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jaylver · 8 months ago

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AGAINST THE TIDES — P.SH

SYNOPSIS: Growing up, you’ve only had one best friend that you would call your family. Park Sunghoon. He was your partner in crime, your best friend, your ride or die, he was everything. You and him did almost anything and everything together, practically attached to the hip, and that included swimming too. As years passed, you and him both turned out to be outstanding swimmers that had a promising career ahead. All was well until one unforgettable day that broke your lifelong friendship, turning it into anger and hatred instead. With the Olympics coming up, you had unexpected news about Sunghoon joining your team. Worst of all, you had to work alongside him for the mixed medley relay event. One dream, one goal, a childhood wish you and him shared, will that be successfully achieved when you and him could barely bear standing next to each other?

PAIRINGS: pro-swimmer!sunghoon x pro-swimmer!afab!reader

GENRE: childhood friends to enemies to lovers, sports au, angst, romance, slow burn, forced proximity

WARNING(S): mentions of drinking/alcohol, profanities, (lots of) miscommunication

WC: 28k

PLAYLIST: suburban legends by taylor swift, heartburn by wafia

AUTHOR'S NOTE: after 4 months of not posting, i've vomited out 28k for y'all! i hope you guys will like this one and do forgive me for my lack of swimming knowledge helpp, i tried with my years of swimming! please leave a feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! muah xx

Was it possible to wake up from a dream that happened to be your reality?

Standing in the national aquatics training centre, the swimming pool where you've practically resided was glistening under the bright lights. Contrary to them, you were anything but bright, a sudden dread befalling your expressions.

Coming into your first day of the three months long and last training before the Olympics, you were anticipating for it to be a peaceful, fun day that would end with your muscles aching. However, the moment you stepped onto the training ground, being the first to reach, your coach had already decided to break a rather dreadful news.

"Come on, Y/N, it's nothing too bad," Jeon Jungkook, your young coach that retired early from competing and also the reason for your countless success, was trying his best to reassure you. It wasn't working.

"Not 'too bad'? Being in the same national team with him is already a sight for sore eyes to me. Now you're telling me I have to train with him under you? Together?"

Your coach was rubbing the side of his head, the early morning and the shrillness of your voice wasn't a favourable pairing to him. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but if it wasn't for Yeonjun's sudden injury, he wouldn't have to be replaced for the mixed relay,"

"Well, if only he didn't get drunk and fell off his bike," you muttered under your breath, never once taking account that this would be the consequences you were suffering from his actions. That was until this moment.

There came a sigh coming from Jungkook, his arms were crossed and he was resting his weight on one leg. "I know you and him don't get along, but I've discussed this with Coach Kim and we thought that if I replaced Yeonjun with him, it's the best decision. Plus, both of you are Olympic medallists, having two star swimmers in a team isn't all that bad,"

You were silent, stubbornly keeping quiet at the fact that you knew he was right. Of course he was, he's been your coach for years, he has his ways of choosing his words correctly when it comes to you. He knew of your drive to win, the hunger to win gold and nothing else. With a cold, hard fact that Jungkook had slapped onto your face, you had no choice but to consider and forcefully accept.

"You two have history together. Years of history. There's chemistry whether or not you like it. Period," Jungkook waved his arms around, smiling at you as if trying his best to make you feel better. "There's one thing you can't deny. Winning. When there's winners, you mix them together, then what do you get? Medals,

"So, I'm begging you, Y/N. Put up with Park Sunghoon for a few months, another few rounds at the Olympics, then we're done, he'll be back at Coach Kim. Alright?"

"But—"

"End of discussion. Go change up, I'm sure the others will be here soon, including Sunghoon, so you better not throw a tantrum," he pointed his finger at you, wagging it at you accusingly to which you responded with a discreet eye roll.

"Yes, coach."

Even in the locker, you found yourself mulling about at the thought of training with Park Sunghoon again. That name itself has sent you waves of chills countless times.

Park Sunghoon was your childhood friend. Having been your neighbour since birth, your mothers were naturally the reason why you were even friends in the first place. You were barely five when your mother placed you in the local swim club for training, then not long after, Sunghoon joined too.

Your lives mainly revolved around two things. Swimming and each other. Basically, you and him were inseparable. You shared the same coach as him even after entering your teen years. Whether it was the swim club or the youth national team, there was nothing anyone could do to separate you and him in terms of swimming or every aspect in general. Hell, you and him both specialised in the same stroke as well, breaking out into the scene to be the best prospects, earning a reputation for yourselves swiftly. Your friendship itself was known by all too. 'Star swimmers', that was what people called you and Sunghoon.

That was until a particular Wednesday in 2018 that made your nearly sixteen years of friendship with him crumble into ashes.

"I'm switching coaches. I'm switching clubs."

You remembered it clearly. It was just after nine o'clock at night when you were done showering, ready to leave and head home with Sunghoon. Yet, his words echoed in the silence of the training centre then.

"What?"

"I just don't think it's working out,"

"Sunghoon—" you never once called his full name unless it was a serious situation, "the Youth Olympic games is literally in a week. What are you even saying?"

"I don't want to lose anymore, Y/N. Do you know it feels like working my body till the point of breaking just for me to get beaten by someone better. I need to get better," his composure was breaking, you could tell, the clenched fists by his side was turning white.

Your eyes widened at the tone of his voice, but your frown only deepened at his words, nothing was making sense to you. "You're jeopardising the team!"

"I've discussed this with the coaches, I've got permission from the higher ups,"

"You're … you're selfish," you said slowly, unable to speak any longer at the shock of his sudden news. "You never bothered to discuss this with me either,"

"I don't need to,"

"So, you're disregarding our friendship altogether? We promised to tell each other everything!"

"Oh, grow up, Y/N. We were six when we said that, this is different. We're different now,"

In that split second was when a hard realisation hit you. He changed. It was almost as if the person that he once was had died overnight, revealing someone new that shared the same physical traits. Was it the results of the last competition you had days ago that made him turn into this? You never knew him losing would've affected him this badly. That was one thing about Sunghoon, he was never outspoken about his feelings and thoughts.

"You're right. You're no longer the person I know."

That was the last time you ever had a conversation with him face-to-face. The change was drastic. One day he was walking home with you and the next he wasn't even in your life, barely acknowledging each other at competitions. It was legendary, but it was momentary. To say it has taken a toll on you was an understatement. If it wasn't for your mother's consolation, you wouldn't have shown up for training and eventually won at the Youth's game.

Six years. Six, long miserable years of ignoring each other.

The year you were called up to the senior national team was the same year that he did too. It was evident that there was tension between you and him, there was no need for a second look for someone to determine that. You knew rumours were bound to fly, it has been ever since your split with him.

You hate to admit that what he did was right too. Since the day he changed coaches and clubs, he has been improving and climbing higher. Gold was the only colour hanging around his neck at almost every competition he was in. Maybe you were the selfish one after all, secretly wishing he never left in the first place because you were scared of losing him. Well, who knew the fear in that moment turned into your instant reality? Seeing his success only made you bite back on your words of calling him selfish.

The first Olympics you attended in Tokyo was an experience to say the least. Winning two silver and one bronze, your hunger for gold only grew bigger. Everyone in the team had expected either you or Sunghoon to bring back the gold medal, but none of you did, and by then, there was an unspoken rivalry that started from the moment people placed their expectations on you and him.

Three years later in the present day, you couldn't believe he was becoming your teammate and training under the same coach again. Crazy how things could change in a blink of an eye, huh? Your main concern, however, wasn't facing Sunghoon, but whether or not he'd fit into the relay team with only three months of training and no prior experience.

"Well, if it isn't the Y/N L/N being the first to arrive as always," The sound of your teammates' heavy footsteps entered the locker room, Yujin's voice in particular echoed through it, entering your sight at once. "How have you been?"

"Great, been living and sleeping in the pool," you snickered sarcastically, patting Yujin's back in greeting. "I heard you took a long break from your club after the championships,"

"I did, and my muscles are dying to touch the water,"

"She caused a lot of ruckus at the club for that," Yunjin joined into the conversation after setting her bags down, nudging her club and national teammate. "I'm glad we're all back, three months and then Paris, isn't that a dream?"

"It definitely is. I can't wait for the Eiffel tower," Yujin smiled with a dazed look, you and Yunjin only exchanged a silent glance at one another.

"Not the gold medal?"

"That too,"

"I see where your priorities lie,"

"Whatever," she waved her hand at your response, reaching for her swimsuit. "Anyway, did you hear the news from coach?"

"I did," you wrapped your towel tighter around your body, the cold prickling at your skin now that you were in your swimsuit.

"You don't seem very happy," Yunjin pointed out as she changed into her swimwear, it was then when you became aware of the frown on your face. "The guys are excited,"

"I'm trying to be happy," you grumbled. At this point, there was no hiding the previous history you had with him, almost everyone knew about you and him, the star athletes since teen years had suddenly stopped interacting, obviously that would catch people's eyes and turn into gossip.

"Didn't you have some … fallout with him before?"

"You know about it?"

"Y/N, I hate to say it but the whole nation's swimmers are probably aware of it," Yujin walked up to you and passed your goggles to you. "Word spreads fast even during the youth training camps, but I'm sure there's a reason behind your fall out with him, we won't pry,"

"I'm a little curious though," Yunjin added, throwing her towel around her shoulder, unaware of Yujin's pointed glare at her bluntness.

"It's quite petty really, I'm surprised you never heard it from any of my club teammates," you pressed your lips into a thin line, shifting your stance uneasily. "He wanted to leave the club before a big competition, I mean, I get where he's coming from, but I was hurt that he didn't tell me beforehand. I thought it was unfair, we were friends for so long. We said some hurtful things to each other, and things were never the same after," your heart unknowingly tightened at your inner thoughts about the whole fight, telling the story years after made you reflect on it with regret.

"Do you forgive him?"

"If it meant having my best friend back, I would, but I don't know if he feels the same as I do."

Walking out of the locker room took a huge amount of courage and strength for you to not turn around running. The thought of seeing and interacting with Sunghoon pained you to a great level. Not because you hated him, but mainly the awkwardness and tension that was hard to rid.

You saw the rest of your teammates by the pool, Anton and Juyeon were too engaged in their conversations to realise Yunjin running up to them with her arms wide open. "Boys!" She engulfed the three men in her arms, startling them and almost had them falling back into the pool.

"Gosh, you're never going to stop doing that, aren't you?" Anton patted Yunjin's arm, smiling at his senior as she let go.

"Never,"

The two men greeted Yujin first before turning their attention to you, straightening their spines and giving you a salute. "Y/N,"

"Hey guys, doing good?" You gave each of their shoulders a pat in greeting, receiving firm nods from them as a response. They took the chance to immediately bombard you with questions about your practices and competitions, sharing their own stories about what they were up to as well.

"Y/N, I heard someone's going to snatch your spot in the mixed relay," Anton, the backstroke swimmer and your mixed relay teammate, was referring to Sunghoon's addition to the team. Your endless worries about Sunghoon becoming your teammate had you forgetting about the thing you should actually be worrying about: your position.

"Like hell Y/N is going to give up her spot easily," Yujin came to your defence with her arms thrown around your shoulder. "Isn't that right?" She turned her head to look at you, poking your cheek with a finger.

"What I'm saying is, Y/N could potentially fill in for Yeonjun's spot too. She's also a breaststroke specialist and Sunghoon's last win in the championship was him breaking the world record for freestyle. I'm just saying maybe—just maybe—this combo would be something exciting,"

Yujin, the butterfly swimmer in the mixed relay team, frowned slightly at his argument, though debatable, she didn't seem to think the idea as fit. "The second leg is usually swam by men, it'd be a disadvantage to have a woman swim it. Based off the statistics, it'd be a shit show of a strategy,"

"I'm afraid she's right," you shrugged, heaving a deep sigh at the struggle your team was facing before training even started. "There's no way coach would do that,"

"Then is Sunghoon supposed to really swim the second leg?"

"Duh, who else? He got picked specifically, out of many other people, to replace Yeonjun, I'm sure there's a reason behind it," Yujin gave your shoulder a light squeeze. "Not to mention, he's got a reputation for being a good breaststroker too,"

"Right, he got second place in Tokyo, didn't he? Just like you did, Y/N," Anton's gaze landed on your rather sullen face, the memories of Tokyo where you found out you won the same amount of medals in the same categories as Sunghoon came flying back into your mind.

The thought of it was laughable, how were you still telepathically connected with him from then up until this moment. It was your childhood with him to blame at the end of the day. You were the one to influence him and made him fall in love with your two favourite strokes: freestyle and breaststroke. Who knew you would land yourself in a position where you potentially had to fight him for your position?

"Y/N will always be our freestyle master in the last leg, okay? No competitions needed. Our first training together will speak for itself," Yujin glanced at you briefly, checking up on you after your momentary silence. You gave her a smile, reaching for her hand that sat on your shoulder.

Soon after, the distant sound of your coach's voice slowly became louder as he approached closer. He was talking to someone, the second voice obviously belonged to the person everyone was waiting for, the addition of a star swimmer into the team instantly raised your teammates' expectations and hopes. Everyone else in the room were giving each other knowing glances at the anticipation of Sunghoon's arrival—except for you.

You were holding your breath, mentally counting down the seconds while the footsteps of your coach and the person who was once your best friend were nearing. Every one of you instinctively lined up in a row as always, awaiting Coach Jeon's arrival.

You didn't dare to blink. Lo and behold, Park Sunghoon entered the room with your coach by his side, the strong presence of an Olympic medallist and world championship winner filled the room. It was hard to deny that his presence alone was influential.

"Morning, everyone. As you may know, we'll be having a new addition—or replacement—to the team. Everyone please welcome Sunghoon,"

Following his words, there were enthusiastic claps with a sprinkle of shouts from the guys. Sunghoon was trying his best to keep up with the overwhelming atmosphere from his new teammates, most of which were familiar faces considering they were all from the national team, the only difference was the coaches they train under. That was until now.

You were standing to the far left, furthest away from the center where Sunghoon was. Were you a coward for avoiding him? That was partially the truth, but all those years of ignoring one another, brushing past each other at every national and international competitions, you weren't the only one at fault. He was also a coward that claimed he was a lion.

Jungkook patted Sunghoon's back in encouragement, giving the latter a push for him to introduce himself. "Nice to meet everyone, I'm Park Sunghoon. It's my first time training with you all, so I'm apologising in advance if there's any mistakes made on my part. I hope we'll be able to get along well and bring home some gold medals from Paris,"

The team erupted in passionate cheers and applause from Sunghoon's self-introduction. It was clear everyone shared the same goal: a gold medal at the Olympics.

"Alright, so I think everyone already somewhat knows each other, am I correct?" Jungkook looked between Sunghoon and his group of swimmers, both of which nodded and responded with a chorus of 'yes'. "How about a fresh introduction? A friendly way to warm up to one another,"

'Friendly' was one way to put it and he was definitely directing it at you.

Juyeon, who stood on the furthest to the right, started his introduction first. "I'm Lee Juyeon, butterfly swimmer, we met at the youth championship before,"

"Right, we did, nice to see you again, man," Sunghoon and Intak shared a firm handshake before moving onto Anton. The introductions were all brief, but there were also friendly gestures exchanged. Not long after, you were the last and only one left to introduce yourself.

If you could describe the exact moment Sunghoon met your eyes for the first time in nearly six years, it would be suffocating, and it was in the worst way possible. The warmth and familiarity that was once in those brown irises happened to be gone and lost with him when he saw you. You didn't know how to react, just seeing the hostility and coldness from him that you wished wasn't real was enough to beat you down.

"I'm Y/N L/N. I hope we can win a medal together in the mixed relay," you stayed rooted to your spot stubbornly, not bothering to exchange at least a handshake with him unlike your teammates. It seemed he reciprocated your feelings.

His stoic expression never once faltered, but it was his eyes that spoke louder than words needed to. Amongst the coldness of his gaze, there was an unmistakable shock and longing that he hid well enough for you to not fully catch onto. "I hope so too."

Ignoring the weird tension that lingered around the room between you and Sunghoon, you started your usual routine off along with your teammates. Long hours and many laps of endless swimming was about to be your reality again. The worst part of all was the strength training that was yet to start.

The excruciating nine hours of never ending swimming soon ended around the evening and your first day was finally done. Neither you nor Sunghoon crossed paths or interacted, maintaining your bliss and ignorance that would bring you peace.

"Are you just going to ignore him until his last day?" Yunjin was drying her hair, staring at you with an accusatory gaze.

"Yeah, I guess?" You shrugged, packing up your bag that you slung over your shoulder, flashing Yunjin an indifferent smile.

"I don't think that's a great idea, Y/N. We still have the mixed relay to consider, there's no way you could just go radio silence on him when it's a team event," Yujin made her way into the changing room from the shower just in time to listen in on your conversation, seemingly disapproving at you and Sunghoon's behaviour towards one another.

"What am I going to do? He doesn't even want to acknowledge me,"

"How about you try making the first move?"

"Over my dead body," you murmured, hating the fact that you and Sunghoon's past conflicts were stagnating the team, yet your ego was not ready to confront him. Nope, never.

"You're so stubborn," Yujin grumbled, shaking her head in disapproval. "He's equally stubborn. God, I can't believe I have to put up with these hot-headed, stubborn people, give me strength, please,"

"It'll be fine. As long as I keep my distance and he keeps his distance, nothing will go wrong," you slapped Yujin on her back, earning a doubtful look from her that you responded with an earful smile.

"I highly doubt that," Yunjin chimed in, hoisting her backpack onto her shoulder, ready to leave as well. Yujin turned to share a knowing look with her.

"Me too."

All you could do was roll your eyes, not daring to respond because you knew, too, that you couldn't fully promise that you'd stick to your words. It was impossible to predict what would happen in the next few days, let alone three months. The non-existent interactions with Sunghoon for six years couldn't prepare you for what he was like currently, and for that reason, you were scared.

That night, alone in your bed, you couldn't take your eyes off the picture frame sitting on your dressing table. It was a picture of you and Sunghoon at the ripe age of thirteen, holding onto your gold medals with the biggest smiles right after a competition. Who would've known in a few years time since then, you wouldn't even be able to stand next to him.

How you wished those childish smiles would make its way back to you and Sunghoon, standing next to each other with a gold medal again.

A week has passed since the day Sunghoon first started his training under your coach.

Safe to say, you kept your distance from him and so did he. Neither of you managed to exchange a single word or a single glance that lasted more than a second. It might've been a natural occurrence for you to have some sort of 'cold war' with Sunghoon, but to the others, they felt a little awkward having to be part of it.

For the second week of training, the part that you enjoyed most became dreadful to you. The mixed relay training was inevitable with Sunghoon's presence as a first timer to the group. More practices were implemented by Coach Jeon in order for Sunghoon to adapt and grow familiar with the general rules around mixed relay medley.

"Doing good?" Anton was the second to arrive after you, standing next to you by the pool. He had probably noticed you staring into the pool, letting your thoughts drift away.

You snapped out of your daze, blinking in surprise at him until you realise who you were talking to. "Wh–yeah, I'm fine,"

"You're not nervous for our first training together as a team, right?" He attempted to lighten the mood, bumping your shoulder with his.

"No," you scoffed. That was a lie. You were nervous, and masking it up wasn't exactly a great way to deal with it. "It's just any other training,"

"Be honest, you were probably mad when you heard about Yeonjun's stupid accident, weren't you?" Anton took a seat on the starting block, staring up at you with a pair of big doe eyes.

"Mad? Not exactly. Maybe annoyed? Concerned? A little bit of everything," you frowned, remembering the message sent in the group chat the week before training started. 'Can't turn up to training, fell down my bike and broke my ankle' it was unforgettable. "Why?"

"I'm just a little disappointed it's not Yeonjun swimming the second leg. He's one of the strongest breaststroke swimmers,"

"Weren't you excited about Sunghoon's arrival?"

"Well, it's a no brainer I'm excited, Sunghoon's a great swimmer, but he's not exactly Yeonjun. Thinking about how sudden everything is, the changes and having to adapt to them, I'm just worried it'll affect the team's performance,"

Your gaze softened at the younger boy's truthful confession. If you had to be completely honest, you were worried about the team's future performances as well. Having so little time to adjust and letting a replacement take up a crucial swimmer's role was bound to cause doubts.

"We'll be fine," your voice was firm with determination. "The future's unpredictable anyway. Who knows what will be the result of this lineup?"

"Do you know how great of a motivational speaker you are?" Anton smiled at your words, the worries that filled his eyes were blinked away. "Also, what's up with you and Sunghoon? Are you guys always like … this?" He proceeded to make some gestures with his hands.

Here it is. That topic.

The real question should be: when were you never like this with Sunghoon?

You shrugged, directly lying to his face a second time. "It's complicated. Let's start our warm up, shall we?"

That was enough to divert Anton's attention away from the question he originally brought up, successfully dodging it until the others arrived and started their warm ups as well. Yujin, in particular, was overwhelmed with excitement to start her part of the relay, hoping to beat her own personal record.

"Were you always this excited for training?" You looked at Yujin with an eyebrow raised, watching as she stretched her limbs carefully, a cheery expression on her face.

"I think my break made me realise how much I missed the water," she kneeled down to touch the surface of the pool water with her finger, a little habit of hers before competitions that she grew to have.

"How's the temperature?"

She stood back up, straightened her spine, a wide grin spreading onto her lips. "Absolutely perfect."

Once the warm ups were officially concluded, Yunjin and Intak were sent to other lanes in the pool to start their individual training, whereas you and your remaining teammates were listening intently to the coach's every word.

"So, we start our first practice today. Together, as a team, a new team. Let's see what's the time recorded for each leg, improve the handoffs and perfect your individual time. Anton, you'll go first,"

Anton fixed his swim cap right after that, walking towards the starting block while the team dispersed to wait for their turn. You stood beside Yujin, Sunghoon only inches before you. It was hard concentrating on Anton and his start, barely registering the sound of the whistle blowing. He was so magnetic it was almost obnoxious.

"Hey, new guy! Got the rules down?" Yujin directed her words at Sunghoon, catching him off guard. He turned around, an impassive expression was his first response to Yujin. His eyes flickered to you for a split second, quick enough for you to barely catch onto it.

"I have," he answered shortly, seemingly frozen from Yujin putting him into a spot out of the blue.

Before returning his focus back onto the pool ahead of him, he stole a haste glance at you for the second time. It was barely a second's worth of his eyes on you, not even an acknowledgement. You couldn't explain it. Why were you ticked off by him?

"Sunghoon, get ready!" Coach Jeon shouted from the other side of the room, glancing between his stopwatch and the pool. Sunghoon stood on the starting block, fixing his goggles in place. "Now!"

The moment Anton's fingers grazed the pool's wall, Sunghoon dived into the pool perfectly, all eyes were fixed on him now. The swimmer that created history, broken records, set a standard for new generations of swimmers, was proving why he was labelled a national treasure.

He was quick. How was that even possible? Breaststroke was one of the slowest strokes in swimming and yet he made it seem as though it was the easiest to swim. Yujin was next, her excitement was apparent in her swim and aggression. The butterfly stroke and her perfect posture had her resembling a mermaid.

It was your turn to stand on the starting block, preparing for the exact second Yujin finished her lap. Your heart was beating against your chest, adrenaline was suddenly coursing through your veins. The time was ticking, Yujin was coming closer, and with one touch to the wall, off you went into the pool, the cold water engulfing you whole.

The first inhale of air filled your lungs to its maximum capacity. You could feel a sense of buzzing on the tip of your fingers, the muscles of your legs were working to its limits. You felt great.

Your flip turn was quick and perfect. Everything was going right for you. The way your legs and arms were working in sync, your breathing technique had improved, all of these being factors to your best swim yet. The stopwatch was halted once your tips touched the wall, finally getting the chance to get your head out of the water and breathe deeply.

"54 seconds!" Coach Jeon called out, a satisfactory grin plastered on his face. "Good job," he clapped his hands, throwing up a thumbs up at both you and your teammates. “Get a short rest, I’ll be with the others then we’ll resume our training together,”

A chorus of ‘yes, coach’ travelled through you and your teammates, all of you watched as he walked to the other side of the pool where the others were training, then breathed a collective sigh of relief. Yujin came forward to help you out of the pool, wrapping a towel around you while patting your back.

"Good swim,"

You smiled at her, placing your hand on her waist. "You had a good swim too,"

"What a swim, L/N!" Anton, who stood next to Sunghoon, yelled at you as you and Yujin approached. You snorted at his enthusiasm, giving him a thumbs up in response. The man to his left, however, remained impassive just as his face displayed almost to no emotions regarding your performance. Not that you needed his validation anyway. You met his eyes, his unwavering stare bore into you, it was as if everyone was awaiting for his comments.

"You didn’t swim at your best,"

His words were as cold as his voice, piercing into your heart without a space for you to recover or register what he meant. What did he mean? There was a sudden edge to the atmosphere around the group, a thick air of tension surrounded you and him in particular. “What?” There was no need for him to repeat what he just said, but it was almost unbelievable as an alien invasion to you.

“You weren’t swimming at your best,” Sunghoon repeated firmly, his stoicness never once faltering. Your dignity, on the other hand, was withering.

“Who are you to determine whether or not I’m swimming at my best?” You took a step forward, your footstep heavy on the ground. He stayed rooted to his spot, chin held high while your narrowing gaze pierced through his skull.

There was a pause where a momentary silence filled the air. Neither you nor the rest of your teammates dared to speak. The man before you was expressionless, it was nearly hard to read him or his thoughts, only seeing the steady rise and fall of his chest, whereas yours was in a frenzy.“I know you,”

He might as well have just shot you in the face. Those three words were as hard as bullets were, causing you to almost lose your footing and tumble over, but somehow, you managed to stand your ground. Out of the many things he could’ve said, this was the least you expected. You had wished he would’ve lied and insulted you rather than speaking the inevitable truth. Frankly, it was the same for you.

“You know nothing about me,” you seethed out, nostrils flaring out of indignation.

Sunghoon scoffed, turning his head to a side for a second before looking back at you, a fire lighting up in those cold eyes of his, melting into a fiery pit of rage. “You can cuss me out or insult me all you want, but the biggest insult you could ever throw at me is disregarding our past. I know you, it’s simple as that, and I can tell you’re not swimming to your fullest,”

You couldn’t form an immediate response, because you were stunned and stuck in an endless cycle of thoughts, thinking if what he said was actually true. What if … you truly weren’t swimming at your best? Were you holding back? The only thing you could bear to thank Sunghoon now was for feeding into your self doubts.

“You…you—”

“Okay, cut it out guys,” Anton came to stand between you and Sunghoon, shielding your line of sight and you felt an odd sense of relief that Sunghoon couldn’t see your crumbling state. There was no way in hell you were turning vulnerable right in front of him, nor were you going to lose the fight to him. Knowing how stubborn either of you were, if Anton hadn’t cut into it, you might’ve been there for longer. “Quit fighting, I swear. I know there’s tension—hell, I can feel it—but can you two at least act like you can tolerate each other? If you two act like this even in Paris, what will the press write?”

Anton was right, he was always right. You hated how you’ve allowed your emotions and past consumed you when it came to Sunghoon. The person who was once your strength had turned into your weakness, your flaw. Everything had been fine until it came to him, it has been so ever since six years back. Now, you were reliving it all over again.

“I’m going to get some air,” Sunghoon announced, sparing one last glance at you before turning his heel to leave, the water from his body left wet footprints on the floor.

Yujin and Anton turned to look at you, the unmistakable look of shock on their faces. They were seemingly as helpless as you were, but they were more likely experiencing much worse being stuck in the middle of you and Sunghoon. “I’m sorry … for that. I’ll go for a dip in the pool.”

They watched as you made your way back to the starting block and in the next second, you had already jumped into the pool, starting another lap again. Yujin and Anton stared at one another, matching frowns etched onto their worried faces. There was a wordless exchange as if something had clicked in their minds from just one knowing look.

“We need to find a way to get them to reconcile.”

One month into training and there was nothing that could be done to make the two star swimmers return to a civil relationship. In fact, the space between you and Sunghoon had only grown bigger ever since the small rift that made everything go from bad to worse.

It had gone to a point where Coach Jeon had to give both of you a lecture, almost begging you and Sunghoon to work together for those few short months. To him, it might’ve truly been a ‘few short months’, but to you? It was a hellish period of time to be reckoned with.

You could tell everyone was trying to push you and him together, but you and him were just like magnets with the same poles, repelling each other no matter how much effort was put into getting you and him close. There was once when your teammates had strategized to purposefully have you and Sunghoon sitting side-by-side, yet to their surprise, your hatred for one another gave you ways to make any efforts fail. For that dinner, each of your chairs were pulled far enough to create an obvious distance, not one glance was even spared between you and him.

Then came a Saturday, a weekend off for the team and an opportunity for everyone to go out for drinks. It was the perfect time to let go and relax for a short moment, but to your teammates, it just so happened to be a perfect setting for their plan: get Sunghoon and Y/N to diffuse their hatred.

“Why is everyone always at my place when we get ready to go out?” you grumbled, picking up your dirty clothes that were scattered on the floor to make way for Yunjin and Yujin, their hands full with clothes and makeup.

“It’s a tradition now,” Yujin pressed a kiss on your cheek, laughing at your unimpressed frown. “It’s a once in a blue moon type of thing! We should make the most out of tonight, we don’t know when we’ll have another day off after this,”

“That’s right,” Yunjin said, placing her dress onto your bed, next to yours that was laid carefully to avoid wrinkles. “It’s time to drink till we break.”

That wasn’t exactly how you wished your night to go. You and the girls met up with the guys at the entrance to the club, having to squeeze your way in and hold onto each other tightly to not lose your way. It reminded you why you never had an active nightlife apart from the routine you had as an athlete. The club reeked of alcohol, sweat, smoke and many other things, none of them were good.

The moment you got to settle into the booth, you finally got a clear view of everyone. You, Yunjin and Yujin were dressed in almost matching tight dresses, the only difference was the colour, the length and the existence of shoulder straps. Anton and Juyeon were sporting collared shirts, while Sunghoon wore a black button down shirt, his hair gelled up to reveal his forehead.

There was no mistaking his straying eyes, but he wasn’t the only one, you were equally guilty. You tried to reason it with the excuse of pure curiosity, yet you found yourself stealing more than one glance. By then, you knew it wasn’t something you could easily deny.

Juyeon leaned his body against the table with a serious expression that he had whenever he set the rules for the night every time you had a night out. “Okay, so the rules for tonight, no leaving on your own, unless you send a text. No going overboard until you do crazy shit that will get your name on the headline,” he paused, scanning the group. “Lastly, no becoming Yeonjun and break your bones,”

There was a chorus of snorts and laughter at the slight dig at Yeonjun. It was a joke, but the chances of it happening wasn’t entirely zero. “Got it!”

The group soon dispersed, some were headed straight to the bar, some were off to the dance floor and some had stayed in the booth. You and Yujin had stuck together, sitting on the high stool at the bar, heads propped onto your hand as you stared at each other. There was a wordless breath of a sigh between you and her, it seemed that neither of you needed to verbally communicate to know what the other was thinking. You held your shot glass up to clink against hers, and at the same time, you downed the shot down with Yujin.

The feeling of the alcohol burning your throat was something you didn’t miss, yet it was what you needed at that moment. “That was good,” you muttered, hearing Yujin’s laugh as a response to your comment. “If I wasn’t an athlete whose health gets scrutinised, I would be drinking at every minor inconvenience,”

“You’d be an alcoholic at that point,” Yujin shook her head, a faint smile adoring her sharp features. “Why? Is the pressure getting to you?”

“Not exactly. I don’t think about those things, I never do,” you watched as the bartender filled your and Yujin’s shot glasses once more. “I’m thinking about Sunghoon,”

Yujin straightened up at that, her body leaned close to yours, an inquisitive raise of her eyebrow met your eyes. “Sunghoon? You? Thinking about Sunghoon?”

“Not about him per se, but you know—us—our past, it’s affecting the team and I hate it. I hate that I can’t do anything about it,”

“You can? You can just make things even with him,”

“Easier said than done. We can’t see eye to eye. I mean, do you think it’s easy to befriend your ex best friend that you had beef with?”

“Well…no,”

“Exactly,” you said, followed by downing another shot out of your glass. “It’s hard to even speak to him without him glaring at me, how am I supposed to go: ‘hey, let’s be BFFs again’,”

“But don’t you want to try and mend things? At least end the bad blood,”

You stared at your shot glass, your fingers grazing against the mouth of the cup, a sad smile making its way to your lips. “I wish I could, but I’m afraid the damage is worse than I had imagined.”

Drowning your sadness in shots after shots was an equation for disaster, and that was exactly what you had done. Excuse the liver damage, your current concern was your emotions that were bound to spill out of its seams. An emotional drunk, that was what you were as depressing as it sounds. The thought of Sunghoon and your ruined friendship was the cherry on top to it all.

“He hates me!” you slurred, your face buried in your hands after four shots of tequila. “I don’t even know how it turned out like this … how it turned into this,”

“Y/N, you’re drunk,” Yujin moved your shot glass further from your reaching hands, causing you to frown deeper at that. “No more, okay? You’ll regret it in the morning,”

“I’m used to regretting things, just leave me be,” you pouted at Yujin, but she was firm and final in her decision in cutting you off alcohol for the night. “Sunghoon…” you murmured before the alcohol fully set in and your head collapsed onto the table, absolutely blacking out.

“Oh God.”

Yujin returned to the booth with you slumped against her. She thought the amount of weight training she had endured was finally worth it for having to put up with your drunk self. The rest of your teammates had returned to the booth, empty cups were littered around the table, the only sober ones there were Yunjin and Sunghoon, who was trying to peel Anton away from his body. He glanced up in time to see Yujin approaching with you being supported by her.

Yunjin stood up and rushed to Yujin’s side to help her with you. “Is she okay? I’ve never seen her this drunk,”

“I should be asking the same about Anton and Juyeon,” Yunjin nodded at the two who were slumped against each other, eyes closed and probably drifting to some dreamland where a head splitting morning would soon await them in the morning.

“They’re also a lost cause,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Let’s get going,”

It was a miracle that Yunjin, Yujin and Sunghoon had successfully carried you and the other two out of the club. The process, however, didn’t matter and was forbidden to speak about, what mattered most was the success of getting the three of you.

“I’ll call a cab for us four, we live in the same apartment complex,” Yunjin looked over at a struggling Yujin trying her best to prevent Anton and Juyeon from falling over while they leaned against each other. You were basically the calmest out of them, sleeping soundly. “Will it be okay for you to bring Y/N home? I know it’s too much to ask—”

“I’ll bring her home. It’s not too much, don’t worry,” Sunghoon reassured, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat. “W–what’s her address?” it never occurred to Sunghoon that, one day, he would not know where you lived, that you were no longer the girl that lived next to his house. The girl that had once taken over his life was no longer a part of it. That, to him, was a tough pill to swallow.

“I’ll send it to you in a second, I’m almost done booking the cab,” Yunjin was feverishly tapping her screen, her eyebrows knitted together. “You drove here, right?”

“I did,”

“Smart decision,” she muttered, finalising her booking with one last tap. “The cab’s arriving in ten minutes and I just sent her address to you. Don’t worry about us, it isn’t our first time, we know how to deal with them. Get her home safe, and you, get home safe too,”

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Sunghoon asked once more, casting a worried glance over at the two men who couldn’t even keep their balance sitting up.

“Better than okay. Now, go get her home, we’ll be fine.”

Sunghoon drove his car to the front of the club, and with the help of your two friends, you were loaded into the passenger seat with ease. By then, you were half awake from your sleep, the unfamiliar settings causing you to become much alert. You sat up from the seat a little too quick, an honest mistake which brought a throb to your head.

“Just sleep, it’ll hurt less,”

That voice. How and why was it so close to you? Whose car were you in? Could it be …?

“Sunghoon?”

You blinked hard, trying to get rid of the haziness and the blur in your vision. It didn’t need a second thought for you to know it’s Sunghoon. From his voice to his outline, even the midst of it all, you could always recognize the boy you knew your whole life.

“Don’t act so surprised. I’m just trying to help,” he replied flatly, keeping his eyes ahead.

“I thought you’d rather die than help me,”

“Well, that’s what you think. You’re not always right,”

You didn’t say anything after, letting a curtain of silence fall over, it was better for you and him. You could barely keep your eyes open, the heaviness of your head only made you feel much nauseous than before. It was more ironic how the reason you drown yourself in alcohol was sitting next to you, driving you home with no single trace of alcohol in his blood unlike you. Maybe you were the pathetic one here.

The drive back to your place was quiet, the faint music from his radio was playing to fill the awkwardness between you two. How did it even get to this point in the first place? You wished you knew. Sunghoon’s car eventually came to a stop right by the entrance of your apartment complex, the silence somehow only grew thicker now that the car has stopped moving.

“We’re here,” Sunghoon announced the obvious, attempting to cut through the silence with something rather than nothing. “Do you need me to walk you up?”

“I’ll be fine on my own,”

“You don’t really look fine,”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine, and thanks for the ride home. I’ll see you at training,” you reached for the handle, pulling it and opening the door, one foot already out, but the other lost its footing and you stumbled, a hand gripping onto your forearm was what prevented you from falling face first into the hard road. Sunghoon yanked you back into the passenger seat, and you were too surprised to utter another word. Damn it.

“You’re clearly not fine on your own. Let me walk you up,” he said with a finality in his voice. You knew there was no way for you to reject his offer now that you had embarrassed yourself while you tried proving your point. “You’re still not good at walking in heels after all these years, huh?”

“What—”

He had slammed his side of the door into your face and your unfinished response. You didn’t have the time to process everything when Sunghoon appeared by you in a split second, your door was opened and he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. It was irritating and extremely annoying to you how he was practically almost impossible to read around you. You knew him too well, and that was probably the reason why he increased his guard when it came to you.

“Hold onto me,” he extended his arm, and you couldn’t explain why, but your heart rate was increasing with every passing second. His head tilted slightly at your hesitance, a minor frown decorated his features at your reaction. “What is it?”

“Oh—nothing,” you shook your nerves off. Since when were you ever scared of Sunghoon? Let alone be nervous around him. You might’ve not been friends but it doesn’t make him any scarier. In that light, in that moment, you got a glimpse of the Sunghoon you knew years ago. That was what made you freeze up.

You placed your hand on his forearm, using him for support as you got out of his car, the piercing pain in your foot caused you to wince. You’re still not good at walking in heels after all these years, huh? Why must he always be right about you? “What is it?” he noticed your discomfort, worry flashing across his face for a moment.

“It’s nothing, just my heels—”

“Sit back,” he placed a hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back into the passenger seat. He took one glance at you, there was an unmistakable mix of emotions in his eyes, but then he was out of your sight, opening the door of his backseat to get something.

Once he was back, he knelt on one knee in front of you, not a single word was exchanged, but you followed his every movement. He had a pair of shoes in his hand, it was only a beat later when he stared up at you, meeting your curious eyes. “When are you going to stop pushing me away and pretend it’s nothing when you need help?”

Sunghoon reached for your leg, unbuckling your heels in a swift motion, his touch was soft and he was gentle with you in every way. The shock from earlier till now had only caused you to sober up quicker, but the haziness in your head made you wonder if this was just a dream. He was right in front of you, swapping your heels for a comfortable pair of shoes, helping you into them as you watched wordlessly.

“There. Feel better now?” Sunghoon stood up, holding onto your heels in one hand. Truthfully, you didn't know what to say to him, merely nodding in response. He breathed out a rather loud sigh, extending his arm out to you once more, and you immediately got the cue to hold onto him just like before.

Your first step out onto the ground was heaven in those comfortable shoes. They were large and awkward for you, but they were miles better than your heels. “Just hold onto me. I know you probably can't walk straight now,”

You bit back a remark to that, wanting to prove him wrong but you figured it'd be another stupid idea of yours. Holding onto his forearm just like before, you walked quietly with him by your side. You were unconsciously leaning your side onto him, the realisation might’ve not hit you, but it did for him. This was the closest you’ve been since six years ago, physically and emotionally.

The silence was painful leading up to the moment you opened your front door, hoping to bid him a hasty goodbye, just for you to almost stumble over your own two feet once more, proving his point was right all over again. Sunghoon didn’t complain when he helped you out of his shoes, he didn’t say anything even when he guided you into your bedroom where you crashed out once your head hit the pillow. How was that possible? That was what Sunghoon thought upon seeing your sleeping figure.

“Sunghoon,” he nearly jumped at the sound of your voice that was muffled by your face being pressed into your bedsheets. Your eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed with a slight frown as if there were many thoughts swarming your drunken mind. He didn’t dare to speak or make another move, waiting for what you would say next with an unsteady breath. You shifted in your sleep, your hand seemingly balling into a fist. “I’m sorry,” the words were hardly audible, yet in the silence of the night and the heat of it all, it was the loudest and clearest to Sunghoon, they were the only thing buzzing in his ears along with the sound of his heartbeat.

A faint smile that he hasn’t worn around you in ages made its way to his face. Although Sunghoon knew you would most likely have forgotten about this and have zero recollection of uttering the words ‘I’m sorry’ when morning comes, there was still a sense of assurance that the chances of reconciling weren’t completely zero. He breathed out a small sigh, realising he had to go back to pretending he hadn’t heard your confession, having to act cold to one another as if it wasn’t killing him internally. Were you feeling the same as he did?

Sunghoon tucked you into your blanket, casting one last glance at you sleeping soundly before turning his back to you, taking big steps to your bedroom door just for him to stop in his tracks at the glint of your photo frames. He knew he shouldn’t pry, but he couldn’t help stealing a glance. It was his first mistake, his curiosity had led him to the childhood pictures of you and him. You still had them after everything you went through with him. There was a lump in his throat, the sting in his eyes became much more prominent, a cluster of emotions were weighing down on him.

“I’m sorry too.”

“Is it me … or is the mutual hating tension becoming awkward now?”

All of your teammates were huddled in a group, observing you and Sunghoon being forced to listen to your coach’s lecture for the hundredth time. It was the first training after your short weekend break, and that night alone has changed everything. Neither you nor him were at each other's throats anymore, there was no malice in the air or animosity, but there was still a striking tension that made everyone around you and him feel uncomfortable.

“What even happened that night?” Juyeon crossed his arms, frowning a little at the zero to none recollection of what happened that night all thanks to his reckless drinking.

“Nothing much,” Yunjin said, her eyebrows raising at the sight of you and Sunghoon, choosing to keep your worries about him a secret.

Yujin coughed, displaying a deadpan expression. “What Juyeon probably meant was, what happened after? He sent her home, didn’t he?”

“He did, but I didn’t hear what happened after,”

“They’re acting like they’ve fucked or something,”

“Anton!” the group averted their eyes at Anton, who seemed to have shrunk under the sharp glares sent by his teammates.

“What really happened after?”

If you were to receive at least a dollar for the times your coach has reprimanded you and Sunghoon, you would’ve quit swimming and be a millionaire. This instance was the same as before where he called you and Sunghoon out on your lack of chemistry. He wasn’t entirely wrong, and you could understand how it might affect the overall team chemistry, but what could you do? Make the first move? Insane.

“Guys, I know I’ve said this before, but you’ve got to at least talk a little,” Coach Jeon let out a sigh, rubbing the sides of his head with his lips pressed into a thin line. “Everyone with eyes can tell you do not wish to be associated with each other or stand next to each other—” his eyes were trained on the distance between you and Sunghoon. Upon realisation, the both of you took a step closer to each other, but it was not enough to mend it.

“Just try. Don’t give the national team or yourselves bad press, alright?” Coach Jeon’s face was laced with genuine concern and worry. Given how long your relationship has been affecting the team, your coach’s worries only increased. “Look, either try to be on friendly terms before the Olympics or I’ll make it happen,” the latter sounded almost like a threat from the tone of his voice, sending chills down each of your spines. “Dismissed.”

The moment your coach was out of ear shot, you turned to look at Sunghoon, narrowing your gaze accusingly at him. “Did you hear him? We’ve got to at least try speaking—” before you could manage to finish your sentence, Sunghoon scoffed and turned on his heels to leave the room.

You, on the other hand, were entirely dumbfounded by his sheer audacity. Was him helping you out that night merely a front that he kept up? He had transformed a total 180 compared to his previous attitude, this was not the same man who left you water and aspirin by your bed. “Asshole!” you shouted out at him as he made his way out, turning to leave from the other door to avoid following him.

The rest of your teammates that were huddled in a group still had their eyes fixated on the drama unfolding before them, most of which were shaking their heads in disapproval, some wandering eyes were trained on either one of your backs before disappearing completely behind the doors. Yunjin exchanged a brief glance with Yujin, a light bulb on the top of her head turning on.

“I’ve got a way to get them to fix things up.”

The sun was soon setting as the evening came to an imminent end. You were the last to shower, being the only one left in the locker room, the sound of your locker door slamming shut echoed throughout the room. You took a seat on the bench, leaning your head against the lockers, a frustrated groan escaped your lips. You were annoyed, agitated at how Sunghoon had actively ignored you. Why was he acting like a total stranger to you? The least he could’ve done was spare some acknowledgement. Was he as cruel as you made him out to be?

You were pulled out of your deep thoughts the second you heard voices coming from the outside of the door. There was no way anyone would be catching you getting emotional over Sunghoon—except for Yunjin—once was already enough, you blamed it on the influence of the alcohol. The voices only got louder as it came closer. There was a man’s voice, but also a woman, or actually, it sounded more like a group as you walked to the door, straining your ear to listen in on the commotion outside.

Before you could get any closer, the door flung open, causing you to take a step back in shock, mouth agape. The person being pushed into the locker room was no one other than the manifestation of your thoughts: Park Sunghoon. Just as quick as he was pushed in, the door slammed shut and there was a sound of the door locking.

“Sort your shit out and we’ll let you out in a few hours! Sorry!”

“What?”

You and Sunghoon yelled out simultaneously, absolutely incredulous this was befalling on you. Sunghoon, who happened to be unfortunate enough to be pushed into the locker room that you were alone in. This wasn’t a coincidence, it was a strategic plan your teammates brewed up. The realisation clicked once you locked eyes with him, the adrenaline soon died down and the usual awkward tension returned.

The pettiness from earlier had you turning your back on him, storming towards the bench where you were sitting before your peace was ruined. Slow and hesitant footsteps followed you from behind, the heaviness of your breathing filled the air and you soon stopped in your tracks, the footsteps followed short. You turned around fast enough for you to have a whiplash, the man in front of you had kept a distance between you and him, the unspoken emotions were visible in the way he looked at you.

“Are we ever going to stop this?” the words had left his mouth before you could even form a proper thought, that alone was able to break down everything you had prepared to say beforehand.

“Stop—what?”

“This! Us!” he gestured between you and him, the distance was already proof of your coldness to one another. “Are we going to continue pretending everything is alright when it’s not?”

“You seriously have the nerve to say that after ignoring me for years, so yes, everything is fine! It’s the way it’s supposed to be,”

“You were ignoring me too!”

“I mean, you hate me, we can’t stand each other, isn’t that what everything is meant to be like?”

“‘I hate you’? Since when have I hated you?” Sunghoon scoffed, nostrils flaring, frown lines deepening.

“Ever since our first competition after you transferred clubs. We stopped talking, you never bothered to look me in the eyes and brushed past me as if I was a stranger! I thought I could try apologising, but since then, all I could see in your eyes was anger,” your breath was shaky, the memories of your best friend becoming someone you couldn’t recognise was painful to relive. “You never told me your plans to leave, but you know what? I thought we were best friends…”

Sunghoon was silent for a moment, he opened his mouth to speak just for him to close it again, jaw clenched with a tense gaze. “I thought it was the right choice. I knew you would’ve said no if I had told you earlier, so I chose not to. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I suppose my judgments were wrong. I was a coward,” he paused, his eyes scanning every micro expression you made. “I never hated you. How could I ever? I was angry at myself. Seeing you…I was frustrated that I had let you go so easily. I thought you didn’t wish to reconcile after you ignored me, I didn’t know it was the opposite,”

You were still unresponsive, your pupils were shaking just as your breath began to waver. Sunghoon tried his best to muster the faintest of a soft smile, his knuckles were soon turning white from how hard he was balling his fists. “I’m sorry for saying those things that night. I shouldn’t have disregarded our friendship over something so stupid. I’m sorry, Y/N,”

With every blink, your eyes only stung from the tears building up. His confession as a whole made your heart twist, the overwhelming truth was eating you up from within. The explanation from him that you craved and yearned from years was finally here, but instead of feeling angry and wanting to punch him in the face like you’ve always thought you would, you were the total opposite of that.

Tears were streaming down your face before you could fully comprehend you were crying. The lump in your throat was preventing you from speaking, a choke sob escaped and that wasn’t helping your case at all. “Fuck,” you cursed, feeling the heat creeping up to your face from embarrassment and you immediately buried your face into your hands.

“Hey,” Sunghoon took large strides to get to you. You felt the warmth of his presence, the gentle touch of his hands that were on your arms, trying to pry them away from shielding your face. In that moment, you let yourself fall victim to him and his touch, feeling as if you had travelled back in time to when you first lost and Sunghoon was comforting you. “Hey, look at me,” your eyes flitted up to meet his gaze, recognising the familiarity in them that you’ve missed.

“What are you crying for?” his thumb brushed against your skin, wiping the downpour of tears.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon, I’m truly sorry. I feel stupid, I shouldn’t have expected you to read minds, I shouldn’t have blamed you for everything—”

“Hey,” he said once more, pulling your attention back onto him. “It’s alright. The both of us made mistakes, we were both in the wrong, none of us could blame the other. I know where you’re coming from, I understand,”

You blinked your tears away, breathing in deeply to stop yourself from crying yet again. “I wished we could’ve done this earlier. I wished I could’ve been less consumed by my anger. I lost many years without you, and most of all, I missed you,”

There was a twitch to the corners of Sunghoon’s lips, his hold on your hand became slightly tighter, and in a blink of an eye, he tugged you into his chest, engulfing you into a hug. You’ve missed this feeling, yet it felt completely new to you. “I missed you too. I’m sorry for being such a stuck up asshole to you all the time,”

You snorted, smiling faintly against his hold. “You better be sorry. You’re forgiven,”

“You’re forgiven too.”

Six years. That was how long you’ve lost with each other. The amounts of competitions won, achievements and important events missed could no longer be replaced. But that day, in that locker room, you got a new chance at rebuilding the moments you’ve lost in those six years, and you got a new beginning to build memories, even legacies, together that lasted for centuries.

Waking up to a message from Sunghoon on a Saturday morning was the last thing you’d expect.

Sure, you had made up with him not long before this, rather forcefully so, and you were glad it went well because you were done with your years of miscommunications with him, but after all, the wound was still fresh, the awkwardness and unfamiliarity was there between the both of you. You couldn’t really speak to him without silence eventually following with nothing to say, nor could he keep a conversation with you fully either.

In your eyes, he looked like the person you knew for your whole life, physically unchanged, but at that moment, you didn’t know what he was actually like anymore, whether he would laugh at the same joke you made or if he’d have the habit of repeating some words as he used to, all of those became a mystery to you. It hurts you to know you’ve built a distance from him, causing the person you understood so well becoming someone you’re barely associated with.

Unknown number: this is Y/N, right? it’s Sunghoon. do you have time today?

You: hey, it’s Y/N. i do have time, i’m free for the whole day. why do you ask?

Sunghoon: i’m going home today, back to our hometown, i’m wondering if you’d like to come along? it’s okay if you decline though.

You: no, actually i’d like to come with you if you don’t mind. thanks for asking me.

Sunghoon: i’ll be at your house in an hour, eat something light, let’s get breakfast at our usual place.

Going back to the place that practically raised you along with the person that had been by your side since the start and growing up together with you was something you’d never once thought was possible in those six years apart, that was until now. It was a miracle that he’d willingly invited you to join him, and as much as you were relieved, you were also nervous, way too anxious for your own good.

For at least fifteen minutes after answering his texts, you paced back and forth in your apartment, conflicted about what to wear, the things you should bring, and even preparing what you could say to him once you saw him. This was a big step for not only you, but also him. It was a bandage that would heal the wounds caused by your dispute, a potential chance to restart the friendship and get closer to one another.

Seeing his car brought you back to the night he drove you home. An embarrassing realisation that you had was Sunghoon had to see you in your drunken state that couldn't keep yourself balanced on two feet. You disregarded that memory and entered his car, greeting him a good morning like you've grown to do at training.

“Hungry?”

“I'm alright, just had some bread,”

“Great. It'll be an hour drive and we'll stop by our favourite restaurant, how does that sound?”

“I'm excited. I haven't been back in months,”

“Well, I think you'd like the new set they added in the menu.”

He remembered what you liked and hated? The biggest shock was realising he still ate at your favourite restaurant, taking note of an addition to the menu that he'd think you'd like. Did that mean he's kept you in his head even before your reconciliation?

Everything was confusing to you. He was confusing to you. It was absolutely frustrating. You shook off that feeling and stared out of the window, noting some landmarks that you remembered. It was the same route you'd take every time you went back to your hometown as well. You wondered how many times you've happened to cross paths on this route with Sunghoon in the past.

By taking advantage of the silence in the car, you decided to ask Sunghoon a question that's been eating you alive ever since you received his message. “Why did you suddenly decide to go back at this time?”

Sunghoon didn't expect you to cut through the silence, glancing at you briefly before returning his eyes upon the read ahead. He hummed thoughtfully, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“To be honest, I've thought about it for quite some time already. I wanted to have a small getaway while being able to see my parents before going to Paris,” he paused for some time, the faint music coming from the radio played in the background. “It's something that I do before major competitions. Visiting the old pool and seeing everyone again really calms me down a lot. I just thought it'll be a great opportunity to bring you along now…” now that we're somewhat friends again. That was probably what he wanted to say after judging from his hesitance.

“I never knew you went back so often,” you muttered, frowning at the fact that this was another thing that you failed to learn about Sunghoon. It was also another evidence of how your friendship was, in fact, in the ditch for a long period of time where you practically had zero idea of what the other was doing.

He maintained his focus on the road ahead, but you could see a small, ever so slightly of a smile forming on his face. At least you knew he was getting comfortable enough to not keep such a stoic expression around you like before. “It's not that often. I will try to do it as much as I can, but it's hard. You know, my mum would ask your mum about you all the time, she just hides it from me,”

You snorted at that, yet internally, you felt touched at Mrs Park's concern for you even when you and her son stopped being friends. It was hard to avoid her whenever you went home considering she lived in the house next to your family. Not that you had ill intentions to dodge her, but seeing her after what went down, you didn't have the courage to face her. Mrs Park was relentless to say the least, she'd always find her way to speak to you no matter what, and sometimes, you could see how sorry she was from her eyes alone.

“I'm sure my mum does the same too and she just never tells me.”

The journey there didn’t take long with several conversations here and there with Sunghoon, the small talks lasted longer than how it usually would, and that alone was saying something. There were some laughs shared together, in the midst of the moment, you couldn’t help letting your gaze on his smile linger for more than a second. It was the first few times you got to see Sunghoon letting himself go around you just like old times.

Sunghoon wasn’t kidding when he mentioned the first stop would be your favourite restaurant. It was surprising to see the restaurant again after almost a year of not dropping by. The times you went back to your hometown was to visit your parents only, there were barely any second thoughts about stopping to visit your favourite spots. Maybe it was also because you were scared to relive the best memories you had with Sunghoon and the only way was to avoid the places you created unforgettable moments with him.

“I haven’t been here in forever,” you looked around at the unchanging interior of the restaurant, the walls were decorated with simple paintings and a picture of you and Sunghoon together with the restaurant owner. Beside that picture was another one that caught your eye instantly. Squinting, you realised that it was Sunghoon with the owner in more recent years, most likely a year ago. He really did come back to visit much more consistently than you, especially to the places you grew up going to together. “Is that you in the picture?”

Sunghoon raised his eyebrows, turning to follow your line of sight and realisation dawned on his face at the picture that was next to the old one of you and him. “Oh—that, yeah it is. It was taken a year ago. I only started coming back here last year. I was surprised she recognised me after all those years. It was quite awkward when she asked me about you though,”

“I can imagine,” you cringed at the image of people asking either one of you about the other, you've been so close since forever where everyone assumed you and him came in pairs. “I didn’t think you’d come back here,”

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t it remind you too much of us?”

Sunghoon smiled at that, a hint of curiosity sparked in your eyes at his reaction. “That’s the reason why I came back actually … regardless of what happened,”

You could sense some sadness in his voice when he said that despite wearing an unwavering smile. There was an odd feeling in your heart knowing that you were wrong all along. Sunghoon never hated you, not even once. In fact, he missed you just as much as you did, or more judging from what he'd said. Was it relief, regret or sadness that you felt?

“Should we order?” he noticed the solemness settling in your face, taking the initiative to change the subject and divert your attention away from your thoughts. “How about we order our usual?”

“Do you still remember mine?”

“I do. I'd never forget anything about you.”

Every part of you was filled with nostalgia once you tasted the food you grew up eating. It was a shame your fear clouded you from coming back to the restaurant, you've missed it more than you expected. However, it was probably the best choice that you made unknowingly. It wouldn't have felt the same without Sunghoon. Eating the same food with the same person that you had done so years ago proved that you would've missed his presence if he wasn't there.

“You two are going to the Olympics next month, right?” the restaurant owner, Mrs Kim, came by your table to check up on you and Sunghoon, who answered her question with a short 'yes'. She turned to you, and it was then you realised how much older she's gotten over the years of not seeing her. Time really has slipped through your fingers. “I haven't seen you in years. I was really happy to see you winning in the last Olympics,”

You bowed your head slightly, smiling at the fact that she remembered you even though you practically disappeared for a long period of time. “Thank you. I really wished I got the time to stop by too,”

“It's okay, you're probably busy, aren't you? It just makes me really, really happy to see you here with him now. I remember how you and him loved coming by to hang out and eat,” Mrs Kim reminisced thoughtfully, spreading the effect to you and possibly Sunghoon as well. She took a quick glance at the wall where your old picture was. “How about we take a new photo? I'll make sure to stick it on the wall to show how much our Olympic medallists had grown,”

You and Sunghoon laughed awkwardly, but neither of you rejected her offer either. At the same spot in the restaurant where you stood years back, in the exact position standing beside Mrs Kim with Sunghoon to her right, you smiled at the camera, listening to the click coming from the phone as the picture was taken. As Mrs Kim ran to check on the pictures, you looked over at Sunghoon, meeting his eyes at once as he had already been staring at you before that.

It was unspoken, but you knew what he meant. This moment was something you and him both needed after everything that went down. It was a start over, a reflection on your past and reliving your memories. You were there then, also creating new memories for your future-self, looking back to feel nothing but relief that you and Sunghoon had patched up the cracks.

There was a small, genuine smile that crept onto your face. It was filled with nothing but sincere joy and relief. At that, Sunghoon reciprocated your smile, chuckling a little too. A wave of emotions flowed through the two of you in that instance, because you knew, there was nothing in this world that could ever take this moment away from you, never again.

The next stop right after breakfast was your parents' homes.

There was a sense of ease in the air ever since you left the restaurant. You and Sunghoon no longer were as tense as before, feeling rather comfortable in your own skin compared to the awkwardness you suffered from last time. Sunghoon couldn't hide his nervousness about going home, and if you thought about it too, you started feeling the same.

You didn't tell your parents you were visiting, after all it was an impromptu trip and you figured a surprise visit would be nice. 'Surprise' probably wouldn't be enough to describe your return together with Sunghoon. You doubted anyone could've seen this coming.

“Let's meet up after to get lunch, how does that sound?” Sunghoon and you were standing outside of his car that was parked on the sidewalk right by each of your houses.

“Sounds good. I'll text you,”

“Sure. I'll let you know when I'm done too,” he glanced over your shoulder, looking at his house before averting his gaze to yours. It didn't take long for you to piece together what was going through his mind. Memories of your childhood, that was most likely flooding his head. “See you,”

“See you in a while too.”

It was odd. Watching Sunghoon entering his home, you couldn't get yourself to enter yours. Not because you were scared of your parents whatsoever, it was mainly due to a weird feeling clouding your senses. Every moment, everything, from the restaurant up until standing on the sidewalk with Sunghoon, it reminded you of your past that you were reliving in the present, except you were much older and had different circumstances. Growing up was weird.

Your parents were definitely surprised to see you walking through the front door. Nevertheless, they engulfed you in a hug and asked about your sudden visit. Once you mentioned Sunghoon, their eyes almost popped out, and you had to explain everything from the start to the end.

“So, I guess we're friends again,”

“Oh, thank God,” your mother sighed dramatically, clutching onto her chest. You were already tired from her antics and it has only been an hour. “Thank God you and Sunghoon are back to being friends. I was wondering if you two will ever talk again,”

“We were almost never going to talk forever. Things weren't as smooth sailing in the beginning, but I'm glad we worked through it somehow,” you shrugged, lips flattening into a thin line.

“Did you know Sunghoon would always visit us whenever he's back here?” your dad chimed into the conversation, it was his turn to surprise you with something new that you never knew about, so you shook your head. “He practically begged us not to tell you because he knew you'd be angry,”

“He did?” you breathed out in disbelief and shock, not expecting Sunghoon would go out of his way to visit your parents as well. All while you and him were on bad terms, that was way more than necessary. You felt yourself melting into the couch, another level of guilt built internally. “He cared … way more than I thought.”

The day eventually rolled by swiftly after eating lunch and an early dinner with both yours and Sunghoon's family. The two families hadn't had the chance to sit down and catch up together as a whole in years. It wasn't the same in those years of bad blood, and now that everything was back to the way it should be, you could tell both families were at peace just as much as you were. Inevitably, you had to bid them goodbye with a heavy heart, accepting their wishes for the Olympics and stealing one last look to remember the moment.

The evening sun was setting soon, the sky was painted a hue of orange and yellow. You missed the feeling of watching the sunset back at home. This time around, however, you didn't feel a sense of sadness in you anymore, unlike how you did in the past. The sun was disappearing from sight as you stared out of the window. Sunghoon was bringing you to the last spot that he'd usually go to during his routine visit: your old training centre.

You still remember the last few times you visited the training centre. Once was after the Tokyo Olympics where you and some of your other teammates that you trained with at your old club came to meet some of the young swimmers. There was the other time when you personally visited to see your old coach, having the chance to speak to him privately and you could still recall the unavoidable mention of Sunghoon.

There you were, years later, walking by him along the vast swimming pool that you trained in with Sunghoon growing up, watching evening training sessions of the youth swimmers. Eventually, you and him decided to take a seat in the stands, feeling worn out after a long day. You turned to him, unwavering eyes trained on his face. “I’m surprised you would visit everytime you’re here even though you transferred,”

“It’s where everything started,” he had his attention on the training session happening below, a smile filled with reminiscence of the past slowly crept onto his lips. “It’s where all my memories are. I could remember every little memory of us being here from years ago,”

“I suppose you’re right. Whenever I’m here, I feel oddly nostalgic. Every part of the pool has a story behind it, that’s how much time we spent here,” you hugged your arms around yourself, leaning forward to get a clearer look of the swimmers’ performances.

Sunghoon averted his gaze, turning to meet your eyes instead. There was a hint of fondness in those warm, brown irises that reflected a different version of you in them. They lingered for a beat longer before he finally spoke. “I’m glad you’re here with me this time,” there was no mistaking the sincereness in both his voice and his gaze, the truth of his was the same as how you felt. It truly was the closure that you and him needed. “You have no idea how much I missed you whenever I’m here,”

The edge of your mouth twitched, there was an unexplainable feeling in your heart, something that you’ve experienced around Sunghoon one too many times back then and it seemed to have returned once more. “And you have no idea how I feel the same about you when I’m here too.”

Going home, there was a much lighter atmosphere surrounding you and Sunghoon compared to before. You couldn’t explain it, but you just knew the trust and love that had existed in the past was coming back stronger than ever. It was a day filled with nostalgia, reminiscence and also vulnerability. You’d never thought you’d confess your inner thoughts to him until he did, being the first to open up and allowing you to realise he wasn’t the bad guy that you made him out to be in your head. He was Park Sunghoon, the same as the one you grew up with, the first boy who showed you everything and made you feel emotions you’ve never experienced.

He was your best friend. Yet, deep inside of you, you knew in those two words, ‘best friend’, there was something more than simply just that.

One month. 30 days.

The Paris Olympics seemed to be closer than imagined. From being a faraway dream to becoming a reality, the Olympics were the only thing clouding your thoughts day and night, just as it was for your teammates. You and your teammates have yet to stop pushing yourselves with the reminder of winning a gold medal, the weight of it made everyone tense and having a harder time to calm down.

“Should we get some drinks tonight?” Yunjin proposed at the end of the training, looking expectantly at every one of you. “It’s the weekend and we have some time off,”

“No clubs please,” Anton threw his head back, dreading the thought of getting drunk at the club and being disoriented again, especially when the big day was coming.

“Who said we’ll be going to the club?” Yunjin’s smirk was telling you that she had a grand idea brewing in her head already. “Come to my place. I have the best drinks to offer,”

The temptation of drinking somewhere other than the club was getting to you and the others. With the accumulated stress and endless training, all you wished for was a chance to let go even for only a second. Now that Yunjin had proposed an idea that was hard to reject, the devil on your shoulder was calling for you to agree.

“I’m down,” Sunghoon was the first to agree to Yunjin’s idea, his eyes immediately meeting yours when you looked over at him. He flashed you a faint smile, giving you a drinking gesture to which you rolled your eyes at.

“You know what, me too,” Juyeon, who stood next to Sunghoon, threw his arm around Sunghoon, bouncing slightly on his heels. Following him, the others agreed too, and you inevitably went along.

“I’ll pick you up,” Sunghoon said as he passed by you before disappearing with the guys to their locker rooms. Yunjin and Yujin were staring at you with a type of smile that you knew was up to no good.

“What?” you wrapped your towel around you and started making your way to the locker room as well, the other two running up to catch up with you.

“You and Sunghoon have gotten really close,” Yunjin nudged you with her elbow.

“Isn’t that what you all wanted? Since you locked me in a room with him,” you wiggled an accusatory finger at both Yunjin and Yujin who were equally guilty for conjuring up the idea and going along with it. “Is it supposed to be surprising that we’re close friends again?”

You remembered that day clearly and what exactly happened after. Once you made up with Sunghoon, you and him weren’t freed from the room immediately as you wished for it to be. Instead, you were in there for over an hour, stuck with Sunghoon and having to converse with him even though he had just witnessed your breakdown in front of him. Admittedly, it was a great bonding time that did help in repairing your relationship, but you were still holding that grudge that your friends had run off to leave you fending for yourself in that locker room.

Thankfully, their efforts were not in vain. After that, you and Sunghoon became closer as each day passed by. Although it was a little awkward and tense at some points in time, you still managed to get over it, building back the friendship that you used to have together. You could tell Coach Jeon was much more relaxed than usual seeing you and Sunghoon talk and interact. Not to mention, the trip back to your hometown has made a monumental impact on you and him, getting the closure that the both of you needed and finally putting everything behind.

“Well…no,” Yujin interjected, a finger placed on her chin as if she was pondering deeply about something, then she turned to look at you sharply. “But, what if…”

You pulled a face at her, absolutely confused at what she was trying to mean. “What if?”

“What if,” it was Yunjin’s turn to chime in, raising her eyebrows suggestively at you. “What if you and Sunghoon—”

“Never!” you blurted out, stopping Yunjin from finishing the sentence that you knew what was going to end with. That question has been asked ever since you were kids till your teen years, and you were getting deja vu at that moment. The thought of Sunghoon and you dating has always pulled a convulsive reaction out of you.

“What?” Yunjin and Yujin shrieked, halting in their steps which prompted you to follow suit, staring frantically at them as though you’ve spoken a curse that had shook them.

“You had Park Sunghoon wrapped around your little finger since you were a kid and you never once—not even once—thought about him in that sense? Do you know how popular he is?”

You knew Sunghoon was popular ever since you were a kid. It didn’t matter if it was in school, in the club or around your neighbourhood, his name had a reputation to it, the ‘cute swimmer boy’ was typically how people described him. The crushes people had on him were something you wished you would forget too, not because of jealousy whatsoever, but mainly because you were dragged into it for no reason at all.

“I’ve never considered it before,” you said simply, avoiding their watchful gazes, but were met with doubtful looks from the two girls.

“Not even once?”

You swallowed, fidgeting with your towel and slowly losing your composure. There was a momentary pause that spoke more than words were needed, followed by an uncomfortable cough. “Well…maybe once,”

“Okay. Just once?” Yunjin pressed on, a satisfactory smile appearing on her lips just as imaginary devil horns appeared on her head. She knew what she was doing.

“Or twice…”

“Only?”

“I’m leaving!” you clutched onto your towel, not sparing your friends a single look before rushing towards the locker room. Your heartbeat was increasing at a concerning rate and it was not because you were speeding up your steps, but because of the thought of Sunghoon and your friends’ questions. This was frustrating!

Yunjin and Yujin watched as you sped walked away from them with smiles on their faces, the identical ones they had while brewing up the plan to get you and Sunghoon back together. Well, that worked, didn’t it? So, their next plan should be a guaranteed success.

“You know what I’m thinking?”

“I think I do.”

To your absolute dismay, the conversation you had with Yunjin and Yujin completely distracted you from that moment onwards. All you could think of was Sunghoon associated with the words ‘what if’ when you were in the shower, locker room until seeing the man himself in his car. You listened to him talk with the soft music in the background, the ambience itself painted a picture where a new light was shone on him, the thoughts returning in no time.

You tried your best to avoid him when you had the chance at Yunjin’s place, taking every chance to distract yourself with your friends’ conversations while chugging down some good beer. There were a few occasions where you felt Sunghoon’s lingering stare at you, locking eyes for several seconds before being the first to look away, heat gradually crawling up to your cheeks. Damn it, Yunjin and Yujin, why did they have to put this imagery into your head? Now you can't face Sunghoon like a normal person.

“Why are you so quiet today?”

You were startled when you heard Sunghoon’s voice coming from behind you. It was right after midnight when you were sitting on one of the chairs in the balcony all by yourself, looking out at the city skyline with a half empty bottle of beer. Sunghoon made his presence known by taking a seat next to you, keeping his unwavering gaze at you, expecting an answer from you.

You. You were the reason. That was what you would’ve said if you had the guts to be as bold as you wished to be. However, that was already reserved for the Olympics, so you couldn’t bring yourself to be bold when it came to your true feelings. What were your true feelings in the first place?

“What? Oh, it’s nothing. I guess it’s just finally hitting me that the Olympics are soon. It’s quite nerve wracking,” you were lying through your teeth, and there was a small chance he could see through you.

Sunghoon propped one hand on his knee, leaning a little close to you, his eyes trained onto your face, the scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of the beer lingered in the air between you and him. “You’re nervous? The Y/N L/N is nervous? That’s something new,”

“Quit teasing,” you slapped his arm in a lighthearted manner, resisting the urge to smile when you saw his face lighting up. “Everyone’s expectations are a heavy burden. Maybe I got older and became a little more aware of everything, but I’m finally realising not only our country is placing their hopes on us, the entire team is too,”

The emotional side of you was making its appearance once more just as it always does when you drink. Last time it was about Sunghoon, and this time it was with Sunghoon, you should be proud of the progress. Taking a swig of your beer, you tried to hide your vulnerability by acting as casual as you could. It has been ages since you and Sunghoon had these types of conversations, especially now that you’ve just recently patched things up, the last thing you wanted was to dump your worries on him.

“Do you still remember what they called us?” he placed his beer bottle onto the ground, the cool night air brushing against his hair, a slight tinge of pink painted on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. You ignored how close he was to you, your knees brushing against one another at times, his cologne being the only thing you could breathe in, every single detail of his features being as clear as day in the night. “‘National treasures’. That’s what we are. That is what I think you are. Despite everything, whether it is losing or winning, it’s something nobody could ever take away from you. Take the burden and turn it into your strength. No one would blame you for any kinds of outcome,”

There was a beat of silence, you were blinking at him, absolutely lost for words. You were touched, the emotional imbalance wasn’t helping either as it made you feel a bottle of surging emotions. Most importantly, you could feel your heart skipping a beat. Was that supposed to be normal? You ignored the telling signs, opting to feign nonchalance and breaking into a smile. “Since when did you get so matured?”

Sunghoon let out a soft chuckle, turning away from you to look at the night sky instead. He breathed in deeply, exhaling just a second after, a comfortable silence settled for a split moment. “We’re the protagonists of the world,” he said without missing a beat, then he glanced back at you with a fiery spark in those brown irises of his. “That’s what we used to tell each other, isn’t it? So, what’s stopping us from being that again?”

He remembered. He remembered everything. Every little detail that you thought to be too insignificant for him to recall, every small moments you had together, every word you said to him, he never once forgot them. There was a slight widening of your eyes as you processed what he just said, the realisation eventually pulled a laugh of amusement out of you, a sudden wave of reminiscence filled your heart up.

“You’re right. We’re born to be national treasures and the protagonists of the world. You and I.”

Landing in Paris was a dream come true.

Not only were you accompanied by the entirety of the national team, but you had your closest friends by your side, the anticipation for victories were apparent in every one of you. Yunjin and Yujin couldn’t contain their excitement throughout the whole plane ride either. They were bugging you about the food choices available, the opening ceremony leading up to the design of the medals. It was a miracle you managed to sleep despite their constant bickerings.

“It’s really happening, isn’t it?” Yunjin whispered to you as the team were en route to the Olympic Village.

“It is. It truly is,” you had a dazed look in your eyes, the passing sceneries of the city mesmerised you with the reality of you actually being there gradually hit you. “A once in four years opportunity. It is our time now.”

Unpacking your luggage was a hefty job once you’ve arrived at your assigned room in the village. You shared the lodging with your two best friends along with your other teammates from the swimming team, so there was nothing much to worry about except for the amount of gossip that would happen in that space alone. No matter how tired you all were, you had no choice but to power through it and get ready for the opening ceremony in the evening.

The opening ceremony was an unforgettable experience to say the least. You were dressed in a simple suit just as the others were too, the team uniform was the only thing taking up your line of sight as you stood on the boat that was cruising along the Seine River. Countless spectators were crowded on the bridge overlooking the river, waving to the boats passing by.

“I can’t believe we’re on a boat. We didn’t have this in Tokyo,” Yunjin whisper-shouted to you, recounting the opening ceremony back in Tokyo four years ago while waving the flag in her hand with great enthusiasm.

“It’s not everyday you get to be on a boat in some expensive suit in Paris,” you threw an arm around Yunjin’s shoulder, pulling her close to your side.

“And it’s not everyday you’re just casually participating in the Olympics,” Yujin added, doing the same to you and pulling you closer to her, eliciting a laugh from both you and Yunjin. It really was a miracle and a dream to have your best friends competing with you at such a big event, and that wasn’t something anyone could just brag about.

Halfway through the boat ride, you managed to squeeze past many familiar faces from your national team, some were even athletes you looked up to, and it made you feel like a fan all over again. However, that wasn’t your main goal for searching around the large boat. It was the person that came to your mind ever since you landed in Paris.

“Sunghoon!”

He turned around at the sound of your voice calling after him, his curious gaze landed on you, warmth and familiarity filled his eyes at the sight of you accompanied by a boyish smile he would have whenever he was with you. There was no way he could hide his excitement of seeing you from the way his eyes sparkled and crinkled at the sides, looking at you as if you were the only person in his field of vision.

“Hey,” he breathed out once you reached his side, the both of you leaned against the railings and looked out at the river. “Tired?”

“Very. Can’t you tell I’ve put concealer over my dark circles? I think the jet lag might hit soon,” you dramatically pointed at your under eye area, the frown on your face only pulled a humorous laugh out of Sunghoon.

“Rest up. Our first event is tomorrow,”

“Already?” you threw your head back, groaning at the thought of early morning training.

“Crazy, isn’t it? I have back-to-back events too,”

“Who asked you to sign up for so many anyway?” you nudged his side teasingly, sharing a brief moment of eye contact.

“I’m very passionate about swimming,”

“Sure you are,” you snickered quietly at him, sharing the same smile he had on his face. Slowly, you turned to look at him, resting your elbow on the railing. “You’re not pushing yourself too hard, right?”

He averted his gaze from the view in front of him, glancing at you instead and meeting your rather intense eyes that held a message that he knew to decipher before you could explain further. “Don’t worry about me,” he said softly. There was a hint of hesitance in his movements for a split second, but then he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’m really glad I got to spend this Olympic with you,”

Given the last Olympics in Tokyo where you and he were still in the cold war era, it never once occurred to you that you’ve wasted a precious moment with him. It could’ve been a good memory where you experienced your first Olympics with the person that’s been by your side since day one. Four years since then, in this present time, staring at his delicate features with a crowd cheering around you, there was nothing you would trade to replace this moment with him.

“I’m glad you’re here with me this time,”

His smile grew wider, eventually reaching his eyes that contained sparks which grew brighter as time passed. Your breath hitched, the air around you seemed to grow thicker, the breeze swept across your face, blowing against your hair. Yet, all you could do was be frozen in place, becoming much aware of the feeling of his skin on yours. How were you to explain the weird sensation of your heart tightening and racing quicker than normal? You were too young to experience cardiovascular diseases!

Something in you knew it wasn’t symptoms of any heart diseases, it was the signs of love. That was much more frightening to you than anything else.

“Are you…okay? You dazed out for a bit,” he snapped his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back to reality after having an internal conflict with yourself.

“What? Oh—I’m fine. Just a little jetlagged. I told you it’s setting in,” you laughed with a nervous undertone to it, trying to wave off any suspicion along with your own thoughts about Sunghoon.

“Get enough sleep tonight. I’ll be there rooting for you tomorrow. After all, your event is before mine, so I’ll be giving you my every support,” he squeezed your hand gently, unbeknownst to him, his action along with the feeling of it travelled to your heart, triggering it to thump harder against your chest. “You better swim at your best, okay? I’ll always be able to see right through you,”

‘I know you’. You remembered it as clear as day, as though it happened just yesterday. Sunghoon’s words brought back the memory of what he had said to you during your first few altercations in training. It was a fact. There was no need for you to deny it or try to avoid that, because both you and Sunghoon knew, no matter what, you’d be able to see through one another and be the best judges of each other’s performances. After all those years, this seemed to have not changed.

You scoffed lightheartedly, turning your face away from him for a moment to hide your flushed state before facing him once again, putting up a front of casualness. “Who are you? Coach Jeon?”

He snorted at the mention of your coach, shaking his head a little. “I think Coach Jeon would be pissed if you didn’t do your best,” he was stating the obvious, considering your coach has the sharpest eyes when it comes to everyone’s performances, there was no way anyone would dare to do so. Sunghoon raised his eyebrows at you, the slightest smile resting on his lips. “But I don’t think that’ll happen. Ever. Y/N L/N, the person I know my whole life, would never slack off or put zero effort into your swim. So, just do your best,”

“You, do your best, too. I’m hoping we can return home with medals around our necks,”

“Of course we are,” he said without any hesitation whatsoever, straightening his spine and wearing a confident smile, never once loosening his hold on your hand. You forgot Sunghoon tends to be the one who had more confidence than you before every competition. It has been that way ever since you were kids, and it seemed to have continued onto the present day. “Did you forget? We’re national treasures. We’ll always bring a medal home. This time, however, it’s going to be gold,”

“You better stick to your words,” you pointed a finger at him, the thought of winning the gold medal excited you, but it also scared you. To Sunghoon, it was just another challenge for him to tackle.

“I will, and you better give it your all to win that gold too. I want to win it together with you … like how we used to.”

Nostalgia was certainly dangerous. You couldn’t help smiling at the mention of the past, thinking about the times you and Sunghoon won gold medals in your individual events. The pictures taken together with a gold medal hanging around each of your neck, smiling innocently with pure joy from winning resided in a thick photobook, becoming memories that you would never let go. It might’ve been different this time compared to the competitions from your childhood as it was the Olympics, the pressure and expectations were higher on you and him. Despite all that, the dynamic between you and Sunghoon remained the same.

Looking out at the Eiffel Tower in the distance, you realise this Olympics wasn’t just a chance to fulfil your dreams, your country’s expectations, but also the hope and dream you shared with Sunghoon since you were kids. The last Olympics might’ve not gone as well as you wished it had in terms of your friendship with Sunghoon, so this was a chance for you to turn things around. Not to mention, your inner voice bugged you constantly about your complicated feelings that have yet to have an answer. Now, that was another problem to solve.

First, you’ve got to get that gold medal. Secondly, you must figure out your true feelings for your best friend. Between the two, the latter seemed much harder than the Olympic gold medal.

“You’re telling me you thought of Sunghoon in a romantic way?”

Breaking the news while you’re warming up half an hour before the finals of your first event was probably the worst timing possible. It was even worse for Yujin and Yunjin who had just finished their semifinal round for their butterfly event.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t blame yourself either. The thought of it was spilling at the seams since its first appearance prior to the Olympics. From that point onwards, it only seems to plague you further by taking over your mind. You were lucky you managed to make it to the top three out of the eight to qualify to the finals. The first day was already chaotic for you, to top it all off, you just couldn’t avoid Sunghoon entirely and thus, the thoughts about him worsened.

“Well, correction, ‘thinking’, not ‘thought’,” you said meekly, attempting to hide your face by stretching, but your two friends weren’t letting you go easily.

“Present tense?” Yujin shrieked, earning odd stares from reporters and other competitors around you. She pursed her lips, lowering her gaze before narrowing it at you. “So, you do have feelings for him?”

“I don’t know? It’s not confirmed … yet. I think?”

“You haven’t made up your mind yet,” Yunjin hummed, seemingly much calmer than Yujin from the looks of her demeanour. “You’re in denial. I do think you have some feelings if you couldn’t stop thinking about him,”

You stopped your actions, deciding you were done warming up, but remained motionless, a defeated sigh eventually left your lips. “What do I do?”

“Own up to it. Face it,” Yunjin stated plainly, receiving a groan from you as a response.

“Easier said than done. The last thing I want to do is to ruin our friendship right after fixing it,”

Yujin looked at you with the softest gaze, much rather in sympathy at your pathetic state. “That won’t happen. How do you know it’s unrequited? What if Sunghoon feels the same way?”

“Impossible,”

“Hey! Don’t make any conclusions before knowing the truth,” Yunjin landed a smack to the back of your head, and as much as you knew you deserved that wake up call, you still hissed at the sting.

“You’re right. I think I’m overcomplicating everything,”

“You are,” Yujin was straightforward, even if her honest truth was a cut to the skin, her rubbing your back in reassurance was a way to patch the wound. “How about we have a debrief tonight at dinner? You should be focusing on what’s much more important now,”

“The fucking finals, Y/N! The 400m freestyle finals! You’re against Ledecky, you should be more worried about her than Sunghoon,” Yunjin surely made a point, and it did help in giving you additional assurance.

You couldn’t resist laughing, especially at their rather interesting way of encouragement and comfort. “Let's talk about this tonight then. I’ll make sure to swim my best later,”

“Duh, when will you ever not? Come on, Sunghoon’s 400m freestyle final is starting. Do you want to watch that or dodge him?”

“Of course I’d want to watch it. After all, he’s still my best friend and I told him I'll be there to support him,” you remembered the unspoken promise you had with Sunghoon to win the gold medal together. With your first finals happening back-to-back, the desperation to achieve your life-long dream with each other had personally overwhelmed the thought of your nation placing their entire hope on your back.

Being at the poolside gave you a slap in the face with the reality that you were in the finals and you weren’t hallucinating every part of it. You were with some of your other competitors for the finals, some were doing last warm-ups while some were sitting and waiting for the men to start their finals. You were one of those waiting for the event to begin. From the looks of your legs shaking, it was hard to determine who you were nervous for. Yourself or Sunghoon?

The swimmers soon take their places at their individual starting block. You could spot Coach Jeon giving Sunghoon some last minute advice before giving the boy an encouraging pat in the back, sending him off to his spot. At one point, you wondered if you were staring too intensely at the back of Sunghoon’s head. It was as if he could feel your stare and your presence simultaneously, opting to look over his shoulder instead of stretching like the other swimmers. One look was all it took for Sunghoon to spot you. He had the same spark in his eyes as the moment he saw you on the boat during the open ceremony.

His shoulders evidently sagged in relief. He breathed in deeply, followed by a striking smile that he casted specifically at you. In those years of competing together, you barely had times where your events were back-to-back, but whenever there were opportunities as such, either you or him would be relieved to see one another. Just one glance, and it’d calm your racing heart in no time. To you this time, however, instead of slowing down your beating heart, his presence only made your heart work ten times harder than usual.

Sunghoon had no choice but to take his eyes off of you once they gave out the signal to the swimmers to take their places on the starting block. Your eyes were trained solely on him, unable to tear them away from his figure as you watched him pull his goggles over his head. Quietly, and routinely, you prayed for the best.

There was a loud electronic beep that was followed by the swimmers diving into the pool, a sound of water splashing filled the arena and from that, the cheers increased by ten folds. You could barely breathe as you stared at the large projector that displayed the live televised scene of what’s happening before you, giving everyone a much better view of the action in the pool.

Sunghoon was currently in a tight spot with both the German and Australian swimmers relentlessly chasing after the first place. There were times when the top three would overtake each other to secure the gold medal position just to fall back. It was only the second lap out of the eight, but you could feel yourself unconsciously gripping onto your chair tightly. To the spectators and fans, the thrill of the competition between the swimmers spurred them alive, the atmosphere in the arena became increasingly wilder from the shouts and cheers.

The swimmers completed each lap with vigour, swimming back and forth for eight laps without stopping for a second, the last lap was soon approaching once you saw Sunghoon kicked his feet off the wall, heading back to the starting spot for one last time. The underwater battle between him and the other two swimmers was becoming much more fierce, leaving the rest of the swimmers to trail behind them.

There was barely any gap between the three of them till the point where it became hard to determine who was in the lead. The tension was high, the fans in the crowd were shouting louder while waving the flags of their countries. You could hardly get your eyes off of the screen, the name of your best friend was displayed on the lane he was swimming in, the distance between them and the starting point was closer as each second passed.

Nobody dared to blink the next moment. Once their hands touched the walls, it was already the signal of the end. Every swimmer stopped once they had finished their lap, holding onto the edge and waiting for the results. The screams from the people watching in the stands became a hundred times louder when the leaderboard revealed the names of the top three winners. You averted your gaze to the three names, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of Sunghoon’s name sitting in second place.

The camera panned over to show Sunghoon on the screen. There was a hint of disappointment that was hard to hide, but you could tell he was trying to put on a smile. Losing the gold medal was frustrating, however, at the end of the day, he was still a winner of the silver medal, making him the first athlete to clinch an Olympic medal for the country this early on in the campaign.

The swimmers eventually got out of the pool, rushing to interviews or choosing to freshen up by changing into their tracksuits. The medalists were busy tending to the reporters and once they were done, they rushed off to change so that they could get ready for the award ceremony. That was when Coach Jeon approached you, reminding you that your own event was starting soon.

“Ready?” he patted your shoulder, giving his best to offer any form of encouragement that seemed to not have successfully calmed you down entirely.

“Not really, but I’ll be okay,”

“Just remember what we always practised. Those months of hard work will not be in vain, you hear me? Go out there and prove to everyone that you’re Y/N L/N. The star swimmer of the national team.”

‘Y/N L/N, the star swimmer of the national team’. You never expected that the title which has been thrown around in headlines for years to finally become somewhat significant to you until this moment. You were in a designated staging room waiting for the award ceremony to end and at the same time, to get ready for yours. The small television screen in the corner of the wall was broadcasting the entirety of the ceremony, the commentators’ voices were drowned out by the chatters in the room, and your sole focus was on Sunghoon who stood behind the podium.

The moment his name was announced, he stepped onto the podium, accepting the silver medal that was hung around his neck. There was a small smile on his face as he waved to the crowds, a smile you knew very well whenever he wasn’t fully satisfied with his own results. Apparently he hasn’t changed much over the years when it comes to swimming.

“We’re starting in five minutes!”

That reminder brought you back to your own reality that you had to face undoubtedly. The second the awards ceremony ended as fast as it had started, preparations for your event began and not long after that, the names of every competitor were announced in order. You walked out of the tunnel right as your name was called, the sound reverberated around the arena, the cheers that followed were loud enough to shake the ground of Paris. You’ve missed this feeling.

Standing before the pool with a large crowd was indeed nerve wracking after months of not competing and swimming in a pool with no spectators around. Even though you did swim with the crowd watching the day before for the preliminary round, you felt the difference at that moment knowing it was the finals. Everyone in that arena was placing their hopes on the athletes from their own countries, it was the same for you, but nothing could compare to how you and your competitors actually felt.

There was a buzz that signalled every one of you to take your places on the starting block. At that point, everything seems clearer to you. The water in the pool, the people in the crowd, your country’s flag, all of them were the reason why you felt almost unbeatable, they gave you strength. The beeping sound of the countdown matched the rhythm of your heartbeat, ever so calmly and steady.

Just as it did for the finals prior to this one, the electronic beep sounded once more and you kicked off from your starting block, diving into the pool with nothing but the goal of finishing the eight laps in your mind. Time stood still, the only thing filling your vision was the bottom of the pool along with your competitors in your peripheral vision. You didn’t know what was happening above the water or which place you were currently in, with every breath you inhaled, you wished time could stop for a second.

Every contact with the wall gave you a purpose to keep pushing forward. More than half of the eight laps were completed, all you needed was to push yourself further. It was hard being trapped with yourself and your own thoughts, the constant ideas of what would happen after this kept bugging you even as you swam. Time was, in fact, ticking. The eight laps were soon coming to an end. There was just one last lap from you and you’d be done.

The starting point seemed distant from your point of view. All you could wish for was your extended hand to quickly make contact with the wall. With every pump of your heart, you counted down to the moment you’ve anticipated for. One, two, three …

One slight graze of your finger against the wall marked the end of your lap. You grabbed onto the edge tightly, emerging to the surface of the water and inhaling a deep breath. Practically snatching your goggles off, your head snapped towards the direction of the leaderboard. Your name sat between the Australian and American swimmers.

Second place. 3 minutes and 58 seconds, only a second away from first place.

You shut your eyes for at least a few seconds, forcefully swallowing your disappointment down after as you congratulated your competitors. It was the first event out of the many you were competing in. You remained optimistic even as you answered questions from the reporters, though you wished they would cut down on the gold medal questions this early into the campaign.

On the way to the changing room, you spot a familiar face hanging around with your coach and several other of your teammates. The sight alone brought comfort to you and your heart, there was no chance of you resisting the urge to run up to them. Anton had already beaten you to it, being the first out of the group to spot you and practically shouting your name for the whole world to know.

“Congrats! You kept your spot in the 400m freestyle,” Anton wasted no time in giving you a one handed hug. The others followed too, giving you different variations of a hug.

“I wish I could’ve upgraded, you know?”

“It’s better than none, right? But I do know what you mean, and I believe you’ve done your best,” Anton gave your shoulder a light squeeze, offering a warm smile.

“You did good, Y/N. You were in great form today, but sometimes there’ll be people with better form. Don’t let that get to you and focus on the next event, okay?” Coach Jeon patted you softly on your back, recognising the disappointment in your tone. “Go on and change up, the awards ceremony is soon. Let’s go and not bother Y/N first. We’ll see you later,”

Coach Jeon gave you one last pat on the back then left with the others trailing behind him, all of them cheering you on as they passed you. In the end, it was always your team who’s your biggest support system. That has never changed over the years, and it would never change even for the future, you were very sure of that.

Amongst the group of your teammates who had already left, one happened to stay back and waited for the chance to speak to you alone. You didn’t expect seeing this person would bring you more comfort after losing the lead. Not a hug or some encouraging words, his presence alone was what you needed in times like this, just the same as it was years ago.

“Hey,” Sunghoon had his hands tucked into his pants, the silver medal was still hanging around his neck. You figured he had just finished taking pictures and was freshly done with the press conference. From the tiredness in his voice, you wished he had gone off to rest as well, but knowing him, he would rather see you first than do all that.

“Hey,” you said back, letting him be the one to walk towards you and closing the gap. Pointing at the silver medal that he was sporting, you stared at him with a knowing smile. “You better not beat yourself up over this,” you landed a firm punch to his shoulder, but unlike how he would’ve usually reacted, he just accepted it with a grin growing on his lips, neither dodging or groaning from it. There was something so soft about his eyes that stared back at you, an unreadable mix of emotions that you’ve never seen before reflected in his those brown irises.

“I won’t,” he chuckled, hands unknowingly reaching to touch his silver medal. “After all, this is only the beginning. There’ll be a gold medal soon,”

“I need some of your confidence. You’re always so certain about your goals and you’d end up achieving it,” you pointed out without a second thought, and you weren’t exactly wrong either, earning an amused chuckle from him. “You better let me wear the gold medal once you win it,”

“Hey, didn’t we have this conversation before? We’re both winning the gold medal. Don’t forget that,” he frowned at you, thick eyebrows knitting together and it only made you smile in endearment. “I’m not winning this without you. I want to achieve our dream together,”

“You’re ridiculous,” you let out in disbelief, but from the look on Sunghoon’s face, you knew he was dead serious. Sunghoon was determined to achieve this goal with you no matter what, and he was going to succeed despite the circumstances. Just as you’ve said, Sunghoon has always achieved his goals that he was certain of, this one was the same as the rest to him.

“You said I’m certain about my goals, so here I am. I’m sure we’d win it. Together.”

There was an overflowing amount of sureness in his conviction till the point where it had influenced you gradually. If there was one thing about Sunghoon, it’d be the fact that once he’s set his mind on something, he’d do anything to get it. You were just worried that mindset would wear him out in the long run if something didn’t go his way.

“I’ll hold you to it then,”

“Hey Y/N! The ceremony is starting in five minutes! Go change up! I’ll see you out there,” the American swimmer who secured third place, Katie Ledecky, spotted you still unchanged and in your swimsuit.

“Oh—alright! Thanks!” you waved at her, casting her an appreciative smile, and once she was out of sight, you turned back to Sunghoon, looking rather awkward at the sudden interruption. “I need to get going—”

“Right. I’m sorry for holding you up,”

“No, it’s okay. I’m … really glad I got to see you before going out there. I’m less nervous now,”

“Really?”

“Really,”

A beat of silence filled the space between you right after. Internally, you were freaking out for admitting your thoughts so freely as you’ve just done. What was Sunghoon going to think now that you’ve said that? Would he interpret it as something else? What if��

“I’ll get going now. See you after the ceremony,”

“See you!”

There you went scurrying away from Sunghoon like a coward with your heart rate increasing, mentally cursing at yourself for your slip of a tongue. At any moment, you might as well confess your deeply hidden inner feelings to him. The gold medal, the pressure of winning and the expectations from everyone else could no longer amount to the stress of your true feelings towards Park Sunghoon.

Even as you stood on the podium with everyone watching, you couldn’t bring yourself to take your mind off of Sunghoon. In the midst of the crowd, you could easily spot him together with your teammates. It was your moment, your victory, the few times you could call yourself a winner on a stage as big as this, but the only person you could think of was your best friend.

The same best friend that grew up watching movies at your house, sometimes staying up too late just because you couldn't stop talking and wishing the night would never end. He was your best friend who would tell you stories about how one day you'd both be competing at the Olympics, and he was the one who'd hold your hand whenever you felt overwhelmed no matter where you were.

You had always thought those weird feelings you'd have in your heart were common everytime he said something to you or whenever he held your hands. Never once you thought those nights you stayed up with him, lying on your bedroom floor, talking about your futures where you stared at him with something other than platonic love in your eyes was odd. You remembered the time he laughed so hard until his eyes turned crescent shaped, and that was when you felt your heart skipping a beat, not knowing this wasn't as common as it seemed.

It was not normal. None of those things were ever normal. All of them went flying over your head instead. In that moment, while the national anthem played in the background, you've come to finally realise you've always felt this way for Sunghoon since forever. Those years together were just you denying your feelings for him, avoiding the fear of ruining your friendship. Up until now, you still had that underlying fear especially with the fall out that happened. But your heart was screaming louder at you, clouding the fear and pushing you towards him.

With the applause and camera flashes going off, you forced a smile, the grip on the flowers and your medal tightened, because it finally dawned on you, the undeniable truth that you've suppressed for almost your life was emerging.

You're in love with Park Sunghoon.

Nothing has been the same for you ever since coming to terms with the realisation that you romantically loved Sunghoon.

Your friends could tell you were acting a little off that day when you won your first medal, barely able to swallow down your food during dinner as you talked about Sunghoon. Even though you initially shrugged it off by saying it was just jet lag, it didn’t take long before you cracked and confessed the actual truth to your friends. Did they see it coming beforehand? Absolutely. Were they helpful? Not so. ‘Just tell him’, ‘I think he feels the same’ were the inputs from your friends that seemed to have made your head a mess.

You’ve always been brave. There were times where you had to face challenges thrown at you from every direction and somehow you managed to deal with them. For instance, you got through your injuries with courage and determination, nobody doubted that fact. But when it came to your feelings, bravery and determination was practically nonexistent, only quiet longing and pining existed.

“You better not beat yourself up over this,” the familiar words coming from Sunghoon who appeared beside you almost made you jump in surprise.

Another silver medal won, another close chance to get gold, merely missing by a small margin. You wished to be as optimistic as you were at the beginning, but the disappointment seemed to have built up gradually. The reminder from Sunghoon made you smile upon realising that he had just repeated what you said to him before, it was a genuine smile unlike the one that you put on the podium.

“I’ll try not to,” you removed the medal from your neck, clutching onto it in your hand. “After all, you did say a gold medal is coming soon, didn’t you?”

“I did. Don’t you remember we’re having the mixed medley relay in less than an hour?”

“Right. Our first event together,” your grip on your medal tightened unconsciously, the sudden awareness of your feelings towards him was causing your brain to haywire. Why now? “We haven’t competed together since we were fifteen,”

“I don’t think they saw I’m promising in mixed and men's medley,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he recalled the day he was announced to be replaced in the line up. “How ironic it is that I’m back to square one,”

“Must be fate, isn’t it? The domino effect that led us here,” you marvelled at the fact that your reconciliation with Sunghoon happened at the cost of Yeonjun’s demise. Sunghoon seemed to have caught onto the gist of the meaning behind your words, shaking his head and laughing quietly.

“I hope Yeonjun’s doing fine,”

“He is. He’s just bummed that he had to miss the Olympics. I’m surprised at how nonchalant he is about it though,”

“Maybe, maybe not. You’d never know. Anyway, I think we should get going, we need to get ready with the rest,” he gave your back a light pat, nodding his head over to where your coach and teammates stood, signalling for you to go there together. In less than thirty minutes, you’d be swimming in the mixed medley relay, not knowing what the outcome would be like against the other powerful teams, especially with Sunghoon as a replacement, it was impossible to predict anything.

“What do you think might happen?” You couldn’t help wondering aloud as you and Sunghoon made your way, occasionally stealing glances at the pool where the current event was taking place.

“It’s hard to say. I’ve never done this before and making it to the finals was already a miracle for someone who has little experience like me. I just hope this will be the moment,” he had a small pensive frown, eyebrows furrowed as if he was fighting with his thoughts internally. You instantly knew what he meant by ‘the moment’, the silver medal in your hand somehow becoming heavier at the longing for your shared desire of winning the gold medal.

Despite the tense atmosphere with the pressure to win the gold medal, you managed to let out a genuine, carefree laugh, looping your arm around Sunghoon’s in the heat of the moment. Unbeknownst to you, he tensed for a second and his eyes were flickering in panic at your touch. You turned to look at him, a wide, infectious grin plastered on your face, reminding Sunghoon of many moments you shared with him in the past, feeling a sudden surge of deja vu but also an unfamiliar sensation gripping at his chest.

“With us together, I’m sure we’d be the protagonists of the world, like always.”

Walking out of the tunnel with you and your teammates names being announced to the whole arena to hear was a surreal moment. You had ignored the way your heart raced from the simplest action of holding Sunghoon’s hand for a split second when all of you raised your interlocked hands in greeting to the fans. It was torture to pretend you were completely normal even when Sunghoon casted you a smile right after you dropped your hands. It was almost as if he knew and was mocking you.

“Alright guys,” Anton started, taking the chance while all you were huddled together removing your tracksuits. “After our months of training together and from the results recorded each time, I’m sure we’ll be able to face this and get a medal home. Don’t think much, we’re going to win this,”

Anton, being the group’s hype man for every competition, didn’t fail to restore the heavy atmosphere yet again. The rest of you smiled at his encouraging words that were filled with confidence, making quiet cheers and taking turns to give him a grateful pat in the back. There were some wishes of good luck and last encouragements shared around the group before Anton took his position on the starting block, being the first to begin for the backstroke leg in the relay.

The electronic buzz was no stranger to any of you by then. At the sound of it, every swimmer dived into the pool, swimming faced up with their arms moving in a windmill-like fashion. You could tell Yujin and Sunghoon were both holding their breaths, watching Anton and the two other swimmers fighting for the lead. Hell, you were too, wishing you could choose to close your eyes instead.

Before you knew it, Sunghoon was already making his way to the starting block to get in position. The time was ticking, you knew it was selfish but you couldn’t help yourself from grasping onto his hand, stopping him in his steps, catching him off guard like a deer in headlights. “Good luck,” it was nothing much, a simple expression just like any other, yet you couldn’t explain the reason why you had to tell it to him personally.

It wasn’t obvious, but from the looks of his expressions softening, melting into a relieved smile as if a huge boulder had been taken off his shoulders, Sunghoon seemed to have needed to hear it from you just as much as you needed to tell it to him. “Thank you. Really.”

You let go of his hand, watching as he took his position the same way as he had always done in practices. There was a sense of calmness around him. He fixed his swim cap once, pulling on his goggles after, strictly in a particular order that he followed since the start of his career. His small habits and the superstitions he believed in never changed even after all those years.

The moment Anton was nearing, Sunghoon dived into the pool. Your head snapped to the leaderboard displayed on the big screen, heart nearly stopping at the sight of the team being in first place at that moment. Yujin followed your sight, letting out a breath of disbelief. You turned to meet her eyes, exchanging a knowing look and placed your arms around the other. Nothing could compare to the anxiety you were feeling as the person who was going last.

Yujin was the next to dive into the pool after Sunghoon reached the starting point. He climbed out, absolutely drenched and breathing heavily from the swim. Anton went up to him and gave him a wordless squeeze to the shoulder, letting Sunghoon catch his breath first while they watched the scene unfolding before them.

Soon, it was your cue to get in position on the starting block. Anton patted your shoulder, saying a haste ‘good luck’ once more as you made your way there. Sunghoon was quiet, he knew you more than anyone would, and in that exact second, he understood that you didn’t need another word of encouragement. Instead, he held onto your hand, squeezing it tightly, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he nodded his head, a slight smile on his lips. That was truly all you needed from him.

The feeling when you pulled your goggles over your head, eyes facing straight on the water was simply unexplainable, complex even. It was the same as it had been for days, months, years, but this time, in this exact instant, why did everything feel different? Was it because of the lead and the pressure to uphold it as the person in the last leg? You shook away every one of those intrusive thoughts, focusing on Yujin getting closer.

Just as she got close enough, you knew it was your cue to dive into the pool, letting the water engulf you whole as you kicked your legs, propelling yourself upward to the surface. Your hands and legs were working in tandem, going over the limit to execute your best movement. Every intake of air was scarce, filling your lungs with the right amount as you turned your head each time.

Before you knew it, you had already reached one point, executing a swift flip turn, then you were swimming towards the starting point, towards the end of the relay. You had no idea what was happening above the water, whether or not you were still maintaining the lead, all you could was empty your mind and swim despite the tiredness wearing you down after having to compete in another event earlier on. You finally understood the struggles of having two finals in a day that your teammates would constantly complain about at that moment.

You didn’t dare to move your head a single inch, maintaining the perfect position as you swam even though you were curious how far you were from the other end of the wall. Time was slow when you were the one swimming, the concept of everything happening around you was unknown to you. Your heart dropped to your stomach the second you felt your finger lightly brush against the wall, instantly gripping onto the edge with overwhelming suspense to know what the results were. You were holding your breath as you resurfaced, ears muffled for a split second before you were swarmed with your teammates who all crouched by you, barely having the chance to spare a glance at the leaderboard.

“We won! We fucking won!” Yujin shouted, barely containing her emotions as tears started streaming down her face, swim cap gripped tightly in her hands.

“We did it. Oh my God,” Anton exclaimed, letting his own emotions overwhelm him as he buried his face into his hands, not budging when Yujin wrapped her arms around him.

Sunghoon reached his hand out to you, his eyes were rimmed with a soft crimson hue, the redness highlighting the raw vulnerability within that he tried so hard to mask. The lashes glistened with unshed tears, and the whites of his eyes seemed to shimmer, revealing the depth of his unspoken feelings. Each blink threatened to spill over, this moment was what you and him have been waiting for. “We finally did it. We made it.”

You accepted his hand, allowing him to help you out of the water, but before he could fully stand straight, you had already pounced on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. Sunghoon melted into your touch, holding you close to him with his arms around you with no space left for you to move. The leaderboard was turning blurry in your vision that was gradually filling with tears, your grip on him tightening and your head leaned onto his shoulder, tears mixing with the pool water on his skin.

He pulled away for a moment, hands still holding onto you, never wanting to let go for just a split second. There was nothing said, yet you could feel every emotion he was trying to convey through his eyes. Those shaking hands of his travelled from your waist to your face, cradling it in them, the softness of his palm pressed against your skin. It was fast, him leaning in to press a kiss that lasted longer than a second, the aftermath of it being you and him staring at each other with a mixed reaction of surprise and softness. Before you could say anything, he pulled you back into a hug, wrapping his arms around you tighter than ever.

The cheers around you were drowned out, the presence of the other swimmers were long forgotten, all you could think of was you and Sunghoon only. As you held onto each other as if there was no tomorrow, you never knew how impactful this win was to you and him. If either of you had won your first gold medal in your individual events, everything would’ve turned out differently. But with this shared win, the long awaited gold medal win that you and him swore to achieve together, your dreams had come true, and it was done side by side.

Standing on the podium next to your teammates and most importantly, the person that you’ve been through thick and thin with, receiving the gold medal that hung around your neck perfectly, you wondered if it was all a daydream. You reached for Sunghoon’s hand, slipping yours into his that he instinctively accepted, glancing at you with the widest smile in his face that was immediately burned into your brain, an image that was impossible to recreate. It was real, everything was real. The win, the feeling of victory, your unwavering feelings for the man that was holding onto your hand tightly, all of those were equally real.

“What should we do to celebrate?” Anton had his eyes glued on his gold medal the rest of the day, unable to store it away for just a second. Every one of you thought he might’ve already developed an attachment to it.

“Sleep, rest. We still have our last day tomorrow,” Yujin let out a massive yawn, muscles worn out for the time being to even be able to muster any leftover energy. Unfortunately, you had no choice but to agree with her, the only one who seemed to have enough energy to celebrate was Anton.

“Right, the men and women’s medley relay finals,” Anton murmured, his enthusiasm for a celebration was crushed after realising he still had one more event to go before being able to celebrate fully. “Ready for another round, Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon, who only looked rather dreadful at the mention of their next and last event, showed a frown as a response, thinking about the possibilities that would emerge from the big event. “I’m scared. China and the US … France—”

Anton, carefree as always, slapped Sunghoon in the back. “Don’t be pessimistic, we’ll be fine. Isn’t that true, Y/N?”

You averted your attention away from the screen of your phone, looking up and unknowingly meeting Sunghoon’s eyes almost at once. It was unexpected, the intensity of his stare was all you needed to know that he had been stealing glances at you before this. The suddenness of it made you fluster for a second, nearly forgetting what Anton had just said. “Y–yeah, you guys will be fine. The team medalled at the world championships anyway,”

“You hear that? Don’t worry about tomorrow. Let’s bask in the glory!” Anton threw his arms around Sunghoon, successfully stealing his attention and giving you a chance to look away, calming your heart that was beating out of control.

Taking down one challenge at a time for your forte. With a gold medal secured, you’ve succeeded at the main task at hand. Now that your biggest obstacle was gone, there came another tumbling towards you: Park Sunghoon. You swore to yourself you’d get a gold medal first before dealing with that, and since you’ve always been someone who stuck to your words, it seemed to have come to haunt you instead.

Mission ‘tell Sunghoon how you feel’ was about to be tougher and scarier, probably a much higher chance of a heartbreak than any competitions you’d have ever participated in.

Who would’ve known that the Olympics had ended as fast as it started. One day you were just arriving at the village and the next thing you knew, you’re in the airport waiting for your flight home. Four medals won, a friendship mended, many unforgettable memories made, all of which happened in the course of a few months leading up to the Olympics and also the weeks that you spent in Paris.

“What’s in your mind?” Sunghoon crept up to the empty seat next to you in the lounge as everyone waited to board the flight. You turned your head to the direction of his voice, your body instantaneously reacting to him before your mind could fully process his presence.

“I’m just thinking about how quick this whole Olympics passed by,” you leaned your back onto the seat, Sunghoon following your action without removing his gaze on you.

“Isn’t it crazy how training started a few months ago?” Sunghoon chuckled at the thought of his first day in a new team that totally freaked him out. That entire nonchalant persona he put on was a complete facade, though he would never admit it aloud. “And now you’re going home with four medals,”

“Says the man who has five,” you nudged his shoulder with yours in a lighthearted manner, exchanging a brief smile with him. “It’s weird how six years of us not talking feels like it never happened before, like it was some kind of blip in the matrix. I’m glad we’re able to patch things up and go back to the way it was,”

“Me too. I missed this. I missed us,” it was odd, the way Sunghoon looked at you with emotions that you’d never seen, the vulnerability breaking through his voice, everything felt intimate, too intimate for just a simple conversation in the middle of an airport with everyone around. He took your hand and placed it in his, soft eyes crinkled in the corners with a gentle smile that he always had around you. “Once we’re back home, how about you and I take a short trip to our hometown again? Just the both of us like the last time,”

Staring at him, you were quite stunned, blinking feverishly, and at the same time, the feelings that you tried to shake off so many times were returning at that exact second. “I’d love to. We can grab our favourite lunch set like always,”

Sunghoon snorted, but he was nodding along despite the amusement. “You’re right. We didn’t get that when we were there that day,”

“I forgot! Plus, we had lunch with our family, I’m sure the overdue reminiscing can wait for a little longer,”

“That is why we’re going to go back for a week or more, do the things we always did and visit the places we went when we were kids,” Sunghoon snapped his fingers, staring at you with sparkling eyes. You could tell he really did miss home and his hometown with you in it. “Do you remember the secret hideout we had? The one in the park?”

“You mean the swing?” you smiled at the mention of your shared memories, remembering bits and pieces of it that has yet to be brought up until then.

“Yes, our swing,” Sunghoon enunciated the word ‘our’, a cheeky grin plastered on his lips that told you he was about to say something abysmal. “I really want to go back to that spot with you. Do you still remember that one time you dragged me there at night sobbing because the coach said you’re off by two seconds?”

“Oh my God, shut up,” you landed a hit on Sunghoon’s shoulder, the latter continued to laugh at the fond memory, ignoring your eye roll. His laughter and his smile that reached all the way up to his eyes made you feel fuzzy inside, the picture of it was eternally imprinted onto your mind. “I was such an overachiever,”

“You still are,” he managed to say in between laughters, gradually settling down and unbeknownst to you, his shoulder was pressed against yours, the gap between you and him were becoming nonexistent. “That is why you’re an Olympic champion,”

You shook your head, waving your hand at him. “Please, don’t flatter me and my ego,”

“It’s true! You really are amazing, you know that?” Sunghoon exclaimed, not a single trace of dishonesty was found in his words, his expressions showing genuinity. If he was able to read minds, he would’ve heard your mind yelling at you right after that. You were short circuiting, unable to generate a response. “In my whole life of knowing you, you’re truly one of the best, both in terms of swimming and simply as a person. You’re smart, kind, talented a–and everything. Frankly, you’re my favourite person,”

Are you in love with me? Because I’m in love with you too. You wanted to spill that out of your mouth, vomit your inner thoughts and feelings that you held in for so long, wishing you could make it clear to him how you actually feel and stop yourself from continuously confusing everything. What did he mean by all of that? Was it a casual compliment? To you, none of that was casual and normal. What kind of signals was he trying to give?

“Thank you,” you were breathless, simply because you were barely breathing and you had been holding your breath in ever since the start of his rant. “Y–you’re amazing too, really. Nobody could ever amount to you … you’re my one and only,” was this a suitable time and place to confess your undying love for him, your childhood best friend that you had feelings for? In this airport filled with athletes, being in the city of love, with the clock ticking down to 11:11, you were about to do the unthinkable that you’ve been overthinking for countless nights. “I have something to say, actually. Sunghoon, I actually am in—”

“Guys! Time to gather and board!”

F.M.L.

“What is it?” Sunghoon stared at you expectantly, eyebrows raised in suspense with a slight frown at the sudden interruption. You, on the other hand, were left with your mouth agape, confession cut short and the perfect timing that you deduced ended up being in vain. There was no way that this was reality. “Y/N?”

“I–I’ll tell you another day. We have to board,” you gripped onto the strap of your backpack tight enough to drain the blood from your knuckles. The disappointment was on par with the times you lost your lead.

“Is it something important?”

“Well, sort of? I guess it is,”

“Then you better remember to tell me when you’re ready, okay?” he wagged his finger at you, smiling softly as if he had noticed the drop in your face and was trying to assure you somehow.

“I will. Let’s get going now.” you patted his back, nodding over at the counter where the athletes were getting their tickets scanned and managing to divert his attention away.

‘I’m in love with you’. It’s simple and straightforward, there’s nothing hard about it for you to say, but why couldn’t you tell him that? Even when you tried to do so, it ended up being in a pile of mess, leaving you dejected in the end.

Since when has loving your best friend become so hard? You’ve been doing it for the majority of your life, the only difference was that you were aware that it’s romantic now, so what’s stopping you? Time? Or was it yourself? Maybe it's the fear of vulnerability that feels so heavy. Every shared laugh, every secret whispered in the dark, suddenly carries the weight of possibility. What if these feelings are too big to fit within the bounds of friendship? And yet, isn't love, in all its forms, worth the risk?

You were scared, scared of losing the person you just got back and also the possibility of loving someone who knew your strengths and weaknesses too well.

“You never told me he tried to hit on you while we were there,”

It was the third day of your one week trip back to your hometown with Sunghoon. After the last two days of being stuck with your own families and having to entertain relatives who were too inquisitive, you and him finally got the chance to hang out together without any prying eyes. Getting out of the city once you were done with your public appearances was the perfect plan, it didn’t take Sunghoon long before sending you a text telling you to pack your bags. If only he knew how relieved you felt seeing him pull up to your house like prince charming coming to save the day.

Sunghoon wasn’t kidding when he mentioned about revisiting your secret hideout. It was right after dinner, the sun had set and the wind was cooler, Sunghoon’s jacket was wrapped around your body despite his constant nagging. The night sky was littered with constellations of stars above you and Sunghoon, the two of you were sitting on the swings, the park was mostly empty except for a few lingering figures.

“I didn’t think it’s important,” you muttered, holding onto the swing that you’ve sat on ever since you were only a kid, specifically the right swing while Sunghoon occupied the left.

“It is! It’s literally Thomas Ceccon. He’s Italian, tall and hot…” Sunghoon trailed off at the sight of you staring at him with an expression of deadpan, clearly unimpressed.

“Sounds like you’re the one with the crush instead,”

Sunghoon pressed his lips into a thin line, sighing out a rather loud and big breath. “Whatever. What I’m trying to say is … it’s just frustrating, okay? I mean, I’ve heard some things about him before that tells me he isn’t the best person. It’s like he thinks he has a chance or something. You don’t even need that kind of attention. You’re way too good for him,” he shifted his gaze, unable to look at you head-on.

You searched for his wandering eyes, the shock you experienced from his words and the harshness in his tone that you would seldom hear gave you a slight whiplash. Was he …? Could it be? Jealousy? There was no way, or so you thought whenever you tried to convince yourself that your feelings were one-sided. The small hope burning internally sparked brighter, though the fear of letting yourself down if the truth turned out to be the opposite of what you wanted lingered. “You worry too much. I don’t think about him that way. I … have someone else in mind anyway,”

“You do?” his spine straightened immediately, head almost getting snapped from his neck at how quick he turned towards you, eyebrows raised so high they were almost touching his hairline.

You nodded, strangely calm and collected, unlike the usual jitters that you’d experienced around him whenever you’re close to revealing the truth. “Someone who gets me, who knows how to make me laugh. Someone who sees me for who I really am,” you paused, your gaze steady. “But I guess he’s just too oblivious to notice,”

Silence was what followed after, the suspenseful tension turning thicker by the minute. You watched his expressions being scrunched up in deep thought then changing into a mix of confusion that eventually morphed into realisation where he might begin to piece the little things together. “What—no—are you … trying to say—”

“Forget it,” you blurted out, standing up from the swing, feeling your heart burning from your own fear and avoidant. You were close, so agonisingly close and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to face the possibilities of the aftermath. It was always you who chose to break your heart first.

“No, tell me,” Sunghoon got a hold of your wrist before you could get the chance to walk away, following you suit to stand and facing you straight, never once breaking his gaze that was locked onto yours. You were startled from the grip he had on you, the intensity he had in his eyes felt almost palpable, as if he were searching for the words that had lodged themselves in his throat. “Tell me, am I the oblivious one? Is that what you think? Because I’ve been feeling like I’m walking on eggshells around you, afraid to say what I really want. If you’re hinting at something, just say it. I can’t keep pretending I don’t care or be completely sane when I see some sleazy swimmer trying to approach you, it drives me crazy,”

The heat of his gaze burned through the air between you and him, a mixture of vulnerability and determination that made it hard to look away. Every emotion he felt flickered across his features—fear, longing, and an urgent need for you to understand. It was as if, in that moment, the world around you and him faded, leaving only the raw connection pulsing in the space between your breaths.

“Please, just tell me,” he urged, his voice low and urgent after seeing your silence. “I need to know if I’m the one you’re talking about or if I’ve been chasing shadows all this time. Because if there’s even a chance you mean me, then I can’t just let this go,” He stepped closer, vulnerability etched on his face. “I’ve been scared to say anything, afraid of ruining what we have. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel something more. So, just… say it. Please.”

“Do you really want to know?” you took a breath, your heart racing, knowing you were putting whatever it was about your friendship on the line. “Because if I say it, things might change between us. You’re my best friend … and I just can’t lose you like this,”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, evidently frustrated but trying his best to understand your fears. He could see right through you, you and him were alike in many ways, it didn’t take long for him to realise you were scared of losing him again, because to him, that was his fear too. “God, I hate that word,”

“‘Lose’?”

“‘Friend’,” Sunghoon practically spat out, the word alone was laced with distaste, his chest heaving. He took a step closer, his legs were feeling heavy, the weight pressing onto his chest was becoming apparent. You didn’t budge even when his hands travelled to your face, palms rested on both sides of your cheeks. “Can’t you see? I’ve laid my heart out for you,”

“Then let’s stop pretending,” you said, your voice was quiet but steady despite the storm in your heart. “It’s you, Sunghoon. It’s always been you. I’ve tried to ignore it, to push it aside because I didn’t want to risk what we have. But every time I’m with you, it’s like nothing else matters. I’m scared too—terrified of losing you, but I can’t hide my feelings anymore. You mean so much more to me than just a friend,” you poured out every single undying confession that you had hid as if your life depended on it, desperation and pining was overwhelming you as time passed. “I’m in love with you, Sunghoon, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve always loved you,”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and something deeper shimmering in his gaze, he froze for a moment, his breath hitching as your words sank in. A rush of emotions flickered across his face—shock, disbelief, and then a dawning realisation that made his heart race. He searched your eyes, looking for confirmation, as if needing to ensure that this wasn’t some beautiful dream. A smile broke through the haze of confusion, a mix of relief and joy. “I’m glad … because I’ve never once stopped loving you either,”

For a heartbeat, the world around you and him seemed to pause, your confession hanging in the air like a delicate thread connecting your hearts. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, he closed the distance between the two of you even further, his hand remained gently cradling your face.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your lips. You felt your pulse quicken, anticipation and fear intertwining as you still couldn’t believe this was actually happening. With a softness that took your breath away, he pressed his lips to yours. It was a tentative kiss at first, filled with all the unspoken words you and him both had held back for too long. But as you melted into each other, the kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more passionate, as if you and him were finally allowing yourselves to feel everything you had been denying.

In that moment, the weight of your fears and the uncertainty of the past faded away, leaving only the electric connection between you and Sunghoon, igniting a fire that had always been there, waiting for this moment to finally ignite.

It was unmistakable, the feeling of his smile against your lips, the same smile that you had kept in your mind ever since you were merely kids. Your best friend, your lover, was undeniably your soulmate, the boy who you’ve loved since you were merely a kid had returned to your life as if it was fated for it to happen.

The smile was still present on his face even after he pulled away, the look in his eyes was enough to convey every emotion that he had. Foreheads resting against each other, breathless and overwhelmed by the intensity of what had just happened, Sunghoon’s eyes searched yours, a mix of wonder and disbelief lingering in the air between the both of you. He looked at you with such love, adoration and admiration as if you were his world, unaware how full his heart truly was.

“You know, that day at the airport, remember the important thing I wanted to tell you?” you were the first to break the silence, hands resting on each of his shoulders, mainly for support knowing your knees were getting weaker as you continued to process what had just happened.

“I do,”

“I actually wanted to confess to you about how I feel,”

“Really? In the middle of the airport? L/N, you never fail to amuse me,” Sunghoon chuckled, his thumb caressing the expanse of your cheek. Another choke of laughter was pulled out from him when you attempted to land a punch on him.

“Hey! I thought it was a good setting, the vibes were telling me so,”

His smile only widened, there was a sense of softness that he had in his eyes whenever he was around you, this was one of those instances. “I think I wouldn’t have made it onto that flight if you pulled that on me. We would’ve never made it home,”

“You’re right. It really would’ve been quite disastrous, wouldn’t it? I never thought about the entire outcome,”

“I wouldn’t complain spending a longer time in Paris with you,” he removed his forehead from yours, his features becoming much clearer under the glow of the streetlight. His expression softened, a seriousness returning as he took your hands in his. “This feels right. We’ve been more than just friends for a while now, haven’t we? ”

“Yeah,” you replied, your heart swelling with hope as you recalled every little, detailed moment with Sunghoon that made you rethink your life choices. “It really does, ”

A moment of silence hung between you and him, filled with the promise of something new and exciting. “So… what do we do now?” you asked, a playful grin on your lips, eager to explore this new chapter together as you always did with him for most parts of your life.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over your hand. “Well, I guess we figure it out together. No more hiding, right?”

“Right.” you agreed, your smile widening as you stepped into the unknown, hand in hand, ready to embrace whatever came next.

Under that night sky which you and Sunghoon had shared and walked under all your life, the two of you spent the rest of your time in that park in each others’ presence, the air around had changed undoubtedly, but you and him were still the same, there was nothing that could possibly change when it came to the two of you.

The stars were shining brighter than usual, the moon was round and illuminated, the endless possibilities were now unfolding before you. With every shared laugh and whispered secret, the world around you felt alive, filled with promise and the magic of new beginnings. As you walked side by side, fingers intertwined, it was clear that this moment was just the beginning of a new path you’d be taking with him.

Under that vast expanse, you realised that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you had each other—two hearts that had always been drawn together. In the quiet of the night, surrounded by the glow of the universe, you felt a warmth blooming between you, a certainty that whatever the future held, you would face it together, side by side.

Two months.

That was how long it had been since that night you and Sunghoon got together officially, ending the lengthy and obvious tension that existed way before you and him became friends again. Since then, many things have changed and happened. Sunghoon had returned to train under his original coach, the team’s success was celebrated by the nation from the point you’ve returned from the Olympics and praise has yet to stop in the tabloid with the additional excitement for the swimming world cup. Not only that, you revealed your relationship with Sunghoon to friends and family, receiving exciting screams and some ‘I knew it’ that you should’ve known was coming. Everything was finally perfectly in place.

Fast forward to the present day, you couldn’t believe you were actually standing on top of the world. It was the last day of the final stop of the world cup, the aggregate points from all three separate stops were counted to determine the top three male and female swimmers. Safe to say, ever since the Olympics, your drive for success only came out stronger. It was your determination and headstrong personality that drove you past your limits to emerge as the champion of the world cup.

Walking out to the stage and accepting the medal was a surreal experience, you wished someone was there to pinch you and remind you none of it was a dream. Never once in the course of the past weeks have you expected yourself to come out in first place with the highest points. Here you were, standing on stage with your fellow swimmers, facing the fans and giving your speeches, proving yet again that you were indeed the ‘national treasure’.

At the thought of that name, your attention averted towards the stands, scanning through everyone to find the person that you’ve been wishing to see most. Instead, a big sign that read ‘MY GF’S A WORLD CHAMPION’ caught your eyes, the person that was holding onto it peeked out from behind the sign, revealing his true identity, bringing an amused smile onto your face. Park Sunghoon, your boyfriend who has forfeited the last stop for the sake of his health, had never once missed a single event that you were in. You dared to say that he was your biggest supporter, not only for this instance, but for the majority of your life.

As your eyes locked onto Sunghoon’s, the noise of the crowd faded into a soft hum, leaving only the warmth of his smile and the fluttering in your heart. You didn’t need him close to feel his warmth, you could tell from the pride and affection hidden in his eyes that you were about to get the biggest hug when he got his hands on you. You raised a hand, waving enthusiastically, and he responded with a playful flourish of the sign, drawing laughter from those around him.

In that moment, everything felt right. The adrenaline from your win mixed with the comfort of his unwavering support, filling you with utmost comfort that you needed all along, making every sore limb and painful nights worth it. Even if you were out there alone, you knew, in the midst of every crowd, there always would be someone present, cheering for you no matter what the circumstances were.

That person would be Sunghoon. The man who you would call your best friend, your confidant, but also your lover. It might’ve taken a while to struggle past your differences and misunderstandings, yet, you managed against the tides washing over you and him, building a bond that surpassed everything. Not only was there trust and admiration, but an unmeasurable kind of love was formed. It would be eternal, an everlasting love that couldn’t be washed away, leaving you and him together for as long as you lived.

2K notes · View notes

wheeboo · 20 days ago

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off the record | kim mingyu {part two}

SYNOPSIS. Kim Mingyu lives a double life. On one end, he’s the perfectly charming yet clumsy coworker at the Daily Planet. On the other, he’s saving the world. But when you–a guarded yet sharp-witted journalist–are paired up with him on solving a mysterious case of kryptonite trafficking, Mingyu finds it harder and harder to keep his secret at bay. And falling for you only makes it worse, when he’s only given two choices: protect his identity, or risk everything by letting you in. PAIRING. superman!kim mingyu x journalist!fem!reader (ft. editor-in-chief!seungcheol, photojournalist!wonwoo, editor!minghao, barista!seulgi) GENRE. superman au, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, humour, slow burn, suggestive WARNINGS. cursing, suggestive themes (kissing, making out, lil grinding, vague nudity, implied sex, shirtless mingyu ofc), violence, blood, illegal crimes (kryptonite trafficking, robbery, theft, hijacking, bombing, kidnapping), drinking, mention of tobacco, mingyu has hella plot armour, idk how to write a whole crime case for the life of me i was struggling w that whole part so it prob makes no sense lol WORD COUNT. 18.2k (for part two); 43k (in total)

notes: welcome to the final part of off the record!! honestly after rereading this fic a million times i swear there are plot holes and parts i could do better on. but hey, i've never written an action-crime fic like this before so i had fun writing with all the knowledge i had and wtv my pea brain could handle heh. if you've read this far, i hope you've enjoyed 🫶 once again, pls do reblog or comment/send an ask i would love to know your thoughts!

part one | part two

Mingyu finds himself clumsily stumbling through the doors of the Daily Planet. He’s ten minutes late than he was supposed to clock in. One of the buttons on his shirt is unknowingly misaligned, though he covers it up with his jacket. He brushes through his windswept hair, adjusts his crooked tie, and itches a tiny spot at his nose before fixing the glasses on his face while speed-walking through the lobby.

There was an attempted robbery at one of the local laundromats this morning. Luckily, it wasn’t too bad𑁋just a bunch of high school teenagers attempting to snoop through the laundry machines and steal the coins. Mingyu had handled it quickly, gently scolding the teenagers then reprimanding them, and flying them straight to the nearest police station. But it still cost him precious time, as he barely was able to finish his breakfast before being called in.

Mingyu sighs under his breath, muttering an apology as he dodges a passing janitor and an intern jogging towards the ground floor coffee shop. His mind races ahead of him, knowing he was going to see you today. You’re probably already here, sipping on your cup of coffee that he should’ve probably gotten for you if he wasn’t late.

Warmth blooms in his chest at the thought of you briefly, but the fondness is quickly shoved away by guilt. He can’t help but think about your conversation with him the other night as he adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

Your words keep replaying over and over in his mind. You make it hard, you know, to stay detached.

God, he wanted to tell you everything. Wanted to stand in front of you𑁋not as Superman, but as Mingyu. As your dazed, cowardice coworker and science journalist who has always wanted to ask you out on a proper date but doesn’t have the guts to.

It’s an odd situation, really. When he’s Superman, he has the confidence to kiss you, but when he’s Mingyu, he can barely look at you in the eyes for more than five seconds before feeling like he’ll spontaneously combust.

He exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face as he nears the elevators. His steps quicken with determination. He dashes around the corner of the lobby𑁋

𑁋and crashes straight into another man.

“Ah, sorry, sir!” Mingyu blurts out in apology, already reaching out a hand to steady the man before stumbling back himself.

The man barely looks up from where he stands, clutching a sleek black briefcase at his side as he brushes off his dark coat, muttering something under his breath. He’s tall, seemingly close to Mingyu’s height, and his face is half-hidden by a black fedora.

The familiarity of the man hits Mingyu all at once.

Mingyu feigns a guilty look. “Sorry again, sir. Is there anything I can𑁋”

And then it hits him. A wave of nausea slams into Mingyu’s gut.

He falters for a second, trying to control the way his knees nearly buckle beneath him. His vision swims for a second, his skin burning underneath his clothes, sweat beginning to bead at his forehead despite being in a completely air-conditioned lobby.

“You good, kid?” the man asks lowly, voice rough and gravelly; it even sends an uncomfortable shiver up Mingyu’s spine.

No.

He is not good.

“Yeah, just…” He lets out a few fake coughs, clenching his jaw. “Skipped breakfast, little stomachache. Happens more often than you think.”

“Mm,” the man hums, and Mingyu swears he sees his lips curl underneath the shadow from his fedora. His stomach twists violently as his attention flits to the man’s briefcase momentarily, and there’s a faint, sickly green glow pulsing from its seams, so subtle no ordinary human eye could possibly notice. “Take care of yourself, kid.”

Before Mingyu can say anything more, he watches as the man disappears within the bustling, crowded lobby. Then he finds himself leaning against the wall for support, breathing unsteady, feeling the poison dissipating from his bloodstream the farther the man walks away.

Kryptonite. The word echoes through his mind as if he was cursed, leaving his limbs heavy and his thoughts spiraling. The pain is faint now𑁋whatever the hell was in that briefcase is out of proximity𑁋but that encounter was close. Too close. This wasn’t just some low level crook or common thief. It wasn’t an accident. It was intentional.

And if it’s in the Daily Planet, it was meant for him.

Mingyu forces himself upright, brushes away invisible dust on his clothes, and readjusts his crooked glasses. He can’t afford to make a scene. Not here. Not now.

Especially not when you’re here.

He pastes on a smile when the elevator dings and he steps out onto the floor, yet it’s swift to fade as he breezes past passing colleagues trying to greet him and cubicles, scanning the room to find you. But he doesn’t see you, not even at your desk.

Panicking, he strides towards around the corner to where the conference room is, heart thudding, vision narrowed.

Finally, he spots you through the glass of one of them. You’re seated near the end of the table surrounded by other journalists in your field, dressed in some semi-formal attire, jotting down notes on your notepad as a woman speaks at the front. You’re so focused, so in your element, completely unaware of the possible danger lingering inside the building.

A wave of relief washes over him for a fleeting moment as he nears the door. He hesitates. He shouldn’t disturb you. You’d probably even try to kill him for interrupting a meeting like this.

But he can’t shake the feeling crawling up his spine𑁋the warning courses through his veins, the way every nerve in his body is rigid with apprehension. The image of that briefcase and its poisonous glow flashes through his eyes.

Without thinking, he knocks on the door, and it’s firm enough to turn a few heads in his direction. The woman at the front pauses mid-sentence. You look up as well, eyes widening and brows furrowing to the sight of Mingyu in the doorway. He gestures toward you with a subtle tilt of his head, mouthing something you can’t quite decipher from where you’re sitting.

“Hi, um… Sorry to interrupt.” Mingyu pushes the door open a little more, trying to contain the urgency in his voice, shooting apologetic looks to everyone in the room. “Can I borrow Y/N for a second?”

You frown at him, glancing briefly at your other colleagues who are all mumbling amongst each other. “I𑁋Mingyu, can it wait? I’m in the middle of a𑁋”

“Please.” His lips part; for a brief second, his façade falters, and you catch something like worry in his eyes. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

Your shoulders tense instinctively, but you cover it up with a polite smile to the people beside you, mumbling apologies under your breath. You tuck your notepad under your arm and stuff your pen inside the pocket of your suit jacket and quietly excuse yourself from the meeting.

Mingyu opens the door a little farther for you to step out, before closing it behind and reaching for your hand without a second thought.

His fingers wrap around your hands with a kind of urgency you’ve never felt from him before, struggling to keep up with his fast pace. He drags you through the crowded newsroom and towards the entrance to the stairwell, the buzz of nearby conversations fading away.

“Mingyu,” You breathe out the second the two of you stop. “You can’t just take me out of my meeting𑁋what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer at first. His hand still hasn’t let go of yours, and you catch the way his eyes seem to be darting around as if expecting someone𑁋or someone𑁋to appear around the corner any moment. His jaw tightens, and you swear if you listen hard enough, you might be able to hear his teeth grind.

Mingyu swallows hard before looking down at you, his firm grip on your hand loosening slightly.

“I… I just needed to see you,” he confesses, though you can tell he’s holding something back.

Your breath hitches at his words. “What’s𑁋”

“You trust me, right?” he asks quietly, words fragile as if it’s going to break.

Your lips part to speak, but the words take a few seconds to form. “I… Of course, I do.”

He exhales shakily at your words, something flickering over his eyes𑁋relief, perhaps. Or guilt. Or regret. But before you can dwell on it, before you can ask him what’s wrong, a shrill, piercing sound cuts thunderously through the air.

The alarm.

It blares overhead, bouncing off the walls, swallowing every other sound in its wake. Flashing red lights cloud your vision and illuminate the halls. You could only freeze in place, stomach sinking down to the ground, unable to move.

“Attention, all personnel,” a calm, but firm voice speaks through the intercom system. “We have received a breach in security. Please remain calm and await further instruction. There has been a potential bomb threat reported in the building. All personnel are ordered to evacuate immediately. Emergency services are on their way. This is not a drill. I repeat: this is not a drill.”

You feel your blood run cold. Gasps and shouts erupt all across the newsroom. Chairs scrape against the floor. People around you are scrambling for their belongings and pouring out into the hallway.

You whip your head back around to Mingyu. He’s grown paler, yet his grip on your hand only tightens, like he’s trying to anchor himself to you𑁋and maybe he is. Maybe you’re the only thing holding him together right now.

“Mingyu,” You utter, panic creeping into your voice. “A bomb? Is this𑁋should we𑁋”

“We need to get out of here,” he interrupts, already pulling you toward the stairwell door. “Come on.”

You hastily stumble after him as he pushes the door open and leads you down the flights of stairs. You can hear the stampede of steps right behind you of people flooding their way through the stairwell, trying to get out as well. His steps are faster, more purposeful, but every few seconds he glances over his shoulder to check on you, making sure you’re keeping up.

At the bottom of the stairs, the doors are wide open, people from all directions rushing outside, some shouting into phones, others helping each other along. The sirens of the emergency services grow deafening the second you and him burst outside.

Mingyu pulls you a little farther away from the growing crowd, his hand still clasped around yours like he’s terrified to let go. His chest heaves unsteadily, gaze flicking wildly over the scene𑁋police cars, reporters scrambling to get footage, people crying or calling their loved ones on the phone.

When he comes to a halt, he turns back to look at you. “Don’t move from here. Don’t follow me. Do you understand?”

“What?” You gasp, trying to catch your breath. “No𑁋Mingyu, you are not fucking going back, I am not letting you𑁋”

“Promise me.” One of his hands finds your shoulder, gripping tight but not too harshly. The other reaches up to hesitantly cup your face, and for a brief moment, the chaos seems to fade away. “Please.”

Your throat constricts, and you barely manage a nod. With that, you feel him pull away from you. There’s a small hint of hesitation as he doesn’t let his eyes leave yours. But then he purses his lips together and turns on his heel, running back into the crowd and disappearing behind all the rows of screaming police cars.

Every instinct in you is fighting to follow him, a wobble in your step as you place one foot forward.

But you promised him to stay, and so you do.

Mingyu rounds a corner and ducks into a nearby alleyway. He fumbles with the buttons to his shirt, tearing it open to reveal the unmistakable emblem hidden underneath. He kicks off his shoes and throws his glasses aside, shrugging off the rest of his clothes as his red cape flares out behind him like a banner.

The building of the Daily Planet shrinks beneath him as he launches himself up into the air, letting his mind focus to narrow in on the threat. His eyes glow as he scans through the building’s interior, and then𑁋there.

A soft, beep-beep-beep reverberates in his ear, coming from beneath the layers of concrete and steel. He forces himself to focus even more, his vision lasering through the walls of the building, until he sees it.

17th floor. Administrative area. Armed men surrounding the bomb like vultures.

With a singular breath, he dives down, merely a blur of red and blue to witnesses below as he crashes through the window, shattering glass exploding like diamonds. The force is enough to send a few of the armed men crashing down the ground before even realising what hit them.

In an instant, he feels the white-hot searing pain of kryptonite nearby enter his body, but he has to push through. He has to.

Alarms wail in his ears as he lands on the floor with a thunderous impact. But he tunes them out, eyes narrowing to the sounds of weapons being drawn and commands being shouted from all kinds of directions𑁋but he’s faster, way too fast.

Mingyu moves before any of them can properly aim. A sharp whoosh penetrates through the air with every punch, every tackle, every bullet that harmlessly ricochets off his chest and into the walls. He lifts one man into the air and flings him into a nearby desk with enough restraint to incapacitate, but not to kill. Another one tries to foolishly sprint at him with a knife, but fails miserably as Mingyu grabs him by the wrist, twisting hard enough to make the man yelp and the knife crumpling down to the floor. With a clean punch, he sends the man flying across the room.

The click of a gun heightens Mingyu’s senses, and he turns around to lunge forward into another armed man aiming directly at him, grabbing the barrel of the gun and bending it like it’s made of tinfoil. A swift punch to the gut is enough to send the man buckling down to the ground before having any time to react.

At the corner of his eye, Mingyu spots another one of the men attempting to escape through the stairwell. He dashes forward, slamming the man straight into the wall, watching as his unconscious body slumps down the stairs.

When the last attacker is down and the room finally stills, Mingyu turns his attention back to the bomb. It sits perched on a standing desk, ominous and pulsing faintly with a green glow.

Kryptonite.

A wave of nausea claws up his throat as he nears it. It’s still ticking down.

00:00:40.

00:00:39.

00:00:38…

He has no time.

As a groan bubbles deep in his chest, Mingyu reaches out and encases the bomb in his arms, sweltering pain crawling up his arm as he tightens a grip around the cold metal, but he doesn’t let go.

“Shit, come on, come on…” he hisses through his teeth, his cape dragging against the floor below.

He bends his knees and tries to push off the ground, but he barely lifts off.

The kryptonite’s grip tightens around his chest like a suffocating weight. His flight sputters like a broken engine, lifting him only a few feet off the ground before his strength falters. He slams back onto the floor with a harsh grunt, sweat beading over his forehead.

The clock keeps ticking down. He squeezes his eyes shut. Focus, focus, focus.

He won’t fail. He can’t.

Mingyu forces himself upright again, wrapping both arms around the bomb. His muscles turns into knots under the strain, but he wills his body to rise, fighting to cover every agonising inch off the ground.

Then with a sudden burst of energy, he rockets through the ceiling, debris exploding through the air as his cape snaps behind him through the wind. He flies higher and higher, struggling to not succumb to the kryptonite’s poison crawling through his veins.

00:00:17.

00:00:16.

00:00:15…

He breaks through the clouds and rears close to the stratosphere, the city below him stretching like a blanket. The bomb feels heavier than the entire world itself. His chest tightens even more; black spots dancing through his vision.

00:00:06.

00:00:05.

00:00:04…

With one final roar, Mingyu hurls the bomb out of his grasp and straight up into the sky with every last ounce of his strength he could muster. It sails upwards like a shooting star, and as the seconds dial to zero, it explodes in a brilliant, blinding supernova of green light far above the Earth that sends him barreling back to the ground, though he manages to catch himself mid-air, hovering for a few seconds to catch his breath.

Back on the ground, a sudden shockwave nearly has you slipping on your feet, rumbling the ground like distant thunder. Gasps ripple through the air as you and everyone else’s eyes peer up to the skies, the explosion illuminating the heavens above before being swallowed by the clouds.

And then… silence. Peace. But it isn’t as comforting as you hoped for.

You scan the crowd desperately, spotting coworkers hugging each other, cameras aimed at the skies with reporters frantically speaking. But there’s no sign of the face you’re looking for𑁋where the hell is Mingyu?

He promised you. He promised.

Your feet take a few staggering steps forward, continuing to skim every face in your peripheral vision, yet you still don’t see any sight of him. Worry swarms through every limb in your body as you clench your fists at your side, ready to defy his word if it means finding him.

But then, suddenly, a cloth clamps over your mouth from behind.

Your scream is muffled as your body jerks backward, and whatever the hell is laced in the cloth immediately burns down your throat the second you inhale its bitter, chemical smell. You try to thrash your legs, wildly flail your arms, but then an arm grips around your torso, leaving your efforts to no avail.

Your vision spins. The world starts to tilt. Your limbs begin to grow weak, sluggish, your strength slipping away.

“Shh, shh,” a low voice whispers eerily in your ear. “Don’t make this harder, sweetheart.”

The last thing you see and hear before the darkness consumes you is the blurry outline of the crowd cheering and the streaking colour of red and blue crossing the sky.

The first thing you feel is a pulsating throb against your skull. Your eyelids flutter open slowly, vision swimming in and out of focus, but the world around you is completely disorientating.

Harsh fluorescent lights glare down on you from above, and the sharp smell of something faintly chemical, acrid, metallic fill your lungs. It feels like weights are holding down all your limbs, only for you to realise you’re completely bound up𑁋both legs and wrists.

You tug helplessly at the bindings, but they don’t budge. Cold metal cuffs bite uncomfortably into your skin, anchoring you to the chair you’re sitting on. Your heart pounds anxiously against your ribcage as your vision starts to finally sharpen𑁋and that’s when you realise where you are. Or where you think you are.

A warehouse. Or something like that. Grey, windowless walls surround you on every side, illuminated by the few flickering light bulbs above. Stacks of crates line the walls containing serial numbers you don’t recognise, but you could only guess the one thing that may be housed in there.

Kryptonite.

Dread gnaws at your core.

Somewhere, a low snicker taunts you from the shadows.

“Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.”

You flinch as footsteps start to approach, a pair of heavy boots pounding against the concrete. Slowly, a man steps into your view𑁋middle-aged, a black fedora on his head, a jagged scar running from his temple and down to his jaw. A pistol is grasped in his hand, but what chills you more is the cutthroat glint to his eyes. Behind him stood a few men, rifles casually slung over their shoulders, their faces covered with masks.

“Comfortable?” He crouches down to your level, close enough you literally taste the pungent smell of tobacco off him. “Apologies for the rude awakening, darling. Was concerned they put too much chloroform in you.”

You spit at the ground near his boot. “Go to hell, prick.”

A dark grin spreads across the man’s scarred face. “Oh, honey, I’ve been living there for years.” The gun in his hand clicks loudly, raising the hairs on the back of your neck, pointing the barrel of the gun at your knee. “But don’t worry. You’ll be joining me soon enough.”

A ripple of chuckles dance around you mockingly. Scarface eventually stands up, pacing around you tauntingly.

“Let’s cut to the chase, yeah?” he starts. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here, aren’t you?”

He stops directly behind you, and you feel the barrel of his gun knock against the back of your head.

“Here’s the thing,” Scarface continues coldly. “This ain’t personal, sweetheart. Though, between you and me, it’s a hell of a bonus that you happen to be his plaything.”

Your blood runs cold. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He simply laughs, a bitter bark that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. “Come on, princess, don’t play dumb. You and Superman. Or whatever the hell he calls himself these days. We’ve seen you two.”

You swallow hard, lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re delusional.”

His grin widens, teeth yellow in the dim light. “Am I? Or did you think no one else would notice? Cameras are everywhere in this shithole city, darling. Tell me, doll𑁋does he fly straight to your apartment after a rescue? Whisper sweet nothings in your ear? Fuck you silly in the sky?”

You jerk frantically against the cuffs, wincing as the metal digs deeper into your skin. “You’re sick, you𑁋”

The sound of the gun cocking immediately makes you zip your mouth.

“You wrote that little article, huh? Though you were some big hero exposing our kryptonite trade, eh?” He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve pissed off the wrong people with that one, princess. It almost makes me feel bad for you, honestly. But alas, you’ve signed your own death warrant with that.”

“If you want to kill me so badly, just do it,” You urge lowly.

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Scarface spits hoarsely. “As much as it would be fun to put a bullet through your head, there are far more important things than that. Superman.”

“He’s not your enemy,” You attempt to reason, even though deep down you know it’s useless. “He’s saved this city more times than𑁋”

“I’ve heard all the PR bullshit,” he cuts you off sharply. “He’s a threat. A freak. An alien bastard. A ticking time bomb. You think this world is safe with him flying around? He can lift mountains and destroy an entire city with a fucking sneeze. And threats like that need to be neutralised.”

Scarface looms above you once again, pointing the gun right between your eyes.

“And what better way to lure him out by using the thing he loves most?”

You battle the fear grappling at your chest, forcing your defiant gaze to shoot a dagger right through him.

“Fuck you.”

What comes next is a loud slap that echoes across the room. Pain immediately burns through your cheek from the force, your vision momentarily blurring, the taste of copper falling on your tongue. Your teeth scrape against each other in your mouth as you hold back the heat sprouting in the corners of your eyes.

“Tough girl, huh?” Scarface sneers amusedly, pulling away from you. “Makes things more fun.”

Before you can retort, you hear shots ringing out in the distance𑁋somewhere outside from wherever you are. It stuns the room in a brief, rigid silence, making the armed men in the room hoister their rifles. There’s a momentary wave of relief that hits you, a beat of hope that reverberates in your heart.

Scarface curses lowly under his breath, his grip hardening around his pistol, signaling to the men in the room. You watch as they all give a nod before marching out the door, before Scarface flickers his gaze back to you.

“You stay right here, yeah?” He gives you a forceful flick on the forehead. “Enjoy the show, princess.”

The rattling sound of keys jerks your attention upright. You watch with hazy eyes as two armed men stroll inside the room with heavy footsteps. Both of their faces are obscured and hidden by hats and masks, rifles slung across their shoulders as they approach you. They come to either side of you𑁋the man on the right reaches for a tight grip around your waist.

“Get up,” he orders gruffly. “Orders changed. We’re taking you outside.”

The man on the left is noticeably silent as you’re yanked off your chair and onto your feet. Your knees wobble from having been sitting for God knows how long, blood and adrenaline rushing throughout your body.

You find yourself being forced towards the exit, entering into a shallow hallway. Exposed pipes and the heavy, unappealing scent of oil and gunpowder fill your lungs. You stumble against the uneven floor as you’re guided forward, their grips firm on your wrists.

The silence of the hallway feels deafening, seemingly endless before your eyes with no visible signs of escape. You overhear the man on the right mumbling something over what you assume to be a radio, then you allow your gaze to flit over to the man on the left.

He’s stoic, composed, the low brim of his cap hiding his eyes. His grip on your wrist is not as bruising as the other man; in fact, it’s almost gentle, somewhat hesitant. It doesn’t feel like the kind of grip of someone dragging you down to your execution. Or maybe you’re just holding onto the end of some fragile thread of hope, because at this point, it’s slipping from your grasp way faster than you’re able to catch up with.

“Get moving.” The man on the right shoves you with the barrel of his gun.

You stumble forward with a sharp hiss, and you hardly realise that the grip on your left wrist tightens ever so slightly, preventing you from falling down to the ground.

“Watch it,” the man on the left grumbles.

“Shut your mouth.” The other man gives you another harsher push.

And then, suddenly, the air shifts.

It happens like the blink of an eye𑁋a blur of movement catches you off-guard and before your brain could fully process what’s happening, the man on the left snaps into action.

With one fluid, impossible movement, he lets go of your wrist before swinging a hand directly into the other man’s gut. A sickening crunch echoes through the empty hallway as you watch the armed guard crumple down to the ground. Before he has any chance to recover, the man on your left knocks the rifle clean out of his hands, and in another flash of motion, slams him hard into the wall.

The impact leaves a deep dent in the drywall.

You instinctively shield yourself with your cuffed hands, fear slithering up your shaky legs as the man turns directly towards you. For a moment, your heart nearly stops.

And then, you see it.

Though his face is still obscured, you catch a glimpse𑁋just a tiny glimpse𑁋of his eyes.

There’s no anger in them.

Or rage.

But warmth.

Your lips part in disbelief as you scan him from head to toe. The brim of his hat is slightly askew from earlier, dark hair peeking out from underneath. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, his frame sending an unmistakable spark of recognition through your mind, and it takes everything in you not to cry or collapse from relief.

Superman is here. He found you.

He steps up to you carefully while removing his mask, reaching an arm behind to snap the cuffs off your wrists like they’re made of tinfoil. They fall down the ground with a clank, and you find yourself instinctively leaning into him, feeling his arms immediately catch you. His warmth is enough to wash away more of the fear and adrenaline coursing within you.

“Are you okay?” His voice is low, almost hoarse𑁋like it physically hurts to see you like this.

You give a subtle, vulnerable shake of your head. He doesn’t press you more about it.

“There’s kryptonite here,” You tell him worriedly. “They talked about it𑁋said they were going to use it on you. To trap you. Kill you.”

You feel his body stiffen for a moment. Not out of fear, though. He’s not afraid, you think.

“I know,” he says quietly.

He releases you a little, giving him room to slide one of his gloves off. Your eyes widen at the sight of blood on his knuckles. The imminent danger of kryptonite is fully shown right in front of you. Just like the heist at the National Bank, it’s enough to even make the Man of Steel bleed.

You take his hand in yours. It tremors from your touch. “No, you can’t𑁋” You purse your lips together urgently. “They want you to walk into their trap. Into their goddamn execution chamber.”

He doesn’t pull his hand away. He lets you hold it, allowing your gaze to wash over the blooming scrape as if it’ll be enough to make it fade away. You feel the restraint in his body, as if he’s trying to hold in the imperceptible signs of pain he may be feeling. He’s breathing harder than he should, and still holding your hand like he doesn’t want to let go.

Then he looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since stepping into this hellhole. And it nearly destroys him to see worry carved in your features. He’s never seen this look on you before, never seen you𑁋the Daily Planet’s most passionate and sharp-witted journalist𑁋this scared before. For him.

His jaw tics.

“I have to stop them,” he mutters. “It’s what I have to do.”

He’s about to move. You can feel it in the way his body shifts. You still refuse to let him go.

“There’s a vent, northside of the building,” he informs you softly. “It’s a tight squeeze, but it’ll take you outside. Reinforcements are already on their way. I’ll hold them off so you can get out.”

“No,” You insist desperately, clinging to his sleeve. “You’re hurt, you’re bleeding. They’ll𑁋”

“Please.”

His voice cracks from the singular word alone. God, you want to argue. To cry. To kiss him hoping that this entire thing was just a figment of your imagination. But you can’t. This nightmare is real.

The realisation settles in your bones like ice.

He bends down a little to press his forehead against yours. You relish the closeness, allowing your eyes to fall to a close. While the world has gone mad outside, there’s a brief period of stillness that makes standing in this quiet, grimy hallway less suffocating. Slowly, your fingers release his sleeve, one-by-one.

“If you die in there, I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.” You whisper shakily, trying to summon any semblance of strength in your voice𑁋yet, it wavers anyway.

The barest twitch of his lips is the closest thing to a smile you get. “Deal.”

You open your eyes to look at him again𑁋just in case. Just in case this is the last time you get to. He doesn’t say anything, only leaning in to press the gentlest of kisses to your forehead which makes your heart squeeze tightly. It burns. Not from heat, but from the pain of goodbye disguised as tenderness.

“Go. Run,” he demands. “Don’t look back.”

You hesitate. Just for a second. And then you turn on your heel and bolt.

Your footsteps echo down the corridor, fading faster than he’s ready for. You don’t look back. You can’t. Because you know that if you do, you’ll turn around and never leave. And he needs you to leave. Staying might only hurt him even more.

Maybe that’s what love is sometimes: letting go of something, even when one piece of you is begging to stay.

Superman𑁋no, Mingyu𑁋watches as your figure disappears around the corner. The softness in his gaze hardens back to steel. He brings his eyes down to the unconscious guard slumped down the wall, stepping over to crouch down.

He begins to rifle through the man’s pockets swiftly. There’s no time to waste. At the corner of his eye, he spots one of the kryptonite pendants hidden underneath the man’s jacket. Other things that he finds are pretty standard: extra rounds of ammo, a pistol, a radio muttering purely static, a tactical knife. All of it is completely useless to him. But then, his hand brushes against something cold and metallic in one of the inner pockets.

He pulls it out𑁋a small, lead-lined case, which alone is already a red flag, and an access card.

Mingyu pockets the card before flipping open the tiny hatch, bracing for what he already suspects. Inside, there’s kryptonite, but it seems to be purposely melted into a liquid, metallic state, pulsing green like a heartbeat. The buzz from the radiation itches at the edges of his strength. He digs a little deeper into the man’s pockets, and he flinches when something sharp caresses his skin.

A syringe. It’s sleek, probably custom-made, the kind you don’t find in a standard military-grade medical kit. No, this was made for a purpose. They’d planned to get close to him, inject him. That’s why they needed you. You were the bait𑁋the knife they’d twist into his gut the moment his guard drops.

And it nearly worked.

Mingyu crushes the syringe in his hand without a second thought, the material melting inwardly before crumpling to the ground like a pile of dust. They used you. They took you from him. Toyed with your life and hurt you, left bruises on your wrists that he can still feel under his fingers.

It’s not rage that powers him now.

It’s you.

A bullet barely grazes his cheek, flying past him and hitting the wall right behind him.

He doesn’t flinch. He’s bleeding, but he hardly lets it phase him.

Mingyu’s body moves before he could even think, instincts sharpened by fury. He lunges forward, grabbing the armed man by the collar and slamming him into the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs. The rifle clatters uselessly to the floor, and Mingyu crushes it with his foot.

Another soldier comes up at Mingyu from behind𑁋the soft click of the safety being released heightens his senses𑁋and he spins, sweeping the attacker’s legs out from under him. Before the man could hit the ground, a loud crack bounces off the walls as Mingyu’s fists meets his jaw with a forceful punch.

Pain rattles through his bones. He’s getting weaker by the minute, as if there’s some invisible noose tightening with every breath he takes. But he has to keep going. He has to.

He limps past the carnage of unconscious bodies, his breath ragged, shoulders rising and falling heavily with the effort to stay upright. The hallway ahead of him stretches before his eyes, flickering lights buzzing overhead. He makes one turn. Then another. And another.

He stops in his path.

A dead end, but it doesn’t forgo any sort of hope; in fact, quite the opposite. A steel, reforged door looms in front of him. Unlike the other doors in the place, there’s no handle for this one. A keypad glows faintly on the side𑁋red, locked tight. But he remembers the access card he pocketed earlier from the guard.

Taking it out of his pocket, he swipes it.

A soft beep. Then a hiss.

A gust of cold air meets his face as the door slides open slowly. For a moment, he doesn’t move𑁋his instincts scream at him that something is off, that something is wrong. But he steps forward anyway, walking inside the room as another wave of nausea courses through him.

His eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a minute to labour his breathing. One exhale. Two exhales. Three exhales. It’s relieving, even for a little while.

Then he opens his eyes.

And his heart drops.

The room is vast and eerily silent. The walls are lined with what appear to be glass chambers, some sort of stasis pods. They’re large, cylindrical-shaped, condensation brewing through them so he’s unable to fully see inside. He makes his way over to one of the pods, running a bloodied hand over its icy surface.

Mingyu nearly collapses down on his knees.

There’s a body inside. A woman, probably around his age. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, her skin pale. Yet as he gazes over her still form, his mind suddenly racks with memories, recognition. This woman was on the list of people who were reported as a missing cold case at the very beginning. She was here all along, and the thought makes frustration blaze through him.

Then, another feeling slithers up his spine. He can feel it right down to his core, and it makes him stagger a few steps backwards. The same physiology. The same dormant power thrumming beneath her skin𑁋except, it’s lifeless now. Pulseless.

The people who were reported missing weren’t humans.

They’re Kryptonians.

Kryptonians who had survived the fallout of the planet, just like him. Mingyu thought he was the only survivor, but he wasn’t. They were here this entire time, and he couldn’t save them.

God, he had hoped. Somewhere, deep down, he had hoped that he wasn’t entirely alone, even if the loneliness was a fact he’d come to accept over the years. He had hoped that maybe one day, he’d find another Kryptonian out there who could tell him stories, or even what the stars looked like from his home planet because he was way too young to even remember.

He anguishly dashes from one pod to another, spotting more familiar faces from the missing person photos. Faces that look like his𑁋that feel like home. Some older, some younger. All stolen from the world and stripped of the chance to live like him. They all contain the same lifeless visage as the others, the same fading look of longing that there was freedom out there, but he was too late.

What had happened to them? Were they tortured? Experimented and researched on? Anger courses through him, and he shrugs off the disguise that had kept him alive this far. His cape unfurls behind him, and the crest on his suit is no longer hidden by grime and blood.

The symbol of hope.

He stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by the shattered remains of his people. He feels the guilt eat away at his resolve as he kneels down to the ground. There’s a dreadful stillness in the room that follows, before he clenches his bare fists and slams harshly into the ground, the floor cracking slightly beneath him.

It fucking hurts.

The rage that rises in his chest is no longer a flame. It’s blazing, devouring.

“It’s about time you showed up,” a voice says from behind, low and coiling around his nerves like the poison it is. “I was starting to think you’d turn on your tail and run away like your little girlfriend.”

Mingyu doesn’t turn around right away. His jaw tightens as he forces himself to rise to full height, pulling through the pain with gritted teeth. He doesn’t need strength to recognise the bastard standing behind him.

He spins his head slowly, red-rimmed eyes meeting the smug, scarred face grinning at him from across the room.

Scarface is leaning against the doorframe, twirling a pistol between his fingertips. That ugly scar draws down his features like someone had tried to carve the smugness off his face and failed. Mingyu watches as he approaches him at a leisure pace, walking into the room like he’s the goddamn messiah of this butcher’s cathedral.

“You piece of shit,” Mingyu rasps, chest heaving. “You killed them. You killed my people.”

Scarface clicks his tongue. “Killed? No, no.” He shakes his head amusedly. “We liberated them, sunshine. Gave them a purpose before their little brains shut down. You wouldn’t believe how much their bones would go for on the black market. Oh, you should’ve seen them, Kryptonian. Some of them lit up like fucking fireworks the second they got poked.”

Mingyu surges forward.

Or, he tries to.

But his knees buckle the moment he shifts his weight, a strangled noise escaping out of his throat as his legs give out beneath him. The green haze he’s been fighting since he stepped foot in this hellhole is suffocating him in. The very air is probably saturated in it. As he tries to lift himself again, it’s no use. His strength is barely there. The fire is there𑁋God, it’s there𑁋but his body is failing him.

“Kryptonite’s a bitch, ain’t it?” Scarface squats down just a few feet away. “You know what’s really funny? I didn’t even need to do much. All I had to do was grab your girl, and you folded like a fucking piece of paper.”

Mingyu jerks his head up from that. “Don’t fucking talk about her.”

Scarface slams the butt of his pistol into Mingyu’s ribs, causing him to crumple down on the floor with a groan.

“Struck a nerve, huh?” he sneers. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? So feisty too. All that attitude. It’s a shame, though. I can’t wait to see the sparkle leave her eyes when I’m finally done with you.”

That makes Mingyu snap again.

Mustering whatever strength he has, he manages to land a punch right at Scarface’s jaw. It catches the man off-guard, and Scarface stumbles back, momentarily stunned. But Mingyu watches as he recovers quickly, wiping the blood off his lips with a mocking smile.

“That’s all you can do, eh?” Scarface spits angrily. “What a pity.”

“Why?” Mingyu pants heavily. “Why did you do this? To my people?”

Scarface straightens his stance, letting out a dark, low chuckle. “Because you freaks don’t belong here.”

He gestures broadly to all the pods in the room, to all the still, frozen remnants of what Mingyu had once hoped were kin.

“We let one of you walk among us𑁋fly above us𑁋and what do we get in return?” Scarface motions back to Mingyu. “We get broken cities, dead citizens, and a god playing dress-up in a cape thinking he knows what’s best for us.”

“You slaughtered them,” Mingyu growls in frustration. God, he wants nothing more than to rip this man apart. “They were just trying to live. Trying to survive.”

Scarface cocks his head to the side in amusement. “And look where that got them. Look where that got you. We took care of them before they had the chance to get power and control. You don’t get it, do you, alien? You think just because you can bleed and cry and kiss like the rest of us makes you human?”

The man steps closer to Mingyu, looming over him now, his footsteps brooding with each step. Scarface whistles annoyingly as he lowers his gun away, before pulling something out from his vest. Heat boils through Mingyu’s as another familiar syringe is summoned, the sickly glowing green of kryptonite reflecting on his skin. It’s almost as if the kryptonite itself is alive, hungry.

Mingyu doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. The veins in his neck pop from the pressure, but his eyes are made of steel. Unyielding.

Scarface’s cracked lips twitch up into a smirk, taunting the fang of the needle closer and closer to his neck.

“Finally! I can use this. Saved it for a special occasion, you see,” the man croons goadingly, letting the emerald fire of the kryptonite inside the syringe swirl. “Bullets and bombs are messy, but this? You’ll feel every second of it. And when it’s done, well… maybe I’ll put your corpse on display for the world to see that the perfect Superman can bleed. Can die. Can be humiliated.”

The tip of the syringe caresses over Mingyu’s carotid artery, just a whisper away from being injected into his body. If Scarface pressed a little harder, it would all be over.

And then𑁋

A loud BOOM bursts through the room like thunder.

A gun fires.

But it doesn’t come from Scarface.

It comes from behind him, echoing like thunder across the room, the bullet lodging into the wall behind Mingyu.

“Get away from him,” a voice rings out shakily𑁋your voice. “Now.”

Scarface freezes, his entire body jerking as the bullet whooshes past him. His expression contorts from surprise to disbelieving amusement, the scar on his face contorting into a smirk.

He turns his head slowly and spots you. You’re standing by the threshold, trembling hands gripping tightly onto a pistol that you snatched from one of his fallen minions. There’s a bruise to your cheek and your clothes and ID badge are covered with dirt, dried blood, and grime. Your chest is heaving with a mix of horror and fury, your body braced like the hells have cracked open beneath your feet and you’re struggling to stay above the surface.

You’re terrified out of your mind, but you’re here.

And Superman𑁋no, Mingyu𑁋feels his heart stutter painfully in his chest, because damn, he’s never seen anything more braver in his life.

Scarface’s eyes rake over you incredulously. “Well, look who decided to come and play the hero, hm?”

He places a singular foot in front of the other, and you aim your gun again.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” You threaten, trying to power through your sweaty palms and unsteady grip.

Scarface raises his hands mockingly. “Sweetheart, I’m so scared. Look at you𑁋you’re trembling like a leaf.” He raises his gun back to you, which makes you stagger slightly. “Aren’t you just a journalist? Thinking you can play in the big leagues ‘cause you got a piece on the Daily Planet front page?”

He stalks a little closer to you like a vulture, testing your nerves.

“Aliens like him don’t belong on this planet,” Scarface hisses. “And you? You think someone like him could ever really love someone like you? Come on, darling. Be honest with yourself. He’s a walking extinction event. One wrong move, and he burns you. He’s a threat to humanity.”

The pistol in your grasp wavers. You feel it𑁋hesitation creeping through you like a dense, thick fog. The words prickle like the heat of a hot poker getting jabbed into your skin.

Scarface sees it.

That tiny flicker of doubt. It’s all he needs to latch onto like a leech. His words seep through your body like venom. One wrong move, and he burns you. He’s a threat to humanity.

And on the side, Superman sees it as well.

The gun lowers in your hand. For a fraction of a second, you allow your thoughts to believe his words.

You’ve heard the rumours, watched the news, read the bylines that were initially published when Superman first came to light. The public loved him. Then feared him. Then loved him again. You always tried to remain neutral, like a good journalist always does. But somewhere between the time he had rescued your bag and to the kiss he gave you in the sky after the interview, your objectivity crumpled along with your heart.

Wait. A bell rings in your head. The interview.

“I’ve found my home here with people I care about,” he had said. “There’s something about this city that makes it hard not to love, you know?”

“Is that what you consider yourself?” You had asked him. “A symbol of hope?”

“Not exactly,” he had responded. “I think people deserve hope. I just want to remind them it’s still there.”

You remember it all𑁋the look of quiet sincerity in his eyes when he said it. The ache behind his words like he was carrying a galaxy of burdens, yet still managed to smile at you.

“But here’s what I believe,” he had told you. “Even though I can’t save everyone, I know I saved someone. And maybe that person goes on to save others, and those others save more. That’s how hope survives𑁋it spreads, even in the places I can’t reach. And that… that’s worth the burden.”

Your gaze falls towards Superman, who is crumpled on the floor, veins bulging out of his neck, blood dripping at the corners of his mouth. He’s clutching his side with gritted teeth, practically at the verge of passing out; yet despite everything, despite how close death is wrapped around his ribs, his eyes𑁋God, his eyes𑁋are watching you like you’re the only other person in the room, like you’re the only goddamn star left in the sky. There’s no fear there. No regret.

He’s still there. He’s still fighting.

“He’ll outlive you, sweetheart,” Scarface says with a chuckle. “He’ll outlive all of us. This stupid world is going to grow old and die, and he’ll be floating above the ashes looking down on us. And when you’re gone𑁋just another speck of dust in the wind𑁋he won’t even remember your name.”

You falter again. Just a blink. The words scratch at old insecurities like fingernails on scars.

Your vision clouds, not from tears, but from uncertainty.

Scarface sees it like it’s his golden ticket.

But then, there’s a cough. A weak one, yet it’s enough to break through the fog clouding your mind. Your gaze whips towards the source, and you’re met with an expression so heartbreakingly soft.

“Don’t listen to him,” Superman groans out, coughing hoarsely, and the utter familiarity of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. “Please. Don’t… let him in your head. I lo𑁋”

A gun fires. It happens in a blur: one second you’re frozen in place, the next your ears are ringing from the force of the shot, and there’s a pool of blood forming at your feet. The pistol clatters to the floor from your shaky hands as your steps stagger back slightly𑁋you don’t even recall pulling the trigger.

Scarface blinks.

He doesn’t fall. Not at first.

He just stares at you, stunned, as if you’ve grown a pair of wings or another head he hadn’t reckoned with before. Then there’s a twitch to his bloody mouth𑁋somewhere along the lines between a smirk or like he’s about to say one last vile, witty remark𑁋but his knees buckle beneath him, the kryptonite syringe falling from his hands and clattering to the ground. You watch in horror as his body collapses to the ground with a sickening thud. You’ve never seen blood pool faster than now, spreading throughout the steer floor below.

You’re still holding your breath. You can’t even move, even breathe, your arms trembling at your sides

The silence that follows is deafening.

You stare at Scarface’s body, your mind completely blank, as if trying to reject the impossible deed you just committed. You just shot him. You killed someone. With the hands you used to type articles until dusk𑁋you used it to end a life.

For some uneasy reason, you don’t feel heroic. You don’t feel strong. Gosh, you feel like you’re going to be sick.

Then a low, pained grunt startles you out of your head. Superman.

“You saved me.”

Your legs act before you could even catch up with it, finding yourself kneeling down to the ground, scrambling to pick him up on his feet, but you struggle. He’s heavier than he looks𑁋well, of course he is𑁋so you let your arms wrap around him instinctively, attempting to hoist him upright again.

His body lurches in your hold as you’re barely able to drag him by a few feet to the door. It doesn’t take long for your effort to fail as he slumps back down to the floor again, dragging you down with him. Somewhere down the corridor, you can hear the rapid sounds of footsteps and radio chatter of emergency responders that you met when you escaped initially. You just need to hold him tighter for another minute.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that𑁋shit, don’t close your eyes,” You plead desperately when you notice his eyes falling, brushing away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “Backup is coming. Stay with me. Please.”

“Fuck…” he croaks out weakly, and you feel his hand lace into yours. A weak grasp, but it’s there. It’s something. “Y/N, I…”

“Don’t talk,” You tell him softly, letting your free hand cradle his face to bring him into your chest. “You’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, Superman, you hear me?”

Superman breathes raggedly against your chest. You feel the way he’s burning up, see the way his eyelids are fluttering as he tries so goddamn hard to focus on your presence around him, hear the way he’s literally struggling to get his lungs to fucking work. But you still don’t let go.

“He killed my… my people…” he rasps, a few dry coughs jolting out of him. “The missing people… they’re…”

If it was possible for your heart to physically break, you swear it does now. He doesn’t even need to finish the sentence for you to know exactly what he’s talking about. The room was entirely a blur when you stepped in initially, but with the quietness now and Scarface’s lifeless body on the floor, you can see it all.

You remember all the photos in the files, all the reports about the missing people whose cases all went cold, unsolved, and discarded. They were never just missing people. They were survivors. And the two of you were too late to realise that.

“I’m sorry.” You shelter him even closer to you, because you know there’s not much you can do except to hold him together as tightly as you can, even if he’s completely falling apart on the inside. “I’m so, so sorry…”

You know that apologising could never bring his people back, yet Superman inhales your words even if it’s painful to do so, holding onto you even tighter, his warmth seeping into your skin. Blood and grime stains your shirt as he leans into you through the pain, his quiet sobs muffled as he buries his face in your chest.

You press a warm, trembling kiss to the temple of his head. He doesn’t speak; no, he closes his eyes, dipping in and out of consciousness, and lets himself be held.

“You’re safe now, Superman, okay? You’re safe with me.”

Above the two of you, the crest on Superman’s chest catches the overhead light, flickering weakly, but it never dims. Hope had barely survived.

Beneath your feet, the city is peaceful.

It’s been two weeks since the ordeal. Two weeks since Scarface’s body hit the floor. Two weeks since the sounds of gunfire etched itself permanently into your bones. Two weeks since the awful stench of sweat, blood, and gunpowder had stuck to your clothes no matter how many showers you took.

Two weeks since you saw Superman’s near-lifeless body being hauled through the hospital as the doctors and medical experts struggled to make sense of his alien biology𑁋every needle they poked through him broke on impact from his skin, but still, they didn’t give up on him. Refused to give up on him.

Two weeks, and the city has begun to breathe again mostly.

You haven’t slept much since.

The DOD have been working on reprimanding other criminals who had access to the kryptonite trade, and the kryptonite shipments that were found within the sketchy warehouses in Pier 13 had been confiscated as well. Details were still being poured in, but all you know is that the kryptonite is finally out of harm’s way. At least, for now.

People have been calling you a hero, a survivor. Some of your colleagues have written a little tribute column in you and Superman’s honour. You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t exactly want it. The attention has been overwhelming, to say the least.

You had just gotten through your first day back after requesting some time off to recalibrate. Now, you find yourself sitting near the edge of the rooftop at the Daily Planet. You pull your cardigan tighter around you as the evening breeze rustles through your hair. You take a sip from a can of beer𑁋a second one at your feet for good measure.

“Y/N?”

You turn around to the voice, a faint smile when you catch Mingyu walking up to you. The glasses on his face catch the faintest sparkle from the moonlight. He’s clad in his usual attire𑁋a denim jacket, a white shirt, and a pair of baggy denim jeans𑁋and his hands in his pockets as if he’s unsure of his own presence right now. You had sent him an email a few hours again telling him that you’d be staying late tonight.

It seems that showing up is his response.

“Hey,” You greet him quietly.

Mingyu slowly saunters over to where you are. He doesn’t sit down at first, but then you nudge towards the second can of beer by your feet.

“Peace offering,” You say with a light chuckle. “It’s probably warm now, but whatever.”

A small laugh escapes him as he sits down beside you, the tip of his knee touching yours when he crosses his legs together. He takes the can of beer and opens it with a sharp click, taking a quick sip of his own.

Mingyu shoots a quick glance at you, watching the way your gaze is lingering out to the mellow, peaceful, blissfully unaware city. He allows himself to look out to the world as well, with the stars hanging low in the sky as if they’re curiously eavesdropping on this strange little moment. The two of you take another sip from your cans, letting the silence stretch in the air. It’s not uncomfortable𑁋not entirely, anyway. It’s quiet, calm, like the city has exhaled for the first time in a long while.

“Did you know I spent the night in juvie once?” You suddenly pop in.

Mingyu’s brow furrows in surprise. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” You confirm, shaking your head to the memory. “I was fourteen. Dumb, broke, and angry at the world like any other teenager. Stole some makeup from the local pharmacy. Got caught before I even stepped through the door.”

Mingyu huffs a soft laugh beside you. It wasn’t mocking, just simple disbelief about this little detail of your life. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“Well, I also had purple hair. Oh, and a lip piercing. Did it with a safety pen,” You add in with a dry laugh. “Wouldn’t recommend it at all.”

He grins softly at that. He tries to imagine it𑁋he really does𑁋but all he can see is you. Even with your past little rebel phase, you’re still the same person with a fire-lit soul he first saw when you were tackling this entire case, scribbling away in the depths of your cubicle and rummaging through endless files in the archive room with a sharp tongue and a guarded heart.

You haven’t changed, not really. Just a little older, a little stronger. Maybe a little more tired.

“I grew up in a place that never really felt like home,” You continue, cradling the can of beer in your hands. “Parents were always busy trying to keep the lights on. I bounced between schools and hardly stuck around enough to make proper friends.”

You feel Mingyu’s eyes on you. He’s listening, steady and patient as always.��

“Then I started writing to keep myself sane,” You confess. “Started with dumb teenage poetry, angsty blog posts, then… it sort of turned into something more real. I stole a newspaper from the library, read this piece about corruption with the mayor at the time. Something about it just clicked for me.”

Mingyu notices the way your features soften with relief.

“So, I cleaned myself up,” You continue with a smile. “Wrote shit for the newsletter in high school, got a few internships in college. One thing led to another and well… Here I am. I don’t know if Seungcheol even looked at my resume.”

“He did,” Mingyu chimes in playfully. “Well, not exactly. More like flaunted about you.”

You snort at that, clearly amused. “That so?”

“Clearly you’re good at what you do, or else he would’ve been accused of nepotism by now,” Mingyu says with a teasing grin, before it eases into something more bashful. “And… you are, um, good. Amazing, even. I admire you. I’m sure the rest of the world would agree, too.”

Your chest tightens at his words. It’s crazy how he’s able to disarm you just like that. Kim Mingyu, the guy who spilled coffee on your shirt the first day you met. Kim Mingyu, who brings you over sweetened coffee when he knows you’ve had a rough morning. Kim Mingyu, who caught you in his arms in the archive room when you nearly slipped on some fallen files.

Kim Mingyu, who tried to protect you from publishing the exposé on the kryptonite trade. Who stupidly ran back into the Daily Planet even with the bomb threatening the entire building. Who promised to come back, but he didn’t, and then he did𑁋

Kim Mingyu, who… may or may not be Superman.

And Superman, who you’ve kissed.

“What were you like?” You suddenly ask, turning to Mingyu slightly. “Growing up?”

Mingyu takes another sip of his beer, and you catch the way his shoulders stiffen before relaxing quickly. His eyes flicker𑁋not toward you, not toward the city𑁋to somewhere far away. There’s the faintest hint of hesitation when the can leaves his mouth. You don’t rush him. You know how to wait.

“I grew up on a farm,” he finally answers, a wistful look to his face. “I was, um… adopted when I was younger. It was just me, my parents, my sister, and our dog. They were good people. And it was nice living out in the countryside. Peaceful, even.”

“You? On a farm?”

Mingyu turns to you. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, of course I do. It’s just…” Your voice trails off, fondness glazing over your features. “Just trying to imagine it, you know. Little Kim Mingyu running around in the cornfields with mud on his knees and a head too big for his body.”

A genuine laugh bubbles out of him. “Well, you aren’t that far off, I guess. Used to trip over my own feet all the time.”

You hum against the rim of the can. “Explains the permanent clumsiness.”

Mingyu huffs in mock offense at that, wearing that familiar, warm, boyish grin to his lips.

“And science journalism?” You question curiously. “What made you want to get into that?”

“Always had this sort of… curiosity about the world.” He gives a small shrug, fingers tapping against the can. “I was, uh… really into astronomy too. I used to stay up all night looking through this janky telescope my dad snagged from a yard sale. Guess I just wanted to know what’s out there, how things worked and whatnot.”

What Mingyu doesn’t tell you is that he used to look through the telescope in the hopes of finding any remnants of his origins, of his home. Not the little farmhouse with the creaky porch swing or the kind faces who raised him with warm hands and warmer hearts. No, he means the kind of home that stretched light years away, a place that echoed in his bones with a certain ache he couldn’t name. A home he had never truly seen, but felt nonetheless.

He doesn’t say any of it; instead, he tucks it away with a remorseful sip of beer. When he glances back to you, you seem almost lost in thought again.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You can’t tell if it’s the alcohol buzzing through your veins or something else. “Yeah. Just… rough couple of weeks.”

Mingyu lets his eyes trail over you. The bruise to your cheek has almost entirely faded𑁋a clear reminder of the hell you’ve been through𑁋but the memory of everything hasn’t. Though to him, you still look stronger and more beautiful than ever.

“We survived a bombing, I got fucking kidnapped, then I shot a horrible man in cold blood and it just𑁋” Your lips form a tight line. “And yet, despite all of that, I… The only thing that’s been making me stay up these nights is the fact that I fell in love with two different men.”

Mingyu freezes beside you. You don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s panicking. The breezes seem to pick up a little harder, tucking and sending strands of your hair flying that you don’t bother to fix.

“God, I-I sound like an absolute homewrecker,” You mutter in disbelief, clicking your tongue, before fully turning to face him. “Because how is it possible that I’m able to fall for you, and him𑁋Superman𑁋at the same time?”

The words hang in the air like lightning preparing to strike. And suddenly, Mingyu forgets how to breathe.

“I kissed him𑁋he kissed me after the interview.” Your voice grows louder now, more certain. “It wasn’t just a quick peck. It was real. Then I looked at him, and maybe it was the adrenaline, or that I’ve gone insane. But for a split second, I swear to God, I saw you, Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s lips part as if he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. You watch the way his fingers tighten around the can, the soft crinkle of aluminum breaking under his grip. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. His gaze only lingers straight ahead.

You keep going.

“I thought I was going crazy,” You go on, powering through your shaky voice. “That maybe this stupid crush I’ve had on you since the day we met was getting to me. But then I thought more𑁋how you showed up late for meetings, how you disappeared after the heist, how you caught me in the archive room, how you tried to stop me from publishing the exposé… how you look at me.”

The silence between you both is probably more deafening and terrifying then when you shot Scarface, but this silence is filled with revelation. It means everything.

“You’re him, aren’t you?”

He still doesn’t say anything. The only sound you hear is the crumple of the beer can from his tight grip.

“Mingyu.” The way his name rolls out of your mouth hits Mingyu more painful than anything else. “Say something, please. Tell me I’m just projecting, or that I’m drunk or delusional or traumatised𑁋just something.”

Mingyu’s throat bobs. His jaw clenches. His eyes close and reopen slowly, and he exhales a breath as if it hurts.

“I’m not him, Y/N,” he admits finally, voice careful𑁋too careful.

But it doesn’t sound convincing. Not even a little.

And he knows it.

You know it, too.

A part of you wants to laugh, or cry. Or to shake him, kiss him, and hold him all at once. You barely even register standing up, your near-empty beer can forgotten on the floor.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” You retort back bitterly.

He stands up as well. “I’m not lying.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not𑁋”

“I’m a goddamn journalist, Mingyu.” You throw your arms out dramatically. “I live off of facts, off truths. I know when I’m being lied to.”

You hate how your voice cracks at the end. You’re not even mad, not in the way you thought you’d be. You’re hurt. You’re exhausted. And still, you love him. Even if you can’t provide definitive proof that the guy you kissed in the sky felt exactly like the man you love on the ground, your heart knows. It knows, and it’s pounding so damn hard it may as well crack through your ribs and scream it all out.

Mingyu feels so torn, like he’s standing between two burning buildings collapsing in on him. This awful lump is lodged in his throat, his fists clenched at his side, but his feet won’t move, even if his own heart is telling him to. He’s still trying to protect something𑁋maybe you, maybe himself, maybe from this paper-thin illusion that he can still tape up, even with the tears showing.

Then, he watches in shock when you take a step backwards, near the edge of the rooftop. The rush of air from being thirty stories up teases up and down your back.

“Y/N,” he warns in panic, his body tensing. “Don’t you dare.”

You don’t know what kind of madness is possessing you right now. Perhaps it’s from the lack of sleep the past two weeks, the fact you drank an entire can of warm beer, or from the sheer desperation of needing him to tell you the truth. The real truth that has been digging in the crevices of your bones ever since you looked into Superman’s eyes and saw Kim Mingyu staring back at you.

Your heel bumps the ledge.

“I trust you, Mingyu,” You mutter shakily. “I always have.”

You take a breath.

And then you do the most stupidest, bravest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life: you fall.

The world tilts before your eyes, the rush of wind overpowering the scream of your name that Mingyu yells out.

The city below rushes up to meet you, the air roaring like a wind turbine through your ears, the gravity tearing your stomach inside out. You can’t breathe and can hardly think; hell, you don’t even scream. Time slows just enough for a single thought to push through: This is how I die. This is how I find out I’m wrong.

The windows of the Daily Planet all become a kaleidoscope of blurred lights as you plummet past them. The rooftop disappears into the tiniest speck in your vision, the ledge you just stood on now impossibly far away. You’re starting to feel the inevitable cold claw of death latching around you.

You feel weightless and heavy all at once.

Your heart clenches in your chest, your eyelids fluttering to a close. Your limbs are flailing around on instinct to reach for something, anything. Then, you brace yourself to hit the ground because you’re falling, fuck, you’re actually falling, and there’s no going back now𑁋that maybe this was all just delusion disguised as hope, that maybe𑁋

The world suddenly halts.

A gasp flies out of your mouth, ripping out of your lungs like they’ve just remembered how to function. You find your chest pressed against another body. Firm. Familiar. Powerful. Your eyes fly open as your entire form jolts against the abrupt stop, the wind rushing around you more calmly as you realise you’re ascending, not descending.

Then you finally look at him. His glasses are still on somehow, dark hair messed up from the force of the wind, his eyes wide with fear and panic𑁋but unmistakably Kim Mingyu. Superman.

Warmth radiates off his skin as he clings onto you, his arms tightened like a lock around your waist. You feel the way his chest rises and falls with each panicked, shallow breath he takes. There’s a tremble to his body𑁋not from exertion or the flight𑁋but from the sheer terror that he nearly lost you.

You let your arms circle around his neck, pressing closer to him.

“Are you insane?!” Mingyu chokes out, the clouds around the two of you billowing as he slows to a hover, away from the city, the noise, the doubt. “What the hell was that?!”

You don’t answer at first. You simply just stare up at him, the high from your adrenaline receding into something more softer, tender, raw. The city is practically swallowed by the clouds underneath you as the two of you hover in the air, existing in this space between heaven and earth, between truth and lie.

“You caught me,” You whisper.

“Of course, I did𑁋Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Mingyu rasps breathlessly. “If I was just a second too late, you could’ve𑁋fuck𑁋”

“But I didn’t,” You cut him off gently. “Because I was right. I knew you’d catch me.”

Mingyu swallows hard. His eyes search yours like he’s trying to find some other outcome, still hoping that in some way, you don’t see the truth and that he can walk away from all of this. But it’s over. You know, and he knows you know. You’ve always dug deeper, looked harder than anyone else𑁋hell, it’s your job.

And maybe in some twisted, beautiful way, you were meant to find him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly. “I… I wanted to tell you so many times, but I couldn’t. Because if I told you, you’d see me differently. I would’ve put you in danger. God, I just wanted to be normal for you. To be Mingyu for you. Not the guy who can fly or lift buildings for a living.”

“We already lived through the danger, and survived,” You tell him desperately, your fingers digging into the fabric of his clothes. “And I’m still here. I never left and I don’t plan to. You don’t have to be so brave around me, you know.”

His body goes rigid from your words as if someone had punched him in the gut with a force that could rival a hundred bullets being shot at him. His grip on you never eases; if anything, he holds you even tighter, fingers tracing aimlessly circles at your waist as if trying to remind himself that you’re here. You’re real.

Mingyu hears your heartbeat thundering your chest, and he swears to himself it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“You terrify me.” His lips twitch upwards. “And dammit, I love you for it.”

Your breath hitches at that. The air around you grows silent, like the world itself is holding its breath as well. You reach up to trail a finger down his cheek, before tenderly cupping his face in your hand. Mingyu leans into your warmth as if he’s waited a hundred lifetimes to be allowed this.

His eyes fall to a close before reopening again to look at you. But it isn’t just a glance𑁋no, he’s looking like he’s trying to memorise you, like he’s afraid to even blink.

“I love you too,” You confess quietly.

Then you kiss him.

It’s soft, almost uncertain at first𑁋just a tentative brush of your mouth against his. Mingyu’s breath catches the second your lips meet his, his eyes widening for a split moment as he peers down at you with nothing but longing.

Then he simply just chuckles, low and breathless. His hands slowly trail their way up your spine, his other hand wrapping around more protectively around your waist. He tilts his head adoringly, pauses to blink, before leaning to press his mouth back to yours. This time, the kiss is deeper. Slower. And so impossibly gentle it nearly breaks you.

He’s kissing you like Kim Mingyu, and holding you like Superman.

Your hand reaches up to cradle the nape of his neck, fingers lightly threading through his hair. A sigh leaves him from your touch𑁋a breath of surrender, of relief, of finally, sending trembles all the way down to your toes. His nose barely brushes against yours as the angle shifts slightly, his chapped lips molding more fully into yours, coaxing your mouth open with a sweetness that sets your skin ablaze in the softest, most devastating way.

The clouds hug dreamily around the two of you as you part away for air. You find your foreheads pressed against one another, your hand drifting to rest on his chest. You feel the way his heart is pounding, as if it’s overfilled to the brim with nothing but love. He’s holding you like you’re something fragile, precious, his.

“You make me feel human,” Mingyu whispers shakily. “Like I belong somewhere.”

You tenderly brush the tip of your finger over his cheekbone.

“You are human, Mingyu,” You tell him reassuringly. “Because only someone truly human would love the way you do.”

He stares at you like he doesn’t deserve to be looked this way. All his life he’s always been… different. He was the third grader who’d run away into the janitor’s closet crying because he accidentally broke the swing set at recess. The teenager who couldn’t join any sports due to the fear he’d break someone’s ribs. The adult who could save the world but never fully belong in it.

But here, in your arms and under your gaze, he’s never felt more safe, wanted, and loved.

Mingyu leans in again, littering tiny kisses over your skin𑁋from your forehead, to your nose, your cheek, a lingering one to your lips, each one eliciting a low giggle out of you. The sound makes his heart swell.

When he pulls back, there’s a breath of hesitation in the air. His gaze silently flickers between your eyes, to your mouth, and back up to your eyes again.

“Can I, uh…” He swallows thickly. “Can I… take you home?”

You blink dazedly at that, but as the words register, the corners of your lips twitch upwards.

“Take me home?” You echo teasingly. “Is this your way of seducing me?”

Mingyu’s ears instantly grow red.

“What? No𑁋I mean, yes𑁋wait, shit, that’s not what I𑁋” He fumbles over his words like he’s completely short-circuiting. And honestly, he really is. “I didn’t mean it like that𑁋okay, maybe I did, but𑁋fuck.”

You can’t help but laugh. Like really laugh. The kind of laugh that bubbles from deep within your chest and makes you throw your head back at his sheer adorableness. He’s literally stammering like a teenage boy trying to ask out his crush to prom. The sound of your laughter curls around Mingyu like sunlight, the tips of ears growing warmer from embarrassment.

“Mingyu,” You call his name after taking a minute to recover. “Relax. I’m just teasing.”

A sheepish pout crosses his features. “You’re evil, you know that? You’re gonna kill me one day.”

“You’re literally invincible.”

“Not to you.”

His words make your smile falter𑁋just for a second, your heartbeat thudding unevenly in your chest.

“I just… I want to be real with you,” Mingyu continues bashfully. “I want to hold you when I fall asleep and wake up to you in the morning. I want to take you on a thousand dates and argue about who left the dishes in the sink. I want… more than just saving the world. I want to do everything with you.”

Then his voice dips just slightly lower, still plagued with that certain shyness.

“And yeah, I want to kiss you. A lot. Probably for the rest of my life,” he adds in with a smile, before it softens. “And maybe more than that. If… if you want that, too.”

Your lips part slowly, warmth blooming throughout your body. You simply stare at him. Not because you’re surprised𑁋as you literally fell off a building just to prove your stupid heart right𑁋but because of how goddamn earnestly, nervously, hopefully he says it. Like the thought of having you is still something he doesn’t deserve.

You want it all with him, too.

“Okay,” is all you say.

His eyes widen. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” You cup his face again, caressing a finger over the corner of his lip. “Take me home, Superman.”

Mingyu’s arms only tighten around you, and he presses one last kiss to your temple.

“Hold on tight.”

And then, the two of you are soaring through the skies.

Mingyu lands you back at your apartment.

It’s quiet inside. Your feet brush against the old wooden flooring, which is scruffed and faded in some spots. The walls are pretty much bare of any childhood relics except for an old photograph or two. Mingyu spots shelves of old case files, stacked notebooks, and a tiny little succulent plant. The couch appears second-hand, a little sunken in the middle, with a blanket on the arm that’s seen better days.

There’s a kind of loneliness in the walls that Mingyu picks up immediately. It’s lived in, but barely. You’ve never really let anyone in here.

Still, Mingyu doesn’t say a word.

You watch the way his gaze trails over every crevice of your apartment, as if he’s stepping into a secret, into your own heart. And in a way, he is. He’s been to the edges of space and seen the worst humanity has to offer𑁋yet being in your little half-empty apartment is what feels the most real.

You find yourself pouring a glass of water in the kitchen as Mingyu’s fingers curiously trail over some of your old investigative journalism textbooks on the shelf.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not much,” You mutter, placing the glass back on the counter. “Never really felt the need to decorate, honestly.”

The emptiness of your apartment doesn’t bother him𑁋it never could. Mingyu crosses the room without a word, and you hardly have time to process his presence as his arms wrap around you from behind. You melt into him naturally, his warmth seeping through the layers of your clothes and caressing over your skin.

As his breath hits the shell of your ear, tingles run up and down your spine.

“It’s perfect,” he mutters. “You let me in. That’s more than enough.”

Before you have a chance to respond, he kisses you.

Not on the lips, not yet𑁋he presses his mouth to the nape of your neck, then another one to your shoulder, tracing his little constellations on your skin along the way. You shudder from his touch, knees almost buckling, and you feel the smile on his face as he chuckles into your neck.

“Mingyu…”

Mingyu hums against your skin. “Mhm?”

You nearly combust when his kiss lands near your collarbone.

“Do you, uh…” You start, already breathless. “...want to go to my bedroom?”

Mingyu lifts his head at your question. You don’t even have to turn to know he’s already smiling.

Before you can say anything more, he’s spinning you around and scooping you up in his arms effortlessly like you weigh literally nothing. Your legs instinctively wrap around his torso, a surprised yelp leaving your lips.

“Jeez! Warn a girl first!” You gasp, half-panicked, half-excited.

“Sorry, baby,” he mutters with a grin, arms wrapped securely around your thighs. “Perks of the job.”

He carries you through your little apartment with confidence. Your head rests on his shoulder, your giggles mingling in the heavy air together as he strides down a small hallway. When he arrives in front of a door, he nudges it open with his foot𑁋before realising it’s your bathroom.

“Mingyu! That’s the bathroom!”

“Shit, sorry!” He backtracks quickly, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he tightens his hold on you. “My glasses don’t let me use my x-ray vision here! I’m working with human eyes right now.”

You practically die of laughter in his arms, hearing him grumble something under his breath before arriving at the correct door. He gives the door a little poke with his shoulder, and as he steps over the threshold into your bedroom, the air seems to thicken even more.

Just like the rest of your apartment, there’s nothing much here either. Just a bed, with disheveled mismatched sheets that you didn’t bother to fix in the morning, and a singular lamp flickering right next to it. Under the window, moonlight pours all over a small desk that has a bunch of scattered papers and an unopened laptop. A few pieces of clothing are sprawled out on the floor, and you silently curse at yourself for not being more prepared for this.

Even then, Mingyu treats it as if it’s your palace, and that you’re the queen within it.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, bringing you snugly into his lap. His arms don’t let go of your waist, and his eyes never leave your face.

You’re straddling him now, knees pressing into the bed on either side of his thighs. Your hands rest lightly on his shadows, and he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes as if he’s in complete awe of you. As if he can’t believe you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re his.

“You’re shaking.”

“I know,” he breathes out. “I just… don’t want to hurt you.”

You shake your head at that. “You won’t. I trust you.”

That makes Mingyu pause for a moment, as if your words hit him square in the goddamn chest. Mingyu hardly trusts his own strength, and especially in a situation like this, he would never forgive himself if he were to hurt you. Whether it’s intimately, emotionally, anything, he’s never been more afraid of breaking something so precious as you.

But you said you trust him, and that makes him want to be better, softer, stronger all at once. Just for you.

He leans in to kiss you again. This time, it’s a lot less playful, less teasing. Just slow, deliberate, and so goddamn soft you might as well spontaneously combust. Your hands instinctively wrap around him, his denim jacket falling off his shoulders and landing somewhere on the floor. You barely even register it coming off𑁋too lost in the way his lips mold sweetly and perfectly against yours.

When he pulls back, his eyes remain peering up at you through those dorky glasses, at the way your lips are kiss-swollen and body heaving with shallow breaths. You don’t even have to hear him say anything, but you understand what he’s trying to convey: I want this, but only if you want it too. There’s a flicker of hesitation, before he reaches down to grab the hem of his white shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.

You immediately freeze up.

Because holy shit.

He’s sculpted like a statue. Like Michelangelo said fuck this, let’s sculpt Mingyu. Even in your shitty apartment lighting, his golden skin radiates. You know that he’s strong𑁋you’ve seen the way his suit hugs his figure and how he walks around at work not realising he’s built like a Calvin Klein supermodel𑁋but nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Your eyes trace over the smooth lines of muscle over his body, over his chiseled torso and abs that look as if they’re carved from literal stone, over his stupidly kissable collarbones. You’re not even sure what to do with your hands. Or your lungs, at this point.

When Mingyu notices how stunned you are, he blushes. Blushes.

“I𑁋was that too fast?” he questions bashfully. “Sorry, I just thought𑁋”

“No,” You respond too quickly, still practically gawking at him like a Victorian woman seeing an ankle for the first time. “It’s okay. You’re just… a lot to take in.”

“Do you want me to put it back on?” he asks sheepishly.

A scandalised look crosses your face. “No. God, no. Don’t you dare.” You lean in to press a kiss over the skin covering his heart, one of your hands caressing down his stomach. You hear the sharp inhale that escapes him, and you smirk against his skin. “I love seeing you like this.”

You meet him back eye-level, reaching to grab the frames of his glasses, pausing for a moment to ask permission with your eyes. When he gives you the faintest of nods, you slide the glasses off his face and set them aside, and you’re met with the most beautiful, warmest, honey-brown eyes ever.

You’ve seen his eyes before, obviously. But without the glasses, without the disguise, they’re more piercing than ever. You feel as if you’re staring into a pair of galaxies, and you could pinpoint all the stars within them. He isn’t just Superman. He’s also Mingyu. Your Mingyu.

“Hi,” You whisper.

He smiles bashfully. “Hi.”

You almost want to laugh. You’re both ridiculous. Because here you are, nervous like two hormonal teenagers and blushing like you weren’t close to dying not that long ago.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

Mingyu kisses the inside of your palm. “I think I’m freaking out. In a good way, of course.”

You smile at that, leaning in to press your forehead against his. You hear the shaky exhale that leaves him, before his head tilts to meet your lips again. You feel his fingers trail up your waist, pushing off the cardigan you’re wearing off your shoulders, as his mouth moves down even further.

Your breath hitches when you feel his lips meet the corner of your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck, his fingertips hesitantly slipping underneath the hem of your top like he’s asking for permission to keep going. He’s giving you time to stop this if you want, but you don’t. You don’t want him to stop.

You answer by lifting your arms up, letting him pull your shirt off to join the other clothes on the floor. You’re left in just your bra now, and Mingyu just stares.

He doesn’t pounce on you𑁋just lets his gaze roam over your form like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. His jaw tightens with restraint as he drinks you in, taking in even the tiniest imperfections that dot all over you, his hands adoring every sight of new skin being revealed to him. You barely have any sort of chance to feel self-conscious when he kisses you again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles against your neck, pressing a line of kisses over your collarbone, the curve above your breast, and one above your heart. “Every part of you.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m half-naked on top of you,” You retort playfully.

His brows draw together at that as he glances up at you mischievously. “I’m saying it because it’s true, sweetheart. The half-naked part is just a bonus.”

Your laughter dissolves into a breathy sigh as his thumbs tread tenderly over your ribcage. You move your hips again𑁋just a subtle, completely unintentional grind on his lap, enough to have a sound that nearly resembles a whimper tumbling out of his throat, and his hands gripping onto your hips a little more tighter.

“Sorry,” You murmur breathlessly, though there’s a sparkle of mischief in your eyes. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he breathes out, voice low and wrecked. “Never be sorry𑁋fuck, angel, you’re driving me crazy…”

It’s so hard to take in the fact that someone so powerful𑁋someone who literally has the power to lift up a tank on his shoulders as if it’s light as a feather𑁋is trying so hard to be so gentle with you. Like he’s terrified that one wrong move shatters you, when all you want him to do is pull you closer.

Your fingers comb through his hair as he nuzzles his face in your shoulder, taking in the way you feel, smell, and taste.

“Superman always takes care of everybody,” You start when it’s your turn to be littering kisses at the skin of his neck. “Saves the world, the city, strangers, me𑁋but… who takes care of you?”

He stills. Just for a second. His grip on your waist loosens imperceptibly, before tightening back. You see the way the question runs around his head as if it’s his first time ever being asked something so vulnerable.

“I… I don’t know,” he answers unsurely.

Your heart breaks and comes back together all at once.

“Then let me,” You insist softly. “From now on, from however long you want me, let me.”

Mingyu looks up at you with hopeful, puppy eyes.

“And if I want forever?”

You give him a smile.

“I can do forever.”

You don’t know who leans in first. You don’t exactly know how the straps of your bra have fallen over your shoulder either. All you do know is that you’re suddenly underneath him this time, and he’s still kissing you. Hungrier. Needier.

The bed dips slightly as Mingyu fully climbs on top now, one leg slotted between yours as you find yourself practically melting into the mattress. His body is the personification of a living furnace as his chest presses against yours, skin against skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.

You roll your hips against him once more to chase that particular friction over the hardness of his jeans, and he has to muffle away a groan into your shoulder. He rocks himself up to meet you halfway with a low sigh into your neck, the two of you finding a rhythm that has heat spiraling down both of your bodies and for your brains to grow foggy.

“You’re so𑁋shit, you’re so perfect,” he rasps, voice barely audible from the needy sighs spilling out of your mouth. “You feel so good, baby.”

The muscles on his back tense when he feels your hands explore themselves over them, breath hitching against your throat. Your fingertips caress over the ridges of his spine, tracing the slope of his shoulder blades, curling into the soft messiness of his hair. Mingyu swears that perhaps you have your own kind of superpower𑁋of making him so undeniably, fondly, helpless for you.

Bullets break in half when they hit him, he’s prevented literal buildings from falling over, and could bend steel with the singular twirl of his fingers. But when you’re here, underneath him, kissing him and making noises he’ll replay in his mind for the rest of his days, he turns into literal mush. Kryptonite isn’t the only thing that weakens him.

It’s you.

“I think I understand it now,” he mutters against your skin.

Your body buzzes with heat as you look at him. “What?”

Mingyu pulls back to look at you, a lump bobbing in his throat.

“Desire.”

He says the word like it’s some otherworldly discovery. As if he’s heard it from somewhere, maybe read about it, seen it when lovers skip down the streets with their hands clasped together. But he’s never felt it like this. Not until now. Not until you.

“I never knew it could feel like this,” he says quietly. “This need to… touch you. Be close with you. Not just physically, but gosh, hearing your heartbeat makes me go insane.”

You giggle at that, and it sends a cheeky, silly smile crawling over Mingyu’s face. He watches the way your face lights up when you laugh. You’re always so scarily serious all the time when you’re in your zone, but now? Now you’re all soft and radiant and so unfairly sexy in a way that makes him ache to know what other things he can make you feel.

“Mingyu?”

Mingyu hovers above you, one hand propping him up beside your head and the other drawing circles near the waistband of your pants. “Yeah?”

“I want you,” You confess. It doesn’t come off shy, not anymore. “You… don’t have to hold back with me, okay? You can let go𑁋I want you to.”

That’s what undoes him right there. He gives you the most affectionate grin known to mankind.

“Okay,” Mingyu breathes, a singular breath away from your lips. “Okay. Letting go. I… I can do that.”

This time, when he kisses you, it feels like you’re flying again.

Mingyu makes love to you just like how he fights𑁋with the same passionate fire in his veins and the protectiveness of someone willing to break himself before he ever lets harm touch you. And it isn’t just about pleasure; no, it’s about safety. It’s about surrender. Vulnerability.

It’s about loving you with the same unrelenting force he uses to save the world𑁋this time, only softer. Sweeter. And only a certain type of love that belongs to you.

The second you check the time on your watch, the elevator dings in front of you.

Your heels clack against the floor as you step inside with a sigh, pressing a button to your desired floor. Your bag is slung loosely over your shoulder, the strap threatening to fall off from the weight of your laptop and whatever the hell you have inside is. You’re too busy scrolling through your upcoming meeting agenda on your phone. The Daily Planet is as alive as ever for a Monday morning, but here, you’re lucky you can breathe for once.

You catch sight of your reflection on the mirrored walls on the elevator before leaning back against the cold metal with a sigh, letting your eyes flicker close for a moment as the door starts to close.

But before the doors are able to seal shut, there’s a sudden clang, and the metal shudders as if it’s been crushed with some kind of forceful pressure.

You jolt in surprise as the elevator doors groan back open, revealing none other than Kim Mingyu clambering clumsily inside wearing an extremely apologetic expression on his face. He takes his hand off the elevator door, where you notice a visible dent had formed from what you assume to be how hard he grabbed the damn thing.

“Shit,” Mingyu mutters, staring at the dent like a guilty puppy as the elevators struggle to close back again. “I didn’t mean to do that, I swear.”

You roll your eyes. “Gyu, that is literally government property.”

He winces at that. “I got too excited!”

“For what?”

“...seeing you.”

Your expression softens despite yourself, struggling to bite back a smile as Mingyu places himself right next to you, your shoulders momentarily brushing. His hair is a tad bit windswept from probably flying here, and his glasses slightly askew on his nose. Half of his dress shirt is tucked into a pair of dark slacks, his tie half-done, and yet, he still looks like the most kissable man on Earth right now.

As the elevator begins to rise slowly, Mingyu glances over at you too.

“You look nice today,” he points out casually.

You blink, peering down at your own outfit. It wasn’t too much out of the ordinary𑁋just a more structured blazer, a formal blouse, a bit more effort in your makeup, and your hair styled in a way when you actually want to appear like you have your shit together.

“Thank you.” You clear your throat, warmth sprouting in your cheeks. “Got a meeting later in the afternoon with out-of-town journalists. Thought looking intimidating would make it go by faster.”

A grin crosses Mingyu’s face as his eyes roam over you once more. “Well, you do look intimidatingly hot, if I do say so myself.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Mingyu.”

“What?” His grin only widens. “Is flirting with my girlfriend a crime now?”

You try to glare at him, but it’s not effective at all with the way you’re suppressing a stupidly fond smile. “Flattery won’t fix this elevator door.”

“That’s totally unrelated.”

“It looks like a rhino charged head first into it.”

Mingyu chuckles sheepishly. “I’ll… fix it tomorrow, maybe. After hours. No one will know. Or I can bribe maintenance with cookies again.”

You could only scoff. He’s such a dork.

The elevator hums as it continues its ascent into the upper floors of the building. Right next to you, Mingyu’s hand brushes against yours. First by complete accident, second on purpose. You don’t pull away when his pinky nudges against yours. Instead, you allow your fingers to lace around his, and you immediately feel the way he relaxes.

It’s quiet in the moments that follow, yet your heart is completely betraying you and you know he can hear it.

The two of you have been together for almost five months at this point, and yet, it feels like it’s only ever been day one. The hardest part was keeping your relationship a secret at first, especially from the newsroom, but then Minghao told you that you both have been fairly obvious ever since the kryptonite case. You didn’t even try to deny it because there was no point.

Especially not when Mingyu would sometimes hover outside your bedroom window, tapping gently on the glass to say hi before flying off on another rescue mission. Or when your coworkers always noticed the two of you walking in and out of the building together. Or when you’d randomly go missing for lunch and return all flushed, hair tousled, and somehow in a better mood.

You turn to face him, letting go of his hand momentarily to fix his tie, tugging gently at the silk resting at the base of his throat. You feel his hands trail down your waist as he stands still while you tighten it. When your fingers brush over his collarbones, he tenses naturally, though he still wears that boyish smile to his face.

“Still meeting me for dinner tonight?” he asks.

You smooth out his dress shirt over his chest. “Depends. Are you flying me to Paris or Italy this time?”

Mingyu hums contemplatively, his fingers tightening a little more around your waist. “Hm, I was thinking more like Greece. Or Japan, maybe. I know you’ve always wanted to go there. Heard it’s cherry blossom season over there.”

You tilt your head as you pretend to think. “Tough choice. Greek sunsets or Japanese cherry blossoms?”

“Baby, I could take you to both, you know.”

You snort, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Clearly you forgot we have actual jobs that require us to, I don’t know, show up.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically, pushing back some loose strands of hair behind your ear. “Right. Damn capitalism.” He lets his eyes roam over you adoringly. “Okay, how about just my place tonight?”

“Isn’t Wonwoo going to be there?”

“Don’t worry. He’s grown into the art of minding his own business.”

You grin at that.

The ding of the elevator interrupts your banter, the doors𑁋still dented from his overly enthusiastic entrance𑁋sliding open to reveal the classic chaotic routines of the bullpen. Mingyu retracts his hand from your waist, straightening his posture in the hopes of masking away his besotted features. You flip back into your professional stance too, fixing your blazer and flicking a glance to the time on your watch.

The two of you step out onto the floor together. The frantic morning bustle of the newsroom quickly fills your senses: interns rushing by, the clattering of keyboards, a printer breaking down somewhere in the corner, and people yelling out deadlines in your ears. When you stop at your desk, you watch for a few seconds as Mingyu sidles past you to head to his own cubicle just a few steps down.

However, just as you’re about to sit, a loud voice booms through the newsroom: Seungcheol.

“Mingyu! Y/N! Office now!”

You freeze halfway in the seat, meeting Mingyu’s equally startled gaze across the room, his hand gripped around his rolling chair. Letting out an exhale, you set your bag down on your desk with Mingyu following behind you over to Seungcheol’s office.

The blinds of Seungcheol’s office are halfway drawn as the two of you step inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Seungcheol is sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pragmatic look to his face. He doesn’t even have to glance up as he cracks a manila folder open on the desk.

“Alright, Bonnie and Clyde,” he starts as you and Mingyu sit down. “I’m pairing you up again.”

You raise a suspicious eyebrow, shooting a side-glance toward Mingyu, who looks just as curious and baffled as you are. It hasn’t even been long since the two of you were paired up on the kryptonite trafficking and Scarface incident, where near-death was just a slip away from your fingers.

Seungcheol opens the folder, revealing a cluster of surveillance photos from what look to be press conferences, a particular figure standing out in every single one.

“Recently, the President-elect has been appearing in places he shouldn’t be,” Seungcheol states, sliding the photos over the two of you.

“The President-elect?” You repeat, staring down at the images. “As in, President-elect Yoon Jeonghan?”

“Precisely,” Seungcheol responds eagerly. “He’s been spotted here in Seoul, then Metropolis, Gotham, Beijing, nearly everywhere.”

You lean in closer to photos, feeling Mingyu beside you do the same. Sure enough, there he is𑁋President-elect Yoon Jeonghan wearing his signature dark suit, waving gracefully at crowds, shaking hands with sick children in a hospital, all with that perfect charming smile on his face. He appears undeniably poised, pristine, and politically untouchable. There’s something quite eerie about it.

However, there are also some photos taken from security cameras in the middle of inconspicuous dark alleyways, military divisions, and unregistered facilities. All the photos were taken in different locations around the world. But what catches your eyes are the timestamps on the photos.

They’re all merely hours or even minutes apart.

“That’s not humanly possible,” You remark incredulously. “Any information on travel records?”

Seungcheol shakes his head grimly. “Nope. His press team claims he’s been prepping for his inauguration in Seoul and only travelled three times the past five months. The intelligence team is pretty divided on digging even more about this. But I know when something isn’t right, and clearly this𑁋” He motions over the photos. “𑁋isn’t just normal presidential shenanigans. I need to know if the man who is about to lead this country is actually who he says he is.”

You and Mingyu exchange another look. He’s frowning now, jaw tense. You can practically see the gears turning in your head. It’s clear he’s thinking the same thing you are.

This isn’t just a scandal, or a simple case of political corruption. It’s a threat waiting to detonate.

“Alright,” You say, clasping your hands together. “We’ll take it.”

“Good.” Seungcheol leans back in his chair. “But keep this off the record for now. We don’t want to cause a nationwide panic. Whatever you plan to write, take it up with me first. He’s still the goddamn President-elect, so watch your backs. Both of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Mingyu states solemnly, already gathering back the photos in the folder.

“And look, I don’t care what the hell is going on between the two of you,” Seungcheol starts, eyes flitting between the two of you. “But I do know the last time I partnered you two, we broke the damn site’s traffic record and scored a Pulizter nomination in the process. So don’t disappoint me, alright? Meeting’s over.”

The two of you start to saunter your way out of Seungcheol’s office with materials gathered under both of your arms. However, just as Mingyu is about to close the door, Seungcheol calls out to him again.

“Kim! One more thing.”

Mingyu pauses with his hand still on the doorframe, poking a head back in the office. “Yes, sir?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up from his papers he’s scavenging through, but his voice cuts through the room like a knife.

“Try not to die this time, yeah?”

It comes off way too casual for Mingyu’s liking, laced with that familiar gruff Seungcheol charm that’s gotten him through years of leading the newsroom and dealing with incorrigible employees. The man basically implied that he knows in some way, somehow. Mingyu’s jaw twitches from nerves, before easing into a tight-lipped smile.

“Noted… uh, sir.”

Seungcheol waves him off curtly. “Amazing. Now get back to work.”

And so he does. Mingyu quietly shuts the door before sheepishly meandering his way over to where you’re already perched at your desk and setting the files down. You smile when you catch him coming up to you, and the look on your pretty face is quick to dissolve any lingering nerves he has.

“So, partner.” You place a hand on your hip. “Guess we’re working together again.”

“That seems to be the case, Cronkite,” Mingyu retorts teasingly.

You tilt your head fondly at the nickname, peering up at him curiously.

“Are you ready for this?”

Mingyu glances down at you. He doesn’t answer, not at first𑁋just takes you in with warm eyes as if you’re the centre of the damn universe, noticing every flicker of excitement and hint of worry that paints your features. He may be Superman, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel scared sometimes.

Especially when it comes to you𑁋someone who he doesn’t just love, but someone who he would quite literally move through heaven and hell for. Someone who makes every mission worth surviving. Someone who he chooses again and again every damn day.

You’re standing there in front of him with your lips pressed in that determined line he knows all too well. Brave. Brilliant. Unafraid to chase the truth even if it kills you. And God, he swears he falls in love with you all over again.

“With you by my side?” Mingyu starts, lips quirked up as he steps up closer to you. “I’m ready to take on anything, my love.”

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sashi-ya · 11 months ago

Text

𝘗𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘔 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 "𝘔𝘠 𝘗𝘌𝘙𝘐𝘖𝘋 𝘐𝘚 𝘓𝘈𝘛𝘌" one piece edition headcanons ⟢ law, zoro, ace & shanks

tw: mdni. suggestive language. pregnancy desires mentioned. cream pie implied. on a serious note, do not play this prank to your real life lovers, please. wait for a bleach and kaiju 8 version, too.

𝐋𝐀𝐖

No medical knowledge is enough for him to justify your lack of a period. Every possible cause stated at the same time inside his head, every cause but pregnancy… Completely in silence, that’s how he stayed the very first minutes after your told him. His cheeks lacked redness; his whole skin turned pale. Legs becoming weak, insides falling into a jail of anxiety.

A silence hug, that’s all he is able to do after who knows how many minutes. His nose buries on the crook of your neck, his hands fall slowly around your waist, hanging lifelessly into the small of your back… “I have no idea what is happening right now, but I promise I’ll be here forever…”

For a moment you wish that wasn’t just a prank but reality, just for a moment you stood there… quiet, kissing the crown of his head… You couldn’t laugh at that moment, not at all.

𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎

“Zoro, I’m late” . “Huh? Where to? hurry up!”. “With my period???!”. “Tell your period to hurry up, then”

Zoro has no idea. Too sleepy to understand anyway. You explain, in the most simple words you could find until he finally understood.

He stood up. Shook the sleepiness off and walked towards you. For the very first time, his katana were left on the floor; Wado Ichimonji stopped being important.

“You are lying. I smell blood on you. But since you want it so bad, then, let me make that period real, real, real late…”

The next thing you knew, it was him carrying you like a sack of potatoes on his muscular shoulder to the room. Oh, when the King of Hell says it’s time… you better be prepared… 🙊

𝐀𝐂𝐄

“WHAT? ME????? A FATHER?????”. “Most probably, I told you should use protection …”

“No, but you- YOU TOLD ME? YOU- NEVER MIND I DON’T CARE. MARCO!! POPS! IZOU! I MUST CALL LUFFY!!! OI!!!” . “ACE, ACE!! STOP!”

Ace couldn’t hold the excitement. You were unsure if that prank would be a good thing to do… after all, Ace hated his own blood… however, that reaction took you off guard. He ran through the Moby Dick, with cheeks as full of freckles as red from happiness. Orange hat flowing with the wind of such huge ship, the sound of his boots echoing with his steps.

“ACE, IT WAS JUST A PRANK! STOP!”

He stopped. Black locks curling with the breeze of the main deck. “I guess it’s better that way… after all, I am sure that baby might run the same fa-“ Ace suddenly felt trap of his own past once again, but your arms surrounded his frame to stop it.

“Shut up, or I’ll rip those freckles off you! now, get me pregnant. Right now”

“If you ask it that way, then I have no other choice miss…”

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒

“do have you any idea how many women have told me that before?”

“don’t be a prick, shanks…” you mutter, you were fuming. That prank seemed to only show how much of a womanizer this man really is.

He walked towards you; red hair, as the blood that runs through your veins and your heart pumps, playfully danced on his forehead. His intense eyes, fixed on yours, made you weak, unable to breath properly.

“I know it’s a prank, do you think I wouldn’t tell? You aren’t made for lying, love… I just wanted a little revenge, you shouldn’t make my heart stop that way… you know how much I want it to be true, (Name)?” he whispers, grabbing you from your chin.

Lips crashed against yours; you couldn’t argue, you couldn’t protest… that man rules over you, and if he wants you pregnant, then… he will make it happen.

#one piece x reader #one piece #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #law headcanons #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro headcanons #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #ace headcanons #shanks x reader #shanks headcanons #shanks #trafalgar law #roronoa zoro #portgas d ace

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virginreprise · 7 months ago

Text

❀。 • * ₊. °。 . R A I S E M E ✾ U P

jackson!joel miller x reader .•° ✿ °•.

°•. ✿ .•° ddlg dynamics, smut, fluff, daddy kink, sub drop, joel feeling intense amount of shame because i never give the poor guy a break, age gap, dirty talk, aftercare

6.2k words┊ ┊ ┊ ˚❀

-ˋˏ ༻ . AO3 . ༺ ˎˊ-

The weight of you was heavy against his side, chest rising and falling as your eyes flickered—on the verge of falling asleep on his shoulder and desperately attempting to pay attention to the film blurring along the TV screen. The old 80s quality was harsh on the eyes, and the sound was crackling from the old speakers, but it was hard to be picky in the time the planet resided. It was hard for Joel to feel any irritation at all when you were cuddled against him, full belly from the pot roast Maria had brought over, legs bare and soft under his palms as you draped them over his lap, and a mumble on your lips as you sighed.

“Movie’s boring.”

You nuzzled into his neck, huffing softly as you complained. Joel could do nothing but chuckle, buzzing with the warmth of you and the knowledge that you were his. Joel’s girl. Daddy’s girl.

Hidden away from the harsh judgments of their little slice of life in Jackson. Unashamedly lying in the wake of perversion and desire that amalgamated into a mix of jolting excitement and sickening paranoia.

Joel had become jumpy. Joel did not like to be perceived. Joel, most certainly, did not like to lose out on the things that mattered most to him because of convention.

Joel was a man who stood behind his convictions—his main decider and fortifier of those convictions: family. You, over the past few months of shame and bliss, had caused the undeniable roil of his gut that peeled at the layers of flesh until he was a mass of bone and blood. The definitive hum that told him he would protect you against all odds. If that meant looking over his shoulder every time he spoke to you outside the walls of his abode, standing respectable distances away from you when the Tipsy Bison got too crowded and he had to pretend he couldn’t still taste your cum on his tongue from where he’d licked you dry hours previous, then so be it.

It all made sense when he returned home and heard his name on your lips, your arms around his middle as you kissed him in greeting. His shaking and unequivocal anxiety seemed to disappear completely when he spent nights alone with you: wrapped up against him, floating away in that special headspace of yours that he adored so completely it made him feel sick with admiration.

His pretty little lady.

A lady who was now insulting his choice in movies.

“It’s a classic, honey,” he defended, brushing hair away from your face as you stared up at him—rolling your eyes.

“Still boring.”

He laughed at your petulance, chest vibrating as you smiled softly. So pretty all tucked up beside him, so soft and warm and everything that he had been missing since he’d settled into the echoing hallways of his new home. A home that had not felt complete until you’d stepped onto the porch with the rocking chair and the windchime: all sweetness and trouble.

“Brat,” he murmured with no malice, still smiling as you giggled into his chest. “S’almost bedtime, anyway.”

You looked up at him with a pout then, shaking your head.

“Nu-uh. You promised me that we’d watch a movie first.”

“We are watchin’ a movie.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like this one.”

“Okay then, what do you like?”

You paused at that question, furrowing your brow—looking like you were thinking real hard. It was cute. Endearing. Joel seemed to be constantly endeared by you and your idiosyncrasies, the things that made up each part of you; consumed his soul until all he could focus on was the sweet actions you would perform.

Then, his stomach dropped and he suddenly felt sick again.

“I don’t know…” you muttered. “Haven’t really watched many movies.”

It’s a genuine statement, said with nothing but normality as you looked up at him expectantly, only to be greeted by Joel’s tense shoulders and clenched jaw.

There were always reminders. Everywhere. Sauntering up and down the thoroughfare late at night, seeing a Dad with his grown-up daughter, thinking how easily that could be the two of you. Tommy’s judgemental glare every time Joel dared spare a glance at you—the older brother wondering what Tommy would do if he ever found out what happened behind closed doors. He wished never to experience such horror.

Most of the time, when he wasn’t panicking about tainting you, it was easy to ignore the tightness in his chest—the shake in his hands when you sat on the kitchen counters as he made you dinner; that little, unorthodox name on your lips when he slid his hands along your thighs and let you ramble on and on about the day's tribulations.

But, you just had to go and say something so fucking ridiculous: the reminder.

Joel was old. Old and disgusting.

“You okay, Daddy?”

Jesus fuck, it was so depraved, and, worst of all, it felt good: to feel wanted. To feel needed by you, because you did need him, and he needed you too. He needed you so he could feel some modicum of sanity despite the insanity you caused. It was a lulling derangement that comforted him more than deluded him.

“Yeah, baby, just…” he forced a smile, cupping your cheek and rubbing softly at the flesh. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, okay?”

You didn’t seem convinced. For such a shy little thing you really were smart—able to ascertain what he was thinking with a quick scan of his features. It was another thing about you that he adored so much. Even when you were floating up high, letting Joel do all the thinking for you, you still had that little semblance of self—a light inside you that constantly remained on, even when the rest of you was dark.

“Mhm,” you murmured, a sound that made Joel’s jaw tick.

“You know how I feel about “mhm,” he chastised and you couldn’t help but smile despite the scolding nature of his tone.

“M’sorry.” You snuggled into him further, seeking the warmth emanating from him, Joel being your personal heater during the cold Jackson nights when the fire could not manage to warm the whole house. When you’d go to bed with socks on your feet, layers of clothes plastered on your skin and the heat of Joel keeping you comfortable when the night air chilled you to the bone.

“That’s okay, honey.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, hand snaking across your legs, dipping to the inside of your thigh where he stroked absent-mindedly, mulling over the short panic that had overtaken him. Sometimes, after those fleeting moments of unease, he’d think himself silly. That a reaction like that for something so insignificant wasn’t necessary.

Other days it was harder to ignore the lingering sharpness in his heart when he lay wide awake in the middle of the night—eyes trained on the hallway, watching for shadows. His rifle propped up against the wall, just within reach.

All precautions.

Joel certainly had grown some paranoiac tendencies since you’d crawled your way into his life. But there was a method to the madness—a warm blanket of comfort found in the lunacy.

So, he did some damage control—eased your mind slightly so you wouldn’t worry about him. He was supposed to look after you, after all.

“How ‘bout we finish this movie now, and then when I get a chance I’ll go to that video store I saw when I was on patrol. Get you a bunch of DVDs we can watch, yeah?”

You tried to suppress a wide smile, failing miserably as you leant up to peck him earnestly, giggling softly as you fell back against him and whispered a “Thank you, Daddy,” into his shoulder.

“You’re welcome, babydoll.”

Manners: one of the first rules. Always say please and thank you, especially around Joel. You’d taken it on board delightfully well. Too well sometimes. The times when you thanked him for simply being there—when he didn’t deserve your gratitude. Those were the times he’d tell you off. Not because he wanted to, but because he felt there had to be some divide between the powers. He wanted you to be your own person despite the need to have you completely. He wanted you to run far away from him and find another man who didn’t feel the urge to control every aspect of your life —just in the hopes of keeping you safe.

You’d yelled at him that day he’d told Maria to take you off patrol and then cried when you began apologising for being angry.

He’d felt real fucking guilty. Goddamn sick.

In truth, he felt sick all the time. The shame ate at him. You just repressed it.

A sigh pulled him from the vignette, gazing down at you tucked into the crook of his elbow—slightly pouty as you trained your eyes on the screen.

And just like that, it didn’t all that matter anymore.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked softly, rubbing your shoulder—thumbs catching on the cotton of your shirt. His shirt if he was being pedantic but you’d adopted it weeks ago. It was yours now, no doubt about it.

“The movie’s still boring.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head as he leaned over to snatch up the remote from the side table, making sure that you were securely tucked against him the entire time. You’d told him one night, lying boneless and naked in his grasp, that you hated when you couldn’t touch him—that you felt bad because it must be annoying how clingy you are. Joel had silenced you with a kiss and promised you that he would hold on to you for as long as you wished. In the safety of his home, he never let go of you.

“Guess we’ll just go to bed then.”

You were on him in a second, the agility and precision with which you straddled him so quickly was impressive—Joel half expecting a knee to the balls. He grunted as your weight landed atop him, motivated by the hope of a distraction and the desire to have him near.

“I’m not tired,” you said resolutely, playing with the buttons of his shirt and flashing him your prettiest, most convincing doe-eyes.

“Honey, you were falling asleep on my shoulder minutes ago-”

“That’s cause I was bored.”

Looking at you properly, just a little taller than him now that you were perched on his lap, Joel could see the slight glint in your eyes, the pout to your lips and the squirm of your hips that alerted him to one thing.

His little lady was horny.

It made sense. Last night, you had been so tired that you’d fallen asleep at eight pm and hadn’t woken up again until eight am the next day. The night before that, Joel had been sent out to scout late at night, leaving you sprawled in his bed alone. You had not slept until dawn broke and the front door cracked open. You’d said that you couldn’t sleep without him. Sickening pride—the ardent dedication you displayed was so fulfilling.

Joel had rocked you against him, apologising for being gone so long and then sent you to your chores in the greenhouses with a single goodbye kiss and a promise that he would be there to hold you to sleep.

Two nights; both without any stimulation.

No wonder you were so worked up.

In his old age, he often forgot what it meant to want something so consistently. Not to mention, you liked the routine—knowing that Joel would get you off at least once a day, even if it was just with his tongue, his fingers, or the steady roll of your hips over his thigh.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks with a crooked smirk, suppressing the laugh that threatened to fall from his lips.

You pout further, narrowing your eyes at him as you shift in his lap.

“Tell you what?”

“That all this squirmin’ and complain’ was cause you wanted my attention.”

Your cheek under his palm was hot when he brought his hand to the side of your face, your eyes wide as you thought of something to say in retaliation. But your chest was heaving, the light from the TV flickering in a halo against your frame and all you could do was purse your lips and grip onto his shirt—taciturnly begging him to express your thoughts for you.

With a reassuring smile, he held your gaze, picking up on the subtleties he had grown to adore.

“You want Daddy to take care of you?” The eager nod widened his smile, the parting of your lips as you shuffled closer to him, intentionally brushing against his crotch. “Should’ve known.” His hands snaked to your waist, slipping under your shirt to reach the heat of bare skin and lost morality. “Always want daddy’s cock, don’t you.”

You whined in response, pressing your face into his shoulder to hide your embarrassment.

“Sh, sh, sh, little lady. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” He wrapped a hand around your wrist, pushing slightly to get you to look at him. “Daddy likes it when you’re desperate.”

If he could hear himself, Joel would deny that the man spouting such filth was him. Possessed by something evil, entranced by passion and kept sane by shame.

It was not him—he could not believe himself capable of it. Then again, he had not believed himself capable of lots of things before the bombs came. Now, he was not sure if he was a man of unimaginable depravity, or just a man altogether.

You liked it either way. You liked him, and that was enough for Joel.

“You wanna go upstairs? Get comfy? Don’t wanna fuck you on the couch, honey, you’ve been too good for that.”

“Yes please, Daddy,” you asked breathlessly, hips beginning to grind—a movement that he stopped almost immediately. The slight squeeze to your hips was enough for you to halt, biting down on your bottom lip as he began to stand, you sliding off his lap and immediately reaching for his hand.

Needing him close. Just needy.

The ascent to the bedroom was a slow one, Joel deliberately teasing as he pushed you up the stairs—holding onto your hand the entire time until you both came crashing down onto his bed. Tongues entwined as he hovered atop you, clothes stripped with fumbling fingers and heartfelt laughs.

Joel did not feel any shame when he was on top of you like this; could hardly find it in himself to care with the way you whined, all breathy and limp from his kisses and the weight of him draped over you. You’d told him before how much you liked feeling all of him—pushing you down into the mattress as he pressed his chest against yours and kept you safe from the shadows in your bedroom; the monster under the bed.

A whine was pulled from your throat when his hand slipped into your panties, a brief smile on your face when he dipped into your slit, contorting to a grimace when he trailed a finger upwards.

“Should’ve known you’d need it after a little while,” he murmured, circles beginning—a continued rotation. Legs twitched, hips bucked and settled against the mattress again as you leant into the feeling. “Daddy’s sorry, baby. Sorry he left you high ‘n dry.”

“S’okay,” you reassured, sweet as a bright bell when your eyes shut and jaw dropped open—whimpering when he pulled his hand away.

“Shhh, little lady, don’t start your whinin’.” You lay eager and waiting as he dragged your panties down your legs, exposing all of you to him. He noted the shiver as the cold air hit you fully, the bend in your back as he dragged his hands along your waist and kissed your sternum—a simple slice of attention that had you keening. He chuckled when his fingers eventually dipped between your legs, slick collecting on the tips. “She’s desperate, huh?”

You pushed your head into the pillows, eyes firmly squeezed shut, legs clamping around his hand as you lay in the heat of embarrassment and ecstasy.

“Daddy, stop it,” you muttered, slinging your arm over your face as he slowly began circling your clit.

“Nu-uh, baby,” he grabbed your arm, pulling it away and smirking when he saw your flustered expression, the sheen of sweat decorating your brow as you rolled your hips into his hand. “Let Daddy see you.” You obeyed his command by peeling your eyes open, a moan passing through your lips as a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through your clit. “There you go, that’s my good girl.”

A smile played at your lips as he spoke, eyes fluttering shut again—basking in the golden haze of his praise. The way you responded to his approval was unlike anything else: the light in your eyes, the willingness to make him proud. You craved it, demanded it to keep yourself afloat and Joel made sure to acquiesce to your silent wishes. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d already said “I’m proud of you,” following the adulation with a sweet nickname that had you giggling in the wake of kisses he pressed to your neck.

It was a little different, however, when he touched you. Delicate presses of his rough fingers, lapping at your heat, sinking inside your warmth, muttering how well you’d take him, how good you were for him. That, for you, was eudaimonia. Despite your denial of your adoration when you’d come down, telling him with a pout to stop being so crude, he knew. Could tell by the harsh scratch of your nails against his back, the tug on his hair as you writhed—Joel having to remind you to breathe when it all got too much and even his voice was just a muffled droning in the back of your mind.

He had to do it then when your face screwed up against the desperation, leaning over you to whisper a soft, “Remember to breathe for me, darlin’,” into your ear and smiling at your response: a loud, drawn-out moan that pushed on a wave through the confines of his bedroom. Your bedroom now too if he was being honest.

“D-daddy,” you breathed out, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him locked over you, hand creating a friction between your thighs—urging you closer so he could finally sink himself inside you. It had been a long day of infected and bickering with his younger brother; their arguing had turned physical when Tommy had mentioned you. Sweet, pretty you that his last blood relative seemed to think was too naive to make her own decisions. Joel had pushed him into the snow, chest heaving with the urge to protect his precious little thing from such harsh and erroneous judgements, and then mounted his horse and grumbled at Tommy to get up.

However, he’d come home to you sprawled out on his couch, book loose in your grip and a smile wide and brilliant as he leaned over the backrest to press a greeting kiss to your lips.

He did not mention the altercation in the forgotten mountain town to you, nor would he ever harm your head with such disillusioned disgust.

All he needed was right there with him, warming his bed with sweat and slick.

“That’s it,” he drawled, fingers slipping over and over the spot that nestled at the top of your cunt. Your legs twitched, mind completely lost to the depths of satisfaction and curling deeper into that saccharine headspace—a state of mind that left you completely at his mercy. Begging for the worst of things, the most perverse and depraved happenings that he left in the air around his bedroom and dragged along with him to the outside as it lingered and festered in the pits of the bruise in his chest. Desperate to spew every detail, to let them all know what he had, and simultaneously feeling a deep shame come clambering into his mind with malice.

When your legs closed around his hand, his name falling from your lips like a sacrilegious Gregorian chant, he knew the time was near. That the clawing of your nails against the curves of his back was leading you to the peaks of Mount Sheridan.

“Shhhhh,” he cooed, brushing hair away from your face to soothe the ache. “It’s okay, sweet girl. You gonna let go for me, hm?”

He coaxed it from you with smatterings of encouragement, sweet praises whispered into your ear.

“Give it to me, baby. C’mon, give Daddy what he wants.”

A whine, a broken call of his name and a sweet silence, before you came crashing down upon the rocks and opened yourself out in front of his morbidly curious stare—seeing you so vulnerable, so peaceful through the ring in your ears and the dampness between your legs that grew to deluge as your whole body burned white hot.

Praises peeled from his throat as naturally as the smoke that billowed from the fireplace, pressing kisses all over your face with a reverence that made him believe that perhaps a higher power was watching over him. Maybe you were his angel.

“That’s it…” he muttered into your ear, lips brushing the shell. “Such a good girl for me. Daddy’s proud of you, princess.”

That had heat prickling everywhere, rising from your skin and burning his flesh, chest heaving to try and expel the untameable fire within your stomach.

He was patient as you rolled back around to reality, watching softly with his hands firmly away from your cunt—aware of how sensitive it would be if he were to keep his fingers pressed against your pretty little clit. He only made you cry from the overstimulation when you’d been bad and god knows how rare an occasion that was. Even if you did need reprimanding, the sight of hot tears and mumbled apologies was enough to ease his discipline.

He could never stay mad at his girl for too long.

“You back with me, baby?” he asked softly after a moment's silence, rubbing your hipbone—cock painfully twitching against your leg. It was easy to ignore when he knew his restraint was for your benefit. You liked it rough, he had discovered a week ago when he’d lost himself in the meadow of your sweet cunt, hips moving at a pace they had not since he was twenty-two. However, genuinely hurting you was something out of Joel's equation. Seeing you cry left an ache in his already cracked chest, the weight of his guilt draped across his throat and choking him until he couldn’t speak.

It was his mission to keep you safe. Ashamedly, he’d convinced you to stop going on patrol, holding you close when you’d asked why he’d told Maria to take you off the list. Whispering that it was for your own good, that “Daddy can’t focus knowing that you’re out there, baby.” The way you’d believed him with earnest, mumbling that it made sense, that you didn’t want him to feel bad so you’d take up some work in the greenhouses instead; it had made him disgusted with himself.

It didn’t suppress his need to get you to stop working altogether, though. A few more caresses and promises of forever and he was sure you’d agree to staying in the house all day—waiting for him to get back. Maybe he’d knock you up. Surely that would keep you around hereafter?

“Need you inside, daddy.”

Your voice pulled him away from his head, your expression one of utter desperation. A sheen of sweat on your brow, chest heaving as you played with the ends of his hair. The last thing he ever wanted to do was leave you needing him. If you wanted him, you could have him; he would give everything to keep you happy.

“I know, baby, I know,” he husked, leaning down to brush a kiss against your forehead, tapping your hip softly and muttering a sweet, “Turn over for me.”

You listened so compliantly, shakily turning onto your front, hips raised in the way he’d taught you and hands clawing the pillows in anticipation of the stretch.

Joel couldn't help but admire the hedonistic sight, pussy glistening in the moonlight, ass-up, back arched and legs twitching as you tried to stay upright. His hands slid across the smooth skin, burning touch leaving a trail of blisters in its wake: big, red splotches along your flesh that bubbled and spat—eventually scarring and marking him on you forever.

A sob wracked through you when he began kissing along your spine, pressing his lips to your skin until they met the back of your neck. Pulling down to graze his teeth along the kiss-induced welts before finally grasping his cock in hand and offering himself some relief from the ache.

“You’ve been so good, baby,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as he tightened his grip, stroking more deliberately with a hand placed firmly on your hip. His cock slipped between the cracks, stroking along your soft skin, thoughts blurring, mind-turning, until he could do nothing but ramble and rut. “Such a good girl for me, ain’t ya? Always so fuckin’ perfect for your old man.”

You whined and he chuckled—amused by the way you pushed your hips back against him, his cock catching against that perfect fucking hole. Just one swipe, one feel of your heat against him and he was grunting and grinding. A noise he had not expected was pulled from his throat, a violence that always lingered seeping from the ceiling cracks, and unintentional aggression when he dug his fingers into your hip and pushed in so far that the length of him was coated in you with just one thrust.

“Daddy,” you whined, looking over your shoulder with glistening eyes, a pleading in the depths of them that he had grown accustomed to. You needed the support—the encouragement.

So, he leant down to cover you completely, an arm firmly around your waist and pushing you further against him. Lips in your hair, whispers in your ear and his hand weaving into yours—a squeeze and a second thrust and you were gone.

“That’s it,” he cooed. “Good fuckin’ girl, huh?” You whined into the pillows, clamping around him with willingness. You were so fucking obedient that it made him sick. So prepared to do as he asked that he was afraid the entire basis of his relationship with you was naivete and exploitation.

Nausea that clawed its way up his throat, squeezed his oesophagus until he couldn’t breathe. Laughably, his only lifeline so far had been the heat of your pussy, wet and warm squeezing around him—slick dribbling from the hole, just desperate for him to take and take.

“You’re just perfect, babydoll. Take me so well, don’t you? So proud of you, honey…my perfect little girl.” Everything rolled off his tongue—synchronised with the initial rolls of his hips. The hand around your waist slipped between your legs, rubbing against your clit with intention. “Feel that?” he pressed, thrusts becoming quicker, fingers swiping softer.

Your hand grasped his with a tightness that stopped the blood flow—fingers tingling as you panted breathlessly. Drool slipped onto his pillow, legs shaking and failing to support themselves as they gave way underneath you and you collapsed with a whine into the mattress.

“No, no, no, baby,” he chastised. “Ass up, c’mon.” He hauled you back into position, shushing your babbled apologies.

“M’sorry, daddy…just feels too good, I can’t-”

“I know, honey. Daddy’s not mad.” His hips continued their movements, pausing momentarily to breathe—dick twitching inside you, wondering with a pathetic huff if he was going to cum right then and there.

“Feels so good,” you continued blathering, repeated phrases that didn’t make much sense together. Your own little language that only Joel could decipher—a connection between the two of you that no one else would ever understand. If his translations were correct, those whimpers, mumbled sentences and unintelligible calls of his name, were a sign that you were teetering over the edge. That you were right there.

“My baby gonna cum already?” he asked, half-amused, half-impressed at the sheer way your body reacted to him. “You want it more than you let on, don’t you?” His fingers fell to your clit again, deliberate circles against the bud and watched with pride swelling his chest when you pushed your face far into the pillows and begged him to keep going. “Yeah…” he breathed out a laugh, light beneath his eyelids as he let the tightness of you overpower him. “You always want it.”

You listened to his rambled dialogue diligently, not even complaining when he pulled away to thrust harder, hand reaching to your stomach to press softly on the shape of him pushing inside you—the sweet scrape against the sponge that soaked up all the slickness.

Then, words that he couldn’t take back spilt from his mouth, his stomach clenching as you whined about wanting to cum—needing that sweet release he would grant you with a thousand moons and the heat of the sun.

“Tell me you love me.” As soon as he said it, he couldn’t quite grasp the ability to take it back and apologise for asking something so drastic of you. He couldn’t even find a majority of himself that decided what he’d said was wrong and unfair to place such a thing on your incapable shoulders. So, he said it again. More forceful this time—a little more assertiveness behind the demand. “C’mon, babydoll, tell me you love me.”

“I-” You were so far gone, moans crescendoing as you whimpered out a small, “I love you, Joel.”

No real conviction to the statement, nothing to deny the coercive way it had been prised from you but it was enough. Enough for Joel to spout the phrase back.

“I love you too, baby,” he said with a smile, almost missing your warning call.

“G-gonna cum.”

His smirk widened, teeth on display, a blissful expression on his face as he gazed at the space between your legs—the disappearing act that occurred right there in the middle of your thighs.

“Go on, honey,” he said softly. “Been so good to me…just let go.”

Your response was as docile as always, flexing your back, no chastising this time when your legs gave way and he had to pull you back against him so he could push through the brambles to his own release.

“Good girl,” he grunted, giving into the way you gushed—the cloudiness in his head that dispelled every shame and self-condemnation. “My good girl.”

He was gone within seconds, stomach tightening as his cock twitched, breaths coming rough and gravelled as he stilled, balls-deep, inside you and gave you everything he had to give. Rutting slightly into you, jaw clenched as you whined and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that this one would stick.

There was no running away from him if you were to accidentally fall pregnant. Poor little thing would need all the help you could get, and good old Joel would be there waiting with his hands placed on your swollen belly and a promise that he would never leave you.

Dark thoughts often came after he’d finished with a heaving exhale, shame amalgamated with sick desire as you lay on your stomach, hair stuck to your forehead and a furrow of Joel’s brow when you began crying.

“Oh, honey.” He sprung into action immediately, the overwhelming urge to fix everything for you always and forever at the forefront. His softening cock slipped from your stuffed pussy, big arms wrapping around you as he sat back on his haunches and manoeuvred you onto his lap. “Shhh, s’okay.”

“M’sorry,” you sniffled as you buried your face into his neck. “I don’t know what-”

“You don’t have to explain.” A hand cradled your head, the other dancing along your spine until the tears came silent, breathing evening out as you whimpered into his bare, sweat-shined skin. “Just felt too good, huh?”

You nodded, curling in on yourself, and refusing to show your sweet face to him.

“Figured,” he murmured, trying to think of the best ways to coax you back to him. He knew it was a lot sometimes, the pleasure just overtaking that brain of yours and leaving you a blubbering pile of nothingness at the end of the tunnel.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “It’s just…so much.”

“Honey,” he said—firmer this time. “Look at me, please.”

Authority was always the best route with you, Joel knowing that no amount of embarrassment could overcome the fear of disappointing him. So you slowly peeled yourself from his shoulder, pouting lips and swollen eyes when you finally mustered the courage to look him in the eye.

Rough hands cradled your face, calloused fingers from plucking at steel strings and pressing on weathered triggers.

“You ain’t got no reason to apologise.” You held onto every word, eyes wide with wonderment as he spouted his affirmations. “No reason to be embarrassed either so wipe those pretty eyes and give Daddy a smile, yeah?”

You giggled softly at that, unable to contain the slight twitch of your lips as you brought the back of your hand to each eye—staunching the flow.

“Thank you-”

“No reason to thank me either,” he interrupted.

You smiled softly, then pressed your forehead back to his shoulder, breathing in deeply. A quiet moment of contemplation permeated the space, a dog barking in the distance of the night, unknowing of the union that occurred behind the walls of the house with Miller on the letterbox.

Laying enervated against him, warmed by his body, there seemed to be an unspoken question lingering in the air—a tension that you cut with a mumbled call of his name.

“Yeah?” he responded, fingers continuing to brush through your hair; providing a semblance of comfort to the anxiousness that steamed off your skin.

“Is it…wrong?”

He tensed, trying to keep the unease imperceptible but failing as he felt your body go rigid moments after his own.

“Is what wrong, honey?”

Deflection of the conversation he had tried vigorously to avoid—hoping with taut muscles and a thick head that you wouldn’t press any further. That you would let this play out to the imagined fairytale ending Joel had been determined since he met you to provide.

“You know…” you muttered. “What we do together. You always say we have to keep it a secret, that I can’t tell anyone because they wouldn’t…get it. Is it- are we not normal?”

Joel wasn’t sure what to say. All those restless nights spent pondering over that very question, rationalising it by blaming everyone but himself, those days of misery pushing him to an insensate state of madness that terrified him to the point he couldn’t stand to look in the mirror in case the man reflected was not the man he was hoping to find.

Answers imperfect came muddled in his brain, your bated breath not helping his train of thought ride smoother.

“Listen,” he whispered, clearing his throat to try and manage his discomfort. “What does it matter if we ain’t normal? We like it right?” You nodded against his chest, hanging onto every word. “Then who cares what other people think? We got somethin’ special here, little lady,” he added in jest, hoping to lighten the darkening situation.

Your smile came out like a grimace, not entirely convinced that what he was saying had any verity to it. You sat stiffly on his lap, picking at your nails and worrying at your bottom lip, waiting for him to say anything else.

In truth, there was a tennis ball lodged in Joel’s throat, growing to the size of a football as he realised he could not offer assurance this time. He should never have given into those gorgeous eyes, convinced by just a simple pout and a ‘please.’ He should’ve forced you to finish watching the movie, carried you up to bed when you eventually fell asleep on his shoulder, and wake you up with his mouth on your cunt—the promise of a new day vanquishing the burdensome thoughts that settled in the hallways of your mind.

You speaking before him seemed like an offence—you taking care of him through the comfort of three words and a call of his name to emboss the statement clean into his skin.

“I love you, Joel.”

Soft, careful words. No confession under duress; every syllable full of integrity and promise of something bigger.

Joel would take it any day, exhaling into your hair and pressing a kiss to your head with the relief of those weighty words.

He smiled when his cum spilt out onto his thigh, still warm from where it had nestled inside you and bringing with it the prospect of eternal union. He’d be damned if he ever let you go, a disgusting, clawing possessiveness that never seemed to go away. Always lingering, always grating. He realised there, in the sweat of his bed, with his little lady tucked against him, what that desperation was.

Words rang with conviction underneath the moonlight, heart swelling in his chest as he closed his eyes and breathed in the moment.

“I love you too, pretty girl.”

i've recently gotten so sick. okay that's a lie but i do have a really sore throat. genuinely feels like i've swallowed multiple dicks but i thought that was a good enough excuse to finish this wip instead of doing the work i'm supposed to be doing. sooo i hope you enjoyed this one!! it kinda fits in with 'indebted to you' but it can also be standalone. i just like writing mindless smut when i wanna turn off my brain. joel's shame is also a projection for even writing this stuff in the first place but i really can't help what i like so don't hate on me please i'm sensitive. either way, thanks for reading and i hope to see ya next time ♡

#virginreprise™#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us 2 #joel tlou

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iydiamartinx · 1 month ago

Text

THE WRATH OF ZEUS

Demi goddess! Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 630 synopsis: You and Jason watch the wrath of Zeus's storm in peace. a/n: I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post this since I'm not totally sure what this is. I was watching a lighting storm rolling in during the middle of the night and somehow I ended up writing this.

The storm began as a whisper—low, distant thunder rolling across the horizon like the warning growl of something ancient and immense. Lightning cracked the sky in jagged veins of silver, illuminating the dark clouds gathering above.

You stood at the window, mesmerized.

Born of the gods, a daughter of Hades, your bloodline bore dominion over death and shadow. Darkness bowed to your will, and yet… it was your uncle’s storm that caught your breath. Raw and wild, there was something awe-inspiring in Zeus’s fury. Something untamed. Beautiful.

Behind you, the bed creaked.

“What are you doing awake?” Jason’s voice was thick with sleep, rough around the edges.

You didn’t turn. Instead, you lifted a hand toward the heavens, to the storm creeping ever closer. A silent gesture to the sight that had you so mesmerized.

Jason moved to your side, arms wrapping around your waist, chin finding its place on your shoulder. His warmth settled against your back, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I may not be a child of Zeus,” you murmured, eyes fixed on the pulsing sky, “but my uncle’s wrath is a beautiful thing.”

Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall—soft at first, like fingertips against the glass, before the rhythm deepened into a steady, pounding cadence.

Jason hummed, the sound vibrating against your spine. “More like terrifying.”

You tilted your head slightly, just enough for your cheek to brush his. “But there’s beauty in such sheer power,” you said, voice soft, reverent. “I wonder who invoked his ire this time… perhaps some foolish mortal in need of reminding that the gods still existed.”

Jason let out a low breath, equal parts amusement and unease.

“You make divine retribution sound poetic,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth brushing your skin as he spoke. “You know most people see a storm and think: ‘maybe I should stay inside,’ not ‘ah yes, the heavens are smiting someone.’”

You smiled faintly, still watching the lightning arc across the clouds like the sky was being stitched open.

“Most people don’t have ichor in their veins and the knowledge the gods still exist,” you replied.

He was quiet for a moment, his arms tightening subtly around you, as though reminded of just how inhuman you truly were.

“You ever wonder,” he said after a beat, “if mortals ever really stopped believing? Or if they just got better at pretending they didn’t need to?”

Your gaze flicked to the window, to the rain now cascading down in sheets, drumming against the world like war drums muffled by time.

“Faith is a fragile thing,” you said quietly. “It survives in fear. In awe. In the moments when mortals feel small. Like now.”

Jason was silent, thoughtful. You leaned back into him, and he didn’t resist. His arms tightened again, chest rising and falling against your spine in a rhythm that felt steady, human, and deeply yours.

“I used to hate storms,” Jason murmured suddenly, voice low, meant only for you. “Back when I was a kid. They made me feel powerless. Helpless. Like the world was breaking apart and I couldn’t stop any of it.”

Your fingers curled around his, lacing together.

“And now?” you asked.

He paused, then leaned down to press a kiss to the side of your head. “Now, I’ve got a goddess at my side who makes me look at everything I thought I knew through new eyes. And suddenly… storms aren’t so terrifying anymore.”

A small smile curved your lips.

Outside, thunder cracked like the laughter of titans. But inside, you were steady. A being of divine blood and broken mortal boy, tethered together by choice not fate.

And for once, Gotham could rage all it wanted.

Jason had already found his calm.

#jason todd one shot #jason todd fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood

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obeythebutler · 7 months ago

Text

Mammon's voice rings in your ear, clearer than ever.

You can still hear him bickering about his latest scheme—the one you both had butted heads over—and then there was the mutual agreement of not telling Lucifer about its outcome.

Your eyes skim over the text in the screen, mind focused on the words, memory replaying over and over like a tape.

You ignore Barbatos's outstretched hand. And he lets you, not able to find it in himself to remind you, not wanting to interrupt what fleeting moments remain of you in this realm.

"MC," Solomon's voice is a whisper, meant to remind you gently of the situation. "It's time."

"Sorry," You blurt out, quickly closing your D.D.D. before handing it over to Barbatos. You don't look him in the eye when you do that. You fear your heart will crumble.

"Does this have to be?"

The Prince wishes he could refute what he had said earlier, but there is no other way. No other timeline where it does not end. No other timeline where you stay.

Perhaps all the timelines would have only led to once final outcome.

"What if they just stay? They are happy here, and hastening would only lead to future problems." Lucifer attempts to be the voice of reason, but even he knows that it is an exercise in futility. "Can....there be no other way?"

Your knees feel like they might just give out. Impending doom rests heavy in your stomach, clouding every thought, every action.

"I don't want to leave you all," You mutter, voice heavy. If you say the words out loud you're afraid you'll burst into tears. "You took my D.D.D. too, is it truly that bad?"

You feel the pactmarks growing faint.

You have always come back to the Devildom, always—with the knowledge that you would be back—whether by landing on Satan's head or babysitting seven overgrown babies. You have always come back, from the human realm or the past.

So why not now?

"I do not want you to leave, none of us want you to, but there is no other option. No other choice."

Diavolo's words seal your fate.

It wasn't supposed to go this way, it was—it was supposed to be you and everyone else going through each day like usual, not for this sudden news to come crashing down.

You fear you may never see them again.

A blur of purple catches your eye, and your feet try to escape before your mind can register; you're dragged into the portal by Time itself.

It's for the greater good.

Not for even the Prince of Hell or Heavenly beings to decide.

And now, there is only you.

You and a human phone and a human world.

#coping #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me asmodeus #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me angst

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niniwritesxo · 6 months ago

Text

‘we’re teaming up’

nam-gyu x fem reader pt.2 —> will you let me hit?

summary:

as a smart kid you used to tutor a lot of troubled kids back in the days, what happens when one of them happens to save your life?

——————————————————————————

The announcement of the third game came with chilling simplicity: “The next game is Mingle, you must find someone and pair up. Those unpaired at the end of the timer will be eliminated’

The room exploded into chaos as players scrambled to secure their survival. You stood at the edge of the room, your mind racing. You had made it through the first two games alone, keeping your head down and avoiding alliances. But now, that strategy was useless. You needed someone.

Nam-gyu leaned against a far wall, watching the chaos unfold with his usual air of disdain. He wasn’t worried. People always gravitated toward him, whether it was out of desperation or because they believed his confident smirk meant he had a plan.

He scanned the room lazily, sizing up potential partners. Then his gaze landed on you.

His stomach twisted.

It had been years, but he recognized you instantly. You were his old tutor, the one who had spent hours trying to drill knowledge into his thick skull. The one who constantly called him out for cutting corners, for cheating, for thinking charm could get him everything he wanted.

He hated you for it.

You had always looked down on him, he thought bitterly, like you were better than him just because you were smarter. Seeing you here, desperate and vulnerable, stirred something ugly inside him.

“217,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Of course, you’d end up here.

Nam-gyu’s gaze followed you as you moved cautiously through the crowd, trying to find a partner. You were struggling, your wary demeanor making it clear you didn’t trust anyone. The timer was ticking down, and it was obvious you were running out of options.

He should feel satisfied, he thought. Watching you squirm like this, it was almost poetic.

But then he saw two larger players cornering you, their voices low and menacing. You tried to stand your ground, but they weren’t backing off.

Nam-gyu clenched his jaw.

He didn’t owe you anything. If anything, he should be glad to see you fail. But as much as he hated you, the thought of watching you get eliminated like this, scared, cornered. It made him sick.

“Damn it,” he muttered, pushing off the wall and making his way toward you.

The two players looked up as Nam-gyu approached, his expression dark. “Back off,” he said sharply.

One of them sneered. “What’s it to you?”

Nam-gyu smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You really want to waste time on this when the clock’s ticking?”

The two players exchanged glances before backing off, muttering curses under their breath.

You stared at Nam-gyu, stunned. “Why—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, cutting you off. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer. “We’re teaming up,” he said bluntly. “Not because I want to, but because I’m not stupid enough to let someone else grab you first.”

You bristled, your pride warring with your survival instinct. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Good,” he said coldly. “I didn’t want to give it.”

The loudspeaker blared: “One minute remaining.”

You hesitated, your gaze searching his face. For a moment, you thought he might let you go, might walk away and leave you to fend for yourself. But then his grip tightened, and he pulled you toward the center of the room.

When the timer hit zero, you found yourself paired with Nam-gyu.

When the round ended Nam-gyu didn’t bother to look at you as he walked out of the small room, his expression unreadable. But as much as he hated you, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that saving you had been the right choice.

#squidgame fanfic #player 124 #namgyu #nam gyu x reader #roh jaewon #nam gyu headcanons

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augustjoy · 5 months ago

Text

Come bother me, baby.

Based on the following post: Inspo you are the bane of young Aaron's existence - back when he was just an agent under Gideon and Rossi. A pain in his ass…so when you transfer to avoid your feelings for him, he begs you to come back. Okay listen, I know that Hotch didn’t really work under Rossi in the beginning, as Rossi had already left…but we’re all gonna pretend for the sake of this fic. Also – Haley just never existed in this, and that’s ok.

Aaron Hotchner x BAU! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 4164

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, female reader, she/her pronouns, age gap (Hotch is 28 and reader is 25), some explicit language, canon typical violence, mentions of case details, reader has experienced the loss of her parents, mention of holidays, mention of food/eating. Mention of reader being a mom, inaccurate timelines, let me know if I missed anything!!!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

July 1993

The year was 1993, Jason Gideon and David Rossi were just granted permission to hire two agents to expand the team. They agreed that they would each pick an agent, that way there’d be no room to argue. They interviewed a total of 17 potential candidates, 13 of those were interviewed by Rossi and the other 4 by Gideon.

Aaron Hotchner had been the 7th file in Rossi’s stack, it was an impressive resume, one that was filled with cases he’d worked as a prosecutor, and then a number of cases he’d worked as a profiler in the Seattle Field office. He now was here in Quantico, Virginia, hoping to gain a spot on the BAU. To Rossi, Aaron had stood out amongst the others, he’d sat through all 13 interviews, and nobody could match the passion for this position like Aaron had. It had been an easy choice.

You had been the 2nd file in Gedeon’s stack, and honestly he’d been let down by his first candidate…so when you walked in, more than qualified for this position, he excused the other two candidates. He didn’t feel the need to interview them, his gut told him you were the right choice. Your file had been padded with your numerous degrees varying from bachelor's degrees in psychology and criminology, to a master’s degree in forensic psychology, ending with a PhD in psychology. For the last year you’d been working in the Phoenix field office as a profiler. And while you didn’t have a ton of field experience, Gideon had been thoroughly impressed with your tenacity and overall enthusiasm for the profession.

September 1993

Things had started off okay…mostly. Aaron definitely treated you like you were a child, though you were only three years younger than him. While you’d spent a lot of time expanding your knowledge of this field, Aaron had worked as a prosecutor immediately after his completion of law school. You weren’t sure why he thought he was so much better than you…you were a doctor after all.

It had started in the most dismissive way possible. You’d accidentally spilled your coffee at the round table, it had spread fast, covering his copy of the latest case file. You apologized immediately, offered him your copy while you went to print another. He shook his head at you, muttering something along the lines of you being young and unprofessional.

You had thought about going to Gideon to complain but ultimately decided against it. It would only make him see you as more of a child. So, you’d worked your ass off to prove yourself, you needed to show him that you were an asset to the BAU and not a liability.

May 1994

“I think this unsub is female.” You stated confidently.

“Are you insane?” Aaron scoffed.

“Before you completely dismiss me Hotch, hear me out.”

“Don’t call me that.” He hissed.

You had to physically wipe the smirk from your face before explaining your theory to the team. You’d pointed out how meticulous everything had been, how much care had gone into the murders and the disposals.

“If we really break everything down, it’s all done with so much care. The bodies haven’t just been dumped, they’ve been cleaned, redressed, and neatly placed in beautiful locations. The field of flowers, the hillside, by the art installation at the park.” You’d gestured to the photos pinned on the corkboard.

Looking around you could see the impressed look Gideon was wearing, it was bordering smug as he turned his gaze over to Rossi with a nod. Rossi couldn’t do anything other than shrug – you’d made a good point, who was he to question your expertise. But then there was Aaron…he was looking around in disbelief, nobody was even going to question it?

Aaron was pissed that you had been right. Three days after that briefing, you taken Helena Murphy into custody. She had lost her siblings in a car accident when she was in her teens, and a recent fender bender had been her trigger. She’d been taking the lives of young people who had resembled her siblings and laid them to rest somewhere beautiful…unlike the highway guardrail that had ultimately taken her family from her all those years ago.

Gideon and Rossi both gave you kudos for narrowing down the profile the way you had. The police officers at the Milwaukee PD had congratulated you and subsequently thanked you for your hard work. Aaron wouldn’t even look at you.

Needless to say, the flight home was tense.

August 1994

“Ugh it is soooo hot!” You whined, fanning yourself with a loose manila folder.

“Would you stop that?” Aaron asked.

“Stop what?” You feigned innocence.

“Bothering me! Your fanning is blowing all my papers around, just cut it out.” He huffed.

“Sure, thing Hotch.” You offered a sickly-sweet smile.

“Don’t call me that!” He shook his head and continued his report.

You stood from your desk and removed your blazer, showing off the fitted tank top you’d been wearing underneath. You made your way up to the kitchenette to retrieve some ice water and the ice pack from your lunchbox. At this point, you’d do anything to cool off.

You sat back down at your desk, sipping the water and crunching on the ice, while shifting the icepack from your chest to your neck. Aaron was so distracted by your constant moving that he had to speak up again. But as his gaze landed on you, he was rendered speechless…only for a moment, but it was enough time for him to notice the way the condensation from the icepack had dripped down your chest and when you slid it back to your neck, he could see the effect the could had on your breasts. His throat went dry.

“Stop messing around, it’s distracting.” He ordered.

“You’re no fun Hotch.”

“Would you just stop bothering me? You’re doing it on purpose now.” He sighed.

“Oh, fine.” You conceded.

November 1994

You made your way into the FBI building, hanging on one arm is your go bag, packed and ready to go. On the other arm is your purse, struggling to stay up on your shoulder as you held onto a basket filled with baked goods.

“Happy Holidays Jim!” You greeted, handing him a loaf of pumpkin bread.

“Thanks doll, you too! Did you get called in?” Jim, the head of security, asked.

“No, not yet anyway. I just figured I’d stop by.” You shrugged.

“You weren’t celebrating?” He questioned.

“Oh, um no, not this year.”

“Well doll, thanks for the pumpkin bread. Happy thanksgiving.” Jim smiled.

You made your way around, passing out different backed goods to people you saw every day, Maureen the receptionist, Mike from IT, and Sandra who was the director’s assistant. You’d even gone as far as bringing something for the BAU team members in the event that you did get called in.

Speaking of…

Gideon rushed into the bullpen of the sixth floor, in his haste he nearly missed the slight step down into the main section of the floor where your and Aaron’s desks sat. He was ferociously pressing the buttons on his pager – surely sending a page to the team informing them of the newest case.

Your suspicions were confirmed when yours beeped from your desk, drawing yours and Gideon’s attention.

“Jesus, I didn’t realize you were here. What are you doing here already?” Gideon asked.

“No reason to celebrate…I thought I could make myself useful here.” You shrugged and offered Gideon a container of gingersnaps.

“Thanks kid. Can you go get the files from Anderson?” Gideon requested.

“Of course, sir.”

Aaron arrived next; shock evident on his face when he saw you coming back from retrieving the files. He was about to make a snarky comment about you being here so early when Rossi came in behind him and clapped him on the shoulder.

The four of you were on the plane heading to Oklahoma, you were seated next to Gideon, going over the file, passing theories back and forth. Aaron was sat next to Rossi, stewing in a feeling the bordered annoyance.

“I can feel the steam blowing out of your ears.” Rossi teased.

“Sorry I just don’t get it…she got there so fast. She just – she just bothers me.” Aaron huffed.

“She was already there kid, she was at the BAU before Gideon even got there, he told me.” Rossi explained.

“What do you mean she was already there? Why would she have been at the office already?”

“I assume to keep herself busy. She lost her parents when she was in college, so she doesn’t really have anyone to celebrate the holidays with. She brought everyone at the office treats.” Rossi smiled, popping another bite of his banana nut muffin into his mouth.

“I didn’t know. That’s uh-that’s…” Aaron didn’t quite know what to say.

“Check your bag Hotch.” Rossi smiled and went back to his file.

Placed neatly in the outer pocket of Aaron’s bag was a cellophane bag containing snickerdoodles, his favorite. A red ribbon tied the bag closed and attached to it was a small note…

Sorry for bothering you all the time. Hopefully these can make up for a little bit of it.

Aaron took a bit of one of the cookies., rolling his eyes because, of course, they were perfect. He couldn’t help but feel bothered by your inability to be bad at something.

February 1995

You hated valentine’s day, it had always been a sore spot, all your friends swooning over the overpriced chocolate and roses that their boyfriends would get them. Not you though, you hadn’t received a valentine since freshman year of high school when Mathew Smith taped a rose to your locker. Matt had been nice and all, but he was looking for something…unserious.

You got yourself dressed and dragged yourself to the BAU. Everyone was so chipper as you entered the building, greeting you…but you met the majority of them with a scowl. Stepping off the elevator and going over to your desk, surprise overcoming you as you’re met with peonies and a pack of razzles. You moved them around, trying to find the note, coming across a yellow sticky note.

I thought these could be repayment for the pens you got me for Christmas. -Hotch

You smiled at the signature, he’d hated when you called him Hotch, you’d been the first to do so and he was annoyed at how unprofessional it had initially seemed, he’d tell you not to call him that and claim you bothered him on purpose, but as Rossi and Gideon joined in with the nickname, he slowly grew to like you…it!

Aaron sat at his desk, plopping into his chair with a sigh. Your gaze lifted to meet his, a timid smile gracing your features.

“Hotch”

“Don’t bother me today.”

“Thank you.” You smiled.

“Don’t mention it.”

May 1995

May and June had become your least favorite months of the year. After losing your parents, you thought Christmas would be hard, and it was…but you’d found friends in school who would celebrate with you.

It was Mother’s Day and Father’s Day that killed you. People didn’t invite their orphaned friend over to celebrate those holidays with their family because…well because that’s weird.

These two months brought with them the painful reminder that your parents were gone.

Truthfully, you’d been glad to get the page letting you know that a case came in, it would have been a welcomed distraction…if it hadn’t been in your hometown.

Aaron could see how tense you were. He was trying to profile you, figure out what had you so worked up. He knew this time of year had to be difficult for you, seeing as Rossi told him you lost your mom. But he could tell there was something deeper, rooted within you.

It took some time, but after sitting back and observing, he figured it out. A few different officers knew you by name and were on a first-name basis with you. You’d been extremely familiar with the layout of the city, not needing directions to the location you’d gone to earlier. This must be your hometown.

“Alright guys, nice job today. So, we are flying out first thing tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Rossi said.

You were slow to pack up, gathering your things, chatting with a few of the officers before heading out of the precinct. You didn’t really know what to do, you didn’t want to go back to the hotel, but you also didn’t want to go around town. You had too many memories here, it was too hard to go around and picture all the times you had with your parents around here.

“Hey, you want to go for a drive with me?” Aaron asked

You couldn’t even mask the shock as it etched its way across your features.

“Sure.”

At first you had no idea where Aaron was heading, the drive feeling unfamiliar…but then all at once you’d figured it out. He was driving to Blue Grove Cemetery.

“What the hell are you doing? Why are we here?” You questioned, anxiety lacing your words.

“Look, I can’t imagine how hard it must be to go through May and June, now that they’re gone. I thought it might be nice for you to see them before we head back tomorrow.” Aaron explained.

So many feelings were running through you. Initially anger, why would he blindside you like this. But then that morphed into panic, you didn’t want Hotch to see this side of you, the weak and vulnerable side. But lastly was this weird warmth…it was slow moving like molasses, sticking to every part of your body.

Aaron parked and let you control the pace. He waited to move until you reached for the handle on the door, slowly exiting the SUV. You stood there, still, unmoving, unsure if you could do this. Aaron grabbed a bag out of the back seat before walking around to meet you where you stood.

“I’m sorry, I – I don’t…”

“Hey,” Aaron placed his hand on your shoulder gently. “Take your time.”

You nodded at him gratefully.

Eventually you began to move, leading Aaron through the cemetery. You’d passed headstone after headstone until you came to a stop at their gravesite, resting just below a beautiful tree, offering just enough shade to allow you respite from the heat.

Aaron laid out a small blanket, letting you sit first, hesitating for a beat.

“You can sit…please.” You asked, more than told.

Aaron sat next to you silently. He pulled the bag in front of the two of you, removing its contents, a sandwich cut in half, a bag of kettle chips (your favorite) and lastly two diet cokes. As you watched him, you smiled, you may bother him once in a while…okay all the time…but he cared. Whether he’d admit it or not.

The two of you sat there, eating, enjoying the cool breeze that the afternoon offered. After some time had passed, you found yourself telling Aaron about your parents. How your mom loved to bake, and she would tell you that food brought people together. You told him how your dad did everything himself, he never called in a specialist for everything.

Aaron chimed in with how you’d clearly taken after them and it made you an incredible profiler…and there it was again, that warm feeling.

You’d recognized it… it was the same feeling that bloomed within you on valentine’s day, and before that, on Christmas. You’d bought hotch these really fancy fountain pens he’d mentioned in passing and he got you a coat, a nice warm one, since you didn’t seem to own one.

This warm, sticky, sweet feeling was rearing its ugly head…and you were pretty sure it was called love.

July 1995

That warm feeling had burrowed its way deep into your core and you were freaking out. You’d been doing everything you could to act normal around Hotch, you were worried you’d been failing miserably.

“I think your agent has a crush on my agent…” Rossi said to Gideon, peaking out the window of his office.

“That’s interesting, because I am pretty sure your agent has feelings for my agent.” Gideon challenged.

“Do you think they’ll figure it out?”

“Not any time soon.”

You flicked a paper football over your screen onto Hotch’s desk. He glanced up at you, only his gaze didn’t hold its usual annoyance, instead there was something that mirrored amusement written there.

“Are you trying to bother me some more?” Aaron asked.

“Um, yes. That’s my job; to bother you…didn’t you get the memo?” You teased.

“I must have missed that one.” He let out a breathy chuckle.

You went back to your report, working diligently. All of two minutes passed before the paper football knocked against your hand as it landed on your desk. You laughed and shook your head gently, there was that stupid feeling again.

October 1995

Your knuckles rapped gently against Gideon’s office door. You were shaking, your stomach twisted at the thought of what you were about to do. It had taken you a little while to figure out the best option…knowing that it wouldn’t be professional to continue working with Hotch with these feelings you had for him.

You’d looked at all the openings here at Quantico, trying to figure out which position would best suit you. Ultimately, counterterrorism was looking for someone with a background in psychology, so it just made sense. Which brings you to now, you were about to go into Gideon’s office and request the transfer.

“Come in.”

“Hey Gideon, I uh…I need to talk to you about something.” You stumbled a bit.

“Go ahead.” He gestured to the chair opposite him.

You sat, taking a steadying breath. “I’m requesting a transfer. To counterterrorism.”

“No.”

“Gideon, you-”

“No.” He began. “I am not going to sign a transfer request for you, especially not to counterterrorism, you have exceptional skills, and we need them here.”

“Gideon, I have to transfer. I feel – I have…” You trailed off as your eyes found Aaron beyond the window in the bullpen. “I can’t work with him, not when I feel like this.”

Gideon took a deep breath, looking at you and taking in the longing gaze you wore. He didn’t fully understand what thoughts were running through your head, but if this is what you felt you needed to do, he wasn’t going to stop you. You were a very strong and capable agent…he trusted your judgement.

“How much longer do we have you here at the BAU?” He asked waving for you to hand him the paper.

“Two weeks.” You sighed. “I’m sorry Gideon.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re smart and you need to do what is best for you.”

November 1995

“Alright guys we have a case, round table in five.” Rossi called out into the bullpen.

You gathered your things, knowing you wouldn’t be travelling with them for this case. You figured you’d sit through the round table, offer a few theories and then let them go on their way. Aaron watched you slowly grabbing a legal pad and your signature pink pen, he chuckled grabbing his own paper and one of the fountain pens from the set you bought him.

“Before we begin I just want to say that I am so proud of how you have grown and flourished with this team, and while it is a huge loss for the BAU, counterterrorism is lucky to have you.” Gideon stated, looking at you.

“What? You-you’re transferring?” Aaron asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“When…when are you leaving?” He asked.

“Today is my last day.” Your gaze shifted to your lap.

“We can talk about this later, let’s go over the facts of the case.” Gideon demanded.

Through the entire briefing Aaron’s eyes were burning into you. He couldn’t focus on the fact of this case because he was completely hung up on the fact that yours wouldn’t be the face across from him anymore…you weren’t going to be there to flick paper footballs at him, or to hum songs all day, to crunch annoyingly on baby carrots. Who was going to bother him if you were gone?

After you finished going over the case, you couldn’t help the sting behind your eyes, slowly realizing that this was it, your time at the BAU was done. But you held your head up high and steeled yourself. You offered Gideon a handshake, Rossi pulled you into a tight hug, and Aaron…well he brushed by you with a curt nod.

Aaron was miserable throughout the entirety of the two weeks they were away on this case. He was moping, and it wasn’t going unnoticed. Rossi and Gideon shared a knowing look, thankful that he was finally figuring it out.

They hadn’t quite expected it to take him so long to do something about it.

December 1995

The bullpen was so quiet without you. Aaron felt uneasy; he was the only one in the center of the floor now that you were gone. His file going long forgotten as he sat back and thought about things for a bit…

When he first saw you, you’d entered the elevator at the same time for your interviews, you’d offered a quiet thank to him for holding the elevator for you and he couldn’t deny then how cute you were. But then you’d both been hired on as profilers and he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to think that anymore, so he shoved the feeling down.

Then you spilled your coffee all over the table, effectively ruining his file, but you’d cursed, burning your hand as you quickly tried to clean it up. He wanted nothing more than to hold you and tell you it would be okay, so he fled.

It was so many things after that, your intelligence and the passion you had for profiling. Your baking, always noting people’s favorites and bringing them sweets, just to see them smile. The way you listened, remembering something he’d brought up in passing and gone out of your way to order his favorite pens.

Oh shit. He was in love with you. He’d fallen in love with you and had been too stupid to realize it.

Aaron moved with a purpose, rushing through the FBI building, making his way up the two flights of stairs it took to get to counterterrorism. He burst through the door, drawing attention to himself, his eyes frantically scanning the room in search of you.

He moved forward, noticing you across the room. He reached you in a few long strides, stopping just before you.

“Hotch…what are you doing here?” You looked around, blushing profusely.

“Sweetheart, you need to come back to the BAU.”

“I can’t…Aaron I-”

“I know that I have given you no reason to believe this, but I love you sweetheart. I need you to come back to the BAU, come back and bother me, baby.”

“No.” You shook your head in disbelief.

“Well yes.”

“Aaron, no.”

“Yes! Come bother me, baby. Bother me for the rest of my life.” Aaron begged. His hands reaching forward to cup your face.

“Okay” You gasped.

Aaron pulled you into a kiss, the agents surrounding you erupting in cheers for the both of you.

Bonus scene – May 2016

“Happy Mother’s Day sweetheart.”

“Happy Mother's Day mom!”

“Thank you guys!” You smiled, feeling nothing but joy looking to those who surrounded you.

Before you was your incredible husband and your three children, two sons and a daughter. They had gotten up early to make breakfast for you before they headed off to school. There had been a bouquet of peonies, cards, and a pack of razzles.

“Jack, are you okay to get Zoey to school today? We got called in pretty early.” You asked.

“Yeah mom! I have practice though, so Jason and Zoey might have to hang out a while.”

“Don’t worry about that bud, Will offered to pick them up when he picks up Michael.” Aaron patted Jack on the shoulder.

“Alright kids, we will see you later, be safe and please text me when you get to school!” You called, heading out the door with Aaron hot on your tail.

Aaron and you made your way into the BAU hand-in-hand. You glanced around at this team you built together, and you couldn’t be happier. Aaron made his way toward his office, noticing you’d stopped and before he could say anything, Dave clapped him on the back.

“Leave her be. She’s admiring this family you’ve built together.”

You looked over to where Aaron and Dave stood, offering a bright smile. You then made your way down to the floor, greeting Emily, JJ, Derek, Spencer and Penelope.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

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yua0ra · 5 months ago

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𝐎𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬, 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

WARNINGS: mattheo riddle x slytherin!fem!reader, friends to lovers, playful banter, kissing, SFW, not proofread, english is not my first language.

fluff ☏

SUMMARY: You’re trying to study in the library, but Mattheo is more focused on being charming and annoying in equal measure. After some teasing, and him claiming to be a “delicate flower,” he finally drops the act and confesses he likes you. Turns out, you like him too (shocking, right?). Cue a sweet, awkward kiss that makes all the banter worth it. And of course, Mattheo immediately uses this new relationship status as an excuse to distract you even more. Typical.

WC: 1.4K AN: Small drabble of sweet Matty confessing his feelings :)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

The library was quiet, save for the faint rustle of pages and the occasional thud of a book being shelved. You were hunched over your notes, quill in hand, trying to make sense of the convoluted explanation in your textbook. Across the table, Mattheo was reclining in his chair, twirling a quill between his fingers with a smirk that told you he was anything but focused.

“Are you planning to actually help, or are you just here to look pretty?” you asked, not bothering to glance up from your parchment.

“Looking pretty is a full-time job,” Mattheo quipped, his grin widening. “But if you insist, I could try to dumb it down for you.”

You shot him a glare, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Kidding! Don’t hex me, please. I’m fragile.”

“Fragile? You?” you snorted, shaking your head. “That’s rich coming from the guy who got into three duels last week and didn’t even flinch when he got hit by a Stunning Spell.”

“Exactly,” he said smugly. “It’s all a facade. Deep down, I’m a delicate flower.”

“A delicate flower who doesn’t know the difference between a bezoar and a bicorn horn,” you muttered under your breath, earning an offended gasp from him.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a wealth of useless knowledge,” Mattheo shot back, leaning forward on his elbows. “Go on, quiz me. I dare you.”

You arched a brow, deciding to humor him. “Fine. What’s the incantation for a Summoning Charm?”

“Accio,” he said instantly, looking pleased with himself.

“That one was so easy,” you replied, unimpressed.

“What’s the primary ingredient in Veritaserum?” He blinked, caught off guard, before squinting at you suspiciously. “That’s not a fair question. No one actually knows that.”

“Incorrect,” you said, smirking. “The answer is: someone who actually studies.”

Mattheo groaned, dropping his head onto the table dramatically. “You’re cruel. You know that, right?”

“I prefer ‘motivational,’” you said sweetly, turning back to your notes.

He lifted his head just enough to peer at you, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re smug.”

Your quill paused mid-stroke, heat creeping up your neck at his casual remark. “You’re so annoying,” you muttered, trying to ignore the way your heart was suddenly racing.

Mattheo chuckled, the sound low and warm. “And yet, here you are, willingly stuck with me. What does that say about you?”

“It says I’m regretting my life choices,” you shot back, but the faint smile on your lips betrayed you.

He leaned back again, studying you with a look that was softer than usual. “Nah, you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.” You rolled your eyes, refusing to admit he was right. “Keep telling yourself that, Riddle.”

“Don’t have to. I can see it in your face,” he teased, pointing at you.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” he said, his tone light but his eyes lingering on you for just a moment too long.

The playful energy shifted slightly, the banter fading as an unspoken tension filled the space between you.

Mattheo hesitated, then stood abruptly, walking around the table to stand beside you. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. You frowned, looking up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Stealing you away for a minute,” he replied with a crooked grin. “You need a break. You’re going to fry your brain with all that studying.”

Despite yourself, you took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “If this is another one of your dumb pranks—”

“It’s not,” he cut in, his voice softening. “Just trust me, okay?” He led you through the maze of bookshelves, finally stopping in a secluded corner where the world felt smaller and quieter.

He turned to face you, his hand still holding yours.

“You’re acting weird,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“For once, I’m not,” he murmured, his gaze searching yours. “I just… there’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”

You blinked, your heart picking up speed at the shift in his tone.

“What is it?”

He hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. ‘It’s now or never Mattheo, come on now.’

“I like you,” he said finally, the words coming out in a rush.

“More than just as a friend. And if I don’t say it now, I feel like I never will.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words echoing in your mind. For a moment, you could only stare at him, the vulnerability in his eyes so unlike the confident, teasing Mattheo you knew.

“I…” you started, but your voice faltered.

His hand began to slip from yours, and the sight of him pulling away sparked something in you.

“No, wait,” you said quickly, your fingers tightening around his.

His eyes flicked back to yours, hope mingling with hesitation on his face.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “I like you too, Mattheo. I have for a while now. I just… I didn’t know how to say it.”

His eyes widened slightly, and for a second, you thought he might not believe you. But then his lips tugged into the softest smile you’d ever seen, one that reached his dark, expressive eyes.

“You’re serious?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded, a small, nervous laugh escaping you. “I mean, why else would I willingly put up with you? Let’s be honest, you’re a bit of a nightmare.”

He chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Fair point. But you’re not exactly subtle, you know.” Your cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve caught you staring at me more times than I can count,” he teased, his smirk returning. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”

“I was not staring,” you protested, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he said, stepping closer until the space between you was nearly nonexistent.

“But for what it’s worth, I’ve been staring at you too.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Well, I guess we’re both terrible at hiding it then.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine. “Guess so.”

Mattheo hesitantly leans closer, his breath warm and gentle against your skin. His eyes search yours, soft with vulnerability, as he timidly nudges his nose against yours—a silent, tender plea for permission, waiting for your response.

Your heart flutters at the intimate gesture, his closeness sending a warmth through your chest.

Slowly, you tilt your head, answering his unspoken question without words. Mattheo’s lips hover just a whisper away from yours, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your mouth as if ensuring this is what you want. When your fingers brush against his, giving a reassuring squeeze, his hesitation melts away.

With a soft exhale, Mattheo closes the distance, capturing your lips in a kiss so tender it feels as if he’s afraid to break you. It’s gentle, unhurried, and filled with a quiet intensity that makes the world around you fade away.

The kiss deepens ever so slightly, each movement deliberate, as if Mattheo is savoring every second. His hand gently rises to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin with a touch so soft it sends shivers down your spine. Time seems to slow, the only thing grounding you being the warmth of his lips and the steady rhythm of his breaths mingling with yours.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, his dark eyes searching your face for any sign of regret.

Instead, he’s met with your soft smile, and his lips twitch upward in response, a mixture of relief and joy playing across his expression.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Mattheo whispers, his voice barely audible, as though the moment is too fragile to disturb.

His vulnerability is palpable, and it tugs at your heart in ways you can’t quite describe.

“So,” he murmured, a playful grin tugging at his lips, “does this mean you’ll let me distract you from studying more often?” You rolled your eyes, laughing sweetly. “You were already doing that, Matty.”

“True,” he admitted, smirking. “But now I get to do it properly.” Shaking your head, you smiled, your chest warm with a happiness you hadn’t expected to feel that day. “Salazar boy, you just now how to get to me, huh?.” “And yet, you like me anyway,” he said, his grin widening. “Unfortunately,” you replied with mock exasperation, but the smile on your face gave you away. “Lucky me,” he said, pulling you closer.

And for once, you couldn’t argue with him

#⋆. 𐙚 ˚ yua0ra’s works #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo x you #slytherin #slytherin boys #harry potter #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #wizarding world #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle

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yappaccinocookie · 6 months ago

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my heart is swelling...

Cookies of your choice, and how they deal with being inlove!!

hehehe... I sneaked in clover and espresso, because I love them. I also did other characters, so that its fair! I wrote more than 6, because espresso and vclovr are the extras. I proofread this once.

LOWERCASE INTENDED!!

Espresso —

espresso cookie doesn’t have time for distractions, or so he tells himself. love? utterly impractical. yet, there he is, grinding beans with just a little more care, his thoughts swirling like freshly brewed coffee. he’s convinced that if he ignores the fluttering in his dough, it’ll go away.

spoiler: it doesn’t... oop tough luck, work monster!

he tries to intellectualize it, of course. he analyzes every interaction, every fleeting glance, like it’s a formula waiting to be solved. but when you smile at him, that confident exterior of his crumbles faster than a poorly baked biscotti. “you’re being ridiculous,” he mutters to himself one night, staring at his notes. but instead of equations, all he’s written is your name in the margins.

Madeline —

madeleine cookie is a romantic through and through, and being in love simply adds to his already dramatic attitude. he is the sort to express his emotions in large, sweeping sentences, his voice ringing like a bell. "you are the light that illuminates my road!" he will say, his eyes full of love. (how corny... hes hopeless) however, despite the theatrics, madeleine's love is genuine. he is very attentive, seeing details about you that others might overlook. if you are down, he will go out of his way to make you feel better, even if it means embarrassing himself.

one afternoon, while the two of you sit under a tree, he gives you a flower crown he fashioned himself. "it is not ideal," he says, his typical confidence replaced by a rare vulnerability. he states that he's your "knight and shining armor." how precious!!

Almond —

almond cookie doesn’t know how to deal with feelings outside of his detective work. love isn’t something he’s ever had to investigate, so when he realizes he’s in love with you, it throws him off balance. he tries to rationalize it, telling himself it’s just a passing thought or a distraction he doesn’t need. but the truth is, you’ve taken up permanent residence in his mind.

he doesn’t go for grand gestures; instead, his love comes through in the small, practical ways he cares for you. he’ll make sure you’re safe, double-checking locks or walking you home without asking. his words are gruff, but his actions speak louder. one evening, as you sit together in his office, the warm light of the desk lamp casting shadows across his face, he looks at you with an uncharacteristic softness. “you’re important to me,” he mutters, almost too quiet to hear. for almond cookie, that’s as close to a confession as it gets. (classy and cute !)

Redvelvet —

red velvet cookie is used to keeping people at arm’s length, so falling in love with you catches him completely off guard. he tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, but his usually stoic demeanor starts to crack. he finds himself doing things he never thought he would, like going out of his way to make sure you’re comfortable or safe.

he’s not great with words, but his actions speak volumes. if you’re ever in danger, he’ll be the first to step in, his claws flashing as he defends you. one day, as the two of you sit together in the quiet of the night, he finally lets his walls down. “you make things... easier,” he admits, his voice low but steady. it’s not much, but coming from red velvet, it’s everything.

Eclair —

eclair cookie approaches love with the same curiosity and reverence he reserves for ancient artifacts. he finds himself studying you, trying to understand the way his heart skips a beat when you’re near. he’s not one for impulsive actions, so he takes his time, letting his feelings grow like a carefully cultivated garden.

he’ll use his knowledge as an excuse to spend time with you, sharing stories of his research or showing you his latest discoveries. one day, as he hands you a beautifully preserved relic, he says, “this reminded me of you.” his voice is steady, but there’s a hint of nervousness in his eyes. for eclair, love is the greatest mystery of all, and he’s determined to treasure it.

Financer —

financier cookie approaches love with the same discipline and determination she applies to everything else in her life. wen she realizes she’s in love with you, she treats it like a mission, vowing to protect and care for you with everything she has. she’s not one for flowery words or grand gestures, but her loyalty is unwavering.

she’ll go out of her way to make sure you’re safe and comfortable, even if it means sacrificing her own needs. one day, as the two of you stand together on a hill overlooking the kingdom, she turns to you with a rare softness in her eyes. “you are my greatest responsibility,” she says, her voice steady but filled with emotion. for financier cookie, love is a promise, and she intends to keep it.

Dark Choco —

dark choco cookie doesn’t know what to do with love. it’s not something he’s ever allowed himself to feel, not with the weight of his past pressing down on him. when he realizes he’s in love with you, his first instinct is to push you away. he tells himself it’s for your own good, that someone like him doesn’t deserve someone like you. bt no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop himself from gravitating toward you.

he doesn’t say much, but his actions speak louder than words. he’ll stand guard over you without you even realizing it, his sword at the ready for any threat. one evening, as the two of you sit in silence by a dying campfire, he finally speaks. “you make me want to be better,” he says, his voice low and rough. it’s not a declaration of love, but it’s the closest he’s ever come to letting someone into his heart.

Clover —

clover cookie falls in love like a song slowly coming together, each note more beautiful than the last. he’s a hopeless romantic, penning ballads inspired by you without even realizing it.

he finds himself humming melodies when you’re around, his quill moving almost on its own as he writes lyrics that capture the way your laughter feels like sunshine.

one day, you catch him practicing a song, your name woven delicately into the verses. “it’s just a draft,” he says, his cheeks dusted with powdered sugar, but the look in his eyes tells you it’s more than that.

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themology · 20 days ago

Text

harry castillo x curator!reader “a million dollar man”

masterlist

introduction — something real

You weren’t supposed to be there.

Not really.

You had been invited, yes—but not by name, not through clout, not through any recognition of your own work apparently. It had been passed along through a colleague you barely even talk to, a senior curator with too many busy events and not enough evenings to spare, who’d sighed and muttered, “Go in my place if you want. It’s just another collectors’ circle jerk.”

And she said it like she wasn’t handing you a rare key to the highest gates of New York’s elite art underworld.

It was an invitation by mere convenience, not design. But still—an invitation.

You told yourself it didn’t matter how you got in, only that you were there. Because this was your year. You could feel it clawing toward you from the dark. You were done being the assistant. The temp. The second voice in the panel, the fourth name in the press release.

You were curating your first major exhibition in the spring—“Myths of the Body”, a sharp, interdisciplinary show on femininity, intimacy, and resistance in contemporary art. It was small, yes, and it didn’t have institutional backing, but at least it was yours. And you needed funders. Partners. Names to put on the poster.

Names that sat in rooms like this one.

So, ultimately, you went. Nervous but polished.

In your sleekest black wool coat, your grandmother’s gold earrings, a minimalist wine red dress that hugged your form without apologizing for it.

Your hair was still damp from the rain when you stepped into the building, you forgot to bring a damn umbrella, too optimistic that the weather may be on your side, obviously it wasn’t; your heels took you in front of the building—a narrow, windowless space in Tribeca, hidden behind an industrial facade like a secret someone rich wanted to keep.

No signage.

No red carpet.

Just a clean black door and a buzzer you had to press like a gamble.

Inside, it was warm and dim, the kind of curated hush that comes not from silence, but from money. From restraint. From discipline. From the knowledge that no one here needed to prove anything.

You stepped into the space like it might bite you.

The gallery was breathtaking in its simplicity—concrete floors that had been polished until they glowed, massive floating canvases, large-scale kinetic sculptures suspended mid-air as if the very laws of gravity were negotiable.

Everything smelled of soft wood, citrus perfume, and candle wax. The crowd was older, dressed in neutrals and subtle silk.

Minimalist jewelry.

Intentional eye contact.

The elite.

You were the youngest person in the room by at least what… decade?

You lingered near a brass tray of drinks, accepted a glass of something expensive and white, and reminded yourself: You belong here. Even if your heart felt like it was trying to crawl out of your chest. Even if the hem of your coat was still damp from the damned rain.

You weren’t famous, yet. You didn’t have patrons. But you were hungry for more. And maybe that counted for something.

You moved slowly, letting your gaze travel from piece to piece, noting curatorial choices, labeling fonts, lighting angles.

You weren’t networking yet—you were strategizing. Watching. Picking out who looked like money, who looked like taste, and who looked like both.

You had just stepped toward a large abstract installation—glass and steel layered like vertebrae—when your attention snagged on someone standing alone, you barely even looked, but the presence felt so heavy you scratched the itch to look.

He didn’t look at you.

Not at first.

He was standing with his back to you, hands behind him, spine straight but relaxed. He was older.

Not old, but seasoned, his presence rooted and gravitational, like someone who knew how to bend a room around himself without saying a single word. He wore a dark coat over a navy turtleneck, tailored charcoal trousers, and heavy black shoes.

Understated, expensive, unbothered.

You didn’t recognize him.

You studied the line of his profile. The almost delicious salt at his temples. The rough edges of stubble and mustache softening a very handsome face.

He tilted his head slightly at the sculpture in front of him, as if he were listening to it speak.

“You don’t like it,” you said, before you could stop yourself.

He turned.

It was the kind of turn that felt deliberate. Like he was offering you something. And when his eyes found yours, you forgot your name for a second.

His gaze was dark, amused. Sharp. He looked at you the way some men looked at paintings they couldn’t quite understand—but desperately wanted to.

“I never said that,” he replied.

His voice was deep. Smooth. A little raspy, but warm—like fire catching slow in the distance.

“You didn’t have to.” You lifted your glass toward the piece. “Its as if your entire body was disappointed.”

That made him laugh—low, rich, unforced. It settled in your stomach, hot and unwelcome, and just— fuck…

“You’re an artist?”

“No,” you said. “A… curator.”

He looked you over, not in a way that made you feel small, but in a way that made you feel seen. As if he were picking apart layers—ambition, edge, nervousness beneath the eyeliner.

“Curating where?”

“The Carnegie Project.” You tried to keep your voice even. “I’m guest-curating a spring show.”

“Ah,” he said softly. “The idealists.”

Your mouth tilted. “And you’re not one?”

“Perhaps something else entirely.”

You didn’t know what that meant. But you were intrigued, in spite of yourself.

He stepped closer, just enough to disrupt the safe little bubble you’d created. Close enough for you to catch his scent—smoke, something leathery and green.

Deliberate.

Expensive.

He looked down at your glass. “Nervous?”

You blinked. “Why would I be?”

He smiled. It was lazy. Knowing. “Because you’re new here. You’re watching everyone else watch you. And you haven’t decided whether you’re supposed to shrink yourself or expand.”

You looked away, the truth of it searing.

“You’re observant.”

“I’m invested,” he said simply.

“In what?”

“In art,” he said. “And people who are trying to make something of it.”

You glanced back up. “And you? What do you make?”

“Trouble,” he said with a glint in his eye. Then: “And opportunity.”

He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a black business card—no phone number, no email. Just a name embossed in gold:

Harry Castillo

Castillo Atelier

The moment you read the name, your brain clicked.

Oh.

You didn’t show it. Not yet. But heat began to rise in your chest.

You’d heard of him. Of course. You’d even studied some of his more controversial acquisitions, he was a collector, a curator, a CEO of something fluid and powerful and very well-funded. A man who could make or unmake reputations in the industry with a single acquisition.

People hated him for it. Others adored him. He had the kind of presence you’d think would merely be a myth.

And he’d just handed you his card.

“If you’re ever curious,” he said softly, voice like a velvet drawl. “Or if you get tired of theory and want to play with something real.”

Then—just like that—he turned and walked away.

No goodbye.

No follow-up.

Just vanished, like a man who never questioned whether he’d be remembered.

Of course he will be.

You looked down at the card in your hand.

Your glass was trembling slightly.

next chapter

notes…

and there’s that for the introduction of a million dollar man, i’m genuinely being serious when i say the last time i wrote a fanfic was back in 2022-2023ish so my writing mighhttttt be rusty, consistent chapters will be released soon, promise!

please comment down if you wished to be tagged and notified on future chapters <3

themology, 2025.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #zaddy pedro #pedro x reader #pedroispunk #harry castillo materialists #harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo x you #harry castillo x female reader #materialists #i love pedro pascal #by themology #themology writes

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metal-raccoons · 2 months ago

Text

Jason Todd meets Joker Jr.

............................................................................

Jason stops by the Manor after his patrol and he sees everyone huddled around in a group, and sound like they are panicking.

Out of curiosity he tries to listen to what they are saying and he hears someone mention something happened to Tim.

Jason, expecting it to just be a dumb accident from patrol, wanders over to check it out but finds himself befuddled when the others try to block him from seeing Tim.

As Jason shoves the others out of the way he sees a thirteen-year-old Tim Drake, jittery and panicking instead of the calm seventeen year-old he's used to seeing around on patrol.

Once Jason sees Tim fully he goes to ask someone what is happening when he hears a giggle, that slowly turns into manic laughter-

ha ha Ha Ha HA HA HA HA HA HA

It dawns on Jason what Tim looks like. The Joker.

Jason stumbles back trying to get his bearings back on where he is and all he can see is green. Not the Lazarus green he is oh so uncomfortably used to, but Joker green, just like Tim's hair, and just like one of the last things he saw before his death.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and hits it away quickly, still panicking slightly on the inside, although it did help ground him, he looks towards Tim on the floor again, laughing, and as he looks closer he sees scars just like the Jokers right from cheek to cheek across his mouth in a twisted version of a smile.

Jason turns to Bruce ready to interrogate him about this but gets cut off by the sound of younger Tim's voice muttering to himself unintelligent, it sounds reminiscent to Harley Quinn's voice, unlike his normal higher class Gotham accent.

Jason looks around his family and notices almost everyone looks confused but not as horrified as Jason himself. The only others who don't look confused are Barbara, Alfred, and Bruce who Jason realises are the only ones who were around for when Tim was still new to being robin.

Jason notes everyone still seems to be too shocked to try to fully help the boy, even though he looks so close to the man who killed him he can see this isn't a recreation, this is a victim as well.

Jason warily goes closer to Tim and calls Ace the Bat-Hound over just as something that Tim would recognize and as a grounding weight. Tims laughter slowly dies down into a small quiet giggle and Jason sits beside him, still on the Manor floor trying to make sure Tim is alright, hating the fact Bruce has failed another Robin without his knowledge.

While Jason sits beside Tim all he can think about is "I almost killed him, and he's like me. This boy. This thirteen-year-old boy."

The laughter and strain of being brought to his mental and physical state made Tim slowly fall asleep under Ace's weight and he slumps against Jason.

Jason carefully picks Tim up and lays hin down on the couch before advancing towards Bruce wanting to know "What the fuck is THIS".

Bruce goes to the front of those at the manor tonight and explains "During Tim's first year of being Robin he was kidnapped by Harley Quinn and The Joker for three months, and by Joker's choice, they used different tortures to break Tim's mind and force him into believing he was their son." Bruce has a solemn expression as he explains

Jason takes a deep breath not wanting to yell on the off chance it would wake Tim up again. "He was stuck with the Joker for three months. Three months. You couldn't find him for the entirety of three Months." Jason grabs Bruce's shirt collar out of anger and for emphasis. "And you didn't even kill him after that. He still lived, didn't he." Jason's voice in the end comes out closer to a snarl.

"I didn't kill him, but the Joker isn't alive. He hasn't been for over a year now, that's why you never saw him when you came back." Bruce looks strangely guilty in Jason's perspective.

"How did he die." Jason's voice has less outrage than before but he still has warning in his tone.

"Tim" Bruce only says the one name and Jason can feel all his anger and infuriation melt away and now he just feels even more worry for the kid's mental state. Even though Jason himself doesn't feel bad for killing anyone this is just a kid. A thirteen-year-old kid.

............................................................................

First ever one shot thing! I never write so forgive me for bad grammar etc.

#joker junior #batfam #tim drake #jason todd #dc comics #dcu #dc robin #red robin

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admiringlove · 5 months ago

Text

➵ pairing. gojo satoru x fem! reader.

➵ summary. you yearned for adventure, but the thrill you sought quickly spirals into a web of secrets as dark forces converge on hogwarts. with cryptic notes mysteriously appearing and a shadowy figure wielding parseltongue, your identity as a marauder hangs precariously in the balance. as you grapple with mounting responsibilities, the tension between you and the infuriating gojo satoru reaches a boiling point. can you unravel the mystery before it consumes you, or will the weight of the truth prove too heavy to bear?

➵ warnings. gojo being gojo; profanity; dueling; toji ripping people off; mentions of gambling or placing bets; mentions of theft; pureblood gojo being a dick at times; reader being stupid; causing physical harm (burning someone's hand, specifically gojo); fictional slurs mentioned once (1); etc.

➵ genre. wizarding world au; academic rivals to lovers; enemies to lovers; angst; fluff; adventure; etc.

➵ word count. 13k.

➵ author's note. as usual, ty for proofreading, my dear aspen. AND on that note, here is chapter two where the real show begins :)

➵ navigation. previous, masterlist, next.

One month had passed in agonizing monotony.

The requests had been laughable: a missing toad, students floundering with their grades despite the term having barely begun, and petty attempts at hexing one another in the name of Quidditch rivalries. Even the bludger debacle had been little more than a blip on the radar. Nothing gripping. Nothing exhilarating.

Now, on an unremarkable Sunday morning, you found yourself curled up in the common room, the faint crackle of the fire your only company. Your eyes scanned the dense text of The Rise of Pureblood Families—a tome so ancient it felt like it might crumble to dust in your hands. Professor Fig had insisted it was essential reading for his next lecture, though you suspected he delighted in tormenting his students with the driest material imaginable.

The quiet is abruptly shattered by the sharp snap of the book right in front of your face. You blink, startled, only to see Utahime standing over you, disheveled and very much unimpressed.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing up this early?” she grumbles, collapsing onto the sofa beside you and rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

“Reading,” you mutter, holding up the hefty volume as evidence. “I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

She yawns, sprawling across the cushions like a lazy cat. “You’re a menace. It’s Sunday. Go back to bed like a normal person.”

“Some of us actually care about our classes,” you tease, leaning your head against her shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “Fig’s got us studying the bloodlines of the founders. Pureblood supremacy and all that delightful rot.”

Her eyes narrow at the title of the book, and she plucks it from your lap with a scoff. “History of Magic: The Rise of Pureblood Families? What on Earth is wrong with you?”

“It’s for class!” you protest, half-whining. “You’re the one who bailed on History of Magic last year. Ancient Runes was your grand pursuit of knowledge, remember?”

“Had I known they’d give me a time-turner if I took both, I’d have made better choices,” she mutters darkly, flipping through the brittle pages. Her eyes catch on a familiar name, and a wicked grin spreads across her face. “Oh, look. The Gojo clan. How utterly predictable.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Of course they’re in there.”

“Of course they are,” she drawls, setting the book down with exaggerated delicacy. “The question is, how many pages do you think he’s read about himself?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you silently wished the universe would send you something, anything, to break the tedium of this slow-burning school year. Something big, or dangerous, or impossible. Something worth remembering.

The book slides from your lap, landing on the sofa with a muted thud, and that’s when you notice it—a sliver of something protruding from between the pages, barely discernible against the worn parchment. Utahime is saying something about Quidditch, her words lazy and half-formed, but your attention has already shifted. Slowly, you reach for the book, the weight of its age settling into your palms, and tilt it toward the light.

There it is again. Something thin, fragile, and out of place. You pinch it between your fingers, the texture unmistakable—parchment, slightly waxy and crinkled at the edges. You pull it free, and as you do, your heart gives a faint, involuntary flutter.

The piece of parchment is blank. Utterly unremarkable at first glance, the kind of thing you’d toss aside without a second thought. Yet, there’s a heaviness to it, a peculiar presence that makes you pause. You trace its edges, the uneven cut of the paper catching against the pad of your thumb.

“Hm?” Utahime mumbles, stretching beside you. Her voice is sluggish, sleep-heavy. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” you reply, but your tone betrays the lie. You fold the parchment in half, slipping it into your pocket as casually as you can manage.

She doesn’t press further, yawning mid-sentence as she shifts in her seat. “You’re weird. Anyway, did you hear? Itadori's been selected as the new Seeker of our team—”

“Iori,” you interrupt, glancing toward the clock above the fireplace. “Is it alright if I head out? I’m starving.”

“Now?” she asks, blinking at you like you’ve grown a second head. “It’s barely sunrise. The Hall’s probably empty.”

“I’ll check the kitchens, then,” you offer, already reaching for your robe. “House Elves always have something ready. Coffee, maybe a pie or two.”

“Suit yourself.” She waves you off, her voice dissolving into another yawn. “Bring me back a treacle tart if they’ve got one.”

You smile, grateful for her indifference. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As you step through the portrait hole, the cold stone of the castle’s corridors greets you. The folded parchment burns faintly in your pocket, its blank surface somehow heavier now, as though it’s watching you, waiting for you to notice something you’ve missed.

You crouch briefly, tugging your wand from its hiding place in your boot, the smooth wood a comforting weight in your palm. "Lumos," you whisper, your steps echoing unevenly against the cold stone floors, sharp and deliberate in the stillness of the castle at dawn. Reaching the Reception Hall, you hesitate, your gaze sweeping the expanse of shadowed corridors around you. Too early for students to wander. Too suspicious if you were caught.

The Floo Flame waits ahead, green embers crackling faintly in the dark fireplace. You move toward it, fingers brushing the small bowl of Floo Powder resting on the corner table. For a moment, you simply stand there, listening—nothing but the distant groan of shifting stone, before sighing out softly, "Nox."

Satisfied, you take a measured breath, gripping a pinch of the silvery powder, and step into the fireplace.

Your heart thrums like a drumbeat, resonating in your chest, in your fingertips, in the tips of your ears. “Room of Requirement,” you murmur, the words precise, deliberate, the syllables sharp in the still air. You release the powder, and the world blurs in a flash of emerald flames.

When you open your eyes, the Room greets you in its usual, haunting splendor. Shadows dance across towering bookshelves and stretch over the cavernous ceiling. The faint scent of parchment and the warmth of the ever-crackling fireplace mingle with the quiet, electric hum of something unseen—something alive. The air here always felt charged, like a secret waiting to unfold.

You walk toward the long table and its pinboard, the polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. Then, a voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and lazy all at once.

“Didn’t think you’d be here this fine morning.”

The sound makes you flinch, your pulse skipping. You turn, already preparing a cutting retort, something sharp-edged and brimming with profanity. But the words die on your tongue the moment you see him.

Satoru. Of course. His silver hair catches the flickering firelight, the perpetual smirk curling at his lips as infuriating as ever. But it’s what he’s holding that freezes you in place. Between his middle and index fingers, he dangles something thin and yellowed—a piece of parchment, eerily familiar, catching the light like a warning.

“You got one too,” you say, your voice low and surprised as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the parchment you’d found earlier. It feels heavier now, though it shouldn’t.

He nods, the motion slow and deliberate, humming under his breath as he strolls toward you. “Indeed. Blank, isn’t it? Curious little thing.”

His gaze flicks to yours, bright and unreadable. He spins the parchment in his fingers lazily, before adding, “Come with me, Fawkes Junior. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

“Do you think whoever sent it knows that we’re—”

“Highly likely,” he interrupts, voice maddeningly nonchalant. He brushes past you, the faint scent of mahogany and something sharper lingering in the air. “But let’s see what it is first, shall we?”

You trail behind him toward the long table, your steps hesitant, the weight of the parchment in your hand growing heavier with every passing second. Satoru reaches the table first, his movements unhurried, almost theatrical. He places his parchment down with a casual flick of his wrist, then steps back, fixing you with an expectant look. His pale eyes gleam with something unreadable, his smirk daring you to ask the obvious.

You stare at him, confused, your brows knitting together as you clutch your own parchment tighter. “What?” you ask, your voice defensive, though you’re not sure why.

“Don’t just stand there like a stunned pixie,” he says, his tone dripping with exaggerated exasperation. “Put your parchment down and do the honors, you toad.”

Your lips part in indignation, a sharp retort already forming. “I’m not a toad! You’re the toad.” But even as you say it, you step up to the table, cheeks warm, and place your parchment beside his.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath, steadying yourself. Your fingers twitch as you pull your wand from your robes, pointing it toward the two scraps of parchment. You feel the weight of his gaze on you, sharp and unwavering, as if he’s daring you to mess up.

Sucking in a breath, you focus, the words spilling from your lips with careful precision. “Aparecium.”

For a moment, nothing happens. The fire crackles softly in the hearth behind you, the sound stretching into the silence like a taut thread. And then, it begins.

The ink blooms slowly, almost hypnotically, across the surface of the parchment. Black tendrils unfurl like vines, weaving their way across the waxy paper in intricate patterns. You watch, transfixed, as words begin to take shape, each letter etching itself with deliberate grace. The air feels heavier now, charged with something alive, something ancient.

Your breath catches, and you barely notice Satoru stepping closer until his shoulder brushes against yours. The warmth of him is startling, a contrast to the chill that seems to radiate from the parchment. He leans in, his eyes fixed on the ink as it scrawls its secrets onto the paper, and you can feel the faint buzz of his presence, like static against your skin.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with fascination.

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away, the strange, hypnotic motion of the ink consuming your thoughts.

“It’s a riddle,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over the parchment as you absorb the message. “Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy.”

“A raven-haired calls what none can see, beneath the night's veil by the serpent's decree,” Satoru intones, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. For a heartbeat, his expression is inscrutable, his gaze penetrating, as if he’s searching for answers hidden within the very air around you. Then, without another word, he strides over to the pinboard, his movements fluid and graceful, as he plucks a pin from its holder.

With a deft flick of his wrist, he secures his piece of paper to the board, then extends his hand toward you, the gesture inviting yet commanding. You hand over your parchment, and he makes a point of placing yours before his. He studies the board, the tension in the air thickening as he furrows his brow, lost in thought, his usually playful demeanor replaced by an unexpected gravity.

“It’s so early in the damn morning, so I can’t think of anything coherent,” he admits, his voice tinged with frustration. “You think this could be a prank?” He turns back to you, one eyebrow arched in skepticism.

You shake your head, your resolve firm. “Whoever sent this knows our identity. They know we’re the Marauders. This is serious. Whatever they’ve uncovered can’t be known by anyone else in the school—only us. That’s why the notes are so mysterious and the riddle so convoluted.”

“Right,” he murmurs, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “Unfortunate for us that whoever this shithead—”

“—Language,” you interject, shooting him a mock disapproving look.

“This very mysterious person, bless them, clearly knows who we are and has the ability to slip notes into our things at will.” He leans against the edge of the long table, arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as he considers the implications. “Can I ask where you found yours?” His gaze sharpens and you feel a thrill run through you at the weight of his attention.

You nod, recalling the moment with clarity. “A textbook about purebloods and their family history—lineages and whatnot. We’re studying it in Fig’s class.” The words hang in the air, charged with the gravity of the situation, as Satoru’s eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“Mine was tucked away in my quill case,” he replies, his gaze flitting back to the pinboard, where the riddle still looms ominously. He rubs his chin thoughtfully, an idiosyncratic gesture that somehow amplifies his charm. “Specifically, the one with my family’s crest.”

You furrow your brow, a mix of curiosity and anxiety knotting your stomach. “You think it’s linked to you? To the message?” The anticipation thrums within you, a palpable energy that makes your fingers clench and unclench, as if in a desperate attempt to control the tension building in the air. He casts his eyes downward, the intensity of the moment settling over him like a cloak. “Honestly, Fawkes, I have no clue. But I'd say, to start with the people in that class.”

Just then, the resonant toll of the bell reverberates through the stone corridors, a stark reminder of time slipping away. Sighing, you glance at your wrist, where your watch glints in the dim light. “It’s eight.”

“Breakfast,” you murmur, realization dawning. “Oh, I promised Iori I’d stop by the Kitchens to snag some treacle tarts before coming here. I really should—”

“Just head out first and cut through the dungeons,” he interjects, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I don’t want to be seen with you anyway. It’s highly suspicious, and let’s be honest, you're you.”

His tone twists the knife of irritation deeper into your gut, and you roll your eyes, exasperation rising like bile. What an absolute git. This was precisely why you loathed him—the unnecessary comments, the incessant teasing, the way he seemed to revel in making your skin crawl. He exuded an aristocratic aura, a smug confidence born from privilege, and it infuriated you how someone so insufferably arrogant could also be undeniably captivating.

“I’d challenge you to a duel, Gojo,” you declare, striding toward the door with renewed determination, your voice steady and defiant. “But I’d be wasting my time on someone I’ve already beaten multiple times.”

“Then you should practice, Fawkes,” he smirks, a glint of challenge dancing in his eyes, revealing the sharpness of his teeth like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’ll be losing soon enough.”

“In your dreams,” you retort, unable to suppress a smirk of your own, even as frustration simmers beneath the surface.

You're nearly at the library doors when a voice calls your name, sharp and high, like a bird swooping down to catch its prey. You turn to see Professor Flitwick hurrying toward you, his small frame bouncing with an urgency that makes you pause. His wand is clutched tightly in one hand, and his robes billow awkwardly around his ankles as he paces forward.

"[L/N]! I've been meaning to catch you about the Dueling Club since yesterday!" he says breathlessly, halting just short of colliding with you. His cheeks are flushed, and you can't help but feel a pang of concern as you swing your bag off your shoulder and pull out a bottle of water, handing it to him without a word.

He looks surprised for a moment but then beams, taking it with a small bow. "Thank you, thank you," he says, uncapping it and taking a long sip. When he hands it back, he dabs at his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, his energy seemingly renewed. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the first meeting of the Dueling Club must happen tomorrow. I've compiled a list of second-year students I believe show great promise, and I trust you'll take the lead in getting them started. I'll announce it to them in class tomorrow morning and send them to you after lectures."

"Of course, Professor," you reply, your tone steady, though you feel the weight of the task settle on your shoulders. "I'll make sure everything is ready."

"Excellent, excellent!" he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of parchment. "Here’s the list. Do give it a look—very talented young witches and wizards on there."

You unfold the parchment as he bustles away, scanning the names quickly. Most are unfamiliar to you, but three jump out like ink bleeding through the page: Maki Zenin, Mai Zenin, and Inumaki Toge. The Zenins, of course, were legendary among pureblood families—sharp-edged and shrouded in rumors of internal rivalries. And Inumaki, though quieter in reputation, carried a name steeped in mystique.

Your thoughts drift to Fushiguro Toji, the senior who had once borne the Zenin name before renouncing it—a choice that was as infamous as it was mysterious. You’d seen him around the castle often enough to recognize his tall, brooding figure, his presence more like a shadow slipping past than a person. His reputation was formidable, a quiet storm of skill and restraint, known for his precision in dueling and his unsettling aloofness. You knew him from the Slytherin Quidditch team and the Dueling Club, though he’d only joined the latter last year under McGonagall and Flitwick’s persuasion. They’d promised recommendation letters and credits to help him secure a spot at the Auror’s Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It wasn’t ambition that drove him—or at least, not ambition anyone could easily understand. The way Utahime spoke of him didn’t help; her tone was always a mix of admiration and unease, as if he were a force to respect but not to trust completely.

You tuck the parchment into your bag as the heavy oak doors of the library come into view. The anticipation of sorting through tomes and chasing down obscure references pulls at you, even if you know it might take hours.

Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy.

The riddle loops in your mind as you step into the hushed sanctuary of the library. You’d spent most of the day—after completing your homework—trying to decode it, poring over textbooks in your dorm and whispering the lines to yourself like some sort of incantation. Still, nothing clicked. There were no voids you could think of. Not unless it was about the Forbidden Forest.

You hoped the restricted section held the answers. If not, you were out of ideas.

Madam Pince’s gaze catches you the moment you step inside. She’s perched at her desk like some sort of malevolent statue, her sharp eyes narrowing behind thin spectacles. With her pale, hollow cheeks and the way her lips press into a disapproving line, she looks less like a librarian and more like an avenging specter. Asking her for permission to enter the Restricted Section is a gamble, but it might be one worth taking—after all, you are a Prefect. You move deeper into the rows of shelves, steeling yourself for the conversation to come.

Your throat feels dry as you wander toward a shelf near the left corner of Madam Pince’s desk. The polished wood bears an engraved plaque: Atlases and Maps. You step into the section, glancing over your shoulder to check on her. Madam Pince’s sharp eyes remain fixed on a pile of returned books, her thin lips pursed in bitterness, as though even their presence offends her.

Maybe, when her mood isn’t quite so sour—which, in truth, is almost never—you’ll muster the courage to ask for access to the Restricted Section. You rehearse excuses in your head: something for History of Magic? Or maybe Magical Theory? Whichever sounds more plausible in the moment. Just imagining the conversation makes your palms damp, the thought of her vulture-like gaze boring into you far worse than any hex.

Pretending to browse, you let your fingers trail lightly over the leather-bound spines of the books on the shelf. The titles blur past, meaningless as your eyes flick back to Madam Pince every few seconds. She hasn’t noticed you yet, and for now, that’s all you need. You try to appear absorbed in the neatly arranged volumes, but your heart thuds against your ribs, loud enough to feel like a betrayal.

Then, a voice breaks the silence—low and far too close for comfort.

“You know you’re not fooling anyone.”

You flinch, the sound startling you so much that your hand knocks into a book, sending it teetering on the edge of the shelf. You barely catch it, spinning around to face the source of the interruption.

“Fushiguro,” you hiss, placing a hand over your chest as you whisper his name, “Whatever do you mean?”

“‘Whatever do I mean?’ Really?” He raises an eyebrow, the scar on his lip catching your gaze as he smirks, his expression a mix of amusement and challenge. “You’re standing near a shelf designated for second and third years, and you’re asking me what I mean?”

“I—I,” you stammer, your cheeks growing warm under his scrutiny, “You’re here too!”

As if on cue, Madam Pince’s ears seem to perk up, her sharp gaze snapping to you with palpable disdain. She raises a bony finger to her lips, a chilling “Sh!” escaping her thin, pursed mouth. You cringe, your shoulders instinctively tensing as Fushiguro grabs your arm just above the elbow and pulls you deeper into the library, away from her watchful eyes.

You walk in a daze beside him, your heart racing like a caged bird as you try to maintain some semblance of composure. The curious glances from a few fellow students make you feel like a fish under a magnifying glass, and you find that looking down at your feet is the safest option.

After weaving through the labyrinth of towering shelves for what feels like minutes, he finally pulls you into a secluded corner where the dim light casts long, flickering shadows. The hush of the library seems louder here, wrapping around the two of you like a heavy cloak. Fushiguro releases your arm and leans casually against the wall, his sharp eyes locking onto yours.

“Care to explain why you’re spying on that ugly old hag?” he asks, his tone laced with amusement and challenge, the corner of his mouth curling into the faintest smirk.

Fuck. What were you supposed to say? That you were one half of the Marauders? That you found yourself here, drawn by a peculiar riddle that felt far too suspicious to be dismissed as a harmless prank? You blink for a moment, your lips pursing as you grapple with the weight of your words. In that fleeting silence, he tilts his head at you, a mix of annoyance and curiosity etched across his features. “Can’t tell me?”

You nod vigorously, your expression filled with both determination and trepidation. His expression shifts slightly, looking as if your shenanigans have piqued his interest. “What do you want, anyway? You don’t have to give me details, but now I’m curious.”

“Restricted Section,” you croak, the admission slipping from your lips with an embarrassing crack in your voice. You cringe at the sound, disappointment flooding over you like a tide of shame. He huffs, unimpressed. “That’s it?”

Your eyes widen as you narrow them at him, summoning the Gryffindor stubbornness that runs in your blood. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It’s not allowed for students to go there.”

“Just because something isn’t allowed, [L/N], doesn’t mean it’s not possible. I've been there loads of times,” he replies, smacking your forehead lightly with a book he had been holding. You hadn’t even noticed it until now. Blinking in surprise, you rub the spot on your hairline where the tome had collided, gazing at him with the indignation of a rule-following goody-two-shoes. “I should report you.”

“You were going to ask Pince for access to the Restricted Section; that’s like inviting detention,” he retorts, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re quite stupid for a Prefect.”

“I am not stupid!” you exclaim, heat rising to your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Your hands grow clammy with frustration, and as he tilts his head, an amused glint in his eyes, you can’t help but feel like a fool caught unguarded. You pause for a few moments, before pursing your lips, “How would we even go in?”

"Ah, you know, just snag a few Invisibility Potions from Snape's office during dinner. He'll likely notice they’re gone, but I’ll replace them by the next morning. Being a seventh-year has its perks—I passed the exam last year and have my license," he says casually, his tone almost teasing. "Though I do need some money for that."

"Money?" you echo, your voice rising in disbelief. "I don’t have much. I’m not a pureblood like you."

"Then it's a no-go, princess," he shrugs, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Forget about it."

"Wait, no—"

"Five hundred Galleons. The potion will cost me four hundred to replace those in Snape's office, and I need a hundred for the trip to Hogsmeade just to fetch you anything at all," he says, sounding as if he’s been haggling his entire life. You scoff, incredulous. "That's a ridiculous amount! Where am I supposed to get five hundred Galleons?"

"Seems like your problem, not mine," he replies, his jaw set, the faintest hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "This is what I do, [L/N]. Get used to it."

With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, leaving you exasperated. Where on earth could you possibly gather five hundred Galleons? Your allowance barely stretched to a couple hundred for the entire school year, just enough for a few trips to Hogsmeade. Gringotts was where your parents usually exchanged Muggle money for wizarding currency when they visited.

And then, like a lightning bolt, realization strikes you. Gojo. That insufferable white-haired twat probably received more of an allowance than you could even imagine. You gasp softly at the revelation, a plan forming in your mind as you break into a run. Ignoring Madam Pince’s shout, urging you to stop running, you dash toward the only place you think he could be—the Great Hall. Dinner would be starting soon, and with it, a glimmer of hope for your desperate situation.

And there he is, just as you suspected—Gojo, strolling alongside Suguru, his hands shoved carelessly into the pockets of his trousers. Laughter dances between them, a sound that feels foreign to your ears as you call out his name, “Oi, Gojo!”

He turns, an eyebrow arching in that infuriating way of his, as if your presence is a sudden, unwelcome surprise. “Oh, look who decided to grace me with her presence. Fawkes, I really didn’t want to see your face today.”

You huff out a breath, feeling the heat of exertion flush your cheeks. “I need to speak with you,” you manage, your voice tinged with urgency. “It’s important. Prefect things. Please.”

For a moment, he regards you with a bemusement that makes your insides twist. His gaze flickers to Suguru, exchanging a silent conversation that leaves you feeling slightly out of the loop. You nod at Suguru, a brief acknowledgment before your attention snaps back to Satoru, who seems to be weighing the gravity of your request.

“Go on, Suguru, I’ll meet you at the Great Hall,” Gojo finally says, his tone softening as his friend walks away with a casual “Alright.” With Suguru gone, Gojo turns his full attention to you, exhaling a resigned sigh. “What is it?”

“I need five hundred galleons,” you state, your heart racing at the enormity of the ask. “It’s for solving the riddle.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity flickering across his face. “Why do you need that much money to solve a damn riddle? I mean, I’d give it to you because I have it, but I want to know what it’s for.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, catching your breath before continuing, “It’s Toji. He said he’d help me get into the Restricted Section of the library if I give him that much. He’s going to steal Invisibility potions from Snape’s office tonight if I say yes, and then buy them back from J. Pippins in Hogsmeade by tomorrow to replace them.”

Gojo scoffs, rolling his eyes in that trademark manner that both irritates and fascinates you. “That conniving asshole. Why do you want to go to the library? Just think about it, you nag. The answer will come to you. I already solved my part.”

“Because there might be clues- wait, what?” You blink slowly, the revelation dawning on you like a flickering candle. “You solved it? How?”

His gaze sweeps the empty corridor, ensuring the coast is clear before he closes the distance between you, grabbing your arm in a gesture that feels oddly possessive. “Someone with black hair at Hogwarts can speak in Parseltongue,” he murmurs, his voice low and conspiratorial. “I don’t remember your bit by heart, but if you want, we can sneak into the library tonight. Although,” he adds, his expression shifting to one of playful mischief, “I don’t think we’ll need to go in the restriction section at all for this. Remind me what your part was again?”

“Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy,” you recite, the words falling from your lips like the echo of a half-remembered dream. They feel foreign, unwieldy, yet they carry the weight of something unspoken, something inevitable.

Gojo stares at you, his expression teetering between incredulity and amusement. He tilts his head, a hum escaping him—a low, resonant sound that vibrates in the air between you. It’s maddening, the way he always manages to make the most mundane gesture seem deliberate, practiced. You shudder, half at the sound and half at your brain for noticing it. This was Gojo Satoru, after all—the bane of your existence, the splinter lodged in your side since the moment you’d collided with him on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago.

He finally speaks, his voice thoughtful but tinged with that insufferable self-assurance. “Don’t go with Fushiguro. I have a better idea if you really want to sneak into the library.”

You hesitate, narrowing your eyes. “No prefect duties tonight, but the others will be about,” you say, your voice laced with skepticism. “What about them?”

His grin widens, that familiar glint in his eyes—a spark that you’ve learned to both anticipate and dread. “You remember when I told you I was working on something? For us? To make our lives as Marauders easier?”

Something twists in your chest. You know that look too well, the sharp edges of mischief cutting into his usually polished demeanor. Despite yourself, you feel the pull, the gravity that always seems to draw you into his orbit, no matter how fiercely you try to resist. “Yes?” you say, your voice tinged with hope despite the knot of hesitation in your chest. There’s something about him—something that unsettles you. Maybe it’s his intellect, sharp and unrelenting, always outpacing yours no matter how hard you tried to keep up. It wasn’t fair, but then again, nothing about him ever was.

He was always going to be better than you. The pureblood, the chosen one, the untouchable and glorious Satoru Gojo. And you? You were just a mudblood. The word still stung every time it surfaced in your mind, an unwelcome echo of whispered taunts from years past. You hated it, hated how it lingered, how it shaped the way you measured yourself against him. But no matter how much you loathed admitting it, he would always outshine you.

“It’s ready,” he announces, stopping your train of thought as he grins like the Cheshire Cat, every tooth glinting in the dim light of the corridor. “Think you can set aside your idiocy for one night and meet me outside your common room at midnight?”

“For your very kind information,” you say, your teeth gritting with irritation, “I happen to be better at you than a lot of things. But fine. This might be worth it.”

He groans theatrically, rolling his eyes with all the drama of a starlet in distress. “Gryffindors and your ‘knight in shining armor’ act—it’s unbearable!”

“As if Slytherins are any better,” you retort, your voice rising with indignation. “You’re all anarchists! You tried to poison our Quidditch team last year!”

He laughs, the sound sharp and incredulous. “How long are you going to hold that over my head? You hexed me before I even got the chance to do anything! I was in the infirmary the entire night because you made the bones in my arm disappear. Do you know how painful it is to grow bones back?”

You wince despite yourself. You might loathe the boy with every fiber of your being, but even you can admit—albeit silently, buried deep beneath layers of pride—that you may have gone too far that time. Still, Gojo’s grin persists, maddeningly bright, and you find yourself standing in that strange liminal space between rivalry and camaraderie, where annoyance and admiration blur together in a way that leaves you dizzy.

“Midnight,” he says, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Don’t keep me waiting, Fawkes.”

You huff, crossing your arms even as your resolve wavers. “I’ll think about it.”

But you already know you’ll be there. You always are.

It is a quarter to midnight, and the dormitory is cloaked in shadows, save for the faint silver sliver of moonlight sneaking through the half-drawn curtains. You sit up in bed, the ache of sleep pulling at your limbs, and lift your head from the scattered parchment on your desk. Your gaze drifts to your owl, a small tawny creature perched in quiet repose within his cage.

He’s quite small, and no louder than a whisper. His feathers, a soft patchwork of golden brown and deep earthen hues, are flecked with the faintest hints of black and white—an accidental constellation brushed into his down. He looks as though he belongs somewhere else entirely, a creature born of twilight and mystery, yet tethered to you by six steadfast years of companionship. His dark, endless eyes blink once in the low light, and you think, not for the first time, how much you love this bird.

He’s carried your words across distances great and small: letters home to your parents, scribbled notes to friends during summer holidays, even last-minute assignments dropped hastily into professors’ inboxes. And on those long nights when unspoken worries press heavy against your chest, he perches on your desk, watching you with an unfailing patience that no human has ever shown. On the rare nights when sleep overtakes you mid-assignment, he naps beside you, a quiet, feathery sentinel.

You smile softly at the memory, yawning as you stretch, the cool air brushing against your skin when you swing your legs over the side of the bed. The dormitory is still, filled only with the muted sound of soft breathing. You glance around, ensuring no one else is awake, before slipping to your feet and padding silently toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The voice stops you mid-step, sharp and sudden like a lit match in the dark. You turn to see Mei Mei sitting upright in her bed, her arms crossed and her posture exuding the kind of lazy authority that only she can manage. Her calculating smirk catches the faint light, and her eyes glint as though she’s caught you red-handed.

“I—uh,” you stammer, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I’m just… going out?”

“Out, why?” she asks, arching one elegant brow. Her tone isn’t stern—it’s amused. You can tell by the way she studies you that she isn’t actually upset. Mei Mei never bothers with rules unless they entertain her. Unfortunately, watching you squirm seems to qualify.

You sigh, the sound heavy with resignation. “Just a stroll. Nothing exciting. Maybe the Astronomy Tower.”

She makes a low hum of consideration, clearly unconvinced, though her expression doesn’t waver. You’ve gotten better at lying since this whole Marauders business started. At first, it was small white lies—just enough to fend off suspicion from Shoko or Utahime. But now? Now you lie like it’s second nature.

“Alright,” Mei Mei says at last, waving you off with a languid flick of her hand. “But don’t stay out so long that Filch catches you.”

Relief rushes through you like a dam breaking, and you nod quickly, mumbling a thanks as you tiptoe to the door. You descend the staircase with painstaking care, placing each step on the balls of your feet, wincing at the faint creak of wood beneath your weight. The common room is still, the embers in the fireplace glowing faintly like the last sigh of a dying star.

When you finally step out into the corridor, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. For a moment, the world is utterly still—just you, the cold stone beneath your feet, and the faint hum of magic in the air. Your heart pounds in your ears, each beat louder than the last, but you tell yourself it’s nothing. You’re alone.

Until you’re not.

A hand grabs your arm, firm in its suddenness. Panic surges up your throat, and your mouth opens to scream, but another hand clamps over your lips, silencing you before the sound can escape.

“Shh, Fawkes,” a voice hisses, low and urgent, close enough that you can feel the warmth of their breath against your skin. Your heart leaps as you recognize the voice, even before the speaker pulls you closer, draping something over your shoulders in one fluid motion.

“Don’t make a sound,” Gojo whispers. His voice is soft but carries a sharp edge of command, and even through the haze of your panic, you obey.

You blink, momentarily disoriented, as the closeness of him settles over you like a weight. It’s almost unbearable, how near he is. His face hovers inches from yours, his breath steady and warm in the cool corridor air. He moves with precise, deliberate motions, draping something—a shroud?—over both your heads with one hand while clutching a lantern in the other. The golden light from the lantern flickers between you, casting soft, wavering shadows across the sharp angles of his face. He hands the lantern to you in a rush, his fingers brushing yours briefly, before gathering the edges of the fabric and adjusting it around you both.

You stare at him, utterly still, wide-eyed and transfixed. There’s something almost childlike in the way his tongue pokes out slightly between his lips as he concentrates, but it doesn’t diminish the sharpness of him—his cheekbones catching the light, the unruly mop of white hair falling just over his brow. Gosh, he’s beautiful. You hate to admit it, but all those girls who follow him with dreamy eyes aren’t entirely wrong. There’s something about him, something beyond his charm, that’s infuriatingly magnetic.

And with his hair disheveled like this, caught in a quiet moment of focus, you think for a split second—before shaking the thought away—that you understand them.

You keep blinking, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck, before realization strikes like a jolt of lightning.

“Is this what I think it is?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glances at you sidelong, huffing out a soft laugh, though his hands don’t stop their work on the edges of the fabric. “If you can tell, I’m impressed.”

You stare at the material draped around you, eyes wide, then back at him. “An Invisibility Cloak,” you breathe, the words almost reverent. “For Merlin’s sake, this is an Invisibility Cloak. Oh, my God. Why do you have an Invisibility Cloak?”

“Careful, Fawkes,” he says, his tone as sharp as it is teasing. “It’s an Invisibility Cloak, not a soundproof one. Stop being so loud.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice even as he pulls the fabric tighter around you both. It feels absurdly intimate, standing so close beneath its folds, like you’re two conspirators bound together by something larger than yourselves.

“Why do you have this?” you whisper again as the two of you begin your slow descent down the stairs.

“Because I do,” he replies simply, his voice laced with that infuriating nonchalance. “And because you’d be hopeless without me.”

You want to scoff, to argue, but you can’t quite summon the indignation. Not when the echo of his voice, low and teasing, sends an unfamiliar warmth unfurling in your chest. “I’m being serious. Why do you have this?”

“It’s a family heirloom. Now, stop pestering me,” he says, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But then, as if compelled by the weight of his own words, he continues, “Pureblood families are weird. They isolate you, treat you like some twisted artifact, and then, when you’re older, they suddenly expect you to make connections, form alliances, carry the name. And just when you’re ready to resent them forever, they hand you gifts like this. It’s as if they think a shiny object will make you forget everything you suffered through.”

He stops abruptly, a flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes before adding, “Wait. I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

You can’t resist the grin that spreads across your face. “Oh, please, go on,” you tease, the words slipping out like a reflex. “I like it when you’re the one having a bad time for once.”

His glance is sharp, though not unkind. “Of course you do.”

The two of you walk on, your steps echoing softly in the quiet night as you pass the Quad Courtyard, heading toward the vast hallway that leads to the West Tower. The immensity of Hogwarts often feels like a burden during late-night escapades, every corridor stretching endlessly, but in moments like these, the castle’s haunting beauty makes the trek feel almost worth it.

“I really shouldn’t have brought this stupid lantern,” Gojo mutters, holding it out in mild disdain. “My wand would’ve been enough.”

“Look at you, learning from your mistakes,” you say, glancing up at him with a smile that threatens to linger too long. “Seeing the consequences of your actions for once.”

He shakes his head, a small, knowing grin on his lips. “Laugh all you want, you nag. This is the only time I’m letting my guard down.”

“Wait,” you say, your steps faltering slightly. “Is this the thing you were talking about? The one you were working on? For… our little secret?”

“Oh, I completely forgot,” he says, coming to a halt so abruptly that you almost bump into him. “Stop walking, I’ll show you.”

And so you do. You stand there in the dim corridor, the lantern’s warm light casting long shadows across the stone walls. He shuffles for a moment, reaching into his pocket and pulling out what looks like a simple piece of parchment.

You raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s it? What’s this supposed to be?”

He shoots you a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Watch,” he says, shaking his head at your skepticism. He points his wand at the parchment, his voice suddenly lower, more focused.

“I solemnly swear,” he begins, a mischievous glint in his eye, “that I am up to no good.”

You gasp as the ink begins to spread across the page, winding like tendrils of ivy until intricate patterns form. Your breath hitches as the lines weave together, revealing a sprawling map—detailed, alive, and impossibly magical. It isn’t just a map; it’s the castle.

In bold, elegant letters, the words Messrs Fawkes and Ashen are proud to present the Marauder’s Map appear at the top of the parchment.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice an octave higher, a mixture of awe and disbelief. “And who’s Ashen?”

“A nickname I gave myself,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Because of my Patronus. I’m not telling you what it is yet, but it’s cool, right? Here, hand me the lantern and open this.”

You pass him the glass lantern, its warm light flickering against the curves of the flame within, casting shadows that dance along Gojo’s features. He cradles it effortlessly, his other hand gesturing for you to take the parchment. You obey, gingerly grasping it as though it were a relic, something impossibly delicate. Your fingers brush the edges, feeling the fine texture of the material, old but imbued with something alive.

As you carefully unfold it, the words spill from your lips in a voice barely above a whisper, yet brimming with wonder and affection. “This is Hogwarts.”

He hums in confirmation, a small smile playing at his lips, but you barely notice. Your attention is pulled elsewhere. You squint at the intricate lines and patterns, noticing something unusual—the map seems to move. Small, deliberate shifts catch your eye.

And then, there they are. Tiny footprints, trailing delicately across the paper.

“And that,” you begin, your voice hitching in disbelief, “is it really—”

“Filch,” Gojo interjects, his grin widening into something wickedly triumphant. “Stomping the hallway outside the Great Hall this very moment. Do you see the way he turns every four steps? It’s maddening. Oh, and did you know Dumbledore paces a lot in his study? Back and forth, back and forth. I never took him for the restless type, but apparently, even geniuses aren’t exempt.”

Your eyes widen as you scan the parchment, finding the tiny figure labeled Dumbledore indeed moving back and forth within the boundaries of his study. Your fingers press lightly against the parchment, as if the connection could make it any more real. Slowly, you lift your gaze to meet Gojo’s impossibly vivid blue eyes.

“It shows everyone?” you ask, the disbelief still lingering in your tone.

“Everyone,” he confirms, his voice dropping to a lower, conspiratorial register.

“Everyone?” you repeat, needing to hear it again, as if the weight of such a thing can’t fully sink in on the first try.

He nods, his expression turning smug. “Everyone. Where they are, what they’re doing, every minute, of every day.”

“Brilliant,” you breathe, the word slipping out in a hushed, awestruck whisper. You eagerly unfold another section, the map expanding under your careful hands. New details spill forth—more corridors, more staircases, more figures. Your heart races as you spot the prefects, their tiny forms marked by their names, retreating one by one to their respective dormitories. The intricacy of it all feels overwhelming, as though you’re holding the very soul of the castle in your hands.

“How did you even make this?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “Trade secret,” he says, winking down at you. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he adjusts the cloak around you both, ensuring the edges stay snug. “Now, be so kind as to lead us safely to the library, yeah? The map’s not just for show.”

You glance up at him, still clutching the parchment like a lifeline, feeling its magic through your fingers. “With this?” you tease, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I’d hardly call it sneaking.”

“Call it what you want,” he replies, his grin devilish as ever. “But let’s not get caught.”

The walk to the library feels like a stolen moment, effortless and exhilarating all at once. The hallways are deserted, their vastness echoing only with the muted sounds of your footsteps. Along the way, you suggest leaving the lantern behind—its light now more of a liability than a necessity. You extinguish it carefully, placing it on one of the desks tucked into a shadowed corner. Gojo nods in agreement, and together, you slip into the back of the library, where the shelves hold the deepest secrets of Hogwarts' history.

"I can't tell you how happy this makes me," you whisper, your voice laced with an almost childlike giddiness. The sheer joy of being here, surrounded by endless rows of books, makes you shiver. The scent of old parchment and binding glue fills your lungs, intoxicating in its familiarity. It feels sacred—this darkened library, the weight of knowledge hanging in the air, and the only thing marring its perfection is Gojo, standing there with his usual smirk.

He rolls his eyes, muttering something about you being a "proper nerd," but you brush it off. “Okay,” you begin, turning serious, “I think we can put the cloak away for now. Let’s focus on finding books about voids at Hogwarts. It has to be something connected to the dungeons. Or, maybe, a secret passageway leading out of the castle? There are only six that I know of, but there could be more—”

“There are seven, actually,” Gojo interrupts, his tone maddeningly smug. He pulls the Invisibility Cloak off the two of you in one fluid motion, the fabric slipping through his fingers like liquid moonlight. With a practiced flick, he spreads the map out on the nearest desk, tracing a slender finger over its intricate details. “This one here, the One-Eyed Witch Passageway, leads straight to Honeydukes’ cellar.”

“Bloody hell,” you breathe, your voice tinged with awe. Your eyes light up as you take in the map’s delicate markings, and a mischievous grin spreads across your face. “Can I keep this?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, snatching it away with exaggerated indignation. “You’d rip it or spill tea on it by the end of the day.”

“Rude,” you retort, glaring at him half-heartedly.

He ignores you, folding the map with care as though it were made of glass. “I’ll guard it with my life. Oh, and, Fawkes, when you’re done, don’t forget to give it a tap and say ‘Mischief Managed.’ Otherwise, anyone can read it.”

He taps it with his wand, and the markings disappear just as fast as they'd come. You gasp a little, but then, you nod, mentally noting the precaution. “Right, got it.”

He then motions to the left. “Now, quit gawking and get to work. You take that side of the shelf,” he says, gesturing to the bookshelves nearby. “I’ll start over there.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips as you turn to the towering shelves. The library, vast and infinite in its secrets, stretches before you, and for a moment, you feel like you’re on the brink of discovery. Or mischief. Or both.

Quickly, you spring into action, eagerly pulling out several thick tomes from the shelves. The first one you grab, "The Hidden History of Hogwarts: Tales of Adventure and Intrigue," is intriguing, though not quite hefty enough for your liking. With a determined huff, you rise onto your toes to reach for the illustrious "Hogwarts: A History," along with a few more notable titles, before finally settling into one of the chairs with a soft creak. You spill the books across the table, their spines cracking open like secrets waiting to be unearthed, and begin flipping through their pages as rapidly as you can manage.

Moments later, Gojo occupies a chair two seats away from you, a stack of his own books piled high beside him. You can’t help but steal a glance at him, an inkling of admiration tugging at your thoughts as he immerses himself in the research.

Time slips away, the world around you fading into a blur as your tired eyes scan each page with fervor. You skim through portions that may hold no relevance to your riddle, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. And then, there it is—a recurring echo of the word “void.”

“Void, void, void,” you mutter to yourself, a spark of recognition igniting in your mind. As the realization dawns, you quickly turn to Gojo, tugging at his sleeve and other parts of his shirt with a sense of urgency. “It’s the Black Lake! The Black Lake is where someone with dark hair was speaking in Parseltongue.”

Gojo leans in, a spark of intrigue lighting his expression. “Not just dark. Black hair. A raven-haired calls what none can see, beneath the night’s veil by the serpent’s decree. Someone with black hair might be practicing dark magic at Hogwarts. They can speak Parseltongue, and they've been doing it near the Black Lake for some reason. Whoever sent us that message wants us to know that something terrible could be happening at Hogwarts anytime soon.”

The next day, in the afternoon after lectures have concluded, you're setting up in the dungeons for the Dueling Club meeting—specifically, the chambers reserved for the club. These dungeons were far removed from the ones you and Gojo often snuck into, the ones so off-limits that even the most daring students steered clear. As you position the last training dummy along the far side of the dimly lit room, the murmurs of students arriving behind you begin to fill the air. Then, you hear a familiar voice, smooth and teasing.

"So, I’m guessing you got what you wanted one way or another," Toji says, leaning against the wall with his signature smirk.

You turn to him, your expression knowingly smug. "I did, actually. Got exactly what I wanted."

"I’d say I’m bummed I didn’t get a chance to rip you off," he begins, pushing off the wall and brushing past you, "but it’s okay. I rip off enough people to keep my reputation intact."

"You have a reputation for more than just ripping people off, Fushiguro," you shoot back, a playful lilt in your voice. But as the words leave your mouth, something about his expression makes you hesitate. Before you can apologize, though, he waves it off casually.

"It’s hard to survive on your own after ditching a shitty pureblood family," he says, his tone a strange mix of bitterness and pride. "Well, not that you’d know, but still."

"I’m sure growing up rich had its perks," you tease lightly, testing the waters.

He smirks, a glint of mischief lighting up his dark eyes. "Not at all. Maybe someday I’ll tell you all about it."

"Maybe," you reply, grinning as you move to the center of the room. Across the space, Shoko waves at you, her face a rare picture of enthusiasm as the younger students file in, awe and excitement radiating off them in waves. In one corner, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall stand together, observing quietly, their mere presence a reassuring reminder.

You clear your throat, stepping forward to address the room. "Alright, everyone," you begin, scanning the group and catching sight of a familiar mop of silver hair amidst the crowd. "Welcome to the Dueling Club. My name is [L/N] [Y/N], and I am the Head of the Club. Before we get started, we need to go over some rules."

Your voice is steady and authoritative, carrying over the hushed whispers.

"First, all participants must adhere to safety protocols to prevent injuries," you say firmly. "Every duel will be supervised by either a senior student or a professor. Physical altercations or the use of magical items like cursed artifacts is strictly forbidden. Standard dueling etiquette is a must, and we’ll demonstrate it shortly for those who are new. The duel ends immediately if one participant is incapacitated, yields, or if a professor steps in."

You pause, ensuring their attention is fixed on you.

"Spells that cause lasting harm, such as permanent transfigurations or irreversible effects, are strictly prohibited. The supervising professor has the final say in all duels, and their decisions are final. Younger students—those in first through third years—will only duel peers within their age group for safety reasons. Grudge matches are forbidden. Each duel is limited to ten minutes unless a professor decides otherwise. Spectators must stay behind the safety barriers and are not allowed to interfere."

Your gaze sweeps the crowd, ensuring everyone is following. "Unauthorized dueling outside the club is strictly prohibited," you continue, your tone sharper now. "Finally, missing three consecutive sessions without prior notice may result in suspension from the club."

"Are we clear?" you finish, your voice resonating with authority.

A murmur of agreement ripples through the group as anticipation builds, their excitement palpable as they prepare for the first duels of the term.

"Alright," you begin, your voice cutting through the low hum of chatter, "I need a volunteer, preferably fifth year and above, for a demonstration of how a duel is to be conducted for the younger members. Anyone?"

You didn’t need to wait. You know before the words even left your mouth whose hand would rise first.

Sure enough, Gojo Satoru’s arm shoots up, almost gleefully, his speed outpacing anyone else's reaction by several beats. He wears that same maddeningly smug expression you’d grown far too accustomed to, his silver hair catching the low light in a way that made him impossible to ignore.

You narrow your eyes at him, a silent warning, and gave a brief shake of your head—a clear no. His eyebrows furrow in mock offense, a whine already forming on his lips. But before you could say anything, Professor Flitwick's enthusiasm intervened.

“Ah, Gojo Satoru! Excellent choice!” Flitwick exclaims, motioning him forward with a flourish. “Come on up. A real treat for everyone, this is! We’ll see two of our finest students in action. A duel between Ms. [L/N], our reigning champion—unsurprisingly, given her Headship of the club—and Mr. Gojo, who isn’t far behind her in skill. Pay close attention, everyone!”

Gojo practically saunters his way to the center, brushing past you with deliberate ease, his smirk growing wider as he passed. The sheer arrogance radiating from him was almost palpable, and it took every ounce of restraint not to roll your eyes. He'd lost to you twice last year before the term ended, and you really weren't planning on breaking that streak. You clench your jaw instead, ignoring the simmering irritation pooling low in your chest.

This wasn’t how you’d envisioned the demonstration going. You’d hoped for someone else, anyone else—someone who wouldn’t make such a spectacle of the moment. But now you were here, and there was no backing out.

The two of you take your positions on opposite ends of the room, the circle of students around you buzzing with anticipation. The younger ones leaned forward, their eyes wide with awe and barely suppressed excitement, while the older students exchanged knowing glances, whispering wagers under their breath. You couldn't lose, especially not now, in front of the second-years that held you in such high regard.

“Wands at the ready!” Professor Flitwick calls out, his voice bright with excitement, and you raise your wand with deliberate precision, your movements sharp and controlled.

Gojo mirrored you, of course, but he did it with an infuriating grace, as though the act of lifting his wand were a performance in itself. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief, and as his lips curl into a smirk, he lets out a soft snicker.

“You scared, Fawkes?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “Think I might beat you?”

“Absolutely not,” you hiss in return, your tone low but laced with steel. “I have an image to uphold.”

The two of you lower your wands briefly, turning to walk the traditional ten paces back. Each step feels heavier than it should, the air between you thick with unspoken challenges. When you finally turn to face him again, your stance is resolute—offensive, calculated.

His, however, is wide, open, almost careless. He was baiting you, leaving himself vulnerable in a way that made your blood boil. He wanted you to strike first. He'd throw quick attacks your way and eventually disarm you. Fine, you thought. You’d play his game. The count started in your head.

Three... two... one.

“Immobulus!” you call, your voice slicing through the room as your wand slashes through the air.

Gojo moves with infuriating ease, dodging the spell as though he’d anticipated it. With a quick, fluid motion, his wand flicks toward you. “Impedimenta!” he counters, the jinx used for slowing things down hurtling toward you faster than you'd expect.

You sidestep just in time, your breath catching as the spell crackles past you. The near miss sent a rush of heat down your spine, but you recovered quickly, slipping into a defensive stance.

The two of you begin circling each other, the space between you electric. He wears that same smirk, taunting, while your face stays set, determination etched into every line.

The duel escalates quickly. Spells ricochet off the dungeon walls, filling the room with flashes of light and sharp cracks of sound. His attacks come faster than they did last year, his movements sharper, more refined. Somewhere deep down, you register his improvement—damn him for it—but you don’t have time to dwell.

This isn’t going to be easy. He’s caught up to you in skill, and though you hate to admit it, that fact makes your blood run hotter. But you aren’t going to lose. So you smirk, sending aggressive attacks one after another, chasing him so he won’t have time to think. “Stupefy!”

You wait, watching for the smallest mistake, the slightest hesitation. And then it comes, just as he dodges your disarming spell—his fingers tighten on his wand for a fraction too long.

You focus as much as you can, your grip on your wand steady as you whisper, “Flagrante.”

The curse hits its mark instantly. Gojo yelps, his wand clattering to the floor as he clutches his hand. The circle of students falls silent, their awe-struck faces illuminated by the faint glow of the curse’s residual heat.

You straighten, lowering your wand and undoing the curse immediately, satisfaction blooming in your chest. Victory, though slightly bitter, is still victory.

Professor McGonagall steps forward, her expression cool and disapproving. “Newer students,” she says, her voice clipped, “are not to attempt what Ms. [L/N] just demonstrated. Flagrante is an advanced curse, highly dangerous, and entirely unsuitable for this setting. Even the most experienced duelists could easily miscalculate.”

You cringe at her words, the satisfaction of your win dimming under her sharp tone.

Gojo, however, seems entirely unbothered. He retrieves his wand, his injured hand cradled lightly in the other. When his gaze meets yours, it holds something you can't quite name. Pride? Annoyance? Maybe both.

But then his lips curl into a soft, almost imperceptible smile. Not his usual smirk, but something gentler, more genuine. It sent a strange, unfamiliar warmth through your chest, one that lingered far longer than you expected.

As the students pair off and separate into groups, Gojo saunters up to you with his usual grin. “Well, looks like your streak is now up to three. Impressive, Fawkes Junior. Although… weren’t you the one always preaching about following the rules? How’d you manage to use a curse on me?”

“When it comes to you,” you smirk, taking a few deliberate steps back while pointing your wand at his injured hand, “I just have to be better than you. Episkey.”

He winces slightly as the healing charm begins to mend the red burns on his pale skin. Slowly but surely, the angry marks fade, leaving his hand looking unscathed, the same snow-like perfection as before. He mutters a quick thanks under his breath.

“Now go,” you say, dismissing him with a flick of your wrist, “Practice with someone else instead of wasting my time. I’ve got to oversee the second-years with the professors.”

“Babysitter duties, huh?” he replies with a smug grin as he steps back toward his group. You have no doubt he’s either about to duel with Shoko or find someone younger to pester for his own amusement. You roll your eyes and turn away, heading toward the younger students to fulfill your Head duties.

The day unfolds in a haze, the heavy weight of your thoughts never quite lifting. Dueling Club wraps up hours before dinner, leaving you with an uneasy stretch of time. Time to rest, perhaps. Or to think—which, as it turns out, is far more exhausting.

The revelation from yesterday refuses to leave you. Someone, somewhere within these walls, was practicing dark magic. And the thought sends shivers down your spine. Hogwarts had always been a sanctuary, a place of learning and wonder—safety, even. But now, its shadows felt longer, its corners darker.

You try not to dwell on it, but how could you not? The line from the riddle echoes endlessly in your mind: A raven-haired calls what none can see. And with how many black-haired students roamed the halls of Hogwarts this year, the task of uncovering the truth felt impossibly daunting. Parseltongue wasn’t exactly something people casually advertised, after all.

Lost in your spiraling thoughts, you almost miss the familiar figures ahead. Turning down the hallway toward Gryffindor Tower, you spot Shoko. She’s leaning against the wall next to an arch, chatting casually with two others with a cigarette between her fingers. As you draw closer, you recognize Nanami and Utahime. Shoko waves you over, her ever-relaxed smile widening as she sees you.

“Hi,” you sigh, letting your shoulders slump as you lean into hers. There’s comfort in her presence, steady and grounding, something that soothes you. “I haven’t gotten time to see you at all so far. How have you been?”

“Irritated, mostly,” she says with a half-smile, resting her head lightly against yours. “You know I’m stuck dealing with two idiots.”

You huff a laugh.

“And you two?” Shoko continues. “You’ve both gotten way too busy, huh? Managing the Dueling Club and the Quidditch team? I’m surprised you’re still alive. And Kento, Prefect duties on top of everything else? How are you even here right now?”

“I’m wondering the same thing,” Nanami mutters, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“And her,” Utahime chimes in, jerking her thumb in your direction with a teasing grin. “She’s been trying to cozy up to Snape, of all people. That sourpuss! I still don’t know why.”

The mention of Snape jolts you, a moment of panic flashing across your face before you remember why she’d say that. Right. Your excuse the first night of the Marauders meeting. You grimace, shifting awkwardly. “Y-yeah. That… uh, hasn’t been going too well. Still isn’t, actually.”

“Don’t bother,” Nanami says flatly, crossing his arms. “He hates all Gryffindors on principle. And you? With the way you’re always trying to one-up Gojo? You’re his least favorite.”

“Speaking of that,” Shoko cuts in, nudging you with her elbow, “Nice job at the duel today. First time I’ve seen you break a rule to win. Miss Perfect, finally showing her rebellious streak.”

Her words pull a soft laugh from you, but the weight in your chest tightens. If only she knew the half of it. If only they all knew. One month in, and you’d already broken enough rules to keep Filch busy for a year. An Invisibility Cloak. The Marauders Map. Sneaking around the castle’s most restricted areas. You’d told yourself it was all for a greater purpose, but still, the guilt lingered.

“Yeah, well,” you say lightly, masking your unease with a grin, “It’s hard not to pick up some bad habits when I’m surrounded by the worst influences.”

Shoko smirks again, flicking the ash from her cigarette. “I aim to please. Speaking of bad habits, don’t think I didn’t notice you and Fushiguro Toji today.”

Your cheeks burn. “I wasn’t flirting!”

“Never said you were,” Shoko says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “That exchange in the Dueling Club? Definitely flirting. Saw it with my own two eyes.”

Utahime gasps in mock outrage. “Didn’t I warn you about him? Ever since he renounced his family name, all he’s done is hop from one pureblood girl to another. That, and making money off of shady bets or ripping people off. I even heard he’s got connections in Knockturn Alley.”

You shake your head, exasperated. “He’s actually quite nice, even though he did try to rip me off. And I wasn’t flirting with him—”

“My eyes say otherwise,” Shoko interrupts, grinning.

“Get them checked,” you retort, narrowing your eyes. “It was a friendly conversation. Nothing more.”

Nanami chuckles, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “I only wish I’d been there to see you let loose for once.”

“Let’s not talk about him anymore, please.” You sigh and steer the conversation to safer ground. “Are you lot going to Hogsmeade next week? I might have to stay back. Flitwick’s been breathing down my neck about the second-years—especially the Zenins and Inumaki. He wants me to give them, you know, special attention.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow as she flicks the stub of her cigarette out of the stone archway, muttering a wordless charm to dissipate it mid-air. You watch as it vanishes completely before touching the ground. Shoko’s casual mastery of wandless magic always left you in awe. It was effortless with her, a talent you couldn’t help but envy. But before your thoughts could linger on your inadequacies, she speaks.

"Have you seen them?" she says, her tone sharp with incredulity. "They're ridiculously good at everything. Honestly, you might end up dragging them into your Quidditch team, alongside that Itadori kid. I caught him practicing the other day—just a casual glance—and it scared me. But for now, I think we've got Mai Zenin and Inumaki Toge in our House. And, well, Gojo and Suguru are there anyway. Oh, and me."

"I’ve only made it to practice once," you admit with a wince. "Too much on my plate this year."

Utahime’s brow arches sharply as she folds her arms. "I can excuse the Dueling Club meetings since you're the Head, but miss another day of practice, and I’m benching you."

"I know, I know!" you groan. "I’m just... stressed, okay? Prefect duties are insane this year, and I’m falling behind on assignments too."

That draws an audible gasp from Shoko. "You? Behind? Bloody hell, what’s the world coming to?"

For a split second, you consider telling them the truth—that you weren’t just behind because of typical school stress. That something far darker was unraveling at Hogwarts, something that made your sleepless nights and frayed nerves feel trivial in comparison. But how could you? The weight of it, the potential to cause panic, was too much. Instead, you shake your head, plastering on a weak smile.

"I don’t know," you say quietly. "I’m just not managing things well this year. But I’ll come to practice tomorrow. I promise."

"You’d better," Utahime warns, but her tone softens slightly. "I need a Chaser. I’m making Itadori our Seeker this year, and since I’m Keeper, I’ve got to step up too. Maki Zenin is quite the Beater, though."

"How’s practice going with him? Itadori?" you ask.

"Bloody amazing," she says, her eyes lighting up. "Kento was there the other day. He can back me up."

Nanami nods in agreement. "He’s... an interesting character. Relentlessly enthusiastic, which is exhausting, but his skill is unreal. Playing by the rules, though? That’s his Achilles’ heel. Iori and I are drilling that into him."

Shoko smirks, crossing her arms. "Speaking of stepping up, Gojo’s been upping his game too. He, Suguru and I were training after lectures yesterday. And then, long past curfew too. Almost till midnight. Although, Satoru left because he had some errands to run."

You pause for a moment. So that's where he'd been before your spontaneously decided meeting last night.

Then, you groan dramatically, throwing your head back. "I’m drowning over here, barely keeping up, and that smug little git is already pulling ahead?"

Your friends erupt in laughter, Shoko shaking her head as she teases, "Seems like beating him might be the only thing to pull you out of your slump, eh?"

You roll your eyes, but a reluctant grin spreads across your face. "It just might," you admit, chuckling softly.

"Okay, Fawkes, hit me," Gojo bursts into the Room of Requirement, a little late after your prefect duties that night. You had arrived directly after rounds, and he was about fifteen minutes behind schedule. He rushes to the long table, shedding his robe in one swift motion and flinging it onto a nearby wooden chair.

You sigh, "Well, I did some research while doing homework today."

He motions for you to begin, and you walk over to the pinboard, tacking up a copied page from a library book. "Parseltongue, as you probably already know, is hereditary and spoken by the descendants of Salazar Slytherin. So my guess would be that all pureblood students at the school could potentially be Parselmouths, regardless of their House. There have been exceptions in the past, although the textbook I got this from didn’t name them explicitly."

"Are you saying it couldn't just be a Slytherin pureblood?" he raises an eyebrow. "This just makes our job harder. There are so many possibilities now. If it were just Slytherin, we’d only have around thirty people in that House to investigate. If we rule out anyone without black hair, that narrows the count by half!"

"I know," you sigh again, feeling the weight of the task. "The book was about Salazar Slytherin, and it mentioned that there have been exceptions where purebloods were sorted into other Houses and still retained the ability to speak Parseltongue. However, we could probably rule out Hufflepuff; the cases discussed only Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."

"There's only like two purebloods in Hufflepuff anyway. They wouldn't be able to speak Parseltongue even if they had it in their blood," Gojo rolls his eyes, his elitism palpable. You say, "Don't be a dick."

"I'm just saying," he defends, raising his arms. "If your entire lineage is Slytherin and you end up a Hufflepuff, it’s a shame, really."

"Focus on our work," you interject.

"Let’s narrow the list down first to all black-haired students. That should make our job easier, right?" he suggests. "Then we can check their ancestry one by one."

"How does one even do that?" you mumble, glancing at the pile of student requests on your desk. "There’s no way—"

"I can handle that part," he replies, straightening his lips as he looks at you. "My father works at the Ministry, remember? I can pull some strings. Or we could find books on magical genealogy in the Restricted Section of the library. It’ll take time, though—probably at least a month."

"We have no way of knowing what this person is doing in the meantime," you sigh, still looking at the requests. "I also have to be at Quidditch practice tomorrow."

"A little overworked, are you?" he teases. "Our little Fawkes is finally having a hard time keeping up."

"Screw you, Gojo," you retorted. "It’s hard being Head of the Dueling Club, a Prefect, and playing Quidditch while doing this with you, nonetheless."

"Quit something, then," he shrugs. "It’s not like Quidditch is going to help you get to St. Mungo’s as a Healer."

"Shoko's doing it," you counter. "So I must too."

"Shoko’s doing it because her family is ridiculous. She’s not a Prefect, if you haven’t noticed. And she’s not Head of a club or Captain of the team. She’s just along for the ride while you’re taking on everything that’s wearing you thin. She’s a pureblood; you’re not."

"Are you saying I’m lesser because I’m a muggle-born?" you ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

He groans. "Are you even listening to what I’m saying? Purebloods, like me, Shoko, and Suguru, are forced to do things we don’t want to! You, however, have the choice. I don’t! I have to be the best at everything because I have the ‘Gojo’ name on my back and the clan on my ass. Shoko has to do Quidditch because she’s a pureblood. She has to take on extra things she doesn’t want to because of her family pressure. If it were up to her, she'd be in her dorm for half the day, smoking away. Do you think I want to be a Prefect? Or that I want to be a scholar? I just am because I am supposed to be. I have to be the greatest—you don’t!"

"But what if I want to?" you say, your nerves fraying. "I want to be the greatest. I want to be as good as you at everything I do, if not better!"

"That’s your choice, Fawkes," he laughs incredulously. "All you have to do is drop one thing, and you won't be so stressed. You can’t possibly do everything you want all the time."

"Maybe I can!" you reply, your voice rising. "And maybe I will."

"Whatever," he scoffs, standing up and grabbing his robe. "Just have the list ready. And work on the normal requests. If you want, ask for my help. If not, piss off."

"Fuck you," you spit, the tension thick in the air. "I don’t need your help."

"That makes my life easier anyway," he retorts with a sarcastic smile as he leaves the Room.

You sigh, feeling the weight of your decisions pressing down on you. What had you just brought upon yourself? You were going to be wrung dry, and it was all your doing. With your head hung low, you start pulling parchments and a quill toward you. You would stay here all night if it meant getting everything done. And the requests? You’d tackle them all. You’d prove Gojo wrong with every fiber of your being.

And perhaps, tomorrow, you’d steal an Invigoration Draught vial from Snape’s office after class to keep up. Yes, that would do.

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