#rectangular cake

[afadedmemory]

[katesaholic]

He's late for an important business meeting. @jeeblix

[tilbageidanmark]

NASA discovered a perfectly rectangular iceberg

[brights-place]

[TWST] TWST x Birthday! Reader Part 1. (here) Part 2. Warnings: Fluff, cursing,Angst end A/N: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY YIPPEEEEE I'm spending the day by sobbing on the inside and probably playing video games Update: I’m actually scuba diving with fishes I’m happy and I got to see a moray eel… eat… I was scared

ANYWAYS HAPPY BIRTHDAYS TO THOSE WHO ARE BORN ON THE 4/4 YALL ARE LEGENDS

Summary: It's MC is birthday and they get surprised by some students who wish them a happy birthday

A smile tugged at your lips as you glanced down at Grim, watching the grey feline dart between your legs, his fluffy tail swishing impatiently.

“Hurry up already!” he whined, nudging your calf with his head as if that would make you move faster. Soft laughter escaped your lips as you followed his frantic pace. “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” you chuckled, matching his enthusiasm.

Grim practically herded you past the old, creaky fence of Ramshackle Dorm, his tiny paws tapping against the worn wooden porch as he scurried ahead. You fumbled with your keys, listening absentmindedly to his rambling while humming in acknowledgment. Twisting the doorknob, you stepped inside only to pause.

The room was eerily dark, shadows stretching across the lounge like silent observers. Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes darting around. Something was off. The entrance was… cleaner? The usual scattered books and dust bunnies were nowhere to be seen.

Grim, however, strutted right into the center of the lounge, his tiny paws lifting in excitement. The moment your foot crossed the threshold.

A loud boom was heard causing you to cover your ears grabbing a bat from the side before blinking with wide eyes when seeing a shower of confetti rained down like cherry blossoms caught in the wind.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”

The room exploded with cheers as the lights flickered on, bathing the transformed Ramshackle lounge in a golden glow. Your eyes widened in sheer wonder. The once dilapidated space had been completely reimagined. Golden lanterns floated gently in the air, casting a warm, magical shimmer. Elegant banners draped across the ceiling, twinkling under the glow of an enchanted chandelier. The rich aroma of freshly baked pastries and cakes filled the air, mingling with the scent of tea and just the faintest trace of magic.

Your heart swelled. Overwhelmed in the best possible way, you took in the sight of all your friends gathered together, faces bright with excitement.

“You knooow, [Nickname], you should really be thanking us for keeping this a surprise,” Ace drawled, slinging an arm around your shoulders with his usual mischievous smirk. “I mean, it was so hard keeping our mouths shut, especially with Deuce almost spilling the beans like a hundred times.”

Your gaze shifted, catching sight of Deuce as he sputtered beside you. You let out a snort at his flustered expression “H-Hey! That’s not true!” Deuce stammered, his face flushing bright red. “I only almost slipped once!” “You almost slipped six times,” Riddle interjected, arms crossed, giving Deuce a pointed look.

Deuce shrank under his gaze, muttering something under his breath. Riddle exhaled, shaking his head before turning to you, his firm expression softening. “Regardless, I expect everyone to behave today… especially you, Ace.” His sharp gaze flicked back to the redhead.

Ace groaned but didn’t argue. “This is your special day,” Riddle continued, offering a small, neatly wrapped box. His usual strict demeanor was replaced with a rare, gentle smile. “Happy birthday, [Name].” Trey and Cater approached next, both grinning warmly.

“Ah, [Name], I made some special treats for you,” Trey said, nodding toward the buffet table overflowing with a variety of sweets. Cater beamed, handing you a rectangular box. “And I got you the best gift, Prefect. No need to thank me!” He winked playfully.

You laughed, thanking them both before tucking the gifts under your arm. From across the room, Leona lounged lazily on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest. “Tch. Don’t expect me to get all sentimental, Herbivore,” he drawled, glancing at you briefly. His usual smirk softened just the slightest bit. “But… hope it’s a decent one.”

Nearby, Ruggie cackled, stuffing a pastry into his mouth. “Shishishi, thanks for the free food, [Name]!” Jack stepped forward, tail wagging slightly as he held out a small potted cactus. “Happy birthday,” he muttered, his ears twitching faintly.

You carefully took the plant from his hands, grinning at the unexpected but thoughtful gift. “Thank you, Jack,” you said sincerely. Before you could react, arms suddenly wrapped around you from behind, pulling you into a tight squeeze.

“Ehhh~? You look all teary-eyed, [Name],” Floyd whined, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Did we really surprise ya that much?” His grip tightened just enough to make you squirm. “Floyd,” Jade’s smooth voice cut in as he effortlessly pried his twin off you. “If you suffocate them, they won’t be able to enjoy the party.”

Jade handed you a beautifully wrapped gift with a polite smile. “Happy birthday. I do hope you find our present to your liking.” Azul adjusted his glasses from the side, smirking. “And if you ever wish to extend the celebration, I’d be happy to offer a discount for a future birthday package at the Monstro Lounge… as a special offer, of course.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you thanked them. Your gaze suddenly locked onto a familiar shade of gleaming ruby red.

Kalim practically bounced over, grabbing your hands with an excited grin. “Were you surprised?! Were you?! We worked so hard on this! Jamil helped a lot, but I picked out all the decorations! Banquets and parties are my thing! Oh, and we even made food from different places we’re from! Jamil made some from scalding sand and—” His words tumbled out at lightning speed, his enthusiasm practically radiating off him.

Beside him, Jamil sighed but didn’t interrupt, his expression softer than usual. “Happy birthday, Prefect,” he murmured. A light dusting of pink coated your cheeks as you thanked them.

Before you could respond further, a gentle tug at your hand led you away. Turning, you found yourself in front of Vil, Rook, and Epel.

“You should feel honored,” Vil said smoothly, eyeing you with a critical yet satisfied expression. “Not only did I ensure that this party was up to proper standards, but I also made sure you looked flawless for the occasion.” He motioned toward the elegant outfit he had gifted you, refined and stunning undoubtedly Vil’s doing.

Rook grinned. “Ah, Trickster! May this celebration shine as brightly as you!” Epel leaned in, whispering, “I’m just happy there’s barbecue steaks.” A short laugh escaped you as you thanked them.

As you moved through the crowd, you spotted Idia half-hidden behind a pillar, hoodie up, muttering to himself. “Ugh… too many normies in one place… but I guess… happy birthday, or whatever,” he mumbled, cheeks tinged pink.

Ortho, however, beamed brightly, hovering beside him. “Big bro got this for you!” he said excitedly, handing you a figurine box of your favorite character. “I hope you have the best birthday ever, [Name]!”

Your heart warmed as you smiled at them. “Thank you, Ortho. And thank you, Idia.” Idia let out a quiet squeak but hesitantly waved back.

Finally, at the far end of the room, standing just slightly apart from the others, was Malleus. His glowing emerald eyes held a quiet fondness as he approached, a small yet elegantly wrapped box in his hands.

“I have witnessed many celebrations, but this one is special,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “Because it is yours. I hope this day is as radiant as you are, Child of Man.”

The night carried on with laughter, music, and endless fun. Cake was cut, Trey’s masterpiece, of course. Gifts were exchanged, each one chosen with care. Every moment felt surreal, a reminder of how much warmth surrounded you in this strange yet wonderful world.

As the group gathered for a photo, you couldn't help but glance at the locket around your neck, fingers brushing over its familiar surface.

Yes.

This was a birthday you would never forget... and one that made your heart clench.

You stood in front of your mirror, clad in your pajamas, bathed in the dim glow of Ramshackle’s old lanterns. The party was over. The laughter had faded. The warmth of your friends, the joy of the celebration. it all felt like a dream now, distant and fleeting.

Grim lay sprawled across your bed, snoring softly, his tiny body rising and falling with each peaceful breath. He twitched in his sleep, a bit of drool pooling on the sheets as he mumbled about food. It was almost funny. Almost.

But while he dreamt of endless feasts, you stood there, staring at your own reflection, trapped in a different kind of dream.

A nightmare.

Your fingers curled into weak fists at your sides. You swallowed, trying to shake the hollowness gnawing at your chest, but it was relentless. You were older now. Another year had passed. A special day meant to be spent with family, but instead, you were here in a world of magic, a world that was never meant to be yours.

Your dull, empty eyes met themselves in the glass. The mirror.

The same mirror where Mickey had once appeared, his presence a strange comfort, a lingering connection to something beyond this realm. But now?

Nothing.

The mirror had been silent. No answer. No way home. Crowley being useless and unable to help at all you couldn't help but grit your teeth.

Your breath hitched as something twisted violently inside you, a feeling so raw and overwhelming that it made your skin prickle. You tried to steady yourself, but the weight of it all the overblots, the endless battles, the uncertainty of ever returning home came crashing down like a tidal wave.

Your hands shot up, gripping at your hair as a broken breath escaped your lips. You had been strong for so long. You had smiled, you had laughed, you had reassured your friends, but in the end, who was there to reassure you?

Your chest tightened painfully. It was too much.

Your vision blurred, your throat constricting as a shuddering gasp left you. You felt yourself shaking, trembling as your knees weakened beneath you. The air felt thinner, suffocating.

Your hand reached for the locket around your neck, gripping it so tightly that your knuckles turned white. The familiar weight of it against your palm should have been comforting, but instead, it only deepened the ache in your heart.

What if you never saw them again?

What if this was all you had left?

The mirror before you trembled. A tiny fracture splintered across the glass, a jagged crack splitting through your reflection, and just like that, something inside you broke, too.

Drip Drip Drip...

[theheartpyre]

🍰

Fiction podcast themed picnic. What are you bringing?

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝… || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ flashbacks of Ellie’s birthdays and the party you and Joel did for her once, when the truth of Salt Lake City came out and you separated from Joel for months and when you two decided to make up.

warnings_ age gap (late 20s/joel’s canon age), wife!mom!reader, angst, fluff, fallacy references, canon divergence, mediocre almost SMUT mdni, implied unprotected sex, switch!joel, blue pill alert, no proofreading

Notes_ half of me was so horny for Joel and the other half crying because he’s dead

「 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫: 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 」

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 Pedro

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

A tiny pair of hands started to poke at Ellie’s face.

“Cerise, be careful,” you said as the toddler started giggling and babbling.

Joel had greeted her just ten minutes ago, and Ellie was still half asleep, closing her eyes and opening them again. Until she felt you and Cerise.

It was her birthday.

“What are you doing, furball?” Ellie asked, finally looking at a little Cerise who offered her a toothy smile as she threw herself on top of the teenager.

“She comes to tell you something,” you say, brushing Ellie’s hair. “Go on, Cerise…”

The toddler got shy, but with your encouragement, she started humming.

Cerise tried to sing Happy Birthday to Ellie. Not a single word was correctly pronounced, but Cerise sounded adorable, then you helped her a little with the song, and Ellie started chuckling.

“That was a remarkable performance, Cerise. Thank you,” Ellie tried to sound serious and shake the toddler’s hand, but she started cackling after Cerise started biting her cheek. “She’s biting me!”

“Cerise! That’s rude!” You yell at your daughter, trying to pull her away. Ellie starts squirming and laughing really loudly, and the sole scene was a funny sight to miss.

“Girls! Stop it!” you finally say, grabbing Cerise and pulling her into your arms. She has a malicious grin that made you realize she was being playful.

“Get dressed and come downstairs, please,” you tell Ellie, then you lean and bum your head against her. “Happy birthday, Ellie.”

She watched you and Cerise go with a big smile, feeling the love of having a family.

…

After making breakfast for your family, Joel presented the cake he had made for Ellie. It was simple, tasted just fine, and the girl loved it. They were leaving after all. Joel had planned a day out with her, marking the safest places where they could go and spend the day. Something about Ellie’s dream of going to space. You were okay with it, as long as they returned safely and before sunset.

Your player was on, ‘How Soon Is Now?’ was playing, and Cerise was playing with some baby blocks on the carpet of the living room.

The house looks alive. The warm light of the sun peeking through every window reminds you how lucky you are.

Soon you hear Cerise babbling, and you’re about to go to get her, but you hear Joel and Ellie. They were back…

“What’s all of this, Cerise?” Ellie asks from afar, and you smirk to yourself.

You grab the cake you baked yourself and make your way to the living room.

“Surprise!” The girl looks around with Cerise in her arms, and her eyes snap open, a big smile plastering on her face as he walks closer to see the cake.

It was rectangular, with white frosting decorating it, with blueberries and candles scattered.

“This is beautiful, y/n,” Ellie says, blowing out the candles for the first time.

Joel goes straight to hug you from behind and kiss your cheek, making you smile wider.

“Go for your friends. Tommy and Maria are already on their way…” You say to the girl. She nods, giving you a short hug, then adds she’s taking Cerise with her.

“Be careful with my baby!” Joel yells at the girl.

“Well, now let’s find a place for this cake,” you say.

“Now you are making me feel embarrassed of my cake, sugar” Joel interrupts, giving your ass a little quiet spank, making you jump startled. “Makes me feel a little like an asshole”

“Aww, don’t be too rough on yourself, baby,” you say, patting his cheek and earning an awestruck look from your husband. “Yours was great, tasted great, and made my breakfast great.”

His cheeks burn a little, you notice and think it’s adorable how an old ass like him could act so sweet and cute.

“And you decorated all by yourself?” Joel points out to the rest of the kitchen, living room, and backyard. All covered with handmade confetti and very few balloons, but all floating perfectly. A big happy birthday sign and space-themed posters.

“Well, Cerise helped me a little,” Joel returns from the kitchen after leaving the cake aside. He sees you moving some balloons around and appreciates your outfit: a black top, a skirt with boots, and a fitted cardigan that matched. Joel knew it was silly, but he loved the way you looked. The cleavage of the top was modest but evident and suited you very well.

“Looking hot and pretty, mama,” he says, making your cheeks burn as you meet his cheeky grin.

“You also look hot and pretty, cutie.”

“Really? And what are you gonna do about it?” He asks with defiance.

“I’m gonna sit on your face if you don’t shut up, Joel,” he starts cackling, then grabs your forearm and makes you collide with his chest.

“Is that a threat or a promise? Because I’m kinda craving a taste of your cunt” rolling your eyes, you smack his chest, with a smile.

“Need to keep your dick wet?”

“Always,” Joel answered proudly, making you chuckle.

“I’m estimating we have ten to fifteen minutes before Ellie arrives with the rest of the party,” you say, looking at the clock, only to then feel Joel lifting you and placing you on the kitchen counter.

“Just enough for me…” and then, he gives you the sloppiest and haziest kiss of your life. As well as the sloppiest and haziest fuck of your life.

“Think I’m in the mood for one of those blue pills…” Joel whispers in your ear as you start feeling his fingers going back and forth across your wet lips. You couldn’t recall the moment he lifted your skirt and dipped his hand under.

“Maybe tomorrow, handsome,” you say between moans. “Maria and Tommy are taking Cerise for a playdate with Benji”

Some months ago, Joel decided to try the blue pills for the first time. He didn’t need them, but it wasn’t a secret he couldn’t keep up as before. When you two were childless and living in the QZ of Boston, he could last at least two rounds.

And despite you objecting that he didn’t need to prove anything, Joel wanted to try them either way.

And who were you to deny him?

…

It was getting colder. Another birthday of Ellie and her cake was burnt by accident. You were about to close the kitchen window, but your hands were covered in dish soap. A second later, you heard Ellie cursing as she arrived home.

“Ellie, are you okay?” You ask, dropping the dishes into the sink and hurrying to get to the girl.

“I can’t fucking do this right now, y/n!” She yells, and you grow even more worried.

“What happened?” She turns halfway up the stairs and huffs.

“Your asshole husband! He lied to us all this time.” Your frown grows, and Ellie rolls her eyes. “He killed every goddamn person inside the Salt Lake City hospital”

Your heart beats rapidly, and your hands start feeling numb.

“I didn’t know…” You can only say, hearing Joel opening and then closing the door.

“Yeah? Well, I’m getting the remaining stuff I have here and then I’m the fuck out” Ellie yells exasperated, her face red out of anger.

“Ellie…” You try to stop her, worriedly.

“This is why I did well by living in the garage…” she says, going upstairs and disappearing.

You turn to look at Joel, and he sighs.

“Is it true? Did you kill them?” You ask nervously.

“I should’ve told ya…I know,” he sounds wounded, but you feel betrayed.

“You should have told me, Joel?” you ask with disbelief. “The moment Ellie and I woke up, you should’ve told us the truth.”

The house is covered in some dark and heavy silence. Your eyes feel wet, but you don’t cry, you barely look at Joel, whose eyes you see with sadness.

“I need time…” you say, sighing, Joel hurries to step in your way.

“Don’t leave me, alone” he convinces you, almost. “I know I’m wrong, but don’t go too…”

Ellie was leaving him. Would you?

“I won’t ever leave you alone, Joel,” you admit, crossing your arms, heading towards the stairs. “But I deserve time alone, no matter how much I love you”

Joel watched you go upstairs. His heart sank, and that was the first night he didn’t sleep again.

…

Things had changed a lot.

Joel had been alone in the house for months. You dropped Cerise off to see him each Saturday and sometimes even Sunday. He was allowed to visit the little girl at Rosalie and Rae’s house whenever he wanted, where you had been staying. Ellie built her place in the garage. And Joel constantly looked through the window to see if she was okay.

But he was edging more and more towards emptiness. His nightmares about Sarah, of you being sick, and many other of his traumas returned. Joel wasn’t being tolerant of your departure with the girls. He missed Ellie and his little bolter, Cerise.

You were awkward each time you bumped into him around town, when you dropped Cerise, you barely eyed him. Joel could feel the rejection creeping all over him whenever you appeared nearby. But deep inside, he could also feel a longing for him. You were more than just his wife.

It was a cloudy day when Joel had scheduled a patrol with Tommy. It would also help as a little therapy session; he knew.

Tommy constantly advised him to plan ahead for the day, you two talked about the whole issue. To choose the right words and accept that you had the right to be mad and confused at him.

Joel knew.

When the gates opened, he saw many people looking at the clinic in town. As if something had happened. A lot of vapor was coming out from the upper windows, but there were no signs of fire.

“What the hell happened now?” Asked Tommy, as someone had taken away his horse.

They walked closer to the crowd of people, and a woman was kind enough to give the pair of brothers answers.

“There was an accident at the clinic with the washer-sterilizer,” Joel and Tommy eyed each other.

“Are there any hurt people?” Tommy asks.

“Some nurses and…” The silence made them look at each other again, until the woman spoke again. “It was y/n… she opened the washer-sterilizer thinking it was working normally and it had accidentally leveled up in temperature. It was boiling…”

Joel handed his rifle to Tommy and started walking towards the clinic with desperate steps. He could hear his brother yelling at him to calm down, but he didn’t listen.

His tired legs dragged him in a second towards the clinic.

“Where is she, Kelly?” Joel asked the nurse that scheduled appointments. He knew the young woman, as she was a nurse like you.

“Mrs. Miller is stable,” Joel rolls his eyes and impatiently taps on the counter. Some people whisper as they pass by him.

“Ugh.. okay, she is in room 30C,” Joel thanked her and walked away. His heart pounding as his fear grew.

He knocked on the door, and your sweet voice allowed him to come in.

Joel entered the room and was greeted by you in a bed, half of your face, neck and hand bandaged. The nurses made you an improvised strapless top and you gave him a little smile.

“Hi, dear…” You greeted him and it made his heart flutter.

He gulped, looking very worried.

“Joel, I’m okay,” you soothe him, grabbing his hand. “The doctor said it won’t leave scars”

“How?… why?” He asks with a half-broken voice.

“The sterilizer was overheated… I opened it and the vapor burned my skin,” you explain.

A nurse enters and sees you and Joel expectantly.

“I’m her husband…” Joel says, the nurse shrugs.

“I know, Mr. Miller,” the woman answers, scribbling something in a notebook and then looks up. “Your wife is ready to go home. But she needs someone to take care of her”

Joel and you exchange looks.

“I’m taking care of her,” he says. Everyone knew you and him were no longer together, but didn’t know why.

“Joel-…”

“Please…” with a sigh, you nod at him and the nurse.

…

Later that night, Rosalie brought Cerise home with Joel, she talked a little with you and then left.

Ellie visited you before Joel, so she hadn’t come again.

Joel was cooking something downstairs, Cerise was sleeping and you were fresh out of the shower, which had been a dare with the burns.

Joel knocked on the door.

“Dinner is ready…” he announces but sees how invested you are in trying to put the bandages in their place.

He sighed and decided to take a better look.

The skin was red, pink, and wrinkled. Joel wanted to magically cure you, but of course, he couldn’t.

“Let me help…” You nod, knowing you were desperate to feel his touch.

The distance between you two had been killing you.

Joel sits beside you and starts taking care of your burns. His calloused fingers make you feel goosebumps. You are able to see his aging face. His greying curls and his warm eyes.

“I miss you so badly,” you blurt out between whimpers, rushing to wipe away the tears.

“I miss you every single fucking day” Joel looked shocked at your words, debating whether to hug you or respect the boundaries. “To the point where it hurts me more to miss you than what separated us in the first place.”

Joel remembers the night Ellie, you and him arrived in Jackson the first time. The three of you had a fight over who was taking Ellie to Salt Lake City. You cried on the stairs of the house that became home.

And now, he felt like it was happening all over again.

“Say something, Joel,” you urge him.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m guilty, I’m the one who caused all of this. I don’t know how to fix it,” he admits, and then steps closer. “But I know I miss you too. My life is incomplete without you and the girls.”

You sob harder, and Joel can’t take it anymore, he hugs you tightly.

You don’t fight back. You embrace him closer.

His fingers brush away your tears as he stares into your eyes, as if he could wander through your soul. His touch is warm, like it had always been. Strong grip but soft caresses for his wife. Joel was over the moon as you hadn’t squinted away from him.

Just like the first time he kissed you at the old apartment in the QZ of Boston, you could feel your heart beating loudly agains, thumping against your ribs. The way Joel eyed you with genuine affection, devotion, and lust was giving you away.

Your hand touches his fingers, caressing your cheek, you want to hold his hand.

As you lean closer, Joel grows nervous, even submissive. He didn’t want to ruin anything. He was listening to Gail; he needed to be genuine. Be vulnerable for you.

“You don’t have to “ his words are seized by your lips brushing his.

“But I want to.” You confidently replied before kissing him.

Your arms came to tangle around Joel’s neck. His hand on your healthy cheek was only attached to your chin.

“I love you…” Joel admits, and you smile.

“I love you too, Joel,” you say back.

A burst of happiness thumping through your chest, heart, and every inch of your body, and Joel’s.

…

Swiftly, you close the door of Ellie’s garage. You had helped her to decorate many things in the whole room, but knowing Ellie, it wasn’t a surprise that the place was already starting to look messy. Either clothes gathered everywhere, drawings and cassettes scattered on her desk.

She finishes putting on a pair of socks and sits awkwardly on the edge of her bed.

“So… What are you doing here?” She asks, watching you looking around with your arms closed. “Today is your girl’s night with Rosalie at the saloon.”

You sigh, nodding. One Friday per month, Tommy and Maria watched over Cerise while you and Rosalie had a free night. Although you and the toddler lived with her and Rae.

“Yeah, it’s just that…” Ellie watches you struggle to find the right words, so she frowns. “Joel and I decided to make up.”

The news slowly spread over the room as you reveal it to her. Ellie huffs in disbelief.

“Already? You didn’t even let it sink longer?” She was mad, even angry at you for leaving her side so fast. You completely understand her. Still, that doesn't make it simpler.

“Joel has done many bad things. He even hurt me in the past…” Your words come out with meaning as you step closer to her. “But he is a good person. He spent his whole life regretting not being able to save Sarah. And now, he’s done everything for me. And you and now Cerise as well…”

“He’s still a liar,” Ellie spits out with anger.

“Yes, he is a liar. But that lie he kept from us is the reason why I’m able to live in a place I can call home,” you admit with a sad smile. “That lie is the reason why I can enjoy raising my daughter, be with you, do what I love, and spent my days with the person that loves me and saved my life. Even if he’s a liar…”

Ellie only eyes you with disdain before feeling the anger suppress, only to be left out with a bittersweet confusing mix of emotions.

“I just can’t forgive him yet. I don’t feel it’s okay but-“

“Then don’t forgive him yet,” Ellie sighs exasperated, covering her face and feeling completely overwhelmed.

“How do I know if what I’m doing is the correct thing to do?” She asks, and you shrug.

“You don’t. You just do it and follow where the heart may lead” You offer her a kind smile and a pair of open arms. Ellie goes straight to hug you.

She needed comfort and ever since she met you, you had been the only person to be completely vulnerable with.

“Just because I forgave him sooner than you, doesn’t mean you won’t later on” she nodded, feeling her eyes growing glossy.

“And no matter what… we’re family, Ellie.” The tears started rolling down her cheeks. You just hugged her tighter.

…

[Late spring 2029]

Joel hands you a water flask, and you gladly accept it.

He eyes you and stares as you drink urgently, it had been two hours since the last break and being eight weeks pregnant didn’t make it any easier.

Joel sighs, enjoying the silence nature was offering. He looks up at the clear skies and notices summer is approaching, the sun starting to burn hotter.

And then, he looks at the skyline.

“Darlin’… look at that” He then points with his finger at the mountains.

“What?” You frown, confused until you see just directly under his finger.

At a still far distance, you see the town. You see home, Joel, and you just made it back to Jackson.

You throw yourself into your husband’s arms. Tears of happiness start to flow, and both of you start chuckling. Like neither of you could believe that it was over. That home was just a few miles away.

“Oh my god!” You squeal with excitement in his arms. Joel smiles wider, wrapping his arms around tightly.

His nose nudges the crook of your neck and lets out a relieved sigh. Joel once again knows that everything he’s been through since he met you was worth it. And he would repeat over and over again just to end up there, having a sense of security and love with you.

_____________________

ep 6 was so beautiful and sad at the same time😭

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭_ @just-mj-or-not @mmkkzz @hiroikegawa @nosebeers @glitterspark @annulmaelae @heartpatch @doodlebob-mp3 @ennvsco @isabella-rose-trastamara @chewie-bars @bypurple @umadirectioner @mrsbilicablog @yvonne-dump @hannah9921 @maystyles @minifresas @barnes70stark @bratgirlniq @onlyforyuto @person-005

[deezee112]

The Birthday Doll

Masterlist | Ending 1

Yandere!Platonic!Twisted Wonderland x GN!kid!Reader

A/N : I’ve decided to combine both the prologue and the first two episodes into one because I’m lazy yes, I admit it! But overall, I think it turned out pretty well. The writing might be a little confusing since I’ve been feeling kinda out of it lately, plus I’ve been busy with stuff at home. Still, I think it’s okay.

Oh, and one more thing! Most of the guys’ endings will be randomized, so whether they get a good or bad ending totally depends on what I roll.

Warning : Child reader , platonic yandere , lifelike doll. , Parental neglect , loneliness , y/n taller than 160 cm.

Tags :

@sherryclover

English is not my first language.

It’s your birthday.

You woke up hoping something would feel different. Special, even. But the house still smelled like dust and reheated coffee, and the same early morning silence pressed against the walls like always.

You sat at the kitchen table, legs dangling off the too-tall chair, waiting for the sound of footsteps or maybe even just a voice. But only the hum of the refrigerator answered you.

Your parents had already left.

You found the note on the counter in your mother’s familiar, rushed handwriting.

“ Happy birthday, sweetie. There’s cereal in the cabinet. We’ll be home late tonight, but your gift should be delivered around 2. We love you. ”

There was a smiley face at the end, drawn so perfectly it didn’t feel like hers at all.

You read the note twice before folding it up and tucking it into your hoodie pocket.

You don’t cry. That’s not new. You’ve learned to expect this kind of birthday. Quiet. Empty. No candles, no wrapping paper ripped open while people cheer, no clapping over a misshapen cake. Just cereal and silence and maybe a screen if you’re lucky.

You were never a loud child. Too quiet, your teachers used to say. “ y/n very polite, very reserved. A bit shy, maybe. ” That’s how adults say you’re not the kind of kid they understand.

Other kids don’t really talk to you much either. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re bad at talking first or if they just think you’re weird. Probably both. You’ve heard them whisper about you before things like “ she’s kind of scary ” or “ she doesn’t smile much, does she? ”

You’ve tried to make friends. Once or twice. But it never really stuck. So you stopped trying.

At exactly 2:03 p.m., there’s a knock at the door.

You hesitate. You weren’t expecting someone to actually show up. Your heart picks up a little as you approach the door and peek through the peephole.

There’s a delivery man outside. Average height. Wears a uniform. Bored expression. No one you know. You open the door, and he gestures to something behind him a tall, rectangular package on a wheeled dolly, wrapped in thick, silver-colored material.

“ Delivery for y/n l/n ” he says, reading off a clipboard. “ From…Hightower Corp.? ”

You just nod, not sure what else to say.

He has you sign something with a pen that barely works, then wheels the thing inside. It takes up most of the hallway. Almost as tall as the coat rack. When he leaves, the silence comes back. He doesn’t say happy birthday.

You close the door. Lock it. Then turn and just stare at the thing.

It’s a gift, you guess. It’s probably the one mother mentioned in the note. You wonder if it’s one of those expensive toys you saw on TV once. The ones that cost too much, look too real.

You wait for a few minutes before slowly tugging the plastic away.

What’s inside isn’t like the toys you’ve seen on television.

It looks like a person.

An adult. Life-sized. Fully dressed in soft clothes that look brand new. The face is still, eyes closed, with features so detailed you feel your stomach drop a little. Even the hair looks real soft, brushed neatly into place.

For a moment, you wonder if this is a prank. But it’s not funny.

You reach out and barely touch its sleeve with your fingertips. The fabric is warm.

That’s when the doll opens its eyes.

The eyes opened.

You screamed.

Not loud your scream barely got past your throat but it was sharp and real, the kind of sound you only make when something shakes your sense of what's supposed to be real.

You bolted.

Your feet thudded across the hallway floor as you ran past the shoe rack, past the empty living room with the turned-off TV, up the stairs two at a time. You didn’t look back. You didn’t want to look back.

You slammed your bedroom door shut and dove into bed, crawling under the covers like they were the only armor you had.

The fabric smelled faintly like the detergent your mom always uses. It used to make you feel safe. Right now, you weren’t sure if it was working.

Your heart raced. Your body felt too hot under the blanket, but you didn’t dare pull it down. You were eight years old. You knew dolls weren’t supposed to open their eyes. Not on their own. Not unless someone turned a switch or pressed a button.

You hadn’t touched anything.

Your hands clenched the blanket tighter.

You’d never had anything like this before. It wasn’t just a doll. It wasn’t just a toy. It was human. Or…it looked human. That was enough to terrify you.

Then…a sound.

Soft footsteps. They were careful, slow, quiet.

You held your breath.

The door creaked open just a little.

There was silence. Then something even stranger happened.

A voice.

“ Hello? ” it said, softly. “ Are you okay? ”

It was calm. Gentle. The way grown-ups talk in children’s books like someone reading aloud on a rainy night. It didn’t sound robotic or fake. It sounded…concerned.

But you didn’t answer.

The blanket muffled everything now. You curled up tighter, pressing your knees to your chest. You didn’t care if it was your birthday. You didn’t want anything like this.

You heard a small knock. Not from the door closer. Lower.

“ I’m sorry I scared you. I shouldn’t have moved so suddenly. ”

The voice was coming from the floor. Maybe just outside your door.

You peeked just a tiny bit pulling down the blanket an inch or two. Still no footsteps. No shouting. No threats.

Just…that voice. Soft. Gentle. Like it really meant it.

“ I’m here to keep you company. ” it said. “ I know I look strange. And I know you weren’t expecting me. ”

There was a pause. Then a breath.

“ I don’t want to hurt you. I just…I’d like to stay. If that’s alright. ”

You didn’t say anything for a long time.

You just listened.

The voice outside your room didn’t grow louder. It didn’t repeat itself. It didn’t try to open the door. It simply....waited.

Whoever or whatever this was, it didn’t act like a toy.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. Your body still curled under the blanket, stiff and wired like a coiled spring, but your mind was starting to catch up.

It hadn’t chased you.

It hadn’t knocked down your door.

It hadn’t even moved since it came up the stairs.

That was…weird. But in a different way. In a quiet way. Maybe even a good way.

Another minute passed. Two. Then three. Still nothing.

Your fingers slowly loosened from the blanket’s edge. The panic hadn’t disappeared, not really but something else was growing in its place. Something softer.

Loneliness.

You turned your head toward the sound of the door and whispered, your voice small and muffled. “ ...You’re not gonna come in? ”

There was a brief silence.

Then the voice responded, gentle as ever. “ Only if you say I can. ”

You hesitated. You weren’t sure what to do with that. Most adults didn’t ask permission for things. Not teachers. Not your parents. Not anyone, really.

“ …Okay. ” you whispered.

The door creaked open just an inch, then another. Then slowly, slowly, the figure stepped into the room.

You peeked from under the covers.

It no, they stood quietly in the doorway. Still. Calm. Their posture relaxed, but not slouched. Their clothes were soft-looking. Pale-colored. Comfortable. Their face was kind, shaped like someone who might work at a bookstore or serve soup at a quiet café. Nothing too sharp or flashy. ( In fact, you can imagine them as whatever you want in your mind. )

They had a warmth to them, like a lamp turned on in the early evening.

You couldn’t believe how real they looked. How normal. The movement of their arms. The expression in their eyes. You stared at their hands as they clasped them gently in front, like they were waiting to be told what to do.

“ I can sit on the floor. ” they said, offering it like a gift. “ Or leave. Whatever you want. ”

“ …You can sit. ” you said, barely above a whisper.

They nodded. Then, without a word, they moved to the edge of the carpet and carefully lowered themself down, cross-legged. Like they didn’t want to scare you again.

Silence settled between you. But this time, it didn’t feel like the silence in the rest of the house. Not cold. Not empty. Just quiet.

You kept staring.

They didn’t look back. Not directly. They looked around the room instead at the posters on your walls, the pile of books near your bed, the toy you hadn’t touched in months.

They were giving you time.

After a while, you slid down from the bed, still wrapped in your blanket like a cocoon, and sat at the edge, watching.

“ …You’re not a real person. ” you said cautiously.

They looked up and smiled a little not with their mouth, but with their eyes.

“ No. Not in the way you mean. ”

“ Then what are you? ”

They thought about that. “ I’m…here to take care of you. ”

“ Like a babysitter? ”

They shook their head. “ Not quite. ”

“ …Like a friend? ”

A pause.

“ If that’s what you want me to be. ”

You stared at them for a long time.

You weren’t used to people asking what you wanted. Not really. You weren’t sure what to do with that kind of question. Most days, you felt like a side character in your own house someone to be left with instructions, not asked for opinions.

You pulled your blanket closer and thought hard.

“ …You scared me. ” you said finally.

“ I know. ” they replied. “ I’m sorry. ”

“ But you waited. ”

“ I wanted to make sure you felt safe. ”

You looked down at the blanket in your hands. Your fingers picked at the edge, nerves making little knots in the threads. You glanced back at them again.

“ Are you…gonna be here a long time? ”

“ If you want me to be. ”

You blinked. You didn’t know what to say to that.

Then, without realizing it, your voice came out a little smaller. A little softer.

“ …Do you have a name? ”

They shook their head gently.

“ No. Not yet. ”

You tilted your head.

“ …Someone just made you without a name? ”

“ Someone made me to be given one. That part’s up to you. ”

You blinked again. Your lips parted slightly, unsure what emotion was about to come out. You weren’t used to choosing something that mattered.

Your heart fluttered in a strange, new way half nervous, half…excited?

You looked at them, sitting patiently on the floor like they’d wait forever if that’s what it took.

You felt your blanket slip from your shoulders just a little as you leaned forward.

Then, in a small, careful voice, you asked

“ …What’s your name…? ”

[luetta]

hey everyone i know it's been a hot minute since my last review, but i've been cooking up a banger for you all. today i'm going to be reviewing all of the time prisons!

TIME CUBE: 7/10 - first up we have the time cube. it's what everyone thinks of first when they hear 'time prison'. there's nothing to do, time loses all meaning, and your mind eventually stops functioning. what more can you ask for? good for a low budget. TIME SPHERE: 5.5/10 - the sphere is a definite downgrade from the cube. you can't tell where the boundary is but you can feel yourself going around in circles. it's like, pick one or the other! not ideal. TIME TETRAHEDRON: 9/10 - honestly i underestimated the tetrahedron. it really hits the spot. the frozen yet rapidly passing-you-by world outside gets refracted really cool bc of the angled faces of the tetrahedron. big ups from me. TIME TESSERACT: 10/10 - the classics are classics for a reason. the tesseract is just perfect. you're in an incomprehensible but simplistic space, in leads into itself, and it's even self-similar no matter where you go. can't recommend enough. TIME CALABI-YAU MANIFOLD: 4/10 - this one has flair, and that's about it. you think it's gonna be some awesome, psychedelic space, but you get in and it's basically a cube. the extra dimensions are there, but you can't really interact with them at all. pretty disappointing. TIME 0-BRANE: 1/10 - ah, the point. 0 dimensional space. i couldn't not try it. but, really, it just sucks. with no reference for anything, nor any space for consciousness, it's essentially a timeskip. you don't feel anything. also, it seems really easy to come out of it and you've accidentally gone all the way to the heat death of the universe. i'd avoid unless you're an experienced user. TIME 1-BRANE: 2.5/10 - even though the 1-brane isn't actually infinitely long, when you're inside, it feels like it is. being stretched out to infinity is not a pleasant experience whatsoever. if you're into that though, this is probably your piece of cake! i don't judge <3 TIME 2-BRANE: 9.5/10 - unlike it's siblings, the 2-brane is actually really good! it's essentially being trapped in flatland, but without all the other shapes. just an endless expanse for you to explore, never finding anything. i'm surprised the 2-brane is so underrated! TIME RECTANGULAR PRISM: 3/10 - this one just feels wrong. you can viscerally sense that the dimensions around you aren't equal. reminds me of the slight spaghettification you get when you approach black holes. not for me and probably not for you. TIME 32-CUBE: 6/10 - this is the tessaract kicked into overdrive. utterly indecipherable. this is probably the fastest sanity destroyer on the market. TIME TORUS: 8/10 - this one was fun, because you can just go around and around and never get anywhere. plus, having 2 distinct areas, the inner and the outer, was a unique feeling for a time prison. good for a first timer i reckon. TIME GABRIEL'S HORN - 0/10 - this one is astoundingly horrible. you just fall down towards the bottom, never reaching it, getting squished smaller and smaller. but, you never actually reach that 'point' moment, so it's agonisingly unsatisfying. unfun and kinda painful, do not recommend. TIME MANDLEBROT - 9.5/10 - fractal geometry was made for this stuff. no matter where you go, how deep you go, you'll end up in the same place. it's perfect for getting that 'never ending, repeating nightmare' feeling. the only downside is sometimes you can accidentally stray from the fractal boundary and just end up in a void. TIME LORENZ SYSTEM - 8/10 - i didn't even know this was a thing, but apparently it is, and turns out it's great! you flow through it, and you can never predict where exactly you'll go next. it's sort of the opposite of a void - constant new stimuli. highway hypnosis vibes. definitely give this one a go. TIME KLEIN BOTTLE - 1.5/10 - this one is fun for a gag and that's it - you can just exit out the bottom. it's not an enclosed space. prisons aren't meant to have a way out.

and that's it! thanks for reading everyone, it was really fun trying all these out, i hope this helps people decide which time prison is best for them or their prisoners. check out my patreon for reviews of some more exotic time prison shapes, and i'll see you next time!

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle - Part 1/2

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, succubus magic, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk), more tags will be added later.

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Dubcon (if you squint), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read on AO3: Here

A/N: Remember the dead spider? I remember the dead spider. Anyways, the reception I've been getting on Starvin', Darlin' has me wanting to thank everyone with a one-shot. This got away from me so I went ahead and split it into two parts.

I've never written anything like this and it was significantly more difficult than a multi-chapter fic. I hope everything comes across the way its supposed to! And a huge thank you to my beta @imaginarydromedary for...you know... encouraging me to post this, despite everything.

From what you could tell, there wasn’t much to the apothecary. 

As you push open the dilapidated doors, your first thought is to search for supplies - anything that could help if things went south on your way to the goblin camp. 

Dried herbs hang from the rafters beneath a thin veil of cobwebs, filling your lungs with a pungent clash of scents. Empty bottles lined the shelves along the wall, caked in several months worth of dust. Large chunks of the building were missing where stone met splintered wood, some areas almost entirely overtaken by greenery.

You step over broken shards of pottery, scanning over the floor and countertops for something - anything that may be of use, but to your disappointment, it seems like the shop was entirely ransacked long before your arrival.

You sigh deeply, knowing you’ll likely never hear the end of this from your companions. It was your idea to search the village. You were the one who suggested taking out the goblin scouts, exerting everyones’ energy, and now you’re afraid you’ll have very little to show for it.

You catch a glint of gold, an object reflecting the sun's rays beneath a pile of rubble. You kneel down to brush away the surrounding debris, thankful for even the smallest promise of coin before your hands catch on… some sort of serrated edge?

You pull at it, and it easily comes loose. It's a thin, rectangular block, just barely larger than the length of your hand. You wipe away some of the dirt with your sleeve, revealing an intricately designed foil wrapping underneath.

As you speculate what this might be, you hear footsteps approaching from behind, light and familiar. You turn to face the elf with a smirk.

“You’re supposed to be the stealthy one.” You chide at him, playfully, “Or has my blood put a little skip in your step?”

Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been here the entire time, watching you fumble around in the dirt.” 

Crimson eyes study you, then the object you’re holding. He places his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side with a raised brow. “Is that what you’ve dragged us all the way here for?”

“First of all,” you waggle a finger at him, “You’re especially grumpy when you’re tired. I’ll have to make a note to prioritize your beauty rest. Second, I haven’t finished looking around, but check this out.”

You hand the bar to him as you stand. The cool skin of his fingers brush against your own, and you’re irritated with the way your heart skips at the brief contact. Why did the one man you found attractive in your camp have to be such a primadonna? And such a huge pain in the ass? 

Astarion’s eyes scan over the textured paper with suspicion, angling it towards the light to get a better look. The golden wrapping is stamped with an image of red lips On the back, letters twist and curve in a language you don't recognize, following a single circular pattern where they meet in the center. You’ve never seen anything like this, neither in your travels, nor within the city walls of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where did you find this?” 

You shrug, then point to the pile next to you. “It was buried right there.” 

He silently stares at the foil, mouth pursed, until your patience begins to wear thin.

“Well, can you read it or not?”

His nose scrunches. “Of course I can’t read it. It’s written in Infernal.”

That’s… odd. Why would an ordinary apothecary sell goods made by devils? Or, worse, for devils. Unless, of course, it was some sort of marketing trick, perhaps a play on the phrase ‘sinfully sweet’, or some other cringeworthy branding.

You take it back, turning it over in your hands before tearing at the corner of the wrapping. It's sectioned into dark, rich squares, and smells indisputably like chocolate.

“It looks like candy.”

“An excellent observation.” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, can we go? We’ve spent more than enough time here already.”

You roll your eyes and stuff it into your bag, setting off for camp, vampire in tow.

–

During dinner, you decide not to tell the others about what you found, knowing Astarion’s likely already forgotten the event. You set down your empty plate, thanking Gale for tonight’s meal. He smiles at you and bids you goodnight as you excuse yourself to your tent. 

You pick up your rucksack, thinking fondly of the dessert that awaits you inside. Having lived at the beck and call of your companions for weeks on end, you can’t help but smile at the idea of selfishly indulging in a small treat like this.

You tear open the rest of the wrapping and snap off one of the squares, immediately popping one into your mouth. It melts - buttery in texture, with a smokey, slightly bitter flavor. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten something so rich. Maybe weeks of the same rations have made you easier to impress, but this felt especially notable.

As you break off a second piece, a strange tingling sensation begins to spread across your lips - a pleasant buzzing that starts at your neck and spreads down through your chest. 

Strange, but not entirely unwelcome. You’ve heard of such inebriating chocolates, ones laced with alcohol or species of flowers that numb one’s senses for a short while. All harmless, of course, and you don’t have watch tonight. You may as well enjoy yourself. If worst comes to worst, Shadowheart is just outside with an assortment of spells and potions. Always better to ask for forgiveness.

It only takes you minutes to finish half the bar. You set the rest next to your bedroll for later and turn to blow out your candles, enjoying the lingering physical effects of the chocolate. Your skin feels flushed and delightfully warm as you settle down for the night.

When sleep finally takes you, it's dreamless, at first. Your consciousness sways, floating in an empty abyss, until colors begin to bleed onto the blank canvas of your mind.

A trickle of red morphs into the shape of familiar eyes, piercing you with their intensity..

Droplets of white spatter over a dark background, diffusing, blending into whisps. They curl and twist before settling into soft, coiffed fibers. 

Hair , you recognize immediately, his hair . His eyes.

Astarion. 

His image fully takes form, as if it had been waiting for you to make the connection before entirely revealing itself. 

He reaches out and seizes you, grabbing painfully at your hips as you crash into his body, hands exploring you - tight, possessive, squeezing at every inch of exposed skin before settling on the curve of your ass. He digs into your flesh with the blunt edge of his nails.

His lips press hot, wet kisses to your throat, mouthing just below the ear, before dragging his tongue along your nape and sucking, hard . You whine at the pressure, eliciting a grin from the elf, so characteristically pleased with the pathetic little noise he’s managed to pull from you.

“You thought sleeping would allow you to escape this - to escape��me , unscathed?” He growls against your skin, his voice almost unrecognizable - as if it’s layered beneath a lighter, somehow more arrogant, feminine one.

“No, no, no. Wake up, darling. You’re in for a very long night.”

–

You startle awake, gasping - loud, labored breaths struggling to make use of the unbearably thin air. The edges of your tent bleed in and out of focus, spinning at a nauseating pace as you attempt to recollect yourself.

You wipe at the sweat collecting on your brow, the muscles of your arm heavy and aching, and find that your skin is absolutely drenched. 

Hot. Why is everything so hot? 

It's as if you're being cooked alive beneath your blankets, strangled beneath the furs. You throw them off; normally soft to the touch, the fibers now only worsen the prickling beneath your skin.

Could this be some sort of illness? A fever? 

No, this doesn’t make sense. Everything feels off. 

Fleeting thoughts of Astarion cross your mind - quick flashes of a sinful smile that was not his own.

It didn’t quite match the one you’d silently come to admire, and now that you think of it, the hunger in his gaze was much too intense for the reserved elf. 

His hands, his mouth, the way he touched you -

Your abdomen cramps, bringing your thoughts to a screeching halt.

A stabbing, visceral pain; a knife plunging into your organs. It overwhelms you, forces your body to curl into itself. You hold your pelvis, grunting, and grasp at your sheets. Tears sting the corner of your eyes.

This is - well, you have no idea what this is. 

You can’t think past the pounding in your head, the throbbing in your midsection. You're compulsively twisting, writhing, begging the gods for some sort of reprieve, but it's then when you make the most mortifying discovery of the night.

You’re soaked .

N ot just your smallclothes, which may have been understandable given your strange dreams, but through your damned pants. Not even the sheets were spared. 

“What  in the hells…?” 

You run your fingers over yourself, only intending to confirm the horrifying reality of your situation - that this is not, in fact, some sick, perverted nightmare, but the lightest touch sets off every nerve. 

You wail at the sensation: one massive wave of bliss giving way to several small jolts of pain. 

Pleasure to the point of agony.

The shock of the sudden orgasm courses from your sex through every limb, clenching and releasing pitiful, warm slick. It leaks freely out of you into your already thoroughly ruined underwear. 

Your heart pounds. You stay like that for what feels like a lifetime, toes curled, limbs twitching, waiting for your body to settle. 

After a minute or so, your breathing evens, and the thick haze surrounding your thoughts begins to lift just slightly, along with the suffocating heat. 

But something within you knows this isn’t the end - knows this isn’t enough . A desperation lurks beneath the surface that you can’t quite name. It screams at you. You need more.

‘Aw…’ A familiar, feminine voice prods at your mind. You quickly recognize her, the woman from your dreams who wore Astarion’s image.  

‘All alone, are we? Empty and needing to be filled? Doesn’t that hurt?’

It does. It aches unlike anything you’ve ever known. The lingering buzz of your orgasm just barely quells the worsening cramps, and they’re beginning to rear their ugly head again not minutes later.

You choke out a sob. “Wh- why are you doing this? What do you want?”

Sharp, wicked laughter fills your head, echoing off the walls of your skull. ‘I’m not doing anything, dear. Just enjoying the show.’ She hisses, ‘I told you, it’s going to be a very long night.’

You must be hallucinating. This fever - whatever this is, is simply cauterizing your senses, or possibly interacting with the tadpole? But the tadpole doesn’t speak, not like this. Never so clearly. Not with words.

Think, please. There has to be a reason this -

“Is everything alright?” Shadowheart raps on the canvas of your tent. “I heard a yelp. Are you hurt?”

Shit.

‘Ooh, this one might do!’  You feel an unwelcome… eagerness flood you.

No. No. Absolutely not.

You try not to panic. 

Under no circumstances should she or anyone else come in here.

The best strategy may be to ignore her - pretend you’re still sleeping. It seems like a good plan, but before you have a chance to follow through with it, another sharp contraction hits. This one is somehow even worse than the ones before. 

You pull your sheets up to your mouth to stifle your whine, but the half elf’s ears are sharper than most. “I’m coming in.”

She opens the flap to your tent and gasps when she sees you there - skin flushed pink, doubled over and covered in sweat. 

“Gods, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Her hand reaches out towards you. 

Without thinking, you swat it away with your own. Your skin tingles at the contact, and the essence of a smile crosses over the threshold into your mind. The intruder giggles with satisfaction.

“Don’t,” you plead, “Don’t touch me.”

She scans over you, taking in your humiliating state. Her face twists with concern. “I need to know if you’re feverish. Please. You look awful.” 

‘Well, I think you look delectable.’

You groan.

At this point, you know it’s no use fighting this thing on your own. You go back and forth on whether you want to tell her the whole truth, about the voice in your head and its influence on your body, but the idea mortifies you into silence. 

Regardless, a cleric is likely your best chance of fixing this literal mess, so you nod, close your eyes, and brace yourself.

Shadowheart’s palm meets your forehead. It’s somehow worse than you anticipated. Even the simple, chaste touch sends you reeling, as if her soft hands are caressing your entire body. Flashes of heat wash over you, burning your skin, threatening to pull you back under another wave of ecstasy. 

It’s too much. You try your hardest to suppress a moan, but the muffled sound manages to escape from between your tightened lips, pitiful and broken.

The disembodied voice squeals with delight.

She quickly retracts her hand, clearing her throat. “Apologies. I can confirm your temperature is… elevated, but the rest…” She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

You want to scream, cry - anything to release your frustration, but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to risk making any more unsavory noises.

“I believe I can give you some relief by treating the fever, but I’ll have to consult the others on the rest. This doesn’t look like any ordinary sickness.”

Consult the others? No. Gods, no. Nobody can know about this. Is she mad?

You intend to protest, beg her not to share this with anyone, tell her whatever death awaits you on the other side of this would be preferable, but she’s speaking an incantation before you have the chance.

A bright, green aura envelopes you, cooling your skin and ever so slightly easing the cramps. With the pain dulled, it's as though you can finally think again. 

You want to laugh. This situation is so utterly ridiculous that you’d find it hilarious, were it anyone else, but with the modicum of relief comes exhaustion - eyelids heavy, vision blurring with weariness.

“Get some rest. We’ll figure this out.” 

Her reassuring words are the last thing you hear before you’re overcome by darkness.

[kirlicues]

Main Street Shops | CC-Free Sims 2 Lot | Create-a-town

This row of 5 cheery storefronts is the first in a little series of community lots to give your small towns some character. The thing that sets these lots apart from other user-created lots you can put in your game is that they were designed for decorators!

I’ve heard from several people in the community that you enjoy how relaxing decorating can be, but coming up with the building shape is another story.

I prefer building as it’s a lot like playing with Legos was when I was a child (back when square and rectangular blocks where pretty much the only options). 😄 Sure, I don’t mind slapping a few basic pieces of furniture into a house, but spending hours painstakingly decorating is something I just don’t have time for. 😅

This is where you come in!

The lots in this series are mostly empty. The first floors are lightly decorated, but the second floors in this lot and in the lots to come are pretty sparse or completely empty. This was done on purpose to give you the freedom to customize the shops as you see fit. 

It’s Win-win for both of us! 

These shops also make nice decorative lots if you just want to add some visual character to your neighborhood, as I mentioned earlier. (If you do this though, be sure to remove all of the bathroom stalls as those seem to show through walls in neighborhood views).

Since it’s a little difficult to really see what you’re getting in this lot with the over-view pictures I’ll share some shots of each individual shop. They are all built on one lot as my skills with the Lot Adjuster are completely absent.

I’ve included some titles for the buildings, but these are only suggestions. Change things up as you’d like. 

Tear out what I’ve put in and create something new. Slap a new coat of paint on the exterior, change the landscaping and you could reuse the same basic lot shapes over and over.

Restaurant with outdoor dining:

Clothing Boutique:

Cake Shop:

Electronics Store:

Bookstore:

Remember, you can change these up and turn them into whatever you want.

Here are the floorplans:

1st floor:

2nd floor:

There’s even a basement with storage rooms on this lot, since that is a feature in some older buildings! Ideally, each shop would have stairs going to the basement, but given the limited space on the lot I’ve only put one set of stairs.

Main Street Shops:  MF | SFS

CC-Free, but all EPs and SPs are required.

I’ve run this lot through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run it through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

Here are some more lots like this one: Across the Street The Next Street Over Around the Corner Further Down the Street At the Office Small Shopping Center

[afadedmemory]

[holylulusworld]

No exceptions (2)

Summary: He likes your guts and your cake.

Pairing: Mobster!Frank Castle x Baker!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mafia business

Catch up here: No exceptions

No exceptions masterlist

Over the next few days, you’re a busy bee. Customer after customer enters your little bakery. Every day you’re out of baked goods in no time.

You huff as you carry out a tray with freshly baked cupcakes. You’re unsure if you can keep up with all the hungry customers roaming your bakery for much longer without help. Though, you cannot pay a waitress or barista.

“Sweet cheeks, my friend and I are getting three of these and coffee, black,” Frank, your tormentor, grins as you almost drop the tray at the sight of the man dressed in all black. You had hoped he had forgotten about you and your bakery. – No such luck.

He and his companion claim one of the free tables, making the chairs creak as they plop down. Frank watches you brew fresh coffee as your eyes meet.

“Right away,” you stammer. This man won’t get a reaction out of you this time. If he wants money, you’ll pay him. For the first time in months, you made a decent amount of money.

“Told ya she’s something else,” Frank smirks at his companion. You try to ignore his words and focus on work. While you prepare a tray with the cupcakes and coffee, Frank watches you the whole time. “Got some meat on her cute ass too.”

“Frank,” the other man sneers. You give him a quick once-over and wonder why he’s around a man like Frank. The man is wearing a well-fitted, dark-colored suit, complete with a tie. This is a stark contrast to Frank’s dark, worn-out jeans, a faded t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and dirty black boots.

His glasses are the only thing standing out. The man is wearing a pair of sleek, rectangular-framed sunglasses that have a dark, tinted lens. You wonder if he’s got problems with his eyes, or if it’s just another fancy accessory to him.

“What?” Frank cackles as you near with the tray. He’s quick to get up and take the tray out of your hands. He places it on the table before grabbing you by the waist to sit back down. You end up in his lap, squirming and wiggling. Frank wraps his arms tightly around your waist, laughing as his boss clears his throat. “I like what I see. It’s not my fault you sent me here to collect.”

“Frank,” the man sighs deeply and straightens his glasses. “I don’t need to see the woman to know she’s uncomfortable in your lap. Let her go. She pays for our protection, not to sit in your lap.”

“But—” Frank grunts. “Only thanks to me has she got all the customers. And I bet she likes sitting in my lap.” He chuckles darkly while you still try to break out of his embrace. “Right, sweet cheeks.”

“I think,” his boss cocks his head. He can’t see you, but listens closely as you elbow Frank, “She wants you to let her go and to pay for our service. Don’t ruin another fruitful business relationship.”

Frank smirks because you are no match for his strength. “Sweet cheeks, you are a whirlwind, and that plum you call your ass is as fine as the best wine.” He rhymes. “Let’s get back to this another time.”

“You must excuse my overenthusiastic friend. He’s got a new position, but still likes to come here to collect cash from you,” the man leans back, smirking as you call Frank a jerk. “You must consider that was probably the most romantic thing he ever said to a woman.”

“Relax, sweet cheeks,” Frank nuzzles your cheek. “I’m here to protect you, remember? I won’t let anyone hurt my cute baker.”

“Frank, get a grip. We came here to discuss business and taking over the bakery,” the man says, looking at you. “I’m Mr. Murdock, and your bakery is officially under my protection. From now on, you’re working for me.”

“What? I…no! This is my bakery!” You wiggle even harder, making Frank groan when you brush his crotch with your ass.

“That’s good news, sweet cheeks. No more paying for protection. You can keep the money if you, let’s say, do us a favor.” Frank believes his words will calm you, but you won’t have it.

“A favor?” You quirk a brow. “That’s not going to happen!”

“You see,” Matt leans forward. “This will happen one way or another. You can keep the bakery, make lots of money, and the only thing I’m asking for is a small favor. That’s not much.”

“A favor…” You murmur. “What kind of favor? I won’t do anything illegal.”

“I wouldn’t dream of letting my girl do the dirty work,” Frank chuckles as you elbow him again. “I’m going to do it for you.” He whispers in your ear. “If you are a pillow princess, I wouldn’t mind, either.”

“Creep,” you ram your elbow into his stomach, making Frank grunt. “If you want to do business with me, keep that lunatic away from me.”

Matt shrugs and says, “Frank is Frank. He is a little shy when it comes to pretty women. Frank is not good with courting a woman.”

“He doesn’t seem to be a shy guy,” you harrumph. “More the grabby kind of guy. If he doesn’t stop, I’ll poison his coffee next time or beat him to death with my baking pin.”

Frank smirks darkly. “I told you she’s something else, Matt.” He laughs before finally letting you go. “Hmm…I think I’ll marry her one day…”

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[ryanmarshallryan]

SHEET BIRTHDAY CAKE

VORETOBER SHORT VORE STORY DAY 15

Tristian got home from work a bit dejected. No one had remembered his birthday! Plus he had to stay overtime AND he had forgotten his lunch. He turned the lights on in his dining room and was surprised to find a great big rectangular sheet cake, so big it must have been five feet long! It had a note by the side of it wishing him happy birthday from his buddy Erik. Being so hungry from barely eating all day, Tristian lifted the heavy cake and swallowed it whole in one gulp starting on the short end and enjoying the frosting glide across his tongue. He was surprised that the texture under the frosting was less cake-like and more cardboard-like. He felt some rumbling in his gut, probably his stomach protesting the large unexpected addition, and expressing its indigestion, Tristian thought. But it wouldn't stop gurgling and he could feel air bubbles almost pushing against the inside of his gut.

Then he saw a text from Erik.

“Dude! You ate me!”

Happy birthday to me! Tristian thought.

Featuring @kaejer @kaejer-vore as Tristian!

[hannie-dul-set]

줄다리기 / JULDARIGI — one.

SYNOPSIS. the moment you step foot into the neighborhood you’d sought to forget, you find yourself caught in a seven sided tug-of-war with the longings of the past, and the restraints of the present.

FEATURING. seventeen’s yoon jeonghan, nct’s na jaemin, txt’s choi soobin and choi beomgyu, enhypen’s park sunghoon, zb1’s shen quanrui, bnd’s han dongmin. GENRES. drama, suggestive, psychological, yandere reverse harem (yeehaw!!!), college! au, richkid! au. CHAPTER WARNINGS. swearing, arson, child abandonment, obsessive and possessive behavior, ominous vibes overall, but things are still pretty mellow at this point BWAHAHAH.

WORD COUNT. 13.6k TAGLIST. open.

NOTE. my insanity begins. this reads like a very bad soap opera-ish kdrama with all the cliches you can think of, including terrible male leads HAHHAHAHAHAHA. nothing major happens in the chapter, but a lot of teensy tiny hints are being dropped. would love to hear everyone's dissections of my collection of messed up characters. enjoy!!!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

THERE IS AN AQUARIUM IN THE KIM HOUSEHOLD.

A large, rectangular box in the space where the hallway and living room meet, filled with rocks, driftwood, plants and a multitude of colorful fish, large and small, all drenched in a glaze of cerulean blue. One of the angelfish swims right in front of you, following the direction of your eyes as you scan it from left to right, almost knowing that you’re looking at it by how it slows down the moment it enters your field of vision— watching you in return with its blank stare.

Seeing this reminds you that your home used to have three. One in the foyer. One in the dining room. One on the second floor landing where you used to play house with your friends. You also remember that you had a koi pond in the garden, of which you’d visit every morning and had once nearly fallen into after leaning over the bridge railing too far after trying (and failing) to count the number of fishes swimming and swirling around.

But that was ten years ago. Maybe nine. Now, the only fish you count is the supply of dried pollock you keep in the store for the bugeoguk on the menu.

“Hey, it’s time to bring the deserts in. Quit spacing out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grunt, spinning your heels back into the direction of the kitchen. You pull the towel loosely hanging from your right shoulder, following the footsteps of your co-worker into the hallway. It’s funny how things can just suddenly go wrong— how you can have three aquariums and a koi pond and have it all disintegrate into thin air right before your very eyes.

You walk into the large kitchen, a cart full of sweets and cakes and pastries waiting for you to push out into the backyard dining area of the house. The warm lights lining the wraparound porch are reminding you of what you used to have. The sounds of champagne glasses and cutlery clicking and clattering feel like distant but familiar reveries that leave a bitter taste on your throat.

“Oh, I’ve been dying for something sweet.”

Wordlessly, you set the dishes from your cart onto the table, careful to not brush against the handful of people dining on the table. You’re careful. You’re so, so careful yet you can still feel the stares drilling into your skull while you keep your head down, the hushed yet audible whispers that assault your ears the moment you finish serving one person before moving onto the next. It’s more annoying than anything, really. But you can’t let that expression show through your face.

You make the mistake of locking eyes with one of the members of the dinner, however. It’s brief— no longer than three seconds. Yet three seconds was enough for him to recognize you, and for you to detect his recognition. 

There’s nothing but shock and surprise in those eyes of his.

All the deserts have been served. You retreat back into the kitchen with the now empty cart and thank the heavens that you don’t have to come back out there tonight.

“Whew. Rich people chatter way too much.” 

You laugh, looking over at Soonyoung who lets out a tired sigh the moment the kitchen doors close. “Work’s not over. Time to clean up.”

Soonyoung and you met just earlier, yet you’re already trying to trip each other over while carrying stacks of dishes to the washing station. He’s a pretty easy going guy. You two would be good friends, but your shift is nearly done. You don’t have anyone to serve here in the kitchen so you two can mess around as much as you want. “Good work today,” says your catering manager after handing you your salary. “I was unsure when I saw you walk into the kitchen today, but you seem pretty experienced with this line of work.”

You smile, blindly counting the number of bills in your hands. “I’ve been waitressing for a long time.” A hundred-fifty thousand. Right on the dot.

He mirrors your expression. “How about working with us permanently?”

“Ah, sorry. I don’t think my schedule can manage. Call me if ever you need another pair of hands to cover for you, though.”

That was the end of today’s job. One of your friends, Seungkwan, called you earlier saying that he had a part-time opportunity for you— working as a server for a catered private family dinner in Pyeongchang-dong, Westwind Crossings. It’s bound to pay well, and you weren’t wrong after earning much more than your daily wage at the diner.

You pack up your things, leaving your apron behind before sneaking off to one of the servant hallways that the head maid showed you earlier. The Kim’s don’t want to see their workers in the same space as they regularly cross, apparently. You grunt and pick up your pace, only to get caught in the mess of corners and turns. Wait, did you have to go left this time or right? Gosh, big houses are so confusing. This is just making you appreciate your cramped home in downtown Seoul even more.

Biting the bullet, you turn left, and what emerges from the other end of the hall isn’t the exit at the side of their house, but what appears to be a lounge area. It had been roughly thirty minutes since the dinner ended. A knot begins to form in your temples the moment three pairs of eyes land on yours.

Shit. This is gonna get annoying. You quickly snap your head back and start to book it, but your feet stutter at the first step.

Your name is called out. God damn it, you really didn’t want to deal with this.

“I knew it!” one of them exclaims. Kim Haera. The eldest daughter of the household and, well, an acquaintance of yours. Former acquaintance really, since the last time you’ve seen here was eight fucking years ago. “Holy shit, the rumors are true! I didn’t want to believe it, but here you are!”

You bite your tongue. You ignore her and start walking again, but you hear a pair of footsteps quickly catching up to your direction and you’re pulled back by the arm, eyes widening, now face-to-face with Kim Haera’s bright and curious eyes. There’s a smile on her face. A big one, like she can’t contain it. “Hey, don’t just run off. We haven’t seen each other in years. C’mon, let’s talk and catch up. I’m dying to know what happened to you.”

From what you can remember, Kim Haera has always been a bit of a bitch. Looks like the years failed to fix her nasty personality.

Haera tugs you out of the tunnel, inside the lounge with three people you’d prefer not be around. “Guys! Do you remember her? Stupid question, of fucking course you do, we used to be over at their place all the time.” Then she abruptly stops, causing you to stumble a little. She turns to you, a snide expression of her face, and the knot in your head tightens. “Well. That was until things went to shit with your family eight years ago, right?”

Your jaw clenches. You manage your breaths. You remember her being awful, but it was never directed to you because she always used to follow you around. To talk shit about everyone in your circle with you listening to make herself seem better than everyone else. Because it was your home that everyone used to frequent. Because it was your family that used to host these dinners, these gatherings, these whatevers.

No, you don’t envy the house you’re standing in right now. You’re just mad that you can’t say anything back because you still want the fucking catering company to give you a call in the future.

“Well, say something.”

“Noona,” a voice interrupts. You look and see it’s Kim Donghyun, Haera’s younger brother. The other kid, Lee Sanghyeok, looks like he isn’t even listening to what’s going on— which you’d have preferred over whatever the fuck Haera is doing.  “I think that’s enough.”

Haera ignores him. “Seriously, what happened to you?” she presses on, and you stifle a sigh.

“Mrs Kim disallowed any of the catering staff to enter unauthorized areas and to talk to any of the guests and members of the household,” you finally say with a tight-lipped smile. “I apologize for the intrusion. If you’d excuse me—”

“I’m not done talking to you.” 

You’re yanked back, a strain in your shoulder socket as you stifle down a swear. She looks down on the sleeve she wrinkled— the server uniform you’d been wearing all afternoon to evening, stained-white in color. She breathes out a snicker. 

“You might’ve been used to looking down on me when we were kids, but it looks like things are different now.” Your head hurts. It’s like maturity never befriended her these past ten years. “Now, tell me. Did you just choose to move after your house burnt down? Or did the Choi’s really screw you guys over?”

“Noona!”

“You just disappeared into thin air after that happened,” she remarks. “The least that you could’ve done was give me a heads up that you’re coming back to work here. I could’ve handed you a pretty handsome tip while you were serving the table.”

There’s only so much shit you can take. One more jab, and your patience might just run out. But at that moment, you hear the door to the lounge slide open. Your heart races in panic, fearing it might be one of their parents, but it isn’t.

You’re not sure if the person that just walked it would make this situation better or worse.

“Haera.”

It’s the second time you’ve made eye contact with Na Jaemin tonight. The first two times after ten years and seeing him all grown up is still a huge slap in the face. His hair is bleached, almost white, which is a surprise knowing how uptight his parents are. He called out Haera’s name, but you can tell he’s looking at you. He’s looking at you with the same expression that he wore at the dining room table earlier— shock, surprise— pleasant or otherwise and you can’t really tell, but he quickly brushes it off to the side when Haera lets out a gasp and runs up to him.

“Oppa!” she exclaims. “What are you doing here? Did you come to see me?”

Na Jaemin simply smiles. “Mr and Mrs Heo are about to make their leave. Your parents want you to see them out.” 

Seeing the disappointment in her face is almost funny. Haera lets out a groan. “Donghyun, let’s go.” And her brother scuttles along with her too, giving you a single hesitant glance before turning away. This is your cue to leave. You quickly turn again, facing the open mouth of the servant hallway just as you hear Na Jaemin’s voice echo in the room again.

“Sanghyeok, you too. Jiyeon refuses to leave until she gets to see you.”

Huh. You don’t remember seeing Heo Jiyeon at the dinner table. You want to push forward, yet again you feel a familiar stare drilling into the back of your skull, so you take a peek over your shoulder. You see Lee Sanghyeok let out a tired grunt and forces himself off the couch, muttering a thank you to Jaemin before leaving the room as well, but the latter stays. 

He’s looking at you again. You can practically see the cloud of words floating above his head as tries to come up with an appropriate thing to say. It’s not like he can ignore you at this point. He’s been looking at you too much for it to slither under your notice.

Then, after much thought, he finally comes up with something to say.

“Do you know the way out?”

You pause. That’s interesting. No re-introductions. No musings of how he didn’t expect to ever see you again. No gripe about how low you’ve plummeted since he last saw you.

“No,” you reply. He makes his first steps towards you— past you, leading you through the intricacies of the servant tunnels, and before you know it, you’re outside just in the time for the sun to set, and Na Jaemin is looking at you again like he has so many things to say, but decides to say just one thing instead.

“I’ll walk you out the subdivision.”

Once more, you pause and think. What does he want? Is he stretching his time with you to get you to say something? To dig into why you left this neighborhood and how you ended up back here ten years later as a different person, just like Kim Haera? You can’t get a read on him. You never could, not ever since you were kids and first introduced to each other. As someone you should get close to. As someone who’d be a good match for you.

He’s still the same as ever. His face is still pretty. And he still stands an arms length away from you— never too close, and never too far.

“Na Jaemin,” you start. “I can still remember the directions and streets and twists and turns of Westwind. You don’t have to. It’s fine.” You finish it off with a smile on your face, albeit somewhat forced. 

“It’s getting late,” he responds, practiced and polite, and you almost laugh. “I should at least make sure you make it your ride home.”

“Well. Alright,” you finally say, and like earlier he brushes past you, a little ahead of you, and you start walking in rhythm down the familiar streets of the neighborhood. Much to your surprise, he’s quiet. It’s been a few minutes since the Kim’s house has gone out of sight, but he hasn’t started prying yet. Then again, you don’t remember him being as much of a snob as Haera. In your memories, Na Jaemin has always been quiet and polite— smiling when he needs to, talking when he needs to. He never does anything more than necessary. 

At least to you. He’s a little different when he’s around his friends. With the Lees, who live just a block away. He smiles more with them than when he does with you. Then again, you two aren’t exactly friends nor strangers, but it isn’t fair to just call him an acquaintance.

Na Jaemin notices you drilling holes into the side of his face and stops walking. It’s payback from earlier. He’s waiting for you to talk. So you do. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask?” 

This catches him off guard. Your mouth twitches. It’s barely a smile.

“Like, oh my god, what the hell happened to you, you used to be the most privileged rich kid in the neighborhood— why are you serving tables and letting Kim Haera spit on your face?” you rattle on, taking one step and more and this time it’s you taking the lead ahead. You spin your heels, walking backwards with your hands tucked behind your back. Na Jaemin looks like he’d been exposed. You laugh and turn back to face the right side of the road. “I know you’re curious. You’ve been looking at me like you want to pick apart my brain since I first intruded into your dinner.”

“Would you answer?” he says gruffly, trying to match your pace, but he can’t quite keep up with the bounce in your step as you near the exit of the subdivision.

“If you ask nicely,” you hum. “Considering our history, I think you deserve to know. More than Kim Haera at the very least.” 

This prompts a huff from him, close to a laugh. You smile. “I remember the fire that occurred, and you and your family left the neighborhood not long after,” Na Jaemin finally starts. “I thought you’d just left while waiting for your house to get repaired, but a few weeks passed and your home was still in the same state.”

You’ve reached the outside of the neighborhood, past the toll gate, and much to your surprise, Na Jaemin is still walking with you. He’s managed to overtake your lead, headed towards the bus stop. 

“When I asked my parents about what happened, the only thing they said is that you had a stroke of bad luck and I shouldn’t concern myself with you again.” Na Jaemin turns around, stopping underneath the waiting shed outside the premises of Westwind. You remember being in this same spot with him a few times before, but the shed is smaller than you remember. Or maybe you two just grew taller. 

He’s still bad at asking for what he wants though. He’s looking at you patiently to answer his unasked question. You relent, looking up at the slowly darkening sky. 

“A stroke of bad luck seems just about right.”

Your mother comes from old money, and your father not quite. He was upper-middle class at most, and her family didn’t approve of him. They were already pressuring her to break up while they were still dating, and eloping with him didn’t elicit a great reaction. She got cut off. At the very least she kept the house you, your parents, and grandfather had formerly lived in under her name, as well as a trust fund that still ensured her a more than comfortable rest of her life. Your father didn’t slack either. He managed to build himself up with two of his friends by investing and starting a finance firm.

It didn’t take long for your family’s wealth to grow, and by the time you were born, you were already handed a silver spoon.

But things go wrong just as quickly as they go right.

Your grandfather had a gambling addiction. The only reason why you found out about it is the yelling you’d overheard from your dad’s study every week. That enough wouldn’t be enough to squander off all your wealth, but it was the first domino that caused everything to collapse. Not long after, your father got betrayed by his business partners. You didn’t know the details since you were only fourteen when it happened, but you knew well enough to understand that your picture perfect life had started to crumple.

The dinners your family hosts every week suddenly stopped. Your household had to retrench, downsizing the number of workers, maids, gardeners, cooks, drivers and you started catching the bus to and from school. 

Perhaps some of the employees that got laid off grew resentful. Their resentment came in the form of being woken up in the middle of the night by your mother. You still vividly remember every beat of the scene— the warm and arid air, the smell of something suffocating, and the unusual bursts of light pouring from the outside. From the garden. And then your mother practically dragged your small frame out of the room, down the stairs, until you finally reached outside where you saw black smoke replacing the clouds in the sky, and the sound of sirens quickly growing louder and louder by the second.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this.” You and Na Jaemin are now sitting on the bench under the shed, waiting for your bus to arrive. “I guess coming back to this neighborhood again reminded me that I’m still bitter.”

You flit your eyes up, trying to gauge Jaemin’s expression, but of course he’s still impossible to read. Is it sympathy? Pity? Derision? You have no idea.

“Haera was dying to find out how my life got royally screwed over,” you let out with a stretch. The aftermath of working for five hours is starting to hit. You’re gonna have a cold shower once you get home. “Feel free to spread the news like wildfire because I’m pretty sure the other kids want to know, too. Might as well make a novel out of it.”

The headlights of a bus come into sight. It stops briefly on the side of the road before you. Then it passes by with the hum of the engine.

“What makes you think I’m the type to gossip?” he asks. You don’t even catch a single ounce of offense from his tone.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “We never really talked much.”

Jaemin releases something short of a laugh. “That’s true.” Then a pause. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Why would you be? It’s not like it’s your or your family’s fault,” you say. “I’m pretty happy with my life right now. Got into uni with a full-ride scholarship and I just made a hundred thousand in one day. I’m pretty sure a nice and warm meal is waiting for me when I get home too.”

He hums. “Where do you study?”

“KSU,” you reply. “You? I remember you’ve been preparing for med school since elementary, so I’m guessing NCIT?”

“You seem to know your universities well,” he quips. “And I’m surprised you even know of that.”

“Of course. You were practically my de facto fiancee from when I was nine to twelve. My parents make it a habit to advertise you over dinner without fail. Everything I know about you is against my will, Jaemin.” You joke, laughing. The corners of Na Jaemin’s mouth twitches upwards too, a little flustered when his head turns down a little, and you can see the length of his eyelashes hovering above his cheeks. “To be honest, I really thought we’d end up getting married with how much our families kept pushing us together. But I guess it’s another funny swing of fate that my circumstances made sure that neither of us would fall into an arranged marriage.”

It’s official. You simply aren’t equipped to understand the makings of Na Jaemin’s head based solely on his expressions. He’s stopped looking down, eyes directed at you with a gravity that nearly overwhelms and you want to ask what? Why are you looking at me like that? What exactly do you want to know and why can’t you just say it?

Still, you keep those questions locked in your throat because another bus approaches, and the sky is now more black than orange. Maybe you shouldn’t let this one pass by.

“Anyway, thanks for walking me out and waiting with me, Jaemin,” you say as you ready to stand up, dusting your trousers and your already stained white shirt. “And thanks for, you know, being a decent fucking person.”

The bus comes closer. You take this as a signal to leave and bid this neighborhood goodbye— maybe for good this time— but right before the bus makes a screeching halt before the waiting shed, your steps stagger from the sound of Na Jaemin’s voice behind you.

“Do you miss it?” 

You pause. You look over your shoulder and see Jaemin standing underneath the shade. The streetlight nearby flickers on. It illuminates the right side of his face.

“The life you had before,” he says. “Do you want to get it back?”

Regardless, it’s still impossible to decipher his expression, to figure out what he wants and what he means.

You hear the bus pull over, the sound of the door exhausting open. You give Na Jaemin one last smile before turning around, getting on the vehicle without a reply, and he doesn’t stop you to hear one.

*

“Shhh! Your footsteps are too loud, you’re gonna wake her up!”

“Isn’t that what we’re here for? To wake her up?”

“Yeah, but that’s no fun. Let’s scare her awake.”

“Uh, no thanks? I don’t want to get punched in the face.”

“Just let her sleep, she must be tired.”

“Booo, you’re two are so lame.”

For a second, you thought your friends had managed to pry themselves into your dreams, disturbing your sleep in the most inelegant way possible. Then you realize that their voices sound a lot more vivid, a lot closer than you thought. Like they’re in the room with you right now. So when you groan and peel your eyes open— indeed, lo and behold, here they are: Jay Park, Jake Shim, and Park Sunghoon in the flesh.

Jake is frozen and hovering above you like he’d just been caught committing theft. Sunghoon is trying to pull him away from your mattress. Jay is by the doorstep, pretending like he has nothing to do with this and immediately spinning his body one-eighty the moment you meet eyes.

You squint at Jake. He flinches back. “O—oh, you’re awake, haha.” 

Sunghoon successfully shovels Jake away. “Did we wake you?” he asks, replacing the latter’s spot on the left side of your mattress. 

There’s a guilty look on his face. You make it worse when you respond with, “What do you think?” propping yourself up with your elbows because you don’t particularly enjoy being looked down on. 

“Hey, your mom gave us permission to drag you out of bed,” interjects Jake. “Get up and get ready. Today’s the opening festival. You promised you’d attend this year!”

“I promised to watch Hee perform,” you correct. “He’s not gonna be on stage until the afternoon. Let me enjoy my morning off, you home invaders.” That was your ending statement before burying yourself into your pillow again, turning your back to the boys and then you hear Jay’s footsteps finally joining in the party.

“It is the afternoon,” he informs.

You jolt. Jay is now squatting at the foot of your mattress. “Shit, really?” 

He snorts. “Go check.”

Your hands scramble for your phone that you remember you left charging on the floor nearby somewhere. Sunghoon finds it before you. He pulls it out of the socket and hands it to you, and you confirm that it is in fact the afternoon. One-thirty, to be exact. You mutter a swear. “Fuck.” You nearly trip over your blanket when you stumble out of bed, promptly banishing the three of them to the downstairs diner while you get ready.

“Mom, you should make these idiots pay for their meals.” 

That’s the first thing you announce while running down the stairs, knowing full well that those three are already helping themselves to some gukbap and kimchi, and they don’t disappoint. Jake pops his head up from the table, cheeks puffed up and beckoning you over like this isn’t your family’s own restaurant. “Come get yours, dear,” your mother calls out from the kitchen, emerging with your own bowl of rice soup, and you quickly pad over to take it from her. 

“Seriously,” you start, moving over to the table, slotting yourself into the empty seat next to Sunghoon and in front of Jay. “We can open up a new branch if you total the amount they’ve been leeching for the past two years.”

You set your meal down with a clatter. Park Sunghoon stops eating at your declaration. His spoon hovers five centimeters away from his open mouth.

“Hoon, I’m joking.” Your hand lands on his wrist. You lead the spoon into his mouth and shut his jaw. “Eat up. You look like you’ve lost weight recently.”

“I only eat well when I’m eating auntie’s food,” he retorts, muffled, and takes another spoonful for himself. Sneaky guy probably noticed that your mom was coming over to earn a few points from her. Which works, because your mom looks extra happy when she presses her hands on the edge of the table, watching the four of you eat with eyes glazed in satisfaction. Your eyes flit down to her hands— rough and calloused with a band aid and a wedding ring wrapped on the fourth finger. 

“You know, you kids are welcome here any time, right?”

It’s been three weeks since your last visit to Westwind. At the Kim’s. But Na Jaemin’s parting question seems to find its way into your mind whenever you let your thoughts drift for too long.

Do you miss it?

This bite is suddenly hard to swallow. You set your chopsticks down with a clang.

“Where’s dad?” 

Your mom looks over to you, cutting her conversation short with Jay. “Making a delivery,” she replies. A huff escapes your throat. 

“Don’t you think it’s about time we hire part-timers?”

Jake sees this as an opportunity. You can literally see his eyes sparkle. “Auntie, hire me!” The table shakes. “Ow!” You snap your head to Sunghoon, who’s feigning innocence with his meal while Jake gives him the what gives? face. 

“We can still manage the store by ourselves,” your mother argues. “And Jungwoo and Jeonghan come by sometimes to help when you’re not around.”

“You should call us if you need any extra hand, auntie,” Sunghoon says. “Our schedule is pretty lenient this semester.”

“What do you mean lenient, we have four major—”

Sunghoon also cuts Jay off with an under the table kick and a smile. You mom laughs. “I appreciate the sentiments, but you kids should focus on your studies.”

You open your mouth to retort, but she ultimately shushes you and says she needs to organize some things in the kitchen. “Hey, finish your food,” Jay scolds, pushing your bowl closer to you. You stick your tongue out and pick up your spoon again. “I think we need to head out in fifteen minutes. Jungwon texted that the field is already getting crowded.”

The four of you finish your meals. Gukbap has been your diner’s specialty ever since your mom mastered how to cook it after countless trial and errors. It wasn’t easy adjusting from having ready to eat meals the moment you sit on the dinner table to having to curate your own menu just to make a living. After the losses your family incurred, you had to scrape up whatever you had left and moved to an affordable place in downtown Seoul. Both your parents had to start working, and it was your grandfather that always greeted you the moment  you returned home from school. 

However, when he passed away, the three of you moved to a new place that’s smaller and bigger at the same time— a two-storey building that you rented out to serve as a diner downstairs and a home at the top. You exit through the fogged doors with the sound of a jingle, stopping to turn around and follow the building’s height. It’s not too tall, wedged between two other rental spaces. A hair salon on the right. A computer shop on the left.

The life you had before.

Once again, Na Jaemin’s voice echoes in your ears. 

Do you want to get it back?

You see the blur of Sunghoon’s mouth move, but you don’t hear anything. You blink. A car zooms by. A flock of birds flutter away. You clear your throat, refocusing your gaze on your friend. “Sorry, what was that?”

His eyes are fixed on you, brows slightly knitted. “Nothing.” he mumbles. “You have something on your face.”

You flinch a little when Sunghoon suddenly brings a hand to your cheekbone, eyelids blinking rapidly in surprise as his thumb and index finger brush lightly against your skin, revealing a barely visible eyelash strand when he pulls his hand away. There’s a subtle smile on his face when his gaze lingers on the stray lash before glancing at you.

“Make a wish,” he jokes. You scoff, rolling your eyes with a grin.

“Hey, put the PDA on hold. We have a bus to catch,” Jay interrupts. Sunghoon clicks his tongue in response. He flicks the lash away and stuffs his free hand into a jacket pocket, extending his other arm behind you to hook around your shoulders, and your feet skid against the ground as you bump into him.

It’s nothing that catches you off guard nor surprised. The four of you are walking to the bus stop, yet it isn’t just the four of you occupying the neighborhood. It’s early afternoon. The sidewalks and streets are busy. Park Sunghoon has the habit of pulling you as close to him as physically possible. A middle-aged man in a suit approaches from the opposite direction, you in his line of collision, and Sunghoon quickly steps to the side and pulls you closer to evade the fast approaching businessman, who was way too caught up in his call over the phone to pay you any mind. 

The gesture is impossible not to notice— Jake and Jay included, but they never say anything about it. Neither do you. Neither does Sunghoon.

Your bus arrives. All seats are taken. Any space you once had to breathe diminishes to nonexistence as you try and balance yourself amidst the standing crowd. “You okay?” Sunghoon’s voice is a mere whisper reserved for you to hear. You’re standing in front of him, arms glued to your body because you lost the opportunity to grab the handgrip before you got squeezed stuck by the rush of passengers flooding in.

“Never better,” you let out a strained laugh. Sunghoon frowns a little. The bus rattles. He presses a firm hold against your back before you could even stumble. You notice his gaze flicker into a glare, jaw clenched and pointed at the stranger near you who’s unintentionally digging his elbow into your shoulder blade. You clear your throat, catching his and the other two’s attention. “Park Jongseong, what’s the purpose of your car if you don’t even use it? We would’ve been sitting comfortably and moving faster by now. What a waste of an investment.”

That was half a joke, half not really. Your commutes to campus are always a grueling one-hour experience. Jay narrows his eyes at you, unamused. “You guys keep abusing my vehicle rights. Don’t you know how exhausting it is to drive all of you home all the time?”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Jake jives in. You nod solemnly. Jay’s mouth hangs open. He looks at Sunghoon for backup but the poor guy is simply ignored.

“Imagine all the time and money we’d save if you were more charitable,” you continue. “Hoon, don’t you agree?”

Park Sunghoon doesn’t give you the answer you’re looking for. “Should I get a license?” he instead asks. You blink at him. He blinks back. 

“Will you drive me to campus every day?” you hum, smiling in jest. 

“I’ll take you anywhere you want,” is his answer. His gaze has softened. You hear Jake cough from next to you. Jay gives up his retaliation. The bus halts. Everyone leans to the back and you’re reminded by Sunghoon’s firm hold. He presses you into him closer if it’s even possible, if there’s even any space left between you to swallow— and if there is, you don’t see nor feel it. The only thing you feel is the heat emanating from his skin that’s seeping into yours.

A few bodies finally get down from the vehicle. You breathe. You take a step away and grab onto the now vacant handgrip closest to you. Sunghoon’s hold loosens, but his fingers still linger on the curve of your spine. It stays there until you arrive at your stop right across the street from the campus gates. From the bus windows alone, you can already see the staggering amount of people flooding inside. 

It gets worse the moment you actually step foot on campus. The first person you lock eyes with— Kim Taerae, welcoming committee since last year— hits you in the face with his business-smile, wide and tight and brimming with sweetness. “Hey, traitor. How dare you show your face here?”

The student council also asked you to be part of the committee. Of course you fucking said no. “Aren’t you gonna welcome me in?” you jab. Taerae’s smile twitches, but a group of actual freshmen walk in and he’s forced to start his welcoming protocol.

Even after getting off the bus, Park Sunghoon is no less closer. You say goodbye to Taerae and greet Seok Matthew, who’s wearing the university fox mascot (which arguably looks like a fursuit, but you digress), with a wave and a camera pointed at him, and Sunghoon maintains a steady hold on your arm as you navigate further into campus grounds.

“Later, Matthew!”

“See you around!”

Yet your path towards the field next to the courtyard keeps getting interrupted. 

Every now and again, you’re stopped by a familiar face to exchange greetings. This is why you don’t usually attend university events and festivals. On normal days, people usually stick to their class and extracurricular schedules. But on days like these, everyone is out and about. Meaning, your chances of bumping into someone you know is one in twenty. Renjun from the astronomy club passes by with a hello. Chaewon from one of your electives stops you and tells you to visit their department booth later in the evening.

“Let’s catch a meal sometime!”

Honestly, you’re used to it. Ever since you were a kid, you’ve been conditioned to deal with people and manage your web of relationships in order to seamlessly fit into the ‘elite’ social scene. Every party, every dinner, every event, you’re introduced to a new acquaintance, new same-faced adult, new person to the point where you had to dedicate an entire space inside your brain just dedicated to the faces and names you needed to keep track of.

The space was made up of rows and rows of filing cabinets, sorted according to the people most important to you, the people you may or may not meet again in the future, the people you resent. The son of the neighbors across the block. The daughter of the lawyer that you used to sit in silence with. The kid you met over vacation who always seemed to be crying. The countless adults who’d compliment you for being so well-mannered, so pleasant, so sociable even as a child. 

But at some point it gets overwhelming. And when your life turned upside down, you stopped seeing a point in maintaining all these relationships. The cabinets were left unopened, catching dust and cobwebs in that one corner in your brain. That was until a senior of yours back in high school gave you some advice. Something you’d held onto until today.

This is why you shouldn't push people away, he had once told you. Don’t you think it'd be better if you let your thoughts out instead of getting drowned by them?

And that was when the filing cabinets started to get filled again. The classmate you surprisingly shared a lot of interests with. The teacher who helped you with your college applications back in high school. The junior from high school who always kept picking fights with everyone. And the four current friends you have from your year and major, who had somehow wiggled themselves into the near barren drawer saved for the people that mean the most to you, in spite of all the space available underneath.

“Hee texted,” you announce, holding up your phone. Sunghoon nudges his face closer over your shoulder to take a peek. “There’s a delay in the program. They won’t be up for another thirty, forty minutes.” The three expectedly groan in annoyance. You are also annoyed. You could’ve slept in a bit more had you known about the delay, but you quickly swallow down any displeasure from your expression because you spot yet another familiar face amidst the crowd. One of your classmates from a general education. It’d be rude not to say hi. “Hyeju!” you call out. 

She spins around, annoyed surprise brightening into a more pleasant expression upon recognizing you. “Oh, hey! How was your break?”

“Nonexistent,” is your very eloquent reply, smiling. Hyeju laughs in sympathy. “Did you see who our prof for the semester will be? Jesus, I’m already predicting dread for the next five months of— whoa!” Suddenly, you’re nabbed and spun around and all you can see is a whir. Click, you hear while your vision is still wobbly, and when your gaze refocuses, you recognize the culprit with the camera in hand, and your forehead wrinkles. “Seonbae, what the fuck?”

Kim Mingyu lowers down his camera to reveal a widely grinning face. “Smile. I need a pretty face for the news update.”

Hyeju taps your arm to inform you she’s leaving. You look at Mingyu, arms crossed and unamused. “Where’s my appearance fee?”

“I’ll buy you coffee,” he responds, signaling to your other three friends (that you momentarily forgot about) to join in the picture as well. You relent with a sigh, beckoning them to come over. Jake hops over and asks if he’s getting coffee as well. Jay wordlessly strides over and puts up a peace sign behind your head. Sunghoon wedges himself between you and Jake and throws an arm over your shoulder. These guys are so overbearing. Mingyu counts from three with his fingers. The camera clicks. He shoots you a grin with a thumbs up. “Thanks. Love you!”

That guy is also a handful. Your sigh is heard by the three of them. “Is this why you hate attending festivals?” muses Jay.

“The woes of being a wanted woman,” you lament. Jake snorts at your woes. You elbow him in the rib.

“You’re so full of yourself.” Jay rolls his eyes, and that’s when he sees something from his peripheral. “Looks like you’ve got another friend, Miss Wanted.”

You follow his eyes and your gaze stops at an approaching Park Gunwook. His jog slows to a walk once he’s within your earshot. “Oh my god, just the person I wanted to see,” your junior starts. Well, that’s never a good conversation starter. “Seonbae, are you busy? Do you mind lending us a hand?”

Exactly as you feared. “What for?” you ask with preemptive exhaustion.

“Our booth sign,” he explains. “Kwan-hyung disappeared. He was supposed to be the one to— ack. Nevermind. Can you help? You’ve done calligraphy before, right?”

The time you take to think about Gunwook’s request coincides with the amount of time Gunwook is sweating in nervous, hopeful anticipation. He’s giving you puppy eyes, respectfulll offering up the marker with both palms open like he’s offering it up for the heavens. You sigh again and take the marker from him. “You three go look for a spot. Call me when Hee’s about to perform.”

Jake simply laughs at your misery. Jay is the only decent one enough to give you a response. “Sure, no problem.” The two already start walking, but Sunghoon is lagging behind. You give him a smile and wave off. “Sunghoon, let’s go,” Jay nudges him. He relents with a grunt and tells you not to go off on your own for too long.

Now, with three men gone, you thought you’d finally get some breathing room.

Unfortunately for you, doing a favor for one cute junior also means doing favors for all of your cute juniors. And you’ve collected many cute juniors in the three years you’ve wasted away in this university. You thought Gunwook’s sign was the end of it. “Noona!” you hear from your left, and it’s Jungwon and Sunoo trailing behind him. “Can you write ours too? Sunoo-hyung’s handwriting is so bad.”

“It’s not! What I made wasn’t even half bad!”

Why exactly are you peers making the second years and freshmen take care of the booth shit? These kids are supposed to be the ones enjoying the festival right now, for fuck’s sake. You’re in the middle of angrily scribbling onto a piece of chipboard when a classmate of yours enters your line of sight. These useless seniors. If they don’t want to work, might as well not show up, like what you’ve been doing for the past semesters.

“Noona!”

“Hold on.”

“Seonbae—”

“Your sign is on the chair over there, Gunwook.”

“Thank you, I love you, you’re the best.”

“Noona, ours too!”

“Sure, give me a second—”

“Noona.” 

“Yes?” Admittedly, you’re getting quite annoyed, but you don’t want to misdirect your attitude towards these poor kids who just got work tossed to them. “What is it?” you ask without looking up from the current sign post you’re working on— a free hugs sign for the physical education majors— hunched over on a low stool. You assume it’s just another one of the dozens of kids asking you to write a sign, but you’re surprised to feel a tug on your shirt.

You sit straight and turn around. You’re met by a face that you don’t remember seeing before. Sharp features. Dark hair. A little lengthy to the point that the framing strands touch his lashes. A mole under his eye— and the irises seem glassy. Your brows furrow. Who’s this? Is he a freshman? He doesn’t seem familiar at all.

“Noona,” he repeats. But the way he pronounces the honorific is. The soft cadence, the gentle pitch. The way the syllables roll off his tongue triggers a fuzzy sense of familiarity in you. Yet your attempt at reminiscence is ruined when you feel him grab your shoulders and jerk you forward, dropping the sign you’d been working on in the process and nearly stumbling off your seat. But you don’t. Because you’re suddenly caught in a suffocating embrace by someone you can’t quite tell if he’s a stranger or not. Your eyes widen. His frame is swallowing you whole. “It’s really you. I thought I was seeing things. It’s you. I missed you.”

“Excuse me? What are you—”

A familiar scent hits you. The ocean. The sea. A breeze on the shoreline brushing your hair off of your cheeks, and the wind of nostalgia disappears the moment the strange guy’s trembling grip starts to loosen as he pulls away, taking the scent of the sea away with him. His eyes are frantic— almost like he’s looking for something in the confused wrinkle of your expression. “Don’t you remember me?” he says. He looks like he’s about to cry. And that’s when it hits you.

“Oh— oh!” 

A distant summer when you were twelve. Before everything in your life got washed up by the waves.

On vacation you found a boy underneath a coconut tree on the far side of the rocky shore— a far too dangerous place for two children, yet you were interrupted from your seashell hunting by the sound of someone crying amidst the crashing waves. 

“Ricky! Ricky Shen! Oh my god, is it you?”

He was the boy you found that day, sobbing because he got separated from his parents during a vacation abroad. When he looked up at you with big eyes stained red by countless tears, you immediately took his hand and traversed the rocky path to take him back to your father for some help. 

It took you a while to understand his situation. You didn’t speak the same language. However, throughout his stay with you while waiting for his parents to return, you were able to teach him a few words and phrases.

“Noona.” That was one of them— spoken in the same tone he’d always used even when he was a kid. “I thought I’d never see you again.” That phrase wasn’t any of what you taught him. He’s gotten better, but isn’t…this sentiment a bit much? You’re happy to see him well and alive, but if you remember correctly, he only stayed with your family for around a week, and that doesn’t warrant such an intense reunion, so you’re a bit taken aback.

Yet you also consider that he was a kid back then— a kid who got lost in a foreign country who thought he’d never come home again. To you, it was just another week. To him, that another week stuck with him more than you could even begin to understand.

You want to ask him a bit more, like how did he end up here again, why is at your uni, how long until he has to go back—

“Seonbae!” 

—but you lose the chance when you’re interrupted by another one of your juniors. Kim Gyuvin runs up to you in a hurry. You duck down and pick up the chip board you dropped earlier. “Here’s your sign, you knucklehead,” you say, handing it over to him. Gyuvin happily takes it from you and stretches out his arms to read it.

“Oh, thank you!” he says. “But, ah, wait. Right. Someone’s looking for you. I told him to wait by our booth over there.”

“My god, who is it this time?” you grunt. No matter how life fucks you over and turns itself upside down, the amount of people that require your attention just can’t seem to decrease. The filing cabinets in your head can only take so many names. You hop off the stool, ready to leave, before remembering. “Ricky, can you wait for me here? I’ll be back in a sec.”

You start moving but your arm lags behind. You turn to see Ricky still holding onto the sleeve of your shirt, and really— he’s never changed. He might’ve gotten taller, might’ve gotten prettier, but he’s still as cute and clingy as you remember. The one week he spent at yours, the kid would tail you around like a lost kitten all the time.

“Let’s talk more later.” Smiling, you place a hand over his knuckles, and let his loose grip fall completely. He looks like he wants to say something, but he resigns by just nodding instead. “Gyub, where did you say they were?”

“At our booth! Come buy something from us while you’re at it.”

This kid thinks he can extort you. You head off to their booth and check your phone along the way, and you find a missed call and a text from Sunghoon asking where you are. HRM majors booth. Is Heeseung about to go up yet? you reply. Pocketing your phone, you hurry to your destination, squeezing through the barrage of bodies because if Hee is indeed about to perform soon, then you better hurry your ass up, else he’d get mad at you for being ‘such an unsupportive friend.’ His words. You’d rather not have anything that could be used against you.

When you reach the booth, you realize that you have no idea who exactly you’re supposed to be looking for and should’ve asked Gyuvin for a name or description or something. You look around, trying to find someone you know, but in the middle of your search, you feel something…soft drop on your head, falling over your eyes and obscuring your vision. 

The hell? You whip your head around blindly, annoyed. Then you hear a laugh. And you quickly remove the object obscuring your face to make sure that you’d just heard that correctly.

Your annoyance quickly disappears into pleasant surprise the moment you’re able to see the culprit’s face. He’s smiling pretty generously, you notice— not the held-back half smiles that he’d very also rarely display, but the kind you once called pretty and he told you to shut the fuck up with a prostesting grunt. It’s just one familiar face after another. These reunions never seem to end.

“Taesannie!” 

“Seonbae.”

You want to tease him for the rare occasion that he’s in a good mood, that he isn’t all grumpy and moody, but you want to savor this rare sight of him smiling as much as you can. You pull him in for a hug— which causes him to stiffen a little. He’s uncomfortable and you know it, and you laugh. “I haven’t seen you in ages,” you say with a wide grin, pulling back a bit. “How have you been, idiot? Have you been causing trouble again?”

“I messaged you on IG,” he says, wiggling out of your prison just enough for him to be able to hold your arms above your elbows. “Three months ago. When I got accepted to KSU. You never responded.”

Now, it’s your turn to freeze up. “Oops.” Since graduating high school, you realized you’ve never given him your number. “That’s—that’s my bad. But you know I don’t use social media.”

“I know,” Taesan huffs with a smile. He pulls down your left arm, fingers tracing down your skin until they reach your hand— the hand that removed his cap earlier and he snatches it off from you, fixing it on the top of your head again, gentler this time when he tugs down the visor, just enough for you to keep seeing his face. “That’s why I figured to just look for you myself.”

You feel a bump in your throat.

He’s so tenacious. He’s always been.

You simply laugh and shake your head. “Thanks for being so considerate to your unreliable, unthoughtful, and forgetful senior, Dongmin-ah. I’m glad you didn’t report me to Principal Lee for ghosting you.”

“He retired last year.“ Your face stiffens again. He laughs out loud. He’s been enjoying your mistakes a lot. What a handful. “Anyway, I at the very least hope you haven’t forgotten your promise, seonbae.”

“Promise?” you raise a brow. Crap, did you forget something again? Taesan’s smile disappears the moment you express your lack of remembrance. Your brows furrow, trying your best to recall, but you really don’t remember promising him anything because that’s just not something you would do often just to forget. 

“I got accepted to your university. I’m gonna start going to school with you again from now on,” he says, as if that’s enough to jog your missing memories. “Two years was a long time to wait, seonbae. I really don’t want to wait any longer.”

Your confused eyes try to trace hints from his expression. He did get accepted to KSU. He is going to uni with you now. The ID and lanyard he’s wearing is a proof of that— but so what?

So what, you try and tell yourself. But you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Seonbae.”

Taesan looks at you expectantly. It’s difficult to meet his gaze. It’s difficult to get yourself out of this all by yourself. So when you feel the presence of someone approaching you from behind, you take the opportunity to whip your head back and see who it is. Yet rather than finding an opening, what greets you is another closed door. It’s Ricky. “Noona,” he calls out. “You said you won’t take long.”

Somehow, you’ve found yourself caught in a troublesome situation. Your balance stumbles a little. It’s Taesan tugging you back by the shoulder, fixing you closer to the ground right in front of him. “Who the hell are you?” He’s not looking at you— he’s looking right past you, straight at Ricky, who isn’t looking at him at all because the weight of the latter’s stare focused right on you is making you feel like you’re being sunk into the ground.

“Noona,” he repeats, ignoring Taesan altogether. “Let’s go look around the festival together.”

This is...very troublesome indeed. You can feel a throb on the right side of your head. The festival. Right. Has Heeseung’s performance started yet? That’s the only reason why you showed up today, anyway. 

Your attempt to pull your phone out of your pocket is blown off by a blunt pressure on your shoulder blade. You look behind to see the hostility in Taesan’s expression scrunching up even further. It’s like you're a mouse caught in between two starving cats. Good god. The only thing you can hope for right now is for someone to swoop in and get you out of here.

And that’s when you hear the sound of your name being called out.

You snap your head to the left to identify your savior. It’s Park Sunghoon with a bitter look on his face. You let out a quiet sigh of relief— but not silent enough to slip past Taesan’s notice.

His gaze flickers down at you. What? What are you going to do? Leave? the glint in his eyes seem to say. He doesn’t look very happy. Neither do the other two men within your premises, and Sunghoon calls out to you again. “Heeseung hyung is about to perform.” A hand around your wrist. Sunghoon pulls you away from Taesan with a firm tug. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, Sunghoon, give me a sec—” You pry yourself out of his hold, patting around your trousers for the marker you used earlier, and calling out Gyuvin from their booth just a few steps away for a piece of scrap paper, on which you scribble down your number. When you look up, it’s fortunate that Ricky and Taesan are still there, albeit not looking too happy. You’re pretty sure the one waiting behind you isn’t amused either with your stalling. “Hey, it was nice seeing you two kids again, but I need to go. Let’s catch up some other time, okay? Here’s my—”

You’re pulled back, the sheet with your number on it slipping past your fingers and brushing through the wind before you could finish your sentence or hand it over to either of them. 

Surprised, your head turns to Sunghoon, who’s dragging you off at an impatient pace. “Hoon,” you try calling out. He leads you into a tight crown. Your shoulders and elbows bump into people you don't know. “Hoonie, you’re grabbing me too tight, hey!”

You tear yourself away from him. You’re in the midst of a crowd in the middle of the courtyard— all jamming to the music from the front, stage lights flashing and flickering and flitting around as it starts to get dark. You look at him, brows knitted together, but bite your tongue from saying anything too rough upon seeing the expression he’s wearing.

The only way you can describe it is that he looks like he’s about to die. 

“Park Sunghoon,” you start, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer. His eyes leave you when a group of students suddenly come rushing over in the heat of the party, and he closes the space you put in between the both of you by pulling you out of the way of the incoming mob. “Who were they?” he asks. “I know you’re friends with a lot of people, but I’ve never seen those two before. Who were those two?”

Your open palms are pressed against his chest. “One of them, I picked up from the beach when I was a kid.” You use them to push yourself back once the noise from the group has already passed. “The other was a junior in high school. I think they’re both incoming freshmen this year. More importantly, where’s Heeseung? I thought he was about to perform?”

Attempting to look through the large crowd ahead of you, you stretch yourself up with the tips of your toes. “Are you close?” Sunghoon asks again, finding a spot on the small of your back to keep you balanced while you look over his shoulder.  “They acted like they were close with you.”

“I don’t know,” is your only reply. “Hey, Jake and Jay are over there! Heeseung, too! Hoon, let’s go!”

Sunghoon does not pry further. He lets himself get tugged along by you as you fight through the crowd, making it just in time to where Jay and Jake are standing before they could call either of you as Heeseung walks up the stage with a huge smile. Right. This is the only reason why you came here today. Everything else is just secondary— stored up in the back of your mind, behind all of your current priorities.

Which is why the moment Heeseung finishes, you immediately excuse yourself from the other three.

“Already?” Jake whines. “C’mon! We were planning on grabbing drinks after this.”

“You still have your shift at the laundromat, right?” Jay asks. “At least say goodbye to Hee first before leaving.”

“Tell him I’ll send him a long sappy message later!” you shout through the noise. “See you guys tomorrow!”

Before you go, you glance at Sunghoon. He wants to say something, you can tell that much. Your lungs grow heavy. All you want to do is just unload washing machines and wipe the floors and windows clean at Suds right now with your music at full volume. Sunghoon finally settles with a simple, “text us when you get to work.” This elicits a look of surprise from Jake.

“Whoa. You aren’t gonna offer to take her there?”

Sunghoon only grunt. You smile and bid them farewell, and for once, you aren’t stopped or interrupted by anyone, and your walk towards the exit gate off the campus runs smoothly along with the setting of the sun. When you take your first step on the pavement right outside university premises, your phone buzzes to a text. [seonbae. it’s taesan]. Followed by another. [what time do your classes end tomorrow? wanna grab dinner together?]

At least you know they got your note. You balance yourself on the bus ride to your part-time job as you think of a response. Tomorrow. What’s on your schedule, again? You have classes from ten to four, and your lunch break is most likely gonna be spent with the four idiots. Tomorrow’s dinner is already booked, too, and your dinner date might get sulky if you cancel on him again this time.

[Will Friday work? Sorry, I’m booked today, Taesan. But we can have a mini-celebration at the end of the week for your KSU acceptance :) what do you say?].

*

The next morning, when you come down for breakfast, you see your dad wearing a suit.

For a second, you almost completely gloss over it, greeting them a good morning as you walk over the counter for a glass of water. Then you notice he’s not wearing his bike helmet. And when you sniff your nose, you can smell the scent of musky perfume. That’s when you notice.

“Whoa,” you remark, setting your glass down onto the counter. Your mom is helping him fix up his tie. You quickly twirl open your phone to snap this gem of a photo. “What’s the occasion? I don’t recall you having any friends’ whose weddings you can attend.” 

You receive a scolding from your mom and a hearty laugh from your dad. 

“How do you know I don’t have any friends?” he responds with a smile. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s grab a taxi, I’ll drop you off at your school.”

Even though that doesn’t answer your questions about his plans for today, you neither pry nor push because you know their standard protocol for these things. If they get a catering offer for a big event, you’re the first one they tell. If the electricity bills go up or if a debtor showed up while you’re outside, you wouldn’t even know unless you dig into it, unless you ask a neighbor or a friend or find some evidence they left behind somewhere in the restaurant. 

The entire taxi ride is uncomfortable. Not in any way because of the conversation your father is attempting to strike. But because the car’s air conditioning is making your head spin and nauseous. “Why didn’t your friends come by today, by the way?”

“They were too late in fixing their schedules, so they have a 7 a.m. class today,” you snort, laughing. You sometimes wonder why they even bother coming around so often, considering your place is an hour-long commute to and from campus, and Jay never brings his fucking car around. 

Your dad makes a comment about which one of them is more your type. You hack out a cough and cover your ears to block his amused laughter out.

“Hey, I’m just asking! My only dream is to see you happily married before I die, you know.”

“Change your dream. I don’t want to be the reason if you live an unfulfilled life,” you groan, face burning up. “Hold on. I’m getting a text from Jeonghan-seonbae.”

“He’s a pretty good candidate too.”

“Stop it! Oh my god, you’re the worst.”

You quickly unlock your phone to read the message. [hey, busy bee. just texting to make you’re not canceling our plans again later 🥰🥰]. You’re pretty sure that this is a threat. How many coffees, lunches, drinks, and dinners have you ruined with him because you had a sudden deadline that day, a work opportunity that same evening. He’d always been understanding, but you never fail to feel guilty after all he’s helped you, and you can’t even give him a few hours of your time. [I’m not!!! I’ll see you at Eojetbam, promise 😞].

“You’re seeing him later, right?” your dad asks.

“Yup. He’s treating me to dinner at this fancy restaurant downtown.”

Unlike usual, your father doesn’t make a comment at your subtle bragging. There’s a look on his face that you can’t pinpoint. “That’s nice,” is all he says after a momentary pause. “Ask him to drive you home tonight.”

“There’s no way I’m doing that,” you disagree. “I still have a bit of shame left, you know.”

You reach campus, and attempt to pay half of the taxi meter but your father simply shoo’s you away. With heavy steps and defeated shoulders, you make your way inside the gate and are greeted by Yeojin, your classmate for the first class you have on your schedule, who just happens to arrive at the same time as you after grabbing a coffee from Drip across the street.

“First day of the semester and I’m already tired,” she tells you with a dejected sigh. “On more exciting news— we got new eye candy on campus. My friends from the fashion and design department told me that two cute new freshmen caught everyone’s attention during the orientation. Their building is right next to ours. God, I hope we bump into one of them today. Just the energizer I’d need.”

All you do is laugh at her news while entertaining the faintest idea that you might know who one of those two is. Last night, you’d called Taesan upon getting home to compensate for turning him down. You caught up a bit, exchanged schedules and he told you his major— fashion merchandising, which caught you by surprise. Well, considering it still falls under business, you could believe it a little better.

Anyhow, if he finds out that he’s been crowned as his department’s cute new eye candy as a title, you’re sure he’d be pretty fucking annoyed. And you intend to capitalize on that. More teasing fuel for you.

“Good morning, everyone. Let’s not waste time on introductions and head straight to our course outline.”

What a way to start the semester. You hold back a million yawns while taking some notes of Prof Yang’s overview of the syllabus. Yeojin asks if you want to hit the cafeteria for a snack in between classes. You shoot her a thumbs up and the moment Prof Yang dimisses, you’re both out the door and into the hallway.

“Hey, hurry up!” you call out to her when she stumbles over her undone shoelaces. “The guys from the phys ed department usually flood the canteen at this time, you know. They’re gonna sweep up all our portions.”

“Not on my watch, they won’t.”

You laugh as you walk ahead, your line of sight lagging behind your body because you want to watch more of her struggling to re-tie her laces as quickly as you can. This causes you to not look at where you’re going— and where you’re going is straight into the body of another person, bumping your nose in the process. “Ow!” you exclaim. “Sorry about that!”

“Noona.”

Oh. You pause, looking up to take a good look at your victim of negligence, and it is indeed Ricky Shen. “Ricky!” you greet. “Did you get home safe after the festival last night? How did you know I was here?”

He smiles as a response. You hold back the urge to squish his face between your palms, reminding yourself that he’s not a kid anymore. “I asked around. Turns out our buildings are next to each other, noona.”

That urge isn’t easily suppressed. “Wow!” you exclaim. Your hand somehow finds itself reaching for the fluff of his hair, and Ricky tips his head down in response, allowing you to press light pats on the crown of his head. “Good job. Now you won’t have to worry about getting lost anywhere anymore.” It hits you as an afterthought though— he could’ve just texted you to ask. Why bother asking someone when he could’ve asked you directly. Taesan got your number even amidst the rush, after all. Ricky must’ve too.

“Noona,” Ricky’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “My back is starting to ache a bit.” 

You flinch and snap out of it. “Oh, sorry.” You retract your hand, pulling it close to your chest. “Force of habit, I guess.” If your recollection serves you right, Ricky was very much shorter than you. He’s two years younger, and in the brief week he’d spent with you in your household, you’d been used to him looking up, trying to communicate with you the best that he can with the help of those big, sparkly eyes of his repeating, ‘Noona. Noona! Can we see the pond again? The koi pond?’

Now, you’re the one looking up at him. And a memory begins to surface.

‘Noona.’ It begins with the usual gentle timbre of his voice. ‘Can’t I just stay here with you forever?”

A laugh from Ricky stirs you back into the present. “I was just joking, I don’t really mind,” he hums, smiling. “You can touch me anywhere you want, noona.” 

Whoa, whoa, whoa— hold on. You manage a stiff smile. Whoever was his vocabulary teacher needs to get a demotion. This kid can be a bit much can he? You brush his comment off. Ricky’s gaze is as patient yet expectant as ever. “Anyhow, I’m off to the canteen with a friend of mine. Yeojin.” You point your thumb back at her. Said friend has been trying to sneak in the opportunity to insert herself into the conversation, but never got the opportunity. “Do you want to join us?”

He nods firmly. You laugh. His over the top-ness aside, Ricky can be painstakingly cute, and it’s taking everything in your power to prevent yourself from treating him the same way that you’d done before.

The cafeteria run only lasted briefly, considering you two still have a class to catch in less than fifteen minutes. After getting a vegetable wrap and Yeojin’s rice bowl, you had to bid Ricky farewell and return to your department building. On the way, right at the moment that you’d left Ricky’s earshot, Yeojin starts freaking the fuck out. “Whoa, what the fuck?! Dude, that was fashion department cutie number two! The one I mentioned earlier!” she shrieks into your ear, shaking you by the arm. “I hear he’s the son of SQR Fashion’s Chairwoman. What the hell? Why is a rich heir like him bowing his head down for your headpats and paying for our snacks?”

“Listen, I’m just as taken aback as you are.” You’ve known about Ricky’s background when his parents came back for him after his one-week missing period. “I met him once when I was like, twelve, and only bumped into him again yesterday. I’m surprised he still remembers me. He’s barely even an acquaintance.”

You’re not lying. You’re happy to see him, but it still puzzles you why Ricky is acting like this.

“How in the world would you have gotten acquainted with someone like him?!”

All you could do is smile and thank the heavens for the interruption in the form of your phone buzzing to an incoming text. It’s from your dad, asking if you’ve eaten yet, and reminding you to go home straight after your dinner with Jeonghan. Yet another display of weird behavior from a man in your life. He never usually texts you, not to mention what had happened earlier this morning. You might get some information from your mother later. You should pack some leftovers to bring home.

You receive another text. It’s a photo from Jay of Sunghoon, arms crossed and falling asleep in class. There’s drool on his face. You cackle and press save. Yeojin tugs you into the classroom. “We’re not late aren’t we?”

“No, not yet.

“Oh, hey!”

“Wow, you’re taking this class, too?”

The rest if your classes end in a flash, considering it’s only syllabus week, so you manage to get off earlier than you’d initially planned. Yeojin had already split up with you since she has other friends to meet. The four idiots are stuck here at uni until six in the evening because they screwed up their schedules for the semester, and you took a day off from your shift at 7-Eleven today because of the dinner you have scheduled.

That means, for the first time in a while, you’re all alone right now. All alone with nothing to do.

Should you pick up some hobbies? you think to yourself as you aimlessly walk through the streets of downtown to kill time. You’ve never really pondered on these things— not that you’ve ever had the privilege to. Picking up something like crocheting would only be a waste of money. It’s not like you have the time to get into a sport, either.

Your feet stop moving right in front of a bookstore. Open, the sign says. You look at the books on display through the glass. The owner smiles at you from inside. You turn your head, and your feet start moving again.

These books can be downloaded online. There’s no need to spend money on physical copies.

“Ah, my life is so boring,” you lament, continuing your mindless stroll. There’s a taiyaki cart in the corner. You buy a few pieces before making a turn, and that’s when you notice something that’s been bugging you since earlier.

When you make a turn around the block, you notice the same black car you’d been seeing since earlier make a turn as well. It’s only a hunch, but you proceed to move forward further into the street, before spinning your heels and going back into the same direction you came.

The car stops in its tracks. It attempts to make a u-turn at the intersection. 

Your hunch is correct. What the hell. You should have never made that remark about your boring life. Quickly, your eyes scan around for an alley you could disappear into, and there you find a narrow opening wedged in between a study cafe and a pharmacy. You push yourself forward before the car could finish its turn— yet the moment your soles stomp into the concealment of brick walls and dusty pavement, you hear the abrupt ringing of your name being called out.

The sound of the voice stirs a rush of nausea from the pits of your stomach. It’s familiar— yet unlike the fondness of seashores that Ricky brought with his, this voice carries the crowbar hitting the latch of all of your pent up emotions for the past decade. 

You’re greeted by the face of the man you’d used to see at every dinner, every gala. Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday emerging from your fathers now burnt down study. Every weekend when you’d come over to visit, asking how was your week with a kind, smiling expression.

“Mr Choi.”

How much more forceful reminiscing do you have to undergo this week? Quite frankly, you’re getting so fucking sick of it.

He repeats your name. The car is left on the road beside the sidewalk. He’d up and left just to talk to you in the middle of this dingy street. “Do you…have a few minutes to spare for a chat?” You bite your tongue. You turn around and ignore him, yet he knows exactly what to do to snag your attention. “I met your father earlier.”

And it clicks. It clicks so well that you can hear the sound echoing in the chambers of your brain. Your dad wore a suit for the first time in forever. His out of character texts to check on you. And here you have the person who ruined his life suddenly showing up for god knows what reason— and you know that if you ask your father, he wouldn’t tell you a single damn thing. You don’t think you can stomach it if your life gets fucked and flipped around again, right under your nose without your knowledge.

“For what?” you ask, voice firm. Mr Choi looks around first, eyes scanning the area before drawling out a hesitant response.

“Let’s…let’s talk in private.”

The next thing you know, you’re sitting in front of this bastard in the private booth of a restaurant your eyes failed to register the name of. There’s a full course meal sitting in front of you— sushi, salad, and a clear broth soup. The ice cubes are melting inside the juice. You feel sick to your stomach and a single bite might cause you to vomit on the spot.

Mr Choi has not touched his meal either. He’s finding his footing to start the conversation. “You should…you should try the soup. I’ve eaten here with my sons before. Do you remember them?” You don’t intend on making it easy for him. He clears his throat when you don’t grace him with a response. “I came looking for you and your father today because I’d like to sincerely apologize for what I’d done to you and your family, sweetheart.”

You hold back a scoff. This is ten years overdue, isn’t it?

“I was—I was blinded by my greed back then. I’m so sorry. Sihyuk had been giving me ideas that your father would eventually buy all of the company’s shares for himself and kick me out of the business, and that we needed to beat him to it before he could.” Mr Choi starts explaining, but to your ears, it’s nothing but listless prattles. “I know your father would never do that, but I was paranoid. And I assumed he’d have the capability to bring himself back on his feet anyway, but I didn’t expect things to turn for the worst when your house employees also turned their backs on you and started a fire on your property.”

“It’s all in the past, sir,” you hum, peeling off a piece of salmon from the platter, lifting it into the air before sending it straight to your tongue. It’s a hard swallow. “Besides, you wouldn’t have been able to treat me with this expensive meal if you didn’t do what you had to, right?”

You stare at him dead in the eye as he shifts uncomfortably. It’s unfortunate that you can’t snap a photo of his discomfort. Mr Choi clears his throat once more, his food still untouched, and tries to grab rein on the conversation yet again.

“I’m—I’m really sorry, sweetheart. I know nothing I could say here right now could grant my forgiveness. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make amends,” he starts. “I talked to your father earlier. I offered him a position at S&B, but he declined. Understandably so after what I’d done to him. Which is why I turned to you, instead. I thought I could maybe right my wrongs in a different way.”

“What? Are you dying soon, or something?” you scoff. “Are you trying to clean your resume for heaven before your time is up?” You catch Mr Choi’s jaw clench at your remark. What can you say? Your father is barely home from making deliveries around the clock at every house. You see your mother’s callouses every single day when she sets down the tray for your breakfast, even though you insist you can just buy something from the cafeteria on campus. And there’s this piece of shit thinking he can fix or undo everything with a sorry, with the throwing of his scraps— for the sake of his own guilty conscience.

It’s revolting. It’s pissing you the fuck off.

And yet here you are, in spite of your disgust and anger, you’re swayed by the temptation of a piece of juicy meat being dangled right in front of you.

“Can you get to the point, Mr Choi?” you say. “Do you want me to convince my father to take the offer?”

He releases a smile and a laugh. “I don’t think even you could get through to him, sweetheart.” As much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. You inherited your stubbornness from somewhere, after all. “But I don’t want to give up yet. I’m truly sorry for the consequences my actions had made. I have been made aware of your current living situation, and how you’ve been juggling multiple jobs just to ease the burden from your parents in paying the bills and your tuition.”

Your bones stiffen. You lock your attention on Mr Choi.

“You were correct when you said I just want to clear my conscience, even just a little,” he continues. “Let me pay for your tuition and offer you a place near your school to stay until you graduate.”

There’s a pulse in the air. You can hear it. You hear it clearly.

Mr Choi pulls something out of the inner pocket of his coat. He slides it down the table for you to see and receive.

“You don’t have to give an answer now.” It’s a business card. His number is on it. “But my line is always open once you’ve made up your mind, sweetheart. Please take the time to consider.”

줄다리기 / JULDARIGI. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[lyn31]

Ohhh i'm looking forward to the next fics you have! Also i was thinking about this scenario in my head : serena visiting zayne at work with a home cooked lunch (which she insisted on helping) and she immediately become the star of the hospital, everyone would be fawning over how adorable she is, with her pigtails and dress. she'd be shy at first hiding behind mommy's leg or hiding her face on daddy's neck but after warming up for some time she's willing to play with greyson & yvonne andddd imagine her having a tiny little crush on greyson 😂 i feel like zayne would be somewhat irked by that lol imagine him scowling at greyson and poor man didn't know what he did wrong

P.s : sorry for the long ask, i just love them a bit too much hahaha

I change it a bit to lunch dessert instead but hopefully it still within your expectation! Let me know what you think 👀💕

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Desserts Mission

Summary

A quiet lunchtime visit to Zayne’s hospital turns into a heart-melting mission led by Serena—complete with pudding cakes, charm offensives, and one very jealous dad.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Family fluff, cute, silly, banter, chaos, yk all the sweet stuff :D

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The living room is quiet except for the low hum of the TV, morning sunlight slanting in through half-drawn curtains. Serena sits curled at the edge of the couch, her legs tucked under her, still wearing her cloud-print pajamas. The cartoon on screen is halfway through an episode—some bright-eyed characters baking something elaborate, a little jingle about sugar and smiles filling the space.

You're beside her on the carpet, folding a small mountain of clean laundry. Tiny shirts and dresses, socks that never seem to have a pair, one of Zayne’s pressed work shirts. You’re on autopilot, matching fabric to owner, until Serena speaks.

“Mommy?”

Her voice is soft, almost lost under the cartoon’s background music, but you glance over instantly. She straightens a little, one hand bracing against the couch like she’s about to stand.

“Hmm?”

She points to the screen, where the characters are cheerfully frosting a cake. “Daddy would like that.”

Your hands still around a pair of her socks. “The dessert?”

Serena nods, eyes wide. “We make it?”

You smile, folding the socks and tossing them into the basket. “You want to make it now?”

A firmer nod this time. “Please?”

The way she says it—earnest, hopeful, serious in the way only a three-year-old can be—tugs something deep in your chest. And even though you still have half a basket of laundry to finish, the look in her hazel eyes makes it impossible to say no.

You laugh softly, brushing her bangs aside. “Alright. Just let me finish folding, okay? Then we’ll check what we need.”

Serena pauses for a second, then scoots off the couch and plops down beside you. She picks up one of her little shirts, clumsily folds it into something vaguely rectangular, and beams at you.

You bite back a laugh. “Helping me now, are you?”

“So we can make it fast,” she says, dragging another shirt into her lap.

And you swear, even though her fingers fumble and her folds are more crumples than anything else, she does it with such focus that you start to think you should let her run the whole laundry operation.

You don’t rush her. You just keep folding at her pace, every now and then handing her something easier, like a towel or a pair of her own leggings. She works with quiet determination, glancing every so often at the TV like she’s memorizing the recipe. You don’t have the heart to ruin it by explaining that cartoons rarely show real recipes.

By the time the last of the laundry is folded—some a little more wrinkled than others—Serena’s already on her feet, pulling at the hem of your shirt. “Now?”

You grin, setting the basket aside. “Now.”

In the kitchen, Serena climbs onto her usual stool, her feet swinging just above the floor as she watches you pull out ingredients. You scan the fridge and pantry, piecing things together based on your own memory and whatever that cartoon implies. Something sweet. Warm. With maple syrup—because Zayne has a soft spot for anything drizzled with it, especially when Serena insists on pouring it for him.

You hum thoughtfully, setting butter to soften while Serena traces invisible patterns on the counter with her finger.

“What do you think, Chef?” you ask, tapping the recipe notes into your phone. “Little maple syrup pudding cakes? We’ve got everything for it.”

Serena nods seriously. “For Daddy.”

You smile. “Yup. He’s gonna love it.”

She’s all in. You give her the job of measuring flour, which turns into a white cloud the moment she leans too far forward. She coughs into her elbow, blinking through the puff of dust.

“Oh no,” you gasp, mock-horrified. “Flour bomb. We’ve lost the counter.”

Serena giggles. “Boom.”

Chaos takes over within minutes. Sticky fingers, a maple drizzle incident, and a spoon flung somewhere behind the toaster. At one point, Serena accidentally drops half a vanilla pod into the bowl, and you spend a good minute fishing it out with the wrong end of a spoon because your hands are already coated in batter.

“I got it!” you announce, holding it up triumphantly like a trophy. Serena claps.

Somewhere along the way, she forgets her stool and ends up standing on the floor, stretching on her tiptoes to stir. You crouch behind her, hands over hers for a moment, helping her guide the whisk through the thick mixture.

“This smells like Daddy,” she says matter-of-factly.

You huff a soft laugh. “...That’s either sweet or deeply concerning.”

“He likes this smell.”

You lean your chin on her shoulder. “Yeah. He does.”

Eventually, after a mess that would make your past self cringe, the pudding cakes are in the oven, warm and bubbling in their ramekins. You set a timer and glance around at the wreckage—bowls everywhere, syrup on the table leg, a trail of flour footprints leading toward the hallway.

Serena looks up at you, face flushed, eyes bright. “Can we give it now?”

You pause, blinking. “You mean… bring it to Daddy? Now?”

She nods, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He eat lunch.”

You stagger back a step and drop dramatically to the floor. “She wants to deliver it directly. I wasn’t ready for this level of sentiment—!”

Serena immediately slides down to crouch beside you, her little hand resting gently on your cheek.

“Mommy?”

“You’re not even sorry for melting my heart, are you?”

“No,” she says, solemn as ever, and completely unapologetic after she finds out that you’re just playing and not in actual pain.

You groan into the floor. “You and your father are going to be the end of me.”

That gets a quiet giggle. She leans forward and kisses your forehead, smearing a little syrup onto your skin in the process.

You sigh and sit up, pulling her into your lap despite the mess. “Alright, alright. We’ll check if he’s free. But first—we have to deal with the war zone, okay?”

She nods dutifully and scurries off to grab her cloth. You pull out your phone, sticky fingers and all, and type with one hand while watching Serena carefully swipe the same syrup spot over and over again.

You: Serena made something for you. Apparently it's an emergency delivery. You free around lunch? If not, I’ll buy her a bribe and distract her—she might still be powered by sugar fumes.

You hit send and let out a breath, glancing at the oven again. The cakes are puffing up just right. Your kitchen is an absolute war zone. Your child is determined to scrub the same six inches of floor until it sparkles. And you? You’re covered in flour, maple, and love.

Then your phone buzzes.

Ours❤️🩷: Come by. I’ll make time.

You smile. “Looks like Daddy’s on standby for a delivery.”

Serena’s head pops up from under the table. “We go?”

“Soon,” you say, giving her a wink. “After we clean you can bring the box, and Mommy will bring the backup spoon. Just in case Daddy wants to share.”

She beams so hard it nearly knocks the air out of your chest.

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The kitchen looks more like a battleground than a place where food is made, but between the two of you—one overly determined mom and one sugar-fueled toddler—you finally manage to wrestle it back into something presentable.

The sink is still a little full, and there’s a smear of syrup behind the toaster you pretend not to see, but the counters are wiped, the mixing bowls stacked, and the pudding cakes are now cooling in a little box Serena decorated with way too many sparkly stickers from the drawer labeled "Emergency Cute Supplies."

Next. Yourselves.

You catch your reflection in the hallway mirror and wince. “We look like we fought the dessert and lost.”

Serena, with a suspiciously clean spot around her mouth where you know she swiped a taste, grins up at you, unbothered. She just shows you her sticky hands.

“Extremely sticky,” you agree, hoisting her up anyway like she’s not coated in sugar and chaos. “Bath detour. Then we prep for presentation.”

“Puh-sentation?” she echoes, wriggling as you carry her toward the bathroom.

“Food always tastes better when it’s dressed nice,” you say. “And so do people. We are not delivering dessert looking like half-baked chaos gremlins.”

She giggles. “We are chaos gremlins.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss against her floury cheek.

“Yeah, well. We can be polished ones.”

Cleanup is a team effort. You wash her hair while she tries to splash bubbles onto your face, and in retaliation, you wrap her in a towel burrito afterward while she’s giggling and trying to wriggle her way out.

You give your hair a quick towel-dry, still damp at the ends, and toss on something simple while Serena sits at the foot of the bed with her legs swinging, flipping through the low drawer where her nicer clothes are tucked.

“Alright,” you say, hands on your hips. “What’s the look, Chef Serena?”

She hums thoughtfully, nose scrunched in a familiar Zayne-like expression of deep concentration. You expect her to go for something loud—she has a sparkly shirt she’s obsessed with lately—but instead, she pulls out a soft sage green dress with tiny white flowers on it.

“That one?”

She bobs her head, hugging it to her chest. “It match you.”

It takes you a second to realize what she means. You glance over your shoulder at your reflection—your blouse is a lighter version of the same shade, one you barely thought about while pulling it on.

You pause for a beat. Of all her choices, she picked the one that matches yours.

“Well,” you say, kneeling down to help her step into it, “presentation is important.”

You let her pick your earrings, too—she goes for the tiny gold hoops Zayne gave you forever ago, the ones Serena once tried to flush down the toilet. Full circle.

Once she’s dressed and twirling in front of the mirror and clutches the dessert box like it’s made of gold, you're just about to put her little white bow on when she shifts, tilting her head thoughtfully.

You catch the look and smile. “What’s up?”

She taps one side of her head. “Two.”

It takes you a second—but then it clicks. You kneel down again. “Pigtails?”

A nod.

You grin. “Like the cartoon girl?”

Another soft nod, this time paired with the tiniest smile.

“Well,” you say, reaching for the hairbrush, “what the Chef asks, the Chef shall receive.”

Her straight hair goes into neat pigtails, one on each side, and you clip the white bow in between them like a final flourish. When you’re done, you kiss on top of her head.

“You look perfect,” you murmur.

Serena turns, holding up the dessert box with both hands, very intent. “Now Daddy eat.”

You nod, grabbing your bag and your phone. “Let’s go melt him.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hospital lobby hums with its usual low buzz—footsteps, quiet conversation, the occasional ding of the elevator. You step through the doors with Serena holding tightly to your hand, her other arm wrapped carefully around the small dessert box like it contains the secret to world peace.

She's dressed like a dream, especially with how the two of you are matching. Heads are already turning, but Serena doesn’t seem to notice. She's too focused.

You pass by the front desk with a smile, but predictably, Yvonne spots you in half a second.

“Good morning!” the nurse chirps, leaning forward with her elbows on the counter. Then her voice pitches a little higher, the way it always does when she sees Serena. “And who’s this little angel?”

Serena shifts closer to your leg, clutching the box tighter.

You chuckle, smoothing her hair gently. “Chef Serena is here on a special delivery for Dr. Li. Made with an irresponsible amount of maple syrup.”

Yvonne grins. “Ah, I see—hospital-grade sweetness. I’ll give Greyson a heads-up so your husband doesn’t vanish into the void.”

She taps a quick message into her terminal as Serena peeks up just enough to slide the box onto the edge of the counter, wordlessly.

“Oh, it’s for me?” Yvonne teases, pretending to reach for it.

Serena hugs the box back to her chest instantly and shakes her head once—slow and firm.

You laugh. “Denied. Sorry, she takes her missions seriously.”

Just then, the elevator dings and Greyson strolls out from one of the nearby corridors, a coffee in hand and his tablet in the other. He spots you both, his brows lifting slightly.

“Well, this is unexpected—” he starts, but then he sees Serena.

The second Greyson looks up, he freezes—then immediately lets out a breath of laughter through his nose.

“Oh no,” he says, mock-grim. “That’s too much cuteness for a weekday.”

You watch as Serena blinks up at him, utterly serious with her glitter-stickered dessert box held tight.

“She’s here to deliver pudding and raise hospital morale,” you say. “Presentation’s a serious matter.”

Greyson leans slightly over the desk like he’s inspecting official cargo. “I feel very judged by how underdressed I am right now. How is she this cute? That should be illegal.”

“She’s being supervised,” you say, patting her head.

Greyson leans down a little, hands in his coat pockets. “Is that for Zayne?”

Serena nods once, very serious.

“Well,” Greyson says, stepping aside dramatically. “Then I’m not getting in your way. Wouldn’t dare.”

“Smart man,” you murmur.

He gestures toward the hallway. “He’s in his office. You want me to knock or just… let the small storm through?”

Serena, hearing that, straightens slightly and tugs at your hand, clearly ready.

“I think she prefers the dramatic entrance,” you say with a smile. “Thanks, Greyson.”

“Anytime,” he says, watching as you and Serena walk past. Then, half to himself. “That kid’s gonna own this hospital one day.”

Yvonne laughs behind you. “She already does.”

You glance down at Serena, who’s marching forward with all the seriousness of a diplomat carrying world peace.

You squeeze her fingers gently. “Ready, Chef Serena?”

She gives a firm nod. “Ready.”

You give a soft knock at the office door, not really waiting for a response before easing it open. Serena stands in front of you like a tiny honor guard, clutching the dessert box with both hands.

Zayne looks up from his desk immediately. He’s still in his coat, stethoscope looped around his neck, and whatever paperwork he was reviewing is forgotten the moment he sees who’s in the doorway.

Then he sees what she’s holding.

What she’s wearing and what you're wearing.

His pen stills in his hand, and his whole expression shifts—composed as ever, but that warmth blooms in his gaze so fast it’s almost visible.

Serena doesn’t say anything. She just marches forward, slow and steady, and sets the box down on the edge of his desk like it’s some sacred offering. Then she looks up at him and, very softly, says.

“Daddy eat.”

Zayne blinks. His fingers brush the box, then pause. “You made this?”

She nods once.

You lean against the doorway, arms folded, watching him try to process it.

“I see,” he says, voice quiet but warm. “So I’m the lucky recipient.”

Serena presses her palms to the desk, peeking up at him. “We puh-sented.”

His brows lift just a bit. “Presented?”

You step away from the doorway and walk toward them, hands settling on your hips as you grin. “She means we dressed up. Food tastes better when it looks good. So do we.”

He glances over Serena’s carefully smoothed dress, the white bow between her pigtails, then at the matching hue of your blouse. His faint smile deepens just a touch. “I see. A very thorough approach.”

“She took it seriously,” you say, nodding toward the glitter-sticker-covered box. “Even used the Emergency Cute Supplies.”

Zayne hums in amusement as he carefully opens the lid. Inside are four small pudding cakes—golden and warm-looking despite their imperfect shapes. They’re topped with little curls of whipped cream and a generous dusting of sprinkles, and a lot of maple syrup, of course. One even has a star sticker stuck dead center like it earned top honors.

Serena watches his face like a tiny judge on a very serious panel.

He picks one up with deliberate care, takes a bite—slow and measured like it’s a five-star tasting—and then, after a beat:

“Delicious.”

Serena’s small smile is proud but shy, like she knows it will be.

You nudge her gently. “Mission complete, Chef.”

She turns, arms lifting toward you without a word.

“Alright, come here,” you murmur, scooping her up again.

Zayne rises from his chair as you settle her on your hip. His hand drifts down her back, soft and lingering, before brushing along your arm.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” he says quietly.

You glance at the pudding box. “We weren’t expecting syrup to hit the ceiling either, but here we are.”

He leans in, kisses Serena’s temple, then yours.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Serena tucks against you, her shoulders softening, already content now that her job’s done.

You smile into her hair. “The mission is to melt you.”

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh. “Mission accomplished.”

You meet his gaze, and everything warm in your chest settles a little deeper.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the office door swings open, it’s like a switch flips in the hallway.

“Is that Serena?” someone gasps—Vera, you think, already halfway out of her seat from the reception desk where she’s talking to Yvonne.

In seconds, you're surrounded.

Nurses, doctors, admin staff—you recognize a few faces, others not so much—but they all have the same expression: stunned delight. A chorus of soft “aww”s spreads through the group like a wave, and at the center of it all, Serena goes still.

She clutches the now-empty dessert box tighter to her chest, eyes wide, body tucked subtly behind your leg.

“Careful,” comes Greyson’s voice, cutting smoothly through the hum. “Give the little star some room to breathe.”

The crowd shifts slightly, more amused than chastised, but they do ease back a step. Serena’s shoulders un-hunch the tiniest bit.

Vera beams. “You’re even cuter in person, sweetheart. And that dress—oh my goodness.”

“She made the dessert too,” you say, only half-exaggerating.

There’s a soft round of applause, of all things.

One of the younger nurses crouches a little, smiling gently. “Can I see your bow?”

Serena glances up at you first—checking—and when you nod, she turns and tilts her head just enough to show off her carefully placed white bow between the pigtails. It gets another round of coos.

“Chef and fashion icon,” Greyson says, smiling down at her. “Double threat.”

Serena stares up at him, cautious but interested. He offers her a fist bump without a word. She hesitates… then gently taps it with her own tiny knuckles.

You feel her confidence rise just a little after that.

“That’s right,” Greyson says, mock-serious. “Certified cool.”

You catch movement beside you—Zayne. He hasn’t said a word, barely moved—but you know him. The subtle shift in his posture, the way he’s very slightly leaned forward, gaze fixed on where Greyson is crouched in front of Serena…

You nudge his arm lightly.

He doesn’t respond.

You press your lips together to stop the laugh bubbling up.

Serena’s still holding the box like a treasure, but now she’s smiling, just barely. She mumbles something too quiet to catch, and one of the nurses crouches to hear her better. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“She said she made it for her daddy,” you translate, heart clenching just a little.

Vera coos again. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Yvonne pipes up, “Dr. Zayne, how does it feel knowing your kid just raised the department morale single-handedly?”

Zayne, who has clearly considered throwing Greyson out a window at least once in the last two minutes, blinks once. Then, in a tone drier than the Sahara.

“Efficient.”

You bite your lip. Hard.

You try to give everyone a few more minutes of Serena’s quiet charm, but eventually, you murmur your goodbyes and start to herd her gently toward the elevator. She waves to the crowd—small and subdued, but undeniably pleased with herself—and they wave back like she’s a celebrity leaving a red carpet event.

Zayne walks you both out to the parking garage in silence, hand resting lightly on the small of your back while Serena skips just ahead, humming softly to herself.

Then, as you reach the car, she slows. Looks up at him. Her voice is soft.

“I like Dr. Greyson.”

Zayne doesn’t freeze, but it’s a near thing. His expression doesn’t change—but it does stop. Everything about him just… goes still for a breath.

He nods once. Carefully. “He is kind.”

You glance at him sideways, biting your cheek again.

“Oh?” you say, light and teasing. “Sounds like someone has a little crush.”

His eyes slide to you, voice low, unimpressed. “Don’t even joke about it.”

You snort. “She’s a child, dear.”

He returns flatly, “Exactly.”

And that finally makes you laugh—after holding it back so long before—you clutch his arm, holding your stomach while Zayne still stares at you like you're the one being ridiculous.

Then he simply takes your hand, guiding you toward the car door while you’re still trying to stifle your laugh.

Meanwhile, Serena’s humming again, bouncing onto the edge of the car seat like her mission has been a complete and total success—lunch delivered, hospital conquered, public charmed.

You lean against the door for a second, just watching her while Zayne buckles her in.

Then you murmur, low enough that only he hears, “I can see it now—Dr. Serena Li, stealing everyone’s hearts like it’s her birthright.”

Zayne shuts the car door with slow precision—controlled, deliberate. He exhales faintly through his nose. “Preferably not Greyson’s.”

You glance at him, amused. “He was just being nice.”

“He always is,” Zayne says. “That’s the problem.”

You can’t help it—you laugh, quiet and warm. “She can’t even spell his name.”

He gives you a look, steady and unblinking. “All the more reason to intervene early.”

Shaking your head, finally getting into the driving seat, you say, “You’re being ridiculous.”

Zayne leans in, eyes calm but unwilling to budge. “I’m just being cautious.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, yes. Cautious father, doting husband. Very intimidating.”

He kisses you before you can say anything else—soft, certain, and just a little longer than necessary.

You sigh against his mouth, but your smile gives you away. He gives you another quick peck before pulling back, leaning away from the car window.

Then you glance back. “Wave goodbye to Daddy, sweetheart.”

Serena lifts her hand without hesitation, grinning through the glass like she’s already onto her next grand mission.

Zayne doesn’t move right away. He lingers there beside the parking space, watching as you pull away, one hand lifting in return, his gaze soft but unreadable.

Only once the car turns the corner does he finally head back inside.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

She's adorable! Toddler irl also have their moment but man, having calmer toddler would be a dream 😂

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

Although if you missed the Newlyweds series! Here How it all happen And also the Pregnancy series, starting with Try For Baby

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Crimson Ties ~ 9

CRIMSON TIES MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,780ish

Summary: You meet your new bodyguard. Howard comes over for a visit.

Warning(s): panic attack, fighting

Notes: Hopefully this chapter makes sense.... Please send in reactions!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

“Where is she?” Natasha asked as she burst into the house with her sister right behind her. “Is she alright?”

Steve was there to greet them. “She’s fine. She’s in her studio,” he told them. “It’s nice to see you Yelena.”

“You too, Rogers,” Yelena replied.

“I can take you to Y/N.”

“We can handle ourselves,” Natasha said. “You boys have done enough for one day.”

“Hey! I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s just as bad.” Natasha led Yelena over to your studio and knocked.

“Come in,” they heard you timidly say from the other side.

The two women quickly entered the room and shut the door behind them. You were on the other side, pulling finished, painted pieces from the kiln. You turned slightly to see Natasha and an unfamiliar woman slowly come closer.

“Hey, Y/N,” Natasha greeted. “I brought someone I would like you to meet. This is my sister, Yelena. She’s going to be your new bodyguard.”

“Hi, Y/N,” Yelena stepped closer. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

You stopped what you were doing and gave them your full attention. They could tell how nervous and tense you were. You barely looked up at them, opting for mostly looking down at your feet. It almost frustrated Natasha that she felt like she had been making progress with you and for it to only be pulled away. She knew you weren’t to blame. The men in your lives were the ones who couldn’t get their heads out of their asses.

“Nice to meet you,” you mumbled.

Natasha finally closed the gap between you and her, pulling you in for a hug. You stood ridged for a moment before hugging her back.  

“Thanks, Nat,” you whispered.

“Anything you need,” she responded, pulling away. “Anything.”

You nodded. “Can you bring some pieces to a few people at the Stark house?”

“Of course. What have you made?”

You pulled out a box from under the counter and set it next to the finished pieces. “I have this vase for Maria.” The vase was rectangular, painted in a cream color with light blue flowers around it. “This ashtray is for Howard.” It was a circular, grey ashtray with the Stark emblem painted in the center.  “Then I have mugs for you and Peggy.”

“These are all amazing, Y/N.”

“You’ve got some serious talent,” added Yelena.

“It’s just a hobby,” you muttered.

Yelena scoffed. “Bullshit. This is art museum, sell for thousands of dollars worthy.”

“As you can see, my sister keeps little to herself,” Natasha commented. “I’m sure that you’ll enjoy her commentary.” Natasha carefully arranged the pieces of ceramics into the box. “I will get these delivered. Unless you want to come with.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to leave right now.”

“Okay. I’ll take these back. But Yelena’s going to stay. Call if she’s too much or if you need anything else.”

“Thanks again, Nat.”

Natasha gave you one last smile before heading out with your gifts. Yelena began to walk around the room, studying it and looking at your projects.

“What are you working on next?” Yelena wondered, seeing some projects drying while others are waiting to be painted.

“Uh, I think I’m going to paint a few more pieces,” you answered.

“Oh! That’s fun!”

Yelena watched as you grabbed a cake stand and some paints and sat down. She kept herself alert to the surroundings while also focused on you. 

“Oh my gosh, I have the best idea!” Yelena suddenly announced. “What if you hosted a girls night? And we all painted pieces or you taught us how to make something!”

“I don’t know…” you mumbled. “I’m really not that good.”

“Well, again, bullshit. And it’s more about having fun all together.”

“I still don’t know.”

Yelena sat down a across from you. “Look, I know that I met you like five minutes ago. But trust me when I say that Maria, Natasha, Peggy, and now me would love to spend more time with you. Especially in your element. What you do in here is amazing. Don’t be afraid to show off.”

You took a silent moment to think about it. It would be nice to hang out with all of them where you were more comfortable. And it could be fun to teach them a thing or two.

“Okay,” you agreed. “We can do it.”

“Yes!” Yelena exclaimed. “I can plan everything, so don’t worry too much about it.”

~~~

Yelena and you got to know each other more as you had dinner. Afterwards, Yelena got pulled into a meeting in Tony’s office so you went outside. It was dark outside, but you could see the stars. You sat down on one of the chairs and focused on the night sky.

Meanwhile, Pepper arrived for her night with Tony. She waited in his room for a while before getting antsy and decided to go exploring. She knew that she wasn’t allowed to go on your side of the house, but if Tony was in a meeting, what harm was it going to do? She had already seen your studio once anyway. Pepper headed into the main living room with now shame and almost immediately caught sight of you outside. She smirked to herself. She had yet to actually meet you and now seemed like the perfect time. Pepper headed outside and sauntered up to you.

Your breath hitched at the sound of someone coming closer. Your head turned to see a tall, skinny redhead standing beside you. You sat up straighter, immediately on alert. 

“Hello, I’m Pepper,” she greeted with a forced smile.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“I’m sure you know who I am. Gosh, you probably hear me and Tony every night.” You remained silent, not knowing what to say. You figured that Tony had someone warming his bed. But you didn’t expect to meet her like this. “I’m so sorry about that. I’ll make sure to try to keep it down. He is your husband after all.”

“If you make him happy, then he should be with you.”

That caught Pepper off guard. You weren’t fighting for Tony. You didn’t even seem to really care. “Right. Well, how kind of you.”

“Pepper,” Tony’s voice called from the doorway. You both snapped your heads in his direction. Yelena, Steve, and Clint were standing behind him. “Go back to the room.”

“Sorry, I just wanted to meet your lovely wife.”

“Now.” Pepper huffed as she spun on her heel and headed back inside. Tony’s eyes fell back on you. “She shouldn’t have been out here.”

“It’s alright,” you told him. 

“I’ll make sure to remind her of the rules tonight. Yelena is going to get settled into her room now. She’ll be taking one of the rooms closest to yours while Clint is on watch for the night.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You are not being a burden. This is their jobs and they are more than happy to do it.”

You nodded, still feeling like this was a lot. You stood from your chair. “Can I head to bed?”

The four watching you each hated that you felt like you had to ask to do anything. “Of course,” Tony responded. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight,” then you slipped in to head to your room.

None of them said anything until they heard your door shut. Steve then immediately shoved Tony.

“Pepper was suppose to remain on your side of the house,” he reprimanded. “Unseen, away from Y/N.”

“I will talk to her tonight,” Tony retorted. “I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

“Maybe she never comes here again.”

“Watch yourself, Rogers. I am still your boss.”

“Howard is my boss and I am sure he’d side with me on this.”

Tony scoffed. “My father should not be judging me as I am just following in his footsteps.”

“Perhaps you should be trying to do better.”

~~~

Tony found himself going to his room an hour later. Pepper had stripped down to her lingerie and was waiting on the bed.

“Finally,” she commented when he entered. “Did you’re wife need you or something?”

“I had work to do,” he responded, heading to the bathroom without glancing Pepper’s way.

“You know,” she slipped off the bed and followed him, “your wife doesn’t care about the two of us together. Can you believe that?” It didn’t surprise Tony one bit that you didn’t seem to care about him and Pepper being together. “I think she’s lying though. She has to be jealous.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Well, don’t you want her to be jealous?”

“I barely even know her, Pep. So, why would I want that?” He sighed. “Can we just drop this? I had a long day and I’m tired.”

“Of course.” She wrapped her arms around him from behind and began kissing his neck. “Let’s head to bed and have some fun.”

“No. No, Pep. I really meant it. We’re sleeping or you can leave.”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Tony. I even got all dolled up for you.”

“I’m serious. Nothing is happening tonight. You can sleep here with me, like actual sleep. Or you are free to leave.”

Pepper pulled away from Tony with a huff. “You are ridiculous. I’m leaving. Call me when you actually want to do something.”

~~~

The next morning you got texts from Maria and Peggy, thanking you for their gifts. After breakfast, you ended up sitting at the piano and playing. Yelena kept herself close, but not too close as to overwhelm you. As you got lost in the music, Howard and Bucky showed up. They entered the house without a knock and stuck close to the door as they noticed you playing the piano. Once you were finished with the song, Howard immediately began clapping. You were completely caught off guard. You scrambled off the bench, standing in front of the piano with your hands clasped together and your head slightly down. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Howard apologized, coming further into the house. “That was beautiful, Y/N. You have some serious talent.”

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled.

“It’s not nothing. Like that ashtray that I found on my desk this morning. It was very well done. I came over to personally thank you for it and to see more of your studio, if you would let me.”

“I—I can give you a tour.”

You lead him to your studio, entering it first. Howard turned to Bucky and Yelena who were following the two of you.

“We are okay,” he told them. “I would like to talk to my daughter-in-law alone.”

Yelena looked at you to check to see if you were okay with that. You gave you a slight nod and she backed down. Howard shut the door behind him before he started to slowly round the room, studying it.

“Your work is very good, Y/N,” he complimented. “It must have taken you so many years to excel at your craft like this.”

As Howard rounded the room, he asked questions about a few pieces and you gave simple, quiet answers. Though you were still on edge, you did begin to feel more comfortable with Howard.

~~~

Steve exited Tony’s office to see Bucky and Yelena standing outside of your closed studio doors.

“Bucky?” Steve questioned. “Is Howard here?”

“Y/N gifted him an ashtray and he wanted to come personally thank her,” Bucky explained.

“Interesting. I’ll let Tony know he’s here.” He turned back around and went into the office. “Hey. Howard’s here talking to Y/N in her studio.”

“Really? Why?”

“She made him an ashtray. He wanted to thank her.”

“Just to thank her?”

“That’s what Bucky said.”

“Well, I have access to the security cameras. Let’s see what they’re saying.”

~~~

“How are you enjoying Yelena so far?” Howard asked.

“She’s great,” you replied.

“Good. And Tony’s treating you okay?”

“Yes.”

“I know that he is not the best of husbands. But I have faith that he will get there someday. I honestly hope that you two will have children in the next few years. Grandchildren and heirs.” Your stomach knotted up at his words as your heart began to pound in your chest. “I know that Tony has his, well, Pepper. She is a distraction, I understand, and I will do what I can to prevent her from continuing to come here so that Tony can focus on you.”

“I— I’m fine.”

“Yes, I’m sure. But I expect a lot from my son as a husband and he is barely doing anything for you. The two of you have heirs is of the upmost importance to the family name and business. He needs to—“

The door suddenly burst open, revealing a raging Tony coming through. You stumble back, scared. The impact of the door caused a large vase waiting to be painted to fall to the ground and shatter.

“You don’t have any right to talk to my wife about me or decisions that we may make together!” He yelled. 

“I do have all the right,” Howard retorted. “She is your wife because of me. The two of you are to create heirs to our family business. To pass down the family name.”

Yelena looked over to see you hugging yourself and trembling. She pushed Tony aside and quickly got to you, ignoring the yelling match the two men were having.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s get you out of here.”

The two continued yelling, not bothering to notice that Yelena was practically carrying you out of the room. She led you to your bedroom and got you situated in bed. Tears were trailing down your face as you curled up in bed as you could hear the muffled shouts of the two men.

“Get out!” Tony shouted at Howard. “Leave me and Y/N alone!”

“I will not,” Howard said. “You two need to start acting like husband and wife. We have a dinner with our partners in three days and I expect you and Y/N to be there acting like the newlyweds you should be. You don’t want to know the consequences that will follow if you are not there.”

“Leave. Now.”

“Fine. But you have three days to get your act together and start treating your wife like she’s actually your wife.”

Howard took his leave with Bucky following. Steve stepped into the room and immediately noticed the broken piece of pottery.

“Shit,” he muttered. He knelt down and starting gathering the pieces to see if he could fix it. 

Tony stood there, panting, trying to calm his mind down. “He crossed a line,” he murmured. 

“So did you.”

Tony spun around. “Excuse me.”

“This is Y/N’s safe place. Well, it was. You should have pulled Howard into your office instead of barging in here shouting.”

“She’s fine. Right—“ He looked around only to finally realize that you were no longer in the room. “Where is she?”

Steve stood up and placed some of the pieces on the counter. “Yelena took Y/N to her room.”

“I didn’t… I just…”

“Tony, I know that you are conflicted with this whole situation. But you have got to be careful around Y/N. There is more there than any of us truly understand. And if you and her are expected and that dinner in three days, you know that her father and Brock will most likely be there. They are not on her side. She will need to be carefully watched after to make sure they don’t over step. That is your job, as her husband. You need to be able to do that.”

Tony looked at the broken pieces of the pottery and sighed. He knew it hadn’t handle that well, he rarely ever did when it came to his father. “Can you put those pieces in my garage? I’m going to get some work done.”

~~~

Brock found Obadiah sitting in his office, drinking a glass of whiskey while staring at a photo of you.

“They upped security,” Brock complained, pouring himself a drink. “I couldn’t get in the house tonight.”

“I need you to figure out a way,” Obadiah replied. “You have to keep her in your grasp. It’s the only way everything will work in our favor.”

“I’ll go back and scout it out tonight. See if I can spot a hole in their plan.”

“Try to find it before the dinner we will be attending in three days. You need to remind her that she is my daughter first. Not a Stark. That she belongs to us.”

“You got it, boss.”

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