep on your front, instinct to protect your belly even if your only in your own nest. You’ll get hung up on what happened tomorrow.

It’s kind of accepted, the slow form of a relationship thats going on between you all, you don’t voice it, in fact you try to ignore it but fate has a funny way of pushing things to happen.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following night, you’re getting ready for your weekly dinner with the girls, going somewhere a little more fancy tonight. Physical preparation like choosing a nice silk dress and kitten heels with your hair nicely styled is a small part of the rest of your prep, the mental prep of confronting the development of your relationship with bangtan. This night, you’ll speak to the girls about it, discuss what to do, where to go, explain your mind, your behaviours and hope they can bring you some insight, help you get ready.

That begins after you have had your first drink, just a sweet glass of rosé. Your friends arent blind to what’s been going on, they are simply waiting until you are ready to also confront it.

“I’ve been feeling weird lately” - Is how you start off with, the girls turn their full attention to you, already knowing whats coming and fully prepared, excited for you too.

“Weird how?” - Minnie asks, wanting more information as shes one of the unfortunate ones who isn’t at work with you everyday to see it first hand

“Just very… in tune with my omega?” - They hum in understanding, you fiddle with your fingers trying to think of how to put it into words

“Well… that can happen when you experience changes in a relationship you know” - Miyeon tells you and then continuing

“Is there anyone that could possibly be relevant too?” - They already know there is but this is about going at your pace, helping you confront it and go forward.

“Theres a group, i met them a while ago now and it feels like my omega resurfaces everytime im around them but tenfold…”

“The lovesick puppies” - Soojin states, a knowing smile on her face and you blush a little, grumbling about the name shes chosen

“You should listen Y/n, if it feels right then let it happen” - Minnie tells you, nudging your shoulder where she is next to you

“It feels like i should but its so different and im acting strange around them, like… giggly and feeling fuzzy” - You cringe at your own description of it but thats what it is… Some of them laugh a little at your expression.

“Oh Y/nnie, come on, tell us about it”

“I feel safe around them, like a different kind of comfort and then i feel all strange like- when Jimin was at my apartment my omega was telling me to take him to my nest?!” - You whisper yell the end of it, clearly conflicted and taking another gulp of your wine. They coo and fret as if it’s the cutest thing in the world, gushing and practically petting your head like a dog.

“You like them Y/n, or atleast, your omega does.” - Soyeon tells you, looking at you fondly, you furrow your brows because in reality, you know that, you’ve just tried to ignore it.

“Yesterday, i was dancing with Taehyung and after i just couldn’t stop thinking about nesting and having his scent close, i didnt even feel fully present it was so weird…” - You shoot them a look as if to say - dont pry about the dancing - and they dont, even if theres a few wiggles of eyebrows and smirks around.

“Did he scent you?”

“I dont know?-” - You look at her mentally saying, ‘did you not just hear what i said i wasn’t really all there.’ and she puts her hands up in surrender so Soojin takes over

“You might of got a bit of a scent high, your omega being more present than usual and clearly happy by the sounds of it”

“Oh what do i do…” - You put your head in your hands, a little stressed

“Can i tell you exactly what i think you should do?” - Yuqi asks, you shoot up looking at her like yes- tell me right now…

“Just accept it, let it happen, if it feels right then just see where this goes, let your omega be more present around them, listen and i think you’ll find yourself very happy” - The rest of the girls nod and add little comments, mostly just reinforcing Yuqi’s words and you sit a little conflicted because yeah they are helping but its easier said than done…

“Pushing away what you really want will only hurt Y/n, just try it, yeah?” - Soojin says, arm wrapping around Shuhua happily and the image of those two together helps, her words come from a place of experience and after a small moment of contemplation you nod

“Okay… i’ll try it” - The entire table erupts in cheers and tease, you stubbornly push away all their hands, fixing your ruffled hair and Minnie calls thats shes getting another round of wines for you all in celebration

You still don’t know exactly where its going but now, your embracing it.

“Okay now tell us all about the moments your so clearly hiding” - Soyeon pushes, all of them turning to you in agreement, you flush never thinking you’d been obvious but clearly they caught onto your behaviour before you really did yourself.

“Jimin gave me back my clothes and they smelt like him and the pack and i put them straight in my nest…” - You cover your burning face with your hands, smiling beneath them and the girls are loud, teasing and prodding you, pretty much fangirling over your small developments.

“I think they seem very nice, just generally good people” - Minnie says, approving from both the interactions she’s had with them directly and based on what shes seen and heard with you. Yuqi and Soojin agree, nodding and sharing your little secrets about always letting them stay late and reserving their favourite’s for them.

“I think your more whipped than you realise Y/nnie” - Miyeon tells you, smiling and cooing.

“Theres one thing that’s kinda stuck with me though…” - You trail off, they push you to tell them

“I wear scent patches pretty much all the time but Yoongi told me it’s as if i dont and that he can smell me, like really strong even with them on and then he showed me he was wearing them too and that all of them wear them but thats not possible because their scents are so- strong” - You furrow your brows, still hooked on that whole interaction even if you did try to push it down.

“They definitely wear them Y/n, i can only slightly smell them” - Yuqi tells you, Soojin and Soyeon agreeing

“And we can hardly smell you either, only because we know what you smell like can we really identify it” - Okay this has not exactly helped- you wanted them to say that yeah their scents are overpoweringly strongbut no-

“This is probably more of your omega trying to push you towards them Y/n and their alphas the same, if you like their scents then enjoy it” - Shuhua tells you knowing that it happened with one of her friends and her mate, it only slightly settles you but you just huff out, another gulp of wine and you’re all on your second- some third- glasses by now.

“After your scent started to get sweeter occasionally, I noticed it happens mostly around them you know, and didn’t Dr.Kim tell you that you should be fine getting your heat on time so it wasnt that” - Minnie pushes and the girls gush- you definitely feel bad for the tables around you guys.

“Let’s just agree that you let it happen and see where everything goes?” - Minnie asks and you give a firm nod, refusing to dwell on the little details more right now, especially with you starting to get a bit tipsy.

“Okay but do keep telling us about any of these interactions-” - Shuhua pushes, wiggling her eyebrows at you and you blurt that theres nothing to tell-

Your fancy night ends with them teasing and dancing you around the paths on the walk back to your apartment, tey always do this, make sure you get home first even when you insist you don’t need it. You go to sleep with a lighter mind, a new kind of positivity to where this strange and new road is taking you.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few nights later you’re cherishing your slow wind down to closing time. You haven’t seen much of the boys but since your chat with the girls, every time you have seen them it just feels a little more right, easier and you welcome it. It’s been a long day, you’ve felt particularly jittery and a little like you don’t want to be around so many people, just one of those days really.

These are the kinds of evenings you often look forward too. When the air is just right, spring is rolling in and its warming up the nights, the sun looks particularly beautiful in its descent tonight. It may be your favourite time of day, this very particular window of time. The moon is slowly rising, you can’t help but look and smile whilst in-between the few customers that come in at this time. It’s a quiet evening, you appreciate that.

As much as you love the bustle and energy your cafe gets most days, these quieter evenings are the ones you cherish. The lighting of the cafe is always just a dim, warm light, to mimic your favourite time of the day. The music feels distant but oh so present at the same time, blissful. Theres barely a few customers in now, you have 30 minutes until closing and if you get lucky, there will be maybe 1 or 2 more tonight.

He doesn’t disturb your peace, Namjoon, he comes in and no matter what he did, you think he couldn’t pause your bliss. He’s kind of like these evenings, sometimes when you glance over you think he shouldnt be here, not in the heart of Seoul, he should be somewhere in the countryside, rural, delicate, so naturally beautiful.

You find he has a preference for coming in at this time when he can, sits in the same spot everytime, the best spot in the cafe in your opinion. He has his glasses on tonight, a book in hand, this is how these evenings go, you will slowly finish up, making yourself a sweetened fruit tea, sometimes you vary your choice, go for a different kind of tea, most of the time you don’t. Pick out one of your bakes, usually one you’ve reserved for yourself at the beginning of the day before setting them on display and quietly, without a word, you’ll make your way over. Namjoon’s presence is a balm to your slight jitters, you wouldn’t want any other company - other than maybe any of the others in bangtan too.

The silence is always welcomed between you two, always. Neither of you know when it became so routine but he will briefly lift his eyes from his book, even though he knows its you by the doughy, sweet scent that gently fluffs around him like the pillows hes lying back on. A small smile is sent your way, its enough to tell you how his day has been, just by the energy behind that momentary smile. You’ll quietly begin to eat whatever you’ve chosen for the day, Namjoon will read to the end of his chapter.

Only then will he dog-ear the page; he never has a bookmark on hand. He sets it down, you read the title, then you’ll look back up at him, offer a satisfied smile, always because you are usually naturally happy at this time of day. Namjoon always looks especially handsome with his glasses on, then often slip and he gently pushes them back up, the same way he wipes his curtains out of his face when they get a little too long.

Namjoon’s tired today, not upset but just tired. Your presence is welcomed, he appreciates it, you seem to understand without a single word.

You always stare out, daydream of one day residing in what you hope to call your forever home, somewhere with a view that looks especially beautiful at this time of day. You never fret, never push at his shoulders to tell you how hes feeling, never be anything but yourself because as far as your instinct to care and dote goes, this is what Namjoon needs. Your omega settles when you simply accompany Namjoon, let him lead if he would like to talk, guide the conversation when he gets a little frustrated, you know he appreciates it.

Namjoon’s always curious as to how you take your tea, you cycle through a specific few colours of tea each time you end up here - a few times a week at the very least. While you have a preference for your teas, what flavours you pick and the specific levels of sweetness, you don’t have a preference for the mug that holds it, never particular, never the same.

He’s grown partial to a mint tea in the evenings, a half teaspoon of honey when he does it the first time. Every time, you set out the little pot of honey for him to make it to his taste for the first cup he has, the second cup he has is always after you’ve arrived, you do it for him that time. Sometimes you add a singular drop extra, on the days where you claim he needs the extra sweetness with a teasing smile, if he has a third, you do it for him then too. It’s just how it goes.

Halfway through your time together, you will stand to pull the shutter on the door down and flip the sign to closed, then rejoin him. He’d worried the first time, thinking he should leave, you reassured him you didn’t want him too, since then, he hasnt questioned it.

“Do you think about the future often?” - It’s the first thing he says to you today, since you’ve sat down that is. Perhaps you’d think the first thing he’d ask about is your day, thats often not the case, you like this much more. Namjoon’s intelligent in a way far deeper than academics, he’s still learning he says, still growing, and you believe him but wisdom comes with time and care. His intelligence is refreshing, its raw and real, its sometimes clumsy but this is his first time living, its also yours. You’ve claimed he is far more intelligent than he knows, that you can see it, that you’ve heard and seen it, he didn’t agree, he still doesn’t; that doesn’t matter because we all see the flaws in ourselves far heavier than others will, often we degrade and push down our positives in favour for confronting the negatives.

His emotional intelligence is a positive, hes doesn’t see it the way you see it.

“Occasionally” - You say after a moment, he leaves it open for you to continue, you do.

“We are all living in the present but, i have things i imagine for the future, or rather, id like to hope ill get to experience at some time in my life” - You don’t dote on the future every second of the day, fate is a funny thing, it’s unpredictable, you leave the rest of your life open for question, don’t tie it to an expectation but there are things you’d like to imagine one day you’ll experience.

“Tell me about them” - Is all he says in response, he’s not staring, infact his eyes are kind of lidded, as if he might fall asleep but you know he wont, you know he’s listening. He’s inquisitive, always curious, you like that about him. He likes to learn, learn about the people around him, the general and the not so general, you like that too.

“They are the type of things most people hope to experience; i’d love to travel, to explore the world for what it is, find the beauty in both the rural and urban, to paint a picture of it in my mind for every place i’m able to visit” - Namjoon doesn’t respond, he lets you continue once again because he thinks your mind is truly artistic, beautiful, romantic. You live in the realistic, but you speak to romanticise things your passionate about. He finds that differs from your attempt to make it seem like you say the same as everyone.

“I’d like to see love, from anywhere i am able to visit, maybe one day ill be lucky enough to experience it but- im not set on when, we may be able to mold our futures to an extent but fate can sway and push at anything we might think is set in stone. If i ever fall in love, i think ill treasure it, i’ll forever be grateful, i don’t think every attraction is love, i think it’s something different and otherworldly and that’s why i more so want to see it, to slowly form my own definition for what i think love is.” - You take a sip of your tea as if Namjoon isn’t looking at you like you’ve just fluttered down from heaven. He’s not smiling for a moment but then he is,

“Do you think you’ve seen it before?” - It might seem silly to anyone else to ask that but with what you just said, Namjoon, and you, think its wholly justified. Your smile is faraway, dreamy and its enough of an answer even before you nod. You don’t want to redefine love, you just want to find what it really looks like to you.

“I think love can be fleeting moments, it doesn’t always equivilate to long term but if i could pick, id like to experience both, maybe i already have, maybe i just havent quite realised it yet” - Namjoon’s throat feels dry, he doesn’t get to have these conversations often, you could of answered so simply ‘i want to travel and love’ but you told him how, why, where, you told him it so rawly that it couldn’t be simple, he likes that so much more, he likes you so much more.

Maybe you don’t know what you do to him, maybe you do but it doesn’t matter to Namjoon, you’re a different kind of new for him, sure, hes had deep conversations, of course he has but this feels so different and he embraces it. This is how you grow, this is how you learn.

“Am i rambling?” - You ask, you know he will answer you truthfully.

“Never” - Namjoon answers you breathily; it sounds like its almost pushed out of his chest, genuine, pure.

“Id also like a balcony, this chat would be nice on a balcony” - You add, smile reaching your eyes because its random in comparison to all you’ve just said but Namjoon appreciates it nonetheless and agrees, mind drifting to this exact conversation but on a balcony, somewhere in one of the places you’d want to travel, maybe italy.

Most would think its time for you to reciprocate his questions now but you’ve learnt to understand Namjoon, thats not what he wants, he just wanted to learn, he doesn’t always want to have a back and forth, not in the traditional manner, so you’ll wait. You’ll sit comfortably in silence, watching the sun slowly set, you know he’ll speak up if he wants too, you trust that.

He’s the voice of so much, so often, its part of his life that sometimes silence is his remedy, sometimes he wants to be the listener, he always wants to be the listener with you.

“Tell me more, anything” - Namjoon’s voice is once again breathy, the kind of deep that lulls you into calm. You smile, thinking of something random to tell him. It’s not exactly random though, its meaningful.

“My favourite fruit is a pomegranate” - You give him a slightly brighter smile and he returns one, not as full as yours but he knows you have a reason for it, he wants to know it.

“They take a long time to prepare” - Is all he says, you laugh just a little, nodding. He finds he feels a little clumsy when hes with you, more than usual, in how he speaks, he often feels embarrassed for his blunt answers with you but you never do more than a little laugh, not at him though, you like it.

“I like pomegranates for how they taste, I don’t mind spending 10, maybe 15 minutes taking out every bit of fruit, i’ve learnt the best way to cut them so that i dont bruise or burst a single piece, if your impatient and not careful you’ll waste a lot of the fruit. Good things take time, sometimes a little more work but its worth it to me” - Namjoons still giving you that look; he’s finished his tea and you take his moment of silence to walk to the counter and brew a small pot of mint tea for him, giving him a bit of time to ponder.

When you return, fill his cup and put just the right amount of honey, he blurts out the first thing on his mind, its clumsy, he always is, its cute, you really like it.

“Teach me someday- how to do it” - He says, you look up after and your heart skips a beat, he’s looking at you with so much admiration that you breathe out shakily, warm all over, wrapping yourself in a blanket, gently kneading it with your hands and you nod, promising you will. He sits back when you do, his own heart in his ears, it feels like a promise far deeper than just teaching him how to cut a piece of fruit.

Distracted, he hardly notices how the tea is steaming and just as he lifts his cup to take a sip, you reach out, guiding his hand back down to the table slowly so that he doesn’t spill it, your blanket shifting off your shoulder as you do so, you’re half knelt on the chair to reach over, having brought your legs up and under you. Maybe it’s a little too intimate to other people; you’re basically nesting. Namjoon lets you, encourages it, and feels far less tired for some reason at it.

“It’s hot” - Is all you say and he nods, smiling a little sheepishly, noting to let it cool down before you have to stop him from running straight into disaster again. You giggle at his expression, its music to his ears, he finds himself joining.

You continue your quiet push and pull of the blanket you’ve wrapped around yourself, blinking slowly and your eyes drooping a little but theres no where you’d rather be, not even your nest. It’s true that listening to what your omega wants does feel good, a little bit of light nesting right here in his company is bold but you don’t hold back. Namjoon feels like he could be holding you here, speaks the obvious to give you an out but you shut him down.

“You’re tired” - He says, looking at you with mild concern. You’re nearly nesting right in front of him-—surely you’re uncomfortable, right? You’re not, you feel quite content actually.

“I’m happy” - And Namjoon’s melting all over again, he’ll stay right here until you want to leave. A quiet happy grumble rising in his throat as he cant pry his eyes off of your light nesting right in front of him. So intimate. Safe and comfortable.

Namjoon tends to reveal small things about himself gradually, randomly, either in his stories or just in a sentence in the silence. You smile and register each and every one, mentally noting them and, when its right, giving your input.

His imperfections feel so welcomed by you, each and every one, he can be himself, no expectations, no underlying standard.

He’s travelled, to so many places, something about your input makes him want to do it all over again and more, but in your way this time, go where the wind takes him, hes a romantic at heart and so are you. He wants to go with you this time.

When its finally time to go tonight, he’ll walk you home, walk a lot closer than usual, arms brushing and fingers occasionally reaching out to dance over eachothers, you don’t need to confront how you both want to be hand in hand, it’s a silent agreement. For now, you’ll both settle with this. Subconsciously, you lean a little into Namjoon’s warmth, just like your omega wants and Namjoon leans his own body just a little closer for you. Omegas run colder after all, and alphas run a whole lot warmer.

At your apartment building, you’ll be brave, listen to your omega, and reach out, wrap your arms around Namjoon’s middle, press your face to his chest and while your wrap is certain and soft, Namjoon’s arms wrapping all around your back and down to your own waist is tight, almost desperate with how fast he responds; pulling you even closer until your feet are between his own, your move the affirmation he needed to show his appreciation for you. His head is dipped down, subtly nuzzling into your hair, not quite scenting even if he wants too. You feel so good in his arms, they’re strong and protective and you feel so calm, so settled.

You breathe him in deep, he breathes you in deeper, both your hearts pumping in sync. The stars aligned. Not just for you and Namjoon, but for 6 other souls, in the heart of Seoul.

These evenings will later be ones you realise are moments you consider to be love, you’ll cherish them, every single one, every before and every to come. Your last two months have been full of love youll later recognise, from your dance with Taehyung, your chats with Namjoon, Yoongi’s quiet care, your walks with Jimin and Jungkook, the list goes on. You won’t realise it just yet, not so quickly - not to the extent that it is at least - neither, none of you will, but soon, amidst one of your moments of silence, you both will. For now, they are simply, or not so simply, exactly what they are.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed todays chapter

As always my asks are open! Lmk what you think!

Lmk if you want to be added to Taglist x

Mwah 💖

ཐི♡ཋྀ

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Taglist: @annasixx22 @canarystwin @borahaetelevision @stay-tiny-things @chasinghxran @bangtan4lifetypeshit @bubblyyz @steddie-steddie @7milkbread7 @welcometomyworld13 @chroniclesofbts @sidnaazsworld @roryy95 @danielle143 @angel121 @imeverycliche @m00njinnie @kiki-zb @meowforluv @jiminsfavpillow @dachshunddame @corgilover20 @minjianhyung @loopychick @lizzy23-02

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (23/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: There's nothing sweeter than unexpected visitors.

Warnings: 18+ (just be prepared for some words), fluff (like a lot), Pascale is the sweetest thing on this planet, teeny tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 3.2k

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A/N: hello everyone! I hope you all are doing okay after the Ferrari-Carlos-Lewis thing, because I'm still in denial. this is mostly fluff, because I couldn't manage you dealing with more bad stuff this week. love you! feedback is appreciated!

Before you can say anything or even react, the blonde woman lets go of your hands and snatches one of the magazines lying on the coffee table in front of you. She rolls it up with her slender fingers before smacking Charles across the back of the head. 

"Maman!" he exclaims angrily, rubbing his head. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

The woman holds the magazine under his chin so that the Monegasque has no choice but to look her in the eye and return her stare. "That's no way to talk to your mother." She puts the magazine back in its rightful place before turning to you again. "Try again, chéri."

Your friend has to hold back a grin before he spreads his arms out and hugs his mother. "Good morning, Maman. It's really good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, mon chéri," she replies lovingly, stroking his broad back once with her hand before releasing herself from the tight embrace. She puts her hands to his cheeks to study his face. "I didn't know you were back home."

Charles tilts his head, his mouth forming a thin line. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know," he replies meekly, taking her hands from his cheeks so that he can press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I've had a lot on my mind."

"I can see that." She pulls her hands from his and then turns to face you. When she looks at you, you stiffen. All of a sudden, you feel as if you're naked in Charles' clothes, she's looking at you so piercingly. "I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself properly yet. I'm not usually as rude as my son." Charles rolls his eyes as her smile is affectionate and gentle. Then she wraps you in a hug that is careful, but firm nonetheless. It's a good hug. "I am Pascale. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." After you've also introduced yourself, you return her smile. 

"Now that you two have met," Charles interrupts your conversation. "How do we come to be honored with your company, Maman?"

As if it was her own home, her own four walls, Pascale leaves the hallway and goes into the kitchen, where she grabs a cup and makes herself an espresso at the coffee machine. Like two lost puppies, the two of you follow the beautiful woman. "I was called in tears last night." When the loud buzzing of the machine stops, she takes a sip of her coffee before placing it on the countertop. "Can someone explain that to me?" With her eyes glued to her son like an annoying price sticker on a new plate, you're off the hook. 

"I didn't think she'd call you."

She?

"And I didn't think you'd just kick her out of the apartment without giving her some warning," Pascale replies sharply, raising an eyebrow to show her disapproval of Charles' behavior. "She called me in the middle of the night, upset with you and crying bitterly because you kicked her out of the apartment with a simple text message."

Something flashes in your mind. When you followed Charles back to the bedroom last night, he was typing away on his cell phone. And when you told him that he'd be crazy if you went with him to the apartment where his ex still lives, he assured you that she wouldn't be there. 

You didn't expect him to just throw Annika out of the apartment so that you would have a safe place where Raphael couldn't harm you.

"Maman." Charles raises his hands placatingly. "It wasn't like that."

"So you didn't send her a text message telling her to pack her things and leave within thirty minutes?" When Charles doesn't reply, but simply stares at his mother open-mouthed, she runs her fingers through her hair in bewilderment. "I didn't bring you up like that. Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Maman -"

"No 'Maman'." Judging by the look on her face, she would like to hit him over the head with the magazine again. "Do you know what the consequences could be?"

"Maman -"

"She could go public with it!"

"Maman -"

"And - and damage your reputation! She could -"

"Maman!" Charles almost shouts at his mother to break out of her mental spiral. She looks angrily at her son, who takes a small step towards her. He lowers his hands. "Annika cheated on me."

As if all the air had escaped her body, Pascale plops down on the chair where you were eating pancakes just a few minutes ago. She puts her face in her hands and takes a deep breath before looking at her son again. She tries to blink away the tears in her eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you, mon chéri?"

Without answering, Charles closes the distance to his mother and holds her tightly in his arms. He rests his cheek on the top of her head and closes his eyes. "It's all right, Maman. Please don't worry, okay?" He squeezes his mother a little tighter as her arms wrap around his middle. "It's all right. I'm all right. I'm in good hands here."

Pascale's gaze flickers to you and a small smile crosses her beautiful face. You recognize Charles in it. "You'll take good care of him, won't you?"

You feel the blood rush to your face. Suddenly it feels wrong to be witnessing this loving conversation between mother and son. "Of course." With everything I have.

"Very well, chéri," Pascale finally says, gently pushing her son away. "Your brother is coming to visit tomorrow. As you haven't seen each other for a while, I'd like you to come to dinner. He would definitely be happy to see you." She looks at you again. "You too, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, Charles looks at you and shakes his head, barely noticing, so you don't turn down her invitation. "All right, maman. We'll be there." He nudges her lightly with his elbow. "As long as there's pasta e pollo."

Pascale rolls her eyes. "You're incorrigible, Charles." She smiles at him anyway. "Your new girlfriend gets to decide. After all, she's the new addition to our family and I want to make a good impression."

"Maman, she's -" Charles tries to explain himself, but his mother merely raises her hand to silence him. When Charles and your eyes meet, you feel warm. And when he pushes his lower lip forward, he looks so cute that you can't help but agree with him. 

"Pasta e pollo sounds great."

Pascale gets up from her chair. "Very good. Then I'll get everything ready for tomorrow." She strides past you towards the front door and you follow her again. "I'll see you tomorrow evening. I'll let you know the exact time, mon chéri." She kisses Charles' right and then left cheek before repeating it with you. "Tomorrow we'll have enough time to talk about all this. And to get to know each other better."

"I can hardly wait," you answer her honestly.

"That's very nice. Then I'll see you tomorrow evening. Bonne journée," she wishes you before disappearing from the apartment just as quickly as she came in. As the door closes behind her, you both exhale deeply.

"I'm so sorry." Charles turns to face you.

You cross your arms in front of your chest. "Sorry for what exactly? Your mother suddenly showing up here?"

He runs his hand through his hair and leans back against the closed door. "That you're now forced to spend the evening with my family. And that I didn't make it clear that we're just friends."

You run your tongue along the inside of your teeth. "It's okay, there's plenty of time for that." Then you smile. "Your mom seems nice. I have no problem spending time with her."

He laughs briefly and then leans his head against the white wood. "It's not my mom that worries me. It's my brothers. They can be really - you know - brothers sometimes."

You walk towards him and lower your arms. "Why? Are they that bad?"

He grabs one of your hands and plays with your fingers. His eyes search yours. "I think it's better if you make up your own mind about them."

"So they're that bad?" you joke, allowing him to pull you closer so that you're standing between his legs. "If they're anything like you, I think I'll get on well with them."

His free hand rests on your hip. Despite the layers of fabric, you can feel the warmth of his skin. "Then you'll hate Arthur." His fingers press gently into your flesh before something behind you catches his attention and he releases you - too quickly for your liking. As you turn around, the piano catches your eye and the roses standing on it. 

"What's the plan for today?" you ask him, trying to draw his attention back to you. You release his hand from your hip, but only to pull him into the kitchen so he doesn't have to look at those stupid roses anymore. "Do you have to do anything? Gym? Or do you have any appointments?"

Charles sits down in his chair and fishes his cell phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. "I don't think so," he answers and takes a look at his online calendar before placing his cell phone on the counter in front of him. "I don't have any appointments or commitments to meet until after Christmas. Until then, I'm all yours." His smile is sweet as sugar and your heart skips a beat.

You want to grab him by the collar of his shirt, pull him across the worktop and kiss him until you can't breathe. Touch him until the countertop is used for something other than cooking, but this morning you convinced yourself that this friendship is the right and, above all, the only way this can work. And that you wouldn't do anything to sabotage this friendship.

"How about we use this time wisely then, huh?" You reach for Pascale's coffee cup and rinse it. 

"Do you have an idea?" He raises an eyebrow and has to stifle a smile when he sees your grin. "Of course you have one. Otherwise you wouldn't have asked like that. Fire away."

"So," you start and put the cup back in its place in the cupboard. "We've finally spoken and we've agreed to stay in this apartment together."

"As friends," the Monegasque confirms the thought you just had, even if you don't understand why he has to say it out loud. 

Your eyes dart towards the hallway, knowing that the white piano with the red roses is just a few meters away. "What do you say we go out today and buy some new things for the apartment?" you suggest. "Then I could get things for my room and maybe something else to make it feel a bit more like home."

"You mean to make it feel like it's your apartment too?" Charles leans back in his chair a little and runs his hand through his hair. 

"Only if that's okay with you. After all, it's your apartment and I could understand if you wanted to leave everything as it is at the moment and -" you babble nervously without thinking about what you're saying. You look at him worriedly and try to read his face to see if you might have crossed a line. 

"That's actually a good idea," Charles finally replies, smiling at you. "But are you ready for it?"

"For what?" you ask, confused, leaning against the countertop, which - unfortunately - is only used for cooking.

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "For being seen outside. With me." He looks at you like a kicked puppy that's been abandoned on the street in the middle of the night.

"I told you I have no problem with that," you assure him and walk around the kitchen counter to sit next to him. You reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers. "We're friends, Charles. We know we're friends. And I don't care what anyone else thinks they know about us." You tilt your head a little to one side. "Our friendship is real - and that's why we're going right out there to buy some new stuff for the apartment."

His smile almost makes your heart stop. "For our apartment," he corrects you, his green eyes twinkling.

"Our apartment," you repeat softly. 

"Okay." He lowers his gaze to your hands, and the way his fingers wrap around yours makes it feel like they're perfect for each other. The two of you spending time together shouldn't make you this happy. "But we'll only go on one condition."

"What's that?" 

"We're not going alone. We're taking Pierre and Kika with us so that it doesn't look like we're shopping for furniture for our apartment as a couple in love." The fact that he doesn't want to go out alone with you feels like a punch in the gut. When he notices the hurt look on your face, he squeezes your fingers gently twice. "It's just to protect you, Y/N."

The fact that he doesn't trust you to do this hits you harder than it should. How many times do you have to tell him you're ready? That the opinions of others don't matter to you as long as you have Charles by your side? Does he really think you're that weak?

"I don't need to be protected," you reply sharply and take your hand away from him. 

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he tries to reassure you, but the fact that he's talking down your feelings doesn't make things any better. 

"Maybe not," you say annoyed and get up from your chair. "But there will come a point when we're on our own. And then everyone's going to be talking shit about us, I get it. And I get that it's going to be bad." You don't care that you're acting like a defiant child. The fact that Charles doesn't want to be seen alone with you hurts more than you would ever admit. "So why not today?"

The young man in front of you looks away from you with a crestfallen expression before also rising from his chair. When he reaches for your hand again, you allow it. "I want you to be able to turn away from me if it gets too much for you. I want you to have the chance to live a normal life if you do decide against me." His other hand rests against your cheek and you snuggle up to him as if it were a reflex. "I don't want you to regret meeting me."

The fact that he thinks you could ever regret befriending him stabs straight through your heart. He wants to protect you from something you both have no control over, and although you'd like to stroll through Monaco holding hands with him, you can understand him.

He is trying to protect both you and himself. And you can understand that all too well. 

"All right," you give in and smile gently at him. "Then ask them if they're free and up for it today. It could be fun."

Charles lets go of you and the warmth that had been flowing through your body immediately disappears. While he talks to Pierre on the phone, you go back to your room to get changed and think about what would look good in your room. 

Different curtains wouldn't go amiss, and some candles and a small mirror would look good on the white chest of drawers opposite the bed. You might also find some new bedding that -

"Y/N?" Charles' voice echoes through the apartment. You find him in the doorway of the master bedroom, where he glances over his shoulder in your direction. "Pierre and Kika are about to head out, then we'll leave together." 

"Okay," you reply, glancing past him into the room. There are a few things lying around that are definitely not his, and the decor doesn't suit him very well either. "So this is your room?" 

"Uh-huh." He wrinkles his mouth a little. 

"What's wrong with it? Apart from the obvious, of course."

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Everything. I don't see anything in it that I wouldn't change."

You'd be only too happy to set the whole room on fire if it would certainly help him. Just like the roses that have burned themselves into your memory. You nudge him with your elbow. "Then we've got a lot planned for today." You look at each other and when he reaches for your hand, you have to smile. "You don't have to go through this alone, Charles. We can do this as long as we're together."

His gaze flickers briefly from your eyes to your lips. "Together," he says softly in return, leaning down a little towards you so that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. His warm breath caresses your face as his free hand finds its place on his hip again to pull you against him. You feel his hard body against yours, his heartbeat under your fingertips as you place your hand on his chest. You feel his warmth as his nose bumps against yours, his hip against your stomach as he presses you against him. You feel his -

"Are you ready?" Pierre's voice comes out of nowhere as he and Kika walk through the front door. Thank God the bedroom is further back so they can't see you. 

Instead of letting you go, Charles presses you tighter against him so that you can feel him everywhere. "I think we need a new door lock," he breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. "Then no more uninvited guests can come in when we're together." 

When he finally breaks away from you, you have to take a deep breath. Although you've decided that you don't feel anything for him apart from friendship, he triggers something in you that no one before him has ever managed to do. 

You desire him. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet, you crave him, his touch, his skin on yours. And his words echo in your thoughts, making you dizzy. 

Together. Together. Together. 

You rub your face once and look after Charles, who briefly disappears in the direction of the living room, the opposite direction from your friends.

What you can't see, however, is him shoving his hand into his pants to control his raging boner, which is pressing almost painfully against the seams of his boxers. How is he supposed to put up with that when you live together?

Together. Together. Together.

[juletheghoul]

if you are still taking requests for the general can we PLEASE see what would happen if reader were ever in danger or threatened or kidnapped? to see marcus’ reaction and him do whatever it takes to get them back?? and his reaction to when he does?? 😭😭 i’m shaking askingthis omg,,

You're so right for this nonny, you're practically in my head. I was working on a chapter of the General, and it's basically this so here we go!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, violence, attack on the villa - you are hurt and Marcus gets serious, hurt/comfort, creampie, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.8k

reblogs are appreciated

Prev chapter Masterlist series masterlist

-

Your fingers cramped, his tunic had been more damaged than you’d initially thought and what you’d imagined would only take a few minutes, had taken the better part of an hour. With his tunic mended, you used the small knife to cut the thread and blessedly stretched, wincing at the ache in your back from being hunched over. An odd feeling weighed down the pit of your stomach and it was hard to place until you realized how eerily quiet the house was. Not just the familiar quiet of night, but an all-encompassing hush that seemed to cover everything like a blanket. 

No crickets chirping, no night birds singing, even the breeze seemed to have stopped. An icy finger followed the line of your spine and when his dogs began barking loudly, it almost made you jump out of your skin. 

You ignored the unease in your stomach and reassured yourself, the hour had grown late, and all of the chores had been completed. All that was left to do was fill the water basin in his private chamber, as well as yours. The dogs still barked as you made your way through the peristyle, irritated that despite being well trained, they did not relent. It was unlike them to ignore a command from your dominus and with a frown you belatedly notice one of the house's guards lying prone. 

You gasped, rushing over to him to help him, hoping it was only the heat that had gotten to him. You turned him, struggling to reach his face when your hands felt something wet, and with a barely contained scream, you saw that he had been attacked, and had not survived. The realization hit you like a knife to the belly, there was someone in the house, someone intent on sending your Dominus to the underworld. 

Ice crawling through your veins and with your heart in your throat, you ran towards his chambers to warn him.

The halls were dark and quiet as you ran as fast as your legs could carry you, praying to Diana to bless you with swiftness, to Mars to bless Marcus’ sword, and to humbly beg Pluto to stay away. 

Diana did not listen, and a shadow caught you unawares in the dark hall outside his chamber, cutting off the scream before it left your mouth. Your vision blurred as the faceless hulk behind you all but lifted you by the throat, making you squirm in his grip until he pressed the sharp tip of his blade to your back. 

“Silence!” He hissed into your ear, pain radiating from your neck, and where his knife cut shallowly into the skin of your back. You tried to scream, to kick and struggle out of his grip but it was iron, and when he slammed you back against the wall the world turned on its head. You choked on the coughs stuck in your throat, vaguely making out the angry words he hissed in your face. 

“Where is he? Where does he keep the valuables?” The fight was going out of you, your eyes, felt like they were going to pop out of your head, and your hands had surely been weighed down with something. Warmth ran down your back. 

Your vision blurred and a sinking realization hit you. 

I am going to die here.

Everything faded for a moment before you fell, hard, onto the ground. Breathing in felt like swallowing fire, your body was so heavy, and you couldn’t be sure how much time passed before you took in the scene. The man that had attacked you was on the floor before you, his eyes open, but never to see anything again. 

“Are you hurt?” His voice is like a balm and it’s with frantic hands that you clutch at him where he’s crouched in front of you. 

“Dominus-”  Your voice comes out like gravel, your throat burning so much so, tears fill your eyes and he shakes his head, shushing you softly. 

“Quiet girl, do not speak if it pains you, simply nod, are you hurt anywhere but here?” His hand is wet with blood, but it touches your neck soft as silk. You nod your head as he helps you to stand, holding you close to his warmth, his eyes scan over all of you, frowning when he sees the blood seeping through the back of your tunic, and flowing down towards your ankle. 

“Let me see.” He lifts it, turning you in his grip and an angry sound fills his mouth. 

Your heart fills with something huge, something unknowable, unnamable. 

“Can you walk?” The strength in him rears its head, and he practically holds you up, you nod your head yes and he nods back once, pressing his bloody finger to his lip to keep you quiet before tucking you in behind him. He picks up his sword and slowly, you both make your way through his halls, hunting those who dared threaten him. He pokes his head around a corner and is confronted with a small group of his attendants, the older women, the toughest of them has a knife in her hand. 

“Hide yourselves, I will find you once the threat is removed. Go to the cellar and bar yourselves in.” He nods once and they obey, trusting him to protect those who are alive. You move to join them but his free hand holds you tight. “You stay with me, girl.”

You nod and hold onto his arm like an anchor. 

He finds them in his library, rifling through his things and for a moment your heart drops at the sight of them. There are four of them, and they turn in unison, dropping his parchments and smiling to see him alone, and worst of all, accompanied by an injured slave. 

Wordlessly they begin to circle and with your throat burning, you begin to pray once more. 

One of them advances too quickly and Marcus slices him from throat to groin without blinking. The blood splatters onto Marcus and then spreads from where the man falls on the floor and you feel as though you’re stuck in a nightmare. 

“I will give the rest of you the chance to keep your lives if you leave now.” 

“To what end? You’ve seen our faces, you will just come looking for us.” One of the braver ones spits it back in his face, looking to the others for support. They advance but he doesn’t let them close enough to hurt either of you. You see why he’s earned his reputation firsthand, and your brain rebels against itself. Part of you is terrified to see such violence outside the arena, in the place that is your home no less. Another part of you though, rejoices to see him fight for his house, for you. His sword moves swiftly, as fluid as water as he cuts his way through them with terrifying ease. 

He drips in their blood, unfeeling, unseeing, until there is one left on the ground, clutching at his wounds. 

“Mercy, I beg of you!” He holds his hands up, eyes shining with a fear you have never seen. 

“The time for mercy has passed.” He blocks your view, but you hear the sound of flesh parting, a sickening gurgling sound, and then silence. 

You stand there in the dark room, still as a statue until he blocks your vision again, his bloodied hands holding your face softly. He says nothing, only holds your gaze and you cannot help but press yourself close, gripping onto his arms if only to convince yourself that he is healthy and whole before you. 

Wordlessly, he leads you away from the gore of the room. He completes his circuit of the house, finding the guards that survived the attack as well as other attackers, none of them having survived their attempt. 

He thanks them for fulfilling their duty to protect and orders them to dispose of the gore corrupting his home. He orders them to find the others hidden away, to let them know the house is once again safe. Your hands tremble, but you cannot be sure if it’s from fear or from the way he has not let you go since this whole ordeal began. You look down as he speaks his commands, to see the way his hand sits on your hip, wrapped around you, pressing you close to his side. The blood on his hands has seeped into the fabric of your tunic, it is smeared all over your arms and your neck. You swallow and the pain is still there, and when you shift his hand tightens around you, pressing into the shallow cut and you wince. 

He feels the way you shy away from the pain, and promptly dismisses his guards, advising them that fresh water and linens are to be brought to him at once. 

“Come girl, let me tend to that.”

-

The shaking does not stop, neither does the feeling of ghostly fingers wrapping themselves around your neck. Neither does the pain. Your fingers itch to do something, but with your Dominus cleaning and bandaging your wound, you can do nothing but stand in front of him, and tremble like a leaf. 

He does his best to soothe, but his gentle touch and soft words can only do so much. There is anger in you, a sharp clawing desire to break something, to hurt those that hurt you, those that snuck into his house like rats to do naught but harm. If your throat didn’t hurt so much, you’d scream. His lips bring you back though, where they press to your back when he is done bandaging you up. 

You watch him, wild-eyed with the blood still pounding in your ears, and wonder how he can be so calm, cleansing the blood off his skin like he’s done it a thousand times. But hasn’t he? The reality of him becomes crystal clear, this was nothing to him. His eyes are focused on the task at hand, they move methodically, dipping into the water and scrubbing at his face, and his arms. He undresses to the skin and continues his ritual, only looking to you once he is satisfied with his state. 

“Come, girl, undress.” Your body falls into its usual rhythm, obedience. 

You strip, careful of the wound and your neck, and once nude, you walk over to him. Silently, he dips a new cloth and sets about his task. Your face is first, gently but thoroughly cleaned of every drop of blood. Your arms next, and then your neck. You wince, but stay still. Handprints that had seeped through and marked your hip, your back, all of them wiped away like they’d never been there. He crouches and follows the trail of your blood where it had slid down the swell of your ass, down the back of your leg towards your ankle. Not a drop is spared, and then he is done.

“Thank-” It's a harsh whisper that comes out of your mouth, and he doesn’t let you finish the sentiment.

“Do not speak, I would not have you in pain. Your throat must heal and the more you speak the longer it will take.” He pressed a soft kiss to your brow, but you held him close, cold all of a sudden as you stood there in his chamber, both of you bathed in moonlight and damp from the cloth. He lets you clutch to him, lets you press yourself into the cage of his arms, and wraps you up in them. He is the cure, you do not tremble when he holds you like this. 

An ache builds, the need for comfort, for warmth, for affection. For love, whispers a tiny little part of you, a part you ignore. 

You stand on the tips of your toes and press your lips to his, hoping he can sense what you need. 

“Are you not in pain?” His fingers curl around the long line of your neck, feather-soft, holding your gaze as you try to kiss him again. You nod, but try again anyway and he holds you still. You mouth the words, exaggerating the shapes of them in your mouth so he will understand. 

“I need you.”

He searches your eyes and is satisfied with what he finds, nodding once and then finally giving you his mouth, his tongue, and the loveliest of sounds from deep in his chest. 

You take charge and push him to sit on his bed, guiding him to lie on his back and he follows where you lead, arranges himself exactly how you want him, and lets you climb onto him. You straddle his waist, fitting his hardening cock between the lips of your sex. He bites his lip, eyes focused on the way you rock yourself along his length and despite giving you control of this encounter, his hands land heavy on your hips. His fingers dig in, sliding up to hold onto your breasts, both fingers pinching and stroking at the peaked tips of them in the way he knew you liked, the way he knew would turn your cunt into a fountain of arousal. 

“Use me, girl, do what you need, take your pleasure.” One hand stayed on your breast, the other went to his lips and he dipped his thumb into his mouth, wetting it before sliding it between where the head of his cock peeked out from between your legs and slipped it over your clit. A heavy sigh leaves your mouth, the pain in your throat mingling with the pleasure between your legs. 

You bend forward, pressing your mouth to his with an urgency that claws at your very being. The desperation isn’t just in you though, there’s something of the caged animal in Marcus, a tremble in his fingers when they dig into the meat of your hips that conveys an itch to take control. You need this now though, so with his tongue in your mouth, you lean forward and lift your hips enough to give your hand room to grasp the weeping head of him, and notch it at your soaked entrance. 

It’s almost too much, the way he fills you, the slick head of him almost too deep. His cock twitches and you cannot help but clench around him, your cunt flooding with waves and waves of arousal for him. His hands are charged like the air before a storm, roaming from your thighs, to your hips, up to thumb and strum at your nipples. Moans and whimpers slip out despite the pain in your throat. 

You roll your hips, the pressure against your clit radiates out and the pleasure builds. It makes you frantic, the slip of him inside made all the better with the way you soak his lap. You speed up, chasing the friction and the pleasure just there, despite the burn in your thighs and the sweat beading on your brow with the effort of your movements. 

“That’s it girl, fuck me-” Your stomach drops with the dark thrill of him letting you take, your nipples so sensitive under his thumbs, it’s almost painful. You want to go faster, but you’re losing steam, and you let out a sigh in frustration, pushing past the discomfort. 

“Come, let me give it to you.” His hands slip around your back, and he pulls you forward, so you lie onto his chest folded into his embrace. He wraps his arms around you, fully, holding your arms to your sides so you can do nothing but take, and then he gives. 

He plants his feet, and thrusts up hard, and fast enough to make your mouth fall open in a silent scream. 

“This is how you want it, hard, you want to feel this cock for days don’t you girl?” He grunts out the words, and despite the red, violent haze of his love, you cannot help but marvel at the strength in him. 

“Yes, please Dominus, don’t stop-” It comes out whispery, into the crook of his neck but he shudders all the same, and somehow, he fucks up into you harder. You turn to liquid in his arms, shuddering when the climax hits you hard as a punch to the gut. He lets out a guttural sound, but fucks you through it just the same, drawing out the orgasm until it takes him under. 

He comes hard, rope after rope of his release painting your insides. Hot and messy and it almost makes you purr like a cat.

He lets go, both of you breathing hard, and sticky with the sweat of exertion. 

“Give me a few minutes.” He breathes hard, while you press soft kisses, and kitten licks where the salt of him collects, “I will fuck you again, I am ravenous for you, girl.” His hands reach down, and grab at the meat of your ass and you smile. 

“Yes Dominus.” It doesn’t hurt as much as it did, and you’re sure that by morning, you’ll be right as rain. 

-

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