#I'm going on vacation in august and I'm going to take her with me!!!

[qilinkisser]

ahh I don't post about ganyupillow enough

[httpiastri]

this christmas – op81

ski slopes, mistletoes, and the guy you've been crushing on for years – what could be better?

genre: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers!au, smut (just one scene in the end, you can skip it if you want)

pairing: female leclerc!reader x oscar piastri

other characters: lando norris, charles leclerc, george russell & mundt, alex albon & lily muni he, pierre gasly & kika cerqueira gomes

warnings: mentions of alcohol, smut, not much more i think

word count: 13.8k (LMAO)

requested?: yes!!

author’s note: hello hello!! a lot to say about this one. first of all, thank you to @be-your-coffee-pot for this request, and i apologize for not getting to it earlier than now. for everyone’s knowledge, the request was sent in to me in august, so… yeah. i know it’s not exactly what you asked for, but i hope you like it anyway <3

second of all, i feel pretty happy about some of these scenes, but some… not so much. some of the fillers have parts that i really despite, but i don’t really have time to rewrite since christmas is like 2 days away lol. also, my description of the reader’s relationship to charles is not my best work, idk why he barely even appears, and i’m also not sure why logan isn’t in this...

third of all, my red divider things make my posts disappear from the tags, so i didn’t put any in this time. it looks bad, i know, but idk how to fix it. if anyone does, please let me know. :)

and lastly: i only proofread this whole thing once yesterday, but tumblr was being a bitch and i got so frustrated that i do not have the energy to proofread it again. so please, if you happen to find any spelling or grammar mistakes, i would be very thankful if you let me know. <3

hope you all enjoy !!

december 12th, 2:11pm

oscar has always loved winter.

it started in his childhood; the holiday films he'd seen as a child, the way it always seemed to magically snow right on christmas eve really started something in him. it hadn't been common for him to get snow back home in australia when he was younger but once he moved to the england, he got to experience it quite a lot. playing, fighting and just existing in the snow was like an unfilled childhood need that stayed with him until his older years.

he loved spending christmas at home with his family, but ever since he got to experience real christmases with snow, trees and cozy darkness, he craved it more than he craved lying on the beach in his swimming trunks.

so when he was asked to come along to the swiss alps for a vacation during the winter break, he packed his bags right away. he and lando just happened to book the same flight, and they both arrived at the airport around noon, getting into a cab to take them to the accommodation together.

when they arrive outside the cottage, oscar is in shock; it is enormous. he had imagined just a tiny, cute little house – not that he was sure how seven drivers and a couple of girlfriends would fit in a "tiny" house – but he was far from right.

him and lando are the second pair to arrive, just about an hour after alex and lily, who are the self-proclaimed 'hosts' as they took care of all of the booking and planning.

"we thought that one would be lando's room," alex starts, pointing down the hallway. "since it's far away from everyone else, and i'm sure we all would prefer to actually get some sleep during the night time."

"oh, shut it..." lando mumbles, shoving his friend on his shoulder.

"this one can be yours, oscar," lily says, moving in the opposite direction and gesturing to another room. then, she points at the one right next to it. "and this one has two beds, so it's for charles and his sister."

oscar's ears perk up. "y/n is going to be here?" he speaks almost took quickly, making the other three turn to look at him.

"oh, i thought you knew..." lily has an apologetic look on her face.

"i must've forgotten," oscar answers, though he's completely sure no one told him about it. there's no way he would forget you. "don't worry, it's cool."

the hosts continue to move down the hallway, and the mclaren boys are just about to follow along when lando elbows oscar's side playfully. "it's cool?"

oscar raises an eyebrow, trying to keep calm. "what?"

"the youngest leclerc coming along?" a grin takes up lando's entire face. "it's just cool? is she cool, or-"

"goodbye, lando." oscar shakes his head, darting towards alex and lily again. he takes a few deep breaths, hoping the blush he can feel spreading across his cheeks isn't too obvious.

unfortunately, lando didn't need to see the blush to know. he has caught his teammate staring at you too many times over the season, and he is fully aware of the way oscar always is suddenly interested in the conversation whenever you're the topic of discussion.

lando knows everything. and this christmas, he's going to be the best wingman the world has ever seen.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 13th, 12:53am

it's past midnight when you and charles arrive. your flight had been delayed, and then the gps had stopped working all of a sudden. and then, charles just refused to drive any faster than 30 km/h, saying it was too dangerous. as if he didn't drive cars in ten times that speed without even flinching.

you assume the whole house is sleeping already, so you and charles both sneak in as quietly as you can. someone – lily, assumably – has left you a note on the front door, guiding you to your shared room. it all goes smoothly – until charles trips over the doorframe, dropping his bag onto the floor as he tries not to fall down. the sound rattles through the hallway and you flinch, stopping in your tracks as you hope no one's woken up. but just a second later, the door opposite yours opens and a head sticks out.

oscar.

your heart softens and your shoulders relax when your gaze meets his. your soft smile is mirrored on his face, the sleepiness evident in his droopy eyes and the way strands of his bedhead point in every direction.

he looks like he's just about to say something when charles speaks up. "sorry, man! were you asleep?"

he walks up to the australian, giving him a firm handshake and a pat on the back. oscar shakes his head. "i was up reading," his huskey accent is like music to your ears. "i thought i heard some rustling out here, and then..." he nods his head toward the suitcase on the floor.

your brother laughs as he steps back, walking into the room with the "leclerc" sign. "well, i'll let you get back to that then," he says, picking up the bag from the floor and looking back one last time. "good night."

and then, you were just two.

you and oscar stand still for a moment, just watching each other. then, he opens up his arms, welcoming you into his embrace. you step forward and drape your arms around his shoulders as his wrap around your waist, and you let out a content sigh. he's warm, comfortable, and the way he squeezes your body has your mind spinning.

"it's been a while," he says when you part from the hug, a soft grin playing on his lips.

"like a month," you chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest.

"a month has never felt this long before."

you're not sure when your crush on him started forming.

as someone who's always been interested in racing, even in the series your brother isn't in, you've kept up with most results and championships – including oscar's seasons in f2 and f3. after seeing oscar, the unstoppable rookie who completely crushed his season in f3, you made sure to keep an eye at him in f2 the following year. and it's easy to say that you liked what you saw. especially in jeddah.

you'd meet him occasionally around the paddock the following year, just giving him a sweet smile and a quick greeting as if it was no big deal. but you always found yourself squealing on the inside and taking deep breaths to stay calm whenever you made eye contact with him.

then came 2023 and his debut in f1. yet again, he exceeded everyone's expectations, performing better than most drivers who'd been on the grid for years. with his permanent role on the grid, he was around more – and so were you. it wasn't uncommon for the two of you to bump into each other, around the paddock or during media days or in afterparties, and now you tried not to shy away.

talking to oscar was always simple. he was easygoing, it all seemed effortless, and you felt more relaxed. before you knew it, you could chat about racing strategies and tyre management for twenty minutes before a member of the mclaren staff interrupted you, rushing oscar away somewhere. you got to know each other slowly throughout the season, though never really going further than some friendly conversations, but you felt happy knowing that you'd taken the first step towards getting closer to him.

"so..." he starts. "you've been good?"

you nod. "yeah, a lot of studying but it's been alright. you?"

"yeah."

and there it is again, that slightly awkward silence. it's natural, you haven't seen each other since that night in abu dhabi and you're both a little unsure of where you stand after it. the tension is so thick that you could cut through it with a knife, and you kind of want to escape the whole situation. but then he speaks up.

"hey, i just wanted to-"

he's interrupted by the call of your name, and when you turn around, charles is leaning against the doorframe, eyes hazy. "are you going to sleep tonight or what?" he asks, dragging a hand through his already messy hair.

you feel a weight lift off your shoulders – and at the same time, your stomach tightens in disappointment. you nod at your brother, looking back at oscar to give him a wave and a "sleep well", before joining charles in your shared room.

oscar stands still in the corridor for a moment, before sighing and slapping himself in his mind for being so awkward and messing up this opportunity. but on the other side of the door, you stand still too as you watch your brother jump onto his bed, taking a deep breath to clear your mind.

you're just thankful the room is so dark that he can't see your ever-reddening cheeks.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 13th, 10:24am

despite the never-ending pitter-patter of your heart as you went to bed last night, you could fall asleep quite quickly, seeing as you were utterly exhausted from traveling. breakfast this morning feels like you and charles have just been reunited with your childhood friends after being kidnapped for years; not like you had just gone a few weeks without seeing each other. everyone runs around hugging, chatting about how much they've missed each other and how great this trip will be.

"did you get new highlights?" kika asks you, sliding into the seat next to you by the long table as you stuff a piece of bread into your mouth. the room is a combination of a kitchen and a dining hall, with a big cooking area and a glass wall giving the dining area a beautiful view of the mountains outside. in the middle stands a long table with enough seats for all of you, filled with fresh pastries and other breakfast goods to celebrate the first day of the trip. "or is it just the light?"

"just the light," you answer, shooting her a smile as you pick up your cup of coffee.

"oh my god, i almost forgot to ask you," lily starts and places her elbows on the table, her face resting in her hands. "what happened to that guy from raya you were talking to? did you end up going out?"

oscar is sitting a few seats down the table, pretending to be immersed in a conversation with some of the other drivers about the last few races of the season, while actually just doing his best to listen in on the conversation you're having. when he hears alex's girlfriend mention raya, his ears perk up and his breath gets caught in his throat. a million thoughts instantly crash into his mind.

she's seeing someone? how could i not know this? she's on raya? is she actively looking for a partner? who is this guy they're talking about?

he coughs and tries to act normal, shaking off the uncomfortable feeling passing through his body. he soon hears the sweet sound of your wholehearted laughter, and he almost smiles instinctively at it, before he can remind himself that lando's story about las vegas isn't exactly a smiley matter. "you're not going to believe this, i have the best story," you say in-between fits of giggles. "i met up with him for some drinks, and guess what he said? that he has a foot fetish and has dreamed about me caressing his face with my feet." all of the girls squeal and explode with laughter, making some of the boys flinch and look over to see what all the commotion is about. "so, safe to say, we never met up again. and i haven't wanted to go out with anyone else from there, either. i have a feeling they're all just creeps."

"hey, don't lose hope!" kika says while elbowing your side, but her actions are too soft, forcing you to fold over as an uncomfortable feeling spreads through your body. however, a burst of laughter spills past your lips. kika immediately holds her arm back, laughing along. "crap, i'm sorry! i totally forgot how ticklish you are."

you shake your head, your hand landing on her shoulder. "no worries," you tell her. "but, i haven't lost hope. i just don't think my soulmate is lurking around on raya with the foot fetishists."

oscar feels his shoulders relax again, feeling alright with focusing back on the boys' conversation now that he knows you in fact aren't seeing anyone.

maybe he has a shot, after all. as long as he doesn't talk too much about your feet.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 14th, 3:09pm

lando thinks he's so smart.

when he tells oscar to go ask if you'd like to have some of the gingerbread cookies he's bought, it's the third time today he has forced some kind of interaction between the two of you. he is sure that the more time that the two of you spend with each other, the more likely you will be to stop pining and just confess already.

but this time, oscar glares at the brit. "why don't you ask her yourself?"

"because you know what room she's in," lando hums back, reaching into the cupboard with some groceries. "i keep getting lost, the house is too big. plus, i'm busy." he motions to the half-empty grocery bag on the counter.

oscar lets out a sigh, but nods. "how can you memorize all tracks on the calendar, but you get lost in a cabin?" he asks rhetorically, whilst turning around and making his way down the hallway towards your room.

it's not that oscar doesn't enjoy 'accidentally' being forced into talking to you; it's the extreme lack of discretion lando is showing that makes him annoyed. it makes oscar seem like he's the one coming up with silly excuses to talk to you, and he doesn't like how it makes him look. he'd rather be seen as chill, laidback, someone who doesn't force things. he doesn't want you to catch on too early and reject him.

your voice echoes a 'come in' when he knocks on the door to your bedroom, and he pushes the door open just a little to reveal you sitting on the bed, a thick blanket wrapped over your shoulders. a grin spreads across your lips when you make eye contact with him. "hi," you say, placing the book you were reading on the bedside table.

"hey," he answers, stepping inside the room. "i... lando bought some gingerbread cookies, and we were going to make some hot chocolate, and..." his voice trails off as his eyes wander down your body, taking in the christmas sweater you're wearing and the fuzzy socks covering your feet. he smiles absentmindedly at the sight, loving how cozy you seem, and wishing he was sitting right there with you, sharing the blanket.

you nod, understanding him despite his lack of words. "i'll be right there."

oscar gives you a thumbs up – one he then facepalms himself for when he's left your room – before moving towards the kitchen again. but when he walks into it, he sees something hanging from a lamp. he stops in his tracks. "no way..."

festive cookies aren't the only thing lando bought when he went to the local supermarket. he also got the ultimate tool for securing his master plan – a mistletoe.

he doesn't know how, but he's planning to make sure you and oscar meet underneath it at least once before the holidays are over. there's no way you'll both be able to avoid it all week.

of course, lando isn't the only one rooting for the two of you. most of the other drivers know too – how can they not notice the glances you share and the way you light up when someone mentions the other in a conversation? – and most of them are in on his plans. charles is probably the only one in the house who's still oblivious to your and oscar's pining, and lando thinks that he might interfere with the matchmaking if he figures something out, so the brit keeps quiet.

oscar wants to pull the mistletoe down, rip it apart and throw it in the trash, but he refrains. something inside him tells him this might actually work out in his favor – and he decides to trust his gut this time.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 15th, 2:01am

sleeping can be tricky, especially when your brother is snoring loudly in a bed just a few meters away from you.

who even decided to put him and you in the same room?

when you've been tossing and turning to no avail for about an hour, you decide it's time to do something, anything, to hopefully get a little tired again. a glass of warm milk never hurt anyone, did it?

you make your way to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of milk and put it in the microwave, before turning to look through the windows.

the view of the mountains is breathtaking. there is an untouched, thick layer of snow covering the area, with new flakes still falling. the sun set long ago, but the snow makes it all seem light. the lake below you is just barely visible by now, almost completely coated in snow.

it's completely serene, and you find yourself getting lost in the scenery. however, you're shaken out of your trance when you hear steps behind you. when you turn around, your eyes find someone standing just a few meters away, barely visible in the dark.

you jump in your place and clutch your chest in shock, not expecting anyone else to be up at this hour. when the person steps into the light of the little kitchen lap you had turned on, you relax instantly. "holy shit, oscar," you breathe. "you nearly scared me to death."

"i'm sorry," the australian chuckles. "i didn't know how to approach you without scaring you..."

"what even are you doing up?" you question, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the counter.

"i was just reading in my bed when i heard your door opening, and then footsteps, so..." he trails off when his eyes wander out towards the living room, seemingly just as taken by the sight as you were just moments ago. "i wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"well, everything is okay, so..."

there's some kind of awkwardness hanging in the air. it's not only because of the obvious uncertainty of what to say or do in this situation; it has more to do with the fact that this isn't the first time that the two of you have found yourselves this close with this much tension, all alone at night. sure, it's a lot like the night of your arrival here, but another memory springs to your mind, too.

just under a month ago, following the after-party in abu dhabi, oscar had accompanied you back to the hotel when you started getting too tipsy to keep yourself up on the dance floor. your brother had been nowhere in sight, so oscar took it upon himself to help you out, draping an arm across your waist before walking you all the way to your hotel room. and when you'd arrived in the dimly lit corridor, you'd turned up towards him to thank him, accidentally brushing your nose against his as you did. both of you had broken out in giggles, neither especially sober, but you stayed close – and when the laughter settled, you just watched each other. when his gaze had flickered between your eyes and lips, your breath hitched in your throat, the anticipation growing stronger. you had leaned in even closer, your eyes fluttering closed-

but just as your lips were about to brush his, you had been interrupted. a door a few meters away had opened and the two of you jumped apart, watching as your brother stepped out and exclaimed that he had been wondering where you ended up. oscar had wished you both a good night before hurrying off, the embarrassment of almost getting caught by his friend being too much for him to handle.

you just hoped oscar had been too drunk to remember it, because otherwise, things were bound to get quite awkward. you didn't want him to act differently around you just because you have feelings for him.

thankfully, he hasn't said or done anything to make you think he does remember it.

as you're thinking back to that night in abu dhabi, you nearly get your second heart attack when the microwave goes off with a loud beep. you scramble to turn it off and take out your milk, almost burning yourself on the hot glass in the meantime.

oscar watches you with an amused grin before he forces his gaze off you, eyes wandering over to the windows again. "quite the view, huh?"

you look over your shoulder at the blanketed mountains. "yeah, it's breathtaking," you reply, before growing quiet.

he pauses for a moment, too. "there's something magical about this place. makes everything seem simpler, quieter..."

you nod. "yeah, it does."

something about the moment makes you realize that maybe, just maybe, the awkwardness between you and oscar isn't as insurmountable as you once thought it would be. the shared quietude is comfortable, and you feel at ease. he hasn't brought up abu dhabi – he probably won't, you feel – and maybe you could both just put it behind you and focus on enjoying your trip.

when you eventually get back in your bed, it's with the same kind of pitter-patter of your heart as when you and charles arrived in the cabin a few days ago. needless to say, the glass of warm milk probably isn't going to help.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 16th, 9:02pm

the mistletoe has moved.

when you first noticed it the other day, it was hanging from a kitchen lamp. and now, it's in the doorframe leading into the living room.

you're planning on avoiding it at all costs, not wanting to slip up and accidentally get under it with the wrong person. or the right one, for that matter. the awkwardness of kissing your crush in front of friends and family would be too much to handle.

some others seem to have the exact opposite attitude towards the decoration, though. kika and pierre can be found by it about ten times per day, and alex and lily have no issues sharing a few kisses whenever they "accidentally" pass it.

no matter what, lando has a mischievous grin whenever anyone mentions it, or even walks near it.

his grin stays on when he decides to let himself be in charge of the outing you all have to the christmas tree farm nearby. the farm is too big and would take too long if everyone was going to look at every tree, so lando divides everyone into groups of two based on who they're standing next to as you walk past the gates.

what a coincidence that you're standing right next to oscar when he says this.

lando ushers the two of you off to the rows with quite tall, pre-decorated trees. "so," oscar starts as you both stop in front of a tree with white lights and ornaments hung all over it. "what do you think about this one?"

"well, it's lovely," you say, scanning it thoroughly. "but isn't the true test how well it fits into the living room?"

he nods, despite his confusion, and he shoots a curious glance your way. "and how do we determine that?"

with a playful grin, you hold up an imaginary measuring tape, pretending to size up the tree with a critical eye. "i'm trying to figure out if it fits this corner best, or..."

he follows your gaze, realizing the tease in your words. "i think maybe it's better in the other corner," he hums and points to the side as you turn a little.

"exactly."

lando never inserted himself into a group; he's too focused on watching the two of you share a lighthearted laugh at the situation. though his mistletoe back in the cabin might still have a trick or two up its metaphorical sleeve, he is already proud of his matchmaking antics.

and, he is sure you'll both crack. it is just a matter of time.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 17th, 1:43pm

"i never thought skiing would be this hard," you groan as you step into a cottage, the warmth enveloping you and beginning to defrost you instantly.

oscar laughs at the exasperated tone in your voice. "this was just the kids' slope, you do remember that, right?" you stick your tongue out at him, slumping down on a bench by a table. "you just wait before you do some real skiing..."

you had never skied before today. oscar had, but he said it was too long ago and that he needed an easy start. plus, he couldn't just leave you all alone in the children's slope without an instructor.

you'd fallen over at least five times, despite the fact that the slope was practically flat. thankfully, oscar promised to buy you some hot chocolate in a cottage café to cheer you up.

when he comes back from the cashier carrying two big, steaming cups of chocolate, you've regained most of the feeling in your fingers again. the hot piece of ceramic almost burns your skin, but you think it's worth it; you need the sugar and you need it now.

"you know what the worst thing is?" you ask, bringing the cup up to your face with both hands. you start sipping on the drink and oscar glances at you with a questioning look as he slips down next to you on the bench. "carrying those goddamn skis with me. not only does it suck to actually ski, but dragging them all the way from the rental shop…"

"if it's that much of a bother, i can carry them for you."

"and carry your own too?" you scoff, watching him flinch as he burns his tongue on the drink. "you're not that strong."

he lets out a groan. "you're not even strong enough to carry your own, so you shouldn't say anything."

"i can carry them!" you protest, shooting him a glare. "i just don't want to. two very different things."

you both go silent momentarily, too busy focusing on how good it feels to no longer be frozen to the marrow. the cabin is filled with people; kids running in circles around the tables, soon to be tired again after the initial sugar shock from their afternoon snack; a group of older ladies gossiping and enjoying getting some rest just like you; and some young adults in the far corner are already busy dancing on the tables with their after-ski drinks in their hands.

"you know what? i changed my mind," you tell him, scooting away from him a little and placing your skiing boot on the bench. "these things. they're the worst."

you start to unclasp the boot, sighing in relief as you finally tug the shoe off your foot, throwing it onto the floor. you've only worn it for about an hour, but you can already feel the bruises beginning to form. you're just about to reach down to undo the other boot, too, when oscar reaches towards your foot.

your eyebrows shoot up as he takes it in his hands, pulling the foot into his lap. and then, his fingers begin to wander up and down your foot and ankle, giving you soft squeezes and pressing down on the spaces where he thinks the boot has squeezed you the most. you hold back a pleasured sound, seeing as it would sound way too inappropriate right now, but oscar subconsciously takes note of how you're getting flushed because he soon looks up at your face.

"is this okay?"

you swallow down the lump in your throat, nodding quickly. "y-yeah… just don't tickle me..."

when did things get so intimate? mere minutes ago, you couldn't think about anything other than how you were so cold your nose was going to fall off. but now, you can't stop your eyes from following his long, sleek fingers, thinking about how good they feel and imagining how good they would feel somewhere else-

"give me your other foot."

you're thankful that he interrupts your train of thought before your mind wanders too far.

compose yourself, woman.

"don't tell me you have a foot fetish, too," you tease, turning around so that you can place your other foot on the bench too. he lets out a hearty laugh, swiftly undoing your other boot before letting it drop to the ground.

"oh, shut it. do you want a massage or not?"

you shoot him pout, giving his shoulder a thankful pat before taking your cup in your hands again. you focus on the drink, watching how the steam rises and the marshmallows melt. you can't look over at him anymore, scared of your cheeks growing too red and your face giving away your feelings.

the bell by the door rings behind you, and you look towards it out of habit. and in comes alex, george, lily and carmen, laughing and chatting loudly about the black slope they just went down. oscar doesn't seem to notice, but you hastily pull your feet from his lap, sitting down properly – unfortunately making eye contact with alex as you do. he leans forward to lily, whispering something in her ear, and you watch as her eyes dart to you and a smirk grows on her lips.

shit.

the clicking of her boots against the stone floor meets your ears and oscar turns his head at the sound, suddenly realizing why you withdrew from him. "hey there," lily cheers, each of her hands landing your and oscar's shoulders. "what have you been up to?"

your eyes meet his briefly, before looking back up at lily. "just... drinking some chocolate..."

"oh, no skiing?"

"she crashed too much, i couldn't keep her out there and let her continue to embarrass me all day," oscar tells her and you shove his shoulder.

"do you mind if we join you guys?" george asks, coming around the table and not even giving you a second to think about it before he sets two cups of chocolate down on the table. the grin he's wearing only tells you one thing: alex told him already. carmen's lips show off a matching set.

"not at all..."

‎‎ ‎‎

december 18th, 10:32am

you huff as you slump down on the living room couch, your mood not even getting brought up by watching the newly installed christmas tree in front of you. you hadn't even been out skiing that much yesterday, yet every single inch of your body aches. not only do you have big, blue bruises on both of your hips due to the many times you've fallen onto the hardly packed snow, but every muscle screams with pain as you drape a blanket over your body. needless to say, you decided to stay at home today instead of heading out with the others for another round.

"are you sure you don't wanna come along?" kika asks as she enters the room, her pretty pink sunglasses perched at the top of her nose. the pout on her lips almost makes you doubt staying in, but when you move to sit up more straight again, you know you've made the right decision.

you nod, giving her a weak smile. "yeah, sorry."

"but oscar promised to come along?"

you freeze, your cheeks growing red as you hear her words.

did she know? about your feelings for him? did the others already tell her about the incident in the cottage yesterday? did they really interpret the situation that way?

"w-what?"

"oh," she chuckles at your reaction. "i just meant that he was so bad yesterday, so i thought that seeing him fall over a couple of times would be worth the pain."

"we're gonna trick him into going down a black slope with us," says pierre who walks into the room, arms lacing around his girlfriend from behind. "we'll send some clips."

you let out a breath of relief as they leave the room. maybe they don't know. maybe your secret will stay secret for a little longer.

the group leaves in pairs or trios and you tell them all goodbye from your place underneath the many blankets. everyone has left by now except for oscar, which confounds you since the others seemed to have so many plans for him. your confusion only grows when he steps into the living room without any skiing gear on, just wearing an oversized, cozy hoodie and a pair of sweats.

"why aren't you out with the others?" you question, your eyebrows raised at him.

"well," he sighs, flopping down next to you on the couch. "i can't find my helmet." when you shoot him a doubting look, he raises his hands defensively. "what?"

"i don't believe it."

"you don't have to, but it's the truth."

"how do you even lose a helmet? it's so big?" you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "i assumed you were used to keeping track of where your helmet is since if you don't have your helmet with you for races, then you can't race."

"i swear i put it on the drawer by the front door like half an hour ago. i don't understand what could've happened."

you have to give it to him; he is really doing his best to cover this up. you find it pretty obvious that he just doesn't want to ski because of what the others were planning to do to him. but maybe if kika and pierre hadn't spilled their plans already, you would've believed him.

"but hey," he says, bringing you out of your thoughts. "don't feel obligated to include me in whatever you were going to do here now that you finally have the house to yourself." he pushes himself off the couch, standing up and shooting you one last smile before turning to walk away. "i'll let you have some peace."

he takes a couple of steps towards the bedrooms, but then you get the idea. "oscar." he stops in his tracks, throwing a glance back at you. "i was planning on doing some baking, and…" you shuffle slightly in your seat. "it wouldn't hurt to have an extra helping hand."

"i'm a horrible baker, though."

"and i'm the best baker ever, so i guess we cancel each other out." you stand up from your seat, keeping the blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you make your way toward the kitchen. "let's go make some mediocre cookies!"

oscar shakes his head, grinning to himself as he follows behind you. this was definitely not what he had planned, but he sure is liking the way it's going.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 18th, 8:14pm

oscar had not been kidding when he said he sucked at baking.

he put in twice the needed amount of flour, and only half of the sugar. and as if that wasn't enough, of course the mistletoe had moved to the kitchen, making the whole situation quite uncomfortable as you both had to take strange routes while navigating through the kitchen to avoid it. not even your baking skills could save the cookies.

as an apology, oscar promised to buy some fancy gingerbread cookies tonight at the christmas market you'd all planned to go to in a nearby city. he was strongly set on going through with his promise, despite how many times you told him that it was alright and that they wouldn't taste as good as homemade ones anyway.

you've all been at the market for almost two hours now, but it feels like you've only gone about ten meters. your friends, mainly lando, george and alex, are stopping at every single shop and stand, making sure to check out all products and buying at least one thing in every store, no matter how long the line to the cash register is.

"lando-" you groan at the sight of the brit running into yet another store; this time, a shop filled with christmassy outfits for dogs. "he doesn't even have a pet…"

kika is grinning next to you, shaking her head. "he told me earlier today that he wanted to buy a present for roscoe if he got the chance," she says as most of the group joins lando. "makes more sense than when he bought that screwdriver thirty minutes ago just because it was green."

"the power of 'christmas colors', apparently," you hear oscar's voice from behind you, and you turn back to meet his eyes.

"well, i'm not surprised. just disappointed. and cold, and tired of standing still."

oscar points his head to the side, up the street. "i think i saw a stand a little further up that sells cookies, maybe they have some gingerbread ones."

you nod, a small smile entering your lips. "let's go check it out, then. kika, do you wanna come-"

you're cut off by the sound of pierre calling for his girlfriend, holding up a reindeer costume and blabbering on about how it would be perfect for her cousin's dog. "sorry guys," kika says before strutting off to her boyfriend.

you both shrug before walking down the street towards the stand oscar had spotted. the sugary scent of cookies meets your nose from far away, and your mouth waters at the mere thought of the sweets. when you arrive, a sweet old lady sitting behind the stand greets you and tells you all about the different cookies she's baked. gingerbread, sugar cookies with little candy canes, snowball cookies, and various traditional swiss cookies.

"would you like to have a taste, dears?" the lady asks, pointing her hand to a plate with samples. you and oscar take a gingerbread cookie each, popping it into your mouths.

"oh yeah, this is lovely," he says, looking like he's savoring every crumb.

"much better than ours," you answer, nudging his shoulder with yours. he gasps and places a hand on his chest, feigning offense.

you turn your attention back to the lady and telling her you'd love to buy a little box of cookies from her. oscar pays for them and she wraps the box in some pretty gift paper, handing it to you before you continue making your way down the street. the house walls and all trees are wrapped in christmas lights, some blinking in random colors and some with a soft glow of an elegant white. the streets are filled with people wearing santa hats, ugly christmas sweaters, and scarves so big half of their faces are covered. there's not a single frown in sight, the happiness and love so obvious you can almost see little hearts flowing above everyone's heads.

you glance into a couple of different stores as you stroll, stopping occasionally to check something out. when you reach a stand with different kinds of jewelry, something catches your eye: a golden necklace with a heart-shaped charm hanging from it. you carefully pick it up, your heart fluttering in your chest as you inspect it.

and when you look up at oscar from the necklace in your hands, he feels like the air is stolen from his lungs. your eyes are twinkling with happiness, outshining all lights in the entire christmas market. the excited smile on your lips is contagious, and suddenly, it's like the world around you has stopped and everyone else has disappeared. you're both just grinning at each other like two lovestruck fools, nothing in either of your minds other than the person in front of you. the sight of your rosy cheeks from the cold makes the butterflies in his stomach multiply by the second.

wow, he really is totally and fully whipped.

"really pretty," he finally gets out, unsure if he's talking about the necklace or the woman standing before him.

"pretty? it's gorgeous," you answer, eyes flickering back to the jewelry in your hand. "i adore it. how much is it?"

just as the guy in the booth is about to answer, you feel someone grab your free hand. "come on guys, they're closing down soon and we still have a bunch of shops to visit!" kika is pulling you along so fast you barely have time to put the necklace down.

lily notices the disappointment on your face and pats your shoulder. "we'll come back here sometime before christmas, don't worry."

lando shows you the christmas tree costume he bought as you wander down the market again, but oscar suddenly stops. "guys, i forgot my phone back at the cookie stand. keep walking, i'll catch up with you," he says, pointing behind him with his thumb and disappearing before anyone can say anything.

it's a good excuse, but you clearly see the outline of his phone in his back pocket as he hurries down the street.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 19th, 9:22pm

the days roll on with a gentle rhythm of shared glances and fleeting touches between you and oscar. unbeknownst to both of you, lando, ever the persistent wingman, continues his behind-the-scenes matchmaking efforts.

in some magical way, lando manages to get you and oscar paired up for pretty much anything. board game night? you and oscar just happen to get the exact role cards that make you teammates. time for some ornament decorating? you and oscar are the only ones who don't get a seat on the couch, having to sit on the floor together and share all your materials.

funnily enough, it never gets awkward between the two of you. even when you are left all alone, there is always something to talk about, some dumb thing lando has done that you can tease him about behind his back, or something you are curious about when it comes to his racing career so far. somehow, being with oscar started feeling comfortable, natural, unforced.

one specific night, alex comes up with the idea of playing card games, to which only a few of you are actually interested. some plan on going to bed early so they can hit the slopes first thing in the morning, while others just aren't in the mood. oscar said he would just finish wrapping some christmas presents and join you all later, and you catch yourself feeling disappointed that he's not on the couch next to you, helping you win (or taunting you to make you lose). it surprises you how much you're drawn to him, how it feels like something is missing when he isn't around, when you didn't feel this way just a few days ago.

you try to shake the feeling off, but it's still lingering even as you start playing with your friends. eventually, you excuse yourself to get a glass of water from the kitchen to take your mind off things. but-

just as you round the corner going into the kitchen, your head crashes into something hard. you shriek as you stumble, hands coming up to grab the person in front of you as you lose your balance, but a pair of hands wrap around your back, holding you up. when you look up, you're met with oscar's big brown eyes blinking down at you. "you okay there?"

you let out a relieved breath, nodding at him. "yeah, thanks to you. what were you doing coming around the corner that fast, though?"

he chuckles. "what were you doing not looking where you're going?"

"touché."

your hands are still holding on to the front of his hoodie, and you're about to let go of him and walk away when you notice something in the upper periphery of your vision. something is hanging above you. but, it can't be-

of course it is.

the mistletoe.

oscar looks up just as you do, jaw dropping slightly. "oh..."

"indeed..."

you both keep your vision pointed up, as if the mistletoe would disappear if you just keep on staring at it. oscar's hands slowly begin to slide off your back, and he's hoping you'll both just pretend like none of this ever happened. it would be the least awkward thing to do.

"maybe-" his breath hitches in his throat when you speak up. his gaze is on you again, but you're still looking at the plant. "maybe we should do it. just... for the christmas spirit, you know. i love christmas."

you don't even know what you're blabbering on about. you're trying to improvise a reason to kiss your brother's colleague that makes at least a little sense, but you're completely lost. you realize how dumb you sound, and you expect to see him staring at you like you actually are insane when you look back at him.

but what you don't know is that he thinks it's the best idea ever. he is just as into it as you are, if not more. he doesn't look at you like you're crazy; he's just dumbfounded, blinking at you as he tries to understand what's happening. did the girl he likes really just say they should kiss? because she loves christmas?

oscar gulps, but something in him gives him the courage to nod. "i mean," he starts, voice weak. "what's the harm? it's just... tradition."

"right. yeah, that's exactly what i was thinking."

the tension is higher than ever as your faces are already just inches apart. you aren't sure who should take the initiative and lean in, but before you can overthink it, you're both doing it subconsciously. your noses brush against each other briefly and a little giggle escapes past your lips, and this whole situation feels very familiar. this time, oscar can't hold back anymore, so he closes the gap and presses his mouth to yours.

the kiss is quick, not much longer than a peck, but something changes inside you. when you didn't know what it felt like to kiss oscar, you didn't think too much about it. but now that you have felt his lips on yours, you crave it.

he seems to feel the same way, because when you kiss him again, he's pressing against you instantly. your hands move from his chest to his shoulders as your lips move in sync, tilting your head to get a better angle. oscar's touch travels up and down your sides, fingers grazing the bare skin of your stomach when your sweater lifts.

oscar takes your bottom lip in between his teeth and you let out a hum, making him grin into the kiss. his tongue swipes between your lips before slipping into your mouth, exploring it for the first, but hopefully not last, time. you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, already growing hot as his hands move down to your butt.

kissing oscar is so easy, so comfortable. it's like you've done it so many times before, like it's what you were made to do.

you're so relaxed and so focused on the kiss that you don't even hear lando's footsteps right next to you, nor his snicker from a few meters away as he picks up his phone to snap a couple of pictures. you don't even hear him strutting away to the living room, nor his loud proclamation to the group: mission complete.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 23rd, 8:35am

the rest of the days leading up to christmas consist of a lot of sneaking around.

the days are filled with secretive kisses when you're sure no one is watching, fleeting pecks or longer liplocks, hurriedly parting and acting like nothing happened when you hear approaching footsteps. they're filled with soft brushes as you pass each other in hallways, little squeezes of your waist or his arm when someone is around, conveying more than anyone could guess. and they're filled with giant, knowing smiles matching on your lips, with longing gazes and sly winks across the dinner table.

now, his hand is warm in yours despite the freezing temperatures of the air. when you said you forgot your mittens in the cabin, oscar had just smiled, taking off one of his own to give it to you. and to heat your other hand, he intertwined his fingers with yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand as you walked.

you'd slipped out of the house before anyone else had woken up, wishing for a peaceful moment for yourselves. the two of you haven't really had time to properly talk ever since your moment under the mistletoe, and even though it wasn't outspoken, you both knew there were things to be discussed.

you're halfway around the lake when he finally touches on the subject. "so..." he starts, nudging your shoulder with his. "you like me, huh?"

you snicker. "i have for quite some time now, actually."

his hand squeezes yours. "tell me about it."

and when he asks, you tell.

you tell him about seeing him all those years ago, thinking that he was just a pretty face, a good driver, and not much else. you tell him about getting to know him more and more in the last two years and realizing that shit, he's so much more than that. you tell him about the butterflies, about the sneaky glances, about falling for him.

and then, he tells you his side.

he tells you about knowing of you from your first appearances in the f1 paddock, the curiosity in him growing for every picture of you and charles he saw. he tells you about wanting to approach you but not knowing how, not wanting to come off too strong or clingy. he tells you about how nothing has ever been more disappointing to him than charles's timing back in abu dhabi. then, he tells you about how his fingers had secretly been crossed all trip, hoping that lando's attempts to pair the two of you up wouldn't fall through.

you share giggles and smiles as you tell your stories, and it all feels so natural even though it's so new. and you think to yourself that maybe, this won't be so hard to get used to.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 23rd, 5:46pm

"how are things going with oscar?"

lily's voice makes your heart skip a beat. you had just walked into the kitchen to grab a gingerbread cookie, not expecting her to be doing the dishes this late in the evening – and especially not expecting her to ask you something like that. "what do you mean?" you ask back, trying to stay composed as you strut over to the cupboard, reaching into it for the box of cookies.

"are you going to be like... boyfriend and girlfriend now?"

the box slips out of your hands and crashes to the floor before you can catch it again. did you hear her correctly? your eyebrows shoot up and your mouth hangs open as you look at her again. she scoffs.

"oh please, the two of you aren't exactly sneaky," she says, looking back into the sink. "you know, lando took pictures of you under the mistletoe. and we all saw you coming back from your little trip to the lake earlier today."

"oh my god." you cover your face with your hands, letting out a groan. "oh my god. no way."

lily laughs, washing the last few plates under the tap before placing them on the side to drain. "don't worry, we were all in on it."

"and what does that mean?!"

"lando had a plan." of course he did. "we all agreed to help him out. except charles, he's still oblivious."

"what kind of plan?"

"well, just small things here and there, really." she wipes her hands on a towel before turning around and leaning against the counter. "hiding oscar's helmet so he'd have to stay here with you instead of skiing with us. walking really slowly in the market so you'd both get so tired of us that you'd stroll off alone. and the mistletoe, but that's obvious..."

as lily spills the details of lando's plan, you feel a mix of embarrassment and surprise, along with a hint of amusement. you're suddenly very aware of the collaboration that has taken place behind the scenes, and you take a deep breath as you slowly lower your hands from your face.

"so... lando really orchestrated all of this?" you exclaim, still trying to process the fact that your friends have been actively working to bring you and oscar closer together.

lily chuckles, nodding. "yes, and he's been loving every moment of it. we all figured you two needed a little push."

you shake your head in disbelief, a smile playing on your lips despite the initial shock. "what's the endgame here? is lando secretly a matchmaker or something?"

"he wishes," she says with a smirk. "i think he just enjoys playing cupid when he can." she shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest. "but hey, it worked out well, didn't it? you and oscar seem pretty cozy."

"yeah, i guess..." the mention of oscar brings a blush to your cheeks. "i just didn't expect to have a whole team of co-conspirators."

lily laughs, stepping forward to pat your shoulder. "it's all in good fun. besides, it's about time something happened between you two." you nod in agreement, smiling at her. "now, spill. how are you feeling about all of this? is he boyfriend material?"

you hesitate for a moment, contemplating your newfound dynamic with oscar. a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "yeah, maybe. we're figuring it out, i guess. it's all been... surprisingly nice."

she grins, satisfied with your response. "well, then, i'd say lando's plan was a success." she backs away, walking towards the kitchen exit. "just enjoy it, okay? and don't be too mad at us. we just wanted to see you both happy."

you nod and watch as she leaves, still processing the directed events that have led up to this moment. as you're left alone, you can't help but smile to yourself at the thought of everything that's happened – and everything that's yet to come.

suddenly, for the first time in your life, you feel thankful for something lando has done. you'll have to remember to thank him later.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 24th, 10:23pm

just a few hours ago, charles was challenged to a snowball fight with the rest of the twitch quartet. and how could he ever say no to them?

for you to fall asleep before he got back would just be stupid, because there's no way he will be able to keep quiet when he eventually he crashes into the room post-fight. so instead, you sit against the headboard of your bed, a thick blanket draped over your body and a good book in your hands as you enjoy the tranquility of the last few moments of christmas eve.

there's a soft knock on the door, one so low you could've just as well missed it. "come in," you call out, looking up from your book as the door creaks open. surprise paints your face as oscar enters the room, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of carrying out a secret mission.

in his hands, oscar holds a beautifully wrapped box, adorned with a crimson bow. "merry christmas."

"oscar, what are you up to?" you ask, laughter dancing in your eyes.

"giving you your present." he sits at your feet, holding out the present to you.

you place your book beside you on the bed, accepting the gift with a curious smile. you unwrap the present, and as you remove the lid of the box and your eyes are met with a necklace, your breath hitches in your throat.

the heart-shaped pendant is familiar – it's the exact necklace you'd eyed in the christmas market. you look up at oscar, a myriad of emotions playing on your face. "i didn't forget my phone," he admits, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. "i just really wanted to get it for you."

speechless, you delicately trace the edges of the pendant with your fingers. "oscar, i..."

"it's a christmas gift, but you can wear it whenever you want."

you hold the necklace up to him. "like now?"

he nods and takes it from you as you turn around, brushing away your hair so that he can secure the chain around your neck. when you turn back, you catch the glint of admiration in his eyes. "you look beautiful."

you hold the pendant between your thumb and pointer finger, a silent acknowledgment of the connection formed by the gift. "it's perfect, oscar. thank you." you tilt your head, smiling at him. "you're not getting your gift until tomorrow, though."

"just seeing you with this necklace is enough of a present for me. i don't need anything else."

‎‎ ‎‎‎

december 25th, 6:04pm

christmas day morning is for gift exchanges. you all sit around the tree in the living room, giving out presents and sharing the background stories behind the silly little things you've bought each other. you receive a ton of random objects that people had bought that day in the christmas market; objects they bought just to irritate you and oscar. now that you know, you find it quite funny – and seeing charles's confused face as you unwrapped a green screwdriver from lando is definitely one of your highlights of the day.

your present to oscar is, obviously, better planned than most other gifts. beneath the wrapper is a box titled "skiing survival kit" written in big, red letters. in it lies a pair of thick socks (with a note reading "to protect your feet from those horrible boots"), a bag of hot chocolate mix ("for moments when skiing feels too challenging; a little warmth to make everything better"), a bottle of peppermint-scented massaging oil ("you never know when you find yourself in need of a massage..."), and a handwritten letter about how you enjoyed your stay in the cottage much more than the actual skiing and a promise to stay in and warm his chair for him next time he's out "skiing".

then, midday rolls around. the chefs of the group, also known as the few people who don't burn everything they attempt to cook, take their time to make a good dinner. in the meantime, the rest of you prepare some games and competitions, including a trivia, a snow fort building competition, and a gingerbread house-decorating contest that ended in lando letting his competitiveness get the best of him. safe to say that no other gingerbread houses were still standing, other than lando's, meaning the brit won by default. his price: getting thrown in the snow in just his pyjamas.

and the evening? it's dedicated to a movie marathon, as per russell family traditions.

it has all been planned into the finest detail; the couch in the living room is decorated with blankets and pillows, nearly every bowl in the house is filled to the brim with snacks, and mattresses and pillows on the floor for those who don't fit on the couch. everyone was included of the vote of what movie you were going to see, though you had a feeling george had cheated when you were told the 'home alone' series won. especially since it's the one series he hasn't been able to stop talking about wanting to watch all trip.

you're settled on the edge of the couch, a blanket wrapped over your shoulders and your knees pulled up to your chest. you're laughing along with something kika has said from right next to you when you hear a beep from the kitchen, indicating that the last bag of popcorn was ready. you assumed lando would be getting up to fetch it, seeing as he was the one who insisted you needed one more bag, but when your eyes find him, he sits very contently and comfortably a few seats away. he looks back at you, eyebrows rising as you make eye contact.

"hey, you're the closest to the kitchen," he says, nodding his head in your direction. "go get them."

he isn't wrong, but he still makes no sense. "no way, norris."

he pouts. "please, be quick so we can start the movie already."

"you suck."

he sticks out his tongue at you but you've already walked off. when you return, a new bowl filled with popcorn in your arms, you aren't exactly surprised to see lando in the seat that used to be yours. you shoot him a glare, to which he answers, "i could barely see the tv from where i was sitting!"

"oh, but you think i'll be able to?" you scoff at the way he shrugs his shoulders, seemingly to say that it's now none of his business. and when you look at his old seat, you are even less surprised to see who's sitting right next to it.

oscar is looking up at you, confusion mixing into his features. he's been scrolling on his phone for the last few minutes and didn't notice when his teammate left him alone.

neither of you complain when you slip into lando's old spot, though. oscar immediately grabs the blanket in his lap and drapes it over you too. you shuffle closer to him as the movie turns on, the soft fabric of his pyjama pants brushing against yours. the bowl of popcorn is propped up on your lap, and when you reach into it to grab a handful, it touches something warm. you rip your eyes from the tv to see your hand brushing against oscar's. of course.

considering the other touches and kisses you've shared these last few days, it's not even a very intimate action. and yet, something about it leaves both of you giggling.

"so many clichés this trip, huh?" he says, eyes flickering between your hands and your face.

instead of answering, you grab his hand in yours. your fingers slip in between his easily, as they've done so many times these last few days, but you pull your hands underneath the blanket to keep them out of sight from everyone else.

it's a good movie, but it's easy for you to zone out when you feel oscar's hand squeeze yours. neither of you can really stay away from the other, inching closer as the movie progresses and stealing little cheek kisses when everyone is focused on the most exciting scenes. and when you start to grow a little tired, your head instinctively lands on his shoulder as you let out a little yawn. oscar desperately has to hold himself back from cooing at you, feeling so soft and prideful that you're leaning on him, and he settles for leaning his own head on you.

you both think you're being subtle, but everyone in the room understands what's going on. even charles, who has now been let in on what's happened between you and oscar after he walked in on lando telling alex about how cute the new couple in the house looked walking around the lake, can't take his eyes off the two of you. as your older brother, he feels like he should be doing something or saying something to protect you. he wonders what his role should be here – aren't brothers supposed to scare their sisters' boyfriends away?

but charles realizes that oscar isn't an enemy. in this moment, you look so peaceful, so content; like you've found the the long-lost puzzle piece to make you complete. how could he possibly interrupt that?

‎‎ ‎‎

december 25th, 11:28pm

charles is still fast asleep on the couch when you slip into oscar's room after the movie has ended, fingers intertwined and your laughter mixing as he pulls you along to his bed. his hands find your hips as he sits down on the edge of the bed, urging you to lower yourself onto his lap, and you happily oblige.

"look up," he says, and when you do, you're not surprised by what's hanging in the roof.

the mistletoe.

"oh," you start, looking back at him. last time you found yourself underneath the mistletoe with oscar, you had been more nervous than ever before. but this time, it isn't as scary. this time, you're able to shrug, a teasing grin forming on your lips. "i guess we should kiss, then. just for the christmas spirit, you know."

his lips are curved into a big smile. "oh, i do know." one of his hands comes up to tuck some hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek in his palm. "it's because you love christmas."

you can't hold back from giggling, and neither can he, both of you leaning in to seal your lips. your first encounter underneath the mistletoe was hesitant, but it feels like that was ages ago, in another lifetime. now, with his lips pressing against yours, it feels like it's all you've known.

he's so gentle with it, his kisses delicate and tender, and your heart flutters at the feeling. his hands land on your waist as your arms wrap around his neck, scooting in even closer. when your crotch brushes against him, he involuntarily lets out a moan into your mouth, and you stop for a moment to pull away. both your eyes and his are wide as you look at each other, and oscar doesn't know what to say. his mind is racing, not sure if you thought that was awkward or too soon or-

"that's so fucking hot," you say, and he finally exhales. you kiss him again, speaking against his lips. "wanna hear more."

he has no problems letting out more sounds when you keep up your actions, your hips rolling down on him rhythmically. his hands find the hem of your sweater and slip inside, instantly roaming your sides. his cold touch tickles, and when his fingers move along your waist, you can't help but giggle against his lips. he laughs along with you, but he only does it to match you. he's dumbfounded when you part from him and you grab his wrists to make him halt.

"you're too cold," you start, a bit breathless already. "it's-"

"are you really that ticklish?" he chuckles, fingers running up and down your sides again to test you, and his heart melts when you throw your head back, laughing. "oh come on, how am i supposed to do this if i can't touch you?"

"warm your fingers next time and we should be fine."

"next time, huh?" a combination of a smirk and a grin plays on his lips. "planning ahead?"

"well, it depends on how well you perform tonight." he sticks out his tongue at your taunting tone. "just take it off already, will you?"

oscar happily obliges, pulling the material off you before reaching for his own sweater, throwing them both onto the floor. his eyes stick to your chest, to the soft, red bed bra holding up your breasts, and he feels himself growing harder instantly, because this is so much better than he'd imagined. you can't exactly complain about what your eyes are met with, either; oscar's toned chest and his broad shoulders are basically calling out for you to come and press your lips to them. or sink your teeth in them. probably both.

he gives you a few quick kisses before his hands land on your hips and he flips you both around, laying you onto the covers. his lips meet the skin below your ear, and then travel down the side of your neck. he hears your breath hitch in your throat when he finds a spot you enjoy particularly much, making sure to memorize it for the future. and when his kisses trail even further down, they meet something hard and metallic. when he leans back, he realizes that you're wearing the necklace.

he didn't notice it until now, since he was too busy being mesmerized by your breasts earlier; but now, he can't take his eyes off it. the little heart charm rests just above your actual heart, and something about seeing it makes his heart flutter. the necklace he bought for you, the one that makes you think of him and only him. it's like you're already tagged as his.

"cute," he whispers to himself, placing a long kiss right on top of the heart. he can feel your real heart beating underneath his lips, fast but not really enough, and he can't wait to make you feel like it's pounding out of your chest.

he starts placing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, his hands finding the waistband of your sweatpants.

"you okay with me taking these off?" he asks, parting from your skin to watch you nod your head. he pulls the material down your body, smiling when your underwear comes into sight. they're not a pair of lacy lingerie or victoria's secret-lookalikes, but just a regular pair of panties in a deep green color with little candy canes. his eyes flicker between your bra and your panties. "green and red, huh?"

"well, what can i say?" you smile. "i love christmas." he giggles, and so do you, as he leaves your pants somewhere on the floor before moving further down your body. when his hands near the fuzzy socks with little cartoon santas dressing your feet, you're quick to speak. "those stay on, though."

"oh, is that so?"

"gotta make sure you're not just doing this for that foot fetish you might or might not have." a laughter erupts from his chest. "i've had too much of that recently."

"well, i don't have one, so i don't mind you keeping them on." he moves up on the bed again, fingers reaching the hem of your underwear. "but i can take these off, right?"

"things would get kinda tricky otherwise, i'd say,” you tease, but oscar merely blinks up at you with raised eyebrows.

"tricky, yes. but not impossible."

you shake your head, a grin making its way onto your lips. "next time, oscar."

and there it is again. next time. the way you say it so casually, like there's no doubt in your mind that there will be another time, that you'll do all of this again.

yet again, instant boner.

your panties are off in a second, and he doesn't waste any time before pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh. his hand takes care of your other thigh, thumb brushing up and down your skin, as your lips travel closer and closer to where you want him the most.

you suck in a breath when you feel his warm breath against your core. his tongue meets your clit and your eyes flutter closed, one of your hands reaching down to entangle in his hair. as his tongue draws circles around your bud, one of his hands leaves your thigh, a finger swiping along your wet folds before pushing slowly into you. you don't know which sensation to focus on, both growing stronger and pushing you closer to your limit every passing second. when he's pumped you a couple of times, he adds another finger and then another, pushing deep into you. his fingers curling inside of you makes you pull on his hair even harder, your mind growing hazy and your breaths shorter.

"o-oscar," you let out, subconsciously buckling your hips towards him in hopes of creating more friction. "i'm so clos-"

you're cut off by the combination of a moan and a whine that leaves your lips when his tongue flicking your clit speeds up. "come for me, sweetheart," he tells you, his voice sending vibrations against your core.

your legs shake around him as you completely let go, feeling the climax wash over you just moments after his order. your free arm drapes over your face, covering your eyes in your arm as you try to catch your breath. oscar continues lapping you up, helping you ride it out, also licking his fingers clean before letting his hands caress your sides soothingly. he's unsure whether his fingers are warm enough now to not tickle you, or if you're just too busy coming down from your high to even realize you should feel ticklish, but he smiles at the thought nonetheless.

"everything alright up here?" oscar asks as he moves up to your face again, one of his hands prying the arm off your face. you slowly open your eyes, your hazy gaze meeting his loving one and you can't help but to cup his face in your hands. you pull him down to your lips, lazily lacing them together. he pulls away just enough for his lips to still brush yours when he speaks. "i'll take that as a yes."

you're quick to nod, but even quicker to connect his lips with yours again, not wanting to be apart for even a second.

your hands slide down his neck and the front of his body, loving the feeling of his strong muscles under your touch. your fingers reach down to the edge of his pajama pants, and you let out a chuckle when you notice the ever-growing tent in them. "don't laugh at me," he starts, biting down on your bottom lip as a warning. "you're so hot, how could i not get this hard?"

"oh, shut it," you say, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. "just take them off, will you?"

"as you wish."

as he shuffles off the bed and pulls off his own pants, plus his boxers along with them, you take the time to reach behind you and unclasp your bra, letting it slide down your arms and off the bed. when he reaches into the bedside table and pulls out a condom, you raise your eyebrows. "oh, so you were planning this?"

he shakes his head as he climbs on top of you again. "i was hoping, not expecting. those are two very different things." he removes the wrapper and throws it onto the table, rolling the condom onto himself. "do you need anything? or-"

"just you."

oscar presses his smile to yours, kissing you like he has no rush in the world, like he just wants to savor this moment with you. "well then," he says against your lips, nudging his dick against your entrance. "i have to give the lady what she wants, don't i?"

you can't control the whine that slips into his mouth when he pushes into you. you thought you were ready for him, but he's so big and he stretches you out so perfectly. he pauses once he's slipped entirely into you, his lips finding a spot below your ear as he allows you to get used to him. your pussy is throbbing already, still sensitive from just minutes ago, and the little involuntary clenches around him make oscar grow more and more eager.

when he finally starts moving, you drape your arms around his shoulders for stability. his thrusts are slow but deep, and yet you desperately want more of him. you hook a leg over his hip, the other following soon after, and you gasp at the way he bottoms you out completely. one of his hands comes up to squeeze your breast, thumb flicking over the nipple as his pace speeds up. the sounds you make and the way your legs squeeze him close makes him feel like he could cum anytime, but he tries to hold back because he needs to see you fall apart beneath him for the second time tonight.

"oscar..." you cry out when his free hand slides down your body, a finger coming in contact with your clit again.

"just a little more, love." his thrusts have grown sloppy and his figures on your bud aren't exactly perfect, but it's good enough for your orgasm to hit.

your back arches off the bed, your chest pressing into his as you nuzzle your face into the side of his neck to hide your moans. when your walls tighten around him, he reaches his high too, his body shaking as he rides it out. your heart is about ready to jump out of your chest when he collapses onto you, both of you trying to catch your breaths. "holy fuck," oscar starts, his breath warm on your skin. "that was amazing. you feel amazing." you try to gather energy to speak, fingers getting lost in his curls. "you taste amazing, too. better than any christmas dinner."

you give him a weak slap to his shoulder. "shush."

"it's true!" he pushes himself back a bit, mouth hanging in mock offense. "this was the best present i could've ever wished for."

"the necklace is higher on my list, though."

oscar pauses for a moment. "i'm not sure if i should feel proud or offended."

you snicker. "i was hoping for the latter," you tease, but regret it the moment oscar's hands find your waist, fingers dancing along it and tickling you yet again. the squeal you let out does nothing to halt his actions, and he doesn't even budge when you try to push him away by his shoulders. "i was kidding!"

"apologize. now."

his fingers still working their way on your skin make it almost impossible for you to speak again, but you do your best to take a deep breath. "i'm- i'm sorry! oscar- stop it!"

he finally stops, and you finally get to breathe. "i'll go get a wet towel," oscar says, pulling away from you and giving you one last glance. he almost doesn't leave the bed when he looks at you, though – he finds the sight almost too good to be true. your rosy cheeks, the dreamy smile on your lips, your hair spread out on the pillows. he's scared that if he leaves you, maybe the spell will be broken and he'll realize all of this has just been a dream. because that's just how this all feels: surreal.

but it is real, and he can't wait to have you like this in his bed again.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 26th, 12:56pm

packing up after a good trip is always a bittersweet affair. realizing that you have the real world waiting for you, your actual lives with responsibilities and obligations, and that you can't just stay in this fairytale forever – this moment was definitely not something you looked forward to.

you and charles need to get back to monaco to celebrate christmas with your other brothers and your mother, before he needs to go away for pre-season work again. you're meticulously folding up your clothes, zipping up bags and exchanging smiles as you reminisce on memories of the week.

but, things are different this time. you know that the magic of this trip isn't going to stay here – in one way or another, you'll bring some of it with you back to your real life.

oscar.

you've already made plans to meet up after new years, and even when he's busy with work, you know that you'll at least see him during every race weekend. neither of you are ever more than a flight, or a call, away, and you just can't wait to see where this all takes you.

"so... oscar, huh?" charles's voice breaks the silence, his eyes glancing in the direction of your open door that lets in the sound of oscar's voice from the living room.

"hm? what about him?" you reply, trying to hold back the smile threatening to adorn your lips when you hear his name.

charles cocks an eyebrow at you. "you and him... kind of obvious." he gazes towards your bed. "besides, your bed is made. you didn't sleep here last night."

"well, i-" you start, but charles interrupts with a knowing chuckle.

"relax, i'm not going to be a police. just..." he shows off a sweet smile. "enjoy it."

with a nod and a shared understanding, you both continue packing, an unspoken acknowledgment hanging in the air. the group gathers to bid you farewell by the front door, and gratitude fills your heart as you exchange goodbyes with your friends. you grow especially soft when lando pulls you into a hug, a cheeky grin on his lips. "thank you," you whisper, giving his cheek a quick peck to really convey how much you appreciate everything he's done this holiday. he just squeezes you back, telling you not to worry about it.

finally, as you turn to say your farewell to oscar, the atmosphere shifts and the group watches with amused anticipation. "until next time," you say, your eyes holding a promise that transcends the physical distance.

"until next time," he repeats, smiling as you engulf him in a tight hug.

you pull away just enough for your ear to brush against his ear, your voice low. "charles knows, by the way."

"w-what?" his eyes widen for a moment, flickering between you and your brother – but then realization dawns. "well, in that case..."

before you can react, oscar pulls you closer again. he presses a goodbye-kiss on your lips, right there in front of everyone, and the group erupts into cheers.

and the loudest of them all? lando, of course. "if i'm not the best man at your wedding, i'll never forgive you guys."

[imaginespazzi]

Part 8: The Toxic In Intoxication

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 9

Your mouth is poison (your mouth is wine)

(In which an all over the place writer, writes something that's a little bit all over the place)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy,

Words: 9.0K

TW: Swearing, a little bit of violence, mentions of blood, men being men

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Unfortunately, as I've been warning y'all for a while, the deadline did finally slip through my fingers. However I'm hoping y'all will forgive me for it because I am only one day late and this chapter is quite long. I do wanna warn y'all in advance that there won't be a chapter next week because I am going on vacation and my laptop is staying very, very far away from me. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing but I'm hoping y'all will enjoy it anyways. I did actually edit this time but who knows how successful that was, so please let me know about typos/mistakes. As always, feel free to tell me about what you liked, what you disliked and anything you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your weeks my loves <3

August 2025

Azzi Fudd is a spectacular liar. She excels at keeping up a façade of yes everything is perfectly fine in front of her friends and family. She’s quite good at tricking people she can barely stand into thinking oh yes i’m totally enjoying this conversation. But the person Azzi lies the most to, is without a doubt herself. As she steps out of the car into the hot Indiana air, bustling with noises from the growing crowd inside, Azzi internally repeats a lie to herself again: she did not show up to all-star weekend for a glimpse of her ex girlfriend. She’s here, as per Colleen’s managerial advice, to build connections, to further her career and to expand on opportunities in the basketball world. The fact that Paige Bueckers, who Azzi hasn’t seen in three months -the longest period of time they’d spent apart since she’d started at UConn- is definitely also going to be attending tonight’s party, is merely a happenstance. 

Taking a deep breath, Azzi puts one kitten heeled foot in front of the other, trying to ignore her heightened nerves. This isn’t her preferred scene by any means. She’d much rather be back in her hotel room, curled on her couch with a book and a pint of ice cream. It’s not that Azzi doesn’t like parties; she has her fair share of fun at Ted’s, but it’s the unfamiliarity of the environment and the lack of that once ever present comforting hand that used to tap out i’m here for you against the back of her own at big events like these, that has her yearning to crawl back into the car and hide away. 

“Azzi?” a familiar voice calls from behind her and Azzi lets out a sigh of relief as she sees Aaliyah walking towards her with a large welcoming grin, “Azeray!”

“Li-Li. Thank god you’re here,” Azzi reaches up to hug her former teammate, mentally thanking whatever god was looking out for her. She’d dreaded walking in by herself and now she wouldn’t have to. Really she probably should probably send Coach a ‘thank you’ text for having so many alumni in the league that there was bound to be a Husky she could attach herself to for the night. 

“I’m glad to see you too Az,” Aaliyah says, pulling away and looking at Azzi with a semi-concerned look, “but you seem a little extra relieved to see me? You good dude?”

“Just- just a little nervous,” Azzi admits, shuffling her feet uneasily. 

Realization dawns on Aaliyah’s face, “cause of Paige?”

“No you know I don’t like big unfamiliar places,” Azzi sighs when Aaliayh gives her a pointed look, “but I guess maybe- maybe a little cause of Paige.”

The Mystics forward shakes her head before linking her arms through Azzi’s, “I swear, I leave y’all for one year and everything implodes-," she bites her tongue, "shit was that insensitive?”

“No,” Azzi grimaces, “that’s pretty much exactly what happened.”

Something hard coils in her stomach at Aaliyah’s words. The truth is they’d been fine. Better than fine even. And then suddenly Azzi was lighting a box of matches she hadn’t even known she was holding and her whole world was on fire; an implosion of everything Azzi had once thought inflammable. She’d burned her hands trying to rescue them and all she has to show for it are invisible red hot pustules that refuse to heal. But perhaps, she thinks, that’s what a pyromaniac like her had deserved. 

Azzi cowers under the flashing lights of the cameras, clinging tighter to Aaliyah’s arm as the two of them make their way onto the orange carpet, the cameramen immediately swinging their devices to capture the college basketball player more than likely to be the number one pick in next year’s WNBA draft. She feels herself tense under their piercing gaze, anchored only by Aaliyah's strong and steady presence next to her. And as they pose for the cameras, she’s thankful for her former teammate’s company but she can’t shake the feeling that it should have been someone else. 

“And look who we have here,” Lexie Brown says excitedly as the two of them approach the interviewer, “y’all Huskies clean up nice.”

“We try, we try,” Aaliyah answers charismatically, doing a little hair flip to match her tone. 

“Aaliyah, it's your first all-star nod, how are you feeling?” 

“I feel great, you know it’s always good to see yourself being acknowledged and being an all-star has always been a goal of mine. So, I hope it’s the first of many and I’m just hoping my team gets the W tomorrow,” Aaliyah answers diplomatically.

Lexie turns to Azzi, “I bet you’re really proud of her. I mean you’ve got a couple of teammates who are first-time all stars between Aaliyah and Paige. You’ve gotta be feeling pretty proud of them”

“Y-yeah I mean,” Azzi clears her throat, trying not to flinch at the mention of Paige’s name, “It’s been- it’s been really exciting to watch them and I’m extremely proud-”

She’s cut off by the sound of excited chatter filling up the air and Azzi doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s just entered the premises. Not when she has a whole separate sensory system that flares up just for her. Azzi’s skin prickles as she registers the sound of familiar peals of laughter echoing from the orange carpet. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand, forcing herself not to turn around. 

“Speak of the devil,” Lexie says goodnaturedly, getting her hand ready to beckon the blonde over and Azzi feels panic suffocate her lungs, not quite ready to face Paige yet. 

“Oh I don’t think-” Aaliyah tries to cut in, glancing worriedly at her friend but it’s too late. 

“Paige,” Lexie calls out, beaming over Azzi’s head at the Dallas Wings’ newest star point guard. 

The world seems to move in slow motion as Azzi feels Paige getting closer and closer to her. She smells the faint scent of fresh mint weaved with a hint of citrus first. Then she hears the sound of Paige’s breathing, perfectly even to anybody else but Azzi can hear the staggered harshness hidden beneath it. And as the blonde passes over her to settle on Lexi’s other side, she feels Paige’s arm brush against her own and it hurts to breathe. The contact lasts for a second but Azzi swears it’ll last forever, tattooing itself on her bicep as a wretched reminder of a touch she’s no longer allowed to crave. 

It’s funny, there’s a hurricane swirling between them and Paige can barely look at Azzi, keeping her eyes firmly on Lexie and Aaliyah as she greets the trio. And yet, there’s a sense of calm -of peace- that seems to wash over Azzi just by having Paige near her again. The older woman seems to possess some sort of magical power that weaves itself into Azzi’s nervous system, soothing away her frazzled nerves with an unspoken promise of and if you give me the chance i’ll make it all okay. 

Despite the hectic transition from a full college season to a frantic W season, Paige looks ethereal as always. Her two piece cropped vest top and straight fitted pants match the color of her eyes and a silver chain dangles across her chest. Two strands of blonde hair hide her signature diamond studs, the rest of it pulled back into a slightly messy bun. Azzi gulps at the way the vest top parts right above her midriff, Paige’s toned abs playing peek-a-boo behind it. She lets her eyes roam over Paige’s exposed arms, trying to ignore memories of how they used to go taut under her touch, down to the blonde’s bare fingers and she feels her heart constrict. No rings. It feels wrong. But then again, nothing has felt right for three months. 

“Azzi,” Aaliyah hisses and Azzi snaps out of her thoughts, realizing she’d been asked a question. 

“Sorry,” she laughs nervously, moving a strand of her hair out of her face; Paige’s eyes intently following the movement, “what was the question.”

Lexie smiles, “I was just asking about your thoughts on Paige’s amazing rookie year so far?”

“Oh um-” Azzi hesitates, shivers inching up her spine as she feels Paige drinking in the sight of the her body like she's a woman parched, “I’m just-” their eyes lock with each other’s and everything else seems to vanish until it feels like it’s just the two of them floating in between remnants of what they used to be, “I’m just really proud of her. I always knew she’d be amazing. She’s just doing what she always does. Being the best player she can be. So yeah I’m just- I’m just really proud of her.”

And Azzi doesn’t know how they got to this point where Paige seems almost shocked that Azzi could be proud of her, to this point where there’s droplets threatening to spill over both of their water lines and they no longer have the right to wipe each other’s tears away. 

“Aww,” Lexie coos, oblivious to the tension, “well on that sweet note, off y’all go and we’ll see y’all later.”

The walk into the party is kept alive with Aaliyah’s attempt at keeping a conversation going. While Paige tries to at least entertain some of, Azzi finds herself completely zoning out until they finally make their way inside into the cacophony of music and laughter. 

“Y’all wanna get-” Aaliyah begins.

“I see Jewell and Téa,” Paige cuts her off immediately, her legs already moving in a rush, “I’ll see y’all later.”

She gives Aaliyah a tentative grin but barely looks at Azzi as she practically trips over her pant-sleeves trying to get away. It feels like something’s biting against her skin, sharp teeth indenting you did this to yourself as Azzi watches Paige walk away. She watches as the tension slowly leaves the blonde’s muscles as she’s pulled into a hug by Jewell and then by Téa. The fake smile that she’d politely kept on her face the last couple of minutes for the sake of the cameras and reporters is replaced by something far more genuine. Azzi watches as Paige is absorbed into the warmth of the growing crowd, embraced by a league that adores her, and she feels the ice cold pinch of she belongs somewhere without you now start to freeze her own heart. 

***

Azzi’s doing fine. She’s gotten through the night with Aaliyah by her side, making small talk with a bunch of different players and she’s managed to keep a friendly smile the whole time. She’d even danced for a little bit, letting loose with some of the other college basketball players that had made the trip to Indianapolis. Sure, she’d occasionally been distracted by her eyes flickering over to the bar and finding a new pretty influencer batting their fake eyelashes at Paige but really she’s doing fine. Her head’s a little dizzy and maybe the third shot of tequila, influenced by a one leggy brunette that had gotten a little too handsy, wasn’t her brightest decision of the night but really, Azzi’s doing fine. 

Until she’s not. 

And it’s Paige's fault. She had to know that it would be Azzi’s last straw. She had to know that Azzi could live with watching a thousand girls flirt with Paige as long as the blonde in question stood rigidly by the bar doing nothing but smiling politely at them. She had to know that Azzi, after having spent most of their college life watching girls fawn over her girlfriend, could deal with the flirty hands that lingered just a little too long on Paige’s bicep. But it’s when Paige leans into this one girl -whose dark curls and tanned caramel skin are just a little too reminiscent of her own- when Paige’s lips graze just a little to close this one girl’s ear, that Azzi realizes she’s decidedly not fine. 

“I need some air,” she manages to bite out, ignoring Aaliyah’s concerned look as she marches out the back door, heading towards the deck. 

Azzi buries her face in her hands as she leans back against the brick wall. She knows she’s being unfair; knows she has absolutely no right to feel this way but something burns within her anyways and the light breeze does nothing to cool it down. 

“I’m not cheating on you,” a harsh voice interrupts her pity party and Azzi sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re not together and I can flirt or kiss or fuck-” she flinches, “anyone if I want to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Paige’s voice is laced with accusation, “because the way you just stormed out says otherwise.”

Azzi continues to keep her head in her palms, refusing to look at the blonde, “it’s hot and stuffy in there. I just needed some fresh air.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying,” Paige spits out. 

“Well what do you want me to say instead?” Azzi finally looks up, her even cadence in stark contrast to Paige’s fiery tone, “I know we’re not together-”

“Because that’s what you wanted-”

“I know,” Azzi yells, and then quieter, “I know. I know I- I know I did this. But that- that doesn’t make it any easier to see you with someone else,” she swallows, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

Paige scoffs, rubbing her face as she begins to pace, “you miss me? I was at Mohegan when y’all had summer camp. The whole team showed up to the game except for you and you want me to believe that you miss me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there,” Azzi confesses in a whisper, “you were so mad at me after-after everything- and I just- I didn’t want to ruin coming back to Connecticut for you.”

“For me,” Paige lets out a laugh devoid of any emotion, “god Azzi there you go again with this fake ‘selfless’ bullshit.”

A thousand and one retorts die on the tip of Azzi’s tongue as she shakes her head and pushes herself off the wall. She can smell the alcohol on Paige, can tell the blonde is itching for an argument but all she feels is pure exhaustion. 

 “I don’t wanna fight Paige. I’m tired and I just-” she bites her lip, fighting the urge to caress Paige’s cheek, “believe it or don’t but- I really do miss you.”

Sparks of electricity dance their way through Azzi’s veins when Paige curls a hand around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks from going inside. And suddenly she doesn’t feel so cold anymore. 

“Dance with me,” Paige whispers. 

“What?” 

Paige shrugs, tugging on Azzi’s hand to pull her closer, “you said you don’t wanna fight and I- I don’t want you to go,” the confession hangs between them as Paige’s hands fall to Azzi’s waist, “so- let’s just- let’s pretend.”

“What are we pretending?” Azzi asks quietly and despite the warnings ringing in her head, she wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. It feels like coming home. 

“We’re pretending that we’re okay,” Paige says softly, holding Azzi’s hips as she begins to sway them gently, “we’re pretending that three months ago you said yes.”

“Paige-”

“Close your eyes Azzi,” the blond waves her hand gently across Azzi’s face, willing both of their eyelids to flutter shut, “we’re pretending that we’re not here- we’re in Minnesota or DC or I don’t know just- anywhere. And our families are here, laughing and talking and some sappy romantic song is playing. It's the best day of our lives and we’re both- we're both dressed in white-”

“Paige,” Azzi lets out a sob, as she begins to understand the picture Paige is painting for them; a picture drawn on a canvas that Azzi had torn up before any color could touch it

“Sshhhh just- let me have this okay,” Paige’s voice trembles as she leans her forehead against Azzi’s, “if I can’t have it for real, please just let me pretend.”

If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Azzi would fight Paige’s tightening grip. If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Paige would let go. Instead Azzi lets Paige play pretend, lets them keep their bodies pressed against each other, moving from side to side in rhythm with the wind. 

It isn’t until she hears footsteps approaching them that Azzi hurriedly moves away first and she can see the betrayal of if only you’d just let me hold you in front of the world written all over Paige’s face. They’re both quick to swap their tears for smiles that don’t reach their eyes as they turn to face the intruders. And Azzi wonders if Paige wishes she’d drank a little bit more too. Because maybe if they were both just a little more drunk, then tomorrow they wouldn’t have to remember just how right it had felt to play pretend tonight. 

April 2033 

“You look so pretty Mama,” Stephie gushes from where she’s perched on the bed as she watches Azzi put the finishing touches to her makeup

“Thanks baby,” Azzi smiles, blowing a kiss in the mirror. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie flips the running facetime call, skipping over to her mother with the phone in her hand, “doesn’t Mama look beautiful?”

Sixteen years later, and maybe it’s because of all the time they’d missed in between, but Azzi can’t help the bout of shyness that flushes across her features when Stephie places the phone, Paige’s face illuminated all over it, against the mirror so the blonde can get a proper look at Azzi’s outfit.

“You look-” Paige clears her throat, eyes dilated as they rake over Azzi’s whole body, “you look phenomenal.”

“Big word Bueckers,” Azzi teases, trying to disguise her blush, “did you just learn it?”

Paige rolls her eyes, “can’t even give you a compliment without an insult Fudd.”

“You guys argue too much,” Stephie says exasperatedly, shaking her head at the two adults who laugh. The younger girl sometimes seems far wise beyond her age. 

“We’re not arguing Stephie, we’re just-” Azzi struggles to think of a word. 

“Foreplaying,” Paige mutters under her breath and Azzi immediately glares at her. 

“Paige!”

Stephie scrunches up her nose at the screen, “what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says shrilly, “Miss Buecks is just making up words.”

“Why would Miss Buecks do that?” Stephie asks, looking back and forth between her mother and the screen. 

“Why does Miss Buecks do anything,” Azzi babbles, as she begins to usher Stephie out of her room, “go grab your things Stephie-bean. Mama’s almost ready to drop you off at Nana and Pop’s house.”

Stephie pouts, “I wanna go to the party with you and Miss Buecks. It’s no fair you both get to go and I don’t,” she picks up the phone, looking at Paige with wide guilt-tripping eyes, “don’t you love me Miss Buecks?”

Azzi has to hand it to her daughter. She’s a smart one to choose Paige as the victim of her emotional blackmail, knowing her wiles had long stopped working on her mother. 

“You know I’d take you with me if I could Stephie,” Paige says, “but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow I swear.”

Stephie smiles and Azzi shakes her head at how quickly the five-year old’s plan had worked, “you’ll take me to the park and then we’ll get fries and then get ice cream?”

“That’s a lot of junk food Steph-”

“Ssshh Mama,” Stephie chides, “this is between me and Miss Buecks.”

“The park, then fries, then ice cream it is,” Paige concedes and Azzi rolls her eyes. 

Stephie grins brightly, puckering her lips to kiss Paige through the phone and eliciting a laugh from the older woman when she cheers, “you’re the best-est-est Miss Buecks. See you in a little bit. Don’t hang up without saying goodnight.”

“I promise I won’t,” Paige calls out after the little girl as Stepehie hands the phone back to Azzi and starts skipping towards her room. 

Azzi gives the blonde a look, “we have got to have a conversation about you learning to say no to her.”

Paige shrugs unhelpfully, “I don’t want to learn how to say no to her.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Azzi remarks, hands on hips, “and foreplay? Seriously? Us bickering is not foreplay.”

“Well it could be if you’d just let me fuck you after,” Paige grumbles and Azzi’s mouth falls open at the bluntness of it. 

“You say the most romantic things to me Paige Bueckers.”

They’re both quiet for a second as Azzi moves around her room, collecting her wallet and keys and to put into her purse. 

“You know there’s still time for me to come pick you up,” Paige says finally.

“Paige,” Azzi sighs, not wanting a rerun of the same argument they’ve been having for the last week. She knows it’s a touchy subject for Paige; that it veers a little too close to insecurities that stem from their past but she’s not quite ready to take this step yet. There isn’t quite any rhyme or reason to her logic except well, she’s haunted by memories of the last time they’d let the personal mix with the professional. Her phone still holds invitations to countless team reunions that she’d actively avoided and a group chat that she’s long muted. Azzi hasn’t stepped foot in the state of Connecticut since she’d entered the draft; she refuses to lose California too. 

“Teammates can carpool,” Paige explains vehemently, “it’s easily explainable.’

“I know-”

“Is this about Clémence?” bitterness tinges the edge of Paige’s voice as she chews her bottom lip. And there it is, the other subject they’d been tip-toeing around since it had been brought up at breakfast a week ago. Paige and Azzi are both excellent at avoiding talking about the harder topics but they’ve never quite managed to let anything go forever. 

“Why would this be about Clémence?” 

Paige narrows her eyes, sitting up from where she’d previously been lounging against her pillow, “maybe you don’t want her to see us together? Maybe you’re trying to spare her feelings I don’t know.”

“Paige-”

“You know what it’s fine,” Paige huffs, “I’ll see you at the bar Azzi.”

She hangs up before Azzi can say anything and the brunette lets out a litany of curses under her breath, annoyed with Paige’s ability to go from A to Z by skipping everything in between. There’s a part of her that knows Paige deserves an explanation about Clémence, a chance to have her lingering doubts confirmed or denied, but amidst the egoistic thoughts of well she married someone else and the self preservationist urge to prevent a potential fight, she hadn’t been brave enough to approach the topic just quite yet. Azzi’s about to step out of the room, when her phone pings with a facetime call from Paige again. 

“Are you calling to apologize for hanging up?” Azzi asks with a frown. 

“No,” Paige replies stubbornly, “I called because I hung up without saying goodnight to Stephie and just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss saying goodnight to her.”

Something wonderful and warm blooms in Azzi’s chest as she silently walks over to Stephie’s room. This is a new chapter in Paige’s storybook that she’s slowly beginning to read; one scribbled with the blonde’s devotion to Azzi’s baby girl. Azzi still has every other chapter memorized; had thought nothing could be more beautiful than the words within the one that had been dedicated to her. But she’d been wrong. Because every day that she watches Paige and Stephie fall more and more in love with each other, she finds herself falling in love with how much they love each other. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals, practically snatching the phone from her mother’s hand as she goofily grins at the screen, “you didn’t hang up.”

“I promised I wouldn’t,” Paige says, the hardness that had existed in her voice while talking to Azzi, dissolving into adulation, “you be good for Nana and Pops okay?”

“I’m always good,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, “can you come over really, really, early tomorrow?”

Paige laughs, “I’ll be there as soon as I wake up.”

“Good,” Stephie claps contentedly as she grabs Azzi’s hand to start walking towards the car, “good night Miss Buecks.”

“Good night Stephie-bean,” Paige echoes, blowing a kiss through the screen. 

“Paige,” Azzi says urgently, trying to stop the older woman from hanging up, “can you just hold on a second while I buckle Stephie in.”

“Az-”

“Please.”

“Fine,” Paige says, averting Azzi’s gaze as she sulks. 

Azzi lifts Stephie onto the car seat, fastening her seatbelt and pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, before she closes the car door and uses it as a stabilizing structure to lean on as she pulls her phone back in front of her. 

“Hey,” she whispers. 

“Hi,” Paige says back begrudgingly, “you wanted to say something?”

“I-” Azzi swallows, “don’t go the bar-”

“Oh fantastic,” Paige cuts her off, her voice furious as she glares daggers at Azzi through the phone, “not only do you not want to go to the bar together, you don’t want me to go at all. Fine. Okay. Whatever. I won’t go. You have the time of your life with fucking Clementine or whatever-”

“Yet,” Azzi says loudly, trying to speak over Paige’s angry rant, “don’t go to the bar yet.”

“What?” 

Azzi licks her lips, “don’t go yet. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents-”

“What does that have to-”

“Will you just let me fucking finish?” Azzi almost bangs her fist on the car in frustration and she’s glad to see that it makes Paige look just a little bit sheepish, “as I was saying. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents and uh- your house- it’s um- it’s on the way to the bar so I thought,” she shrugs with fake nonchalance, the edge of her mouth turning upwards, “I thought maybe- maybe I could pick you up on the way.”

Paige stares blankly at the screen, eyes blinking as Azzi’s words slowly register, “you- you wanna go to the bar together?”

“I didn’t say that,” Azzi teases, eyes twinkling as she basks in the thrill of eliciting that Azzi smile from Paige’s lips, “teammates carpool right?”

“Teammates definitely carpool.”

April 2029 

“You invited Clémence to our movie night?” Jana asks in a whisper, as she walks into the kitchen where Azzi’s making popcorn. Her Saturday nights have gotten rather boring since she’s had Stephie, consisting of alternating between movie nights with Jana and dinner with her parents. It wasn’t the most thrilling of times but she looked forward to them all week, excited to not have to spend a night in solitude.

“She asked what I was doing tonight and I told her we were having a movie night and then she asked if she could join and well I couldn’t just say no,” Azzi explains, sticking the bag into the microwave. 

Jana cocks an eyebrow, “do you want me to leave?”

“Why would I want you to leave?” Azzi asks, crinkling her nose as she juts out an ear just in case the baby monitor goes off. 

“C’mon Az,” Jana says pointedly, leaning on her elbows against the kitchen counter, “you’re telling me there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Azzi grimaces uneasily, not quite wanting to answer the question, “nothing that would require you to leave.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it,” Jana relents, grabbing a soda from the fridge on her way back to the living room, before she pauses in the doorway to look back at Azzi, “but I know what it looks like when somebody’s in love with you. And that girl out there,” she nods her head towards where Clémence is daintily sitting on the couch, “she’s definitely getting there.”

Jana’s a rather observant person but Azzi knows that she’s at least a little bit wrong this time. Because Clémence might be a little bit in love with -even if that’s not a fact Azzi particularly wants to acknowledge- but it's impossible for her to look at Azzi the way Jana remembers someone else looking at her. That had been something completely different; a gaze that saw all the little chinks in her armor, all the imperfections carved against her walls and loved her inspite of them, maybe even because of them. Clémence might love her, but Azzi doesn’t think anyone can be in love with her the way the person she’d been hopelessly in love with, had. 

When she walks back into the living room with the popcorn in hand, still plagued by her younger teammate’s words, Azzi’s deliberate to sit on the couch next to Jana instead of the open space next to the francophone. The flash of hurt in Clémence’s eye causes guilt to trickle down her spine but Azzi thinks a flash is better than the tsunami of pain she could cause if she doesn’t start to ease herself out of this right now. There’s a selfish part of her that doesn’t want to, that’s going to miss having somebody who hangs onto her every word. Azzi likes this feeling of being wanted, even if it’s not by the person she wants. But that person isn’t hers to want anymore and she won’t torture Clémence by barricading her in the same jail that has held Azzi’s soul captive for the last four years. 

They’re about half way through the movie, awkward tension eased by Jana’s incessant chatter, when Azzi’s phone buzzes. Already confused at the timing of the call, she’s even more perplexed to see Ice’s name flashing on the screen. 

“Oooh Iceyyy,” Jana’s eyes light up when she catches a glimpse of the CallerID, “put her on speaker. Ice is one of our UConn teammates,” she explains, turning to Clémence who nods in recognition, “she probably did something dumb as fuck and need Azzi’s advice.”

“Don’t be mean,” Azzi scolds with a grin, knowing that Jana’s probably right as she picks up the call, “hello-”

“I hate you,” Azzi freezes at the sound of the familiar voice, laced with unfamiliar malice. Next to her Jana stiffens immediately while Clémence observes the scene in front of her with a guarded frown. 

“Paige who the fuck are you calling?” Ice’s voice is muffled in the background, “oh shit, Paige give me back my phone.”

“No. She needs to hear this,” Paige grits out, her pitch wavering with the effects of alcohol, “she needs to hear how much I fucking hate her. Azzi do you hear me? I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there. Did you hear what I said?”

“Paige,” Ice hisses again. 

Azzi swallows the lump in her throat, fingers digging into her bare thighs as she grips her phone so hard, she half-expects it to break into pieces in a reflection of her heart, “I heard you Paige.”

“Good. Because I do. I really fucking hate you,” Paige repeats again and Azzi flinches, “you ruined me Azzi. And now you’re ruining my marriage. My wife is perfect. She loves me. She loves being seen with me. She loves being known as my wife. Everything I ever wanted from you, she’s willing to give me. But she saw that damn hug at the Olympics and she- she’s upset with me. She thinks- she thinks I’m not over you.”

“Az maybe you should-” Jana says softly but Azzi immediately raises a hand to stop her. Maybe she’s a masochist but she can hear the hurt laced underneath the anger in Paige's voice. And if what Paige needs to get rid of her pain is a target to aim all her arrows at, then Azzi’s willing to sacrifice her heart, or at least what little is still left of it. 

“And the worst thing about it,” Paige’s voice breaks, “is that she's probably right. I have the perfect fucking woman at home and I can’t seem to get over the one who broke my heart and never looked back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Paige,” Ice pleads again and Azzi can hear her former teammate trying her best to wrangle the phone out of Paige’s firm grasp. 

“I’m not done yet Ice. I need to talk to her and I need to talk to her now because if I don’t, I’ll never get the courage to say any of this again,” Paige is sobbing now, and her broken whimpers pierce Azzi’s heart deeper than any words could,  “why couldn’t you just have said yes Az? I know- I know your reasons but why- why couldn’t you have just loved me enough to look past them? How do you do it Azzi? How do you live without me because it’s been four years and I- I still don’t think I know how to live without you and I hate you, I hate you because you do.”

No, Azzi thinks, I really don’t. But she doesn’t say anything, rapidly blinking back tears as she avoids both Jana’s concerned look and Clémence’s more thoughtful gaze. 

“I wish I could just feel nothing towards you Azzi,” Paige confesses, heaving as she struggles to breathe through her tears, “I don’t want to hate you. I don’t want to miss you and I really- I really, really don’t want to love you. Please just make it stop. I’m so tired of this Azzi. I’m so tired of hurting. How do I make it go away? Please tell me how I make it go away? How did you make it go away?”

“I didn’t,” Azzi whispers, so soft she’s not sure Paige heard it; she’s not sure if she wants Paige to have heard it. It’s the kind of pain, she thinks, she’s destined to feel forever. It’s weaved itself into every crevice of body and now it exists as just another innate part of her. Paige thinks Azzi’s learned to live without her but really all Azzi’s learned is how to live with these permanent scars of i think i’ll miss you forever. 

“That’s enough Paige,” Ice’s voice is clearer now, having finally snatched the phone out of her teammate’s grip, “Azzi-” she begins apologetically, “she’s just drunk. She didn’t mean-”

“She did,” Azzi clears her throat, sinking into the way Jana's arms wrap around her, “she’s um- she’s gonna be really hungover in the morning. Make sure she- make sure you give her water but don’t- don’t give her coffee. She’ll want it but it’ll only make it worse because she uh- she- when she drinks too much, her stomach hurts and the caffeine- it just- it makes it worse so- don’t let her drink coffee tomorrow morning okay? And make sure- make sure she eats something before she takes painkillers. And Ice?’

“Yeah Azzi.”

“If she doesn’t remember any of this tomorrow morning, please don’t remind her.”

***

April 2033

The bar is buzzing with noise by the time Paige and Azzi finally arrive. It’s an exclusive enough place that they won’t be too bothered by fans asking for pictures and autographs but the size of the crowd still puts Azzi a little bit on edge. She can’t help the small smile that flitters across her face when she feels Paige’s hand resting on her lower back as the blonde guides the two of them through the crowd in search of their teammates. For the last eight years, Azzi has been her own protector and she’s learned to guard herself but it’s nice -it feels right- to have someone else ready to be her shield too. 

“You know Bueckers,” Joyce says as the two of them finally approach the table that had been reserved for the Valkyries, “some might say that one should be on time when meeting their new teammates. Just a thought.”

“And some might say Edwards that being fashionably late is being on time,” Paige quips back. 

Joyce grins, “alright time for introductions.”

“I’m pretty sure I know-”

“Shut up,” Joyce reprimands, throwing an arm around Paige’s shoulders, “let me introduce these brand new people to you.”

“They’re not-”

“Sssshhh. Let me have my fun. We’ll start over here with Westbeld and Booker. You might know them, their teams kicked your ass during the 23-24 season,” Joyce says with a smirk. 

“Oh I do remember that,” Paige says thoughtfully, eyes twinkling with mirth, “what happened the season after?”

“Don’t be cocky Bueckers. It’s unbecoming,” Madison chides as she rises from the table to give Paige a hug. 

“Yeah I try not to remember that Elite Eight game thanks,” Laila says, making a disgusted face. 

Joyce glares at her, “did I introduce you yet Miss Phelia?”

Laila raises her hands in surrender as Joyce continues to give Paige a tour of the Valkyrie team. Azzi had known that Paige would fit in well with her teammate -really the blonde had the uncanny ability to fit in anywhere- but seeing it realized in front of her, it seems even clearer. Paige feels like the last mosaic piece, slotting in right where she belongs. 

“Those two over there are our babies,” Joyce points to Haylen and Jayla, “they’re like five years old but we love them anyways.”

“I’m almost 25,” Haylen protests. 

“See,” Joyce remarks, “literally children. And that one,” she points to Jana who beams at Paige, “well you already know her even if you sometimes wish you didn’t probably-”

“Hey!”

“Oh shush Jana,” Joyce says airily, “and I supposed there’s no point in introducing Azzi to you since y’all came together,” she pauses to look between them, “y’all don’t live that close to each other. Why didn’t you just carpool with Jana? I’m pretty sure she lives closer to you.”

Paige opens and closes her mouth a couple of times as Azzi feels her own cheeks heat up at the innocent enough question, “we um- well it's just- you see- my house is on the way from her parents and she had to drop off Stephie so it just- it just made sense you know? For efficiency’s sake.”

“Oh yeah for efficiency’s sake. They’re both very efficient,” Jana smirks, “makes a lot of sense.”

Joyce gives all three of them a weird look, “y’all Huskies are strange. It was just a question but anyways,” she grins as she finally steers Paige towards the blonde in the corner and Azzi stiffens at the way Paige’s body immediately tenses, “a couple of our teammates aren’t here but we do have a former teammate. Paige meet Clémence.”

“We’ve met,” Paige says, attempting to school her features to resemble anything but the discomfort she’s feeling within, “during the Olympics that is. We’ve beat France a couple of times.”

It’s a purposeful word choice, beat instead of played and Azzi's fingers fidget with the hem of her top as she tries to avoid looking at either of the two women. 

“Yes. It is good to see you again,” Clémence says tersely, her French accent stronger than the last time Azzi had spoken to her. She shakes Paige’s hand rather formally before her eyes focus on Azzi and she determinedly walks towards the brunette, “and it is really good to see you Azzi. I have missed you.”

“I-” Azzi stutters at the French woman pulls her into a hug; over her shoulder she can practically see steam coming out of Paige’s ears as she hyper focuses on how Clémence makes it a point rub her thumb down Azzi’s back, “it’s um- it’s good to see you too.”

She pulls away and she can feel the disappointment reverberating from Clémence’s body as Azzi practically flings herself on the chair next to Jana, wondering what she’d done to deserve this moment as a punishment for her sins. 

“Save me,” she pleads as Clémence and Paige sit as far away from each other as possible, occasionally shooting glares when they think the other isn’t looking. 

“Save you from having two hot women fighting over you?” the center teases, “you truly have such first world problems Azzi Fudd.”

“They’re not fighting over me-”

“Azzi you will have your usual rum and coke no?” Clémence asks and Azzi looks over to where the francophone is intently staring at her, “I will go-”

“Oh there’s no need,” Paige says immediately, “you sit Clémence. You already have a drink. I was gonna go get one for myself and I’ll get Azzi’s too. Besides, Azzi's more of a fruity drink girl. Az I’ll get you a piña colada-”

Clémence narrows her eyes, “maybe she liked that when she was in college but Azzi likes something different now.”

“She might like something different now,” Paige counters, standing up aggressively so she towers over the table, “but she’s always gonna love a piña colada right Azzi?”

All eyes turn to look at Azzi who wants nothing more than to cower under the table- or hit Jana who seems to find this very unamusinging situation rather entertaining, “I um-” she swallows, “I think tonight calls for something stronger. Round of shots for the table? On me?”

It placates the situation for a while as the rest of the team cheers on the idea, beckoning over one of the bartenders to orders a round of tequila shots for the table. For a moment, Azzi tricks herself into thinking maybe that’ll be the end of ridiculous situations for the night as the team downs shots to Jana yelling “to the Valkyries” but she should have known it was wishful thinking.

Half the team ends up on the dance floor, swaying to the mixed rhythm of the music and the newly minted alcohol coursing through their bloodstreams. Azzi watches with a smile as despite her protests, Joyce manages to drag Paige onto the dance floor with her, engaging her in some eccentric dance moves as they try to outdo each other on who can look the silliest. And as the rest of the girls cheer the blonde on, it feels like Paige is chiseling out a place for herself in another part of Azzi’s world. 

“She is easy to love,” Clémence’s hot breath fans Azzi’s ear as the francophone takes Jana’s empty seat next to the brunette. 

“Clém-” Azzi sighs. 

“She fits in well with the team,” Clémence continues, something wistful in her voice, “I have seen her play. She will fit in well on the court with you guys as well. She will fit in well next to you.”

“That’s the hope,” Azzi says softly as she tilts her head to look at the other woman, “you fit in well too. I mean it Clém. We’ll miss you at GSV.”

Clémence smiles bitterly, “I would have liked to stay but they needed the cap space so they could sign her. She- she’s quite expensive. I mean considering she is casually wearing swarovski crystals on her neck in a bar on a random Saturday night, I am not surprised.”

The two of them laugh despite the gravity that looms heavily over them. Azzi and Clémence haven’t been anything in a long time but she’d never quite shut the possibility of a potential future done. She can hear the lock ready to click now. It’s bittersweet doing the right thing but as Paige glances over from the dancefloor, eyes darting cautiously between the two of them, Azzi knows that she doesn’t want to keep any other doors open. Not when the one with Paige’s name etched on the door handle, leads to home. 

“One last dance?” Clémence asks softly, holding out her hand. 

Azzi hesitates, knowing that it would irritate Paige but she thinks she probably owes Clémence this and so she smiles and takes the francophone’s outstretched hand as they join their other teammates. It’s nothing beyond friendly and they both keep their hands to themselves as they sway to the music, but Azzi can feel the annoyance radiating off of Paige from across the dancefloor. She would never admit it, perhaps it’s a little toxic of her, but there’s a certain thrill to making Paige jealous. There’s something about the way the blonde’s blue eyes flare with ice cold envy, the way her jaw hardens as she grinds her teeth. The way she looks at Azzi like if she had her way she’d drag the brunette out of the bar and mark her with a possessive you’re mine you’re mine youre mine. It makes Azzi clench her thighs together as she tries to focus on Clémence. 

“I understand now,” the francophone says thoughtfully as Azzi’s peers up at her in confusion, “when you told me that you could not be with me. I get it.”

“I don’t-”

“You are here with me but you aren’t actually. You will always be with her,” Clémence tilts her head towards Paige, “you always have been. I understand now,” she says again simply before her face hardens, “even after all those words she said to you on the phone that night.”

Azzi’s stomach curls at the reminder. She knows exactly what night Clémence is referring to. Sometimes when she closes her eyes, it’s those words, coated in anger and malice, that shower around her like acid rain, seeping into her skin and infecting her bloodstream.

“I told you, you deserved better,” Clémence says and Azzi gulps, “but you said- you said you deserved worse. I hope you don’t believe that anymore Azzi. Just because you hurt her doesn’t mean you need to let her hurt you too.”

“I-” Azzi’s cut off by a hard body ramming into her own and she feels herself going stumbling back into the unwanted arms of a random man, “I’m sorry,” she says tersely, struggling to get out his grip. 

“No worries pretty girl,” he says toothily, the heavy stench of alcohol in his breath making Azzi feel nauseous, “but now that you’re here, how about I buy you a drink.”

“No thank you,” Azzi says sternly, trying to push the man away but he’s relentless. 

“Aw c’mon don’t be like that sweetheart,” the term of endearment sounds like an insult falling from his lips and Azzi loses her patience, stomping her heel into the man’s foot to finally free herself from his grip and he yelps in surprise.

“I said no thank you.”

“What the fuck,” the man spits out, standing up as Azzi takes a step back. He’s got some muscle and although, despite his bravado, she knows she’s strong enough to take him, she’d rather not create a scene. Her plan is to walk away. Paige seems to have other ideas, suddenly materializing in between Azzi and the man, a furious look on her face as she squares him up. 

“Do we have a problem?” the blonde asks menacingly. 

“Nothing other than your little friend here being a fucking bitch.”

Paige’s eyes darken as she takes a threatening step towards him, prevented from going further only by the way Azzi immediately laces a hand around her wrist, “what the fuck did you call her?”

“I called her a-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azzi cuts in, stepping in between a glaring Paige and a man who’s clearly underestimating her strength, “let it go Paige.”

“Yeah,” the man mocks, “let it go Paige.”

“You fucking-” Paige tries to lunge at him but Azzi’s quick to shove her back gently. 

“Don’t cause a scene,” she warns. 

“Azzi-”

“Paige please.”

“Holy shit,” the man wolf-whistles, “y’all play for the Valks. You’re Azzi Fudd. I know you.”

“Good for you,” Azzi spits out at him before turning her attention back to Paige, who looks like she could kill the man if given the chance, “c’mon let's go back to our tab-”

“It’s funny you’re acting like such a fucking prude when you have a bastard chi-”

An unmistakable crunch rings out through the bar as the man goes flying backwards. Azzi’s knuckles are bleeding as her breath comes out in ragged huffs. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene; could have walked away from a man being a drunken idiot, could have walked away from being called a bitch or hell, even something worse. But the man had attacked the one part of her that she’d always be ready to go to war for. He’d brought up Stephie and she’d seen red. Her fist had moved of it's own accord.

Paige doesn’t say anything and Azzi can feel the anger still vibrating from the older woman’s body as she roughly grabs Azzi’s unhurt hand.

“Let’s go,” the blonde’s voice is eerily low, “we’re going home.”

***

It’s a subconscious choice to let Paige drive Azzi’s car even though they’ve both sobered up considerably, not that one shot had done much in the first place. It’s a subconscious choice that Azzi reaches over to lace her fingers through Paige’s free hand, resting it on her lap, as the blonde use her other hand to grip the steering wheel. It’s a subconscious choice that they end up driving to Azzi’s house in complete silence. She’s not sure who’s mad at who, if they’re even mad at each other or that man or just the world but she can feel the fury suffocating the air. 

“Where’s your first-aid kit?” Paige says gruffly as Azzi unlocks the door. 

“Bathroom,” Azzi says quietly and Paige is off towards it before the word has even fully left the brunette’s mouth. Azzi scrambles after her, pausing in the doorway as Paige rummages through drawers, knowing better than to interrupt to help when Paige looks livid like this.

“Sit,” Paige points to the sink once she’s finally found the sanitizer and gauze to clean up dried up blood staining Azzi’s knuckles. 

“I can do it my-”

Paige glares at her, “just sit on the fucking sink Azzi.”

Putting away her own irritation at being told what to do, Azzi lifts herself onto the flat surface of the sink, opening her legs slightly so that Paige can stand between them. Despite still quivering with barely concealed rage, Paige’s touch is gentle as she dabs at the remnants of red liquid on Azzi’s hand. 

“You should’ve just let me punch him when I wanted to,” she says finally. 

“So you could be the one bleeding?” Azzi raises an eyebrow. 

“No because he would’ve never gotten the courage to say shit about Stephie if you’d just let me kill him when he called you a bitch,” Paige bites out venomously. 

“And let you go to jail? I couldn’t do that to Stephie,” Azzi tries to lighten the tension in the room, “she’d miss you too much. 

“This isn’t funny, Azzi,” Paige seethes as she begins to wrap the white gauze around the wound. 

“I know,” the younger woman says, trailing her other hand down Paige’s arms trying to soothe her anger, “but it’s fine-”

“It’s not fucking fine,” Paige yells. 

“Baby-” the word slips out from Azzi’s lips before she can catch it. She hasn’t used it for someone other than Stephie in so long that it feels foreign on her lips and yet, it fits exactly right. 

“Did you call Clémence that too?” and there it is, the real reason behind the volcano erupting as Paige decidedly looks away from Azzi. 

Azzi narrows her eyes, “I don’t know Paige. Did you call Olivia that?”

“That’s different,” Paige grits out, “Olivia was my wife.”

Azzi flinches at the word; hates that somebody else had ever had the honor of being called that even if she knows it’s unfair of her to feel that way when she’s the one that had turned it down first. 

“Exactly,” she says slowly, “you married someone else-” she holds up a hand when Paige protests, “I know. I know I said no but you married someone else Paige. So you don’t get to be mad at me for having something with someone else too.”

Paige is quiet for a moment and Azzi sees the exact moment the fight leaves her body as she lets out a sigh, leaning her head against Azzi’s shoulder. 

“You’re right,” Paige whispers into Azzi’s neck, hands moving to rest against the brunette’s thighs. 

Azzi runs her hand through Paige’s hair, brushing it in tandem with the harmony of her breathing, “we can’t keep throwing the past in each other’s face, Paige.”

“I know,” Paige breath tickles against Azzi’s skin and she shivers in spite of the tense moment,“I just-” the blonde lifts her head to look at Azzi, “I need to know who Clémence was to you. You- you know what Olivia was to me and I- I just need to know the same about Clémence.”

“She-” Azzi hesitates, “we hooked up a couple of times,” she squeezes Paige’s hand when the blonde flinches, “but then she- she wanted more but I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that. Partly because I didn’t- I didn’t feel the same- don’t look so smug,” Azzi chides when a small grin forms on Paige’s face, “and partly because we were on the same team. I didn’t want to complicate things, not like last time. Feel like I should probably have a rule not to date teammates.”

“Right.”

Azzi watches the cogs turning in Paige’s brain and she reaches out a hand to ease the creases forming on her forehead, “what are you thinking Bueckers?”

“I just-” Paige bites her lip, “what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I mean we’re gonna be- I mean we are- we’re on the same team too,” Paige says and Azzi can hear the insecurity of will you leave me again weaved through her voice. 

“You don’t get it yet do you,” Azzi whispers, reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “baby you are the exception to all of my rules.”

[reiderwriter]

🌞 Just Hanging Out 🌞

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive MINORS DNI 18+

WC: 3k

Summary: To kick off your vacation, you find yourself at Rossi's mansion with your team for a big summer barbeque. A hammock in the garden catches your eye, and you enlist Reid to help you have some fun in the sun.

Warnings: reader is a tease, shy Spencer, sexual arousal (M and F) no physical smut (god I wish we still used the citrus system).

A/N: Here's my second entry to @imagining-in-the-margins CM Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge! Thanks to everyone who helped my pick the plot for this one :) I was also intending for this to be a reply to one of my requests for more BAU reader, but unfortunately tumblr deleted that request so 🤡 I'm tagging the account below anyways, and I have three more BAU reader fics coming in the next two weeks-ish, including my new series That's What You Get, so I hope you like this fic and be sure to look out for the others! Enjoy~

Here's my masterlist and my requests are open!

It was mid-August, and thankfully, the serial killers of America had given up crime for one week of the year to allow you to enjoy some much needed vacation time. The entire team had been put on annual leave, and you were determined to enjoy it to the absolute capacity of your ability.

Despite being together year-round, you actually enjoyed the company of your coworkers, so when Rossi announced he was planning a summer barbeque at his place to kick off your vacation time, you were ecstatic. If Rossi’s barbecuing skills were anything like his pasta making skills, you were expecting to eat yourself into a food coma and not wake up for the next seven days.

“Not a single one of you will touch this grill, stand within a 1 foot radius of this grill or even dare to look at this grill, so help me God, are we understood?” Rossi announced as soon as you arrived, the last of the BAU team to gather in his self-proclaimed mansion. The gardens were beautiful, and the kids were already running riot on the slip and slide that he had set up for them, screaming and giggling in delight.

“Trust me, you’re not getting me near that thing today, Rossi,” you laugh as you pour yourself a glass of wine from the refreshments table. “Last time I was anywhere near a grill I almost died.”

“I don’t remember encountering any unsubs who used grills as their weapon of choice,” JJ laughed at you as she held out her own glass and you gladly filled it for her.

“That’s because it wasn’t on a case, it was a family barbeque when I was 17 and my grandfather thought I should learn some ‘practical skills,’” you shot a grin at her as she rolled her eyes at you and walked away.

You grabbed your glass and looked for somewhere to perch yourself while you took in the sun. Morgan and Prentiss had already grabbed the two sun-loungers on the patio and were both sitting shirtless (with a bikini top on in Prentiss’s case) taking in as much sun as they could. Garcia was similarly sprawled on the deck sofa, and JJ joined her their after grabbing her refreshment, Will stood by the edge of the deck watching over the kids. Hotch had the amazing foresight to bring his own camping chair, and was set up similarly with one eye on Jack and the other on a book in his hand.

And just where you were expecting him, Spencer Reid was stood awkwardly at the edge of the house, in the only spot of shade he could find, leaning slightly against the door, and squinting into the sun.

“Rossi, you got any other chairs I can grab for me and Reid?” you called out to your host.

“There should be some over by the shed, they might need a bit of a dusting down though.”

“Come on pretty boy, you can’t just be standing all day, you’re going to make me feel tired just watching you,” you laughed up at him and caught the flush of his cheeks as he finally caught that you meant him to follow you.

“I’m really fine here over in the shade, I don’t do too great in the sun, anyways. More of an autumnal person, really…”

“I’d feel bad seeing you stand all day, and besides, what if I need a big, strong man to help me carry my chair over?” As he gaped his mouth open and closed looking for a retort, you felt the small flash of victory spread warm your chest. It wasn’t that you liked messing with Reid, it’s that he was an easy target and actually you loved it.

Having joined the team only the year prior, you’d quickly found the genius incredibly endearing, loving to listen to his little monologues about whatever topic had popped into his head that day, often earning groans from your other colleagues as you encouraged him to keep going.

You’d discovered your love of making him squirm a few months into the job, when you had to interrogate a submissive partner of an unsub together. After theorising that the submissive personality had a thing for women who looked like you, especially ones that were pretty dominant and controlling, you’d decided to give him what he wanted. You’d popped the top button, walked into the room and given him your best shot before having to re-strategize.

“What if we send Reid in there with her?” Morgan was the one to suggest, “Have him act a bit touchy, show him something he’s missing out on. We already tried giving him what he wanted, let’s see how he reacts to someone he doesn’t view as a threat getting everything he thinks he’s entitled to.”

It was a good guess, and it worked. You’d walked into the room, and let Reid start asking the questions. He’d gently laid a hand on your thigh, just high enough for the suspect to notice, and you’d done nothing but quietly whisper directly into his ear, watching the entire time to see how the man in front of you would react. He’d cracked in ten minutes and started spewing misogynistic drivel, so angry that he accidentally confessed to the crime and gave away his partner’s location.

It seemed Reid had cracked just a bit too. He’d avoided eye-contact with you for an entire week after that, and whenever he talked to you in that time, it was like his brain short-circuited. You’d bought a genius with an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory to his knees with a few whispers in his ear, and you loved the rush of power you felt remembering it. The memory of his strong hand on your thigh did nothing to quell your growing attraction towards the man.

“If you wanted someone big and strong, you should’ve asked Morgan,” Reid snapped you out of your thoughts as he diligently followed you in the direction Rossi had pointed. It was a pretty secluded spot in the garden, a little bit away from the action and you were glad to be out of earshot so you could begin your teasing of the Good Doctor.

“I’m sure you’re big and strong in certain places, Spencer,” you smiled at him, and began looking at the chairs.

You spotted it in the corner, then, the perfect tool for your torment. It seemed relatively new, barely used but still pretty sturdy, and you knew this was it.

“Hey, Rossi, what about this hammock in the corner, can I set this up, too?” you shouted back over to the group and grinned up at Reid.

“Do you have a death wish? Because if so, go ahead and tangle with that devil.” Rossi shouted back, not even looking up from the miriad of sausages and burgers he was working on.

“That sounds like a challenge to me, Doc.” You say and you start pulling it out into the sunlight, Reid steps behind you sighing in defeat. He knew that once you had your mind set on something, you were pretty stubborn about completing it.

“Okay, can you give me a boost?” The bed of the hammock fell to about your chest height, and whilst you knew you were probably able to climb in by yourself, you were wearing a particularly short sundress, and as much as you teased Reid, you didn’t exactly want to give the rest of your team and their families an eyeful.

“You want me to try to lift you into this thing?” Reid squeaked out, a look of confusion passing over his features.

“Yeah, just grab my hips and give me a boost and I’ll swing my legs over and straddle it. Then we can see what’s it's like.” He moved cautiously up behind you, letting his hands graze your waist.

“Reid, you’re going to have to hold me a bit tighter than that if we’re actually going to get anywhere.” You placed your hands over his and pushed his grip down stronger; you could practically hear him gulp from behind you. He pushed you up, and you almost had it, but you couldn’t quite pull yourself up and into it.

After a few attempts, you realised it wasn’t going to work. Reluctantly pulling yourself out of Reid’s grip, you turned to face him.

“New plan, you get in first and pull me up.”

“What? I don’t want to go anywhere near that thing, didn’t you hear what Rossi said?”

“Come on Reid, just this once, for me? We have to try at least!” you pouted up at him now with pleading eyes, hoping that you wouldn’t have to resort to batting your eyelashes at him to get him to agree.

“One attempt, and then I’m grabbing a normal chair and leaving, okay?” He negotiated, but you didn’t care and excitedly wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him in for a hug.

“Yay, thank you! I love you, Reid, you know that?” you pulled back slightly to deliver that last line, your arms still around his neck, watching the redness spread upto his cheeks.

He mumbled a quick whatever and pulled away to begin his attempts.

Perhaps it was his few extra inches of height or spindly frame, but Reid managed to climb up quite easily, not even rocking the hammock that much in his ascent.

He sat up pretty steadily, and you lifted your arms to him, and that’s when it all started going wrong. You’re combined weight wasn’t enough to break the hammock, but it was enough to set it off into an unsteady rocking that made your stomach lurch slightly. You swung your leg as best you could over Reid’s, already in the hammock, and as soon as you found some purchase there, he lowered one hand to pull your lower body up as well.

It was just unfortunate that the place his hand landed was directly over your ass, and you let out a sharp gasp as he grabbed it tightly and hauled you up to sit directly over him, chest to chest, practically straddling his entire body in the cramped space of the hammock bed.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I meant to grab your hip.” He tried to let go of you and push his hands up where you could see them, but the sudden movement made the hammock lurch dangerously so you snapped your hand over his and forced them back to their previous position.

“No sudden movements, Spencer, I don’t particularly want to be the butt of all jokes for the next year if we fall out of this thing.” You panicked slightly and squirmed a little in your position, trying to explore your range of movement.

“How are we going to get out of this if we can’t move?” he shot back at you, a look of mild discomfort on his face, and an I-told-you-so begging to escape his lips.

“If you just give me a minute to explore our options, maybe I would be able to figure that out.”

“If you keep squirming like that we’re going to have more problems than just how to get down,” he huffed under his breath, but he was so close that it was impossible for you to miss it.

It was your turn to blush now, as you caught his insinuation. With his hand firmly on your ass, and your legs either side of his, you could feel the entire length of his body below you. Each squirm you made the dampness between your legs pool a little bit more and then you in-turn squirmed even more in a vicious cycle.

After a few minutes, there was no denying that the thing prodding your core was Spencer’s sizable… appendage.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry, it’s just a natural reaction,” he groaned out from below you when he realised you could feel it too, and you’d never heard anything so beautiful as the moans he was accidentally vocalising.

“It’s my fault, I’m sorry for being so stubborn about this. Let me see if I can figure something else out,” you cautiously slid your hands up his chest, and he screwed his eyes shut. Pushing against his shoulders, you slowly pulled yourself up to a seated position, doing your best to not rock the hammock too much. The new position did nothing to dampen the friction the two of you were feeling, and you knew that you were a few seconds away from a point of no return. Your hips bucked slightly against him against your will, and you really hoped he hadn’t noticed that was totally not to the benefit of you getting out of the hammock.

You looked down to the ground so you could see how far the descent would be, and if you’d have to call for backup anytime soon. Luckily you thought you’d be able to make it if you just swung your legs over the side and got out as quickly as possible, but fate had other plans.

“Spencer, Y/N what are you two doing over here?” came Emily’s voice from behind you. Spencer’s eyes shot open and he pulled his head up slightly to look at her. However, his movement had rocked the hammock a little bit harder than before, so he had to grab your hip to steady the two of you, pushing you further down into him. You did your best to stifle the moan, biting down hard on your tongue as you did so.

“Oh you know, just hanging out,” he managed to get out in reply, his voice notably higher than it usually was.

“You sure you guys don’t need any help? That doesn’t look like the safest of chairs.” Emily’s questioning stare never lifted and you knew that if she caught wind of what was actually going on, you wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye for an entire year. You couldn’t accept the help.

“Yeah, we were just going to climb down in a second, we’re just checking to see how… sturdy it is right now.”

“Sturdy. Right. Well, Rossi said the food would be ready to start serving in a few minutes and asked me to call you guys over.”

“We’ll be right there, thanks Emily.” You smiled at her and she made to walk away, a suspicious look still on her face.

“What do you mean we’ll be right there, I can’t go over there like this!” Spencer whisper yelled into your ears.

“What else was I supposed to say to get her to go away,” you whisper yelled back. You ran a free hand through your hair, and shifted again, your legs beginning to cramp up a little in the awkward position.

“Okay you get down, I’ll make a break for the bathroom, say all this moving around made me need to pee or something, and then we meet up again on the patio and pretend this never happened?” he said and you nodded quickly.

You began to lift your body weight up and remove your legs from the tangle you were stuck in, and that’s when the hammock reared it’s ugly head for the final time. As you lifted your leg slowly, you accidedntally got your foot stuck in the side of the fabric, and pinned there but still moving, the hammock toppled and spat both of you out unceremoniously.

Reid landed ontop of you with a hard thud. You let out a sweet curse, just as Reid pushed his body weight onto his hands, taking some of the pressure off of you after the fall. You stared up into his eyes as you realised you’d found yourself in yet another compromising situation and you deepeded to a scarlet red as you realised your sundress had blown up completely in your descent, and he was now neatly nestled in between your legs, with your damp underwear on display for him.

Looking down at you, he took a beat too long to react, and you squirmed under his gaze, feeling appropriately trapped, before he sprung up and offered you a hand up.

You took his hand and rearranged your dress, thankful that the smell of the food had distracted everyone from your embarrassing fall.

“Okay, we’re out.” You were flustered and you didn’t know what else to say.

“Yep, that was certainly one way to do it,” Reid replied, as you avoided his gaze. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and he made to do so similarly, trying his best to rearrange himself so the bulge in his pants wasn’t so noticeable.

“You should get to the bathroom.”

“You should get to the food.” He retorted and you finally made to move, but stopped yourself turning around quickly to face the man again.

“Before I go,” you said and you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss into his mouth, feeling as giddy as a teenager braving her first kiss. You turned away just as fast and made your way back to the party, leaving a flustered and spluttering Reid behind as you made a beeline for the food.

“So, what’d you think of the hammock?” Rossi asked you as you began loading your plate up. You put on your best poker face and begged noone had noticed anything out of the ordinary.

“You were right. That thing is dangerous,” was your only response, and you retreated into the corner to finish your food. You sat there waiting eagerly for Reid to return, not just so you could be in his presence again and see how he was reacting to your kiss, but also so you could get the image of him dealing with his situation out of your mind.

It seemed that being a tease and working him up hadn’t quite ended so well for you that day.

You blamed the hammock.

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

🏷️ @marylovesevanpeters @bethanyhaas01 @reidscaffeine @average-sunflower @multifandom-on-the-side @anniewhalelover @prentissesredtanktop @abbyshmaby @hugyourlungs @w-windy @babybluecakes @reidandhotchsgirl @lover-of-books-and-tea @bluecandycake @star0055 @Zaapsite @daddy-dotcom @reidmym1nd @oureternalbond @fandomscombine @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @kat453 @ferrjulie @scoobydoopoo @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @simp4f1 @fandomscombine @ssa-spencerhotch @spidermonkey2423

((General PSA for tags - of you have your tumblr settings on to make it so you don't show up in searches, sometimes the tags do not work, of you want to be tagged, please change your settings! Alternatively, you can turn my notifications on for when I post :)))

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Of claws and waffles

I'm preparing to write the rest of the Steddie Angsty August during my vacation at the end of September, I want to enjoy the rest of the prompts and not be stressed. But in the meantime...have Steve cosplaying as Wolverine, a very judgmental Deadpool Eddie, and maybe a small X-23 too?

"Ugh, can you believe that?" Eddie gestured towards a guy in his mid-thirties dressed as the Wolverine. "Another jock jumping on the bandwagon without knowing anything about the comics. Saw it once in the movie theater, thought the costume would do wonders for his arms, bought it on ebay. I'm gonna be sick in my mask."

Even through the limited visibility of his Deadpool mask, Eddie saw Chrissy roll her eyes at his theatrics. "Go ahead. At least you'll wash it after the convention. By hand, because as you told me, the fabric is sensitive."

He just grumbled. She was right, as usual.

"You are so full of self-righteous fury, Eddie, but even through the mask, I can see you staring at that man's ass. And shoulders. And everything."

He threw his head back, almost howling. "Now you're just being mean."

"Plus," she continued, disregarding her best friend's whining, "You're not exactly being fair. You don't know him."

Now he rolled his eyes, but of course she couldn't see him. "I know his type. He's the high school sweetheart who spent most of his time in the gym or practicing moving his godly body or something."

 Chrissy smiled at him, that overly beaing smile that told him in an instant that he'd said something stupid. "Ah. So like me."

"I..." he gulped, "I think I'm just going to shut up now."

He tried looking around for something, anything to redirect the conversation. Suddenly, a perfect topic changer appeared in his sight. "Okay, but that's the cutest thing I've ever seen," he nudged Chrissy and pointed at the scrawny girl, twelve or so, dressed up as X-23. "Her parents must be amazing."

Chrissy's laughter rang in his ears. "Oh, I agree," she said. As if she knew something he didn't.

He choked on his words when the girl ran back to THAT Wolverine and took his hand. "Oh for fuck's sake."

"You said it," she nudged him. "Amazing parents."

As if that wasn't humiliating enough, before Eddie could find a shovel to dig a hole to disappear into, the girl noticed him and her face split in a wide smile. "Dad! Dad, look! Mr. Pool!" She started leading him to Eddie and Chrissy through the crowd.

Oh cool. If only Eddie could do something dignified to avoid the meeting, like faint or vomit, that would be awesome. But he couldn't disappoint the girl. She had a look of absolute joy in her eyes, and he'd be damned if he was the one to make it disappear.

So instead, he leaned into the character.

"Look at you, aren't you the cutest little clawed thing I've ever seen!" he announced to the whole world. "The deadliest tiny creature, very ferocious! Yes, you are!"

He knelt down to her level and even through the consistent noise of the convention, he could hear her giggling. "I am!"

"Come on, tiny terror. Give me your best Wolverine-y growl!"

To his delight, she crouched, imitated the battle pose of X-23 and roared at him like a dinosaur. Then, in a more quiet tone, "Was that good?"

"Good?! Only good?! Do you hear her, bub?" he addressed the Wolverine who hovered over both of them. "You, little lady, were absolutely amazing! 10/10, no notes, this is your calling in life."

He felt someone move behind his back, and of course it was the traitor, ahem, Chrissy, approaching them with a camera. "I'm sorry to disturb you guys, but you make such an amazing group. Can I take your picture?"

And okay, maybe Eddie misjudged the Jockerine, because the guy ruffled X-23's hair and told her, "OK, just this once, you can say it. Swearing permitted. Ready?"

They pulled Eddie to them, and as he unsheathed his katana replicas, the Wolverine and his daughter crouched, roared at the camera, and said together, "Let's fucking go."

Eddie's traitorous mouth said exactly what he was thinking. "Oh my god. Are you single?" Which was objectively a stupid thing to say even to someone he'd met longer than two minutes ago.

The Wolverine blinked at him.

X-23 giggled and said: "dad is single. Maybe he doesn't have to be now?"

To the guy's credit, he didn't seem offended. He just laughed and ran his hand through his absolutely majestic hair that was perfectly stylized into Wolverine's. Shit. The hair. First the body, the face, and now the hair. "Now, El. Mr. Pool here probably doesn't want to be matched with the first Wolverine he sees."

And maybe it was the costume that made him so brave, but the guy was hot, nice, and his daughter was adorable, so Eddie wasn't to be blamed for what he said next, okay? "Uh, actually," he raised his hands, "you're perhaps my tenth Wolvie or so. And clearly the superior one. Having this absolutely adorable - and terrifying! - young lady by your side is also a plus. So...and feel free to stab me, or maybe just tell me no, but - I saw a really nice waffle stand outside. Let me treat you and...El?" The girl nodded, beaming at him. "...to a waffle? Or coffee, water, your choice."

El tugged at the guy's arm again. "Waffle!" she whispered so loud even Chrissy heard it.

He smiled at Eddie, and fuck. Eddie was a goner. "I think that's a yes."

...

Chrissy had ditched them to go hang out with her girlfriend, so Steve, Eddie and El were on their own.

They were sitting outside, Eddie slurping his bubble tea through a straw, mask still in place except for the bottom of his face, Steve - as the guy had introduced himself - sipping his coffee and diligently watching El chatting with other kids, nibbling on her waffles.

"So, is this your first convention?" Eddie asked. "Your kid is amazing, man. She's so happy to be here and she makes an amazing X-23."

Steve smiled and peeled his eyes from El for a second. "Yeah. I promised to take her this year, but after she saw Logan and the third Deadpool movie, she begged to go in a costume. And I just couldn't say no to her."

"She saw..." Eddie coughed. "Steve, sorry to question your parenting, but isn't she a bit too young for those movies?"

"Oh, she is," Steve snorted. "And she shouldn't have seen them. But we live alone, so I usually watch movies at home when she goes to sleep. If she goes to sleep. As she should."

"Are you telling me-"

Steve nodded. "Yep. She's incredibly sneaky. I found out the hard way when I finished the latest Alien and went to check on her in her bed. She wasn't there. I almost had a heart attack, turned the house upside down. I was about to call the police when she peeked at me from behind a curtain that I checked at least twice, and she was asking me if I was mad at her. So...uh. We discussed quite a lot from those movies afterwards, but there's no stopping her if she wants to do something."

Eddie laughed so hard he almost breathed in a tapioca pearl. "Oh wow. But good parenting! Not that I'm one to judge."

Watching El share waffles with her new friends, Steve pressed his lips together. "Yeah, I don't know about that. I'm just doing my best here, but I'm constantly terrified I'm doing something wrong. I adopted her, you know. From...a very bad situation. She couldn't properly talk or anything. So when she saw X-23 on screen, I think she related to her somehow. I've never seen her so excited about anything, so the costume was a must have. She's looking forward to going next year as well, when her hair finally grows long enough. Wig," he added at Eddie's confused silence.

"I mean, I get that," said Eddie as he set down his empty cup. "Cosplaying can be therapeutic. It's actually what my therapist suggested when I got...uh. Injured. And also how I got into cosplaying Deadpool."

"Injured?" Steve didn't sound judgmental, only curious, but Eddie had been in this situation before. Time to rip of the bandaid. He pulled off his mask and forced himself to meet Steve's eyes. "Uh. Yeah. Injured."

He knew he wasn't Deadpool kind of disfigured, but he was well used to the stares in his daily life. He kept the hair, which, hooray, good for him. But he had ugly bite scars on his neck and jawline, some going even to his cheeks. A chunk of his ear was missing too. "It was a dog when I was a kid," he said so that Steve wouldn't have to ask. "Plastic surgery is an option, they say, but it's expensive. And I don't really feel like having my face cut open again, so...yeah." 

"Wow. I'm sorry."

Eddie took a deep breath. "Well, yeah. Not great. Listen, Steve. I'm super confident behind the mask, and thank you for humoring me. But this," he pointed to his face, "is usually a deal-breaker for people. So if it is for you, that's fine."

"It's not."

Eddie blinked. Then again. That wasn't how it had usually gone. "Huh?"

"I mean," said Steve, and shit, he laid his hand on Eddie's knee, when was this his life? What was happening? "I'm sorry it happened to you, but I don't get why it should matter."

"Uuuuh...because you're like, super hot? And you might want someone like that next to you?"

Steve snorted. "Bold of you to assume I don't have my own gnarly scars. I was just more lucky in their placement." When Eddie stared at him, he added: "I'm a paramedic. It happens. I rarely have time for anything, not to mention dating, but when I see a cool and funny guy give my daughter the ultimate Deadpool experience - by the way, waffles are her favorite food - and then he asks me out for a coffee? Hell. I'd be stupid to refuse."

Oh. Eddie suddenly felt a bit like crying. He forced himself to speak up, to have that final confirmation. "So, uh...this," he pointed at his face, "isn't a problem?"

"Nope. And, if you'd like a sort of quote from the first Deadpool movie with that..." Steve laughed, and Eddie knew what was coming even before he said it, "After some talking and getting to know each other...it's a face I'd be happy to sit on."

Eddie grasped at his chest. "Oh wow. You truly know the way to a man's heart."

He laughed and winked at Eddie. "This is the part when you ask for my number."

Eddie had never pulled out his phone faster in his life.

..

Much later, after Eddie showed El around the convention, after many pictures and wonderful memories, Eddie ran into Chrissy again. He was about to introduce her to Steve and El properly, but Chrissy smiled at him - once again that all knowing smile, why?! - and waved at her girlfriend.

"So, Eddie. I see you've met Robin's best friend, Steve."

Robin snickered and pressed a quick kiss against Chrissy's temple. "See? I told you they'd be a great match."

And, before Steve or Eddie could say anything, Chrissy picked up her camera and captured their disbelieving faces. They would keep the picture forever - Steve's mouth hanging comically open, Eddie just staring blankly into the camera, and El happily chewing on the last bite of her waffle.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Thanks as usual for reading.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Things don’t become comfortable, but familiar. You get into a routine, one which smears the days and nights into the other. The landscape helps with that. The sun is fleeting, even in July. The days are longer but it’s not anywhere as stifling or humid as New York. Like everything else, it’s different. 

The man at the fish place, Frederik, knows your name. His wife, Inga too. When you walk in the door, they put your order to fry before you even get to the counter. They’re friendly and warm. It’s nice to have some smiling faces when you can hardly muster the same.  

They like to ask you about New York; they’re finally planning a big trip to America after twenty-five years together. They remind you of Marigold and her bakery. You long for one of her eclairs and her chatty demeanour. Just another thing to miss. 

As you sit down at a table near the window to eat in, your phone goes off. You answer as you read Sam’s name across the screen. He’s the only one you’ve talked to in the last month. Nearly two now. August is close. 

“Yo, yo, girly pop,” he sings from the other end. 

“Girly pop? Sam,” you chide as you hover a thick cut fry before your mouth. 

“Chicky poo, nope. Girly pop, nope. I’ll get there,” he teases, “finally got a hold of you.” 

“Uh, yeah, the site is far. No signal,” you shrug and take a bite. 

“I know, I'm just needy,” he kids. “So, you hitting the spa? Summer’s going fast.” 

“Not yet,” you swallow. “Sam, there’s a lot of work here and it’s just me. The only help I get is from a local student volunteer and they do three hours a week.” 

“Oof, why does your work sound so boring?” He groans 

“Hey!” 

“Well, I mean, digging up dirt all day, tell me you’re not going mad. You making friends? No one to cool, I hope. I’m still your number one guy.” 

“Not really. It’s tough. Long hours. I don’t know,” you stare out the window as you toy with the bamboo fork.  

“If you were going to hide all day in a hovel, you could’ve stayed in New York,” he sighs. 

“Sam, I’m trying. Really. It’s... It’s going to take some time.” 

“Right,” he agrees grimly. “Time. A year is not that long.”  

You hum and lean back in the chair. You’re not as hungry as you were. You close up the container and stand. 

“I know, alright?” You sniff as you tidy the table and grab your food, “but this isn’t a vacation.” 

“It’s also not a missionary trip,” he retorts. “I’m not tryna be a dick here, I’m helping. You need this.” 

You push out into the street and cluck. Silence. You don’t know what to say. He’s right and just like ever day, the conversation is the same. Over and over. It’s going to drive you crazy. 

“More sunlight this time of year, good for work--” 

“No more work talk,” he interjects, “if you don’t got anything fun going on, I'll just have to make you jealous. Some good old fashioned FOMO. Hm, me and Bucky went to Jersey.” 

“Jersey? Why?” You take the bait, happy for the distraction. 

“Oh, yeah, I told him there was a vintage bike for sale there.” 

“You told him that but...” 

“There wasn’t. I just wanted to see him interact with the locals. The old ladies love him but the men... well, I think he might have a warrant out now.” 

“No, Sam, what the hell?” You exclaim as you stroll along. “Are you trying to get him killed?” 

“Hey, I got his back. Just like I got yours. It was just a prank.” 

“Wait, Sam, where exactly did you take him in Jersey?” 

“Some cribbage club, I don’t know. I saw a page for it online. Thought he’d fit in--” 

“They were old?” 

“They match his energy,” he snorts. 

You can’t help but laugh. It feels good. Just that little bit of home. Your amusement is dampened as your heart sinks. You really were so stupid. You didn’t see what you had all around you; Bucky, Sam, more than just Steve. Now it’s all behind you and going back won’t be the same as before. 

💟

There’s tension in the air. It’s going to rain. You suspect your day will be cut short by the gathering clouds but your persist. No use in running. Again. 

The last time you left in fear of a storm, it waited until the next day. So you sit, boots set in the dirty, hunched over as you carefully trace out the strange lump. It’s more than sediment. Bone but not a skeleton. Likely animal and bent into some tool. You have to be delicate. It’s not like the movies, you can’t just dig your hand in and rip it out. 

Your earbud drones as a retro R&B playlist keeps your mind at focus. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove, feeling the flecks of dirt cling to your skin. You ignore it and press on. Just a little more, a little more. 

It’s bigger than you expect. Just as you think it might come free, you find it goes further down. You can make out the jagged break and the hide wrapping at it’s base. A spear of some sort.  

You roll your shoulders out and put your tools down on the open role. You peel of the gloves and reach for the tall insulated bottle of water. You gulp, your throat cooling nicely at the flow. You cap the bottle and clear your throat, listening to the silence of the mountain. 

Yet it isn’t quiet. You glance around at the subtle scratching, a strange tapping across the ground. It could be vermin. It’s not unusual to disturb a nest of one thing or another on a dig but they usually leave early on. 

You put the bottle down and shove your hand back into a glove. A puffy breath comes over the scratching. Several breaths in quick succession, as if there’s something sniff. You keep your other glove in your grip and stand. Your legs are so cramped that your steps are stiff and stunted. 

As you search for the source, there’s a yipe and a fuzzy shape catches your eye. You tilt your head, thoroughly confused at the barking beast. You’re not certain that chihuahuas are native to Norway. At least, you wouldn’t assume so. 

The ashy blond dog has longer fur along its ears and chest and a white bolt down its chest. You can tell it isn’t wild despite its behaviour as it is finely groomed and wears a bright red collar. You approach the fence as it hops, stopping only to try to dig beneath with its dirtied paws. 

“Hi, buddy,” you near the eager dog, “how’d you get up here?” 

You stop just across from the dog and poke your fingers through the fence. It stops, you think a ‘he’, and sniffs your fingers. His cold nose tickles you and you wiggle until you can pet his head. The little thunderbolt emblem on hiss collar peeks through his mane. There might be some information there. 

“Thunder!” The booming voice sounds like the very thing it decries, “Thunder, you pest, where’re you off too?” 

There’s a crunching of soil and rock along the mountain pass as the dog growls and barks again, turning to face the skewing of a towering shadow. You watch in shock at the approach. You didn’t think there was life so far up. That or someone has chosen a rather treacherous hiking trail. 

The dog, you assume ‘Thunder’, bounces back and forth in anticipation of his own, calling to him with his pitchy yaps. The man appears around the jagged rock and you feel the air knocked from your chest. You slowly reach to take out your earbud and tuck it in a pocket.

Wow. You blink to make sure it’s real. To be certain this isn’t some trick of the mind or this ancient land. Maybe the gods are real here. 

He’s tall and broad and handsome. His canvas jacket does little to conceal his muscular build as his jeans are snug to his thick thighs. You think he’s even bigger than Steve. You wince at the reminder of the man but it quickly flits away. You can’t ignore the man before you with his golden tresses twisted back into a low bun, stray strands wisping forward to frame his stony jaw and stormy blue eyes. 

You stand gaping through the fence as the man flinches in fright. His gaze meet yours and his cheeks tinge pink as he gives a crooked grin, “ah, Thunder, my darling, you’ve found a friend.” 

He whistles and the dog lunges forward. He picks up the chihuahua, their size difference almost comical as he cradles him in one arm. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can barely think.  

You snap your mouth shut and clear your throat. Work. That’s what you should be doing. 

“Hello,” the man nears the other side of the fence before you can move away, “I’ve been wondering what this is all about. The signs...” he points with his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Oh, uh,” you peer around as if lost. You sort of are. “A dig. Er. Grant,” you stammer out. You take a breath and still your mind, “I work with an archeological society in New York. We’ve been sponsored by your national board to exhume this site.” 

“Ah, yes, makes sense,” he lowers his brows thoughtfully as the dog squirms in his hold, yiping and biting at his sleeve. “Forgive me, she is rather uncouth.” He raises the dog higher and she wiggles in his arm. You see it now, definitely a pampered girl. “This is Thunder. She lives up to her namesake, eh?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you give a brittle smile, unsure. 

“Thor,” he dips his chin down, “I live just up the pass.” 

“You do?” You wonder curiously. “All the way up here?” 

“Oh yes, if you saw the old haunt, you might just want to dig that up too,” he jokes. “We usually go up the pass, towards the river.” 

“The river?” 

“Yes, you mustn’t stray far from here,” he remarks as he raises a hand to lean on the fence, only to nearly tip the unanchored grating. “Oooh, apologies,” he rights himself with a laugh, “anyhow, it is nice to see a new face around here. Better to have a name for it.” 

“Right, uh,” you offer your name and giggle nervously, “it’s just me on-site, guess I forget my manners.” 

“Not to worry. As the resident mountain man, my etiquette does lack,” he winces as Thunder chomps on his thumb knuckle, “eh, you monster, alright.” He holds her up and she pokes her nose through the fence, “she loves new people. Not so keen on the old.” 

“She's cute,” you scratch her nose and she licks your fingers. “Not exactly a native species.” 

“Who knows where she came from? Found the little dragon in the woods. Suppose someone left her there. She was covered in mud, so small I though she was a bloody toad,” he muses as he brings her back against his chest and rocks her, “it was only her thunderous barks which told me otherwise, isn’t that right, darling?” 

He makes a kissy noise at her and her fluffy tail wags wildly against him. You smile more genuinely. It is nice to have another living thing around after digging up the broken and dead for so long. 

“So you’re from New York?” He asks abruptly, his blue eyes rolling over you like a tide. 

“Yeah,” you utter breathily, “yes, New York.” 

“You’ve been here a while?” 

“Couple months,” you shift and twist your glove. 

“Wonderful, and you’ve done much exploring? You must live in town.” 

“About three hours,” you point towards the gravelly road, “haven’t had much time for sightseeing but I found a good fish shop.” 

“A shop? That’s no good. We catch our own fish, fry ‘em up over the pit,” he says, “that’s the way we do it up here.” 

You nod, “sounds fun. Well, er,” you turn halfway and look around, your eyes skimming up to the cloudy sky, “I should probably hustle. Looks like rain.” 

“That it does but it won’t be ‘til midnight,” he assures. 

“You think it’ll hold out?” 

“I know so,” he affirms and lingers by the fence, trying to see past you, “what exactly are you uncovering over there?” 

“Not much so far,” you pull on your loose glove. 

“You must know what this place was. A raider’s camp.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm, yes, the raiders would camp upon the pass away from those who might come ashore, then go off themselves to find a coast to reap,” he explains. 

“And how do you know all that?” You ask as you tramp back to your place in the dirt. 

“Suppose some of my ancestors camped here with them,” he offers casually, “for so long as we’ve been up here. Once the viking scamps settled, they had to find a home somewhere. Some fellow named Agmundr or another built a stone house further up.” 

“Admundr? Family?” You prompt. 

“Distant,” he assures, “been some time and that stone house is now a foundation.” 

You get down to your knees as you grab your brush and peek over at him, “thanks for the information. I’ll have to add it to the land report. Have them crosscheck in the archives.” 

“Not at all. You won’t find it all on your paper, you know? We carry or history on our tongues here.” 

“Sure,” you say as you bend over the spearhead and start again. 

“You don’t mind if I watch? I always did love history and I’ve never seen a proper dig before.” 

“Not much going on, I’m afraid,” you shrug, “but if you want.” 

“Thunder will have a tantrum if I go,” he chuckles, “she likes you.” 

“Hm,” you scoff, “she is very outspoken.” 

You set your eyes on your task but can’t shake the awareness of your audience. It’s not too unusual. There were a few digs you did early on in the heart of the city and people loved to ogle you. This is different. Just the two of you. A stranger even. Friendly as he is, you’re happy for the fence, even if it is rather flimsy. 

“Those bones aren’t for you,” he says to the dog as she wriggles in his grasp. “Let’s find a stick then, you little pest.” 

[multifandomgirl08]

Through Max's Eyes [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader (Established Relationship)

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Format: Social Media

Summary: Max's Instagram posts about Y/N, and a small life update from the couple.

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

maxverstappen1

Liked by lewishamilton and 387,549 others

tagged: ynlnusername

maxverstappen1 This is my girlfriend Y/N who had to stay up until 3 a.m. to finish up a release for work.

Not only does she have to manage my schedule and Nico's, but she also has a time consuming job. I took her and Nico out for lunch today as a thank you for all of the things she takes care of when I'm not home.

You keep the apartment clean, take my son to school, and at the same time work a full-time job. I don't know how you do it my love...

ynlnusername You won't even give yourself credit for taking those photos? Max!

maxverstappen1 It's International Women's Day. I'm letting you have all of the spotlight.

yourbestfriend We love a girl boss moment

fan45 How do I get a Y/N?

fan26 He is simping so hard on main.

March 8, 2024

ynlnusername

Liked by maxverstappen1 and 441,858 others

ynlnusername First vacation since I moved to Monaco. Also first vacation with the boyfriend. We'll see how it plays out.

📸: maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1 Plays out? You live with me. You help me pay the bills.

landonorris Is Y/N sleeping on the couch until further notice?

yourbestfriend No, mostly because my girl is an expert at crisis management, or did you forget?

maxverstappen1 How can I, when there is a three year old living with us. Lol

fan86 I love that Y/N brings out the silly side in Max. It really makes you understand that he is so much more than a f1 driver.

fan96 I feel like Max had a secret .jpg account and it's just photos of Y/N and Nico.

July 30, 2024

verstappen1.jpg

Liked by danielricciardo, ynlnusername and 134, 757 others

tagged: ynlnusername

verstappen1.jpg Starting off the summer break right

danielricciardo Since when did you start posting thirst traps of your girlfriend?

landonorris My eyes! How dare you sir! 🫣

ynlnusername Lando, you've seen worse. Remember Barcelona. landonorris Why do you have to bring that up? I told you it was an accident. maxverstappen1 Doesn't mean that we believe you.

fan87 What is Lando talking about? Did Lando walk into Max's motorhome without knocking or something?

fan38 OMG! Max had one of these too? Following right now!

fan96 I was right! Called it!!

August 1, 2024

maxverstappen1

Liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 538,735 others

tagged: ynlnusername

maxverstappen1 I could say something cheesy like you are P1 in my heart. But instead I think I just need to tell you how much I love you, and I love that you've welcomed me and my son into your life with open arms.

Thank you for everything that you do. Going to races, cheering me on and making my hectic schedule work so that we can spend time together as a family.

I know that Nico already sees you as his mother. I couldn't ask for a better mother for my son then you.

I love you, soon to be Mrs. Verstappen.

View all 865 comments

danielricciardo Happy for you mate. @ynlnusername he spent over an hour picking out that ring, wear it with pride.

landonorris Official mom of the paddock, I'm calling it.

fan28 How is Max who is two years younger than Pierre now engaged and Pierre still only has a girlfriend?

August 15, 2024

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

Currently Watching - August

aka The Masterlist

Because I love a good little list - in alphabetical order! 😊

Regularly updated during the month, latest update 29.08.2024

A little link to my favorite bl-tropes-collection 💙

gif-requests are currently closed🌼

Here you can find all of my gifs.

At the end you can have a look at what we can expect in August with a MDL link and a link for a trailer (if avaible).

This is guaranteed to contain spoilers!

1. 4 Minutes 🇹🇭 (4/8)

Okay. I catched up. I wasn't in the mood for this series, but now I am a little bit hooked. We have a really cute couple here with a really nice love-making-scene. We have a totally messed up relationship of three people, two love each other, two hurt the other one and two are horny for one with very graphic scenes. And yes, I saw it too. Oh, the story itself? Confusing, yet interesting.

2. Cityboy_Log 4.2 🇰🇷 (17/23)

This week was... okayish. They were mostly bonding at a group and doing stuff together. Nothing really happend. They played games, the trouple was cute and JJ tried to act, but really, those moments were more cringe than anything else...

3. First Note of Love 🇹🇼 (4/12)

The looks they gave each other! The constant bickering! The compliments! The necklace as a gift! I see you! I like them. They get more comfortable together and are now forming a band. Hopefully Sea can help Neil getting back on stage without fainting or having a panic attack. I am curious how this whole series will move on, but I am intrigued. But what is that age gap?

4. Hidamari ga Kikoeru 🇯🇵 (10/12)

🥲 I'm fine... the only thing that helped me in the end was the preview for next week. How could he listen to Maya? How? I know why, but still... why? And now Taichi thinks he was just a replacable someone who doesn't mean anything to Kohei 😭 I really don't like it here! And I hope Maya chokes on her words! I don't care that she's going to cry next episode. Right now I still don't like her. Boys! Get your shit together and talk to each other! Please!

5. I Saw You In My Dream 🇹🇭 (7/12)

THIS WHOLE SCENE WAS SO DAMN CUTE!!!!! I like them! And Yu finally collecting his courage to tell Ai, he likes him. I need Ai to tell him he likes him too! But the preview for next week! I can't wait! The best start in my vacation! Do I feel bad for Wann? No, not really. He saw the signs, he got the vibe between Yu and Ai, but he still tried. I guess he is a good guy, but he is not Yu.

6. Seoul Blues 🇰🇷 (3/8)

Well... Our bad boy got together with their mutual friend. Little Mr. Angsty likes our bad boy, but is to afraid what might change, so he didn't take his change when bad boy confessed to him. And of course he now is unsure about bad boy's feelings. And our lady in denial knows that her bad boy doesn't like he like that and I guess she can feel those two are very much into each other, but she still wanna try it and give it a shot. Well... good luck. And while she is thinking about her bad boy thinking about someone else while kissing her, her bad boy is now kissing little Mr. Angsty. I don't know how this friendship can be fixed. There is so much wrong with their entire realtion-/friendship... and I love it!

7. Takara no Vidro 🇯🇵 (9/11)

I started with mixed feelings about this series and I ended up totally loving it! I enjoy this series very much! They talk with each other and they understand each other. They have such a good relationship at this point and I love how Takara is opening up and questioning his plans for the future. Life is unpredictable, love is unpredictable and there can be people who change your plans for the better or worst, but that is something for other shows.

8. The On1y One 🇹🇼 (4/12)

Best chemistry! I love them! I love pounting Wang and this absolutely smitten boy Tian so much! Tian was everything this episode. He couldn't stop looking at Wang and couldn't stop smiling. He is already in love. And Wang uses Tian for learning, but he is slowly falling. And I hope it will be this: he fell first, but he fell harder! Good series!

9. The Trainee 🇹🇭 (8/12)

This was one of the cutest episodes ever and at the same time one of the saddest with the most wholesome break-up ever. Ba-Mhee did something wrong, she apologised and Tae realised that he is part of the problem. I am cusious how they work around this whole story. But Jane and Ryan. Oh the cuteness! I loved every scene with them. And I loved that Jane was jealous and Ryan reassured him. I am a little bit anxious about next week. Guess this was my favorite episode so far!

10. Word of Honor 🇨🇳 (20/36)

Those two flirt a lot and are a married couple. Everyone knows that. And I love and enjoy that! Overall this is such a fun watch and the different sects and intrigues are sometimes a little bit confusing, but interesting. I love this world of martial arts and I love how protective Wen Kexing is over Zhou Zishu. I haven't felt like watching this lately. I wasn't in the right mood.

Finished in August

Series

His Man Season 3 🇰🇷

What was that? I enjoyed the first two seasons so much! And this one felt very manipulated by the production. The secret missions were just there to cause drama and misunderstandings. And othe rparts really felt just boring. I was not really invested in the couples this time. I wish we would have seen more of their friendships. Perhaps that was because the fight between JY and MK was so centred. In the end I am happy MS and MK made it and became a couple. And it is nice that SM and JS got together too. But who thought it was a good idea to keep that "break-up" between YJ and HM in the show? That was just awful to watch! I never saw them vibing together, but a short notice that they decided to stay friends would have been enough. I don't have to see that Hanmin gave the ring back, they made together. I get where he is coming from, but I wish they could have talked about this in private! There were some bad coices of the production which was not favourable for the show! If there is a season 4 I hope it stays away from artificial drama! Just a 7 out of 10 for me.

Century of Love 🇹🇭

We got a happy ending. Hm. Great. I don't know. I guess I wouldn't have mind if San had died. It was a little bit too constructed with the little piece of that stone in the end and the change of heart from the fake Vad... So I am a little bit dissappointed with the ending. Yes, I cried, because I have feelings, but at some points I had to skip parts because there were just too many emotions that clashed in my face. But I am happy for San and Vee. Overall a good 8 out of 10.

Bad Guy 🇰🇷

Honestly? I like cheating stories when my couple wins. In conclusion, I liked this short series. I am curious if we get a second part like with Blue Boys. I would be happy if we could just end it here. The two sad boys finally got their happy ending and can now be enough for each other. I like that. Wish we could see a little bit of their everyday life or how this decision impacts their lifes. I liked it. I give it a 8 out of 10.

Cosmic Playlover 🇯🇵

I enjoyed the show. It felt a little bit rushed, but over all, I enjoyed the plot and the love story. Two men working in the beauty industry and both go their own way and just loving what they do. That was also really good to see! I especially enjoyed the dynamic between these two. And they talked! Sure there was drama, but in the end they talkes to each other and listened to each other and could solve their problems. Such a nice little show. I give it good 8,5 out of 10.

Movie

Short Film

Dropped in August

My Love Mix-Up! 🇹🇭

I guess I've dropped this one. I don't know why exactly. I think it was a cute story and I liked watching it, but right now I don't have the energy to keep going. I will come back to this one when it is finished and when I am in the mood for some fluff.

Looking forward to in August

The Last Time - Trailer (Aug 16th)

The Loyal Pin - Trailer (Aug 4th)

Sugar Dog Life - Trailer (Aug 4th)

Summer Night - Trailer (Aug 5th)

Cosmetic Playlover (Aug 6th)

Monster Next Door - Trailer (Aug 8th)

First Note Of Love - Trailer (Aug 12th)

Addicted Heroin - Trailer (Aug 13th)

Love Beneathe The Stars - Trailer (Aug 16th)

The Paradise Of Thornes - Trailer (Aug 22nd - Thai Cinemas)

The On1y One (Aug 22nd)

Affair - Trailer (Aug 30th)

[vickyvicarious]

It seems like the general first impression was "The Demeter crew is suffering and sleepless and dying, while Mina is having a nice sightseeing vacation", but... Doesn't it seem less of a contrast than that?

Lucy's now increasingly odder sleepwalking was there from day one of Mina's arrival, making Mina sleepless. While the crew sleeps with one eye open.

Even on the first day on Whitby, Mina was taking about death and lost ships. While the crew was beginning to lose men. Mina and Mr Swales talk about tombstones and suicide. While the First Mate jumps to his death.

*Mina voice*: the reports of my hot girl summer have been greatly exaggerated...

You're onto something here, definitely. Of course, in the original book, we don't see anything from the Demeter until a little ways into Mina's stay, so it (re)reads as more foreshadowing than it seems like a parallel, but that's one of the really fun things to notice in the daily format! I'm reminded of Lucy's three suitors and her letters about looking into her mirror coming so soon on the heels of Jonathan's encounter with the three vampire women and with his mirror getting broken.

I never noticed just how much a lot of Mina's storyline here lines up so well with the Demeter though. And now that I'm thinking about it... There's a bunch of those kinds of connections!

Of course, there are overall ones. Like you said, Lucy's sleepwalking begins right away, and it robs Mina of her sleep. Meanwhile, the crew of the Demeter are kept awake by storms, by double-watches, by having to pick up the work that no one else is left to do. But though that's pretty overarching, there are also some moments that line up really well. For example, July 27: "Lucy walks more than ever, and each night I am awakened by her moving about the room." and July 28: "Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out."

Then there are Mina's conversation with Mr. Swales, especially the latter one with its talk of suicide, of going to hell - only two days before the mate leaps to his death rather than allow Dracula to get his soul. Mr. Swales also parallels the first mate a bit in being, as Mina says, "a most dictatorial person in his day" and very insistent that there's nothing supernatural going on, though as yet he's not been proven so terribly wrong about that the way the first mate was.

On July 24, Mina says there is "a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in a mournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship is lost bells are heard out at sea." That same day the Demeter is approaching more bad weather, and later on they get lost in the fog. (Though we never get mention of any bell ringing.)

Mrs. Westenra is afraid of Lucy's sleepwalking because she "has got an idea that sleep-walkers always go out on roofs of houses and along the edges of cliffs and then get suddenly wakened and fall over with a despairing cry that echoes all over the place." On August 2, the captain is awoken by a cry that sounds close, but which he cannot see the source of in the fog. The next day, the mate runs up onto the deck crying out after being figuratively 'wakened' to the true horror of who he's up against just before he leaps over the side of the ship. Also on August 3, Lucy goes about searching for the key so she can get out, and the mate went searching through the boxes in the hold. He clearly found what he was looking for, and it had terrible consequences; if Lucy finds what she seeks in her sleepwalking, what might happen to her?

And, one that I can't believe never occurred to me before... Mina's not only worried about Lucy, of course. She's very afraid for Jonathan. Because he, much like the men on the Demeter, has vanished unseen. He went off to his work (on watch/work trip) and hasn't been seen since. Even when she hears from him, it's brief and she can sense the letter is uncharacteristic of him, short and lacking detail. The reason, though she doesn't know it, is of course that Dracula stopped him from saying anything else/more. Jonathan's real sentiments and words were 'lost in the fog' so to speak (the false trail laid by the letters being the metaphorical fog here). It reminds me of the one sailor's cry that awoke the captain. And even with that, she's still waiting for more word of him and should have had it by this point. But he's simply gone.

It's not endless horrors for Mina at the moment, but the ominous tone is certainly building over time despite more positive moments happening too. To use a weather metaphor, more and more stormclouds have been gathering over time, looming threateningly overhead. And it looks an awful lot like the weather Dracula brought to the Demeter.

[asahicore]

moonlight - psh (m)

this work contains smut - minors please do not interact pairing. dancer!sunghoon x fem!reader synopsis. In August 1963, your monotonous summer vacation becomes a lot more exciting when you meet a group of dancers that work as the entertainment staff of the resort you and your family are staying at. Your fascination with them, and particularly dancers and close friends Sunghoon and Chaewon, pushes you to help them out by taking Chaewon's place at another hotel's show when she's unable to dance. The week you spend with Sunghoon as he teaches you to dance and the events thereafter give you a lot more than the ability to mambo. genre. dirty dancing au, strangers to lovers, summer au, poor boy x rich girl trope, the Big 3 (fluff angst n smut) word count. 32.2k a/n. it's finally here !!! i've been working on this for a while so i hope you guys will like it, please lmk what u think ur feedback is super important to me !!! if you've seen dirty dancing you'll see that this is like.. a complete copy of the movie lmaooo i'm sorry i didn't wanna stray from the plot cz i love it 2 much <//3 i'll make a posting schedule shortly after this so you guys can see which of my old works i'll be reposting and all that :)) enjoy !! also thanks to @ozymandia-s for betareading this u deserve the world and u made this fic a thousand times better <333 and yep thats a compliment from me to u so u better treasure it fr.

It’s the summer of 1963, everybody calls you Baby, and it hasn’t occurred to you to mind. You’re 18, have plans to change the world, and are sure there isn’t a better man than your father.

After years of being too busy to leave work for over a week, your father has finally retired, and you can all go on a long, well-deserved summer break. Like most people your age, your dream vacation would be to backpack through Europe or Asia, discovering the wonders the world has to offer, meeting people from all walks of life and eating all sorts of foreign delicacies. But your parents wish for something more laid-back, so, on the first Sunday of August, after a six-hour drive, you get out of the car at Kellerman’s, a summer resort that belongs to your father’s old friend. You are to spend the rest of the month here, until the last day of the season.

The resort is truly a sight to behold. Even though it’s only four floors high, the main building is downright massive in terms of how much space it occupies. You can imagine the many rooms it must hold, such as the different restaurants and their respective kitchens, the ballroom and other leisure rooms, the stage for various shows, and some offices and apartments where the highest members of staff reside. Tables are scattered all across the front lawn, mainly older ladies and gentlemen sitting at them, drinking lemonade, playing cards, gossiping. You can make out a golf course and a small pond from afar, as well as the back lawn where you’re told most of the activities take place. Such activities include the outdoor dancing lessons, which your mother and sister Seeun want to get to immediately.

Max, your father’s friend, greets you as soon as you arrive as if he’s been waiting for you. Amused, you watch as they clasp each other’s hand before coming into an embrace, giving three hard but friendly pats to the other’s back. “So glad to finally have you here, Doc,” Max says earnestly. “I promise you, one week here and you’ll feel like you’ve never worked a day in your life, that’s how relaxed you’ll be.” Your father laughs and nods, and you turn your attention away when they start talking about work, and how life’s been, and how your daughters have grown, and other things you don’t care much for. 

You notice that a member of staff has begun to unload your numerous bags from the trunk, about half of which are your sister’s (“See, Mommy, I told you I should’ve brought those coral heels!” you hear her complain), and start helping him out. He turns to you with a smile as you haul a suitcase onto the trolley.

“Hey, thanks a lot! You looking for a job here?” he jokes, making you smile.

“Just wanted to help out, but I’ll let you know. I’m Baby, by the way.”

“Baby? Is that your real name?” he asks with an amused expression and a quizzical tilt to his head.

“No, but it’s what everyone calls me,” you beam back.

“Alright then, Baby. I’m Jake.” He wipes some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before extending it to you, and you take it, shaking it enthusiastically. 

Your conversation stops there when your father calls out your name, motioning for you to follow him and your mother and sister. “Come, Baby, let the staff do their work.” You give Jake an apologetic smile and wave him goodbye, but he simply shrugs and turns away, seemingly used to this kind of dismissal from guests.

“See you around, Baby,” you hear him say as you start to walk away.

-

Seeun only gives you a few minutes to settle into your shared room and unpack your suitcase before she practically drags you outside, eager to get to the dance class in time. Your older sister absolutely loves dancing. No matter where or with who, if there’s music, she’ll start moving. 

You, on the other hand, have two left feet, which doesn’t make dancing such a fun activity. You like it, but always feel you look like a fool. As for dancing with a partner, the intimacy that comes with it is too much for you, and isn’t something you particularly want to share with boys you barely know, nevermind complete strangers, like the people at the merengue class your sister is making you rush to. 

It takes place in the gazebo, which is wide enough to host about thirty guests and the instructor, who introduces herself as Chaewon. You try to follow her “1, 2, 1, 2” as best you can but it’s hard to focus on the rhythm when you have to avoid being stepped on by the lady to your left and stepping on the man to your right. Everything around you is turned upside down when she cheerfully calls out, “Let’s get into a circle! Gents on the outside, ladies on the inside! C’mon now!”

You manage to make your way into the inner circle, holding onto the hips of the woman in front of you, and finally start to sway to the rhythm a bit more. “Come on ladies! God wouldn’t have given you this body if he didn’t want you to shake it!” Chaewon shouts enthusiastically, emphasizing on the “shake” with a movement of her own.

“On the count of three,” she calls out, “ladies, you’ll turn around, and meet the man of your dreams! 1, 2, 3!”

You find yourself face to face with a grandma that had ended up in the gents’ circle and force on your best smile as you dance with her. She looks delighted, but that expression might just be stuck on her face permanently.

The class comes to an end and the afternoon with it, and you leave the bungalow while everyone gets ready for dinner, yelling out that you’re going to look around as you close the door behind you. It’s the early evening and the sun has just started to set, but not enough for the gentle breeze to be too cold. The small, round bushes and colorful flowers that line the pebbled path from the bungalows to the main building have been expertly tended to; there isn’t a stray weed, nor branch that hasn’t been cut properly nor a wilting plant. It’s all so perfect, it almost looks fake. Yet, when you bend down to feel a petal, it’s soft under your fingertips and very much real.

You walk on the porch that surrounds the main building until you reach the outside entrance to the restaurant. Max’s booming voice catches your attention and you’re able to peek through the ajar door, making sure you can’t be seen from where you stand. Your father’s friend sits at a table while the waiters stand in a half-circle in front of him, hands locked behind them and heads slightly bowed.

“Tonight’s the start of the second half of the season, so I’ll use this opportunity to set a little reminder. You’re here because I chose you lot from the most prestigious schools in the country and you need some financial help, correct?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “So do your job, and do it well. And if you want extra compensation, the gents here may be very generous if you show their daughters a good time and keep their wives happy. But no funny business, you keep your hands off. Got it?”

A quiet flurry of yeses is heard throughout the room just as a group of young people stride in, the sight of them piquing your interest. They’re wearing much more fitted and fashionable clothes compared to the waiters’ simple white vests and trousers, and carry themselves with a confidence you’ve only seen in celebrities and important people. The man that leads them particularly catches your attention: slicked-back hair, useless sunglasses now that the sun has set, all-black clothes, too much leather for the summer weather and the prettiest face you think you’ve ever seen to top it all off. He looks like an off-duty movie star.

“You hear that, boys? No funny business,” he says with a smirk to the group behind him, and they chuckle in response, eyeing the waiters up and down. They work at the same establishment, but they seem to be from two totally different worlds, you notice.

“I think you’re the one who should keep that in mind,” one of the waiters says just as the group passes by him, just loud enough for the other guy to hear. He reacts immediately to the taunt, spinning around and pointing a threatening finger to the waiter’s chest. 

“And I think you should heed your own advice, you jackass,” he spits, unfiltered venom in his voice. The waiter only smirks condescendingly, as if proud his remark had struck a nerve.

“Alright, alright, calm down, Sunghoon, and lay off of Heeseung. You’re booked and busy this week, and your whole entertainment team has work to do, okay?” Max says, tone stern as if telling a child off.

Sunghoon takes a step back but doesn’t look away from Heeseung as he scoffs a simple whatever. He then pivots back around and leads his team out of the room. You decide you’ve seen enough and turn around yourself, heading back to your family’s bungalow with quick steps.

Barely half an hour later, you’re back at the restaurant. The tables have all been set, the candles have been lit, a band is playing soft jazz in the corner, and the waiters are taking care of the guests’ orders and keeping them content. You’ve just sat down when Max himself approaches, introducing your waiter for tonight to your table. You try not to let your astonishment show when you instantly recognise him as the one who had had that scuff with Sunghoon earlier.

“Doc, this is Heeseung Lee, and he’ll take care of you tonight,” he addresses your father, a paternal hand around Heeseung’s shoulder. “He’s a third year med student at Harvard and has been working here every summer for the past three years. A very reliable and hardworking young man.” You feel like you’re being sold a car, but your father just smiles and nods approvingly at Heeseung.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Heeseung,” your father greets, holding out a hand for the young man to shake.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Doctor,” Heeseung responds, a most dazzling smile on his lips. If you hadn’t seen him earlier, you wouldn’t believe that this smile could turn snarky and patronizing.

“This is my wife, our eldest Seeun and our youngest Y/N, but we all call her Baby. She’s going to change the world,” your father introduces, beaming proudly at you.

“Yeah, and Seeun’s going to decorate it,” you say, turning to your sister. A bit unprovoked, perhaps, but this is just the way you and your sister have always been. You smile and tilt your head innocently as she glares at you.

“I think she already does,” Heeseung says, your eyebrow raising up in surprise as your sister looks down at her hands, the sudden compliment making her blush.

“Alright, Heeseung, go get these folks our best champagne. On the house!” Max exclaims, beaming at your parents.

“Yes, sir,” Heeseung says, bowing his head slightly to Max and your table before shooting your sister a smile and walking off. 

“Oh, and here’s someone else I want to introduce to you - Jay, come here! That’s my grandson Jay. Yale Business School,” Max says emphatically. Jay approaches your table quickly, a somewhat self-assured yet awkward smile on his face. He greets your parents and sister with a nod of his head until his eyes settle on you. “This is Baby, I was telling you about her earlier. She’s going to study at Yale too, and her dad says she’ll change the world!”

Jay’s lips form a pout, the kind of pout one makes when watching kittens play or a child running to his mother, as if he finds your ambitions endearing. Used to this kind of reaction from men, you raise your eyebrows and a small smile spreads on your face as if to say, “yep, that’s me.”

“How nice, Baby. But before you go off and do that, how about you save me a dance? Tomorrow night at the ball?” he offers, and the urge to kick him in the balls is hard to resist, but resist you must.

“Of course she will!” your father answers for you, and you have no choice but to put on your best fake smile, but none of the three men seem to see through it. If your mother and sister notice how annoyed you are, they don’t say anything. Knowing them, they probably think you’re being unreasonable if you’re not already throwing yourself at such an obviously intelligent and respectable young man.

That’s how you find yourself the next day, hands stiffly clasped behind Jay’s neck and his own on the sides of your waist, dancing with him to a slow-paced but lighthearted live song, although dancing might be an overstatement as it’s impossible to find a proper rhythm with someone as clumsy as him. You never thought you’d meet a worse dancer than you, but here you were. You have to keep yourself from snorting everytime he winces or tuts when you “accidentally” step on his foot, and you make sure to leave ample room between the two of you for the Holy Spirit.

Most of the dance is spent in awkward silence, probably due to the fact that Jay’s gaze, one that is perhaps meant to be seductive but only comes off as creepy, seems to linger on you for too long and too many times. When a pair of kids spins right by you, looking far more talented and serious in their dancing than the two of you, Jay seems to think he needs to step up his game and tightens his grip on your waist. Although you try to disguise it as best you can, the action makes you look up at him in alarm, and you have to stop yourself from visibly flinching when he bends down to say something in your ear although the music isn’t that loud.

“So, Yale, huh? What are you going to study? Design?”

“Um, Environmental Studies and Politics, actually. I’m particularly interested in how underdeveloped countries work and how we can change things there for the better, rather than making things worse,” you correct him, slightly raising your voice so he can hear you from where you’re standing. 

Jay is visibly taken aback by your detailed response, and all he can do is nod. “Right, right, that’s-”

To no one’s disappointment, you never find out what Jay was going to say next because right then, the music suddenly picks up and one of the musicians announces “Sunghoon and Chaewon of the Entertainment Team for a mambo demonstration” into his mic. Your ears perk up at the sound of those two vaguely familiar names, and you quickly recognise Sunghoon as the leather-clad man from earlier and Chaewon as the merengue class instructor from yesterday. He’s now wearing a black suit jacket and matching trousers with a tight white button-up, the clothes fitting him perfectly and making the muscles underneath them appear when the light hits him just right. On her is one of the most beautiful dresses you’ve ever seen, the red fringed fabric draping over her body like it was created for her, her toned upper back and arms on display.

The crowd of guests quickly forms a circle around the couple, giving them enough space to put on their show, and everyone, including you, is immediately enthralled by their performance. You’re mesmerized by how elegant and energetic at once their dance is, the smiles on their faces unfaltering and their legs and arms forming perfect lines at all times. Their posture is proud and their gazes are always fixed on each other even as they spin around, somehow never getting dizzy. They move in perfect synchronization as one entity rather than two separate people simply dancing together, and even though it is probably due to an impressive amount of practice, you can’t help but find that their chemistry is what makes them so fascinating. When he lifts her into the air, it’s with so little effort that she looks like she weighs no more than a feather. There is not a step out of place, and you’re reminded of those impeccable bushes and flowers from the day before. It makes you wonder how it is possible for two people to look so perfect together, and if that perfection is only superficial or not.

“Who are they?” you ask Jay, your curiosity about them greater than your aversion to talking to him.

From the corner of your eye, you see him looking surprised by your question before he leans in and answers. “Sunghoon Park and Chaewon Kim. They’re part of the dance people. Here to keep the guests happy and entertained.” He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head in discontentment. “They shouldn’t be showing off with each other like that, it won’t sell lessons. I’ll need to have a talk with them later.”

You barely register Jay’s words after he’s answered your question, your attention focused back on the dancers in front of you. On the other side of the room, you spot Max frowning at them and marching towards them. As soon as Sunghoon and Chaewon notice him, he waves them off and they separate, choosing a guest as their new partner to dance with, which you assume is their way of doing a taster session.

Jay drags you off to sit at a table and for the better part of an hour, you let him bore your ears off as he tells you either things he can’t fathom you’d already know even though you do, or things you couldn’t care any less about. It’s such a shame that a man with that handsome a face and that charming a smile would have the stalest of personalities, yet deem himself the most interesting man to walk the Earth. You nod and hum when you’re supposed to, and that’s all he needs to think you’re listening intently, when really you can’t stop thinking about the dancers you just saw, and even steal glances at them still dancing with some guests mere meters away from you. All you want to do is get up and get Sunghoon’s, or even Chaewon’s attention so they could show you how to move like them - just touching their shoulder or waist would be thrilling. But when you catch your mother’s eye a few tables away and she beams at you, two thumbs up in the air, you know you need to stay planted in your chair.

Thankfully, the amount of guests in the room starts to dwindle, and you use this dip in the evening to run off, telling Jay it’s getting late and you need to get back to your bungalow. You don’t let him try to convince you to stay back, and grab your purse, excitedly waving goodbye at him. He’s probably confused, but you’re too giddy at the prospect of finally leaving to care. 

You were on your way to the bungalow, you really were - but just as you reach it, light from a tall lodge about five hundred meters away catches your attention, and you’re too curious about the building you hadn’t noticed before not to investigate. So you continue walking up the small hill where all the guest lodgings rest until you find yourself before a sign that reads “STAFF QUARTERS - GUESTS KEEP OUT,” which you promptly decide to ignore.

In just a minute, a wooden bridge reveals itself, enabling you to cross over the current that separates you from the other bank, where the lodge stands. If you looked to your right, you could’ve made out some more, smaller and dingier-looking bungalows than the guests’ that hosted the staff behind all those trees, but you run into a familiar face before you can take notice of them.

“Hey! I recognize you. Baby, right?”

“Yeah, and you’re Jake!” you beam, surprised not only by seeing him again here, but by the three huge watermelons he carries in his arms like oversized newborn triplets. 

“Yeah…” he trails, squinting his eyes at you, his enthusiasm turning into suspicion. “You can’t be here. Max would kill me. Go back to the dance, Baby.” He can only take a few steps forward before you grab a watermelon from his unsteady hold, putting your most convincing smile on.

“I’ll help you carry these!” you state rather than offer, and march forwards across the bridge. Behind you, Jake sighs and shakes his head, then rushes to stop you in your tracks.

“Didn’t you read the sign? This area is staff only, you can’t be here,” he repeats, punctuating his words. He stays unwavering even at the receiving end of your very menacing glare, so you simply huff and stack the watermelon back on top of the other two and turn away. It takes him approximately two seconds to change his mind. “Can you keep a secret?”

Jake doesn’t prepare you for what you’re about to see when you enter the staff common lodge, but you don’t think anything could. The smell of a room full of people sweating and moving about hits you instantly, the heat it creates hanging heavy in the air. The breeze coming in through the open windows is practically useless in bringing the temperature down, but you aren’t curious to find out what it’d be like with the windows closed.

The music, a genre your father always bristles at when he hears it on the radio, is now blasting in your ears rather than whistling through the wind, and it takes you a few moments to adjust to the volume and intensity of the bass and drums bouncing off the walls of the room. The guitar sound is sensual and almost yearning, the singer longs for his lover, and the tempo is just fast enough for the dancers to find a swaying rhythm.

As if the lyrics themselves aren’t enough to make you blush, the way the staff dances makes you feel like you’re intruding on something. You try to look away as a couple thrusts their hips into each other’s, only to find another lowering themselves to the group until they’re crouching then slowly rising again, using each other as support the whole time. Skirts bunched up around hips, shirts almost fully unbuttoned or even discarded, hands grabbing onto the partner’s clothes or bare skin - you’ve never seen anyone dance that way. Far from the choreographed performances you’re used to, here, they’re simply letting their bodies move to the music without any second thoughts or a care in the world. You hadn’t even known this could be considered dancing, but surely, when your body molds itself this perfectly to the melody and your partner’s hands, then you can only be dancing. 

Watermelon in arms, you follow Jake as he snakes his way to the back of the room through sweaty bodies holding each other close. You recognise a few people here and there as the entertainment staff who host activities, teach dance classes or help guests find their way around. They peer back at you, expressions either confused or disdainful - you aren’t sure whether that’s because they don’t know who you are, or because they do and don’t like seeing you there. Even if they don’t know that you’re Baby, your dress at least is a dead giveaway of your being a guest. Your mom had picked it out for you - a white sleeveless summer dress that reaches almost to your knees and cinches in at the waist before flowing out over your hips. And no cleavage, of course. Along with your impeccably curled and styled hair, your prim and proper attire is a far cry from the short skirts, tight t-shirts and denim that the staff wears, revealing sunkissed skin and toned muscles. And if all of that still isn’t enough to tell you apart, then your wide eyes like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time should do it.

You finally reach the back of the room and set your watermelon on a bar counter. Jake rests his hands on his hips and watches the dancers, a smile on his face, the kind of smile you wear when you can never get enough of a sight even though you witness it everyday. You watch them too, but you must look a mix of fascinated and terrified - sure, they all look terrific, but if your dad caught you here, you’d be dead.

“Where’d they learn to do that?” you lean in to ask Jake as the next song starts playing, your gaze not leaving the dancers who adjust easily to the more upbeat tempo.

He looks at you, stunned. “Don’t you know? This is how the kids dance these days. This is what American basements look like on Friday nights.” His surprise turns into amusement and he steps in front of you, one hand extended for you to take and a mischievous look on his face. “Wanna try?”

Your eyes immediately double in size and you shake your hands in front of you, but he grabs one of them anyway and starts leading you back into the middle of the room. You’re saved by the doors suddenly bursting open, catching everyone’s attention. In run Sunghoon and Chaewon, wearing the same clothes from earlier, although Sunghoon has ditched the suit jacket and popped the top buttons of his shirt open. Your stomach flips at the sight of his flushed cheeks and hair slick with sweat.

Jake chuckles when he sees how transfixed you are by the two of them, dancing so differently from earlier, their moves far more sexual, hands not so polite anymore, completely free to do whatever they wish. Rather than a smile, Sunghoon wears a small frown and bites his bottom lip, deepening his dimples, and it all seems to make each of his moves that much harsher. The sheer sex appeal that he exudes is absolutely undeniable, and it makes you feel things you’ve never felt before - things you’re not quite unsure how to name. You let out a small gasp as Chaewon jumps and hooks her legs around his hips effortlessly, then as she leans her upper body back until her head almost touches the ground. Sunghoon’s hands are tight around her waist and his biceps apparent under the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You realize how strong Sunghoon must be when he carries her all the way to his shoulders, letting her rest her knees there as she plays with her skirt and swings her head from side to side. You’ve never seen anyone look so good while having so much fun.

“They look great together,” you blurt out without thinking.

“Don’t they?” Jake says, looking out at them with a fond smile. “You’d think they were a couple.”

This makes your head pivot towards Jake. “Well, aren’t they?”

“Not since we were kids, no. They’ve just been dancing together for so long that they’ve developed this- this chemistry and understanding of each other, I guess.” 

“Do you know them well?”

“Sunghoon’s my best friend from home. He met Chaewon when he started working here when we were 16, and then he got me this job when we were 17. The three of us are 22 now.” He meets your gaze and his smile grows wider. “Why, you interested?”

The sudden question (and the very obvious, very embarrassing answer) takes you aback and you stammer out a few nonsensical syllables before frowning at him. Your reaction just seems to amuse him. “No, I’m not. Just asking,” you manage to say.

He looks back at them, and you follow his gaze. “Well, good, cause we’re not allowed to get involved with the guests anyway. Which is why you shouldn’t be here in the first place.”

Just then, the song ends and Sunghoon and Chaewon laugh before they separate, finding another partner to dance with. As Chaewon heads towards someone else, Sunghoon catches your stare and walks to where you and Jake stand, eyes fixed on your face. You feel small under his gaze, but you will your knees not to buckle underneath you, although that’s hard to do when his eyes sweep your figure, giving you a once-over.

“What’s she doing here?” he questions Jake without looking away from you.

“That’s Baby, she came with me,” Jake says, not really answering the question.

“I carried a watermelon,” you blurt, not really answering the question either, but that seems to satisfy Sunghoon. His eyebrows raise slightly before he heads back to the dancefloor and starts dancing again. You release a breath you hadn’t known you were holding, but another one catches right in your throat when, after barely thirty seconds, he pivots back around as if there was still something he was curious about. His eyes stay focused on you, unreadable.

And then, he bows his head slightly, looks up at you through his eyebrows, raises his hand, and beckons you to him with his index finger. As if spellbound, your feet move on their own until you find yourself in front of him, his hands reaching immediately for your hips and holding on tight there. All the nerves in your body are on edge and your heartbeat speeds up, almost matching the fast tempo of the song resonating throughout the room. Simply remembering to breathe becomes an arduous task. Jake’s voice is a faint sound as he says, “So you go dance with him, but not me?”

This kind of dancing is completely unfamiliar to you, so you have no idea what to do. Thankfully, Sunghoon doesn’t seem to expect anything else, and he knows how to guide you so that you get the gist of it. “Keep your eyes on me,” he commands quietly, gesturing with two fingers for your gaze to stay on his. “And move your hips in a circle, just like that,” he adds, executing the move for you to mirror. “Just relax, you’re too stiff. Relax your arms. Put them around my shoulders.” His hands brush down from your shoulders to your wrists, sending a trail of fire all along your arms, grabbing them and resting them on his shoulders himself before settling back on your waist. His arm snakes its way around it, bringing you closer to him. You aren’t sure what’s more electrifying, his gaze or his touch.

You start to focus on the music and on getting your body to move along to it, and it feels like a miracle when your hips, firmly pressed against his own, sway side-to-side in rhythm. Remembering what you saw earlier, you lean back slightly, hips still moving in small circles, trusting him to keep you from falling. You lean back as far as you can, and something about it is so liberating, you feel the adrenaline rushing through your body as if it’s the only thing keeping you alive. When you come back up, your palms are flat against his chest and he looks at you with a proud but surprised smirk that lits your insides up. “Just like that,” he whispers, but his face is close enough for you to hear him over the music.

He spins you around a few times, and as quickly as he appeared, he’s already gone, having weaved his way through the crowd back towards Jake. It takes you a few seconds to register his absence, but when it does, it’s like all the warmth he filled you with is gone; you’re left only with the heavy heat weighing the room down and you with it, when you’d felt light like air not a moment ago.

Before you can decide on what to do next, someone taps your shoulder, and you turn around to find Heeseung frowning down at you. In the fraction of a second, you can tell this is the snarky Heeseung that you’d seen when you were snooping around the day before rather than the polite Heeseung that had waited your table that night.

“Baby, right? I don’t know what you’re doing here, but your sister and parents are looking all over for you. If I were you, I’d go now, and quick.”

Alarm shoots through you as you realize you’d been here for twenty minutes at least, the sort of absence that wouldn’t go unnoticed by your family this late at night. You thank him rapidly and practically run towards the door before risking a look back at Jake and Sunghoon, still standing in the corner of the room. Jake looks worried, so you send him a thumbs up, but Sunghoon simply peers at you, sipping on a beer as his back rests against the wall, that same unreadable look from before back on his face. You don’t linger to figure it out and rush to your bungalow, coming up with an excuse that you got lost on your way back for your parents to believe. Because their Baby would never do anything she isn’t supposed to, right?

That night, as you toss and turn in bed, trying to fall asleep, your mind wanders off to those warm, big hands firmly planted on your waist, and how they had guided your body until it moved on its own accord, until it let itself go and only followed the rhythm. How far can you go until your body no longer belongs to you but rather to the music, or to the person holding you close, you wonder? And if that happened, would you, for a moment at least, no matter how fleeting, be freed of all your worries for your future and of all the pressure on your shoulders?

Your feet already ache - from dancing or from wanting to dance some more, you can’t quite tell.

-

Every year when August comes, it takes you by surprise how early the sun sets. Just as you’d gotten used to the sky still being fairly light by 10 p.m., it was already getting dark at nine. This is what you think about a few nights later as you look out at the dark sky, the bright full moon and the hundreds of stars lighting it up. You’re standing next to the gazebo with your parents as you watch other guests dancing about; clearly, since you’re thinking about the state of the sky and the sun in the summer, you’re very entertained. Your sister has managed to become friends with some of the other guests’ kids, as well as some of the staff, and has even formed a budding romance with Heeseung, which your parents have made it obvious they approve of. This means that she is excused of any activities she might not want to partake in, while you have to follow your parents everywhere.

Your gaze follows Sunghoon as he dances with an older woman, guiding her through the dance and teaching her a few steps. You can’t help but frown slightly at his forced smile when she lets her hands wander a bit too far down his back, and you wonder why he doesn’t say anything when he looks so obviously uncomfortable.

“You see that woman over there?” you hear Max ask your father as he motions to the lady dancing with Sunghoon. “Vivian Kim. We call women like her bungalow bunnies. Their husbands work all week and only come back on weekends. That dancer Park Sunghoon is pretty popular with them, if you know what I mean,” he comments with a dark chuckle. “But I gotta pretend like I don’t know any better, otherwise the wives are unhappy. And if the wives are unhappy, so are the husbands, and then I lose money.”

You daze out of the conversation when you see Jay approaching, his steps quick and headed directly towards Sunghoon. “Where’s Chaewon?” he questions impatiently, taking no notice of Vivian, who seems to take no notice of him either and continues swaying her hips to the music.

“What do you mean where’s Chaewon? She’s on a break, Chaewon needs a break,” Sunghoon bites back, tone just as harsh as Jay’s. That seems to shut Jay up, and he just squints at him before turning his head to where you’re standing. His whole demeanor changes instantly as he walks towards you, that smile one would reserve for children that he always looks at you with.

“Hey Baby, wanna go on a walk?” he asks, but with the intent way your parents, Max and Jay himself are peering down at you, you know you don’t have much of a choice.

You put on your best forced smile and take his extended hand. “Sure, Jay.”

He takes you to a small wooden bridge that overpasses a small but feisty current. The walk there is fairly silent, which you’re thankful for, because it’s easier to pretend Jay isn’t here when he’s not talking, but the fantasy is shattered everytime he sighs and hums contentedly. It’s like he thinks spending five minutes without talking will make the world implode, and he has to make some kind of noise to keep the balance.

When you reach the bridge, you lean back against the rail, and he leans on his side, apparently so he can look at you better. “I love to watch your hair blow in the breeze,” he says after a few moments, and it takes everything in you to keep your laughter in at the sudden romanticism.

“You know, not to brag,” he starts, and you know he’s about to say the most pretentious thing you’ve ever heard, “but around here, I’m known as the catch of the county.” He’s smiling, but you know he’s being fully serious. “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? I’m handsome, parents love me, and I go to the best school in the country. People ask me, ‘well, what’s the difference between you and any other guy at Yale,’ and I say, ‘five hotels and a million-dollar inheritance!’” He bursts laughing like he’s just made the funniest joke ever, although you’re not sure where the joke is. You chuckle awkwardly and nod, remembering your mother’s advice - when in doubt, just nod. You’re not particularly in doubt, but you’re also not sure how to respond to such ostentatious self-praise.

To your great despair, Jay is about to open his mouth again, but a voice coming from the exit of the forest near you stops him in his tracks. “Heeseung, please, you have to help me with this-,” the voice says, and you recognize it quickly as Chaewon’s.

“I told you, it’s none of my damn business.”

“But it is! Please!” she shouts back. He walks ahead of her and she tries to catch up to him, and just like that, they’re already gone without having noticed you or Jay.

A hand placed delicately on your shoulder snaps you from your thoughts. You turn to Jay who has a sad look in his eyes and who sighs as if pained to say what he has to say next. “You know, Baby, sometimes, in this world, you’ll see things you don’t want to see. And sometimes, you can’t do anything about them. It’s all part of growing up,” he finishes, his tone self-important like he’s just taught you a world of knowledge. 

“You hungry?” he suddenly adds, all cheery. “C’mon, eating something might take your mind off of this. We can go to the kitchens and get you anything you’d like.”

He indeed takes you to the restaurant kitchens, completely empty due to the late hour. He opens up a fridge, and even though he basically does, the way he acts like he owns the place makes you wince. “So, what have we here? Some smoked salmon canapés, some ham sandwiches… ooh, brownies! What else…” he trails off, but your attention has been caught by something else. 

You can hear someone snuffling somewhere in the room, and when you lean to the side to peer behind the wall, you can make out a female figure crouched down in the dark. She’s trembling from head-to-toe, and when she lifts her head to look at you, you recognize her as Chaewon. You’ve never seen anyone looking so scared.

Thinking quickly, you grab Jay by the shoulders, smiling at him as you say, “You know what, I don’t think I’m actually that hungry, let’s just head back to the gazebo, yeah?”

For once, you’re the one who doesn’t let him answer your question and you speed out of the kitchens and back to the gazebo. You find Jake immediately, rushing to him to tell him what you saw, and he in turn rushes to Sunghoon, who apologizes and drops his dancing partner’s hand as soon as he hears what’s going on. Ignoring Jay’s confused look, you run with them back to the kitchens, from which Chaewon hasn’t moved an inch.

Sunghoon sits next to her, taking her in his arms and helping her up. “It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here now. Everything’s fine. Let’s get you back to my room, okay? It’ll be quiet there,” he coos, getting her snuffles to calm down and her breath to steady itself.

Since none of them tell you to go back, you follow along, Chaewon in Sunghoon’s arms in front and you and Jake not too far behind. “What’s wrong with her?” you ask Jake quietly.

“She’s pregnant.”

“Jake!” Sunghoon calls out indignantly, sending him a look as if to warn him.

“What? It’s not like she’d tell anyone.”

“Still, it’s none of her business,” Sunghoon replies, glancing briefly at you.

“And what’s he gonna do about it?” you can’t help but ask. This makes Sunghoon pivot on his heel and Chaewon frowns at the sudden movement.

“‘What’s he gonna do about it?’” he repeats, venom in his voice. “Oh of course, cause it’s my baby. Of course you’d assume that,” he practically spits at you. You try to stutter out a response, but nothing comes up. How could you not assume that, when you’ve only seen him taking care of her like she’s his responsibility?

You thought all staff lived in small bungalows, but the place you reach is more like a one-person studio. Sunghoon sits Chaewon down on a couch, covers her shoulders with a blanket and brings her a tall glass of water.

“So, whose is it then?” you ask again, eyes darting back and forth between the three figures that stare back at you. Sunghoon starts towards you, an accusing finger out, but Chaewon stops him.

“It’s fine, Sunghoon.” She sighs then lifts her gaze to look at you. Her eyes seem drained, like her tears took everything out of her. “It’s Heeseung’s,” she answers plainly, and you think your eyes bulge out of your face. What you’d witnessed earlier starts to make more sense in your head.

Next to you, Jake looks like he’ll explode if he has to keep in the words he wants to say any longer. “That bastard Heeseung. She needs money to get an operation, and she needs it soon, but he doesn’t give a shit,” Jake spits.

“But, Heeseung, he’s got money, I’m sure if you just ask him, he’ll-”

“Baby? Is that your name?” Chaewon asks softly, interrupting you. “Well, you don’t know shit about my problems, Baby,” she continues, her tone doing a 180. “You don’t think I’ve asked him? You don’t think he knows?”

“But-”

“Go back to your playpen, Baby,” she dismisses you, a finality to her tone. Sunghoon just glares at you while Jake shrugs, so you decide there’s nothing you can do than leave, and head back to your bungalow, heart heavy, but determined to help Chaewon out. There has to be something you can do, you just know it.

-

The next day, you pretend to help Heeseung set the tables for the lunch service to have a talk with him. You waste no time starting your interrogation, not even greeting him before diving straight into it.

“I know about Chaewon, Heeseung. You need to help her out,” you say sternly, using a random water pitcher you’d found at the entrance to fill up crystal glasses.

“Well hello to you too, Baby,” he says with a sarcastically sweet tone. His fake smile drops when he sees you won’t play into his game. “I don’t need to do anything,” he scoffs. “Not like it’s any of your business anyway.”

“Haven’t you seen her? You can’t leave her alone in a time like this, she needs your help. Even if it’s mostly financial help. It’s the least you can do.”

“Girls like her, they get into trouble all the time, okay? Hey, watch what you’re doing!” he whisper-yells when water spills over one of the glasses, not wanting to rouse the suspicion of any of the diners around.

“Yeah, because of guys like you,” you bite back, but he ignores you.

“She was bound to get knocked up at some point, going around like that.” You follow as he moves on the next table. 

“So you’re not going to do anything? Just put her in a bad situation and then run away?”

He finally turns to face you, looking at you like he’s exasperated, like you’re the bad guy here. “That girl’s not my problem, okay? She brought this upon herself.”

You take a step closer to him, a fakely sweet smile plastered on your lips. “You’re a jerk, Heeseung. You stay away from me, stay away from my sister, or I’ll have you fired.” You then raise the jug of water up to his chest, and keep that same smile as you pour it on him before marching away, ignoring the gasps that echo all around the room and Heeseung as he yells at you to come back.

-

Your mom is struggling to get the ball in when you find your parents on one of the many golf courses. Your dad smiles as he sees you nearing them, asking you if everything’s alright.

“Daddy.”

“Baby?” he answers, looking amused by your seriousness.

“You know how you say I should always do my best to help out others when they need it?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’ve got friends who need some help.”

“What kind of help?” he asks, slightly frowning as he realizes you’re not being serious for no reason.

You take a big breath in. “Money.” You don’t like asking your dad for money, but it’s the only solution you’ve come up with.

“And just how much money?”

“Three hundred dollars?” you say, your sentence coming out like a question as you slightly wince in apprehension.

Your father sighs. “That’s a serious amount of money, Baby. This isn’t anything illegal, is it?” he adds after a beat, taking you aback. Is this illegal? If it is, your father doesn’t need to know it.

“No, no, of course not, Daddy,” you say, trying your best at a reassuring smile. It seems to work, because his expression softens and he smiles back.

“Of course not,” he repeats, “I should know that.” He takes you in his arms. “I’ll have the money ready for you tonight.” You hug him back, thanking him before skipping away to whatever activity you might find to distract yourself before the evening.

-

After dinner, when your dad’s given you an envelope filled with cash, you throw a quick excuse your parents’ way before rushing to the staff quarters, making sure no one sees you on your way there. The music emanating from the common room makes you hopeful you’ll find the people you’re looking for.

And indeed, you do - Sunghoon and Chaewon are holding each other close, her head resting on his chest, and swaying together to the slow and sensual rhythm of the music at the back of the room when you find them. You feel a ping of something uncomfortable in your heart but ignore it and head straight towards them. Chaewon turns around when you tap on her shoulder, her and Sunghoon both looking at you with unmasked animosity, but you just smile as you hand her the envelope. Jake notices you and walks over to stand next to his cousin.

“Here you go. I hope it’s enough,” you say, relieved to see her surprised but ecstatic expression when she opens the envelope and sees all the bills in there. Jake wears a similar expression but Sunghoon just leers down at you.

“Oh my God, Baby, this is amazing,” Chaewon exclaims in disbelief. “How did you get Heeseung to change his mind?”

You purse your lips. “It wasn’t Heeseung…”

She frowns slightly but her eyes widen at the realization that if it isn’t from Heeseung, it has to be from you. “Oh, Baby, thank you so much,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, takes a real saint to ask daddy,” Sunghoon says sarcastically. Chaewon’s head snaps towards you and she starts to shake her head, forcing the envelope back into your hands.

“I can’t accept it, then.”

“Why not?” you, Sunghoon and Jake blurt at the same time.

“Who cares where it comes from? You need the money,” Sunghoon says, trying to persuade her, but she just continues to shake her head.

“It doesn’t feel right. And I can’t go to the appointment anyway,” she chuckles defeatedly, and Sunghoon looks at Jake in confusion.

“I can only get her an appointment next Thursday, when you guys have your act at the Sheldrake,” he explains guiltily, as if it’s his fault.

“For fuck’s sake,” Sunghoon breathes out, looking up to the ceiling in despair, hands on his hips.

“Can’t you miss just that one night?” you ask innocently, but apparently it is the stupidest question on earth, judging from the harsh glare Sunghoon fixes you with.

“No, we can’t miss just that one night. This is our job, and if we cancel the Sheldrake, not only do we lose this summer’s salary, but also next summer’s gig. Our livelihoods depend on this,” he hisses.

“So… can’t someone fill in?” you ask again, and wince when he raises his tone.

“No, Little Miss Fix-It, someone can’t fill in. Everybody works here, unlike you. Unless you wanna do it,” he adds after a pause, chuckling sarcastically, “take some time off of Simon Says?”

You can only glare back at him, even though you couldn’t look as condescending as him if you tried. You’re just trying to help them out and find solutions, no need to be so rude about it. Jake looks back and forth between the two of you, a look on his face like he’s thinking things over.

“You know, maybe she could do it. You weren’t so bad last time, were you, Baby?” he says, eyebrows raised at you as he waits for your answer, a hopeful look on his face that makes you feel bad for letting him down.

You shake your head fervently - learning a complicated choreography and performing it in front of an audience is unthinkable to you. “No, no, I can’t even do the merengue.”

“C’mon!” he insists.

“You heard her, Jake, she can’t even do the merengue,” he repeats, adding venom to the words.

Chaewon doesn’t seem to think this is such a bad idea either. “But Sunghoon, you could teach anyone to dance, you’re an amazing leader,” she says eagerly, but Sunghoon just rolls his eyes and sighs.

“The act is in a week, even if I was the best teacher in the world, she couldn’t learn the whole routine in that time. It’s a lost cause,” he sneers, his gaze fixated harshly on you. You’re not sure whether the lost cause refers to the situation or to you.

You squint your eyes at him, trying to match his gaze. It’s one thing that you think it’s a bad idea, but it’s a whole other thing now that he’s so against it. Jake’s right - you weren’t that bad last week, you’re sure you could be an okay replacement. Sunghoon raises an eyebrow at you as if in challenge.

Challenge accepted, you think.

-

“Now it’s one, two, three, four,” Sunghoon says, synchronizing each number to the beat of the music. “You don’t dance ‘til the two.” This is probably the fifth time he tells you this in the past half-hour, and although you know what you’re meant to do, your body will simply not listen to your head.

You’re in the dance studio, trying as hard as you can to get your body to shape itself into what Sunghoon wants it to be. Arms up at shoulder-level, core engaged, back straight, head proud. He may repeat those directions over and over again, you aren’t used to holding yourself like that, and it’s a lot harder than it seems, even though he makes it look so natural.

He moves the tonearm of the record player so that the music starts from the beginning again and walks towards you, his stern gaze never leaving your eyes as if to say, “you better not mess it up this time.” It makes the room feel a lot hotter than it actually is, and the strong summer heat coming in from the open windows doesn’t help.

You can’t help but wonder if Sunghoon is this impatient with all of his students - surely he’d be out of a job if he actually behaved like this with the fancy ladies of the resort, so he must have some kind of problem with you. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that he isn’t the fondest of you, anyway. The fact that you’re only doing this to help him out and not for your own pleasure seems lost on him, but you’d rather not aggravate the situation by pointing that out.

His hands firmly holding yours, his gaze still fixed on your face, you hear your cue approaching and tell yourself “on the two, on the two, on the two,” but it’s no use, your foot starts to move a beat too early. But this time, Sunghoon anticipates your movement and says, softer than you expect ‘no,’ and you put your foot back down instead of stepping on his like countless times before. Then he instructs ‘now’, and you finally get it right, getting into the flow of the music properly. You repeat this process a few more times, and only take a break when he’s sure you won’t make mistakes anymore.

You’re halfway through a one-liter bottle of water when you hear him say, “Finally got the basic footwork down, only took an hour.” You scoff at the snarky remark and are about to come back at him with something just as petty, but you notice the shadow of a smile on his lips, more playful than patronizing, so you bite it back and try to suppress a smile of your own. With Sunghoon, you’ll take what you can get.

He doesn’t give you more than another minute of break, ignoring your complaints and urging you back towards him in the center of the room. “Let’s move on to the second part.”

You only have a week to get ready, so you practice like crazy, Sunghoon trying to reduce his working hours as much as possible and you slipping away from your parents and sister whenever you can. You go over the steps on your own, taking any opportunity to do so, whether that’s when you find yourself alone in your family’s rental or as you walk back across the bridge and lawn to the main grounds, letting your body move to the music in your head.

When she can make it, Chaewon also comes to practice with you. Her presence is always helpful - she sometimes stands behind you, holding you by the hips and correcting your posture, sometimes replaces either you or Sunghoon so you can watch her and mirror her moves from different perspectives. 

Although she was originally wary and dismissive of you, when she saw how intent you were on helping her, a complete stranger, out, her view of you completely changed. You can tell how thankful she is by the constant kindness she shows you, encouraging you to compensate for Sunghoon’s lack of praise.

Indeed, all three of you are surprised and happy to see how quickly you’re progressing, but Sunghoon has a knack for keeping his emotions behind a veil and his praises to a minimum. Sure, that means his compliments, his small ‘you did well today’ or ‘good job’ make you blush a little redder, but you wouldn’t complain if they were more frequent, either.

What he can’t hide from you, however, is that he is clearly starting to become more tolerant of your presence. You’d like to say you knew all along that he would soften up eventually, but truth is, you were scared he was going to stay this cold for the length of your time together, so it comes as even more of a relief when he stops reprimanding you so harshly for small mistakes or when he smiles along with you as you celebrate getting through a big chunk of the routine flawlessly for the first time. When one day, he actually laughs with you instead of berating you, you almost explode in on yourself out of joy. You convince yourself that those butterflies you feel erupting in your stomach is because it’s so surprising to see someone usually so guarded letting himself go a bit more, that it isn’t just the simple sound of his laughter making you feel lightheaded.

On the fourth day of practice, you manage to find enough time to practice for almost three hours in a row. Towards the end of the session, after feeling like you were about to pass out due to extortion, you have a strange surge of energy. Sunghoon, on the other hand, has almost exhausted his very impressive stamina, but still wants to go through what you’ve learned up until now.

The music starts, and you don’t know if it was this surge of energy, or if it was Sunghoon’s tired expression that made you want to tease him, but you decide it’d be funny to repeat back to him the directions he always gives you - you know them by heart at this point. 

“Hey! Head up,” you joke as you face each other again after a spin. “Lock your frame. Wiggly arms!” You’re happy to see he laughs along with you, shaking his head in amused disbelief at you.

The laughter immediately halts, however, when at the end of the routine, because of your lack of concentration, your foot slips and you find yourself much closer to him than necessary for the ending pose. Your breath hitches in your throat, and your cheeks immediately burn up. After a long moment, Sunghoon looks away, clearing his throat, and you take a big step back from him as if being any nearer might make you spontaneously combust.

“That was, um, that was good today. Good job,” he says quickly, then rushes to grab his stuff and leave the room. Forget the proximity the two of you were just in - was that a flustered Sunghoon you got to see? And was it because of you? It’s almost unfathomable that you could render him shy like that, but a small smirk plays on your lips at the idea of it.

Over the week, you start reaching for the thin tank tops and shorts you own, and steal some of Seeun’s lipgloss and mascara. If Sunghoon notices it, he doesn’t say anything. But perhaps, you’re the one who hasn’t noticed the way he glances at you in the mirror when you take a break or practice on your own, how he can’t help raking his eyes over your body when you aren’t looking, unable to reign his curiosity in. That you might want to get some kind of a reaction out of him doesn’t even cross his mind - because no matter how attractive he may be, he can’t imagine that a serious, educated girl like you with big plans for the future might be interested in a guy like him.

So even if his iciness thaws a bit, he doesn’t let it show that having you around messes with his head, and stays a stern instructor who wants you to get the routine down to a T. “We can’t afford to make any mistakes,” he always says. But there’s something about the way he delivers his instructions sometimes that makes it impossible for you to concentrate on the dance. He’s always either dancing with you, your bodies just a foot apart, or sitting on the floor close to you and watching you, so he doesn’t need to speak so loud for you to hear him. It’s this quietness mixed with the strictness of his tone that makes your insides completely melt. Soft yet rigid, intimate yet steely. 

“Don’t put your heel down, stay on your toes.” 

“Keep your eyes focused on me, especially when you’re spinning.” 

“Always keep your core and your head straight.” 

Words that have no double-meaning whatsoever, yet it doesn’t take long for you to start wondering if he keeps this tone everywhere. Whenever those thoughts cross your mind, you’re practically unable to look him in the eye and speak without stammering. He makes you dizzier than the spins you practice.

It’s on the fifth day that you realize how deep your infatuation with Sunghoon truly is. The routine isn’t exceptionally long, so after five days of practicing, you have all the steps down, except for the lifts which he keeps putting off for later. He watches you do it on your own, and although he admits you know it in and out, he said there’s still something missing. The pang of disappointment you feel at his words soon turns into anticipation as he comes to stand in front of you, closer than usual, and brings your hand to his chest, keeping both of his own over yours.

“Feel this?” he says, voice almost a whisper. By now, you’ve gotten used to the intensity with which he always stares at you, but this time seems different; there’s something more vulnerable, more intimate about his gaze, something you don’t quite understand. You just stare right back at him, unable to look away.

You aren’t sure what he means so you lightly shake your head no. “Here,” he insists, pressing your hand more firmly to his chest, and it clicks. He wants you to feel his heartbeat. Your eyebrows jump slightly, and his lips form a small smile at your realization. “Close your eyes.” he says softly, and you do as told. 

“The steps aren’t enough, Baby. You have to feel the music. It’s within you, it’s within me, it’s within all of us. You just gotta find it.” This was something you’d heard a lot of times before, said by singers on the radio, by some of your friends in the high school choir - that they felt the music. But you’d never quite understood what they meant until now, until Sunghoon showed you. With two fingers, he starts tapping against the back of your hand to the rhythmic beat of his heart. 

“Du-dum, du-dum. Feel it now?” he asks, and you nod, too transfixed to produce actual words. His smile widens, and your heart swells because of his expression, more affectionate than you’ve ever seen it. 

“Now dance.”

Your body moves as if of its own accord, the moves now ingrained in your muscles and coming as a reflex to you. Together, you go through the whole routine with no music. You hadn’t needed to check yourself in the mirror to know you did perfectly - the smile on Sunghoon’s face tells you enough.

When the evening rolls around, there’s a lightness to your demeanor that both confuses and delights your parents, but even if they asked you to explain what happened, you don’t think you’d be able to find the words to do so.

-

Sure, Sunghoon doesn’t look at you like he hates you with every fiber of his being anymore, and he even dares crack a smile or laugh once in a while, but it’s not like you’re the best of friends either. There are still moments when he gets frustrated with you - one of those being the time you practice the opening of the routine. He hadn’t yet taught you that part, but as soon as he showed it to you, you understood why.

You stand back to him, heads turned towards each other. Your heights match perfectly so that, when standing so close together, his lips are right in your eyeline. His beautiful, plump, kissable lips that you find yourself thinking about too many times.

Your left arm stays by your side but your right arm is raised so that he can trail his fingertips all the way from your hand down to your waist - a sensual move that, despite setting the tone for the routine, you are not at all ready to perform. Not because it requires any kind of complex technique or years of practice, far from that, but because you don’t yet have the professionalism that Sunghoon, Chaewon and other performers like them have. Nevermind his fingers brushing past your armpit, which is obviously a ticklish place, you can’t handle the seriousness that comes with such intimacy, nor can you resist the urge to laugh every time. This, of course, does not please Sunghoon.

The first couple times it happens, he just rolls his eyes and sighs, thinking you just need to get your head in the dance and then you’d be fine. So he gets back into position, again, again, and again, and even though your full-blown laughters turn into quieter snorts or chuckles, you still can’t find it in you to keep a straight face. 

After the sixth time, his patience runs out. You can tell he wants to blow up at you by the redness of his face and the iciness of his stare, but when he speaks, he doesn’t raise his voice - his tone is so harsh that there’s no need for it. 

“You pull yourself together, or we’re done here.”

Whether he means you’re done for the day, or completely done with the practice, meaning all your efforts this week go to waste and you don’t perform on Saturday, you aren’t sure, but you don’t think this is the right time to question him. You get back into position, and finally, on the seventh try, you don’t laugh. After so many times, his touch doesn’t tickle so much - rather, it burns. Now, instead of resisting laughter, you have to keep yourself from completely melting under his touch.

But then, you realize that this is what you’ve been daydreaming about this whole time - to have him close, to have him touch you. Even though this was still part of the routine, the point of this move was to show the chemistry between the two dancers, the attraction they needed to, or at least pretend to, have for each other to take the performance from good to mesmerizing. Good thing you didn’t need to pretend.

Of course, Sunghoon has touched your waist and shoulders thousands of times by now, but after so many days together, you start to crave a different kind of touch, and in different places. You never let yourself relish too much in the warmth of his palms for fear of getting too used to it, and, worse than anything, missing it when he’s gone - as if that wasn’t already the case. But with this opening move, you can finally let yourself melt under his touch and play it off as being really into the dance. If anything, he’d probably be glad you’re letting your reserves go.

And so you do. Eyes closed, head tilted towards him and slightly back, revealing more of your neck, you feel his fingertips brush along your side until they reach your hand, and you start dancing. For the two minutes of the routine, you aren’t even thinking of the steps anymore, only looking into his eyes and letting your muscle memory do the work for you.

At the end, you stay in the final pose for a few seconds longer than usual, looking into each other’s eyes. Sunghoon isn’t the most expressive person ever, so you’d quickly learned how to decipher the slightest changes in his face. In this moment, he looks at you like he sees you for the first time, really sees you, with something like pride in his eyes. You smile at each other, and his next words make your heart skip a beat in surprise at first, then swell in satisfaction.

“I think that was the best you’ve danced so far. If you do it like this on Saturday night, it’ll be perfect.”

-

However, there’s one last thing you needed to learn: lifts. Sunghoon has been putting them off almost the whole week, saying you’d get to them later, that you needed to get the other steps down before. There are two in the routine, and whenever one comes up, Sunghoon says “that’s for later,” and keeps going with the dance. Except later never comes, and soon enough, you only have a day left to learn and perfect those lifts. The stress of not mastering them on time starts to get to your head, and your stress must be contagious, because Sunghoon explodes for the first (and only) time on Friday afternoon when you make a mistake in the basic steps.

“Are you kidding me?” he suddenly yells, taking a wide step back away from you and looking at you with uncharacteristic anger. Sure, he wasn’t always the most pleasant with you, and you were no stranger to Sunghoon’s expressions of or dislike, but you hadn’t seen anger on him until now. No matter how beautiful he is, you have to admit this isn’t his best look.

“What?” you respond, voice at the same level as his, not understanding his sudden burst of impatience.

“What?! This is a basic step you shouldn’t even be thinking about anymore, let alone not get right. The performance is tomorrow, you can’t be making stupid mistakes now!” He sighs in frustration and tears his gaze away from you for a moment, then looks back, his eyes hard. “Is this your idea of fun?”

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest. “My idea of fun? You really think I’m doing this for fun?” He doesn’t say anything, just keeps on staring at you. “I’ve been breaking my back and sneaking around for almost a whole week just to save your ass, I don’t get anything out of it, and you have the nerve to ask me if I’m doing this for fun?” You can see he wants to say something, but you don’t let him. “Oh, and I’m glad you seem to remember the performance is tomorrow, because I’ll have you know you still haven’t taught me those damn lifts! How can you get mad at me for a small mistake when you won’t even teach me the whole routine?!”

You’re out of breath after screaming so loud and so quickly, but still Sunghoon doesn’t move for a few seconds, until suddenly, he pivots and walks towards the door. At the threshold, he turns to you and tells you to follow him, as if that should have been obvious. He doesn’t give you any time for questions so you run after him. Outside, a heavy summer rain is coming down, and your clothes are soaked through after just ten seconds. You walk a few steps behind him as he heads to his car, muttering a curse under his breath when he realizes he’s forgotten his keys inside the locked vehicle. You let out a small shriek when he breaks one of the backseat windows to open the door from inside, reaching for his keys still resting in the ignition. You just stand there, watching him in confusion, until he calls to you from the driver’s seat. “C’mon! There’s a place I need to show you.”

You know it’s a bad idea - you’ve already been gone for over an hour, and if you leave with him for God knows how much longer, your parents would start to wonder where you are. But there’s something about his face, his anger that had completely disappeared and let way for what seemed like excitement, the rain pouring down and the loud sound of his car’s motor; it all creates a rush of adrenaline in you, and you want to know what he has in store. So you get in the car, and as soon as you’re buckled in, Sunghoon backs out of the parking lot and starts driving, the destination completely unknown to you, but you trust him enough to not be bothered by that.

The two of you drive for around ten minutes in comfortable silence, sometimes catching the other’s eye in the rearview mirror and bursting into giggles. You don’t know why, but when you open your window and let your arm out, letting out a big whoop, he laughs like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.

In the week you spend together with Sunghoon, these are the moments you love the most. When he’s seemingly let go of his barriers and lets you see a side of him that you don’t think many people get access to, a side to which laughter comes easy. Although it gives you whiplash when he so suddenly goes back to his serious and stonelike nature, you’d rather get glimpses of his carefree self than forever be stuck with the face he usually puts on with you. You aren’t sure if he is always one or the other with other people, or if he keeps his tendency to almost switch personalities with everyone, but you’re just glad it doesn’t feel like he’d always prefer to be somewhere else than with you anymore - and that it almost feels like he enjoys, or at the very least tolerates spending time in your company now.

He parks in what seems to be the middle of nowhere, on a small patch of gravel between the road and a forest, right before a bridge that crosses over a current. He gets out and starts towards what looks like a forest, telling you good-humoredly to hurry up and follow him. The rain has calmed down to a drizzle, gentle as it falls on your shoulders and a refreshing break from the sweltering heat of the past few days. Faster than you expected, you’ve reached your destination, which is a point where the current is calm and a wide trunk tree crosses it. You have no idea how Sunghoon ever found this place, but you’ve never seen him wear such an ecstatic expression, so you don’t even question it.

He takes his shoes off and gets on the tree trunk, spreading his arms wide to keep himself from falling. You sit down, one leg on each side of the trunk, and watch amusedly as he titters and regains his balance, sending sheepish smiles your way when he gets close to plummeting into the water. 

“Where’d you learn to dance?” you ask suddenly, the question forming in your head and leaving your lips simultaneously.

He considers you for a second, then plops himself down on the trunk, letting his legs sway over the emptiness. He looks out to the current when he speaks, as if talking to the air around him rather than directly to you. “I lived and went to school in a low-income neighborhood, so there were always these people coming and going, trying to get kids like us to start working and get out of the neighborhood, or make it better or something. One day these people came in, saying they were giving out lessons to become a dance instructor, and it was the only one that ever caught my interest. I did it, aced the test, and they gave me a spot here that I managed to keep every summer. Haven’t wanted to do anything else since.” He looks back at you and you catch a glimpse of cautiousness, perhaps a fear of finding judgment in your eyes, but his expression turns friendly again when he finds only curiosity and sympathy there.

“What about the rest of the year? Do you also have a teaching job back home?” you ask, daring to go further in your interrogation of Sunghoon’s personal life. Just a few days ago, you’d never have dreamed of asking him something like this, but there’s something about him today that makes you think it’s okay to get closer, if you tread lightly.

He snickers humorlessly and looks down at his hands, palms resting on the trunk in front of him. “I’m lucky I get to escape that place just three months a year when I’m working here. Otherwise, I’m stuck with the old man and his carpenting business I’m fated to inherit when he retires.” Before you can say anything in response, he jumps back up on his feet and holds a hand out to you, making a motion for you to come to him. You’re slightly taken aback at the sudden switch in his demeanor, but you know better than to force anything with Sunghoon. “We didn’t come here to chit-chat, did we? Come over here.”

Devilish - there’s no other word to describe his expression at that moment.

“Nuh-uh, I’m not getting on there, I’m gonna fall and break an ankle,” you immediately protest, but he doesn’t need to say anything, just approaches you with a mischievous smile and reaches his hands out to you - and you take them, letting him bring you to your feet.

You climb up tentatively, glad to see the trunk isn’t slippery even after the rain, and hold on tight to Sunghoon’s hands until you’ve managed to find your own balance. “Okay, what now?” you say breathily, half-paralyzed in terror and half-pumped with adrenaline.

“Let’s dance,” he says, a playful smile teasing his lips.

“What, here?” you reply, looking at him like he suggested you rob a bank.

“Yes, here.” He grabs your hand tighter and brings you closer to him, securing an arm around your waist before you can stumble off of the trunk. It’s definitely your near-death experience and not his proximity that makes your heart beat faster, definitely.

He quietly hums the song, but you’ve heard it so many times at this point that you could do the dance with no music at all. More than dancing the same steps, there’s something electrifying about knowing that the same song is playing in your and Sunghoon’s heads right now. You wonder if he feels it playing in his heart too.

What you’re doing isn’t quite dancing - you’re just taking small, careful, clumsy steps together, giggling as you try to stay atop the trunk and letting out a yelp when he attempts to spin you but it only results in you two almost falling off. He holds you close as if making sure that if one of you goes down, the other goes down with them. Your face is right in front of his chest, and when you risk a look up at him, he’s already gazing down at you, his playfulness making the light in his eyes shine even brighter. 

Your breath hitches in your throat when his eyes drift down to your lips, moving as you talk, but you still manage to get the words out, whispering them in the small space between the two of you. “You’re supposed to teach me lifts, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah. Let’s go,” he whispers back, but makes no move to leave the trunk or distance himself from you.

“Okay,” you breathe. You repeat the word and take a step back, somehow gathering the will to tear yourself away from him, from his eyes fixated on your parted lips. “Let’s go.”

He leads you back through the woods to a wide clearing. After the downpour of the early afternoon, the sun is starting to shine again, rays of light making their way through the grayish clouds and high pines, and bathing your surroundings in a comforting glow. Sunghoon stands facing the sun, and the sunlight hits his face so perfectly, you have to keep yourself from snorting at how ridiculously handsome he is.

The only instructions he gives you are as follows: “You’ve seen lifts before. You know you just run to me to gather momentum, then when you’re close enough, bend your knees and keep your core and whole body tight as I lift you. But the most important thing is that you trust me, alright? If you don’t, we could both get hurt.”

The first few times, you just practice the running and the picking up, not wanting to venture into the actual overhead lift right away. It’s easy enough - just find the right distance, the right speed, and remember not to let your body go limp in Sunghoon’s hands.

But when you’ve gotten the hang of it, and Sunghoon tells you to try the complete lift, you freeze. You just stop right in front of him, looking at him with wide eyes. “This is too scary, I can’t do it.”

To your surprise, instead of letting out an annoyed sigh or rolling his eyes, Sunghoon smiles. His eyes go soft and the corners of his lips tug up.

“What’s scary?”

“Falling. Getting hurt, hurting you,” you say, looking into his eyes with the hope that he’ll make all your anxieties go away.

“Don’t think about those things. Don’t think about anything, just trust me. Let yourself be picked up first, and then we’ll worry about your form and how to keep it, okay?”

“O-okay.” You walk a few steps back to regain some distance, and he nods reassuringly as you take a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. You run to him, and as if his words had gone straight from his mouth to your limbs, you let him lift you - and the world looks so different from this high up.

You marvel at the feeling of floating in the air, but you quickly start to feel yourself slipping forward, and Sunghoon is yelling “Hold it, hold it!” and before you know it, you’ve dipped forward and fallen right on top of him. Thankfully, it was a slow fall, and he had time to soften the blow, so that the immediate reaction from the both of you is to burst into laughter.

You roll over so that you’re laying on your back next to him and rest your palms on your stomach, feeling it shake with laughter. Once you’ve calmed down, you turn your head towards him and he imitates you a second later. You probably look like idiots, out-of-breath and smiling widely at each other in this field, but there isn’t a thing you would change about this moment.

“Do you know what the best place to practice lifts is?” he asks, and you watch how his dimples disappear and reappear as he talks. You shake your head. His dimples deepen. “The water.”

You change locations again, heading back towards the current and finding the lake it stems from. You and Sunghoon turn your backs to each other as he takes his t-shirt off and you, your denim shorts, not wanting them to weigh you down in the water. When you turn back around, you have to force yourself to detach your eyes from his perfectly defined abs and shoulders thanks to years of dancing and physical exertion almost every day. You stare out at the lake like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen so much water, otherwise you’d be gawking at him like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a man. Your cheeks burn up when you feel his eyes on your legs, taking your half-naked figure in, and he chuckles as you rush to hide yourself in the water.

Once in the water, you practice the actual lift, which consists of Sunghoon hoisting you high above his head and you keeping a straight posture, with your arms perpendicular to your body and your chest slightly lifted as if you were truly soaring through the air. It already looks difficult, and yet it’s even harder than it looks. It does help being in the water because at least you’re not scared for your life when you lose your balance and dive forward, but you let out a yelp nonetheless each time it happens. Sunghoon keeps on telling you to hold your posture, but each attempt ends in you falling into the water and bringing him down with you.

You drift apart and swim back towards each other every time, your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands coming to your hips to get back into position for the lift. You’re having a lot of fun, too much fun, probably, when the performance is just a day away - but getting to see Sunghoon’s smile and hear his laugh as you play around and try your best at the lift makes it worth it. When the strap of your tank top slips over your shoulder, you notice out of the corner of your eye Sunghoon’s hand reaching for it just as you put it back yourself. He plays it off by raking a hand through his wet hair, getting it out of his eyes, and smiles shyly at you when your gazes lock. You have no idea what’s going to happen after the performance, if you’ll stay friends or if he’ll pretend like this never even happened - all you know is that you’d be happy doing this all summer.

“One last time?”

-

And just like that, it’s late Saturday afternoon and the performance is just an hour away. You barely eat or speak during dinner, partly out of nervousness, but mostly because you want your lie of having a headache and needing to rest in your room more believable. Chaewon had said she’d help you put your dress on and get ready before the show, so when you’ve escaped the dinner table, you rush to her cabin.

But just as you exit the building, an old woman you recognize as Mrs Jung walks in. She must be surprised at your sudden appearance because she slightly bumps into the door and drops her bag. An unusual amount of wallets fall from it, but you don’t think too much of it - you’ve seen rich people do weirder things. 

You bend down to help her gather her things, and she chuckles lightly, thanking you. “Such a sweet girl, isn’t she, Harold?” she says to her husband who had appeared behind the door as well. You wish them a nice evening and part ways, gushing to yourself over how cute old couples are as you head to the Chaewon’s cabin.

She does your hair, pulling it into a tight bun and securing every stray strand with a bobby pin. You have no experience with makeup since it’s always been off-limits in your house, so she expertly applies eyeshadow, mascara and lipstick to your face. The sticky feel of it is unfamiliar but once you look in the mirror, you almost can’t look away. It’s still you, of course it is, but the bright colors make you look glamorous, like performing in front of a large crowd is just routine for you. You thank Chaewon, a huge smile on her face, and watch her own light up in relief that you like the makeup.

As she zips your dress up, a flowy baby pink dress she got out of her closet just for you, you repeat back all the instructions Sunghoon has given you over the week to make sure you remember everything. “I just gotta keep my head up, keep my core and my arms straight, follow the mu-”

“Thank you, Baby,” Chaewon quietly interrupts, and the slight tremble in her voice and the vulnerability with which she looks at you lets you know she really means it. You stop your declamation immediately and smile at her, kindness in your eyes.

She looks down and tries to find her words. “You know, I- I just want you to know that I, I don’t sleep around, and Heeseung, I really thought he loved me, and-”

You can see the tears already forming in her eyes so you bring her into a tight hug, resting your cheek against the side of her head. “I know, Chaewon, don’t worry. And even if you did sleep around, it wouldn’t matter, Heeseung should take responsibility no matter what. We’re all here to help you. Don’t worry.” You lean back to hold her face in your hands and try to give as reassuring a smile as you can.

“I’m scared, Baby,” she whispers, trying to calm her sobs to get the words out.

“Everything’s gonna be fine, Chaewon,” you say, and you hope she believes it as much as you do. “Everything’s gonna be just fine. You’ve got Sunghoon, and Jake, and you’ve got me too.” 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in. When she opens them again, she grabs your hands and shakes them between the two of you, mirroring your smile. “Okay, okay,” she murmurs. “Sorry, this isn’t the best time for me to break down. You feeling ready?” she asks, and even if it’s just for now, you’re glad she’s feeling better and got to let her emotions out.

“Not at all, I’m so nervous. I don’t want to mess something up and let you or Sunghoon down,” you admit, your smile wavering for a second.

“Whatever happens, you won’t let us down,” she says, squeezing your hands. “It’s amazing, what you’re doing.” 

You can’t help but look away at her words. “It’s the least I can do,” you mumble.

“No, Baby, you’re doing more than most people would. And Sunghoon, he might have his own way of showing it, but he’s extremely grateful for you,” she says, and it puts a smile on your face.

“By his own way of showing it, do you mean not showing it at all?” you joke.

“That’s Sunghoon for you.” You giggle quietly together, but her eyes drift to the clock on the wall behind you and she lets out a sigh. “It’s time, Baby. And don’t worry, I know you’ll do amazing,” she says, bringing you into a brief hug.

You’re so nervous, everything that follows is a blur - leaving Chaewon’s cabin and sneaking over to Sunghoon’s car, the drive to the Sheldrake Hotel, the staff there leading you backstage, and finding your spot on the stage. You only snap out of it when the curtains lift and a voice booms from the speakers in the room, announcing “Sunghoon Park and partner dancing the mambo” as the audience breaks into polite claps.

The music starts, and Sunghoon can immediately feel the tension in your body. He trails his fingers all the way down your arm to your waist, just like you’d practiced a ton of times before, and he uses the proximity between the two of you to whisper “Relax” into your ear. “Just follow my lead, you’ve got this,” he says, loud enough for only you to hear, and extends his arm to send you spinning. 

You manage the first few steps, trying to let go of your anxiety, but it’s got a tight grip on your body and makes your stomach twist. You think it’s all over when you mess up a turn, going right instead of left, but Sunghoon’s quick to whisper “over here” and you find your way again. “Look at me,” Sunghoon says once you’re facing each other again, and you lock eyes with him. And for some reason, that works - focusing only on him makes you feel like it’s just the two of you in the room, just like so many times this past week, and it dissipates all your nerves, makes your muscle memory kick in. You finally let him lead you and follow the music, thinking of nothing but Sunghoon and dancing together.

And yet, when it’s time for the lift, you freeze again. You find your position and run to Sunghoon, just like you know you’re supposed to, but you can’t let him lift you, your limbs turning into lead in his hold. Thinking quickly, you come up with another step on the spot, hoping it isn’t too obvious to the audience you just messed up. Sunghoon takes the lead again, and the rest of the performance goes smoothly, the other moves and the smaller, easier lift realized perfectly by the both of you.

You finish off the number, and the sound of the applause directed at the two of you fills you with a pride you’d never felt before, a feeling much more satisfying than any good grade or won argument ever had. Another sort of daze fills your mind now, and it makes you feel like there’s a small cloud under your feet so that you’re floating instead of walking everywhere. It almost makes you miss the Jungs, but when you see the old couple slowly walking out of the room, you’re scared you might be done for.

You rush back to the parking lot with Sunghoon, whooping in excitement as soon as you're out of anyone’s earshot. In the backseat, you change out of your dress and back into your regular clothes.

“God, that was- that was amazing, I can’t believe you get to live this every week during the summer, it was just- my God…” you say, struggling to get your right hand through the sleeve of your blouse.

“Yeah? Did you have fun?” Sunghoon answers, a smile on his face that turns into a gulp when he sees your half-naked body in the rearview mirror. He can’t help but risk a few more glances, hoping you don’t notice.

“I did, I really did, but I- I messed up that one turn, and I didn’t do the lift-”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sunghoon says firmly. “You did real good, Baby.” And after a beat, he adds: “Thank you. You did real good.” Your eyes lock in the mirror but you look away before he can catch sight of your reddening cheeks.

“And oh my God, there was that couple, the, the-”

“The Jungs, right? Yeah, I saw them too,” Sunghoon chuckles. “I got so scared.”

“Right? Me too! They won’t say anything, will they, do you think?”

“Probably not. I don’t think they even recognized either of us.”

You button your jeans and climb your way over to the passenger seat next to Sunghoon, grateful for the lack of headrests in his car. It suddenly grows quiet between the two of you. You want to ask whether you’ll keep meeting now that you’ve done your part, but you’re afraid Sunghoon might want to have nothing to do with you from now on even if it doesn’t seem like he dislikes you anymore. So you stay silent, watching out of the window, sometimes turning your head towards Sunghoon and catching his eye, then smiling at each other shyly.

Something in you is screaming at you to reach out to him, brush a hand over his hair, interlace your fingers with his - any kind of touch. You thought the ball of nerves in your stomach would disappear after the show, but it’s still there, and it’s taken hold of your entire body now, the anticipation of whatever is to come almost unbearable. You notice Sunghoon’s gaze ping-ponging between you and the road, and the tightness with which he holds the steering wheel, and you dare let yourself hope, just a little bit, that he shares those same wild thoughts jumping around your mind.

When you reach the parking lot next to the staff quarters, Sunghoon is quick to get out of the car, while you rub at your eyes and lips, trying to get as much makeup off as you can. Your parents would most likely be in bed by now, but just in case they were still up, you didn’t want them to catch you with bright red lips and blue eyelids. Sunghoon walks around to your side and opens your door for you, even grabbing your hand to help you out of the car. Once you’re out, he takes your other hand in his, facing you as he walks slowly backwards, and with the way he’s gazing down at you, you think those unspoken thoughts might finally come into the light. But before either of you can say anything, you hear quick footsteps rushing towards you, and a familiar voice calling out to Sunghoon.

He swings around to find a panting, alarmed-looking Jake. “Sunghoon, it’s- it’s Chaewon, something went wrong, she’s not feeling well-”

Neither of you need to hear more before you’re running to the cabin, reaching it in record time. There’s way more people than there should be in and outside Chaewon’s room, all watching and doing absolutely nothing except for another girl you recognise as part of the dancing crew holding a wet cloth to her head as Chaewon, her face covered in sweat and her eyes shut tight in pain, moans and mumbles incoherently, slightly delirious from fever. The girl at her bed steps aside when she sees Sunghoon approaching, and he kneels next to Chaewon, holding her hand in both of his and reassuring her as best she can.

“It’s that doctor,” Jake starts, “he was so shady, had a folding table and a dirty knife, and I- I heard screams coming from that room, Hoon, awful screams, and I tried getting in and getting Chaewon out but they wouldn’t let me-”

What’s obvious to you right now is that Chaewon is in desperate need of an actual doctor, and nobody here can provide that for her, so you rush out of the room, and, as fast as your legs can carry you, run to your father and wake him up in a hurry, grabbing his doctor’s bag. You’re glad for your father’s blind trust in you - other than an instinctive “Is Seeun alright?”, which you nod your head at, he doesn’t ask any questions, just sees you need his help. He listens to your unclear and frantic explanations of what’s going on as he follows you to the staff cabin. 

“Alright, out of the way, everyone, give the girl some space,” your father says as he enters Chaewon’s room, the way he carries himself and speaks instantly commanding obedience from the group. People filter out as he takes Sunghoon’s spot next to Chaewon, checking her pulse and temperature. “Who’s responsible for this lady?” he asks without looking away from his patient.

“I am,” Sunghoon says, taking a step towards him. “Is she gonna be okay?” He seems so distressed you want to take him into your arms and tell him it’ll be okay, but you can’t do that - not here, not in front of your dad.

Your father turns his head to take a look at Sunghoon, his expression unreadable, then turns back to Chaewon, leaving Sunghoon’s question unanswered, floating in the air ominously.

He makes you all leave the room, and you wait for what feels like hours until your father finally comes out, his briefcase in hand, and announces that Chaewon just needs some rest and then she’d be okay. He lets Jake thank him and shake his hand agitatedly, but once again just stares Sunghoon down and ignores him when he tries to do the same. He takes you by the shoulder, making you walk away with him without saying goodbye to anyone. He’s silent for a few moments, waiting to have gone down a few steps before he speaks, and when he does, his voice is tense and almost trembles with anger.

“Is this what my money paid for? I’m disappointed in you, Baby. You’re not who I thought you were.” He doesn’t even let you defend yourself, just keeps walking without looking at you. “I don’t want you to hang around those people anymore, do you understand?”

“But dad-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says firmly, and the slight increase of volume catches you off guard. Not once has your dad raised his voice at you, or at least not since you were a child - that’s how you understand how truly upset he is at you. He finally turns around to look at you, his eyebrows furrowed. “And get that stuff off of your face before your mother sees it.”

The rest of the walk back to your bungalow is done in unbearable, utter silence, and you can’t wait to be away from your father and the anger pouring off of him in waves. But that silence doesn’t seem to go away, even when you finally reach your bed, even when your sister starts snoring quietly, completely oblivious to the events of the night. The silence grows so loud in your ears that it creates a fuzz all around your brain, making your head throb and blurring your thoughts, rendering them incomprehensible. The sheer weight of it forces your eyelids closed even though you don’t feel tired at all - there’s too much going on in your mind for you to fall asleep.

There’s the relief of your father having helped Chaewon, and the knowledge that she’ll be okay thanks to him; but there’s also the image of his disappointed expression etched into your brain and the words “You’re not who I thought you were” playing on a hellish loop. There’s the worry he won’t ever see you the way he used to, that you won’t be his little girl anymore, but there’s also the satisfaction of that exact thing, the liberation that comes with your father finally realizing you’re not perfect and make mistakes too.

And then there’s Sunghoon.

There’s Sunghoon, and his concern for Chaewon’s safety, his love for his friend that he’s known for years, the hurt on his face when your dad didn’t shake his hand, and the way he quickly retracted his own thereafter, a defeated expression like he was used to such disrespect. But before that, there’s his dimpled smile and sharp canines you find weirdly endearing, the carefree sound of his laughter after you fall on top of him in the water, his warm hands guiding you from step to step, the quick glimpses he throws your way when he thinks you’re not looking but hopes that you are. Even before that, there were the ice-covered walls he put around himself and his friends that could melt as quickly as they could freeze back up, until finally one day he opened the door for you to come in. There was the elegance in his moves and the feeling like all the air in the room had evaporated when you watched him dance, only for it to fill you back up when he took you by the hand and showed you how to let yourself go for the first time.

The fog in your mind clears at the thought of him, like sunlight forcing its way through gray clouds after a thunderstorm. You need to see him.

You need to check on him, to make sure he’s feeling alright, and laugh with him if he is or cry if he isn’t. You need to hold his head between your palms and graze a hand through his hair and do and say all the things you’ve been wanting to this week.

You climb out of your bed and grab the first cardigan you see, then slip your shoes on and make your way to the front door. You try to be as quiet as possible, but once outside, you hang back just for a few moments in case anyone has heard you leaving, so that if they come to check, you can just say you’re getting some fresh air on the front porch. No one seems to stir so you rush to Sunghoon’s cabin. It’s past midnight and the only light guiding you is that of the stars and the bright moon up above.

When Sunghoon opens his door, he seems at once relieved and surprised to find you there. “Baby,” he simply says, gazing down at you. He looks so tired, you think. The performance at the Sheldrake was just a few hours ago, but it already feels so far away.

“Hey. Can I- can I come in?” you ask, slightly out-of-breath from your walking so fast.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says, turning his body to let you in his cabin. Since your first time here, that night you’d found Chaewon crying in the kitchen, you’d learned more about this place. Thanks to his seniority here, Sunghoon has a separate studio-like cabin further down the path where all the staff bungalows are, and it’s bigger than most of them, even though it’s still just one room that accommodates his bed, a closet, a desk, a sink and some other chairs, shelves and drawers.

A soft song is playing in the background and the main light is off, the small lamps here and there providing enough light for you to see. You hadn’t at all thought to look around when you were here last, so you’re curious to really see what Sunghoon’s living space is like.

You walk further into the room, taking in your surroundings and reveling in all the traces of Sunghoon’s life - discarded clothes here and there, a stack of record players from the early fifties to now, posters of movie stars and famous singers, some photos of him with Jake, Chaewon and other members of the entertainment team. He looks around like he’s seeing the room for the first time too, maybe trying to see it through your eyes and imagining what you could be thinking of it. He picks up clothes from the floor and from an armchair only to throw them in his closet, gesturing for you to sit down, and rubs the back of his neck in what seems like an embarrassed gesture.

“It’s not much… you’re probably used to a lot better…” he says with an apologetic tone.

“No, no, it’s great,” you say quickly, not wanting him to feel embarrassed. You look at him with a smile. “I love it here.”

He mirrors your smile, letting out a shaky breath of relief, then sits down at the edge of his bed, too far away for   your liking. The tense atmosphere from earlier in the car is back, filling the room with the silence of a thousand unspoken words. A beat passes before you speak up. “I’m sorry about the way my father treated you, Sunghoon. It wasn’t nice.”

Sunghoon looks genuinely shocked upon hearing your words and starts to shake his head fervently. “No, no, your father was great, the- the way he took care of Chaewon, I could never do anything like that in my life, he was amazing.”

“Yes, but I’m talking about you, Sunghoon, not Chaewon. He completely ignored you, he should have treated you with more respect.” His eyes find yours, and the look on his face like he wants to believe you but can’t quite bring himself to makes your heart ache.

He chuckles and lets his head hang low, looking down at his hands. “Why should he? I’m- I’m nothing,” he says quietly, so quietly that you think you might have misheard, because never in a hundred years would you have thought that someone like Sunghoon could think so lowly of himself.

Your surprise makes it hard to gather your words and say something coherent, but you try your best. “What- Sunghoon, how could you say that? You’re not nothing, you’re- you’re everything,” you say, the last word coming out breathy.

He looks at you like he’s never heard those words before, never had somebody tell him he was so much more than he thought he was - but maybe that’s because he’d never told anyone how he really felt. A pained expression flashes across his face, and you’re scared you might’ve said the wrong thing but his next words reassure you that that’s not it.

“You don’t understand… One month, I’m living off of scraps and struggling to make ends meet, and the next, rich ladies are stuffing hundred dollar bills in my pockets and giving me the key to their room. Everywhere I am, people just use me to get what they need. My dad basically forces me to work with him and doesn’t give a crap what I really want, the women here use me to escape the boredom of their lives, and Max and his asshole grandson Jay just want me to make as much money as I can so they can get even richer.” His voice gets louder the more he talks, the anger getting to him. He chuckles darkly, but his expression softens when he catches your gaze. “I have to live like this. If I start thinking I deserve more, that I- that I’m everything, like you say, I’ll never be satisfied. I’ll always want more. I can’t handle that.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. It shouldn’t be that way,” you say quietly, shaking your head and looking at him sadly. You don’t know how to make him see that for the joy he brings everyone who gets to see him dance, for the care and safety he gives the people he loves, and the way he’s made you feel like you can finally escape the thoughts in your head, he deserves everything he wants in the world. You don’t know how to make him see his worth and the respect he deserves as much as anyone else.

He smiles at you wistfully, like he can see his own, long-gone, naive hopefulness on your face. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Baby. You look at the world and you think you can make it better.”

It’s your turn to chuckle humorlessly. “Yeah, I run to my daddy, like you said.”

“No,” he says firmly, his tone catching you off guard. “No, that took a lot of guts, doing what you did. I love that about you, you just go ahead and do things. You didn’t even know Chaewon, and yet you learned a whole professional routine in a week just because you wanted to and you could. And now you risked your relationship with your father just to help her out once again. You- you’re not scared of anything!”

“Me? I’m scared of everything!” you cry out, suddenly standing up, the emotions boiling in your stomach making you unable to sit any longer. “I’m scared of the disappointment in my parents’ eyes, of failing school, of being stuck in a life I can’t escape from…” Your gaze travels around the room before it settles on Sunghoon once again, your gazes locking each other in so tightly you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to look away. “But most of all,” you continue, voice shaky and desperate, “I’m scared of leaving this place and never, ever feeling again the way I do when I’m with you.”

His jaw tightens and he has to force himself to look away from you, his eyes focusing on a random object in the corner of the room. With the way he huffs air through his nose and tenses his whole body, he almost looks angry, but you know that’s not it - finally, after a week of torturous hesitation and not-knowing, you understand how Sunghoon feels about you. He feels just like you. All those lingering gazes, those small shocks of electricity whenever you touched, those loud heartbeats at his constant proximity, he felt them too, and it drove him crazy too; you’re sure of it.

Or at least, almost sure of it. And there’s only one way to confirm your suspicions.

Sunghoon thinks you’re not scared of anything, so you’re going to prove it to yourself. You take a step towards him, then another one, and another one, until you’re standing right in front of him. You extend a hand out to him and he doesn’t question it, just takes it and rises, now towering over you as you had over him just a second ago. You’re as close as you usually are when you dance together - or perhaps a bit closer than that.

“Dance with me,” you whisper into the space between your bodies.

“What, here?” he whispers back, finally looking at you. His gaze lingers in your eyes before dropping to your lips, his pupils slowly dilating - there’s your confirmation. 

“Yes, here,” you reply, echoing your conversation on the tree trunk, which somehow was only yesterday.

You wrap your arms around his neck just as his hands come up to hold you by the waist. It’s a position you’ve found yourselves in a hundred times by now, but tonight, it feels so different. The air around you is charged with electricity and all of your moves are purposeful, trying to make the other feel all that you’re feeling with just a touch.

Tight in each other’s arms, you sway to the slow rhythm of the music, your head resting in the crook of his neck while his hands travel from your waist, to your shoulder blades, back down to your hips. Even with two layers of clothing between your bodies, the feeling of having him so close sends shivers down your spine, even though your skin burns everywhere it comes into contact with him. Your breath makes goosebumps appear on the side of his neck, and when his grip on your hips tightens, you take it as a green light to start pressing faint kisses to his skin. He bunches the fabric of your blouse in his hands, slowly pulling it from the confines of your jeans and over your head, making you raise your arms. He makes a ball out of your top and throws it somewhere across his room, his attention fully taken by the sight of your now half-naked body. He immediately discards his own t-shirt, putting his hands back on you as quickly as he can, as if scared you might suddenly disappear.

You go on dancing together, bodies moving in harmony, as if you’re one being rather than two. You let your hands travel over his shoulders and chest and rest them on his stomach as you lean your upper body backwards, trusting him to hold you while you circle your way back to him. When you do, his hands roam down to grab your ass and hike one of your legs around his hips, the friction of your pelvises rubbing together eliciting a heavy, relieved sigh from both of you.

Finally, your lips find each other, and you kiss like you’re each other’s sources of oxygen. Of course, Sunghoon is one of, if not the best, kissers you’ve ever had the honor of sharing a kiss with, because how could he be anything other than perfect? The way he kisses is intense and a little bit messy, and it ignites your whole body, making you crave only more and more until you’ve had everything you want. Your hands and his are restless, endlessly drifting over each other’s bodies, grabbing at shoulders or hips or strands of hair.

He walks backwards to his bed, never once breaking the passionate embrace, until the back of his legs hit the mattress. He sits, spreading his legs wide enough for you to stand between them. His face is right at the level of your chest, and the way he looks up at you as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses there makes your insides burst and the fire in your core burn harder. Keeping eye contact with him is too much to handle, so you close your eyes and let your head back slightly, grazing your hands through the soft locks of his hair and simply enjoying the feeling of his mouth on you. His warm hands roam your lower back before traveling north to the clasp of your bra. He undoes it but doesn’t take it off - instead, he calls your name, and it’s never sounded better than on his lips.

“Baby?”

“Hm?” You look back down at him and find in his eyes a sort of lustful, dreamlike daze that you’re sure must reflect your own perfectly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks breathily, wanting to be certain this is okay for you, but sounding like it’d be the death of him if you said no.

You smile softly and take his head in your hands. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He smiles too, exposing his sharp canines and pretty dimples, and sighs of relief. “Thank God.”

Your bra comes off, and you almost laugh when his pupils blow out at the sight of your naked chest, but your amusement dies, cut off by a loud moan as soon as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, twirling his tongue around and sucking on the sensitive bud before moving on to the other one. One of his hands rests on your ass while his other arm is wrapped around your waist, and his grip on your waist tightens every time you make a sound that he particularly appreciates. You’re pulling at his hair so much, you’re almost scared of hurting him, but truth be told you’re too focused on the way his mouth feels on you to really be careful about it.

“Come here,” he says, voice hoarse. His jeans aren’t doing a very good job of hiding how hard he is, and he groans at the sudden contact when he pulls you down into his lap. You press kisses everywhere you can - his cheeks, the crook of his neck, his hair, before finding his lips once again. You don’t even realize you’re grinding yourself against him until he breaks away from the kiss to let out a quiet moan, and you bury your face in the dip between his shoulder and his neck, breath hot against his skin as you whine in pleasure.

You could do this for hours, and maybe you do - but at some point, you start needing something more and your core throbs, desperate for more attention. And what better way to communicate that to Sunghoon than to show him exactly what you want?

You unwrap your arms from around his shoulders and let your hand roam down to the waistband of his jeans, smiling shyly at him as you get down on your knees in front of him. He watches with a pained expression, like the anticipation of what you’ll do next actually hurts him, as you unbutton and unzip his jeans, then slide them along with his boxers down his legs. To distract from the fact that his size slightly intimidates you, you take him in your hand right away, circling his reddened tip with your thumb before starting to bring your palm up and down his shaft while your other hand rubs his thigh.

You’re absolutely breathtaken by the sight in front of you: Sunghoon’s abs tensing visibly at your ministrations, his head hung back and his neck and Adam’s apple flushed red on display for you, moans increasing in volume as you continue. You had a feeling Sunghoon wouldn’t be a quiet one, and you’re proud to be proven right.

You put your own needs aside for now, just wanting to see Sunghoon in as much pleasure as you can give him. You bring your head forward and lick a stripe up his length, satisfied when he lets out his loudest moan so far. You don’t tease for too long, only licking at his tip for a bit before taking more of him in your mouth. You keep one hand at the base of his shaft and swirl your tongue around the part you’re able to reach. 

This is the first time you’ve gotten so much pleasure from giving - maybe because Sunghoon’s reactions feed your ego, maybe because you’re so obsessed with him that knowing you’re making him feel good is enough, or maybe both. Definitely both.

But Sunghoon doesn’t let you have your fun for too long, and soon pulls your face gently away from him. His flushed face and fucked-out expression is gratifying to say the least. You look up at him with a smile, rubbing his thighs with your palms as you wait for him to catch his breath.

“A minute longer,” he says, panting, “and I would’ve died.” You giggle at his dramatics and hoist yourself back up, about to position yourself again on his lap but Sunghoon has other plans. He lays you down on your back and comes to rest on his side next to you, holding himself up on a forearm; that way he has both full access to and full view of your face and body. Perfect.

His face is close enough to yours to press kisses there and on your neck while his hand makes his way down your body. When it reaches the waistband of your jeans, you don’t wait for him to say or do anything and undo them yourself, which makes Sunghoon smirk.

“Impatient, are you?” he teases.

“You’re one to talk,” you bite back with a smile, even though your cheeks start to burn.

He slips a hand under your jeans, and gathers slick from between your folds before starting to rub small circles on your clit with the pads of two fingers. He soon gets frustrated from the way your clothes restrict his movements, and whispers in your ear, “Might as well take everything off while we’re at it, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes at his playful tone but comply, more than happy to undress if it means he can touch with more ease. And indeed, he wastes no time before slipping a finger inside you, smirk widening at the loud half-gasp half-moan you let out at the feeling. “Much better,” he whispers again, but any comeback is wiped from your mind as he adds a second finger in, curling them so that they hit just the spot. You’re drenched at this point, your arousal sticking to the inside of your thighs, but that only makes it easier for him to slip his fingers in and out and means you’re more than ready for him. He keeps his thumb on your clit so that the friction there doesn’t stop either, and it isn’t long before you start to feel that familiar knot twisting your insides, appearing much quicker than you’d like it to.

“Sunghoon- I’m gonna, I’m-”

“You are, huh?” he breathes against your neck in between kisses. And just like that, as if you’d told him to stop and not that you were about to finish, he slips his fingers out of you, watching your reaction with a devilish, amused smirk.

“What? No, no-” you whine, but it’s no use. He rolls away from you, opening the drawer in his bedside table to retrieve something, and he’s lucky it’s a condom, because you might have killed him if it was anything else.

“Just because it’s our first time, I’m making you cum on my cock,” he explains as he rips open the small packet and puts the condom on. He comes back and places himself over you, pressing a kiss to your cheek and aligning himself with your entrance. “Next time, you’ll cum on my fingers and mouth as much as you want, Baby.”

And then, he pushes in.

You don’t need to tell him to go slow, or to wait before he starts moving; he knows. He holds himself up on his hands, biceps tight, and watches your face carefully for any sign of pain or discomfort while he furrows his way in, inch by inch.

When he finally bottoms out, he presses a soft kiss to your glistening hairline and bends down to whisper in your ear, “I’ve been thinking about this all week, and it’s even better than I imagined.”

The corners of your lips tug upwards, but the feeling of Sunghoon filling you up like this makes your brain go fuzzy and you can’t even begin to form coherent words or thoughts. You grab on to his biceps and shoulders as he starts to move back and forth, slowly at first, but progressively picking up speed, your moans egging him on.

He takes one of your legs and hikes it up around his hip, allowing him to go deeper and hit that spot that has you arching your back and crying out. You’re clawing at his back, eyes shut tight and mouth going dry, and his fast, regular rhythm is bringing you to the edge once again. Either Sunghoon has terrible timing, or he knows precisely how close you are and wants to tease you, because he slows down and pulls out. “I just want to make it last a bit longer,” he explains, murmuring the words in the crook of your jaw and neck before pressing a kiss there.

He pushes himself away from you and sits up on his bed, his back against the headboard. He looks at you with a lopsided smile, and when you position yourself on his lap, you take a couple moments to admire him before taking him again. His hairline beads with sweat, his face and upper body are flushed a light red color, his breathing is quick and shallow, mouth slightly agape, and his eyelids are heavy with lust, eyes almost closed. He’s never looked so good. 

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he asks, and you smile both at the compliment and at the fact that you were thinking the same thing about him just a second ago, as if you shared each other’s exact thoughts. You shake your head, and his gaze turns loving as he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Baby. There. Said it.”

You kiss him passionately before taking him in your hand and raising yourself on your knees to guide his tip towards your entrance, keeping eye contact with him as you sink onto his length. The new position hits even more sensitive spots and makes the two of you moan simultaneously. 

Deciding to let him rest for a bit, you start moving yourself up and down on his cock, quickly settling into a nice rhythm that doesn’t tire your legs out too much but still manages to make you see stars. You hold onto Sunghoon’s shoulders, hands sometimes grabbing onto his hair while his stay firmly planted on your ass, kneading the soft skin there. You try to hold his gaze for as long as you can, but the pleasure starts to overwhelm you and you can’t do anything but shut your eyes, head falling back as loud moans escape your lips. There’s no way you could have kept it quiet, so you’re extremely grateful that Sunghoon’s living quarters are far enough away to avoid an audience.

Despite the immense pleasure of being on top of him and of choosing your own rhythm, your thighs start to hurt after a few minutes of this. Thankfully, Sunghoon notices your decreasing pace and the way your legs falter, and takes things into his own hands, finally ready to stop edging and bring the both of you to your ends. One hand on your lower back, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, he presses your chest firmly to his, hugging you tight, and starts bucking his hips into you at a pace that has you crying out into his shoulder. Your hands find purchase in his hair, pulling tight enough to hurt at the roots. If Sunghoon stops, it might be the death of you, so even if it’s a struggle to get the words out, you want to let him know how you feel.

“Fuck, Sunghoon, right there, please don’t stop, please- oh, my God!”

The sound of your two bodies coming together is lewd, but it only adds to your bliss, and in just thirty seconds of this, the knot in your stomach breaks loose and sends your whole body trembling against Sunghoon’s. He’s not long after you, the sound of his name over and over on your tongue as you cum sending him tumbling over the edge. You feel hot tears streaming down your face at the relief of finally having come undone, and the sounds leaving your lips now are fainter, your body too weak to even make any noise. 

You stay like this for a few moments, body limp on top of his, allowing your breaths to return to normal. You’ve had two boyfriends before, and they were the only two you’d ever had sex with, so it’s not like you had already discovered everything about the joys of sex, but you knew for sure that it didn’t always feel like this, didn’t always take you to heaven and back. Usually, you’d have stood up and cleaned yourself by now, but with Sunghoon, you never want to leave this spot. Fall asleep like this, wake up like this, stay as long as you wanted like this. But after a few minutes, Sunghoon stirs and you jolt out of your daze, getting off of him, wincing slightly at the sensitivity between your legs. 

He slips from his seated position and lays on his back. You follow suit, turning your body towards the ceiling, suddenly feeling shy at the idea of touching him, of getting closer - or maybe scared that he’ll suddenly want to be left alone, or worse, never want to see you again. But all your negative thoughts dissipate when he shifts to his stomach, sliding slightly down the bed to rest his head on your chest, burying his face there, hugging your waist tight, and letting out a contented sigh. Although your heart swells at his ridiculously cute actions, to say you aren’t a bit surprised would be a lie - after seeing a leading, more dominant side to him all week, since he was the one teaching you the dance and guiding you through the moves, you had thought it would translate to the way he was in bed. Yet, he had let you do what you wanted, let you set your own pace, as much as he had himself. And now, he was perfectly happy seeking out your affection and not making you come to him. It made you appreciate him that much more.

One of your hands makes its way to his back, grazing your fingernails along the expanse of it, while the other plays gently with his hair. You fall asleep in record time, perfectly at peace and exhausted from so much exertion.

-

When you wake up a few hours later, you’re still laying on your back, and although Sunghoon has drifted away, probably due to the heat in the room, your legs are still intertwined and he’s got an arm resting on your midriff. There’s nothing to let you know the time, so you look out the window and notice with panic that the sun has started to rise, which means it must be close to six a.m. You try to shake Sunghoon awake, but he just grumbles something incoherent and hugs you tighter to him, which you absolutely would have swooned over if you didn’t need to get back to your bungalow - and so you shake him harder.

“Sunghoon, wake up!” you say, far too quietly for it to actually wake him up, but he looks so cute asleep that it’d break your heart to wake him up too harshly.

“Why…” he whines, face buried in your neck and voice coming out muffled.

“I don’t want my father to notice that I’m gone,” you say, the aftertaste of the words bitter in your mouth.

“Why, what time is it?” he asks, slowly coming to his senses.

“I’m not sure, but he never wakes up late, so I don’t wanna risk it.” Your father, needing a real break from intense work days, had started waking up at 6:45 instead of 5:30 every morning. How relaxing.

“But I want you to stay,” Sunghoon grumbles, and you bless him for speaking your own thoughts but also curse him for making it harder to leave.

“I know, so do I. But I’ll see you later, okay?”

A beat. “Fine,” he sighs, then pushes himself off of you. He doesn’t look at you while you put your clothes back on and walk out of the room, but you know he can’t have fallen asleep again so quickly, so you’re terrified of having said or done something extremely wrong, but you can’t take it back now, so you just close the door behind you and rush back to your own bed.

The breakfast table is completely silent, the tension between you and your father clear to your mother, who doesn’t say anything, scared of accidentally adding fuel to the fire, and even to your sister, who eats her grapefruit quietly, darting her eyes back and forth between the three of you. Jay shows up from only God knows where and, not even trying to read the room, asks cheerfully what you’re all planning on performing at the show.

“We won’t be at the show,” your father says, making everyone’s heads snap towards him. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning, miss the weekend traffic.”

“We haven’t discussed this, honey,” your mother says just as Seeun whines, “But Daddy, we’ll miss the show!” You keep quiet, pretending the overcooked scrambled eggs on your plate are the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. 

“It’s the biggest night of the season!” Jay chimes in, also trying to persuade him.

“Yeah, and I wanted to sing something!” your sister adds.

Your father looks back and forth between your mother’s and sister’s bewildered faces, then sighs and begrudgingly bows to their wishes. “Alright, alright, it was just an idea.”

A smile breaks on your mother’s face and Seeun clasps her hands together with a small noise of joy. “Perfect,” Jay exclaims, pointing a finger at you as he walks away. “Baby, I’ll need you for props.”

“So, Seeun, what songs do you have in mind?” your father asks and gets up, gesturing at your sister to follow him, although he looks completely uninterested. She practically jumps up from her seat and starts listing all her song ideas, leaving her half-finished breakfast behind.

You finish eating your own, making small talk with your mother for long enough so that she isn’t suspicious of your trying to escape, although you can tell she knows something is up and just won’t mention it. You thank her silently for it, and excuse yourself from the table to go check up on Chaewon.

When you get to her room, she’s still in bed, but isn’t sleeping and doesn’t look in pain anymore - she’s sitting up, flicking through a fashion magazine. She smiles brightly when she sees you at her door, discarding the magazine and extending her hands out to you.

“How are you feeling?” you ask as you take her hands in yours, crouching next to her bed.

“Much, much better,” she says, sounding relieved at her own answer. “You just missed your father. He’s an amazing man.”

You only have time to talk for a minute when the door opens once again to reveal Sunghoon. Seeing him creates a pit in your stomach, either from the memory of what you did last night or from the way you had to escape soon thereafter. You stand up straight, taking a few steps away from Chaewon. He looks at you briefly before turning his attention to her, and asks the same question you did moments prior.

“I’m feeling a lot better. Baby’s father says I’m still able to have children.”

“That’s great, Chaewon, that’s amazing,” Sunghoon says, sounding relieved.

“But what about you guys? How did the show go last night?” she asks, a hopeful expression on her face.

Sunghoon glances at you, and you avoid his gaze as best you can. “It went well,” he simply says, not explaining any further. 

“Yeah, I didn’t do the lifts, but other than that it went well.”

Chaewon looks at him, then at you, and all at once notices the awkward tension in the air - and she understands the situation as clearly as if it had been written out in black and white for her.

It’s silent for a few seconds until you speak. “Well, I guess I better go then… I’ll see you around.” You give Chaewon a small smile and head to the door, letting your eyes linger on Sunghoon before slipping out. But of course, you can’t actually bring yourself to leave, and sit on the stairs a few meters away from the door. From where you are, you can hear every word spoken inside the cabin.

“Sunghoon,” Chaewon starts.

“So, you’re feeling better, huh?”

“Sunghoon.”

“But you should still get some rest, right?”

“Sunghoon, stop it.” That shuts him up. “What are you doing? You’ve told me so many times not to get mixed up with them,” she says, sounding at once worried and reproachful.

“I know what I’m doing, alright?”

“Sunghoon, listen to me you gotta stop it, you know it’s not gonna end well-”

“I said I know what I’m doing,” he snaps, but seems to immediately regret it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Chaewon, I just- you’re in no position to be worrying about me right now. I know what I’m doing. I trust her.” There’s a small silence, and you have no idea what expression Chaewon must be wearing right now. Is she unsure, satisfied, worried, angry? Is she nodding, trying to respect his decision, or looking like Sunghoon’s making the biggest mistake of his life? “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you later, alright? Rest up.”

“Alright, see you later, Hoon,” she says quietly, and when Sunghoon opens the door, he finds you waiting for him. You stand up and just look at him, unsure how to express what’s on your mind. You’d completely forgotten everything you had meant to tell him.

“Oh, hey, Baby,” he says upon seeing you.

“Hey.”

You both just stand there, staring at each other, no idea how to start the much-needed conversation.

“Look, I’ve got a uh, a lesson I need to go to right now, so…” he trails off.

“Right, right, no problem,” you say, nodding far too vigorously.

“But I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, you will.”

Neither of you move for a few moments, and you feel like you’re completely stuck in place, unable to move until you’ve had the reassurance that things can stay as they were between you and Sunghoon. But he walks past you, already a few meters away when you gather the courage to call out his name, and he turns around so quickly, you dare to hope he might have been waiting for you to do so. You don’t say anything, you just smile, and hope he understands. He smiles back, an actual smile where his dimples appear and the corners of his eyes crinkle, and you know that for now at least, everything is okay.

-

“God, I am so sick of this rain,” your sister complains as she dabs powder on her face, covering up non-existent blemishes. All four of you are in the living room of your bungalow, resting after lunch and getting ready for the rest of the day. You and your father play a boring game of checkers, trying to make the tension disappear slowly, while your mother reads some detective novel.

“Where is my beige iridescent lipstick?” Seeun asks furiously, punctuating each of her words, as if that was the kind of everyday thing that lies about in everyone’s house.

Your father wins the game and looks relieved that it’s over more than anything. You pick up a light raincoat and head towards the door, but your mother calls out your name, stopping you in your tracks.

“Where are you going in this weather?” she asks with curiosity rather than wariness in her voice.

“They’re playing charades in the main lobby,” you reply casually, used to giving out random excuses by now.

“Quite the little joiner, are we?” your sister teases, and you’re not sure if she’s just making fun of you or if she knows you’re up to something but you ignore her anyway and walk out of the cabin.

You make your way to Sunghoon’s place as quickly as you can to avoid the rain. You had ran into him that morning and, when your parents weren’t looking, he let you know that he was free all afternoon with a smile that was as good as a spoken invitation.

He brings you into a hug as soon as you’ve closed the door behind you and presses a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring an apology into your hair. “I’m sorry I acted so awkwardly yesterday. You left so suddenly that night, and I was scared you regretted it…”

You lean back and gaze into his eyes. “I regret absolutely nothing, Sunghoon.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh, smiling as he nods. “Good. Me either.”

You press your lips to his, and although the kiss starts out slow and soft, it doesn’t take long for things to heat up. You let out a small yelp when Sunghoon lifts you up and carries you to the bed, laying you down gently on the mattress. He holds up to the promise he’d made the other night - namely, making you cum on his tongue and fingers as much as you want, or rather, as you soon find out, as much as he wants.

He starts by undressing you slowly, taking his time to revel in the sight of your naked body and the idea that it’s all for him. He only leaves your panties on, rubbing small circles over your clothed clit as he works his mouth on your nipples and breasts, paying each side its due attention. He then makes his way down, leaving warm kisses everywhere he can from your stomach to your inner thighs, and makes sure to work you up and have you squirming before actually slipping your panties off and giving you what you want. Once he’s wrapped his lips around your clit, it’s like he can’t get enough. With two fingers inside you, he sucks and licks at the sensitive bud for what feels like so long that you don’t know how his wrist and jaw don’t get tired. You don’t even try to count the number of times he makes you cum, simply taking every orgasm in stride, and even though you get so sensitive after a while, you’ve entered some sort of blissful, exhausted daze that you can’t bring yourself to break away from.

Afterwards, you’re lying next to Sunghoon, your head resting on his chest and grazing your fingernails up and down his arm while he plays with your hair. You’ve somehow managed not to fall asleep despite the tiredness filling your entire body, and you and Sunghoon talk quietly, the sound of the rain outside like a peaceful background song. You listen to him describe his dream of opening a dance school someday and choreographing professionally, then he listens as you talk about all the places you want to visit and the things you want to learn about the world. You share childhood memories and awkward first kiss anecdotes and compare your relationships with your parents and the similar sort of pressure they put on your shoulders, albeit for two very reasons.

“My dad especially, he just doesn’t understand that dancing can be an actual profession. He sees it as some kind of hobby I’ve had since I was a teenager and that it’ll pass soon when I realize I can’t make a living out of it. He completely ignores the fact I get paid more in three months here than in half-a-year with him, but he doesn’t mind taking the part of my salary I give our family when I come back, that’s for sure,” he chuckles humorlessly. “I’m scared he’ll think I’m betraying him if I don’t take up his carpentry business.”

“I was top of my class in elementary school, and my parents thought that meant I was the brightest little girl in the world and would grow up to achieve great things,” you explain in a joke-admirative voice. “And even if they tried not to say anything, I could see the disappointment on their faces when I brought home a B or was ranked third at a test. I’m happy I got into Yale, and that they can afford to pay for my studies, but it’s just gonna be even more pressure for four more years.” After a beat, you decide to add, “I can only forget about all of this when I’m with you. You just make all of my worries disappear for a while.”

The conversation takes a slightly sentimental tone as you tell each other what your first impression of the other was. You admit sheepishly to Sunghoon that you were attracted to him as soon as you saw him dancing with Chaewon that first night, and that you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him after he danced with you, even though you found him a bit of an asshole the first couple of days he taught you the dance. You tell him you were sure he hated you at first, and he reveals that he didn’t at all.

“But I can see why you thought that. I just… I had never met anyone like you, Baby. Someone who thought she could just show up somewhere and decide to help a stranger out for no other reason than to help them out of the kindness of their heart. I didn’t know if you were the most foolish or the bravest person ever. And yeah, I’ll admit, I wasn’t the nicest to you at first. I kinda have this thing against… against rich people, I guess,” he says, chuckling softly. “For me, a wealthy person is like Max, or Jay, or all those ladies here. They use their wealth to get you to do what you want. But you’re not like that, and it took me a while to understand that. I’m sorry,” he finishes, pressing another kiss to your hair.

“No, no, it’s okay… I’m sorry they’ve all treated you like that. You deserve better.” He thanks you quietly and a comfortable silence settles between the two of you for a few minutes and you’re close to falling asleep when Sunghoon calls out your name.

“Hm?”

“What’s your real name?”

You raise your head to look at him and flash him a big smile. It’s been ages since someone asked you that, most people not bothering to question your nickname.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N…” he echoes, gazing at you lovingly. “It fits you perfectly.”

You press a gentle kiss to his lips in response, and you think it’s gonna end at that, but Sunghoon pulls you back in right as you’re about to lean out, and you know you’re done for. You’re still extremely sensitive but that only adds to the pleasure of him filling you up, intertwining your fingers with him as you make love, his thrusts slow but deep and your bodies pressed flush against each other. Your heart is bursting with something that you can only recognize as love.

-

That night, as you’re on the verge of falling asleep, your sister says something that jolts you awake.

“I’ve decided to go all the way with Heeseung,” she says, a hint of a smile in her voice. 

You snap your head towards her. “What? Seeun, no, you shouldn’t-”

“I’ve already thought about everything. I want it to happen on the night of rehearsals, I know what I’ll wear-”

“No, Seeun, listen, you can’t do it with Heeseung, I’ve already told you he’s bad news!” you whisper-scream, trying to get some sense into her head without your parents overhearing.

“Who else with, then?” she whisper-shouts back.

“Just- I don’t know, but not with him, it needs to be with someone you actually love, someone you can trust-”

“I can trust Heeseung. I do trust him - more than I trust you, actually,” she says, the conversation taking another turn.

“Seeun-”

“No, Baby. You don’t actually care about this, or even about me. All you care about is that you’re not Daddy’s little girl anymore. He listens when I talk now.” She turns her back to you with a huff.

“Seeun-” you try again, but she’s already done talking.

“Goodnight.”

You want to find a way to stop your sister from wasting an important experience like having sex for the first time on a guy like Heeseung, but you also know that once she’s set her mind to something, it’s hard to stop Seeun from doing it. Maybe this will be a lesson for her to learn from, you think, trying to reassure yourself.

The next afternoon, when your parents are busy playing cards with another couple and Seeun is off somewhere with her friends, you sneak off to visit Sunghoon in his dance classroom. He has an hour free in between classes and you use that opportunity to mess around for a bit. You put on a song you both love and dance together whichever way you want, acting out and lipsyncing to the lyrics. You have fun teasing him by swerving your head when he leans in for a kiss or trailing your hand along his arms, shoulders and back.

The sound of loud footsteps coming up the stairs spoils your fun, and you quickly position yourself face to the mirror and pretend you’re practicing basic mambo moves while Sunghoon heads to the record player. The one and only Jay stands at the door and seems to falter for a second at seeing you here.

“Hey, Baby, taking dance lessons?” You simply nod at him. “I could teach you kid,” he says, mirroring your moves and dancing a few steps until Sunghoon makes the record scratch, stopping the music abruptly. Jay’s arms drop to the side and he gives you a look as if to say “check this guy out,” and you try not to roll your eyes at him. 

“Sunghoon,” he says, walking towards him with all the confidence of a boss talking to his employee. The addressee simply raises his chin at him, pretending to busy himself with the record player. “My grandfather put me in charge of the talent show, and I’ve been thinking about the final dance. I’d like to uh, you know, do something different-”

“Yeah?”

“Move with the times-”

“Yeah? That’s great, I’ve got plenty of ideas-” Sunghoon says, speaking so quickly he cuts himself off, but Jay’s smile drops instantly. “We’ve been working on something with the staff, it goes like-”

You watch in the mirror as Sunghoon dances a step you’ve never seen before, and it looks really cool but Jay shakes his head, gesturing at Sunghoon to quiet down like he would a kid, as if they weren’t the exact same age.

“Woah there, you’re way over your head, boy.” Sunghoon stands up straight once again, jaw locked tight. “I was thinking, instead of doing the last dance to the mambo, how about, this year, doing it to the pachanga?” Jay asks, looking at you with a smile and nodding, as if he’d just said the most revolutionary thing ever.

“Right,” Sunghoon says coldly, bursting Jay’s bubble.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat, “you’re more than welcome to do the same tired number as the previous years, but I’m sure that next summer, we’ll find a dance instructor who’s-”

“The pachanga,” Sunghoon cuts him off, raising his voice over Jay’s. “Great idea, Jay, let’s do that.”

A satisfied smile grows on Jay’s lips as Sunghoon turns back to the record player, and he struts back towards you. When he’s close enough, he leans in and says conspiratorially, but still loud enough for Sunghoon to hear, “He’s, uh, a bit hard to get through to sometimes, but the ladies seem to like him.” He doesn’t realize that you’re one of said ladies. “Make sure you’re getting the full half-hour you’re paying, kid,” he says once he’s at the door, and slips out on that graceful note.

Sunghoon’s next class takes place on the gazebo, so you accompany him there, trying to keep up with his long strides made quicker by his frustration. “God, I just hate that guy, he has no idea what he’s talking about. He wouldn’t recognise a good idea if it hit him in the pachanga,” he huffs angrily.

“But can’t you just talk to him? I’m sure he’d listen if you’d just tell him-”

“Didn’t you see what happened, Baby? He won’t listen. I can’t get everything I want just by asking, he’s the one with the money, with the power, I can’t do anything-”

“But it isn’t right! You have to fight harder-”

“That’s not how it works for me, Baby-”

You let out a small gasp, interrupting Sunghoon whose head pivots towards you, but you take him by the shoulders and bring him down to a crouch next to you. He follows your gaze to find your father, leaving a building with Heeseung and Seeun. Your dad brings his arm around Heeseung and shakes his shoulder in a fatherly manner while Seeun looks at them with a smile. 

Sunghoon’s muscles tense in realization - you don’t want to be caught with him, especially not by your father. 

You’re completely oblivious to this, and stand back up when the three of them are out of sight. “Alright, I think they’re gone,” you say, and only realize what you’ve done when you see the tight expression on Sunghoon’s face.

“Fight harder, huh?”

You just messed up real bad. “No, Sunghoon, I was planning on telling him, I just haven’t yet-”

“I don’t believe you, Baby. I don’t think you’ve ever had the intention of telling him,” he says, shaking his head. His eyes look down at you harshly, and it hurts so much more now than when you’d just met. 

“Sunghoon, please-”

“I gotta go. I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

You watch Sunghoon’s shrinking figure, cursing yourself for your cowardice and for your inability to do exactly what you preach. Your father was already so disappointed in you for simply being friends with Sunghoon, so if he knew what you were actually up to, he might go and disown you.

A few hours with no one to spend them with get you thinking. You had always thought your father was the best man on earth. Funny, loving, kind, fair. But you now realize it might not be so - he is prejudiced towards people who aren’t like him and isn’t forgiving of others’ mistakes. He made you believe in a world where everyone should be equal, but he himself doesn’t treat everyone the same. 

You also hate what this is doing to Sunghoon. You, who had told him he deserved everything he wanted, weren’t even capable of holding his hand proudly for everyone to see. So, for Sunghoon’s sake as well as for your own, you have to tell your father how you feel for Sunghoon, and put up a fight if he tries to stop it.

But first, you had to find Sunghoon and apologize. It’s nearing dinnertime, and he shouldn’t be working anymore, so you go look for him in his room. He isn’t there, so you head to his dance studio, then the gazebo, and anywhere else you can think of where he might have classes. But he’s nowhere to find, and after half-an-hour of running around, your last option is to go ask Chaewon where Sunghoon might be. At least, you know she’ll be in her room, still recovering.

You take a second to catch your breath then knock on Chaewon’s door, then wait until she calls you in to open the door. “Hey, Chaewon, have you seen Sunghoon?” you ask, only realizing after you’ve said the words that it might be rude to be so direct, but you don’t have time to apologize because your eyes shift to the other person in the room, who is, of course, Sunghoon himself. He stands up from his seat on the armchair in the corner, looking at you with an unreadable expression. He could be anywhere on a scale where one extreme is ‘he hates you and never wants to talk to you again’ and ‘he has never been so relieved to see you’ and you’d have no idea.

“Can we, um, talk? Outside, if it’s okay?” you ask, eyes darting back and forth between Sunghoon and Chaewon. She smiles and jerks her head towards the door, silently telling Sunghoon to go with you. He purses his lips and nods, following you outside and closing the door behind him.

He rests his palms on the banister of the front porch, looking out at the lawn and the resort buildings in the distance. You stand behind him, bringing your palms up to his arms and kissing his shoulder. He closes his eyes and sighs, basking in your touch despite himself. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon. I’m sorry.” 

He turns around, gazing down at you with that unreadable expression on his face. “It’s okay. I understand.”

When he kisses you, the relief in your bones is like nothing else, better even than coming home to your bed after a long, tiring day, or than getting a good grade on a test you thought you’d failed. Your arms wrap around his neck while his find their way to your waist, and you revel in the closeness of your bodies and the taste of his lips, like mint and something uniquely Sunghoon that you can’t ever get enough of.

But unfortunately, you stay long enough in this position to attract the attention of a one-man audience. “Damn, guess I picked the wrong sister,” you hear Heeseung chuckle, and when you pull away from Sunghoon, you see that insufferable smirk on his face. How you wish you could just smack it off of there. “Didn’t know you put out like that, Baby.”

It all happens so quickly, you don’t have time to understand what’s going on, let alone stop Sunghoon from jumping over the banister. He stomps over to Heeseung, grabbing him by the collar and shaking hard. 

“Repeat what you just said, I dare you,” he says in a low, menacing voice, face close to Heeseung’s. The latter’s smirk falters for just a split second before coming back, as if incapable of not looking like an arrogant asshole for more than a few seconds at a time.

“I said,” Heeseung starts, “that I hadn’t thought Baby was so fucking easy.”

Heeseung has barely finished speaking that Sunghoon has raised his fist back, ready to strike the insolent expression off of the boy’s face. It’d be satisfying, that’s for sure, but it wouldn’t be worth risking his job, so you call out his name and make him stop in his tracks. He doesn’t look back at you, though, just keeps his hard gaze fixated on Heeseung, breathing heavily in anger.

“Sunghoon, please,” you repeat, pleading with him. 

“So, what’s it gonna be, loverboy?” Heeseung teases, but Sunghoon just drops his fist and pushes him away, making him stumble a few steps back. 

“You’re not worth it,” Sunghoon practically spits, sending one last cold look his way before walking back to you.

You don’t care enough to check how Heeseung reacts, just watching Sunghoon make his way back to you, relieved nothing happened. He stands in front of the banister, the height difference allowing you to hug his head to your chest and you press a kiss to the top of his head, whispering in his hair that you’re proud of him.

Soon afterwards, you have to head back to the building where the talent show will happen. He could do it anywhere else, but Sunghoon decides to plan out his performance in the same room, using the excuse of needing to see the stage just to stay around you. 

You’re painting some sort of fake coconut tree while competitors rehearse their performance, your sister by far the loudest of them. You try not to cringe as her dissonant voice reverbs around the room, but nobody pays her too much attention. It’s hard not to steal glances every two seconds at Sunghoon, and you tell yourself that he just looks especially good today in his tight black t-shirt and black jeans, but you also know he looks good everyday. His gaze also strays towards you more often than not, and you try not to burst into giggles every time your eyes meet, not wanting to raise any suspicion. 

This room is also where a group of men play their games of poker, and since it was big enough to host all of you, they had decided to stay there even through the preparations, sure that it wouldn’t disrupt their game. 

The not-staring takes on another level of difficulty when a lady you recognize as Vivian Kim leaves her spot standing behind her husband at the poker table to make her way to Sunghoon, walking in a fashion far too languorous for your taste. 

From where you are, you can’t hear exactly what she says, but it’s not hard to guess - an invitation to spend the night with her while her husband is busy, one last time before she leaves the resort and goes home.

Sunghoon stays silent but that doesn’t seem to deter her, and she flashes him a lurid smile before walking back to the poker table. He turns his head to check if you’ve seen what happened, but you look away from him and back at your coconut tree, hoping the jealousy you’re feeling isn’t written all over your face. 

Vivian’s husband calls out Sunghoon’s name, waving him over good-naturedly. You watch once again as Sunghoon walks over to the table and as Mr Kim pulls out dollar bills from his wallet. “Tonight’s the final poker tournament, so how about some dance lessons for my wife?” he asks, and you can’t tell from his tone whether he thinks that dance lessons really are what his money is paying for or if he knows what’s actually going on.

Sunghoon takes the money and Mr Kim smiles at him, returning to the game, but Sunghoon just stands there, staring at the bills in his hands, then to Vivian, behind him to you, and finally back at Mr Kim. “Thanks, Mr Kim, but I’m all booked up for the rest of the week ‘cause of the show, so I don’t think it’d be fair to take the money.”

Mr Kim nods as Sunghoon hands him back the cash, saying he appreciates his honesty. Vivian looks at him, eyes wide, obviously surprised at his sudden refusal. Sunghoon walks back to his seat, sending a small smile your way, and you try your best not to gloat. 

-

In the past few days, it’s become a bit of a habit to sneak out of your bungalow and rush to Sunghoon’s when your family has gone to sleep. Except tonight, what you don’t know is that Seeun hears you, because she’s planning on doing the exact same thing and paying Heeseung a visit. You’re already with your own lover when she heads out of the room, skipping in excitement and anticipation the whole way there. She’s applied lotion to her entire body, sprayed perfume to her neck, wrists and ankles, and has read all the sex advice columns of her favorite magazines - she’s more than prepared for this.

She reaches the door. Takes a deep breath in, stands up straight. Calls out, “Heeseung, it’s me!” but no answer comes. So she opens the door slightly, and almost drops her bag at the sight in front of her, gasping loudly. She has just enough reflex to close the door again and rest her back against it, taking a few seconds to let it sink in before running back to her bed, where she promptly explodes into tears.

Now more than ever, she wishes her sister was here, whether to comfort her or to say “I told you so.” She wishes you were here to help her make sense of finding Vivian Kim and Heeseung naked together in his bed when he had spent weeks making her believe he wanted to be with her and her only. She wishes you would curse him out and call him all the names she wants to but doesn’t have the courage to.

But unfortunately, you’re not there with her. Instead, you’re with Sunghoon, laying together in bed, your head resting on his chest and your legs intertwined. You’re both spent from a night of lovemaking and from your shower that was supposed to be innocent but quickly turned steamy. You wake up at dawn, knowing you’ll have to go soon but heart breaking at the thought of tearing yourself from Sunghoon’s warm embrace. You press soft kisses to his neck and whisper his name, trying to wake him up gently. His eyes stay closed as he tightens his arms around you and pleads with you to stay just a little bit longer, and you’re not strong enough to say no.

“I had a dream earlier where your father called me ‘son’ and put his arm around me like he did with Heeseung earlier.” His morning voice is raspy from sleep and sends butterflies straight to your stomach.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” you hum. “I’ll talk to him today. I’ll tell him about you.”

You feel his chest rise up then down as he sighs. “I thought about it, and I feel like it’d make things even worse if he knew about us. He just seems to think I’m a bad guy, for some reason, and me being with his daughter will only make him hate me more.”

“But you’re not a bad guy. You’re the best guy,” you say, voice slightly whiny. You’re too sleepy to come up with a better reply, and it makes Sunghoon chuckle.

“Thanks, Baby.” He presses a kiss to your hair, and it’s become such a familiar gesture that you’re not sure how you’ll live without it once you go home.

It’s not long before you have to head back to your bungalow, and Sunghoon walks you outside, slotting his lips with yours for one last time this morning and making plans to meet up later. You don’t pay attention to anything other than him - not to the slight breeze picking up, or the sun rising, or the staff bungalows, off to the side from Sunghoon’s. But not paying attention means not noticing a figure standing on one of those staff bungalows, not seeing her eyes squinting at yours and Sunghoon’s embrace, first recognising him, and, once her initial shock wears off, recognising you. Because of course, just like you, Vivian Kim has to leave Heeseung’s bungalow before anyone notices - except that in your case, someone notices you.

And the consequences of it appear only a few hours later, as your family are having a late breakfast with Max and Jay. When the conversation first begins, you don’t think it’ll be of much importance to you.

“You know that feeling when you look at a patient and think he’s all fine, but then you get his x-rays and something’s completely wrong?” Max starts, addressing your father. “That’s exactly what it is to find out one of your staff, a trusted one at that, is a thief.”

“What happened, Max?” your father asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Mr Kim’s wallet was stolen,” Max simply says, sighing. Jay jumps on the opportunity to explain the story himself, leaning in conspiratorially.

“It happened yesterday night when he was playing poker. One minute, his wallet was right there in his coat pocket, hanging on his chair behind him, and the next, it wasn’t.” Your sister lets out a small gasp.

“Vivian says she saw that dance kid Sunghoon walk by,” Max continues, and your head snaps up at the mention of Sunghoon’s name. “So we go and ask him if he’s got an alibi, and he says he was in his room alone all night, reading.”

Jay snorts. “There is not a single book in Sunghoon Park’s room.”

The whole time, you’re shaking your head slightly, unable to believe that Sunghoon might be wrongfully framed for this. You turn towards Jay, a pleading expression on your face. “Listen, there’s been a mistake, there’s no way Sunghoon did it-”

“There’s been similar thefts at the Sheldrake and even here. Three wallets stolen, and now Mr Kim’s!”

“No, I know he didn’t do it-”

“Stay out of it, Baby!” Jay snaps at you. You look at him in disbelief, because of the way he just talked to you, because of what they’re accusing Sunghoon of, but above all because it’s inconceivable that your parents ever wanted to set you up with a guy like him. Entitled, judgmental, unkind.

But you can’t just stay out of it - this concerns Sunghoon, and if you can stop it from happening, you’ll do everything so that he doesn’t lose his job over a false accusation. So you turn towards your father and Max, and plead Sunghoon’s case.

“I know Sunghoon didn’t take Mr Kim’s wallet, I know.”

“How can you be so sure?” your father asks.

“I-I can’t tell you, but Daddy, please, you have to trust me.”

Your father sighs, turning his attention back to his plate. “I’m sorry, Baby, but I can’t.”

“But- it could’ve been anyone else,” you continue, looking at Max now that your father avoids your gaze. “Maybe it was- oh, maybe it was that little old couple, the Schumachers, I saw her with a couple of wallets-”

“The Schumachers? Impossible,” Max refutes as your father furrows his eyebrows at you, raising his voice slightly.

“You don’t go around accusing innocent people, Baby!”

“But I saw them, I saw them at the Sheldrake- you said something was stolen at the Sheldrake, right?” you say, turning towards Jay again, your voice growing desperate.”

“Listen, Baby,” Max cuts in, voice calm but firm, “I’ve got an eyewitness and the kid has no alibi. Come on, Jay, let me show you how to fire an employee.”

You catch his wrist before he can turn away and gulp, preparing yourself for what you were about to say. “Wait a minute. I know Sunghoon didn’t do it, I know it, because he was in his room all night, and I know that because,” you pause for a second, risking a glance at your father, “because I was there with him.”

The table goes silent. You can feel yourself weighing down under the heavy gazes of everyone seated. After a few seconds that feel like an eternity, Max clears his throat and awkwardly says, “Right, well, we’ll investigate some more in light of these news-”

He’s cut off by the screech of your father’s chair being roughly pushed back. You watch as your father leaves the room, steam coming out of his ears, and you can only hope revealing the truth will be worth it in the end.

After giving your father some time to cool off, you find him in the empty gazebo, looking out at the lake. The water is still except for the parts where ducks dip their heads in and back out. Even now that the rain has stopped pouring every day, clouds still render the sky a blinding white, and the sun only appears now and then when they part enough to let a ray through. There’s a slight breeze that makes leaves flutter around, and you need to tighten your light cardigan around your shoulders.

You know he sees you approaching, but he keeps his gaze fixated on the lake, even when you call out to him. 

“I told you I wasn’t lying about Sunghoon,” you start. “But I’m sorry I lied about the money. I’m not proud of myself for that, you know. But you lied too,” you say, and he finally looks at you, awaiting an explanation. “You told me everyone deserved a fair break, but you meant everyone like you. You said I could change the world, but you meant by becoming a lawyer, or an economist, and marrying someone from Harvard!”

He closes his eyes as if in pain, then looks back out to the lake, staying silent. “I made a mistake. There’s things about me you don’t know, and things you might not like, but I’m in this family too, and if you love me, you’ll have to love my faults too.” Your voice shakes and your eyes start to water. Seeing your father’s eyes do the same only adds to the difficulty of saying what you want to say.

“Because I love you, Daddy, and I’m sorry I let you down, but you let me down too!” Your voice completely breaks on those last words, and you turn away, letting your feet guide you wherever before your dad can hear the sob that escapes your throat. You know your dad’s silent treatment won’t last for long, so you leave him in the gazebo to think and cry as much as he needs to.

Your body must have developed new instincts, because soon enough, you find yourself in Sunghoon’s cabin, unsure how you even got here. His things are still there, which reassures you of the fact that he hasn’t left yet. You pace back and forth in the room for a few minutes until your emotions suddenly come crashing down, all the stress and tension and strung feelings, leaving behind only exhaustion. You lay on Sunghoon’s bed, thinking you’ll just close your eyes for a few minutes. But when you open them again, they fall on Sunghoon’s face, and you have no idea how long you’ve been there.

“Sunghoon?” you murmur.

“I have been looking for you all over,” he says, crouching in front of you, and gives you time to sit up and rub the sleep out of your eyes. “You were right about the Schumachers. Fingerprinted their glasses. Turns out they were wanted in a bunch of other states for theft too. They found them when they were already trying to leave the resort,” he explains, and your smile grows wider and wider as he speaks. 

“Oh my God, that’s amazing! I knew it’d work out!”

But Sunghoon diverts his gaze down, unable to match your euphoric expression. “I’m out, Baby.”

You quickly put two and two together. “They fired you anyway because of me.” 

“And if I leave quietly, I get my summer bonus,” he says sarcastically.

Your anger makes you stand up, walk to one corner of the room then back, your voice rising on its own accord. “So I did it all for nothing, then? I hurt my family, you lost your job anyway - it was all for nothing!”

“It was not for nothing!” Sunghoon exclaims, volume matching yours. “Nobody has ever done anything like that for me!” He searches your eyes for the reassurance that everything that happened this summer was worth it, but he only finds sorrow in them.

“You were right, Sunghoon,” you say with a sad smile, voice lowering to a hum, “you can’t change anything no matter how hard you try.”

“No, Baby,” he says, walking towards you, “I don’t want that from you, you hear me? You can. You can do whatever you want.”

Your gazes stay locked in each other for a few painful moments until it becomes unbearable and you have to look away. “I used to think so too.”

There’s nothing left to say. You watch silently as Sunghoon begins packing the few belongings he has in two small suitcases and a rucksack, then help out when the passivity starts to make your muscles ache. He hasn’t got much, so he’s done in just a few minutes, and you don’t realize you have tears pooling in your eyes until Sunghoon himself notices and wordlessly takes you in his arms.

You’re heading to his car when he suddenly stops in his tracks, saying he has something he needs to do first. You don’t question it, just agree to wait for him. It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do anyway.

A few minutes later, unbeknownst to you, Sunghoon is knocking on your cabin’s door. Just as he’d hoped, your father is the one to open the door, squinting his eyes meanly at the young man behind it as soon as he realizes who he is. Your father stays silent as he stares Sunghoon down, making a chill run down Sunghoon’s neck. He clears his throat before speaking. “Doctor, I-” he starts, already cutting himself off to take off his sunglasses. “I’m going anyway, and I know what you must be thinking-”

“You don’t know anything about me,” your father interrupts, shaking his head in disdain at Sunghoon. “Anything at all.”

Sunghoon had really wanted to stay calm and focused, to just say what he wanted to stay, but now that he’s leaving, he has no reason to put up with the blatant disrespect and contempt of the clients and higher-ups any longer. “I know you want Baby to be like you. An admirable person, the kind people look up to, but if you could just see, she’s already like that-”

“I know my daughter far better than you do, so don’t you tell me what to see,” your father practically barks, unable to contain his anger. “What I see right now is someone who got his partner in trouble and sent her off to some butcher, then moved on to a younger, innocent girl like my Baby.”

Rather than frustrated, Sunghoon’s eyes grow tired and sad. There’s no fight left in him anymore - he can see he won’t be able to change your father’s mind, there’s no point even trying. “Yeah, I guess that’s what you would see,” he murmurs before walking away, back to you, the only person who’s ever wanted to truly understand him.

And then it’s goodbye. 

While you were waiting, you kicked pebbles, brooding over the fact that your already shortening time with Sunghoon was getting cut off even more. But as soon as you see him, those thoughts evaporate, and you’re left with bittersweetness in your mouth. You spent the most incredible summer with him by your side, and even though it’s coming to an end, maybe the experience and the memories are all that matters.

Sunghoon closes the trunk when he’s done packing it, and walks over to where you’re standing, back against the passenger door, arms crossed over your chest. He rests his forearm on top of the car and neither of you are able to look the other in the eye for fear of emotion overwhelming you.

“Guess we took them all by surprise, huh?” you say, trying on a light-hearted tone to dissolve the tension in the air.

“Guess we did,” he chuckles quietly, risking a glance up at you. Your eyes meet and before you can break down, you turn your body towards his, nesting your face in the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss to your hair like a hundred times before and it’s enough to make your heart break. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you around.”

He rests his chin on the top of your head. “You’ll just have more time for card games and croquet,” he jokes, but you can’t laugh. “And Jake and Chaewon will still be around.” It’s silent for a few more minutes, and you try to commit the feeling of him against you and the smell of his skin to memory. “I’ll never be sorry,” he finally says, voice muffled by your hair.

“Neither will I,” you whisper against his neck.

He inhales deeply and tears himself away, gazing down at you sadly. With his thumb, he wipes a tear as it drops down your cheek, and presses his lips to yours in one last kiss, tasting the saltiness of your heartbreak. “I’ll see you around, Baby,” he says against your lips, forehead resting against yours. But he can’t linger - it would only make this impossible moment even harder.

Your vision is too blurry for you to see properly as he walks to the other side of the car and disappears in the driver’s seat. In a matter of seconds, his car becomes a fuzzy black dot in the distance, and you’ve no choice but to walk back to the place that made you discover love only to rip it from your hands.

-

The three days until the talent show feel like eternity. Counting down the minutes until you leave doesn’t make time go by any faster, but you don’t feel like doing anything else. You hang out with Chaewon and Jake and their friends when they’re free, going back with them to the staff main quarters one night, and even though the music is the same as the first time, Sunghoon’s absence changes everything. You can’t dance without imagining his hands on your waist and his voice guiding you through the steps. 

Seeun is also a lot nicer to you. She tells you what happened with Heeseung, and it’s like your shared love troubles bring you closer, reminding you that you’re not so different after all. As you get ready to go watch the talent show, she sits next to you on the bed, offering to do your hair. But then she takes a strand of it in her hands, trailing her fingers through it, and looks at you with a soft smile. “You know what, I think it looks perfect just like that.” 

You mirror her smile and drop your head to her shoulder. You stay like this for a few seconds, words unnecessary to understand each other. “You’ll do great tonight, Seeun. I can’t wait to watch you.”

“I know,” she replies, making you both giggle. “Now let’s go, it’ll start soon.”

You’re not surprised to see that your parents have chosen to seat you in a corner, trapped between a wall and your father. Practically the same thing, you think, but you’re wise enough to keep the comment to yourself. 

The performers have gathered in a line on the stage, your sister included, to sing the resort’s last day song as a conclusion to the show now that Sunghoon isn’t here to do the final dance. Max even gets his own solo. The song goes on for far too long to your taste, so you take the time to look around the room.

The lights are dim, save for the ones on the stage so that the focus of the audience stays on the performers, and wall fixtures next to the exits so they can be found easily. Chairs have been brought to the center of the room right in front of the stage while tables line the walls, candles adorning each one. Staff don’t get seats - instead, they stand at the back of the room, their backs against the wall as they watch the stage with boredom written all over their faces. You catch Jake’s eyes and he winks at you, a mischievous smile on his face, and you chalk it up to his usual playfulness.

Heeseung walks near your table, and your father stands up, calling out to him. He gets something that looks like an envelope out of his pocket, handing it to him. “Good luck in medical school, son.” Heeseung takes the envelope, looking down at it with a smile, and your father rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you so much, Doc,” Heeseung beams. “And I also wanted to thank you for your help with the Chaewon situation, I guess we’ve all gotten into messes like these, huh?” Your father stands with his back to you, so you can only imagine the way his smile falls and his eyes harden.

“What?”

Heeseung’s smile falters slightly and he chuckles awkwardly. “I-I thought Baby told you… Look, it’s what Chaewon said, but I’m not sure, you never know with girls like that, they could pin it on anyone-”

Your father snatches the envelope back from Heeseung’s hands, glaring at him, and walks back to his seat next to you without a word. It’s only now that you understand your father’s dislike of Sunghoon - he had been certain Sunghoon was the one who had gotten Chaewon into such trouble. How could you have missed that? All this time, you thought it was just because Sunghoon was part of the staff and didn’t come from your world. Regret and frustration bubble up in your stomach. So many misunderstandings could’ve been avoided if only you had known what your father thought.

It’s only after a few minutes that he breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Baby.”

You take a deep breath in. “Thank you, but I’m not the one you need to apologize to, Daddy.”

He turns his head to look at you. “You’re right. You’re right,” he sighs.

Just then, Jake walks past your table and towards the stage, disappearing behind the curtains on the side. You lift your head, trying to see what he’s up to, but the sound of the doors at the back of the room opening and closing loudly catches your attention. It seems to catch everybody’s attention - you hear small gasps and small murmurs of a familiar name, and your mind directly lands on the possibility, but you don’t believe it until you see it standing right in front of you, a hand reaching out to you - Sunghoon’s here.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner.”

You take his hand and let him guide you away from the table. You’re so enchanted by seeing him again that you barely notice your mother having to keep your father from stopping you. Together, you climb up the small set of stairs, walking past the performers and standing in the middle of the stage, the music stopping abruptly. His voice booms throughout the room when he speaks.

“Sorry for the disruption folks, but I always do the last dance of the season. This year, I was told not to. So I’m gonna do my kind of dancing with a great partner. Not only is she an amazing dancer, but she also taught me that people will stand for other people no matter what it costs them, and about the kind of person I want to be myself. Miss Y/N Y/L/N, everyone.” 

Whoops emerge from the back of the room where the staff are standing and you watch as Sunghoon walks to the side of the stage, discarding his leather jacket and exchanging a nod with Jake. The music starts to play - it’s a song you’ve heard before, a song you know well because you’ve danced to it many times with Sunghoon. It’s a song you love. 

He walks towards you, a smirk on his face, eyes heavy with desire. He places his hands on your waist, your own coming up to his forearm, and dips you backwards in a circle, which elicits more cheers from the dancers. He then stands behind you, imitating the starting position of the dance for your performance at the Sheldrake. The music picks up, and after that, it’s like magic. You and Sunghoon know exactly what to do, a mix of the choreography he’d taught you and of other moves you had picked up when you just danced together for fun. All the steps and turns come to you as if you know this dance by heart, and the whole time, you’re looking into each other’s eyes as they shine with happiness.

Sunghoon makes you spin away from him, and, your arm extended between you two, brings your hand up to his lips and places a delicate kiss to the back of it. Then, he jumps off the stage, prompting gasps and cheers from all around the room, and makes his way while dancing to the back of the room, where the dancers join him. Seconds before the second chorus is about to start, some of them run to you and help you off the stage, and Sunghoon nods at you from the middle of the room. So you run to him, gathering momentum until you reach him and he picks you up, lifting you from the ground up into the air, and you manage to keep your bird-like position for a few seconds. A huge smile breaks on your face as everybody cheers, your mother and sister clapping excitedly and even your father looking at you, astonished, proud. 

Sunghoon brings you back down slowly, grinning as he gazes at you with only love in his eyes. “I knew you could do it,” he whispers.

The staff starts to invite the guests to dance with them, pushing chairs to the side and getting people to stand up. Jake shows Seeun how to move, reminiscent of the way Sunghoon had done with you, your mother and Jay dance together, and the whole room turns into a dancefloor where couples and small groups can let go and move however they want to. 

You and Sunghoon head to the exit to find a quieter place, but your father calls out to you before you can slip away. “I found out you weren’t the one to get Chaewon in trouble.” Sunghoon simply nods. “I was wrong. I apologize,” he says solemnly, and the corners of Sunghoon’s lips tug slightly upwards.

“Thank you, Doctor Y/L/N.”

Your father’s eyes drift to you, and his polite expression turns affectionate. “You looked great up there, Baby.” You sigh, relief washing over your whole body and alleviating the weight on your heart. You let go of Sunghoon’s hands to wrap your arms around your father’s neck, and he takes you in a brief but tight hug.

“I’ll let you two go now. I need to find your mother, haven’t danced with her in ages. That’s something else I can thank you for,” he says, smiling down at you.

You watch him walk away for a few seconds until Sunghoon takes your hand in his again, and you slip out the doors to the front lawn. Outside, you close your eyes and take a deep breath of fresh air in, laughing for no reason other than simple joy when your eyes meet his.

He leads you to the gazebo and brings his hands to your waist again. The song is nearing its end but you can still hear it drifting through the open doors and windows of the room. You know that even when it’s over, it’ll keep playing in your head - and in your heart.

Just like you’ll always keep Sunghoon there.

You move slowly to the rhythm of the last chorus, gazing into each other’s eyes. You want to enjoy this moment for what it is, but the fact that you’re leaving tomorrow won’t leave your thoughts. This might very well be the last time you and Sunghoon ever dance together, or ever see each other. You can give each other your address and send letters, or exchange home phone numbers and call, but how long will that last? You’ll go to college while he goes home and starts working with his father again, or finds a way to fulfill his dream.

He probably sees the sadness in your eyes and brings you closer to him. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to - you know the same thoughts are cramping his mind. Words are unnecessary, and promises are futile, so for now, you forget everything else, and focus on the sway of your bodies and on his hands holding you tight against him.

Resting the side of your head on his shoulder, you look up at the night sky. The stars are shining bright, unbothered by any clouds, and the full moon gazes down at you protectively. Even when you’re apart, you and Sunghoon will still sleep under the same moon every night. You may be just one of the many love stories she’s witnessed, but you dare to think that yours is a special one, one that can’t be reproduced, one that is uniquely yours.

You continue to dance even when the song is over, letting your bodies bask in the moonlight.

fic taglist: @jaetaimjadore @sleepingsag permanent taglist: @ozymandia-s @bbujiikseu @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 © asahicore on tumblr, 2023. please do not plagiarize, repost or translate my works. feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

[jerzwriter]

Welcome Brooke Vivian Carrick!

In my headcanon for Tobias & Casey, little Brooke joins the family on August 30, 2025. But I'm delivering this incredible artwork to you one year earlier! This lovely commission is from none other than the incomparable @/artbyainna on Instagram. I've run out of amazing things to say about her, but she never, ever disappoints.

I had hoped to write more about Brooke's birth story—and maybe one day I will—but I really wanted to share this before the end of August. Some HCs about Casey's pregnancy and Brooke's birth can be found below. Maybe I'll write a little more about them one day. I sure do love this little family!

You can find some stories about this time in Round Two and more about Tobas x Casey on Tobias x Casey's Masterlist.

Caption Pietro (the cat): To me, he's saying "Not impressed!" 😂

Pregnancy/Birth Headcanons:

As with her first pregnancy with Sammy, poor Casey was pretty much nauseous for the first three months. That was even more challenging with a toddler underfoot. Fortunately, Tobias was always quick to tell her to rest, and grandmas Vivian and Rose were all too happy to step in when needed.

The minute morning sickness ends - Casey is famished and has tons of cravings. Tobias was better prepared for that this time. This time around, she wanted Greek salads and French fries most of all. See a little Insta edit about that below.

Tobias made it clear he wanted a big family; Casey made it clear she was the one who had the babies, and he agreed; it was her call. They never said definitively that this was their last, but they both believed it was. They really took time to cherish every moment of this special time.

Casey and Tobias were happy to see her sex drive was insane during this pregnancy, their friends asked how they noticed a difference? lol

Tobias arranged a 'babymoon' vacation when Casey was seven months pregnant. He wanted to go to one of their favorite islands in the Pacific, but he wasn't keen on Casey traveling so far from home while pregnant. He also wasn't about to take her to any states that could jeopardize her life if she were to have complications, so that limited his choices. They ended up at a luxury hotel in Cape May, New Jersey. He got a suite on a separate floor for Vivian and Rose, too. This way they got some relaxation and they could all spend time with Sammy - but Mom & Dad got plenty of alone time, too.

Once again, Tobias insisted they were having a daughter, so he never even looked at boy's names. Girl's names were also a challenge; neither could come up with anything they loved. Finally, his Aunt Cher suggested Eden or Brooke for Edenbrook. They loved the idea and decided to wait until the baby was born to see if she looked more like an Eden or a Brooke. Obviously, Brooke won! She was given Tobias's mother's name, Vivian, as a middle name.

For most of Casey's pregnancy, Sammy was unimpressed about the idea of a new baby, but toward the end, she decided it would be fun. So she was eager to meet her little sister, and when they brought Brooke home, Sammy really thought it was a present just for her.

Pietro, their cat, was obsessed with her baby bump throughout her pregnancy but had no interest in Brooke once she was born. Casey and Tobias joked it was an odd way to learn their cat was a Republican.

Like her sister, Brooke was anxious to enter the world and came a little earlier than expected. Her due date of September 20th became a birthdate of August 30th. Casey was in labor for 5 1/2 hours, but there were complications, and it was decided it would be best to have a C-section. Tobias was at her side through it all (and she was telling him to get a vasectomy most of that time....)

They were overjoyed when little Brooke was safely delivered, and they spent the next few days in the hospital suite marveling over her and trying to wrap their heads around the fact that they now had two little girls. Tobias was outnumbered, and he loved it.

Here's a little edit about Casey's cravings - well, at least the food cravings - this pregnancy lol

[ckret2]

The latest installment of "literally nobody is happy about Bill being the Mystery Shack's prisoner," chapter 8:

Bill attempts to manipulate the humans with the only weapon he still has at his disposal: using his own body and their own species's hygiene taboos to gross them out.

Also featuring: dramatic arguments with Ford, a surprise bath, and me trying my level best to convince you all that hair is the most disgusting substance in the universe, let me know how I do at that.

Masterpost here! August 31 2024: edited for TBOB compatibility!

A few days into summer vacation, just before dawn, Dipper and Mabel were woken by a series of thunderous crashes and pained screams, followed by Bill's piercing, maniacal laughter. They were armed and out the bedroom door in seconds.

Mabel said, "Who did he kill?!"

"I think he blew up a wall to escape—"

They skidded to a stop at the top of the attic stairs. Bill had tumbled halfway down, crashed into the wall where the stairs made a ninety degree turn, and was now sprawled upside-down on the landing, giggling.

Dipper lowered his weapon. "What."

"I ff—" Bill was interrupted by a wheeze of laughter. "I forgot how stairs work."

He spotted the kids—Dipper holding a metal claw hammer, Mabel holding a kitchen knife longer than her forearm—and abruptly stopped laughing. "Wow, you kids came ready to commit murder! Just waiting for the first excuse, huh?"

"Shut up." Dipper looked at Mabel. "Wanna go back to bed?"

"I think my blood is all adrenaline now."

Dipper sighed. "Yeah. Let's get breakfast, I guess."

They trudged down the stairs, shoulders pressed to the wall to stay as far from Bill as possible. As they passed Bill, Dipper muttered, "You could at least get out of the way."

Bill—who'd been about to gingerly sit up—lay back down and spread out across the landing. "Think I'd rather mildly inconvenience you!"

Mabel threw in, "And take a shower! You smell like an outhouse."

"That's my human-repellant forcefield."

The twins headed to the kitchen for a snack they could take out of the shack, but were blocked at the doorway by Stan. "Hold on. Don't go in there. You smell that?"

Dipper and Mabel sniffed the air and grimaced. Mabel stuck out her tongue. Dipper said, "Ugh. We thought that was Bill, but it's worse down here."

"One of two things happened," Stan said. "Either a squirrel and a raccoon fought to death under the fridge and started rotting; or the space demon cast some kind of stink curse. Personally, I'm hoping for dead wildlife. But until I find out, you two stay out of the kitchen."

There were several more crashes as Bill tumbled down the second half of the stairs, a groan, and a muttered, "What am I getting wrong?"

Stan rounded on Bill. "Hey! Demon. Don't suppose you happen to know why the kitchen smells..." He gestured vaguely, "like that."

Seated on the floor, Bill had been absorbed in prodding his limp left arm; but at the question, he looked up with a worryingly bright smile. "It just so happens I do!"

"Explain."

He twisted his left arm with his right, jammed it back into its proper position with a pop, and straightened himself up. "Funny thing—you know how I can't open doors? Because of the curse your brother put on me? Of course you do. Well—it's the darnedest little quirk of human architecture—I don't know if you noticed, but it just so happens that all of the toilets in this house are behind doors!"

Stan's face blanched. "Oh no."

"At any given time, this body I'm in is freely secreting about half a dozen different bodily fluids—snot, spit, sweat, I could go on—and you humans are perfectly comfortable with that. But you think one bodily fluid is special and can only go in the special white bowl. Me, on the other hand—usually, I'm an energy being that doesn't leak all day! So your fluids are all equal to me! I don't care about your special white bowls!"

Hotly, Stan said, "You're in my house—"

Suddenly twice as angry and twice as loud as Stan, Bill said, "So if you think I'm going to lower myself to asking three times a day for permission to use a STUPID TOILET for YOUR COMFORT—"

And that was when they started screaming.

Dipper looked at Mabel. "Let's eat out."

Mabel nodded. "You know that burger place where Wendy gets breakfast—?"

"If we hurry, we can probably meet her there."

By the time they'd changed and come back downstairs, Ford had joined in the argument, Abuelita had set up a folding chair to watch it like a wrestling match, and the volume had doubled. (Bill: "BE GRATEFUL I USED THE SINK INSTEAD OF YOUR CEREAL BOXES! NEXT TIME I WON'T BE SO MERCIFUL!" Stan: "I'M GONNA INSTALL A DOOR KNOB ON THE KITCHEN FAUCET AND THEN YOU'LL NEED MY PERMISSION TO DRINK, YOU LITTLE—") Dipper and Mabel squeezed around the crowd, slid out the door, and biked into town.

They decided they'd just stay out the rest of the day.

They'd been doing that a lot lately.

####

When they made it home that evening, the first person they ran into was Soos, relocating a detached door. "Oh, hey dudes! Okay so, update on the Bill situation." Soos leaned the door against the wall. "We removed the door on the downstairs half bath and nailed up a curtain instead, so, now it's curse-accessible, but Bill can't lock himself in and do—" he wiggled his fingers, "secret Bill things. So. If you wanna use a bathroom with a real door, you've gotta go upstairs now."

Mabel considered that. "The bathroom with the tub still has a real door, right?"

"Yeah dudes, it's fine!"

Dipper said, "So... do we have a way to get him to shower...?"

Mabel said, "Yeah, whatever Bill's been doing in the kitchen sink—"

(Soos said, "And the trash can, it turns out.")

"—it definitely hasn't included sponge baths."

"And I'm not really comforted by his 'human-repellant forcefield' comment," Dipper added.

Mabel nodded. "I'd kinda like Bill to clean up before he gets as bad as Dipper last July."

"Hey."

Soos pointed toward the attic. "Ford's working on that right now." He whispered, "He's got a theory that Bill's just just too proud to ask for permission to use the facilities? So maybe if we ask him to take a shower, he'll go, 'oh, okay, I'm doing you guys a favor,' and then he'll agree to be let in and out of the bathroom."

Dipper grimaced. "I don't like the idea of begging him to shower. I know he'll be smug about it."

"Uh... I'm fine with it." Soos shrugged. "Better smug than smelly."

####

"All right, Cipher."

Every time Ford came upstairs, Bill was curled up in the window seat, one side pressed against the glass. If it weren't for the crumpled jerky and granola bags and the empty energy drinks scattered beneath Bill's window seat—or the occasional downstairs argument—Ford would have suspected Bill hadn't budged in days. It made him nervous. There was an ice pack on Bill's left shoulder that had sat there so long it was completely melted.

"You got the bathroom you wanted. Now, would you take a shower?" Ford mustered up all his willpower as he prepared to mortify himself, and added, "Please."

It was important to note that Ford had spent his youth as the golden child; Stan had been disowned before his desire to please his parents had a chance to wilt and die; and Ford had barely seen Shermie's teen years. He'd spent his own adolescence isolated from his peers, and hadn't gotten to know any youths except Dipper and Mabel since then.

All of which was to say, the look Bill Cipher gave Ford, shocking in its ferocity, was utterly alien to him; but would have been familiar to millions of humans around the world. It was the same look received by authoritarian parents whose tyranny had squeezed a little too tight, and whose offspring had realized they were grounded so severely they no longer had anything left to lose.

It was the wrath of the defiant teenager.

And then the most pleasant smile snapped on Bill's face, quick as flicking a light switch. "What's in it for me?"

Ford blinked in disbelief. What needed to be in it for Bill? It was a shower. "Being... clean?"

"Eh."

"You can't enjoy being dirty."

"Not a bit! I feel filthy and it's horrible," Bill said cheerily. "Every inch of me feels tainted and corrupted. The touch of my own flesh is nauseating. But, ya know what? I felt exactly the same when this body was 'clean'." He put exaggerated air quotes around the word. "So why would I waste my time scrubbing the top layer of filth off the second layer of filth."

Ford's shoulders sagged. "At least use deodorant?" he pled. "Change clothes? Brush your hair? Something?"

"No, no, absolutely not, aaand no. What's the matter, Stanford? I've been staying out of your way! You don't even see me up here. The stench can't be getting to you that much—after all, you've gone waaay longer than this without showering, stinky!"

(The back of Ford's neck heated up as he realized at times he had, in fact, gone without showering for far longer than Bill had even existed in this body. Science is more important! Bill had no excuse.)

"You smell like burnt hair, by the way," Bill added.

Ford grumbled, "It's faster than shaving."

"And it has got to overpower the smell of a little stale sweat. So what do you care how this body smells?" Bill's grin widened. "Awww, is the guilt starting to set in? Must be hard to pretend you're a hospitable host rather than a kidnapper when your 'guest' is living in squalor—"

"Enough," Ford snapped. "So this is what, your way of protesting your own captivity? This isn't something we're doing to you, you're doing it to yourself! You have to realize how stupid this is!"

"Buuut it's wooork-iiing," Bill said, a singsong lilt to his voice. "It's getting on your neee-eeerves."

"You're going to cause yourself problems in the long run! Diseases, infections—don't tell me I have to explain germ theory to you, you're smarter than that."

"Course I am! When the plague was running rampant, I was the one mocking your species's failure to pick up bathing." Bill scoffed. "I'm flattered you're so concerned about my health, but you can relax. I've been washing my hands and brushing my teeth like a good little potential disease vector. But you humans are so safe inside your modern fortresses with minimal carnivorous bugs and flesh-eating fungi—most of your modern hygiene expectations are cosmetic, because your culture's trained itself to be disgusted by humans' own natural scent. I'm more willing to put up with itchy dandruff than you are to put up with the smell."

"Are you listening to yourself? This is—" Ford paused. "You've been brushing your teeth? Where did you get a toothbrush?"

"I've been using the dish brush and liquid dish soap in the kitchen." Bill laughed. "Wow, look at you—lecturing your prisoner on poor hygiene when you didn't give him any way to clean up! That's not a good look, pal."

Ford made a mental note to find a spare toothbrush for Bill. He flung his hands out in exasperation. "But—why put up with itchy dandruff at all? Why refuse to shower, of all things? And don't say to be annoying—you're cutting off your nose to spite your face!"

"Because cutting off my nose is the only bargaining chip I've got, and you know it."

Seeing expressions on Bill's face—smiles and scowls and smirks and sneers, mouth and tongue and cheeks and eyebrows—still felt wrong. No matter what expression Bill put on, it always felt to Ford like he was using his face to tell some sort of lie. But his eyes—Ford was familiar with Bill's eye, and doubling it didn't banish that familiarity. He knew this heavy, hard, distant look. It was the same look he'd seen just before Bill had shown him, through his own eye, the sight of his home dimension burning. The same look he'd seen when Bill told Ford that the monster that had destroyed his dimension would eat him alive. Of all the looks he'd seen in Bill's eye—curved crescent with sadistic glee, literally red hot with fury—something about this heavy look chilled Ford the most. It was, somehow, the cruelest he'd ever seen Bill: not because the look was malicious (it wasn't); but because it was so detached.

Bill got to his feet, wincing as he uncurled his hunched back. He stretched, spine cracking, as he sauntered lazily toward Ford. "Can I speak frankly with you, Sixer? I can't do a lot of tricks in this body. Heck, I'd try to tell you I don't have any tricks right now—but you'd accuse me of lying, blah blah blah; so let's at least agree I can't escape or kill you all, or I would have! As far as I'm concerned, this body—" he gestured grandly at himself, "—is a dirty sticker stuck on the bottom of my shoe. It's worth less than nothing to me. But it's all I've got at my disposal. So I'm going to be disgusting, until you start doing me favors."

"Favors," Ford said. "And if we don't?"

Bill shrugged, hands raised. "Then I guess I'll keep being gross! But I cannot overemphasize just how little I care about your culture's hygiene preferences, or how far I'm willing to go to irritate you. This morning's hazmat crisis in the kitchen was just a warning shot. You will cave first."

As unnerving as that heavy look in Bill's eyes was, simply seeing it wasn't what rattled Ford. It was knowing that Bill could wear that cruel, detached look when the victim he was committing quiet, passive violence on was himself.

Bill stared Ford down for a moment; then apparently took Ford's silence for victory. "I want a drink strong enough to rot a bootlegger's guts, a hot meal that hasn't been cooked by Grandma Guilia Tofana down there, or—" Bill pointed toward the attic window that his curse prevented him from opening, "a breeze and some fresh air. I'm flexible. Let me know when you're ready to negotiate." He returned to his seat in the window. "I won't be far."

Giving Bill "a breeze" would obviously give him an escape route. Bill was no doubt angling to accumulate tiny, "harmless" favors until he tricked the humans into doing something that would let him escape; but... Ford eyed the empty junk food bags on the floor. He tried to remember whether he'd seen Bill eat anything except for unrefrigerated factory-sealed snacks he could forage from the open kitchen shelves—or if the last fresh food Bill had tasted had been Abuelita's cyanide cooking.

Bill wanted Ford to pity him. That was what this whole charade was about. Ford hated that it was working. Not because of Bill's performative filthiness—but because Ford knew, too well, what it was like to be trapped, powerless, and hungry in an alien dimension; and because even when Bill was all but confessing he was trying to exploit Ford's pity, he was still trying so hard to pretend he wasn't afraid. 

"I'll let you know what Stanley says."

Bill didn't turn away quite fast enough to hide his smile of triumph. "I'll be waiting." He settled back down into the same position he'd held for half a day and stared out at the night sky.

####

After several days in this body, Bill could definitively conclude that sleep was the worst part of being human.

In other circumstances, repeatedly blacking out and coming to, only to realize he couldn't remember anything for the past several hours, might just mean he'd been to a great party. He was no stranger to dissociating for a few billion years—you couldn't outlive the births and deaths of whole realities without getting really good at meditating to pass the empty time—but the difference was at least he could see what was happening around him! And sometimes he did cool things while he was dissociating! At any rate, he didn't need to worry about anything bad happening to him, because he was awake, able to defend himself, and—oh yeah—immortal.

But sleep was different. Sleep left him helpless. Sleep made him dream.

Usually he didn't remember dreaming, even though he knew he must have dreamt for at least a couple hours. He hated not knowing what had been happening around his physical body for all that time, and he hated not knowing what he'd been doing in his dreams. Anything could have happened to him during those missing hours in the mindscape.

The few dreams he remembered were little comfort. Nightmares about dying, about screams and screams and screams, about faces and places he was frankly galled to find still haunted him... things he'd spent his entire imprisonment in the Theraprism fighting to keep safely buried in his subconscious, only for this infuriating human brain to let them crawl from their graves like zombies.

But the subject matter wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that, while he was dreaming, he didn't know he was dreaming.

He didn't understand how that was possible. He couldn't remember how the dreams started, what trick they must have pulled to persuade him that this was reality even though he couldn't remember what had happened five minutes earlier, or how they hypnotized him into unquestioningly playing along with their bizarre impossible Wonderland plot lines. Waking up was more terrifying than his nightmares, as he reoriented himself to reality and had to grapple with how helplessly delusional he'd just been—and the knowledge that it would happen again, and again, and again.

Bill knew how human minds worked. He knew how humans dreamed. He'd been swimming through their dreams for millennia. This was normal for humans, and the knowledge that it was normal was the only thing keeping him from going mad with terror.

But the fact that it was normal for humans didn't make any of this okay. Because he was not human, and he should not be vulnerable to the same subconscious blindspots he'd been exploiting for thousands of years. He was the Magister Mentium, the master of minds! He hated losing control of which realities he chose to believe were real. He hated blacking out for hours at a time. He hated being so foggy-minded and vulnerable in the mindscape.

Most of his diet of the past few days consisted of energy drinks. His throat constantly blazed with heartburn. He needed a better solution—and maybe he could think of one once he got a decent meal, or a drink that could help him sleep without dreaming.

He was hungry, he was tired, and he was weak.

####

But in spite of the caffeine, at some point Bill must have fallen asleep—because he woke up. 

For once, he didn't wake from the searing heat of psychic fires.

He woke from the deadly chill of ice cold bath water.

"HELP!" Bill flailed, bashed both elbows and a heel against porcelain, and went under. He came up spluttering. "Mayday! Charybdis! Carpathia!"

The bathroom door slammed shut. From the other side, Stan shouted, "We considered your terms, and uh—we decided we're rejecting your demands, you get nothing, aaand you've gotta bathe."

Bill heaved himself out of the tub, flopped on the floor, and lay there wetly. Like a fish out of water, if the fish had given up the will to live. "Texq exmmbkba?" What happened?

"We dropped you in the tub," Ford said. "And we're going to do that every time your stench becomes intolerable, unless you bathe voluntarily. Is that clear?"

("What the heck language is he speaking now?" "Not a language. Caesar cipher." "You're tellin' me Cipher was Caesar, too?")

Bill coughed out a mouthful of water. "I'll drown myself."

"No you won't."

"It'd be fun. I'll enjoy it."

Ford hesitated. "Knowing you, you probably would. But you could only do it once."

"I'll slaughter you both."

Stan laughed. "Sure, if you ever reach us!" He jiggled the doorknob tauntingly.

Bill dragged himself across the floor and pounded on the door. He hollered, "I'll make meat linguine out of your skins with an orange peeler! I'll cook it in bone broth made by boiling your teeth!"

There was an awkward pause. Stan said, "I don't have teeth."

"The two of you are a loser who was only ever likable when you were pretending to be your brother and a puffed-up self-pitying nerd who never learned that no one's impressed by a child prodigy after age twenty-two! The biggest impact you'll ever have on each other is derailing each other's life dreams, and all your friends are worse off for knowing you! Your father died ashamed of you both and if he knew the truth about your lives he'd have been even more ashamed! Sherman has no positive memories of you, your obituaries will spell both your names wrong, and I'm going to feed your souls to an ouroboros that will repeatedly digest and defecate you for ten thousand years!"

After a couple more minutes of threats, insults, and beating his fists bloody on the door, Bill had to stop to catch his breath. Ford calmly said, "Have you got that out of your system?"

A pause. "Think I'm good now." Bill slumped to the floor again, his cheek pressed to the cool, damp floorboards. "Okay. Name your terms."

"You're not coming out of there until you've bathed," Ford said. "We'll let you out when you tell us you're clean. If you're not clean, we close the door again. If you want to sit there and sulk, then we'll leave, and once you're clean you'll just have to wait until somebody feels like checking on you. Is that clear."

Locked in and abandoned to wait and wait and wait for nothing at all... He shivered.  "Clear as crystal." He pushed himself to his hands and knees and tried not to look at the walls.

"Good. On the cabinet by the tub, you'll find a towel, washcloth, brush, comb, bar of soap, and shampoo. Are you familiar with how to use all of them."

"Sure! Of course I am!" Bill picked up the bar of soap, dipped it in the water, and experimentally rubbed it on his forearm. "For half a year, I bathed your body more often than you did."

Ford yelped, "You what?!" Stan spluttered as he tried not to laugh.

"Didn't you notice how much more the humans in town avoided you when you stopped letting me take your body overnight?" The soap wasn't soaping like it should. Why wasn't the soap soaping? In a flash of inspiration, he peeled the cardboard box off the soap bar. It had been a while since he'd needed to use bar soap; thirty years ago, Ford had kept the bathroom stocked with Dr. Scrubber's 28-In-1 Body Wash.

"I... thought that... I was sweating more from stress." Ford sounded like he was being forced to reevaluate his entire life. Waiting thirty years to dump that revelation on Ford had been a great idea. "Why were you bathing my body."

"Your odor was offending your pet bumpkin! I didn't want him to stage a mental health intervention!" That, plus Bill had needed to wash away the evidence that sometimes he took Ford's body on midnight joyrides to Portland when he'd finished his portion of the portal calculations.

"Okay, great," Stan cut in, "so you know how to shower. You freak." (Bill decided not to point out that calling him a freak had about as much impact as calling him a triangle.) "Clean clothes next to the shower supplies. Got it?"

He glanced at them. "Yeah, yeah."

"Good."

Ford said, "If you get this over with in a timely manner, without wrecking the bathroom or wasting the toiletries, we can talk about letting you choose a shampoo brand for next time."

Bill considered pointing out that that was a pretty stupid bribe to offer a creature who didn't have the slightest emotional attachment to organic toiletries; but then he remembered one of the cults he was affiliated with in New England made a shampoo line using its traumatized worshippers' tears, and he grudgingly decided he'd like to support them if he could. "You're enjoying this, aren't you."

"No." Ford was enjoying this. And after the mortifying reveal that Bill had scrubbed down Ford's naked body, he'd just angrily decided to enjoy it even harder.

"Gimme an hour. Been a while since I've done this start to finish, I'm outta practice."

"Fine. We'll be back in sixty minutes."

Bill could hear the creak of the floorboards as the Pines left, and the fading sound of Stan's voice as he quietly asked, "Do you think what he said about Shermie..."

Yeah, Bill hoped that haunted him. He reached for the towel, and then jerked back his hand, startled, at the sight of another person in the bathroom.

"Oh." Bill experimentally waved a hand at the human, confirming that the strange alien looking at him was a mirror. There used to be more mirrors in Ford's shack, but he hadn't seen any since he arrived—they were among the "potential weapons" the Pines had hidden away—but apparently they'd overlooked this bathroom. "Hey, there." He stared glumly at the face he was trapped inside.

He'd never seen it before.

He'd seen glimpses of his new body from his temporal peripheral vision—looking into the kitchen and seeing himself examining the junk food on the counters a couple of minutes in the future; looking at the stairs and seeing himself walk up them a few minutes ago. But he'd just taken in the perimeter of the uninteresting puppet and ignored the details. He'd never looked at the face.

Up until now, he'd kept imagining himself as a triangle. Some half-dead shape fraying golden curls around the edges, fused atop the rib cage of a humanoid puppet. Seeing the reality felt wrong, disorienting, like staring at an optical illusion but not being able to pick out how it worked.

He tore his eyes away from his own face. Forget it. He didn't have time to feel bad for himself. He had access to a mirror in the middle of the night and no one supervising, and that meant he could send an SOS to the mirror realm. He had friends in the mirror realm! Well—"friends." He had people whose arms he could twist into helping out, leave it at that.

He flipped the lights off, stared in the mirror—trying to focus only on his own eyeballs—and whispered, "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary." Maybe she wouldn't recognize him in a human body and take his call?

But nothing. "Come on, pleeease," he whined. "Bloodymary-bloodymary-bloodymary please! I'll owe you my life!" Nothing. Why were all of Bill's exes petty psychos who'd excommunicated him or gotten restraining orders against him for no good reason?

He sighed, flipped the lights back on, and morosely searched for any sign of himself in the reflected face staring back at him. It was like trying to find something reminiscent of Chopin's piano Nocturnes in the shape of a lawnmower: a task so impossible it was unintelligible. 

The only thing at all familiar was the color of the hair; not quite as bright as the dazzling electric gold of his true form, but still achingly similar.

Gold splintered into long, needle-thin splinters—splinters with the flexibility of a contortionist, splinters that had been twisted out of shape, splinters that curled like the legs of a dead bug.

"Well, whaddaya know," Bill sighed. "It only took a few dozen eons—but you finally grew up to look like your mother. Ha. Ha ha." The joke left a bitter taste behind his eye. (Eyes.)

Hopefully, he asked, "Oihpromsyd, uoy taht si?" It would be a relief on multiple levels to find he felt so grotesque because he was being haunted by Mr. "Guy Who Lives In Your Mirror And Makes Your Reflection Look Grotesque" Dysmorphio. "Suoedih leef yllaeeer I—krow tseb ruoy fo emos eb attog sah siht!" He waited for his own reflected face to twist in pleasant surprise—either at a human that could speak Rorrim or at the rare compliment to Dysmorphio's work—revealing that the reflection was actually the demon in disguise; but nothing. There went another potential rescuer. Bill already knew the Eye Stealer didn't haunt any mirrors in this shack, no point trying to call him. He didn't stand a chance of reaching anyone else in the mirror realm unless they just happened to pass through this mirror—and unless they were friends, they'd be no more eager to help out thwarted dimensional tyrant Bill Cipher than any of the humans in town would be.

He'd had enough of staring at this face he was stuck in to last him a lifetime. He broke eye contact with himself, tossed the clean shirt over the mirror, discovered the bathroom had a second mirror, and took off the shirt he'd been wearing for most of a week to cover that one, too. He unpeeled the rest of his clothes, trying to avoid looking too close at the human body as he did—it seemed worse now than it had when he'd first gotten this body, with the image of that alien face seared into his memory, knowing he wasn't on this body but dissolved inside it.

Once he'd cleaned this body and perfumed it up to the humans' persnickety standards and gotten out of here, he could handle future hygiene issues by scrubbing off in the sink in his curtained bathroom downstairs. He'd only have to go through this indignity once.

So let's go, Billy, just get it over with—and use the time to think up new ways to irritate the humans into doing what you want.

####

He tried first bathing in the filled tub, until the cold water had him shivering so hard he couldn't properly coordinate his hands; then drained it and tried showering; and then filled it with warm water and attempted bathing again. After the fifth scrub-down he even gave up on soap and tried clawing off layers of skin with his fingernails. No matter what he did, he still felt filthy.

But he'd be dead from blood loss long before he scraped off enough skin to feel clean. He didn't have to actually get clean; he only had to be clean enough to satisfy his captors.

Most of him, he supposed, was clean enough for a human's tastes—any signs of peeling dead skin scrubbed off, no visible dirt, no noticeable scent but the smell of soap—but he doubted the hair would pass muster. It still had asphalt dust in it from almost a week ago, not to mention whatever his scalp had been shedding since then.

But, unfortunately, the hair was the worst part. He could scrub skin with no trouble; but when he was bathing, sunk down to his chin, trying to feel weightless again, the hair floated around him like a grotesque ghost, closing in. When he was showering, it dangled on his face, clinging to his skin, like it was trying to creep under his eyelid and down his throat and choke him. Just knowing it was there turned his stomach; touching it made his throat burn as energy drink bile tried to escape his stomach.

Maybe if Bill brushed the tangles out first. That would knock out some of the dirt without him having to touch it himself. He sat on the edge of the tub, letting the growing tingling pain in his legs as his circulation was cut off distract him from the feeling of hair sticking to his cheeks and shoulders.

He tried to brush it out with his eyes shut, and his knuckles accidentally dragged across the filaments, wet, clammy, clingy. He yanked the brush free and felt hundreds of hairs jerking against their follicles. He forced himself to try again with his eyes open, holding the brush by the very tip of the handle. The bristles sank into the lumpen tangled mass of dead curling skin, and, as he tugged it down, slowly peeled the soggy strands of flesh apart—

His stomach hurt with the force of his retch. He clapped a hand over his mouth, dropped to his knees, and barely managed to get his dinner on the floor instead of on himself.

Voice a shaky, plaintive whine, he said, "Stop doing that to me." He shut his eyes, pressing his sweaty forehead to the cool rim of the bath tub. (Should he have aimed for the tub? Maybe the toilet? Would the humans get on his case for getting sick?) He jabbed a finger into his abdomen around the area where he'd decided the anthropomorphized spirit of indigestion lived in humans' guts. "Chumbo. Buddy. You're not helping," he hissed. "If I'm already neauseous, purging a load of bile does not help. It makes—it—worse. Why are humans built like this."

The Pines were tyrants. If he begged to be let out with his hair still grimy, the best he could hope for was mockery. Any pleas for mercy would cost him dearly. He wasn't getting out of here until he'd dealt with the hair.

He stood shakily and pulled the makeshift curtain aside on one of the mirrors. His vision was bleary from soap; the soggy hair draped in a loose, disheveled triangle shape around his head, like a mangled corpse. He shuddered and let the fabric drop. 

A knock on the door. "It's been an hour, Cipher."

Ford. Bill rubbed his throat and hoped he didn't sound like he'd just been sick. "Gimme another hour."

"That's ridiculous. It takes less than ten minutes to shower, how could you possibly need two hours?"

"So I'm out of practice at scrubbing skin folds! Give me a break! How many hundreds of showers have you taken since the last time I did this? Do you know how hard it is to hold a bar of soap for more than half a second with a mere five fingers?"

There was a pause. "You can't hold soap."

"My hands are small, Stanford."

"Fine. One more hour, but that's all you get."

"Fine, I don't care! If I'm not done in an hour, kick down the door and call the hygiene police on me." Bill was pretty sure you couldn't even get a call through to the hygiene police from this dimension. "Go away. I'm focusing."

If the Theraprism's stupid reincarnation machine was supposed to—ahem-hem, snooty director voice—"divinely designthe body most well-suited to the soul about to inhabit it," then why had it given Bill hair. Sure, he liked human hair, but he liked hair the same way he liked humiliating misspelled tattoos: on other people's bodies, not his. Why hadn't the machine dumped him on Earth bald and balloon-smooth, let the patchy human fur patterns grow in over time? Why hadn't it at least given Bill less hair—why did it need to be so long—

But his hair didn't need to be long, did it? Bill didn't need to have hair at all. Hair was the easiest human body part to self-amputate, easier even than fingernails or ears. Inspired, Bill started searching the bathroom cabinet drawers—et voila. The Pines had no doubt removed any razors or scissors before leaving Bill in this bathroom, but he managed to find a bottle of hair removal cream. Probably courtesy of Question Mark's girlfriend. Cosmetic acid: one of humanity's many endearing little quirks. This would liquefy the roots of the hair, and Bill could get out of here.

He considered whether to melt the hair off the rest of the body. Honestly, he hardly noticed the faint fuzz on his arms and legs, it could stay. The thicker patches extruding from the soft crevasses of the human body triggered that same rotting corpse feeling the scalp hair did, but to a much lesser extent: they were smaller and he could actually see with his eyes that the hairs were growing from the skin rather than spilling out of some dark wet wound. Head first; then he'd annihilate the other three patches if he had enough cream left.

It was easier to touch the hair when he was powered by rage, sliding his cream-coated fingers through the clingy filaments in service of burning it all away. The tingle on his scalp was a welcome distraction from the feeling of the hair itself, and feeling the tingle gradually blossom into a full agonizing blaze was a relief. Chemical burn. That was a luxurious pain—it tightened his lungs and squeezed tears of bliss from his eyes, so good he almost forgot there was another goal to this pain. 

Maybe it would damage some of his follicles enough to prevent the hair from regrowing. Maybe he could wring some pity out of his captors—see this damage, isn't it hideous, look what you made me do—how long could he milk that? A few weeks?

He tolerated the burn as long as he thought he could get away with it without requiring hospitalization, then turned the shower on again. The ice cold water didn't wash the dead hair off fast enough. Some of it stuck to his skin; some was brittle, but not quite fully dissolved.

And that one, last, tiny inconvenience was more than he could stand. 

The hair stuck to his chest, his arms, his hands as he ripped it off. Dead flesh, peeling apart and rotting, dead flesh all over him. He ran his hands over his head, fingers trembling with disgust, and tore out clumps of hair to fling to the ground. His eardrums boomed with his heartbeat. If there had been anyone else in the room he would have murdered them with his bare hands just to purge some rage. Over and over, desperate, obsessed, get it off get it off—

Until his head was so smooth that the pain of the chemical burns masked what few fibers were left. Until the icy shower left his skin so cold it hurt. He stepped out of the shower, triumphantly tore the shirt down from the mirror to see the results—and froze in horror.

When a cloud of gold hair had dangled down from his scalp, he'd looked like a triangle rotting apart—the corpse of Bill Cipher.

Now, he looked at his face, and he didn't see Bill Cipher at all. He'd destroyed the last of himself.

At his feet was a murder scene, all mangled golden gore.

####

(if you enjoyed—and/or were horrified—let me know what y'all think!!)

[mamirhodessxox]

Hey There Delilah (Final Part)

Cody Rhodes x Fem!OC (Delilah Jones)

Storyline: Delilah was born and raised by the beach in L.A and grew up in a home where her parents expected her to go to Harvard & become a well known woman who marry’s a man who is a lawyer after high school. But that’s not what she wanted, She always wanted to own a boutique/flower shop & she did, once her parents discovered she wouldn’t attend college they left her to fend for herself but allowed her little sister Kinsley to visit or sleep over whenever, Her little sister always had an eye for WWE but Delilah never understood why but little did either of them know one of Delilah’s customers would become well acquainted. (Creds to @alyyaanna for helping me w the storyline)

Contents: Toxic parents, Angst, Fluff, Smut in later chapters, Based in May 2023, Alcohol, Violence, Corruption Kink, Size Kink, Daddy Kink, Crying Kink, Hand Kink, Praise Kink, Fingering, Smutty smut, Mentions of a Custody Battle.

🏷️ list: @alyyaanna @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @adollonyourshelf @mini-rhodes @southerngirl41 @harmshake @femdisa @kabloswrld @claymoresofinfamy23 @cococodysleevlesshoodie

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

Cody & Delilah spent their honeymoon in the bahamas, for an entire week after the wedding they’ve been all over each other, after their vacation together they made it back home & spent the summer relaxing.

Months passed by, it was August & summerslam was being held in Miami, obviously the ladies & kinsley would be attending the event with the guy’s but what they hadn’t known was the fact Nikki would be at summerslam, once everyone was aired in Cody & Delilah explored the air bnb they would be staying at with Mira, Kinsley & Randy for the week. “DELILAH COME IN HERS PLEASE!” Mira shrieked from the bathroom causing everyone to turn their heads towards the hallway while Lilah sprung up from Cody’s lap and ran into the bathroom “My boobs grew 10x fucking bigger that’s not normal.” Mira whispered as she held her chest feeling out for anything “You don’t think it’s breast can-…” Mira widened her eyes not letting lilah finish her words “if I do I don’t wanna know about it.”

Eventually the two came out of the bathroom together and noticed Rhea & Seth sitting on the couch with Randy & Cody while Kinsley sat in the backyard playing with the pool water “Bunny come here” Randy spoke out as he stared directly at her chest with a furrowed expression, Mira followed his instructions & flopped an arm against his shoulder as he continued staring at her chest “your boobs are bigger than usual” he hummed while looking up at his fiancé who was clearly upset as she completely forgot all of the health hazards she studied.

Rhea hummed and sat up “She’s pregnant. Her boobs grew way more bigger than the size they usually do, they’re clearly swollen which happens with pregnancy” Mira snapped her head in Rhea’s direction while Seth looked at Cody confused “Why are you memorizing her previous tit size?” Rhea shrugged at Randy’s question “I see good boobs I look at good boobs” “fair.” Mira smiled putting her hand against where her heart would be “Aww I have good boobs.” Delilah let out a light laugh before turning towards her best friend “Why don’t you take a pregnancy test? I think it would be cute if we were actually pregnant together.”

Mira ran her hands through her hair smiling shortly while Randy looked up at her in adoration while she stood infront of him, he wrapped his arms around her waist while Cody smiled at the couple.

A day later Cody, Kinsley & Delilah explored around the arena for a bit while Mira was using the restroom for the pregnancy test she got the night beforehand, Delilah’s stomach was slowly growing bigger & bigger after being 4 months pregnant, she & Cody decided that after summer slam they would find out the gender when they got back home. Delilah felt her phone ringing in her summer dress pocket. “Come back to the bathrooms.” Mira spoke softly & Delilah smiled to herself “We’re on our way back” She approached Cody after hanging up and let him know she got the results & they were requested to come back.

The three rushed backstage & approached the bathroom, Mira stood by the door smiling ear to ear “I’m pregnant” Lilah let out a soft cry and immediately engulfed Mira into her embrace and mumbling her excitement in Mira’s ear before pulling away to wipe off her face, Cody however was a mess & pulled Mira into a tight hug while letting a few tears drop down his face before pulling away “You’re going to be a kickass mom Mira. I’m beyond happy for you.” Kinsley smiled and gently hugged Mira’s stomach

Randy eventually walked in on the scene and was confused for a split moment until he noticed kinsley hugging her stomach, Randy quickly rushed towards Mira and picked her up “We’re having a baby?” She smiled at his words and nodded her head while he pushed any hair out of her face before giving her a kiss & mumbling against her lips “thank you so much bunny”

Cody & Delilah congratulated the two, eventually Mira went to take Kinsley to their seats while the guy’s got ready, Delilah was heading to the vending machine to grab her sister & Mira some snacks until she heard a high pitched giggle in the men’s locker room, at first she shrugged it off until she heard “C’mon she won’t find out, she doesn’t have to know” Delilah’s facial expression dropped as she recognized another voice speak “No Nikki, I already told you I’m not interested okay?” She immediately knew it was Cody & approached the locker room with crossed arms boring her eyes into Nikki’s skin until Cody noticed her presence “Ange-“ Delilah held out a hand and got infront of Nikki looking at her up and down “It’s really tacky trying to convince a man to cheat on his new wife who is pregnant just because nobody is interested in hearing you brag how much your shitty boob job costed. That’s embarrassing honestly” Nikki glared as she got in Delilahs face “You may have married him but I fuc-“ “You had sex with Cody because he was bored & Single, and it took 1 night with you to know the sex wasn’t worth staying, I on the other hand don’t even have to ask simply because he is naturally attracted to me.” Cody watched the two bicker & decided too pat Lilah on the waist “Just leave it Doll.” Nikki glared as Delilah started walking off “Cody won’t last longer than a year with you, he’s gonna cave, get bored of you & leave for someone like m-“ Cody reached to try and stop Lilah’s next move but she was too quick, she spun around and smacked nikki across the face “Keep my fucking husbands name out of your goddamn mouth am I understood?” She glared before Cody gently held onto her waist “Sweetheart c’mon”

Lilah frowned looking over at him and snatched her hand away from him and began storming off, he sighed and glared at Nikko who wad stunned holding the side of her face, He shook his head & decided chasing after his wife before his match started, eventually he caught up to her in the hallway “For someone who usually walks slow you sure are pretty fuckin’ fast right no-“ “Why were you alone with her.” Delilah turned around to face Cody with a frown on her face “You knew what happened last year, Why were you alone in there with HER out of all people?” His expression softened at her concern & he looked down for a moment “I was getting ready & I had to go in the locker room to grab my water bottle & she came in asking a simple question such as who would be in the ring tonight & then she started escalating things, I didn’t do anything Angel, you know I wouldn’t do that to you” he reassured her and wrapped her in his arms and rested his chin in the top of her head “Promise you wouldn’t betray me?” Her words stabbed his heart slightly but he nodded and pulled away and grabbing her chin to make her loom at him “Sweetheart, I’d rather die getting ran over by a train in the middle of the tracks than betray you in any sort of way.” Delilah smiled softly and gave him a kiss.

A week after Summerslam when everyone got home they all went to the ultrasound for Cody & Delilah’s baby, Mira & Kinsley sat in the room with them while Seth, Jey, Randy, Becky & Rhea sat in the waiting room. “Well isn’t that a surprise mama” The nurse mumbled under her breath causing the couple to look at each other confused “You’re havin’ twins! Ain’t that exciting!” Mira let out a short cry as she stared at the screen seeing the two small babies while Cody was choked up and grazing Delilahs ring against the top of his lips, “One boy, One girl.”

For the next few months everyone decided to take the holidays easy & smooth for the sake of Mira & Delilah’s pregnancies, Cody had to go out of town every now and then but it wasn’t any longer than a week or just 3 days. It was November 29th & Miranda & Delilah were working at the Flower boutique but Lilah couldn’t help but notice that Mira had been in the dumps for a bit since she had a over the phone argument with Randy. Delilah sighed and walked outside and grabbed her phone calling him herself “Hello?” “Randy what the fuck is your problem? Why are you being a pain in the ass for Mira” “Delilah..She’s just being complicated, having outbursts, she’s been overly emot-“ “Randal Keith Orton I suggest you choose your next words VERY carefully. Mira is pregnant with YOUR child, she is engaged to YOU, if she is carrying your baby actively you better fucking cater to her like she’s cleopatra because YOU have no idea what she’s going through, just because your like one state away doesn’t give you the right of passage to be an ass Randy, She has another human living inside of her body & it is overwhelming. You’re going to apologize her and you’re gonna mean it. Am I understood?” For a slight moment there was silence besides hearing Cody & Jey giggle in the background over Randy being chewed out “You’re right. I’ll do that now.”

Randy gave Mirabella a full length essay like apology & even sent her roses, for the next few days Mira was sleeping over at Delilah & Cody’s since she didn’t like being by herself especially during her pregnancy, December finally hit & the babies were to come at any moment.

One night Cody was sitting in his hotel room packing his stuff to go back home until his phone started ringing, Mira was calling. “Everything alright Mira?” He heard her shakey breath and was seemed to be the noise of a driving vehicle “D-Delilahs water just broke & I’m taking her to hospital now!” Cody’s heart sank and he immediately zipped up his suit case “I’m on my way now alright? Just hang in there.” He blurted out before hanging up and running out of the hotel room while the other guys followed behind aswell as Mira sent them the text. They got on a jet that they knew would get them back in California as quick as possible, he called up triple H nervously until he picked up “I’m not attending this weeks matches Delilah’s in labor and I can’t mis-“ “Cody relax, I understand, Your cleared for the month alright? Go be a dad. Congratulations.”

Delilah sat in the hospital bed squeezing Mira’s hand from the contractions hurting so bad, Kinsley sat in the hallway patiently waiting to see if anyone was coming for her sister until she heard rushed foot steps, Cody & the reat of the guys stopped infront of Kinsley “Where’s Lilah sweetheart?” Kinsley got up and grabbed onto Cody’s hand and took him to the room where Delilah was. He sighed and rushed over towards her “How’re you doing Angel? You holding in there” Delilah groaned out in pain while the Doctor came in “She’s going to have to start pushing immediately, I need everyone to leave the room now other than the Father am I clear?” Everyone nodded in agreement and removed themselves from the room leaving the Doctor, Nurses, Cody & Delilah all alone together. Delilah was given an epidural 20 minutes beforehand to make the pushing easier for her soon, Cody stood beside the bed holding onto her hand caring less that her nails digging into his skin “Alright mama we’re gonna need you to start pushing alright? We’re gonna make this as quick and easy as possible for you”

Delilah winced and nodded as they counted down go 3 until she started pushing, a loud cry & scream escaped her lips while Cody held the back of her head pressing kisses against her temple “Your doing so amazing sweetheart just keep going alright? Your doing so great Angel” His wife groaned out in pure pain the more she pushed, the pushing felt like it was lasting forever, the contractions made her miserable, eventually after just a few more pushes 1 of the babies came out & the doctor let her rest before making her push more, the nurses cleaned up the baby despite the loud hollering and cries, Cody held onto his wife as much as he was allowed to while checking up on her “How are you feeling Angel? You doing ok-“ “MY FUCKING VAGINA IS BEING RIPPED APART CODY I’M GOING TO LITERALLY SMOTHER YOU RIGHT NOW!” He nodded his head awkwardly and bit down on his bottom lip “That’s a fair statement.” The doctor walked back towards the bed “We’re gonna count down to three and we’re gonna have you start pushing okay?? 1..2..3-“ Delilah started pushing and began crying out from the top of her lungs and tried her best to keep herself composed but no matter what she couldn’t.

After more and more pushing the other baby was finally born, The nurses cleaned them up and cared for Delilah as much as they could, once everything was calm and Delilah was more relaxed the doctor handed the couple their new Babygirl & Boy. Lilah teared up once her skin touched the babies, Cody pressed gentle kisses on the top of their heads before giving her a kiss on the cheek “You did a great job baby, I’m more than proud of you.” She let out a quiet sigh and pressed her head against his while tears were streaming down her face & her heart practically about to leap out of her chest “I-..I was thinking of naming her after Mirabella & naming him Matthew..” Cody smiled softly and ran his fingers through her hair “I like that Idea.”

Once it was time everyone came back into the room & Mira instantly ran away from Randy over towards Delilah & the babies “They’re do beautiful..You both did an amazing job” Cody smiled and held Matthew in his arms while Delilah held Mirabella before she spoke “C-Cody & I agreed to name her after you, Mirabella.” Mira’s heart stopped for a second before the water works once again invaded her eyes before carefully hugging lilah “Thank you so much, you have no idea how much that means to me.” She walked towards Cody and pulled him in for a hug carefully as-well due to him holding the other baby “Thank you Cody. For everything, for changing Delilah & Kinsleys life and just- everything.” He leaned into her hug & even allowed her to hold the baby boy “This is Matthew.” Mira let out a quiet sigh before cradling Matt & holding him close “They’re beautiful.” Randy hugged her from behind as he stared down the baby & smiled “He’s adorable.” Jey went over to Delilah & looked down at little Mirabella & gently grazed her head “You guys make beautiful kids. Seriously.”

After the babies were born Kinsley stuck by them 24/7 and even begged not to go to school some days just so she could be with her niece & nephew. After new years months continued to pass by, Randy & Miranda got married in greece back in march on the beach, Delilah helped design Mira’s wedding dress & even Randy’s suit to their absolute liking & eventually Mira went into labor in may & had a sweet baby boy, She & Randy agreed to name him Elijah, everything was going amazing for each and everyone of them.

It was june 15th, Cody & Delilah held Kinsleys 12th birthday party and everyone came including her friends, Delilah sat in the backyard where the party was being held & sat in the grass with Mirabella & Matthew while Cody brought her some food for her & the babies, Mira & Randy came over with Elijah “Hey little man!” Cody approached the couple and gently tickled the baby’s tummy with his finger before pointing in Delilahs direction “Lilah is sitting over there with the babies incase you wanted them to hang out all together.” Mira smiled with a nod before making her way towards the blonde girl while Randy & Cody noticed a boy giving Kinsley a very very VERY close hug “oh you little shit..”

“CODY GARRET RUNNELS YOU BETTER LEAVE THAT BOY ALONE!”

Mamirhodessxox’s Masterlist

This is probably one of my most favorite series that I have ever written for, I’m super sad that it came to an end but I’m so happy I got the weight of it off my shoulders! I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did, If any of you have any requests or questions feel free to go to my inbox :) thank you guy’s for reading this & I’m so excited to see where my work ends up going in the near future, mwah

[love-in-the-time]

I Get to Keep You: Fourteen/Donna, M for all kinds of things

Title: I Get to Keep You Author: love-in-the-time Rating: M for language, sex, violence, etc. Summary: Donna has a specialized task that no one else is truly capable of accomplishing, since it requires the willing participation of the Doctor. Fourteen/Donna DOMESTIC BLISS.

UNIT hires Donna in the days following the Toymaker's disappearance, signing a contract for a hundred-fifty thousand pounds a year, five weeks vacation, and an annual bonus. She can relax, finally, about money. It's part of why she is so excited to help the Doctor pick a house; he decides on the French countryside, to Donna's delight and enchantment.

Kate Stewart explained that if the Doctor was going to live on earth permanently, it would be safer for all involved if it was as unobtrusive as possible. A French garden with a bit of land around it would be an ideal place for a blue box that would blend gently into its surroundings. She also explains that UNIT has indeed been paying the Doctor for the past seventy years, and he has an Earth bank account with several million pounds in it, just waiting for his use.

So he chooses a pretty country house outside of Montresor, in the Indrois Valley, and buys it outright. It's surrounded by lush green land, with an enormous enclosed garden. There are many more bedrooms than he needs, and the floors are all polished wood, with high windows and charming details everywhere. Donna moves through the house with the same excitement as the TARDIS, exclaiming over the views and the crown moldings and the polished wood floors and the stained glass. UNIT provides him with furniture and a car, all official and licensed, so that he is within easy reach of the agency should it be needed. Rose is enrolled in an international school, where she is boarded with the children of UNIT employees from all over the world, and thrives in the specialized environment of the school. Location undisclosed, of course, to all except the families.

The Doctor, upon closing the contract to the house with Donna next to him, proceeds to hand her a key immediately. "This is your home too, for the rest of your life, just like the TARDIS," he tells her. "Thank you for coming to help me pick it out."

Donna just smiles. "Welcome home, Spaceman," she says.

"Promise me you'll stay here," the Doctor says. "And bring your family with you."

"As often as I can," Donna says.

"And you can come by yourself too," the Doctor says hopefully, half a question. "Just to hang out? I'll take you by TARDIS, of course."

Donna looks over the lovely house and says, "It'll be my joy."

On a Friday in late August, when the Doctor has been settled into the new house for a few months and Donna has spent the last few days with him planting a garden, she is called for a meeting at UNIT headquarters in Paris, which by train would have taken hours from either London or Montresor. But since the Doctor is Scientific Advisor Number One to UNIT and is naturally also invited to the meeting, he of course takes her by TARDIS. "Exclusive transport," he tells her, grinning. "Go man your station."

Still not quite able to believe what her life has become, Donna circles the TARDIS console with a smile on her face. She knows what to do, she can hear the TARDIS hum under her hands, and within a minute she meets the Doctor at the middle of the console, the central line wheezing away as always.

She smiles at him for a moment, and he says, "God, I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," Donna says. "I can hardly even absorb what's happening."

"Well you'd have to know that UNIT would be interested in you," the Doctor says. "And very interested, too, if that contract is any indication."

"Did you read it?" Donna asks, surprised.

"I helped write it," the Doctor says. "You don't know everything, Donna Noble."

"Is that how I got a hundred fifty instead of a hundred twenty?" Donna asks.

"Oh, I told them a million," the Doctor shrugs. "They wouldn't go for it, of course, but they know who you are. You're needed. You're good. You're fast. You can do anything, and you can help."

Donna nods. "I can help," she says. "That's all I ever wanted to do." She looks down at herself. "What d'you think, am I professional enough for it?" She's wearing an elegant slim navy suit with a soft white blouse.

"You're beautiful," is all the Doctor says. With its new Arrival Alert System in place, the TARDIS gives a bright ding as they land inside a UNIT garage. They are met by escorts who bring them to the conference room where the French delegation is assembled. They are greeted enthusiastically by everyone, and Donna is bemused to find herself in the middle of a true agency meeting, in a clean and minimalist blue-and-white conference room. But she has her credentials clipped to her jacket, and so does everyone else, even the Doctor, still wearing his brown-and-blue checked suit. Everyone is provided with standard issue tablets and there is a screen for everyone to consult on the wall.

They undergo an extensive briefing concerning the most recent events in Europe, and an American consultant joins them via the big screen to discuss international issues. At the conclusion of that, the agents file out in orderly line, leaving Donna and the Doctor with the commanding officer, Major Paulette Marnier.

"We've been informed by Brigadier Stewart in London that you're being directly trained by the Doctor," the major says. "That's better than anything we could offer you anyway, so your protocol has been adjusted and you're free to take your training aboard the TARDIS." She looks down at her tablet. "The next order is the record of Miss Noble as the other TARDIS traveler on our books. She needs to be appointed as a licensed TARDIS pilot. It's quite a sophisticated piece of machinery."

"I'll sign off on that," the Doctor says. He's beaming.

"Right," Paulette says. "I'll need to see Miss Noble alone in my office for a moment, so we are adjourned."

Donna looks to the Doctor, who rises alongside her from the table. "I'll wait for you," he says. "That's what I do now."

The major watches the two of them smile at each other as if there is no one else in the room. She thinks this woman must be extraordinary indeed if the Doctor is attached to her in this way.

Inside the lovely, wood-furnished office of the major, Donna seats herself across from the older woman. "First of all, welcome," Paulette says. "You can't imagine how pleased we are to have you join us."

"I can hardly believe it myself," Donna says. "Thank you. It's been an amazing change."

"I'm consulting with you in private regarding the Doctor," Paulette says. "We've never had him in permanent residence on Earth before, and regardless of his provenance, we are committed to the safety and security of your family since he has decided to live with you." She folds her hands. "For all intents and purposes you are our liaison to him, and in the interest of security we ask that you remain in that position for as long as you are able, even when you retire from UNIT."

"I don't know if he'll stay with me forever," Donna says.

"Oh, I think we can be pretty confident he will be around for a long time," Paulette says, with certainty that is both professional and personal.

Donna doesn't say anything in response, but her expression speaks for her. The mix of hope, fear, and joy on her face is vulnerable. She clears her throat. "Anyway," she says. "Yes, I will serve as permanent UNIT liaison to the Doctor."

"You have a specialized task," Paulette continues. "And a completely unique one, since it requires his willing participation. You're the one who will give this Doctor a reason to retire. Who will ensure that this Doctor, in order to ensure the safety of all other Doctors, will retain his peace of mind. A French countryside garden with a meadow and a view of the river is an ideal place for that, wouldn't you say? But even more important, Donna, is that the said French garden contains you. As often as possible."

"I think that won't be a problem," Donna says, her voice a little threadbare from self control. She's wanted to cry from relief a million times since he's been back and neither of them have had the chance.

"It means that you will receive information about things UNIT doesn't know," Paulette continues. "This information is released at your discretion, of course, we make no presumptions on your personal interactions with the Doctor. You are his closest contact and as such you retain specific rights."

"What does that mean?" Donna says. "That I have no privacy concerning him if necessary?"

"Quite the opposite," Paulette says. "Rather that all of your interactions are privileged, no matter personal or professional. You aren't property of UNIT, you are our most valuable consultant."

Donna has never had power in her life, and now she is humbled by the idea that UNIT seeks to protect and privilege her life with the Doctor, essentially turning their relationship into a state secret. The ultimate safety in history, she thinks. Only they two will know the truth. Even her family will have no access.

It's a terribly lonely idea, she thinks, and only not lonely because she will share it, as she has shared her mind, with the Doctor. The momentousness of the idea is a little overwhelming.

Even in her personal life she hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that she will never actually be without the Doctor again. Sometimes she lies awake at night in her room in France, looking out the window at the blue box parked in his garden, in a corner bursting with flowers and a sturdy old tree whose branches gave shade. It's like walking into Eden when she goes to the TARDIS, a feeling that she hasn't assimilated yet.

"I can agree to that," she says.

"Good," Paulette says. "It's a heavy task, but I have to emphasize the necessity of it. Your discretion is paramount in order to maintain the safety of yourself, the Doctor, and your family. It will be a contingency for your job that you maintain your silence. Any leaks are dangerous for all."

Donna nods. "I understand," she says.

"It's pretty standard for UNIT," The major says. "Well, thank you, it's been a very exciting day for us. We'll be in touch for your next in-person report, and meanwhile you and the Doctor can operate from aboard the TARDIS at your discretion." She stands up with Donna, and gives her a salute. "Good luck. Look after him."

Donna finds the Doctor sitting patiently in the vestibule of the building, reading a book he'd probably had stashed in the dimensional pocket of his coat, a suspicion confirmed to Donna when he sees her and drops it right back into his inner pocket. "We're off," Donna says cheerfully to him, and he offers her his arm. The same escort comes to bring them back to the garage to the TARDIS.

"What d'you fancy?" the Doctor asks. "Lunch in Paris? Say... seventeenth century? We're here anyway."

"Lunch in Paris sounds glorious," Donna says. "Today. Here. Now."

So the Doctor parks the TARDIS on the Rue de Richelieu, where they have an exquisite lunch at Juveniles, one of Paris's best restaurants. It's small, charming, and private. They drink wine and eat duck and steak. They talk quietly and intimately between them, since they can't discuss work, and render each other helpless with laughter over their food. At the end of it the Doctor pulls out a magnetic strip card Donna recognizes. "Oh, the intergalactic bank card," she says to him. "I remember that."

"Unlimited funds," the Doctor shrugs. "Money is a stupid concept."

On the streets of Paris, Donna takes his arm again and says, "You're going to have to wear something besides that suit, you know. People will think you're mad. Or dirty."

"I am one of those, but not the other," the Doctor says contentedly. "But fair point."

"You know I don't care what you wear at home, but for going out in public you can't be in the same thing all the time. It makes you recognizable. We're trying to avoid you being 'that skinny bloke who's always in the same suit,' you know."

"Are there any boutiques you prefer?" the Doctor asks her teasingly. "Anywhere I should go and get my suits?"

"Have you ever thought about ordinary clothes? Like a pair of jeans? You can keep those ratty trainers. Maybe a band t-shirt?"

"A what?"

"You know. A t-shirt. With The Pogues on or something."

"You mean like that Scooby Doo shirt you have?"

Donna laughs. "Yeah," she says. "Like that. Ordinary. Normal."

"Normal's a stupid word," the Doctor says. "Wanna walk along the Right Bank?" He gestures. "The Seine is right there."

"What is it with you and rivers?" Donna asks. Then she grins. "Oh. River Song, of course."

The Doctor smiles. "The Thames, the Loire, the Seine, they're all one to me now as long as you're there."

They sit at a small café on the Right Bank for hours, in comfortable silences interspersed with laughter and conversation. When the sun starts to set, Donna puts her coffee cup down and sighs. "You know we'd better go back," she says.

"All right." The Doctor gets up and offers her his hand instead of his arm this time. Donna looks from his hand to his face and they walk away hand-in-hand along the bank.

Inside the TARDIS they move quietly alongside the console, piloting the ship into stable flight. Donna sighs and steps back, leaning against the railing. She looks contemplatively at the Doctor, who catches her eye when he looks up. "What?" he asks gently.

"Nothing," Donna says. "Just... filling my mind up with the idea that you're here to stay for a while."

He comes to her to hug her close, wrapping her up the way he always used to do. Donna sighs again, burrowing into his embrace and clutching him the way she wants to. "D'you have to be married, Donna?" the Doctor murmurs into her hair.

There's a little silence. Donna wraps her arms more tightly around him. "I wouldn't have if I hadn't lost you."

"Are you happy?"

Another little silence. "I thought we were, living the ordinary way we did. But I always knew I wasn't doing enough. I always knew I was missing something," Donna says.

"Do you love him?"

"In my way," Donna says. "He was there for me when I forgot. He was kind to me and he's been wonderful to me. He accepted me as I am. As I was. I can't speak for now until I see how this new life affects us." She unravels herself from his embrace to look up at him. Again, her face is vulnerable. "These are circumstances all beyond our control, right?"

"I s'pose some of them are," the Doctor says.

"What about Rose?"

"She is your beautiful daughter, and anything that is part of you is something and someone I love beyond measure," the Doctor says.

"But not Shaun?"

The Doctor smiles. "He's not part of you."

"You called him your brother-in-law," Donna says, exasperated but smiling.

"And so he is, as long as he's married to you. Just a useful human label to characterize," the Doctor shrugs. "So! Are you allowed to tell me what the Major briefed you about?"

"Er," Donna says. "She made our relationship a matter of national security. Everything we say and do together is entirely privileged, and UNIT has no access to anything except what we choose to tell them. Nor anyone else without a security clearance."

"That means your family," the Doctor says. He gives her a little compassionate look and says, "That could be lonely, Donna."

"Not with you around," Donna says firmly. "That's my compensation, even more than the money. So you don't go anywhere, or it all means nothing."

The Doctor starts to smile, then, big and delighted. "So now everything between us is only between us by international and intergalactic statute," he says. "That sounds like a lot of fun, Donna Noble. We can do anything, remember?"

"It sounds monumental," Donna says. "It sounds like infinite possibility, even more than it did the first time around."

"You all right with it?" the Doctor asks.

"Yeah," Donna says. "Yeah. I am. It's right."

"Good!" says the Doctor brightly, to disguise his emotions. "Let's go home, eh?"

"Yes, please," Donna says.

So when they land in his garden once more, the little ding signal chiming their arrival, Donna settles back against the railing. "Aren't you going to go back in the house?" the Doctor asks, his eyebrows raising.

Donna shakes her head, smiling a little. "Not yet," she says. "I'm going to my room for a minute. I have some things I want to get."

In an instinctive gesture, he follows her down the hallway to the first door on the right, where the TARDIS always puts the door to where its inhabitants want to go.

Donna's room has been stored in the TARDIS memory banks since Donna left, and has been preserved in the state it was ever since, down to the page in the book Donna was reading on her bed. She opens the door into what was her sanctuary, a room where she had everything she could imagine, everything she wanted, everything she needed, and best of all, the Doctor to make her laugh.

"Remember?" Donna asks, and the Doctor nods wordlessly, as if he could speak around the lump in his throat.

"We slept in that bed a lot," Donna says, pointing to her giant, purple-covered bed with the plethora of pillows and huge plush blankets.

"Yeah," he says. "We did. Best sleep of my life."

"You need more of it," Donna says.

"Maybe I'll get more of it now that you're around," the Doctor replies, and Donna huffs a little laugh.

"Anyway, it's an intergalactic secret whether I sleep or not," the Doctor adds.

"Well, what you need is plenty of good food, and lots of sleep," Donna says.

"And joy, and laughter," the Doctor says. "And you."

"I've got all those things," Donna says, putting her hands on her hips. "I just want to grab a few things from here for the house."

In a few minutes she comes out with her clothes changed into comfortable leggings and a sweater. She has an armful of things, including her giant purple blanket to give to Rose for her bed. She has a box full of jewelry and clothing, and a set of Shakespeare editions she'd hidden away because they were seventeenth-century prints, beautifully and expensively bound. "Just some treasures," she tells the Doctor, who smiles at her proudly. "The rest of it can stay here."

She carries them herself to the TARDIS doors and leaves them just inside so she'll remember to take them with her when she goes back to London. "Meanwhile," she says. "What d'you say, should we crack a bottle and sit in the library?"

"Oh, you know I always loved doing that," the Doctor says.

"Me too," Donna says. "Something about being surrounded by books. Comforting. Like sitting in your imagination."

Inside the TARDIS library, somewhere between a medieval archive, a university library, and a cathedral, Donna sits down in the same spot in front of the enormous fireplace (merrily lit as usual) that she always used to, on the red Persian rug that was always soft and comfortable. A moment later the Doctor joins her with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

"You should think about picking an Earth name," Donna says. "People will want to know even if they call you Doctor."

The Doctor shrugs. "Whatever," he says, filling the glasses and handing her one. "I'll pick something serviceable. It'll take me a while to answer to it anyway." He gives her a sideways smile. "I always liked the way you said 'Doctor' anyway."

Donna clinks her glass with him. "To knowing who you are."

"Hear, hear," he says feelingly, and they both take a good deep drink. Donna grimaces and puts her glass down.

"Did you ever in your life?" she asks next, turning herself to face him.

"What?" He does the same so that they are facing each other, sitting cross legged.

"Did you ever, ever think we'd be here again?" Donna asks, and suddenly, unexpectedly she is crying. She surprises herself and the Doctor with the force of her sobs, burying her face in her hands so that she doesn't make noise.

"Oh, god, Donna--" the Doctor says, leaping forward immediately to embrace her. "God, it's all right, I'm here."

Her arms go around him tightly, a feeling he'd been crying out for since the last time she hugged him, and she buries her face in his shoulder. He lets her cry until his shirt is soaked and she is collapsed against him. She never lets go of him, and he draws his hands in long, comforting caresses up and down the length of her back. "Where have you been?" she asks him, her voice thick with tears. "Where did you go, why did you leave me? I was dying without you."

"I died without you," he says back. "And that's why I'm going to live with you now." He holds her against him so that she knows he means it. "And I am so sorry that you were lonely without me. I'm sorry that your hands were ever empty. I'm sorry that you cried. It was my fault for not listening to you, but I couldn't have lived with myself if you'd died back then."

Donna shivers. "I've died twice now," she says.

"But now you live," the Doctor says, kissing her hair. "Now you live with me."

"I've never been so happy in my life," Donna says, echoing him from days before in their garden, eating dinner with everyone around. That makes the tears flow from his eyes, so that Donna wraps him up again and presses her lips to his cheek.

"You can stay," she tells him. "I need you to stay."

They stay in that embrace for a long time. Finally Donna pulls back and moves back onto the floor. "Sorry," she says. "I've wrecked your shirt."

"Don't you dare apologize to me," he says immediately. "I have lived much too long without you to waste our time with that nonsense."

Donna reaches for her glass of whiskey and drinks deep before she speaks again. "I suspect that's going to happen a few more times before I really feel like I've processed it," she says.

"That's okay," the Doctor says. Then he reaches for her hand. "I don't want to make you cry."

"Way too late for that," Donna says. She watches him kiss her hand again, the same way he had so unhesitatingly done on the ship, and feels a few fresh tears roll down her face. "It's all right." She gestures to his glass. "Drink up," she says. "And then you're going to tell me whatever I ask about. The truth." She holds his gaze. "The truth. Even if it's ugly and horrible. Even if you think it makes you look bad." She sees the way he drains the whiskey at that. "And then another day you're going to tell me about everyone who flew on this ship with you." She picks up the bottle and refills both their glasses. "We're going to get that pain out of you one way or another. A million years my arse."

"There's going to be a lot of crying," the Doctor says. "And I've only just got you back."

"Maybe we have got a lot of grief to work through," Donna says. "Maybe you will have to stop being a crazy Martian for long enough that we can take care of each other. Maybe I am the safest person in the universe to tell your secrets to."

There is a little silence then, when the Doctor works furiously to keep his eyes from overflowing again. "Why do you still want to be my friend?" he asks her.

"Why do you want to be mine?" Donna shoots back immediately.

"Because I love you."

"It's the same for me," Donna says. "Fuck you, Spaceman, you're going to make me cry again," she adds, with a slap to his arm that has no force behind it.

"I watched you die," the Doctor says. "I held you while you died. I've only just got you back and I--" He stops to swallow hard. "I still can't understand, but I am so, so grateful to you."

"I understand," Donna says. "I told you." She breathes deeply. "I'm not going to cry again," she says. "I'm not. I swear." She has to stop, which belies her words. "I shared your mind. You and I were one. I've never had that experience before and I never will again. But we were us. There was no line between you and I, however long or short the time was. I can't go back to living the half-a-life I had without you." A thousand yard stare blooms in her eyes that makes the Doctor feel so desolate. "I stared into an abyss for a while," Donna says finally. Then she seems to gather herself. "And now I don't have to anymore," she says. "So I just have to adjust to that."

"So what did you want me to tell you about?" the Doctor asks next. "No more abyss."

"The Flux," Donna says. "I saw it in your head. The Toymaker mentioned it. You can start there."

The Doctor takes a deep breath, and the whole awful story pours out of him like a lanced boil, the infection of grief draining from him in small measure. Donna listens with her hands in his, alternately wiping away tears and wiping away his tears. When he's finished Donna moves back into his embrace, this time climbing into his lap and holding him tightly. "I've waited fifteen years to do this again," she says. Wordlessly the Doctor clings to her so that they can absorb the comfort and still, the astonishment and joy, of being together again.

"D'you want me to take you back to London or do you want to stay here?" the Doctor asks eventually.

"No," Donna says. She doesn't move for a little while longer, and the Doctor huffs a small laugh into her shoulder, his arms going back around her.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Remember when we went to that little island with the campfire city?" Donna asks. "And we just danced by the fires and ate good food and had a good time?"

"Meridion Ten, yes," the Doctor says. "That was beautiful."

"Can we do things like that from now on?" Donna asks. "You told me a long time ago you had so many places you wanted to take me. Can we just do those things?" He can feel her fingers caressing through his hair in the back, the same comforting feeling from so long ago. She used to do this and it made him feel--

"You'd better stop that," he tells her. "I'll take you anywhere but if you don't let go of me I'm going to kiss you, Donna Noble, and we both know that is not a good idea."

"Oh, it's such a good idea," Donna says, starting to laugh. "It's the best idea. I want to so badly."

"To answer your question," he says, pulling back and away from her so that he doesn't tip her over onto her back and kiss her on the floor of the library the way he used to all those years ago, "is yes. I will take you to all those places and more. And you can bring whoever you want."

Donna slides back onto the floor and sighs. "Good," she says. "I need a nap," she adds. "Between the whiskey and the crying I've worn myself out."

"Where do you want to go?" the Doctor asks, unfolding to his feet. He holds out his hand. "C'mon."

Donna gets to her feet and adjusts her clothes. "I think I'd better go back to London," she says. "No one's home in France, right?"

"Nope," he says.

Donna nods. "Fine," she says, smiling a little. "I'd better go back then." She leads him back to the console room, hand in hand, and the Doctor feels an old magnetism in their contact.

At the console, instead of starting the flight sequence, Donna pulls him down by the collar and kisses him deeply, hard, greedily. He responds immediately, pulling her up against him from knee to mouth. "Yes," he says in between kisses.

"Mm-hm," Donna answers, and kisses him until she's finished, both of them a little out of breath afterwards.

"Don't you dare cheat on your husband," the Doctor says, his hands pushing her sweater off her shoulders with the complete opposite intention.

"I won't, I won't," Donna says. She steps back from him, shrugs her sweater back on, and starts to move around the console.

"Swear on my life I'll fuck your brains out," he tells her as he turns the ignition dials.

"I know," Donna says. She smiles at him, a million watts.

"It's a new body," he continues. "All my faculties are fresh."

"So why haven't you gone and tried them out on some French ladies?" Donna asks cheekily. They circle the console, flipping levers, pushing buttons, always a few feet apart.

"Don't want to try them out on anyone but you," the Doctor says. "Bit of a problem, that."

"Ah, well, we can work on that," Donna says. "Our relationship's a state secret after all." The TARDIS hums into stable flight and Donna steps back from the controls. She leans on the railings and says, "You know, the other Doctor was right. You do need a chair in here."

Instead of answering, the Doctor just puts his hands in his pockets. "Stop distracting me with your chair talk." He regards her with a look full of intent. "What about Shaun?"

Donna nods. "I know," she says. "I have to figure out how to explain it to him."

"Has he asked?"

"If we've had sex? No."

"D'you think he suspects?"

"No," Donna says. "He knows as much as my mum and grandfather could tell him, but some things only I know."

"So you're going to ask his permission?"

"Maybe," Donna says. "I haven't decided." She shrugs. "Lots of new things are happening now."

"Don't ruin your marriage," the Doctor says.

"Spaceman," Donna says, coming to stand right next to him. "I won't do anything of the sort."

"Listen," he says. "Look at me."

Donna regards him with the most amused and affectionate face, and he can't help smiling back. "I want you to know that I want you as much as I did before and more," he says. "If you weren't married you'd never have made it out of your room in my house. You'd always be there."

"I'm always there anyway," Donna says.

"Yes. And I love it," the Doctor says. "And I would shag you in every room of that house if I could. You know that."

"I do know that," Donna says. "Would be an absolute joy." She looks him over with the same kind of approving desire she always used to. The Arrival Alert System dings brightly, and Donna smiles. "Right, then, Spaceman," she says. "I'm going to get some sleep. Because I won't sleep if I stay around you." She kisses him many little times on each cheek and then his lips, and adds, "I'll be back."

"You better come back, Donna Noble," the Doctor says, dropping his hands to pull her hips up against his. "Good night."

He watches her pick up the boxes she'd left at the door and leave, his mind moving at light speed as usual. The first time around they'd worked hard to keep their relationship a secret, for fear of exploitation. This time around UNIT has made their relationship an actual secret, for the same reason and more. There was never any concern of pregnancy or risk of disease, so they were free to do as they pleased then.

It won't be different this time. He can already tell.

In the kitchen of the London house, Rose is sitting at the table reading a book. "Hello, darling, I love when you come home for the weekend," Donna says, dropping a kiss on her head.

"Hi, mum," Rose says. "Where've you been, then?"

"Work," Donna says. "Had a briefing. I changed my clothes on the TARDIS." She indicates the boxes in her arms. "Look. I've brought us some treasures."

"From space?" Rose asks, and Donna laughs.

"From space," she says. "And this blanket is for you."

"Ooh, purple, lovely," Rose says. They go upstairs together and spread it onto her bed, where it hangs onto the floor and pools around the bed frame. Rose laughs and jumps right into it, wrapping herself up. "Oh, it smells like you," she says to Donna. "Like your perfume and your shampoo."

"Oh, good," Donna says. "It's been out of use for fifteen years."

"No, I love it," Rose says. "Now. What's in those boxes you brought?"

So Donna settles herself on Rose's bed, and she and her daughter go through the two boxes, laughing like best friends. Donna puts the Shakespeare books aside for her bookshelf, and she and Rose pull out the jewelry box Donna had kept in her room aboard the ship.

"Ohh, wow," Rose says when Donna lifts the lid. "Oh, mum. Look at this, it's a treasure trove." She picks up a necklace, with an intricate pendant of precious stones. "Where's this one from?"

Donna proceeds to tell her the story of each piece; each pair of earrings, each necklace, what was a gift and from who, why she has a collection of Amaran bangles (a story she tactfully edits as they had been part of an offering made to her for something she and the Doctor had done together that was decidedly not saving the universe), the pendant she'd made of a sapphire from the waterfall of Juno's Tears, and finally the simple gold band, at the very bottom, that the Doctor had put on her hand all those years ago.

"A biodamper?" Rose asks. "Mum, this is a wedding ring."

"Yes, it looks like one," Donna says. "But it suppresses biological signal so you can't be tracked."

"Why is it a wedding ring, though?" Rose asks.

"I was in my wedding dress, you know the story," Donna shrugs. "It made sense at the time."

"Nothing makes sense with the Doctor," Rose says. "That's my favorite part of all of it." Then she gives her mother a knowing look. "But he could have given you anything and he chose a ring. Interesting."

Donna smiles wryly as she replaces the jewelry back into the box and shuts the lid. "If you ever want to borrow any of it," she says, "just ask me." Then she yawns, the tiredness from aboard the TARDIS returning in the wake of her excitement. "I need some sleep," she says. "Where's your father?"

"He's out driving," Rose says. "He says he'll be back around nine."

"Right," Donna says. "I'm going to have a kip and I'll start dinner when I get up."

Sleep, of course, is easier said than done for Donna, and has been for fifteen years. For the last fifteen years she's been a bad sleeper, waking every few hours, restless with fear and anxiety. Now with her memories back, she knows what her dreams are, but they are still terrifying. She'd thought those would subside now that the Doctor is back, but it seems it's her own problem. So as tired as she is, it's often hard for her to get into bed and sleep.

So she crawls under her covers and sighs, resting her head on her pillow and attempting to breathe her way into sleep. She is tired, has been tired for as long as she can remember. Even half an hour would be nice, she thinks.

After ten long minutes of lying there discontentedly, Donna goes back to Rose's room to retrieve her blanket. "I'll bring it back," she says, and Rose just smiles and says okay.

Back in her bed, Donna pulls the purple blanket over herself and sighs. She closes her eyes, and tears slip from beneath her closed lids. The instant relief and comfort she feels under that blanket has eluded her for fifteen years. She wipes at her eyes and turns over onto her stomach. In a few minutes she actually drifts off to sleep.

And dreams. She dreams of terror, of running, of things exploding. And then she dreams of pleasure, vividly, of hands and mouths and tongues and the way she would embrace the Doctor with all four limbs, both of them focused entirely on each other. She dreams of sunrises and vistas of sky, and the sound of the TARDIS wheezing and groaning.

When she does finally wake up, it's dark. She looks over at the clock and it says 2:43 AM. She sits up immediately, looking around herself. Shaun is asleep next to her under their regular blanket, and the house is quiet. Donna gets out of bed softly, so as not to disturb him, and goes down the hallway to check on Rose, who is also asleep in her room. So she goes downstairs to the kitchen since she's missed dinner.

In the fridge there is a container of pasta and meatballs, probably made by Rose when she realized her mum wouldn't be up to cook herself. The dishes are done and the counters are clean, so Donna flips on a low light and puts the leftovers into a bowl to heat up. She sits alone at her kitchen table to eat, thinking, thinking, thinking.

It isn't that she doesn't love Shaun-- she does. In fact in a big way she owes him a lot, since he'd taken on the burden of knowing her without hesitation. With her memories back she'd been able to understand more why he'd been so accommodating. But he knows only as much as Wilf and Sylvia, and would never be able to know everything Donna knows. And now, in the face of UNIT's directive, he would know even less. Donna contemplates the unfairness of that, how it would exclude the person who is supposed to be closest to her from the inner workings of her life. It is a lot to ask of one person, and she thinks guiltily she's already asked so much of him. First when she gave away her lottery winnings, she'd been mad with grief and confusion. Then when Rose wanted to grow into herself and Donna insisted, insisted her last name be Noble and not Temple. He'd put up with her, put up with all of it, and complained to no one. For that alone he deserves her love forever. But for that reason he will also be excluded from any future knowledge of her life and her work.

And now, after fifteen years of an unfathomably heavy burden of embarrassment and shame and tears for her perceived ineptitude, for a breakdown she didn't even have, Donna is ready for some joy and some good work. She's ready to stop seeing herself as someone other people only tolerate. She's ready to stop feeling like she only tolerates herself.

And for all his generosity and easygoing spirit, Donna isn't sure how much longer Shaun will be willing to be on the outside of her life. He's been on the outside for so much of her thought process for as long as she's known him that in the end she has to admit she isn't quite sure what made her marry him. She thinks he will probably come to that same conclusion at some point, if not soon at least in the near future.

"Donna?"

Donna looks up from her bowl of pasta to see Shaun standing in the kitchen doorway.

"What are you doing up?" he asks. "It's 3 AM."

"I didn't eat," Donna says.

"Yeah, you were sleeping pretty good so Rosie knocked up dinner before I came home," Shaun says, coming to sit at the table with her. "I didn't want to wake you. I've never seen you sleep so deeply."

"I needed it," Donna says, taking another bite of her food. "You want some?" She offers him her fork.

"Nah," he says. "I just came down to make sure you're all right."

"I'm fine," Donna says. She smiles at her husband gently. "I actually got some decent rest."

"Where did that purple blanket come from?" Shawn asks. "I've never seen it before."

"It was on my bed on the TARDIS," Donna says, without thinking.

"Oh. You had a bed on that ship?" Shaun asks.

"Well, yes," Donna says. "It was my home for a year." She's gotten herself into it now, no doubt. "I had a very nice room and a nice bed, and that blanket was my favorite." She breathes deeply to steady herself. "I've been told by UNIT that I can't tell you anything about what goes on aboard the TARDIS. Intergalactic directive."

"Oh," Shaun says again, and he is quiet. "So you can't tell me anything you do at work? Or with the Doctor?"

"No," Donna says, aware of how he must feel.

"Oh," Shaun says again. "Er. I guess that's for safety?"

"Yeah," Donna says. "State secrets."

"That's quite a directive," Shaun says. "So this means I'm on the outside of your work, too. Like everything else."

"What do you mean?" Donna asks, in spite of having the same thought.

"Donna." Shaun takes one of her hands. "I have known you for fifteen years. And now I feel like I don't know you at all. You saved the world again, you saved the universe, and I have no idea how you did it or what happened. And now you can't tell me." He lets go of her hand. "I want you to know that I see how the Doctor looks at you. I see how you look at him. And this is one of those major life decisions you've made without me. Again."

"I didn't--"

"I'm not angry at you," Shaun says, holding up a hand. "But you obviously have something very big to do with your life, Donna. Something beyond all of us. Something you can't do tied to me."

"What d'you mean?" Donna asks again. She's glad the light is low so he can't see her blushing-- she can feel her cheeks are hot.

"I mean that I've watched you make life decisions that affect both of us without you ever consulting me," Shaun says. "And I've accepted it. I accept you. I always have."

"So then what are you saying?" Donna asks, feeling her heart constrict all at once.

"I'm saying, Donna, that maybe it's time for me to go. I can't keep feeling like I'm going to be a permanent outsider in your life."

There it is.

Donna doesn't know whether to be happy or devastated. "I don't understand," is all she can say.

"I'm nothing here," Shaun says. "I'm no one. Your mum and your grandad know nothing more than I do, but they're old and they're not obliged to know. You're my wife and I don't know you anymore. You're different."

Donna is quiet. "So was it easier when I was the sad one?" she asks. "When I had to depend on you?"

"No," Shaun says. "I hated seeing you suffer. Maybe you don't believe me anymore when I say I love you. But I love you enough to let you go and do this thing that you have to do with your life." He shrugs. "I've accepted you for who you are as long as I've known you. But I don't know you anymore, and even if it hurts, and it hurts--" His voice splits along the seams a little, "I know it's right. You know it's right."

"I don't know that," Donna says, feeling as though she could cry too. Again. More tears. She's so tired of tears.

"Yes, you do," Shaun says. "I think it's time for me to cut my losses. I can't ever smile at you the way the Doctor does. It's not possible. I don't know you the way he does. I didn't share his mind or his ship. And you had a bed on that ship. Am I supposed to believe the two of you never shared that bed?"

Donna knows for sure she is blushing red now. "I..." she says, and then: "No. You aren't."

"All right then," Shaun says. "Look, Donna, we both know this is better."

"Do we?" Donna asks.

"Everything will be all right," Shaun says. "We can sell the house and split the money and Rose can come and stay with me whenever she wants."

"Keep the house," Donna says. "You can have it. We don't have to sell it. It's yours."

Shaun nods silently. "Fine," he says. "That's good too."

"It's the one thing I did right by you," Donna says unsteadily.

"No," Shaun says. "You gave me a child. You made me happy. Now things have changed in ways that none of us could anticipate. But you can't think I haven't seen the two of you in the garden, or when you sit up late at night in the living room just talking. You can't think I don't see that. Where does that longing come from?"

"I can't explain it to you," Donna says.

"I know, your job."

"No, it's not that," Donna stops him. "It isn't work. I couldn't explain it to you before, because I didn't remember. Now I think I understand it even less, because he was gone for so long and he came back for me, and I never expected--" And she is crying, just quietly, because she is so relieved. An unexpected relief. "I never expected any of this. I never asked for any of this."

"So don't you think it's time for you to ask for what makes you happy?" Shaun asks. "If it isn't me, or it can't be me, why would I hold that against you? In the face of all this... space work you do? This is all so much bigger than us. And you are so clearly needed, by the Doctor and by our planet. And we had no idea until now."

Donna lowers her face into her hands.

"It's time to stop being ashamed," Shaun says. "I'm sorry that things aren't going the way you expected but you should know by now that they never will. And I just can't take that kind of danger or that uncertainty."

"I understand," Donna says from behind her hands. She picks her face up. "I said the same thing to him when I first met him."

"But then you spent your life looking for him," Shaun says. "And the two of you keep finding each other in this vast, stupid, unfathomable universe."

Donna nods wordlessly, more tears falling.

"And I've seen you cry so much over these fifteen years," Shaun says. "I've never once seen you have any relief from it and now I think you do." He sighs. "I know you, Donna, or I did at one point. I see the weight off you. I see the way you actually smile with your eyes now. I see how you are different. And because I love you, I want only what will make you happy. Can you want the same for me?"

"I always did," Donna says. "I always did. I never wanted to hurt you or exclude you."

"I believe you," Shaun says. "None of this was your choice, I believe you on that front."

"And I never, ever cheated on you," Donna says.

"I believe that too," Shaun says. "You hardly know which way is up at this very moment. I can't imagine you'd want to go shag some alien bloke when you've had your life upended again."

Donna wipes her eyes. "I'm sorry," she says.

"I know," Shaun says. "You just have to see if from my perspective. I've been on the outside the entire time. I've done my best and so have you. But this is bigger than all of us." He smiles a little painfully. "I thought I knew what you looked like in love, but now... I really know. And I can't be part of it."

"Okay," Donna says. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Shaun says. "But I can't do this life. We have a child we need to keep safe. I can't be shuttled back and forth between two houses and watch you look at that man like there is no one else around you. I see you. There's nothing for me here. So it's time for me to just... have a life I can accept. I'll drive my taxi and I'll do whatever it takes to make a life for myself."

"You won't be alone," Donna says. "I can help you."

"I don't want your help," Shaun says. "I want you to go and do what it is you need to do. That will be the way you pay me back for all these years. Fulfill your purpose. You married me because you didn't know better. Now you do. So be free."

"Is this really what you want?" Donna asks.

"Yes, I think it's right," Shaun says. "We can sit down and tell Rose tomorrow morning so she has the weekend to absorb it before she goes back to school."

"Oh, god," Donna says. "I think this might be the worst night of my life."

Shaun smiles a little bittersweet smile. "No," he says. "That's already happened to you. This might be the best thing that's ever happened to us as a couple. To just... not be one anymore."

So Donna takes her pillow and blanket from the master bedroom and goes to sleep in the spare bedroom, her bowl and cup in the sink unwashed. Shaun stays in the master suite.

In the morning over breakfast they sit down with Rose together and explain what they'd talked about. After her initial surprise, Rose's face turns sad. "And there's no way you can see to work it out?" she asks her father.

Shaun shakes his head. "I can't live like this," he says. "I need stability and I need safety, and as long as I am here, I will have neither of those. And I won't even be allowed to know what your mum does for work. It's too much."

Tears fill Rose's eyes. "Are you sure?" This is to both her parents.

"I think so," Donna says. "I'm sorry. But I think so."

"So what will happen next?" Rose asks.

"I'm going to move to France permanently," Donna says. "And your dad will keep the house in London, and if he decides to sell it, he can. Wherever he goes you'll have a home with him, and you always have a home in France with me."

"Where are you going in France?" Rose asks. "With the Doctor?"

Donna nods. "It's my other home," she says. "Well... it's my home too."

"Does the Doctor know?" Rose asks.

"No," Donna says. "But I will talk to him. He's coming to take you back to school on Sunday."

As it turns out, Donna is not home when the Doctor arrives to bring Rose back to school. She's out at the supermarket, and Rose is big-eyed and anxious when the TARDIS wheezes and groans into the back garden. She gives her father a huge, tight hug. "I love you, Dad," she says. "I'll always love you and I support your decision and I will always be your child no matter what."

Shaun tears up at that. "Thank you, darling. I'll see you when you come home again?"

"I'll be back," Rose promises. "I'll be around. You won't be alone."

"Your mum said that too," Shaun says. "Go. I love you. See you next weekend."

Inside the TARDIS Rose hugs the Doctor too. "You look less than chipper," the Doctor says. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Rose says. "Just thinking about something I can't change." And she says little else until the TARDIS lands with a smooth thump in the side courtyard of the UNIT school campus.

"Thank you," Rose says, gathering her things. "I'm coming home next weekend, if you want to get me. I can always take transport."

"The other kids will be jealous if they see you traveling by TARDIS all the time," the Doctor says. "I'll be back on Friday. Behave yourself."

"Never," Rose says, smiling, and walks off the TARDIS back to school.

For the next week, Donna operates awkwardly around Shaun, moving into the spare bedroom and going to London UNIT headquarters on the tube every morning instead of in his taxi so they can start their work day together. They have small conversations with no malice or arguing, just sadness. Donna comes home to an empty house, and Shaun starts staying out later to drive, so they miss each other in the mornings and evenings.

After the first awful night, when Donna sobbed into her pillows for a while after, she begins to accept that this is a time to move forward. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't for Shaun to decide to leave.

But then what? she thinks. I would have been wearing two wedding rings? Or sleeping with both of them? Or cheating on my husband? Or what? She honestly doesn't know. What she does know now is that she's free. It's terrifying to be standing at the precipice of everything she wants and needs. She isn't sure she's brave enough to take it for herself. She contemplates just being alone, and almost right away has to let the thought go, because it's too late for that. And the thought of being without the Doctor again makes her heart tighten painfully and constricts her breath.

So that next Friday, when Donna has been texting with Rose all day to arrange her dropoff in London, the Doctor comes to collect Rose from school. She still has the same look of worry on her face, and the Doctor frowns a little.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asks.

Rose takes a deep breath. "I wanted to ask you something, but it's personal."

"Well, you are my favorite niece, and I'll decide what's too personal," the Doctor says.

So Rose just decides to ask it, no hesitation. Better not to. "Do you love my mum?" she asks.

"Well, of course," the Doctor starts, but Rose holds up a hand.

"Are you in love with her?" Rose clarifies.

"Oh," the Doctor says, his hands stilling on the console. "Er, I'm not sure that's--"

"I mean it," Rose says. "I need to know."

"She is married to your father," the Doctor says, resuming the flight sequence with a grimace. "I would never come between that."

"My parents broke up last week," Rose says, and the Doctor freezes. "So she didn't tell you. I thought not. I was wondering where you were."

"What?"

"My father decided he doesn't want this life and they broke up," Rose says. "I think they did the right thing."

The Doctor would be lying if he denied the painful pang of desperate hope and wanting he felt at those words. Instead he just clears his throat. "Is your mum all right?" he asks.

"You're glad," Rose says. "I can tell. You weren't happy she was married."

"Don't be angry with me," he says.

"No," Rose says. "I'm not angry. It's just another big thing we didn't expect. I think my dad is right. And I think my mum is right. So really, this is good."

"Are you all right?" the Doctor asks, knowing he should have asked this first.

Rose smiles a little. "There you are," she says. "You asked about my mum first. That alone tells me what I want to know."

The Doctor sighs. "Well," he says. "Let me get this ship in flight and I'll drop you home. And I'll talk to your mother. If she'll let me."

He enters the Noble house tentatively to find Donna standing in the kitchen, wearing a soft cream-colored dress and slippers. She looks like home. "Hello," she says, waving her spoon. "Staying for dinner?"

Rose kisses her mother on the cheek and disappears up the stairs with a meaningful look at the Doctor, who misses it because he's looking at Donna.

"I could do that," he says. "If you want."

Donna gestures to the kitchen table. "Sit," she says. "Thanks for bringing her home."

"I always will," he says. A short silence elapses. "I heard what happened." He sees Donna's shoulders drop, and she bows her head a little.

"Right to business, aren't you?" she asks him, turning around. "How did you know?"

"Rose," he says.

"Ah, I should've known."

"She loves you, Donna, she wants you to be happy."

"Well," Donna says, turning the heat down on her stovetop. "She told you Shaun doesn't want to be married anymore."

"Do you?" the Doctor asks. "That's the real question. I know you."

Donna takes a moment before she answers. "I don't," she says. "Can I tell you the truth?"

"It's all I ever want from you."

"I would never have married him without losing you," Donna says. "And if I have you back I have what I want, so in a way, it's not so bad." She watches the smile grow on his face, like a break of sun through clouds. He gets out of his chair, takes the spoon out of her hands, puts his hands in her hair, and kisses her. It's a kiss of memory, because they both know this in their bones. And it's a kiss for a new beginning, because they know that too.

"You'd really leave him?"

"He left me," Donna says. "He said he wanted to go. And that he didn't know me anymore, and that he didn't want the life. So I'm letting him go. I want him to be happy, and if he's not happy here, I want him somewhere he's happy."

"So what are you going to do next?" he asks.

"Thought I'd go home with you, didn't I?" Donna says, and this time she's ready for him when he kisses her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to fuck off to France forever and you can work it out?" he asks her, hoping, hoping, hoping.

"Don't you dare," she says. "I would die without you. Knowing what I know. How could you even ask me that? Fuck's sake." She says it with no rancor, but only half-teasing. She moves to stir the fragrant pot of beef mince she'd been working on for a pie. The Doctor winds an arm around her waist.

"Smells nice," he says. "When are you coming home, then?"

Donna smiles in profile, adding a bit more fresh thyme into the mix. "I'll wait til Shaun gets in from driving and I'll bring my things."

"What do you really need from here, anyway?" the Doctor asks. "You have clothes on the TARDIS."

"It's tacky not to move my things," Donna says. "Too much of a reminder. Besides, I always make sure he has a hot dinner when he's out late."

"Wife material, Donna Noble," he says, and she gives him a sidelong look.

"You have no idea," she says, and the tone of her voice makes it something much more naughty and fun. "I'll tell you what you can do," she says, "is not be here when Shaun gets here. Just wait for me on the TARDIS. I won't take long. Rose wants my books and knickknacks so I'll just empty my side of the closet and pack my jewelry."

Shaun gets home around eleven, the Doctor having disappeared back into the ship an hour before, so that Donna is alone in the living room reading. "Hello," Shaun says when he comes in. He sounds normal. Donna smiles a little.

"Hi," she says. "Dinner's in the oven warming up if you want it."

"What's on?"

"Beef mince pie," Donna says. It's an imitation of a conversation they've had a million times, but it's lost its savor.

"Sounds lovely."

"I thought I'd move my things out tonight," Donna says next.

"Oh," Shaun says. "Yeah, okay. Do you want help?"

"Nah," Donna says. "I've got it in hand."

"Are you getting picked up?" Shaun asks.

"Yeah," Donna says, and leaves it at that. "I just wanted to be sure you got home okay before I left. Didn't want to leave Rose alone."

"Ah, she's big, she'd be fine," Shaun says. He goes to the kitchen to dish himself up a plate and Donna goes upstairs to get her bags and goes to Rose's room with her purple blanket. She covers Rose gently, so as not to wake her, and goes downstairs. At the bottom of the staircase she looks back towards the kitchen. "Shaun?"

"Yeah?" he says, looking up from his plate.

Donna rushes into the kitchen and embraces him hard. "Thank you," she says. "I know you don't think I do, but I love you so much. You have no idea how you saved my life."

Shaun hugs her back and she feels his breath hitch. "I'll miss you," he says.

"I know, me too," Donna says, her own voice coming apart at the seams. "You will always be Rose's father, and you'll always have whatever you need. I will never let you go without. I'll make sure." She kisses his cheek, and holds him tight.

"Okay," he says. "I hope you're happy in France, Donna, I just want you to be happy."

"Me too for you," Donna says. She takes a few fortifying breaths before she lets go of him, which hurts much more than she expected, and wipes her eyes. "Well. I'm off, then."

"Yeah," Shaun says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "Be careful."

"Bye," Donna says, her face so sad. But as she takes her bags towards the back door to the garden, where the TARDIS is waiting, she feels herself start to smile. Even through the tears, the joy of knowing that she'll be somewhere she's known and safe and loved, it's all priceless. It's all worth it.

She uses her TARDIS key to get in, and the Doctor helps her move her bags, just like he had fifteen years before. He sees the tears in her eyes and the brilliant smile on her face and gives her a long hug. "Welcome home," he says, the way she had all those months ago when he found his house.

"Oh," Donna says when he lets her go. "That was so much easier than I thought it would be. Thank god."

"Because it's what's supposed to happen," the Doctor says.

"Innit," Donna says, in her very Donna way. "Let's go to France, Spaceman."

"Let's go to France," he agrees. They circle the console in their usual way, and within three minutes they are landed in his back garden in Montresor. It's nearly midnight, so they decide to light the fire pit and sit out in the balmy night air for a while. There isn't much around so the stars are plentiful, and Donna settles herself on one of the loungers.

A free woman, she thinks. That is what I am right now. It wasn't Shaun who was the trap, of course, it was her own memory loss, but still, she feels like something very good is beginning. And though she feels horrible for hurting Shaun, she knows he is right when he says all of this is bigger than them. And though she had never expected him to leave her, she couldn't blame him. She knows him well enough to know that he wouldn't have said anything if he didn't really feel it.

"You all right?" the Doctor asks her, pulling his chair next to hers.

"Yeah," Donna says softly. It's actually true. "It was time."

"it was time," he says. "It was more than time." He takes her hand. "I'm so glad you came home. I was hoping you would." He stops himself. "I mean, I wasn't hoping you'd get divorced, but I was hoping you'd stay with me instead, and I--" He stops again. "Sorry. I'm saying that completely wrong."

"I know what you meant," Donna says, smiling. "Spaceman."

The affectionate nickname has always stuck with him. "I was thinking about something," the Doctor says after a while. "Why this face? Why this me?"

Donna nods. "Any breakthroughs?"

"Yeah," the Doctor says. "I know why this face is back. You were right. I wanted to come home, but you are my home. I wanted to be that man that you loved back then, so here I am again. This is the face you know. It was for you. All of it."

"D'you know what I love?" Donna asks him by way of an answer. "The way you say 'my Donna.' Makes me so happy. Even the not-thing knew about that."

He just smiles. "It's true," he says, shrugging as if it's the most well-known fact in the world. "You are. You always have been."

"I think something is happening here that has never happened before," Donna says. "I think that I am getting exactly what I want and need at the same time for the first time in my life."

"It's all yours," the Doctor says. He sits up. "Hey," he says. "Grandad gave me some biscuits last time he was here, do you want some?"

Donna smiles again at how he calls Wilf "Grandad" now, like real family. "Let's have some," she says. "Why not?" He brings her back a box of Jaffa cakes and another of Chocolate Hobnobs, and Donna laughs. "The most basic British biscuits to exist," she says. "You like a Hobnob?"

"Love a Hobnob," the Doctor says. "Simple and delicious."

"Well," Donna says, taking a Jaffa cake from the box, "we are in France and as such, we will be eating French pastries just as often as these little things." She turns onto her side on the lounger to look at him as he sits down next to her again. "We'll go walking, and we'll take little trips when I have holiday time, and we'll just be." She takes a bite. "It's all I ever wanted anyway," she adds. "Mm, raspberry jam."

"What'll I do while you're at work?" the Doctor asks. Donna smiles with her whole heart at this.

"Oh, will you miss me? Whatever you want except running off to fight aliens," she says. "Don't you have any hobbies, Spaceman?"

"Not Earth hobbies," he says.

"Ah, so something for you to explore," Donna says. "Even the weird stuff. No one has to know what you do."

The Doctor starts to laugh, looking at her earnest face. "That sounds like fun."

"Yeah," Donna says. "You can... tinker, you know? Build things. Paint things. Pick up the guitar. Something like that."

They stay out in the garden talking until nearly sunrise, when Donna drifts off in the middle of a sentence, finally tired. The Doctor, who has different needs for sleep than humans, wakes her up to go get into her bed. "It's Saturday," he says. "You can sleep as late as you want."

Donna's room in the house in France is her own now, furnished with a big comfortable bed, an armchair, tall, rounded airy windows covered with white curtains, and plush rugs. She climbs into her bed with relief and buries herself in her blankets, so that she looks like a little kid peeking out from the covers. "You gonna join me?" she asks him.

"To sleep?" he asks, and shrugs. "Sleep is boring."

Donna smiles immediately, both their faces full of intent. "All right," she says. "I'll be boring for a while." She's still wearing her clothes from the night before, so she discards them piece by piece and tosses them on the floor. "See you, Spaceman. Join me or don't, but I'm definitely going to sleep."

He pulls the blankets down off her to get a good look at her, and kisses her. "I'll never let you sleep like this," he says. "So good night. Or good morning. Come back to me when you're rested."

"Your self-control is something else," Donna grumbles good-naturedly, laying back on the bed without covering herself back up.

"Er, it's not," he says. "It's killing me. But you need to sleep."

"You need to sleep," Donna says.

"Later," he says. "I'm going to go watch some telly and make breakfast. You eat whenever." And with another kiss, his thumb making a short, electric circle on her right nipple, he goes back downstairs. Donna rolls over onto her stomach and actually sleeps.

She finds him at noon in the garden sort of just looking off into the distance. She comes outside in just her bathrobe and slippers, joining him on the chair next to him. "What're you looking at, then?" she asks, and he seems to come out of deep thought.

"Nothing," he says. "Slept well?"

"Never better," she says, exhaling contentedly. "Haven't slept in fifteen years."

"Right," he says, with a laugh of recognition.

"Nice day," Donna comments.

"Gorgeous," he says, looking at her instead of the sky. "Want a coffee?"

"Yes," she says. "Would be amazing."

So he gets up and brings her out a hot coffee with cold milk, just like she likes it, in a flowered mug she'd bought at a shop in their little town. He hands it to her and kisses her forehead so that she tilts her chin up to him to kiss him properly. "Don't spill it," he says to her against her lips.

"Fuck off," Donna says, smiling, skimming her tongue along his bottom lip. She puts the mug down on the little glass topped table next to her. "What do you do on Saturdays, then?" she asks.

"That question has a different answer now that you're here," the Doctor says.

"Oh," Donna says, interested.

"For example, if you weren't here, I might just spend the day doing nothing," he says. "But since you're here, maybe we should take a little trip to Prague or something. See some castles? Have lunch on a tropical island somewhere?"

"Ooh, Spaceman, you do know how to talk to a woman," Donna says, laughing.

"We also don't have to go anywhere, given that robe you're wearing," the Doctor says, giving her a good once-over. "That's all you're wearing, Donna Noble."

"That's true," Donna says. "Get used to it. I live here now and I never had the chance to just be naked. I always had people around me."

"Oh, you'll never hear me object," he tells her. "You're home. I'll have you in every room of this house."

Donna just regards him contentedly, full of desire and happiness. "So," she says. "Did you think any more about that Earth name?"

"No," the Doctor says. "Do I have to?"

"People will ask," Donna says. "They might accept Doctor as a nickname, but you need some kind of name for your registrations and everyday interactions."

The Doctor shrugs. "What are you going to call me? Are you going to stop calling me Doctor?"

"Not unless you want me to," Donna says. "But for other people it's just handy. I'll tell you what; you should ask Rose. She picked her own name. You should see what she says."

"I'll do that," he says, smiling.

"Right," Donna says, draining the last of her coffee. "I'm going for a shower." She gets up and says, "Are you joining me, Spaceman?"

He grins at her. On the TARDIS they never cared to stop their conversation or interrupt themselves for something as trivial as bathing, so the Doctor would often sit by her bathtub or outside her shower, or they would keep a video link open so they could keep talking. "C'mon, then," he says.

Donna has her own bathroom now, since the floor with her bedroom has Rose's room on it and no other. The Doctor's room is on the third floor, a sprawling master suite with an attached bathroom that was nearly as glorious as the one Donna had made for herself on the TARDIS. Her own bathroom is large and airy, with a tub and a shower, and Donna drapes her robe over the towel rack, standing there naked and adjusting the shower to her liking. It's not like the TARDIS which knew her preferred temperatures and which soaps she liked. It's ordinary, and comforting, and the Doctor seats himself on the counter the way he always used to, just watching her with a smile.

“We’ve got to find a little café,” she says, “to be our spot.” She steps into the shower behind the glass door. The glass begins to steam up from the heat of the water so Donna swipes away a swath. “Can you fix it?” she asks. “I can’t see you.”

The smile on his face grows even wider and he pulls out the sonic to press it to the glass so that it won’t retain stain or steam. “Better,” Donna says, as she reappears from behind the steam. “Didn’t have that issue on the TARDIS. Anyway.” She gives him a smile in return. “What was I saying?”

“There’s a café in town,” the Doctor says. “That can be our spot.”

"All right," Donna agrees. "I should work out a schedule with Shaun for when Rose is here. She can decide, of course, but I want to make sure he doesn't miss out on her."

"Her dorm mother says she's coming out of her shell a lot," the Doctor says. "She's a lot happier."

Donna nods, sighing. "Yeah," she says. "She's so smart, but she got tortured by those boys at school and it got in her way."

"You'd never know she had any issues from her grades," the Doctor says.

"That's my girl," Donna says. She lathers her hair with shampoo.

"Now this is what I missed," the Doctor says, watching her as she moves around the shower.

"Ah, you were always the best company," Donna says. She scrubs herself clean, her hair glossy with conditioner. "When are you going to take a shower?" she asks.

"Do I stink?" he asks.

"No, but what's the standard?" Donna asks.

He smiles. "I'll shower every day if it makes you happy, but it's not necessary for me."

"Martian," Donna says, stepping under the water to rinse herself off. She turns off the water and steps out of the shower, her hand out for her towel. The Doctor doesn't move. Donna smiles.

"Are you trying to get a look at me naked or something?" she asks.

"Always," he says. He wraps her towel around her and pulls her up against him.

"I'm all wet, Spaceman, you'll get your clothes wet--"

"Don't give a fuck," he tells her, with an openmouthed kiss that proves his words. He follows a bead of water with his tongue, down her neck to her right breast, and Donna inhales. "Don't even know why you wear clothes around me," he adds. "Especially now."

"Told you, I always had people around me," Donna says, her voice breathless. "Oh, Doctor."

"You want me to pick an Earth name when you say 'Doctor' like that?" he asks, and Donna bites her lip. "You always said it so nice."

"Oh, I'll call you whatever you want," she says, watching him use her towel to dry her body for her. She tilts her head to the side, regarding his bent head. "Having fun?" she asks.

"Mm," he answers, flicking a look in her eyes and going back to massaging the towel along her hips and waist.

She thinks that he looks thin, and tired, but less than he did before. She thinks that even though he is thin and tired, he is filled with a kind of wanting that he's clearly suppressing to the best of his ability. That must be hard work, she thinks. "Oh," she says a moment later, when she feels him rub the towel between her thighs. "You'll never get that dry around you, Spaceman," she tells him, and his eyes snap to her face.

"Good," the Doctor says. Donna gasps again, rising on her toes a little bit when he dips his fingers between her legs. Then he sticks those fingers in his mouth, like he's been in a jam jar, and says "Still delicious."

"You remember," Donna says.

"As if I could ever forget," he says. "I've waited a long, long time for you, Donna."

"Then how long are you gonna make me wait for you?" Donna asks.

"I didn't want to move too fast," he says. "I've only just got you back. Couldn't live with myself if I fucked it up."

"Impossible," Donna says immediately. "You're fucking stuck with me, Spaceman. I'm not going anywhere."

He takes the towel back from around her and rubs his face with it. She gives him a look of scandalized delight. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll go and shop?" he says. "It's Saturday, we should party. Get a bunch of wine and pastries."

"You're no fun," Donna says.

"Oh, I'm so much fun," he says. "I think I made you a promise, something about every room in this house?"

"You did," Donna says.

"But I also promised Grandad some of the green beans from the market, and they're only here today," the Doctor says. "Otherwise he has to wait a week."

"Oh, no, a week," Donna teases, but she is so moved by his care for her grandfather. They're thick as thieves, the two of them, and though the Doctor looks younger he is not. The combination of boyish silliness and wonder alongside the soldier's broken heart in both of them makes them comrades. They can relate, having seen the worst of the worst and still believing in the best. She loves them both to overflowing for it.

"Fine, we'll buy some wine and pastries and beans," Donna says. She turns to go without her towel and the Doctor follows her immediately. In her bedroom he turns her to face her full-length mirror so she can see herself. He stands behind her, his hands on her hips.

"I won't make you wait forever," he says, and points at the mirror. "Watch." And he dips his fingers back down between her legs and doesn't stop until Donna is begging for more and mercy at the same time. "See?" he tells her. "Look at how you look. That's you and me and this is what we're supposed to be doing."

"Yes, yes," she moans. "I want it."

"It's yours," he says. "For as long as you want it."

Donna is pretty sure she can hardly stand for pleasure, but he's holding her up so she won't collapse. "That'll hold you over," he says to their reflection. "Get dressed," he adds. Donna reaches up to kiss him hard, to make him fuck her then and there, but even though he is ready for her (has been ready for her for millions of years) and even though she gets a hand down below his belt and she knows exactly what he likes, he steps back from her.

"So you're just going to edge me all day?" Donna asks.

"Trust me," he tells her, and licks his fingers again. "Put your clothes on, Donna Noble. Otherwise we're getting nothing done today and we need food." Donna grumbles about responsibilities, but gets dressed, the Doctor sitting contentedly on her bed watching.

They are about twenty minutes outside of the town proper, along a bright country lane lined with fields on either side. Donna has bags and a basket, a hat and a pretty blue dress. The Doctor offers her his arm and they make the walk together for a leisurely half-hour.

The farmer's market is in the square of the town, and there are various stalls set up. Donna makes the obvious jokes about the cucumbers and corn on the cob but only so the Doctor can hear since she knows the TARDIS translation circuit means everyone will be able to understand her. Donna notices him squinting in the afternoon sun and hands him her sunglasses. They get a generous portion of green beans along with the rest of the produce and then they stop at the butcher for chicken, the boulanger for fresh bread, and the patisserie. Donna picks out a bunch of tarts and pastries, as well as a big bag of freshly ground coffee beans.

On the walk back Donna takes his hand instead of his arm, and the Doctor takes two of the bags from her so that she's only carrying the basket. "Should we bring him the beans or have him over?" Donna asks.

"Tomorrow he can come over for dinner," the Doctor says. They walk quietly for a while in the warm sunshine. These moments are so ordinary for a human, but there is something golden about it for both of them; aware that in the broad, unfathomable scope of time and breadth of the universe they are on the same path again. And that path is a sunny country lane in one of the most beautiful places in the world, just them. The elegant simplicity of it convinces him this is the right place to be.

Instead of dinner, they eat pastries in the garden like two kids, drinking coffee and laughing over everything and nothing. Afterwards the Doctor keeps his promise about every room in the house (except Rose's room). They end up in his bedroom, Donna asleep with an arm flung over him while the TV plays a movie. The Doctor sits at his ease in a robe, something he's got to try and become accustomed to, his legs outstretched and his ankles crossed. He has his glasses on, providing him subtitles and analysis and tracking his surroundings as he watches. In his left peripheral the glasses keep a running track of Donna's vital functions and sleep pattern.

After an hour or so he moves and Donna makes a sleepy noise of discontent as she feels him start to shift. Her eyes open. "Don't go," she says. "I want you."

The words wrap around his heart like an embrace. "Okay," he says hoarsely, and moves back into the warm spot he'd been in. Donna settles back against him.

“Can’t sleep without you,” she murmurs. She picks up one of his hands and presses his fingers against her temple, then sleepily places hers against his, caressing his cheek as she does so. Instinctively he entrains onto the psychic connection, built of the remnants of their shared consciousness. In the past they had used this connection for sex, among other things, but now Donna just breathes, her sleepiness and contentment in his arms communicated to him without words. So he can feel what she does. She sends him the feeling of sleeping in his arms, so he knows. She sends him little images of them asleep together like a wave of sedative joy. And among all of it is the feeling of wanting, the word stay, the feeling of being protected. And then she sends him a memory of sleepy, easy sex in the dark, aboard the TARDIS in her bed. She drops her hand to wind her arm around him again.

“That too,” he says softly to her.

“Mm-hm,” she says, and her breathing evens out a moment later. He presses three kisses to the top of her head and closes his eyes to see if it works.

When his eyes open again the sun is up, painting stripes of bright light across the polished wood floor. Donna is sound asleep next to him, so he scoots out of the bed quickly and unobtrusively. Just enough time to go to that one bakery on that one street on that one planet that made those moonfruit tarts that Donna loved all those years ago.

Donna's eyes fly open immediately at the sound of the TARDIS wheezing and groaning. She's out of bed faster than she can remember in years, and down the stairs. In the kitchen the Doctor is standing there setting up the French press for two fresh cups of coffee, and Donna nearly skids to a halt. She pushes her hair out of her face, trying to act as though she had not just run down the stairs in a panic that he'd decided to disappear off into danger.

But the Doctor knows her. He gives her a wry, affectionate look and says, "Good morning."

"Morning," Donna says, moving to sit at the kitchen table. "Where've you been, then?"

"Might have been off getting us a little breakfast," he says. He hands her a green paper box from the counter. "Have a look?"

Donna lifts the top and looks for a moment. "Oh!" she says, realizing. "I remember these! They were fruit tarts. From that planet... Alabria. I remember that!" She looks up at him with shining eyes. "Moonfruits! These were so good, weren't they?"

"You remember," the Doctor says.

"Yeah," Donna says. "And no blowing up my head to remember it."

So they eat a leisurely breakfast in the kitchen, and spend the day cleaning and tidying in preparation for Wilf. Around five PM Donna starts to cook. She sets up her Bluetooth speaker and phone and starts to prep and wash. She has filets of chicken, a bag of potatoes, the bounty of haricots verts, and a fresh loaf of bread in the bread box. She puts her chicken in a bowl to marinate, then pulls out a very expensive wooden cutting board. All of her kitchen equipment is top of the line; expensive, high-quality items she'd synthesized on the TARDIS to spare the expense of buying them. She has cast iron everything, chef-quality knives, a stand mixer, a pasta-maker, a waffle iron, everything she ever wanted in a kitchen. She makes quick work of the onions and rinses the beans, spreading them on a baking sheet with olive oil and salt to roast in the oven. She chops fresh herbs, even chiffonades some basil for extra fanciness. In a pan she puts butter, fresh garlic, chopped onions, rosemary, thyme, basil, and tarragon.

The Doctor hears music from where he is standing in his bedroom looking through his top drawer for something he wanted to show Wilf. He looks up from his perusal and follows the sound down the stairs. He goes through the living room towards the kitchen and stops a few paces back. In the kitchen is Donna, dressed in a long green-and-white patterned dress, dancing between stove and counter, her red hair glinting in the light, her hips swaying to the beat. The air smells delicious and comforting. She doesn't notice him, so he stays there for a bit, thinking that he'll never leave this little French outpost as long as she lives.

Partway through a turn Donna spots him and stops, embarrassed at being caught. "Hello, Spaceman," she says, smiling ruefully. She can tell by the silly smile on his face and the look in his eyes he's been standing there for a bit. He always gets that soft-eyed expression when she isn't looking and he thinks she hasn't noticed. "How long have you been standing there, then?"

The Doctor only shrugs and comes into the kitchen, inhaling appreciatively. "The combination of the music, the food, and the beautiful woman in my house just... brought me down here." He melds himself to Donna's body, her back to his front, finally free to be as intimate with her as he pleases. "What's all this?" he asks, resting his hands warmly on her hips as he surveys the chicken sizzling merrily in its herbed butter sauce.

"It is poulet au Provence," Donna says, in perfect French. "And I have the beans in the oven and the potatoes on to boil. So we can go get Grandad when it's just about ready so he doesn't have to wait." She points to the counter. "We have wine, and we have lemons for his water, so besides dessert I think we're pretty set. What do you think?"

"I think that I love you," the Doctor says, pressing a kiss to her head. "I'll go get Grandad and we'll bring you back dessert, deal?"

"Deal," Donna says, and looks up over her shoulder at the Doctor. "I love you too, Spaceman." She puts her hands over his to savor the moment before he moves away.

Half an hour later she hears the Doctor and her grandfather laughing in the garden, the Doctor pushing Wilf's wheelchair along their path to the back door. "Hello, Donna, my love!" Wilf greets his granddaughter cheerily from the door. He's holding a box that turns out to have a strawberry shortcake in it, frosted in fresh whipped cream. Once inside the house, Wilf eases himself into his comfortable chair in the sunroom, and Donna comes to give him a hug.

"Hello, Gramps," she says, smiling. "We got you those beans. It's about twenty more minutes until we eat, so you make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything?"

"I'm going to talk to your Doctor for a while," Wilf says. "If you don't need him."

Donna smiles, flicks an affectionate glance at the Doctor and says, "I never need him for anything, he's all yours." She goes back to the kitchen, humming along with her music.

In the living room Wilf looks around and says, "Looks lovely in here."

"We haven't changed anything since you were here last," the Doctor says.

"I know," Wilf says. "Just homey, that's all. Anyone else here?"

"Nah," the Doctor says. "Don't know if you know what happened?"

"Oh," Wilf says. "Yes, with Shaun. About that. How is she?"

The Doctor sighs, shrugging a little, remembering how she'd looked with her head thrown back in pleasure the night before, wrapped around him in his lap on the sofa where he is sitting. "She's here permanently now," he says. "I think she's going to be all right once the shock wears off."

"She looks happy," Wilf says. "I'm glad she seems to be all right. She sleeping?"

"Now she is, yes," the Doctor says. "She says she wasn't before."

"Yeah, yeah," Wilf says, nodding. "She'd be up most nights until about 4 AM. It made the newborn stage easy with Rosie, though. She was just... awake. She said she had nightmares all the time and that sleeping wasn't restful for her anyway. She refused to take sleeping medicine and just lived with it."

The Doctor looks over his shoulder at Donna in the kitchen, still shaking her hips to the music as she whisks the mashed potatoes into fluffy peaks and adds butter and salt. "My poor Donna," he says. "She's been through a lot."

"She used to say she felt like a refugee," Wilf says. "She blamed herself for forgetting, and she worked really hard to make sure we didn't feel like she was dependent on us in any way. She went right back to work and she married Shaun and soldiered through."

"She must be tired," the Doctor says.

"Not like you and me of course," Wilf says. "But yeah. My girl. She deserves a break." He smiles and chuckles a little. "When she was wee she looked like Little Orphan Annie. Just a head full of red curls like you've never seen before. The other girls used to call her Carrots and make her cry."

"I'd love to see pictures of her," the Doctor says.

"I'll show you some when you take me home," Wilf says. "She tried to cut all her hair off one day but I caught her before she could make the first cut. Sylvia was furious of course, but no harm was done. We asked her why and said she didn't want to be ugly anymore. She was about six, I think."

"My Donna? Ugly?" the Doctor says.

"She was convinced," Wilf shrugs. "She never really got over that hurt, I think. It's always affected her. Ugly and stupid, that was usually her line. And Sylvia was no help, so she never really listened to anyone that told her otherwise."

"I mean, have you seen her?" the Doctor says, pointing towards the kitchen.

"I know," Wilf says. "She's my only granddaughter, she's always been my favorite. She just can't remember." He sniffs appreciatively. "Smell that good food," he adds. "She's got such a talent for cooking." He smiles at the Doctor. "So? How's living with her?"

Wilf can tell by the look in the Doctor's eyes that he's happy. "It's only been a few days of her being here permanently but I never wanted her to go in the first place, so you can imagine how I feel," the Doctor says. He looks as if he could cry from joy again, a look Wilf has seen so often since he returned. "But I think we're going to be great."

"Take care of her for me," Wilf says. "You don't have to marry her--"

The Doctor huffs a laugh. "I wasn't planning on asking, but I doubt she'd say yes to me anyway."

"Just make her happy," Wilf says. "She's been through so much, and she needs you so badly. It's been like watching a horror movie to see her live the last fifteen years. Even with Rosie and all."

"She hasn't said much," the Doctor says.

"I hope she will someday," Wilf replies. "My poor girl."

"You make it sound like she suffered a lot," the Doctor says. "What happened?"

"She tried to kill herself a couple of times before she found out she was pregnant," Wilf says. "But for god's sake don't tell her I told you."

The Doctor is horrified. "What?"

"Yeah, we had to talk her out of it a few times," Wilf says. "Luckily she spoke up every time, but--"

"Every time? How many times was this?"

"Four," Wilf says. "Twice within the first year or so. She kept insisting that she had no reason to live. And this was before Shaun and the wedding." Wilf grimaces. "She was so matter-of-fact about it. She said she'd obviously lost everything and was insane and had no reason to stay alive any longer. She used to sneak out to the garden at night when she thought I couldn't hear her crying. She used to look through my telescope for hours, but she never could say what she was looking for."

Donna comes into the room with a plate of cheese and crackers. "Stilton?" she asks, her eyes twinkling with happiness. The Doctor and Wilf are both looking at her with such tenderness, the Doctor's face a bit helpless with love. Donna's smile fades a little. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," Wilf says. "We were just discussing something."

"Oh," Donna says. "Have a snack, Grandad, it's an appetizer. We'll be at the table in ten minutes. D'you want to eat outside?"

"Sure," Wilf says. "Go on, roll me outside now so I can enjoy the garden while you get ready. Don't you want my help?"

"Absolutely not," Donna says, smiling again.

The Doctor helps Wilf back into his wheelchair and rolls him outside to the table on the patio. He pats Wilf on the shoulder and goes back into the kitchen where Donna is plating up big clouds of mashed potatoes and topping them with chicken and vegetables. She sprinkles fresh parsley on top with a mock flourish and says, "Dinner is served, monsieur."

He takes the little container of herbs out of her hand, buries his hands in her hair, and kisses her thoroughly. Donna relaxes into him after a moment, and when he lets her go she's a little shiny-eyed. "What was that for?" she asks.

"For being here," the Doctor says simply. He picks up two of the plates. "Come on, Donna Noble. Another ordinary night awaits us."

They give Wilf half a glass of wine since he isn't technically supposed to be drinking with his medications, but Donna doesn't have the heart to deny him at least a few sips of the best French vintage they have to offer. The evening is balmy and warm, populated with crickets and cicadas singing in the foliage. They talk and laugh and eat cake, and Wilf stays up until about midnight. Around then he asks the Doctor for a lift back to London instead of staying the night, and murmurs, "I've got a photo album for you." So Donna kisses her grandfather goodnight and lets her two favorite men go off on a ship through space and time, knowing soon enough the Doctor will be back. Wilf's hands are full of fresh green beans in a bag and an extra slice of cake in a tupperware container.

When the Doctor returns he's holding a leather-bound photo album and a little box. Donna has finished the dishes and put away the food and is sitting in the kitchen with another glass of wine and her laptop, just browsing Facebook idly. So he joins her at the table and says, "Look what Wilf gave me."

Donna looks up from her screen and says, "Oh, that's his photo album!" She looks happy. "He loves that old book."

"He said he wanted me to look through it," the Doctor says. "Maybe we can do that."

"What's that?" Donna asks, pointing to the small box.

"Ah," the Doctor says. He pushes the box towards her. "That, is for you."

"From Grandad?"

"No," he says. "From me." He regards her with a bit of trepidation, his tongue braced against his bottom lip.

"Oh, you don't have to--" Donna opens the box and stops. "That's a ring, Spaceman," she says, looking up at him.

"It's not a wedding ring," he hastens to assure her. "it's not an engagement ring or anything like that. It's just... a ring. Made it for you on the TARDIS. I was just thinking."

"It's gorgeous," Donna says, as the low kitchen light catches the stone and metal. It's an exquisite blue sapphire, round and perhaps a carat and a half in weight, set in yellow gold flanked with finely tooled blossoms on either side. Small, perfect diamonds wink at their centers.

Blue for her eyes, blue for the TARDIS, blue for the limitless sky they travel together, and flowers because ever since he met her his path has been strewn with them. He wishes the same for her, since she has brought joy and beauty into his life again.

"It's not a wedding ring," he says again, and Donna takes the ring out of the box. She hands it to him.

"You were the first man to put a ring on me," she says. "It's only fitting you should be the last."

He gives her a speaking look, his eyes full of many emotions, and Donna expects him to pick up her left hand. Instead he goes for her right hand, sliding the ring onto her ring finger and kissing the back of her hand reverently. "So you remember that you're here by choice," he says, tugging her left ring finger gently. "And that you are my right hand."

"I am here by choice," Donna says, a few big tears springing up and rolling down her face. "Sorry," she adds. "I wasn't expecting that." She gets up to get a napkin to wipe her eyes and the Doctor follows her to the counter. She wraps him up tight around his middle. "I don't care about your ship or your time travel or any of it," she says, resting her head against his chest. "I just want you. I choose you."

He props his chin on the top of her head. "Thanks," he says quietly. "I know it's only been a week--"

"Oh, I think Shaun might have made his mind up a while ago," Donna says, her voice a bit unsteady. "I don't blame him. I don't want him to be sad. I don't want him to think I picked UNIT over him."

"You picked me over him," the Doctor says. "Whether you realized it or not, you did. And he saw it. He could have chosen to stay, but then what?"

"I had the same thought," Donna says. She doesn't dispute him. "Where is the line between us?" she asks. "What would I have done? Have two husbands? Worn two rings and pretended like you were a boarder or something? Imagine what Nerys would have to say. I bet she already has the rumor mill at full speed back in London."

"D'you think she'll put a move on Shaun?" the Doctor asks.

"He'd rather eat his own foot," Donna says with certainty, and the Doctor bursts out laughing. Donna sighs. "He's such a good bloke. He's good, down to his bones. He accepted me for who I was, he didn't blame me the way I blamed myself. He stayed when I gave away the money. He stayed when Rose transitioned, and he loves her still just as much. He works hard, and he cares about his family."

"Do you miss him?" the Doctor asks.

"Of course," Donna says. "Yes. But not in a way that would make me want to force him back here. He said he doesn't want this." She sighs, inhaling the scent of his soap and cologne, Earth habits he'd picked up long before he met her. The dual heartbeats thump in concert against her ear. "I s'pose there really is no line between us, eh, Spaceman?" she murmurs.

"Nah," he says, and she can hear his voice resonating in his chest. "Who needs it?" His hands move in comforting circles on her back. "Would you want both of us?"

Donna laughs against him. "Who has time or energy for that?"

"Ah, well," the Doctor says. "I'd rather have you entirely to myself anyway. Don't really want to share."

"Would you have?"

"Of course, if you wanted," the Doctor says. "I would have done anything for you. Anything to keep you in my life. Even stayed away, if that's what you wanted."

"Impossible," Donna says.

"I would also have given up the sex if that's what you wanted and just been your friend."

"Impossible," Donna repeats, and he smiles to himself, glad that she can't see the relief and triumph on his face.

"That's quite hot," he says, tapping her behind lightly and letting her go. "So. Hope you like the ring."

Donna looks down at her hand. "I love it," she says, and she means it. "I will wear it forever."

The next morning Donna reports to the London headquarters of UNIT for work, dropped off as usual by the Doctor in the TARDIS. She makes it her business to get her morning work done quickly, and goes to the Transport Division garage around lunch time. There she quietly puts Shaun's CV and a job application in, and in a week he's been hired as a Transport Supervisor at a salary of seventy-five thousand pounds a year.

Shaun will never know it was Donna who got him hired.

Rose visits every other weekend, always happy to see her mother and always willing to update both the Doctor and Donna on how her father is doing. She tells them about the new job at UNIT, and how Shaun is thriving in his position as supervisor, and how he seems to be settling into the house without Donna more easily than expected. The Doctor leaves Donna and her daughter to talk in Rose's room.

"The two of you should talk," Rose says to her mother. "He's doing okay, but I know he's sad."

"Does he want to talk to me?" Donna asks. "He seemed so final about everything. Like he didn't have anything left to say to me." The thought makes her throat close with grief. "I didn't know what he'd want," she finishes.

"I think he just wants to settle down into a life that's not going to keep being upended," Rose says. "And I can't say I blame him, Mum. We... you did sort of make his life chaos."

To Rose's surprise, tears start to well in her mother's eyes. "I know," Donna says. "I know. It was wrong of me." She wipes her eyes. "Is he angry at me?"

"No," Rose says. "He misses you. But he told me he has no regrets."

Donna lowers her head for a moment. "I hope he knows that I love him anyway."

"Yeah," Rose says, and she feels like she could cry too. "He does. He says he loves you, but that he stepped back for a reason."

There is a little silence. "All right," Donna says. "This is a conversation I can have with him when I see him again. Your birthday is coming up. I want to have a party for you here and your father should be part of it." She sighs. "What is he doing with himself outside of work?"

"He's got friends," Rose says. "He goes down the pub on Wednesdays and last week he took Grandad with him for trivia. He's joined a football league at work, too." She notices her mother seems relieved to hear it.

"And school? How are you?"

Rose shrugs a bit. "You've seen my grades."

"Yes, but your friends? Are they treating you all right?"

"Mum, it's light years away from public school in London," Rose says. "There are other girls like me around. It's just another world."

"And you're happy?" Donna asks.

"Mum, you ask me this all the time," Rose says, smiling. "I'm happy. I'm happy there. I can be myself. And I'm safe."

"All right," Donna says. "I can't ask for anything more."

Rose's eyes fall on Donna's right hand. "What a gorgeous ring," she says. "Where did you get this?"

Donna's eyes go to the Doctor before she can help herself, and Rose smiles. "He has very good taste, doesn't he?" She sees the glow of happiness in her mother's smile, something that she had rarely seen in the past. There is an emptiness about her that has been filled, a sense of completion. Donna just looks... different.

They spend a quiet weekend together, the three of them taking a few trips locally to sit by the river for a picnic. Sunday night Donna is standing in the kitchen cooking while Rose and the Doctor are sitting in the garden, talking rather seriously if their postures are any indication. From inside the warm, airy kitchen, Donna thinks she'll never leave this little French outpost as long as she lives.

The nights are starting to cool off as they approach mid-October, so Rose is wearing a giant hoodie over her clothes and sitting bunched up in one of the lounger chairs. She has been sitting in contented silence with the Doctor for a few minutes, just enjoying her coffee and the evening.

"So," the Doctor says. "What kind of mother is your mum?"

Rose smiles at the look in his eyes. He wants to know everything he missed. She looks over her shoulder at her mother, who is absorbed in her cooking. "She's the best mother I could have asked for in this world," Rose says, and he can tell she means it. "She has been by my side at absolutely every point in my life. She has been my strongest advocate and she has never failed me."

"That's my Donna," the Doctor says, and Rose can hear the warmth with which he says it, the easy possessiveness.

"I would be nowhere without her," Rose says. "She has always accepted me for who I am and protected me as I became myself. I'm safe with her, unconditionally, and that's all a child needs from their mother."

Safe with her, unconditionally, the Doctor thinks. That's my Donna. "What was she like when you were little?"

"The most fun!" Rose says. "She played sports with me, she taught me to read books and music, she taught me to cook and bake." Rose shrugs. "I can't remember a single hurt I had as a little kid that my mother didn't fix."

"That's my girl," the Doctor says again.

"You really love her," Rose says.

The Doctor doesn't hide the fact that he's blushing a little. "Yeah," he says. "She's safe with me, unconditionally." He points a finger at her. "And so are you, miss."

"Yeah, about that," Rose says. "I have to ask you."

"Yes?"

"Mum says you contributed some of my DNA?"

The Doctor grimaces. She had known the answer to this before the metacrisis released itself, but he has to explain it again to her now that it's gone. "Your mum underwent a biological metacrisis, yes," he says. "Her DNA and mine were fused through an energy collision that resulted in a human hybrid being created, that had her humanness and my Time Lord consciousness."

"What?" Rose asks. "So she had a baby with you?"

"No," the Doctor says. "Er... that hybrid was an adult and it grew out of a spare... body part I had lying around."

Rose's face is just like Donna's when she'd heard those words. "So... you're like starfish?" Rose asks. "You lop a bit off and a new one grows?"

It's so like what Donna had said all those years ago that the Doctor has to laugh. "Yes," he says. "In the simplest terms."

"And that means your DNA is in me too?"

"Well... it altered your mum's mind and body forever," the Doctor says. "She ended up with my consciousness too, and my DNA fused to hers. So technically... you have some of my DNA in your makeup. No 23 and Me for you, young lady."

"That's fucking weird," Rose says after a silence. "So do I have two fathers?"

"No, no, no," the Doctor hastens to assure her. "Your father is Shaun Temple. You couldn't exist without him contributing his DNA to father you. You just... have some extra makeup from me."

"So can you reproduce with humans?" Rose asks.

"No," the Doctor says. "I'm physically analogous to human males, but genetically I'm completely incompatible. Even if an egg was fertilized, it wouldn't implant or begin to develop because it lacks the necessary chromosomes."

Rose looks over her shoulder at her mother and then back to the Doctor. "So you two don't have any risk," she says, and the Doctor blushes for real this time. "Well, Mum's also fifty, so she's not getting pregnant."

"Er," the Doctor says again. "Not sure what to say to that."

"Don't," Rose says, starting to giggle like the teenage girl she is. "Don't. Gross. Ew. Disgusting."

The Doctor laughs. "Don't worry about it," he says. "It's not important anyway." He leans back comfortably in his chair. "Your mum said I should ask you about picking an Earth name."

Rose smiles at him. "Well, I picked my own name, so I'm good at that."

"That's what your mother said," the Doctor says.

"Told you, she's the best," Rose says. "What kind of name do you want?"

He shrugs. "I don't care." The fact of the matter is that Donna knows the name he grew up with, his real name, from having shared his mind. She knows that name and she never uses it because she also knows he won't say it. "Sometimes I've called myself John Smith."

Rose scrunches her nose. "Boring. John's not bad, I guess, but not Smith."

"What about Noble?" the Doctor asks. "John Noble?"

"Not bad," Rose says. "Want a middle name?"

"A what?"

"A middle name," Rose says. "My middle name is Margaret."

"Rose Margaret Noble," the Doctor muses. "Pretty. Why not Temple?"

Rose shrugs. "Just seemed... wrong. Mum was okay with it, she told Dad that it didn't really matter as long as I was happy and he'd still be my father no matter what sounds I strung together to identify myself."

That's my girl! he thinks again, so proudly. "What did he say?"

"I think he was a little hurt," Rose says. "But I've always been really clear with him about how I feel about him and that no matter what he'd always be my father and I would always love him."

"Maybe," the Doctor says. "Something with a D. Something for her."

"There's no male equivalent of Donna," Rose says. "Maybe Donald?"

"No," the Doctor grimaces. "Awful name. What about David?"

"John David Noble," Rose says. "Doctor John David Noble. Ooh, Doctor J.D. Noble. Sounds like a physicist or a famous surgeon."

So when Donna leans out the garden doors to tell them supper is ready, Rose gets up and pulls her mom outside. "I think we have an Earth name," she says.

"Oh?" Donna says. "It's about time. Let's hear it." Rose watches her smile soften as she looks at the Doctor, who gets to his feet and clears his throat.

"John David Noble," he says, making her a little bow. "Nice to meet you." He takes her hand and kisses it.

"Doctor John David Noble," Rose chimes in. "Or J.D. Noble, if you want to be mysterious about it."

"I wanted to be sure there was a D. Noble in my name," the Doctor says. He still hasn't let go of Donna.

"Well," Rose says. "I'm going to wash my hands." She sees the look that passes between her mother and the Doctor. She looks over her shoulder as she goes to the kitchen and sees the Doctor wrap her mother up in an embrace. Anyone who cares to look at them can see the devotion between them.

Around the dinner table they laugh and talk as always, and Rose has a glass of wine with them. "I'm supposed to get an assignment at work on Monday," Donna says. "My first."

"Ah," the Doctor says delightedly. "Any ideas?"

"Well, Kate has me under the impression there is a kind of social work department for UNIT?" Donna says. "She referred to it as Intergalactic Humanitarian Relations."

"That sounds good for you," Rose says. "I think you'd be amazing at that, mum. It sounds like you'd be helping people."

"Yeah," Donna says. She looks to the Doctor. "What's it mean?"

"IHR is one of the most important departments in UNIT," the Doctor says. "You'll be the first contact for a lot of people coming to Earth. Most of them will be refugees or victims of crimes. Some of them will be witness protection cases. Some of them will be accidents. It all depends." He takes a sip of wine. "Oftentimes the first contact those people have with Earth can determine their entire future."

"I assume this means I'll need more familiarity with the Intergalactic Code as it pertains to those issues," Donna says. "Have to study up."

"That and the policies on assimilation, protection, identity classification," the Doctor says. "Lots to learn."

"Sounds like school, but infinitely more interesting," Rose says.

"Yeah, better than algebra," Donna says.

"Having bamboo shoved under my fingernails would be better than algebra," Rose says, and everyone laughs.

"You need a maths tutor?" the Doctor asks.

"I don't know why," Rose grumbles. "If my DNA is part-genius, maths should be easier."

Rose goes to bed around eleven PM, and Donna follows the Doctor to the TARDIS parked in the back, where they go to the library and pull out the Intergalactic Code, the Interplanetary Refugee Charter, the Shadow Proclamation's Manual on Interstellar Diplomacy, and several textbooks on the theory of interspecies assimilation and cultural diffusion. There are language manuals and translations for countless cultures contained in Interstellar Diplomacy. It's a massive amount of information. UNIT has designated the Doctor as Donna's training supervisor, so she will take her training aboard the TARDIS and attend in-person seminars as instructed. All told, the department trains for three months after the initial six-month probationary period. This means Donna has reached the end of her probationary hire and is officially appointed to IHR for her 90 days of training.

"We have some options," the Doctor says, spreading the books out in front of them on the big table in the TARDIS library. "We can read, of course."

"Right," Donna says. "And what else?"

"We could... use the psychic connection," the Doctor suggests, raising his eyebrows. "We'd have to go slow to avoid a headache, but you can technically just... learn what I know."

Donna's eyebrows also raise. "And it saves us all the reading?"

"Technically, yes."

"Spaceman," Donna says. "How long have you known me now? Do you think that if I can save myself some trouble I won't go for that option immediately?"

The Doctor grins. "Come here, Donna Noble. Sit down."

"Doctor J.D. Noble," Donna teases him as she settles herself on the sofa. Her smile is full of affection and mirth. "Where'd you get your PhD?"

"Right," he says, tweaking her nose gently. "You'll get used to it soon." He sits down next to her on the sofa and turns her to face him. He touches his fingertips to her temples and Donna flinches away, fast as lightning.

"Ow," she says, and the smile falls off his face.

"Oh, sorry--" he says, and Donna grins.

"Just kidding," she says. "Just payback for that gloop." She settles herself again and gives him a cheeky look before closing her eyes again. His fingers descend on her temples again, and she reaches out to do the same for him. They entrain onto the connection immediately, like stepping from one room to another, and the Doctor can feel Donna's bright, electric, joyful presence in his mind. He feels wrapped in her consciousness like a warm embrace, as always.

Right, he says to her in their minds. I'm going to transmit the contents of the Intergalactic Code. I'll go slow.

Good luck, Donna says.

Tell me if it hurts, he says, and Donna's eyebrows raise but she doesn't open her eyes.

Hurts?

You could get a headache if we go too fast, he responds. Get ready.

He keeps his word about going slowly, so much so that at one point Donna interjects and says, You can't speed it up a little?

Instead of an answer or any acceleration in transmission, the Doctor adds on a second layer of image and sensation, so that Donna gets a full picture of them having sex on the library floor, their clothes scattered around them. That's what I really want, he says. I'll be done soon.

Ooh, that's a nice multitask, Donna says. That'll make this much more fun.

So instead of making his transmission faster, the Doctor simply retains the second layer of sex and sensation to it. By the time he's finished with the code and is sure that Donna has absorbed it, both of them are a little out of breath when they open their eyes. "Right," he says, smiling at her with intent. "Now for your quiz."

He asks her as many questions as he can think of regarding interplanetary refugee policy and cultural crossovers. He quizzes her on the duties of the officers of IHR and where they are limited in their jurisdiction and why. When they get done, Donna settles herself on the sofa comfortably and says, "You do realize, of course, that this makes you my first and most important case?" Her smile is languid and content.

"Oi," the Doctor says indignantly. "I'm not a case, I'm your favorite person to ever exist!" Off her teasing smile he adds, "I don't think caseworkers are supposed to have my cock between their tits on a Wednesday night."

Donna laughs uproariously. "Fair play, Spaceman," she says. "But no, seriously, you're my case number one. My most important, my most personal. My most precious."

"Ah," the Doctor says, waving a hand. "But your file on me is top secret anyway, so it doesn't count."

"Shall we do another?" Donna asks, picking up Interstellar Diplomacy.

"If you like," the Doctor says.

"Yeah, and this time can you also do the sex thing again?" Donna asks. "It's much more fun that way."

It takes about three and a half minutes to transmit the entirety of Interstellar Diplomacy and its appendices, and when he's finished the Doctor leans forward and gives her an openmouthed kiss. "Done," he says. "That's enough for one sitting, you'll get a migraine."

"Well, that saves us a ton of time," Donna says, rolling her shoulders. "And it's fun. I love your active imagination, Spaceman."

"And I love this little telepathy game," he says. "Pretty great."

"Mm-hm," Donna agrees.

"I think it is very fucking hot that you can do that, Donna Noble," he tells her. "You know you're the only human alive who has this ability. Makes you special."

Donna shrugs. "All the better for me."

The Doctor leans back at his ease on the sofa and regards her contentedly. "You're gorgeous, you know."

"Shut up, Spaceman," Donna says. "You don't have to flatter me, I'm already fucking you."

"Oh, now, wait a minute," the Doctor says. "Hang on. Hear me out."

Donna smiles indulgently at him. "Go on, then."

"Do you know what it's like for me to have someone I can talk to?" he asks her. "And it's you, Donna. I missed so much time with you. And best of all you're still you but better." He gives her a once-over she can positively feel. "And you still have all that red hair." Another man would have made her blush but Donna just smiles, a million watts. "The point is," he says, "time is precious and joy is having the time to spend with those you love."

"God, if you are not the wettest, most sentimental--"

"Oh, fuck off," he says, laughing. "I love you, Donna."

She reaches over and picks up his hand and kisses it, lingering for a moment with her vivid blue eyes locked with his. "I love you, Spaceman," she says. "Don't leave me again, eh?"

"You don't leave me," he says. "C'mon, let's go to bed." They lock up the TARDIS and go back into the house together, hand in hand. He's made a nightly habit of going to bed with her, even if he doesn't stay or sleep. The routine is comforting for both of them. Tonight they decide to sleep in her room.

The Doctor changes his clothes and watches Donna shed her clothes and get into pajamas. She brushes her hair through and goes to wash her face and brush her teeth in the ensuite. Just the sheer ordinariness of these actions is inexpressibly comforting to him. No more desolate silences or dark, solitary years. Just the chance to breathe and live in the present, surrounded by comfort. Donna comes back into the room massaging a bit of lotion into her hands and arms and elbows. She climbs under the duvet and holds out her arms. "Come."

He settles himself in her arms, resting his head on her chest. "I hope you stop thinking about how much time you lost," she murmurs to him, placing a kiss or two to the top of his head among the wild spikes of his hair. "It doesn't matter."

He listens to her single heartbeat, his most tangible reminder that she's human, and temporary, and he wants her to stay. He sighs. "I just don't want to lose any more time," he says. "It's been so much."

"And now we've had six months," Donna says. "And four of me living here permanently."

"Best time of my life," he says immediately, fervently.

"Well, it's not going to change," she says. "And I'm not going anywhere. So from here on out, Spaceman, it's you and me."

"And Rosie."

"And Rosie," Donna says, laughing a little. She thinks of her daughter asleep on the floor below them in her beautiful green and blue bedroom that the Doctor had let her decorate any way she pleased. For her upcoming birthday he'd been building her a workshop in the basement of the house, a bright and spacious area with new equipment: a sewing machine, an adjustable table, a comfortable rolling chair, and all kinds of notions and trims and fabrics. He's also building her a packing station, supplied with boxes, tape, tissue paper, a label maker, anything she could imagine. Everything is immaculately organized. Even Donna doesn't know about it yet.

"Donna?" he says into the comfortable silence.

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"D'you... maybe want to stay young?" the Doctor asks. "Like. Not age?"

"What d'you mean?" Donna asks, looking down at him. He tilts his head up to look at her.

"I mean... slow down the cell aging process so that you don't age like other humans and live an indeterminate amount of time with all your abilities and mental and physical health intact?" His eyes are very bare, and in earnest. "I've been wanting to ask you."

"Can you explain it?" Donna asks.

The Doctor makes as if to sit up, but she stops him, too comforted by his solid presence in her arms to let him go. So instead he burrows back into her side and says, "I can do that. And that way you and I can be together for a long, long time."

Donna sighs, and the Doctor feels her fingers carding through his hair gently, comfortingly. "Does that mean I live to a hundred and fifty?" she asks.

"Oh, more like five hundred," the Doctor says and Donna's fingers stop moving.

"What?"

"Yeah," he says. "More like five hundred. Or more. Don't really know."

"What?" Donna asks again.

"You don't have to, you can forget I asked, but I just thought--"

"No, wait," Donna says. "Wait." She sits up and so does the Doctor. "Wait. So you're offering me five times the human lifespan?"

"Or more," he confirms.

"Where was this the first time around?" Donna asks.

"I was much too stupid and young and inexperienced to know what I needed then," the Doctor says. "But you're back. And I just thought I'd ask. You don't have to."

"So what does that mean?" Donna asks.

"It means you will outlive everyone. Rose, Shaun, your mum, everyone you know," the Doctor says. "It's not for the faint of heart. But then again if I thought you were fainthearted, I wouldn't have offered. My Donna can handle the prospect."

Donna nods slowly. "All right, Spaceman. Let me think about what that means."

"Are you all right with watching Rose grow old?"

"Doesn't every parent want their child to live a long, happy life?"

"Yes, but you'll be young still."

"And you won't do it for her too?" Donna asks.

"No," the Doctor says, simply and matter-of-factly. There's nothing else to say. Donna nods again.

"Right," she says. The implications of his refusal are enormous, but then the implications of their entire existence and relationship are enormous. "So only me."

"You're part of me," he says, another factual, simple statement. "And I'm part of you. That's how we ended up here. And that's all I care about ultimately."

Donna is quiet for a few moments. "You know," she says. "This is like a marriage proposal but much more serious."

"I have no plans to ask you to marry me," the Doctor says. "You know how I am about Earth rituals. Rituals in general."

"Yes," Donna says. "But you're asking me to commit to an unknown lifespan with you, because if we were ever not together, I would just be some medical miracle lady who no one knew when I was gonna die. I don't want that. And I don't want to live indefinitely without you. So you'd have to be able to assure me we'd be together, because I can't live centuries without you. There's no point. I'd be lost."

"Right," the Doctor says.

"So I get to keep you?" Donna asks, her palms turned upwards in a gesture of inquiry.

"You will never lose me," he says, and the truth of the statement rings in its simplicity.

"Well," she says. "Then what else is there?"

He practically knocks her over with the force of his embrace. "Fuck's sake," Donna says softly to him. "You're mine, Spaceman. You can have a happy ending."

There is a short silence and then he bursts into heartrending sobs, more forceful than she has ever seen from him. She knows he works hard to keep himself in check, and the most she'd ever witnessed was a few tears, but this is real. She clutches him close, curling her fingers into his back until her knuckles are white. "I'm here," she murmurs. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm here."

He makes very little noise, but she can feel how the sobs wrack his body, the way his chest and stomach heave and wrench with the pain. She rocks him just a little, resting her cheek on top of his head. She wants to end the pain for him but she also knows he needs the catharsis. So she rides it out with him, never once letting go of him, only shifting to murmur softly to him or kiss his head or redouble her embrace. When he starts to calm down, she presses her fingers to his temple so she can send him comforting sensations and images. He refuses to reciprocate the connection to spare her the onslaught of emotions. "You're the only one," he says to her, his voice hoarse. "You're the only one that can do this for me."

"Do what for you?" Donna asks gently.

"Make me feel better," he says simply. "I don't know what I would do without you anymore." He sits up and takes both her hands in his. "If I'm going to live it has to be with you. I need you. I couldn't tell you that the first time because I had nothing to lose. Now I have everything and I need you. That's why I asked you."

"So what was that?" Donna asks. "Me saying yes made you cry."

"Relief," he says to her earnestly. "It's relief. I was terrified I'd have to watch you grow old and die married to another man, and when he left you I didn't dare hope, but now--" He sighs a great sigh and rubs his face. "I don't have to worry anymore. We can just be."

"I did wonder about that," Donna says. Then she gives him a little smile. "Too bad you couldn't have stopped me fifteen years ago, eh?"

"Oh, you look exactly the same," he says.

"You fucking liar," Donna says solemnly, and he laughs a little through his tears. "It's more about my knees and my back than my hair," she adds.

"Ah, I'll take care of that," the Doctor says, waving a hand. He reaches out to cup her cheek. "Take all the time you need," he says. "It's not a snap decision." He can feel how Donna turns her face into his palm, seeking comfort he knows she's been without. He leans forward to kiss her gently on the lips. "Take all the time you need," he says again. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Can't take too long or I'll get even older," Donna says.

"You don't mind stopping at fifty," the Doctor says.

"No, I like myself," Donna says, and she can say that honestly now. "I know who I am, I love being a mother, and I love my work." She settles herself back among her pillows and holds out her arms. "Come back."

So he wraps himself around her again and breathes another great sigh of relief. "Tale your time," he tells her. "It's on offer. I just don't want to live without you."

In the morning they drop Rose off at school together. Just before they open the doors to the UNIT London office, the Doctor takes Donna's hand. "See you later?" he asks.

"Obviously," Donna quips, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You'll have to explain this whole slowdown process to me when I get back."

"Don't worry," he says. "You'll get the full information."

"Oh, I know that," Donna says, and kisses his smiling mouth. "See you later."

He's had to learn to distract himself in different ways while Donna is working, so the Doctor has joined a local engineering club in a town about an hour north of Montresor. After attending a few meetings and deciding they're a good group of people, the Doctor had discovered at the last meeting that one of them was his neighbor. His name is Laurence Miller, and the Doctor had also met his wife Simone at the last meeting when she came to pick him up. They are both about sixty, married for forty years, have three kids who are all grown up and left the nest, and a retired life in the countryside after living in Paris and Nice for most of their earlier lives.

For an experiment in his ongoing trial of living like an ordinary human, the Doctor plans to invite Laurence and Simone for dinner that Friday evening. When he runs the idea by Donna at the end of her workday, her eyes actually fill up.

"Oh, Spaceman, you made a friend," she says proudly.

"Oh, fuck's sake," the Doctor says, grinning. "I have lots of friends."

"No, but," Donna says. "You made a friend that you can be a friend with for a long time. Someone who can stay around. Who is he?"

"His name is Laurence Miller, and he has a wife called Simone, and he's part of my engineering club," the Doctor says.

"What does he call you?"

"John, mostly," the Doctor says. "Jean-Davide doesn't really trip off the tongue, and the French rarely abbreviate. And 'le Docteur' is a bit off-putting."

Donna laughs as she circles the console, the flight sequence automatic under her fingers. "What do you think we should make?"

"They said they'd be interested in anything we have to offer," the Doctor says. "So I'd say priority number one is good wine."

"Ah, but of course," Donna says, in an exaggerated French accent. "Life is pain, zat is why we have wine."

"Exactly," he says. "I'll make lamb shanks and potatoes and you can handle dessert." He adjusts several dials. "Can you make more of that fresh whipped cream with the vanilla?"

"'Course," Donna says.

"Make extra," the Doctor says, giving her a smile full of intent.

"Right," Donna says, catching his drift. She throws the thrust lever and they take off with a smooth boost.

"You're so good at that," he says. "Great takeoff. If you can land her just as nice as me I'll let you fly her solo."

"Let me?" Donna raises an eyebrow. "Mate, I don't want to fly this ship without you unless it's an emergency."

"Fair enough," he says, and Donna turns her attention back to the console to prepare for landing. She manages it with a slight thud, and gives the Doctor a smile and shrug.

"That was easy," she says.

"Smug," the Doctor says.

"Fucking right," Donna says, and walks to the doors of the TARDIS. "I am going to change my clothes and collapse in front of the telly, what d'you say?"

"Telly's a bit boring for me," he says. "I'll sit with you but I'll probably do something else."

"Fair enough," Donna agrees.

They end up with Donna draped over him on the sofa, both of them covered with the same blanket, limbs tangled. He has a book and she is watching a nature documentary narrated by David Attenborough. Donna listens to his heartbeats thrumming in concert, steady and calm. He feels solid, and less thin than he had been before. Well, she'd been sure to feed him rich meals and good wine, and ate all his experiments in the kitchen with him. She'd made him a regular at the patisserie and the boulangerie for bread and sweets. Between the sound of David Attenborough's voice and the steady drum of his heartbeats, Donna is lulled to sleep.

The Doctor notes the slower rhythm of her breath and moves his book aside to look down at the redheaded woman in his arms. Now moments like this don't have to be secret, confined to the TARDIS, snatched in moments of brief reprieve where the knowledge thereof could destroy their privacy. Now he can just be with her. So he tilts his head down to press a kiss to her head and goes back to his book. If he can have this, keep this... it will be all he needs.

When Friday rolls around the Doctor spends most of it cooking and shopping while Donna is at work. It's Shaun's week to have Rose in London so they are free for the weekend.

Donna, meanwhile, has been given her first cases as part of the IHR department. That day she witnesses shivering refugees from a war on a planet located in a star system adjacent to the Milky Way Galaxy. There are about 45 of them, mostly children, blank-eyed and numb. With Donna are a second agent from her department, and a team of nurses, doctors, and therapists. The refugees are people from the planet Harbara, which has been historically a target of invasion due to its location in its star system. Another invasion has taken place, this time by a more advanced civilization, and they are the last of their city. Donna is responsible for processing their intake, and helping to direct them to housing and medical care. She knows everything she needs to thanks to her training and the Doctor's work with her, but the impact of seeing these people leaves her shaken. They are confused and terrified, hungry, some injured, others seeming to have lost their grip on reality. One little girl won't talk to her at all, but only cries, clinging to Donna like a mother. That little girl has a bloody wound on her arm that stains Donna's shirt purple, but she won't speak. The nurses take her from Donna, whose eyes are streaming tears, and another IHR agent called Danielle Charles, a veteran of the department, reminds her to get herself together.

"You can cry later," Danielle whispers to her. "They need you now. Be strong." Her own voice is a little unsteady, and Donna breathes in and out a few times.

"Yeah," she says. "Let's help."

The intake lasts the rest of her workday, and when Donna finally gets back to her office, she is exhausted and worn out. She takes her things and goes to the garage to wait for the Doctor to arrive, which he always does, right on time. Almost as soon as the TARDIS wheezes into view Donna breaks down. She gets her key out and goes into the ship, shutting the door behind her and leaning on it.

His face, in his usual big bright smile to see her again, falls right away. "Oh," he says. "What happened, Donna?" He sees the bloodstains on her shirt and neck. "Oh, no. Come here." He wraps her up tight. "What happened?"

For a moment she considers telling him about the invasion. But she knows in her bones that her Spaceman will want to help, will want to go to Harbara and fix it, and that can't happen. So instead she turns her face into his chest and lets the tears fall, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't ask any more questions until she lets go of him. "Just work," she says. "Saw a lot of hard things today."

"Like what?"

Donna shakes her head. "Don't want to talk about it."

"Donna--"

"No," she says, cutting him off. "I don't want to tell you. You'll want to go running off to fix it and I can't have that, I need you--"

"Okay," he says gently. "Okay. Let's go home, then." He starts to circle the console. "You don't have to help me fly."

Silently Donna ignores him and starts to assist in the flight sequence. She throws the lever before he can and stands wordlessly, watching the central column of the TARDIS glow blue-white, its components working away. "D'you want to cancel dinner tonight?" the Doctor asks.

"No," Donna says. "It'll distract me. When are they coming?"

"About eight thirty, I think," he says. He kisses her temple and slips an arm around her as they wait for the TARDIS to land.

"Okay," she says. "It's fine, I'll be fine as long as I have you."

When they land in the garden in France, Donna goes straight to the bathroom to wash off. "There's no weird alien disease I can catch from this blood, is there?" she asks as she scrubs herself at the sink.

The Doctor, perched on the bathroom countertop, shakes his head. "It's just blood, like yours and mine."

"It's purple," Donna says.

"Yes, less oxygenated."

"Is our air safe for them to breathe?"

"Sure," the Doctor says. "Whoever it was might be a little lightheaded at first, but they'll adjust."

"What color is your blood?" Donna asks.

"Red, like yours," the Doctor says. "Maybe redder, with the two hearts and all. More oxygen being processed."

Donna flings her stained shirt aside and strips off the rest of her clothes. "Might as well change for dinner," she says. "I'm thinking I'll make a strawberry cake for dessert."

"Ah, what a good vehicle for that whipped cream I like so much," the Doctor says, attempting to lighten the mood. Donna smiles a little bit. "There's my girl," he adds.

Her bundle of clothes in one arm and her other hand holding his, Donna pulls him into the bedroom with her and seats him on her bed. She goes to her closet and pulls out two dresses. "Purple or blue?" she asks.

"Neither," he says, and Donna turns to put the dresses back. "Something else?"

"Nope," he says, looking her over. She smiles at him.

"Spaceman," she says. "You're no help."

"Thank you," he says. He gets up and slides his hands around her hips. "I like the purple," he says, giving her the lightest kiss. "You can wear that one without a bra."

"Spaceman," Donna repeats, scandalized and delighted as he goes out of the room.

"What?" he asks innocently over his shoulder. "No pants either, all the better," he calls as he starts down the stairs.

She hears him thump merrily down the stairs and smiles to herself. She decides to wear pants after all but no bra, just for him. She can always put a sweater on.

Down in the kitchen the Doctor starts to prepare his lamb shanks and potatoes, and Donna joins him, retrieving her apron from the pantry. "Ah, perfect," he says, turning from the pile of potatoes on the counter. "Just the way I like it." He reaches out and nudges the neckline of the dress aside so that one pink nipple is exposed. "Leave it like that."

"Spaceman," Donna says a third time. "There is fire in this room. Do not subject my breasts to fire. I thought that went without saying. It's a ground rule."

He laughs and leans down to kiss her nipple, pulling the fabric back into place. "Fair enough," he says. "Take what I can get." He slants her a cheeky look. "I'm determined to distract you tonight."

"It will be appreciated," Donna says. "Meanwhile, who are these people you've invited to our home?"

"Laurence is about sixty, I'd say?" the Doctor says. "So's his wife."

"Yeah, and they call you John," Donna says. "I'm gonna have to practice."

"Oh, speaking of that," the Doctor says, and Donna turns from the fridge where she is getting out the ingredients for a cake. "I know how you can practice." He dances her back against the kitchen island and hooks his fingers in her neckline again, dropping his mouth to her neck and collarbone. His hands pull her skirt up her thighs and his fingers skim between her legs. "Oh, you did wear pants," he says, lifting his mouth from her neck.

"I did-- oh, yes," she says when he runs his tongue along her throat. He's an expert at this now in a new way, a better way than before. He always did what she liked but now he can get her off fast and efficiently and deliciously. He sucks a nipple up into his mouth, laving it thoroughly. She doesn't say many more words until he feels her wind up and her mouth opens.

"Say my fucking name," he says to her, and Donna's eyes squeeze shut in utter pleasure.

"Oh, John," she moans. "Oh, fuck, yes."

"Amazing," he tells her, continuing the motion of his hand. "Sounds fucking great."

Donna gives him a lustful little smile. "You like it?"

"I love it," he says. "it was a good choice of a name." He pulls his hand out from under her dress and Donna covers herself back up. "There. Now you've practiced."

Donna goes back to the refrigerator. "I'll work on it," she says. "We'll need to do a bit more practice as we go." She sets out her ingredients: milk, eggs, butter, sugar, flour. She has an expensive stand mixer on the kitchen island and she whips up a simple sponge in no time. While her cakes are baking and the lamb shanks sautéing in the pan, Donna changes out her bowl and adds fresh vanilla and a bit of vanilla extract to a saucepan of cream on low heat to let the bean infuse the cream. When she's happy with it, she puts the cream in the mixer with sugar and whips it until there are stiff peaks.

The Doctor moves around her efficiently and within two hours there is a meal and a strawberry shortcake thickly frosted with whipped cream. Donna retrieves two bottles from their wine storage cabinet and the Doctor sets out four wine glasses. Then he faces Donna and holds out a hand. "John Noble," he says.

Donna looks down at his hand.

"Practice," he says.

"Donna Noble," she says, without shaking his hand.

"Rude," he says, shaking his head at her. "Can't even shake a bloke's hand after he's had it in your knickers."

Their doorbell chimes, and they both look to the front door.

"Perfect timing," Donna says, grinning. She goes for the door and on the threshold is an attractive older couple, smiling and holding a shopping bag. "Hello!" she says.

"Hello, darling," says Simone, the wife, and she and Laurence give Donna the customary two kisses on each cheek.

"Come in, come in," Donna says. "John's in the kitchen." She commends herself for how naturally she said his name. She makes Simone and Laurence comfortable in their living room, and they hand her the bag which turns out to be filled with cheese and bread, which she puts out for an appetizer. She pours everyone a glass of wine and seats herself comfortably with the couple.

The Doctor comes in to join them a minute later, taking a glass of wine from Donna and smiling contentedly. He seats himself next to her on the arm of her chair, one arm around her. "Welcome to the house!" he says to Laurence and Simone. "We've done lamb shanks, potatoes, Brussels sprouts, and strawberry shortcake."

"Ah," Laurence says, raising a glass. "Sounds perfect."

"Tell us about yourselves," Donna says. "We're so glad you're here."

"Well," Laurence says. "As you know I met your husband at our engineering club. He's extremely smart."

"Thank you," Donna says proudly, not bothering to correct the mistake as she would have previously. Even back then she'd been starting to give up, since everyone seemed to take for granted that she and the Doctor were married, even without rings. It doesn't matter anymore.

"He told me the two of you just moved here a few months ago," Laurence continues. "How are you liking our little French outback?"

Donna smiles. "I love it here. Private, quiet, everything we could ask for."

Simone nods. "That's what drew us here too when we retired. After our youngest son left home, we decided no more Paris."

"How many children do you have?" Donna asks.

"Three, two sons and a daughter," Simone says. "The youngest is twenty-six now, so we've done our jobs. Do you two have children?"

"I have a daughter from my first relationship," Donna says. "With my ex-husband. She's fifteen. And we don't plan on having any children." She looks to the Doctor. "John, what d'you say we light the fire pit and have all this wine and cheese outside?"

"I'll help you with that," Simone says, and she and Donna start to gather the wine and food. The Doctor opens the garden doors and goes to check on his lamb shanks. Laurence follows him to the kitchen.

Out in the garden, where the late October air is mellow and cool, Donna arranges the food and wine and takes the top off the fire pit. Simone stops her, taking her right hand. "What a magnificent ring," she says, looking at the sapphire. "And flowers, how lovely."

Donna smiles. "Yeah, he gave it to me about a month ago," she says.

"Ah, so you are married to a romantic," Simone says. "Lucky you."

"Isn't Laurence a romantic?" Donna asks. "John tells me you've been married forty years."

"Oh, yes," Simone says. "I never would have married him if he didn't have poetry in his soul."

"Well said," Donna smiles, arranging the wooden logs in the fire pit. It's a big round structure made of stacked stones and mortar, polished and rustic looking. She pulls out a long match and strikes it, setting a pile of tinder under the logs aflame. "There we go. Give her a few minutes and she'll be big and bright." One of her sweaters is already draped over the garden chair from earlier that day, so Donna puts it on over her dress. She makes herself comfortable with Simone and smiles. "Welcome."

"Merci, darling," Simone says. "You look very happy."

Donna takes a sip of wine through a smile. "I have, in fact, never been so happy in my life."

"Well, what woman doesn't want the privilege of saying that sentence?" Simone toasts Donna, who clinks glasses with her. "To loving the love of your life."

"Hear, hear," Donna says, looking back over her shoulder at the men in the kitchen. This little masquerade as an ordinary happy family is so achingly needed by Donna, who has waited so very long to feel this feeling. They are talking animatedly about something scientific, no doubt, and Donna smiles softly. He needs friends so badly, friends with no obligations or strings or betrayals. In all honesty, so does she.

"How long have you been married now?" Simone asks.

"Oh..." Donna says. "It's a very long story."

"Oh?" Simone says. "Do you care to share it?"

Donna takes a great deep breath. "I met him fifteen years ago, before my daughter was born, and he... we... fell in love. Tried to deny it. And then we were separated by force and we lived our lives apart, and he found me seven months ago."

"Oh, my god," Simone says, putting her glass down. "He came back."

"He came back," Donna says, and the enormity of it chokes her for a moment because she's seeing it from someone else's perspective since it all happened, and recanting it makes her realize she hasn't been living in a dream for nearly a year. She clears her throat. "Sorry," she says.

"That's quite a story," Simone says. "No wonder the two of you are so closed off here. Your home is like an enclave. A lovely hideaway."

"Yes," Donna says. That is entirely deliberate, even beyond the rules of UNIT for their safety. "I don't think we've really recovered from being apart for so long. We just don't want to be disturbed."

"How incredible," Simone says. "How did he find you?"

"I think he was looking," Donna says, and while that's not strictly true, it's how it had evidently played out. "And I just knew I had to be with him. He's part of me. There's no line." Then she seems to realize she's been pouring her heart out to this lady who barely knows her. "Excuse me," she says, a bit sheepishly. "I know I'm gushing--"

"Oh, no," Simone says. "Do you think I don't know what a woman in love looks like? It's lovely. I wish you happiness and peace, you've clearly earned it."

If you only knew, Donna thinks. Sometimes she sits in her garden and just looks at things. She knows that she is even still alive because of her own heroic actions, though she never seems able to really absorb that fact. It's part of why she's still so surprised to be so thoroughly loved by this brilliant man. She has never truly absorbed that she has saved the actual entire universe before in her life. Even without that he would love her, but that's an idea Donna can't yet accept. Maybe now knowing that she had saved everyone everywhere at one point in her life, even if it cost her half of herself, gives her a reason to think maybe she's earned his love and this life.

"Well surely you can see him with Laurence," Simone says. "He's alive with joy." The men are laughing in the kitchen while the Doctor plates the food for everyone.

"Yeah," Donna says. "Isn't he just." She's so glad. She looks back at Simone. "Me too."

"Mesdames," Laurence pokes his head out the garden doors. "Shall we eat around the fire?"

"We can do that," Donna calls back. "Do you need help?"

Laurence shakes his head. "No," he says. "You stay there. Entertain my wife. She gets up to no good when she's bored." He goes back inside the kitchen. "Your wife is quite a lady!" he says to the Doctor, who smiles proudly and doesn't bother correcting him.

"Isn't she just," he agrees.

"How long have you been married now?" Laurence asks.

"Tell you the truth, mate," the Doctor says. "We only found each other again seven months ago."

"Again?" Laurence says. "You were separated?"

The smile on the Doctor's face fades. "Yeah," he says. "And I didn't... I don't think either of us ever thought we would see each other again, but I had to look for her. I had to know she was all right."

"That's quite a love story," Laurence says. "If you don't mind me asking you, what separated you?"

"War," the Doctor says, which is as close to the truth as he can get.

Laurence's smile fades. "Oh," he says. "Forgive me, you don't have to say anything else."

The Doctor shakes his head. "Sorry for bringing the tone of the evening down. Why don't we get out there?"

Laurence puts a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "You don't have to worry about that. Simone and I have always been grateful for our boring lives." He and the Doctor go out with two plates each, and join Donna and Simone around the fire.

And for the next few hours they laugh and talk with Simone and Laurence like any ordinary people, until around one in the morning. They've shifted position so that the Doctor is sitting behind Donna with his arms around her. "We'd best get on the road," Simone says, yawning. "What excellent wine."

"Thank you," Donna says, a bit tipsy herself. Laurence, ever the responsible driver, has nursed a glass for the last hour or so.

"You light an excellent fire," Simone says, getting to her feet. "An evening to be applauded."

Donna makes a little bow, and she and the Doctor see Simone and Laurence to the door. Once they're in the car and driven away, Donna turns to the Doctor. "So, John," she says playfully. "Did you like our little performance tonight? Our Regular People Show?"

"You did very well," he says, and Donna makes another little bow.

"And so did you, Spaceman," she says. "If I didn't know better I'd say you had a good time."

"Ah, but luckily you know better," he jokes, and Donna nods.

"I do," she says. "No, but really. Did you? We can do it again." She watches him go back to the garden to gather the dishes instead of answering her. "We can, if you want," she says again.

The Doctor puts the dishes into the sink. He turns to her. "You had to know that tonight was a dream come true for me," he says. "I can't remember the last time I felt so at peace." He goes back out to get the wine glasses to avoid the moment, and Donna takes them out of his hands when he gets back inside the kitchen.

"Spaceman," she says, and the word is filled with so much love. It makes him stop and listen. She's really the only person he'll listen to anyway. And it helps that she looks so pretty just then, in one of his favorite dresses with a cozy sweater over it, her hair shining in the warm kitchen light. She smells like perfume and wine and that essence that is entirely hers, one that humans can't detect but that he can, and that comforts him.

"We'll do it again eventually," he says, ambivalent about it all.

"Don't you like them?"

"Yes," the Doctor says. "Of course. Laurence is a good bloke. I just... maybe we don't really want a bunch of people around us?"

Donna smiles. "Security concerns or you just don't want to share me?"

"Call it both," he says. "In equal measure." He tilts his head towards the sink. "I'll do the dishes if you put out the fire."

"Deal," Donna says, and he watches her walk back out into their thriving garden. He watches her douse the flames and turn off the firepit, putting the round metal shell back over the top. When she walks back inside, closing the garden doors behind her, he comes to pull her back in by the waist.

"Do you really mind that it's going to be a show from here on out?" he asks her. "Everything we do as normal people is a show."

"Well, yeah," Donna says as if it's obvious. "'Course it is! No giving away the game."

"Might wear on you."

"Oh, please," Donna rolls her eyes. "It's literally the best secret in the entire universe. Why would I mind keeping it?" She tilts her chin up to look at him properly. "I live with a time traveling alien who's a billion years old and mysteriously never dies, and who is going to confer upon me the closest to functional immortality that exists with the added bonus of super-slow aging so I get to keep my fabulous hair. You think I can't put on a couple of dinner parties a few times a year for that? A Christmas here or there? For the entire universe at my feet for as long as I can imagine?"

He pulls her in to kiss her and Donna says, "Speaking of which, Spaceman, when does my youthful journey begin?" instead of kissing him back. She feels the Doctor huff a laugh against her lips and closes the gap between them, kissing him deeply.

"Let's say tomorrow," he says. "I have more important things to do now."

"Like dishes?" Donna asks.

"Fuck no," he says, pulling her by the hand up the stairs.

He does do the dishes of course, after, when Donna is lying contentedly on her bed. She just smiles at him languidly when he gets up and puts his shorts back on. "I'll be back," he says.

Before long Donna can hear the hum of the dishwasher. She pulls a blanket over herself and thinks about what she's been offered. The chance to outlive everyone. The chance to see her daughter through an entire life, and to stay the same as she is now. The chance to be loved, as long as she lives, no matter where in the universe she goes. The chance to love, to be free to love the man she thinks she was always destined to know. The chance to exist, to no longer be invisible, lonely, defective, unimportant Donna. How could anyone turn that down?

And she'll be useful to UNIT and IHR for as long as she's able. Think of how many people she could help. How many wounds she could heal, how many psyches she could repair. How much progress she could see and help to come to pass. She can do good for as long as she can.

And for love, she can give up the normal life. It was never much for her anyway. So when he comes back into the room she is solemn. "So tomorrow I get to live forever," she says, resting her chin on her hand on his chest.

"Not forever," he says. "But yeah."

"Will it hurt?"

"I don't know," the Doctor says. "It's a process invented by Gallifreyans alongside the regeneration technology. Regeneration doesn't hurt, but you never know." He squeezes her a little. "I won't let you suffer."

"And it'll work?"

"It's been used before for scientific and legal purposes," the Doctor says. "So yes, it works. But you'd be the first and only human to ever have undergone the process."

Donna rolls her eyes. "How many more times is that going to happen to me?" she asks, smiling. "The first and only human to undergo a metacrisis. The first and only human to engage psychically. The first and only human to get awards from aliens for heroism. You know. Old hat for me now, Spaceman." She gives him a playfully wicked look. "I'm special."

"Yes," he says. "Finally, you get it." It's nine million people... who cares about me? And out of nine million, out of eight billion, out of the infinity, she will always be the one. For her, he will live the normal life.

In the end it doesn't hurt. Donna goes into the TARDIS with him at sunrise, since neither of them managed to sleep but instead talked until the sky turned light again. She goes to the medbay with him, and clings to his hand until he helps her onto the bed. "Don't be scared," he tells her. "On the other side of this is our life."

"How long is it going to take?" Donna asks.

"Don't know," the Doctor says.

"You don't know much," Donna says softly, without rancor.

"It's never--"

"Been done on a human before, I know," Donna says, finishing his sentence. She squeezes his hand. "Here we go."

He pulls out the Chameleon Arch and connects to the mainframe of the TARDIS processor. He gives her a look full of affection and love as he places it on her head. She reaches up to adjust it and breathes deep. "I'm gonna turn it on in a moment," the Doctor says. "Stay with me."

She nods, and a moment later she feels her entire body go rigid, as if she has been bound in straps. There is a prickling sensation, a great shrieking ring in her ears that makes her wince, and then she is shivering uncontrollably. It seems to go on for ages, but eventually Donna feels her body slow and still. She is out of breath and a little shaky, but she opens her eyes to see the Doctor still standing there. He looks concerned and scared, until she says, "Blimey. What the fuck was that?"

He makes a noise between and laugh and a sob, pulls the Chameleon Arch off her, and helps her sit up. "You all right?"

"I feel fine," Donna says. "Maybe a bit dazed?" She gets to her feet and stands still for a moment, the Doctor's hands hovering on either side of her to catch her if she falls. She looks down at herself. "What now?"

"Er," the Doctor says. "I think we're done."

"Oh," Donna says. "Good. I could use a giant meal and to sleep for days."

"Those are good side effects," the Doctor says. "There we go. Let's go eat and you can get into bed."

Donna ends up sleeping nearly a full 24 hours afterwards. She wakes up feeling no different physically. When she comes down to the living room the Doctor is sitting there attempting to look as if he has not been anxiously checking on her for the last day and night to make sure she's still breathing. He'd been resisting the urge to wake her up for nearly that long. He smiles with relief when she joins him on the sofa. "Status report?" he asks her, only half-playfully.

"Er," Donna says, considering. "I just slept the entire day and night, right?"

"Yep. Hungry?"

"Maybe?" Donna asks. "So now what? Is something supposed to happen?"

"I'm pretty sure it's what doesn't happen that will tell us we were successful."

"What time is it?" Donna asks.

"About 3:30 in the morning," he says.

"I love these weird hours with you," Donna says. She moves to nestle up against him. "I feel exactly the same."

"Good," he says. "Time will tell, as usual." He hands her the TV remote. Their TV is wi-fi enabled, of course, and it's hooked up to the TARDIS computer via said wi-fi, so they can get any programming they want, past or present, Earth or not. Donna settles on reruns of Seinfeld, since she had discovered it during their long, happy, timeless nights together. She stretches out so that her head is resting on his chest. He puts his arm around her, under her arm so he can rest his hand on her breast. It's an easy, possessive move, and Donna smiles to herself, hoping he can't see it.

After a few minutes, Donna says, "I can't decide whether this show is funny or not."

"The audience thinks it is," the Doctor says. Donna huffs a little laugh.

"Is it a laugh track?"

"Maybe," the Doctor says. There is a comfortable little silence.

"Will we always live here?" Donna asks.

"If you like," the Doctor says. "We can go anywhere if you get bored of France. We just have to let UNIT know. We have time."

"Yeah," Donna says. She puts her hand over the Doctor's. The sapphire ring glints in the light from the TV.

They finally do have time.

[babybluebex]

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: series masterlist | a new preacher comes to your town, and you’re overwhelmed by him. you try to keep away from father james, but, the more you see him and the more he kisses your hand, the more you realize that staying away won’t be so easy. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jamie bower x fem!reader (rpf) 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 7k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: rpf (real person fiction), smut MINORS DNI, p in v sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, heavy breeding kink (the last line of the song is literally "i'm coming inside" are u kidding me), preacher kink, praise kink, religious themes, age gap (reader is early 20s, jamie is 34), jamie has a huge god complex omg 𝐀/𝐍: i’ve been working on this on again and off again since the music video came out in august, so take it before it drives me more insane than it already has lol

All morning, you could have sworn the preacher was looking at you. 

It was a hot summer Sunday morning, one where you wore your nicest dress, just as your mother had told you to. You had forgotten how hot it got at home; after being at college for the past few years, you had gotten acclimated to the big city, and you couldn't remember what home was like. 

To be honest, you had been dreading church. You had lied to your parents when you told them that you had kept up the habit while at college, and you despised the thought of wasting a good Sunday morning, even though you were on vacation. No matter what, you had gotten up and gotten dressed, and you were tailing behind your parents as they led the charge into the church. 

The building itself was miniscule, surrounded by the desert on all sides, set apart from the rest of town. Your hometown was small, so small that people usually only lumped it in with the nearby biggest city and didn’t know that your town even existed on its own. But it did, and, in a town like that, everybody knew everybody else’s business. 

Which made the preacher all that more confusing to you. 

You could vaguely remember your mother telling you about the appearance of a new preacher at your church after the former pastor retired. It had been months ago, and you only remembered the name she had told you: James Bower. There were other details as well, something about him being young and British, but you didn’t really listen too closely to that phone call with your mother. She had been going on and on about church and you tended to tune that out. 

“Mom,” you said quickly as you approached the church, seeing the door hanging open, welcoming everyone inside. Standing at the open door was a man, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, a black hat covering his head and shading his face. He was older than you, but also younger than your parents, and he was shaking hands with every man that walked in front of him and setting kisses on the ladies’ cheeks. “Who is that?” 

“Oh, that’s Father James,” your mother told you, sucking at the back of her teeth for a moment. “I told you about him, he replaced Father Nicholas.”

“Yeah, I remember you telling me,” you said softly. “He’s just… Younger than I thought.” And, by the flashes of a sharp jawline and deadly eyes that you could see as you approached, he was far more attractive than you would have taken a man like him for. 

“He’s good,” your mother said carefully, as if she was controlling her tongue. “Cares about what he preaches about, really believes it.” 

“That’s good,” you mumbled. 

Finally, it was your turn to be greeted by the preacher, and you were struck uncharacteristically silent by him. His voice, a deep baritone timbre, got under your skin as he greeted your mother with a kiss, and he gave your father a firm handshake. “And who do we have here?” Father James Bower asked, his steel-blue eyes cutting you with his gaze. 

You could tell instantly: this man would be trouble. “This is our daughter,” your mother said. “Visiting from college.” 

“Ah, yes,” Father James said, his lips stretching into a smile. He took your hand in his, his skin rough and dry but lovely to feel, and he pressed his lips to your fingers, greeting you with an old-fashioned kiss. “Your mother told me stories about you.” 

“Good stories, I hope?” you chuckled lightly, and Father James’ smile stayed as he dropped your hand. 

“Only the best,” he told you. 

“I’ve heard about you too, Father James,” you said, and you watched something flicker in his eyes, a quiet kind of recognition, although what he was recognizing, you had no idea. 

“Good things?” he teased, and you smiled coyly at him. Two could play that game. 

“Oh, no, awful things,” you said, and your mother laughed. “Just the worst.” 

“I guess I’ll have to redeem myself,” Father James said. “I think Marjorie saved you lot a seat in the front; what a dear.” Your mother and father surged ahead, finding the seats that Father James indicated, but a quick and tight grip to your wrist kept you in place. 

Father James held you back, his thumb smoothing nicely down your wrist, and he lifted your hand back to his mouth, kissing your fingers again. “And that’ll be Jamie to you, love,” he said softly, barely loud enough for you to hear. “You can drop that James business.” 

“If you say so, Father” you said softly. 

“Don’t call me that, either,” he said. “Just Jamie.” 

“Jamie,” you said and you sighed out a deep breath. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

The service was odd. By all accounts, it was a perfectly good service, normal by all means, but something about the young and handsome Father James (or Jamie, as he told you) leading the sermon was different in a way that you couldn’t tell if you liked or not. Your mother was right— he obviously cared about what he preached, that morning’s work set on the sin of temptation, and he raised his voice and delivered his sermon with an expert hand. 

But he was looking at you the whole time. He was borderline staring at you, and you shifted in your seat, wondering what was the matter. Of course, you could think the obvious— that he was thinking of you as he preached on temptation, you, the pretty young thing that had walked through his doors— but it felt wrong to even consider that Jamie would stoop that low. He was a man of God, no matter how unconventional he looked with his rings and gold bracelets and the tattoos on his middle fingers.

You got to speak with him further after the service, while everyone was leaving the house of God. You stepped outside with a shiver, despite the sticky heat, and your mother grabbed your hand as she told you that she was going to bring the car around. “Maybe you should go to talk to James,” she said. “He always looks so lonely, and it seems like he likes you.”

“Likes me?” you echoed. 

“He didn’t kiss my hand twice,” your mother said with a shrug. “He didn’t ask me to call him Jamie.” You followed your mother’s gaze to just on the other side of the small wooden bridge, to a little garden, where Jamie stood, looking out of place in his all-black attire, looking down at the ground as his hand rubbed his chin. 

“Are you encouraging me to find romance with your preacher?” you asked with a smile, and your mother rolled her eyes. 

“Maybe not romance,” she said. “You’re too young for that. But friendship, definitely.” 

You weren’t too young for that, you knew it, but you understood what she meant. Don’t fall in love with the preacher. That should be easy. You approached him quietly, not wanting to startle him if he was lost in thought, but he turned those devilish steel-blue eyes to you in an instant. “You,” he said lightly, dropping his hand. 

“Me,” you shrugged. “I, umm, really liked your sermon.” 

“Thank you, love,” Jamie said. A moment passed where he watched you, and he suddenly said, “You’re lying to your parents.” 

“Excuse me?” you asked. “What do you mean—”

“You don’t go to church when you’re at university,” Jamie said quickly. “I can tell, you looked completely lost the whole time.” 

“Is it that obvious?” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself, and, when Jamie nodded, you muttered, “Fuck!” 

“How long are you in town?” Jamie asked. His hands drifted to his pants, digging into his pocket, and he extracted a lean carton of cigarettes, along with a lighter. He was quick to push a cigarette in-between his lips, and you watched as he lit it up. 

“Oh!” you said quickly. You were staring, just like he was. “Umm, just until Friday.”

“One more week,” Jamie laughed, blowing the smoke from his mouth. “I bet you can’t wait to go back to your friends and your little sinful ways, can you?” 

“What makes you think I live in sin?” you asked. The exchange felt playful, not necessarily too mean-spirited, and Jamie grinned around his cigarette. 

“I know girls like you,” he said. “You wear your little dresses and sing your little hymns, but it’s all a disguise to cover up the way you really live. I bet you’ve even kissed a boy, haven’t you?” He put on a shocked look, like he was truly disappointed, and it made you laugh.

“You’ve got me figured out,” you chuckled. Then, a boldness washed over you, and you couldn’t control the way you added, “And I’ve done a lot more than kiss a few boys.” 

Jamie raised his dark eyebrows at you, plucking his cigarette from between his lips. “You have?” he asked. “Anything you need to repent for? I am a preacher, after all, I can help.” 

“No, nothing like that. I just…” You shrugged, and mumbled, “Okay. You’ve got me. I haven’t done anything like that.” 

“Why did you say you did?” Jamie asked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. 

“I don’t know,” you mumbled. “To make you like me, I guess. Guys like girls who know about that stuff, right?”

“Oh, little lamb,” Jamie cooed softly. “I used to run around with some bad guys when I was your age, I’ve got the marks to prove it,  and I had my fill of girls who were trying to impress me. I like you more, knowing that you’re a good girl who hasn’t done anything of that sort.” He smoked for a moment, blowing it at the ground, and he added, “You should be going.” 

“Why?” you asked. “Have I done something wrong?” 

“No, you didn’t,” Jamie said. “But I might.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“I really want to kiss you,” Jamie told you, and your heart slammed against your ribcage at his confession. 

“Is that…” you began. “Is that allowed?”

“Allowed, yes,” Jamie said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “But, frowned upon? Very much so.” 

“Why?” you asked. “Is it me?” 

“No, darling, it’s not you,” Jamie said. “I’m a man of God. I can’t just kiss any girl, I need to have intentions about it, and my intentions… My thoughts about you… Are less than worthy of a man like myself.” 

Lightning rocked your belly, and you took a step backwards. “Oh,” you said. “I understand. Umm… Yeah, it’ll be good if I leave.” Jamie nodded silently in agreement, finishing up his cigarette, and you mumbled, “Will I see you on Wednesday? At night service? I bet my parents will make me go.” 

“Yes, you will,” Jamie replied. He hesitated for a moment, his mouth open, obviously wanting to say something, and he finally added, “Wear something white.” 

“Why?”

Jamie looked at you with those paralyzing blue eyes, and he said, “You’re as beautiful as an angel. You should dress like one.” 

You hardly got any sleep that night. Between bouts of nightmares— nothing you could remember but left you with a nasty feeling when you woke up hyperventilating— you were plagued by the idea of Jamie. 

Every time you closed your eyes, you could only see him. His blond hair, his blue eyes, his plush lips, that smile that bordered goodness and badness. As you laid awake in your small bed, the tiny one you had grown up in, you wondered what he was doing. Was he asleep, as you too should be? Maybe he was up, working on a sermon. A selfish part of you allowed yourself to think that, perhaps, he was awake, thinking of you. 

That idea made your thighs tingle. You knew how terrible it was to think of your preacher like that, but he had said it himself. His intentions with you weren’t worthy of a man of God. Jamie had basically confessed to wanting to kiss you and maybe even more, and you hadn’t been brave enough to challenge him on it. You regretted your timidness, and you buried your head under your pillow as you tried to get any sleep at all.

This routine continued for days. Nightmares, then Jamie. Jamie, then more nightmares. You didn’t see him during the day, so you were left with only the memory of your two tiny interactions. You could remember the way his blond hair had swayed in the wind as he smoked, the faint hint of his cologne carrying on the air as he kissed your hand; you couldn’t escape him. You knew that, the next time you saw him, you had to tell him. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long to see Jamie. Wednesday night came around quickly, and you tore apart your closet looking for the little white sundress that you knew you still had from when you were in high school. You’re as beautiful as an angel, his accent rang in your head as you tugged the dress over your head, and you sighed at yourself in the mirror. The irony wasn’t lost on you— dressing like an angel, yet still tempting the preacher. You wondered what he would do when he saw you; would he try to kiss you again? Maybe he wouldn’t do anything, and he would keep up the game of cat and mouse that you had. Honestly, you liked it. Being wanted was nice, but there was something fun about being desired and not being allowed to act on those desires. It made everything sweeter. 

Your parents didn’t say anything as you exited your room, grabbing a thin sweater just in case it was cold in the sanctuary (it never was, but your mother urged you to come prepared). The car ride was quiet, and your hands shook as your father parked in the small lot, steadying yourself for meeting Jamie. 

He stood at the door to the church again, greeting everyone as they came in. He wore a dark wide-brimmed hat, his usual suit, the shirt buttons done all the way up to his slender throat. He looked cool and smooth, and he grinned like a cat when he saw you. You had never felt more like a mouse in your life, and you gratefully took his hand into yours. 

“My, oh my,” Jamie said, his eyes scanning your frame. You should have felt uncomfortable under his gaze, but you didn’t, despite the obviously hungry look in his light eyes. Even if he hadn't told you about his intentions, it wouldn't be hard to figure out why he was looking at you. “Who is this vision in white I see before me?” 

Your face went warm, and you managed to mutter out, “Thank you, Father.” Jamie did his usual kisses to your fingers, which only served to make your face go even hotter. You felt like everyone was looking at you but somehow, Jamie’s soft eyes soothed you. It seemed like nothing bad could happen so long as you were in Jamie's arms. Knowing this, you tugged him close by his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to his smooth cheek, and you heard him draw in a quick breath at your meager affection. 

“Thank you, little lamb,” Jamie told you. His cheeks tinged just a shade of pink, not even enough to really call it a blush— if you didn’t know any better, you would have attributed it to the heat and dry air. “I’d like to speak to you after the service, if that’s possible.” 

“Of course,” you told him. “Am I in trouble?” 

“Oh, no,” Jamie said. “Quite the opposite. I’d like to discuss our relationship; or where I’d like it to go, that is.”

You swallowed thickly, nervously, and you said, “Alright. I’ll see you then.”

Like on Sunday, Jamie’s sermon was beautiful. He spoke with power and grace, and you could hardly believe it when the end of it came. You could watch him speak for hours and never get bored of it. You stayed sitting in the pew as your parents stood, and your mother furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Are you alright?” she asked, and you picked at the bottom of your dress. 

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m alright. Jamie just said he wanted to talk to me after the sermon.”

“Oh,” your mother said. “What about?”

“I’m not sure,” you lied. “I think he might try to ask me on a date.” 

Your mother ground her back teeth; you could see her annoyance. “Make good decisions with him,” she said. “Don’t let him be let astray.” 

“I won’t, Mom,” you told her, your stomach twisting. You knew that you absolutely were leading him astray, but maybe he had a good plan on how to keep your relationship pure. Based on the way he was talking to you on Sunday, though, there was no way you could stay pure with him. “Jamie is good, I won’t do anything bad to him.” 

Jamie stood at his altar as everyone slowly filed out, making kind conversation with the people who approached him, and you watched him as you chewed on your bottom lip. He looked so good, and you crossed your legs as you waited. Finally, the last person left, the heavy wooden doors banging closed behind them, and Jamie turned his gaze towards you. 

Silently, he stepped away from the altar and towards you, the heavy heels of his boots clicking against the creaky wood floors. “You look beautiful,” Jamie told you as he sat down next to you, pulling off his hat and ruffling up his blond hair. 

You nodded anxiously. “You do too,” you told him. “Very handsome.” 

“Thank you, little lamb,” Jamie said. “Now, I wanted to speak to you about… Us. I think it’s obvious that I can’t go on being polite and nice with you.” 

“Is it?” you asked. “I mean, you said you wanted to kiss me—“

“You sweet girl,” Jamie said with a little pout. “Did you really not know? I want to ruin you.” 

“Oh,” you said sharply. “I-I mean, I figured, but I didn’t want to say anything and assume a-and then make a fool out of myself.” 

“No fools here,” Jamie said. His hand touched your thigh, his hand impossibly warm against you, and you laid a gentle hand on top of his, letting your fingers nudge his. “I like knowing what you’re thinking. Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

“Honestly?” you asked with a sigh, and Jamie nodded. “How badly I wish you would kiss me.” 

Quickly, he leaned into you, and he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was gentle and simple, and you leaned into him as his hand raised to gently touch your cheek. His rings were cool against your skin, and you pressed yourself closer to him as he held you carefully. He tasted like cigarettes and warm skin, all man and all Jamie, and he gently smoothed his teeth against your bottom lip, biting just enough to make you smile, before he fell away from you. He didn’t pull away completely, though, touching his forehead against yours and taking a deep breath. “Good,” he whispered. “Now I’d like to do something else.” 

“What is that?” you asked. 

“I think I’d like to make love to you,” Jamie told you. “Only if you want that, though.” 

You nodded quickly. “I want that,” you told him. “But, um, I’m a little nervous.” 

“Because you’ve never done it before?” Jamie asked, and you nodded quickly. “We don’t have to. I’d be happy to take you to dinner and drop you off back at your house, leaving you completely intact.” 

“Or…” you started. “You could fuck me here and now, and give into temptation.” 

“Oh, I’d love to do that,” Jamie said softly. He tilted his head, as if contemplating kissing you again. “I’d really love to… Tell me to stop and I will.” 

“I won’t,” you breathed, and you met him for another kiss. This one was instantly more, instantly hungrier, his warm tongue snaking between your lips and into your mouth as he held you close. His hands grabbed your waist and he tugged you close, and he broke the kiss to take a deep breath. His hands smoothed down to your thighs, and he pulled you into his lap, your legs parting wide to envelop his hips. He pulled at your pretty sundress as he kissed you again, and you carded your fingers through his hair as he claimed you again, chasing you into a hungry kiss. 

Your hips rocked down onto his as your knees pressed into the hard wood of the pew, aching just a little, and Jamie’s hand pressed into your ass and shoved your hips down onto him as his bucked up into you. You felt his hardness through his trousers, pressing up into you, and you gasped at the feeling. “How long’s it been?” you whispered, and Jamie pressed his forehead to yours again before stealing another quick kiss. 

“Years,” he mumbled. “S’nice not to have to do this myself.” 

“You masturbate?” you asked with a giggle. “Naughty preacher.” 

You yelped as his hand came down onto your ass, spanking you hard, the sound of it reverberating through the empty sanctuary. “I’m a grown man,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I have needs. As of Sunday, though, I’ve been insatiable.” 

“Lucky me,” you smiled, and Jamie gave you a half-smile, more of a smirk than anything. “You gonna fuck me hard?” 

“Keep talking to me like that and I just might,” Jamie chuckled. “You have no idea what I’ve imagined as I fucked my hand. It’s like I told you, I want to ruin you.” 

“Ruin me,” you begged him, leaning forward and kissing his smooth neck. Your hands fell from his hair and down to his shirt, and you started to unbutton his shirt. The more skin you exposed, the more ink you saw, and you gaped at him as you smoothed your hands down his shaved chest. He was covered in tattoos, all on his chest and sternum and belly, and your mouth watered at the sight of them. “Oh my God…” 

“I told you, I used to run around with a bad crowd,” Jamie told you, his hands pressing upwards into your dress. “Rock music and girls, it was… But this is better. You are better than all of that.” 

“You flatter me,” you laughed. “You haven’t had me yet.” 

Jamie shrugged. “I know a good fuck when I see one,” he said. “Old habits die hard, I guess.” 

“Stop it,” you mumbled as you blushed,  and Jamie grabbed handfuls of your ass, rucking your dress up past your hips. “What made you want to join the church?” 

“I grew up going,” Jamie told you as your hands fell to his pants, playing with his belt but not undoing it. Your heart beat deep inside your chest at the prospect of undressing him and seeing his cock, a sort of anxious glee making your heart race, and you listened intently as Jamie told you his story. “Me, my brothers… But when I was young, your age, I rebelled against it and had a sinful lifestyle, all of that that I told you about… But I got tired of that. I got tired of existing just for pleasure and sin, and I turned back to the church to guide me. But then you— You came into my life just a few days ago, and I already know that you’re what I was made for. I was made to guide you, to help you… I’m not supposed to be here like this, but I can pray for forgiveness for this one night.” 

“I’ve never believed in this sort of stuff,” you admitted. “But maybe, with your guidance, I can find a way to come back home.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” Jamie said. “Now, little lamb, I need to be inside you.” 

“Need you too,” you mumbled, and you finally resolved yourself to open his pants. You undid his belt and tugged it out of the loops, and your fingers shakily went for the button and zipper, pulling it down. “Jamie, I’m a little nervous.” 

“That’s okay,” Jamie said. “That makes me feel better, I’m terrified. But I need you more than I’m scared of you.” 

“Me too,” you told him. You took a deep breath and reached your hand down into his trousers, and your hand was quickly filled by his hard cock. He felt thick and heavy and hot, and you pulled him from out of his pants to get a proper look at him. His cock was flushed red, uncut, with a bead of creamy pre-cum already leaking from his tip. “Oh, wow.” 

“Like what you see?” Jamie chuckled. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a girl all mooney-eyed over my cock. I almost missed it.” 

“It looks really…” you started. “Umm… Big. Will it fit?” 

Jamie laughed, his big smile on display for you. “Will it fit?” he repeated. “Of course it will. I’ll make it.” 

Your skin prickled at his words, and his hands moved from your ass to your front, nudging your panties aside with his slender fingers. His rough fingertips slipped against your skin, feeling you and the little bit of wetness that you had leaking from you. You had been wet ever since Jamie had first kissed you, and Jamie leaned up and gave you another quick kiss as his fingers danced at your cunt. “Are you ready, little lamb?” Jamie asked, and you nodded quickly before he sank one, long finger inside you. 

You gasped, grabbing hard at his shoulders to keep yourself upright, and Jamie leaned in and kissed at your neck as his finger stroked you from the inside. “Jamie!” you squealed, and he grinned into your neck. 

“Does that feel good, little lamb?” he whispered, and you nodded, digging your nails into his skin. “Good, good girl. Make it hurt, baby.” 

“Jamie,” you groaned as he withdrew from you for a moment before pushing back in, fucking you slowly on his finger. “Want more, God.” 

Jamie continued to kiss your neck as he pushed in a second finger, the stretch of your pussy around him making you whimper in pain and pleasure. Make it hurt, he said. It certainly did, but you loved it. You looked down at yourself, and you drank in the sight of his tattooed fingers plunging deep inside you, the cross on his middle finger shining with your wet. It was so sinful, but Jamie was right; you could pray for forgiveness and God would grant it. Maybe you could even pray together. 

“Need you,” you moaned and worked your hips down onto his fingers, taking him deeper. Your body craved him in a way you had never felt before, hot and needy, and you squirmed in his arms as you tried to get more of him. 

“It’ll hurt if I fuck you now,” Jamie told you, and you kissed him deep, tasting every inch of his mouth. He grunted a bit, then tugged away from your mouth, and he pulled his fingers from you, pressing his hands to either side of your face. “Darling, I know you’re needy, such a sweet little thing you are, but I’ll fuck you when I’m ready. And I’m not ready yet.” 

You pouted and whined, and Jamie pouted back at you, mocking you. “I know, little lamb,” he said. “But I want to take my time with you and savor my sin.” 

“Savor your sin,” you scoffed. “Please, Jamie, I’m ready!”

“I like the way you say my name,” Jamie mumbled, as if he were really thinking about it, and his hands danced in your hair, pushing it back from your face. “If I put my cock in you now, you mustn't get upset at how quickly I finish… It’s been years for me.” 

“I won’t,” you said softly. “I won’t be upset with you.” 

“Alright,” Jamie agreed. “Open your legs a little wider, you’re gonna ride my cock.” 

You did as he told you, parting your thighs even more severely than before, and he grabbed tight at your hips. He guided your hips with his strong grip, his azure eyes watching your every move, and you held his shoulders tightly as he touched the burning head of his cock to your quivering hole. “You ready?” he asked, and you nodded eagerly, your belly flipping. It was really about to happen; you were really about to give your virginity to your preacher. And, God, you had never wanted anything so badly. “Put your full weight on me, don’t be afraid to.” 

“Okay,” you agreed, and Jamie continued his guidance, pulling you down further and further, his hot cock sliding between your sticky folds and into you. The first intrusion punched the breath from your lungs, and you gasped, and Jamie smiled wickedly. This man was no angel; he was a devil, maybe even the Devil, come to corrupt you and bring you into his palace of sin. You loved the hot flame in your chest, and you sealed your fate with a kiss, biting his plush bottom lip. 

“My sweet lamb,” Jamie mumbled, pulling his lips from your teeth. “Feels like heaven inside you… Fuck, this is just what I wanted.”

Without warning, Jamie bucked his hips up into you, burying himself up to his balls inside your cunt, and you gasped loudly at the sudden fullness. You had never realized how empty you felt until you were full of him, and suddenly the world seemed to snap into sharp perspective. Your life had been dull without him, not so shiny and bright; your life, you, had been empty. It wasn’t God’s love that could fix this feeling; it was Jamie’s love. Intentions be damned, you needed him. You would get on your knees and worship your lover and, knowing him, he would relish the prayers of his name and make you pray louder. 

“Jamie,” you whimpered, hanging your head and hiding in his warm neck. He smelled good, like the musk of a man and cigarettes and cologne, and your cunt throbbed around him. He was unmoving inside of you, letting you adjust to the size and feel of him, and you tugged at the blond ends of his hair. If you looked closely, really studied him, you saw that there was a hint of mousy-brown peeking from his scalp. Dyed hair; not what he seemed, a wolf in sheeps’ clothing, intent on devouring innocent little lambs. “Jamie!” 

“That’s it, little lamb,” Jamie whispered, kissing the side of your face as he grabbed hard at your ass, surely leaving bruises in his wake. “Who’s fucking you, love?” 

“You!” you sobbed. You felt tears prick at your eyes, and Jamie’s controlling ways came back, tugging you up on his cock until only the head of him remained inside you, then he pushed you back down, burying himself deep inside you once more. “Jamie, God!”

“Which one?” Jamie growled in your ear. “Me or Him?”

“You!” you cried again. “Always you! I’ll always choose you.” 

“Good girl,” Jamie told you, and his hand landed on your ass in a quick smack. It stung, but it only heightened your sinful pleasure, and you moaned as you allowed your tears to fall. “Confess your sins to your god, tell me what you’ve done.” 

“I lie,” you whimpered. “I cheat, I steal. I’ve done so bad, please forgive me.” 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Jamie grumbled in your ear, and he bit your neck, sucking hard on the sensitive skin. You knew he was leaving his mark, dark and ugly, on your skin, but, for someone as beautiful as he was, it would be alright. Your ground your hips down onto him, feeling his cock throb inside you, and his hands fell from your hips to stretch along the top of the pew, pressing his fingernails into the polished wood. His head tilted back just so, exposing the smooth and pale column of his throat, and he moaned softly, lightly. “Just like that, love. You’ll make me cum quick like this… I’ll forgive you, darling, you’ve done no wrong in my eyes. All the best lambs are led astray at times, it takes a powerful shepard to bring them back.”

“And that’s you?” you sniffled. 

Jamie’s head whipped up, his fallen eyes snapping open, and he examined your face, the tears streaming down your cheeks and your sputtery lips. You gasped out a sob, still riding his cock, and Jamie touched his hands to your arms, pulling them around his neck. Your front pressed against his, the straps of your dress falling from your shoulders, and Jamie laid a gentle kiss on your spit-covered mouth. “That’s me, lamb,” he said. “So long as you pray to me, I’ll lead you where you should be.” 

“Jamie,” you keened into his warm hands, feeling them explore your body, up your dress and down the front of it. Even his fingers were greedy, and you balked at the touch of him to that special nerve, sending shocks down your spine. “Jamie! Oh my God, fuck!” 

“Keep saying my name,” he said. “You’re doing so well for me. When we’re done here, I’ll take you home, have you pray to me all night. Would you like that? Just you and your god, all alone, worshipping me as I worship your body?”

“Yes!” you sobbed. His cock was so deep inside you, driving you wild, and you squeezed your arms around his neck to draw him into a kiss. Now you were the greedy one, chasing him with a million kisses, and Jamie smiled his winning grin. 

“Already devoted,” he said. “You’ll never stray very far again, will you?”

“Not as long as you fuck me like this,” you told him, and his fingers continued their harsh circles on your clit. Your cunt spasmed at the feeling, your entire body unsure what to do with itself, and you could taste your oncoming orgasm. You could tell that your lover, your god, was close too, and he gnashed his teeth as he pinched your thigh, making your legs open wider. 

“I’ll fuck you better,” he said. “In bed, I’ll kiss you all over and really worship you, I’ll take my time with you. Fuck, sweet thing, I’m cumming inside, I have to.”

“Please,” you begged him. “Give it to me, please, I need it.”

“I’ll worship you all night,” Jamie whispered, controlling your body as you rode him. His hot cock was heavy as he fucked in and out, the drag of him making you feel lightheaded, and you sniffled up your tears as Jamie whispered in your ear. “You’d like that, won’t you? Just you and me…” His eyes squeezed shut, his eyebrows lifting in ecstasy, and, when he spoke next, he was breathless. “I’m cumming, lamb, I’m—”

You felt his release coat your walls, your throbbing cunt milking him for every drop, and you moaned with him, singing your holy hymn. His fingers rubbed you through his orgasm, drawing you to your own finish, and your hips stuttered as you squealed and, for the first time, came. The hot lightning prodded at your thighs and belly and the base of your spine, and you gushed around him, covering you and him with your release. Your breaths came in short gasps as you tried to control your quivering body, and Jamie held you close, matching his breathing to yours. His inked chest was slick with sweat as he pressed himself against you, and you shucked off his jacket and unbuttoned shirt to get to his bare skin. Jamie laughed at you and smoothed his hand down your hair, and he kissed your forehead. 

“Good, good,” he whispered. “Such a good girl. Come here, you’re just shaking like a little leaf.” 

Jamie’s grip was tight around you as he held you, his cock now soft inside you, but he made no move to pull out. “Not exactly immaculate,” he mumbled, and he placed a kiss below your ear. “But it’ll do.” 

“Yes,” you gasped. “Oh, God, I love you.” 

“I love you so much,” Jamie whispered. “My sweet lamb. Come home with me, please, let me worship you.” 

“Of course,” you said. “Anything for you. Only…” 

“What?” Jamie asked. "What's wrong?"

“I think my parents are waiting for me,” you mumbled. “I told them that you were wanting to speak with me and nothing more.” 

“Hmm,” Jamie huffed quickly. “What a talk, huh?”

You giggled, and Jamie helped you up, your legs shaking as you stood. He fell from inside you, his soft cock just as beautiful as him hard, and you both busied yourself with fixing yourselves back into a presentable state. Jamie replaced his wide-brimmed hat to hide his messy hair, but there was no hiding what he had done to you. Bites on your neck, marks on your skin, bruises on your thighs. If this was what worship with him was like, it might be worth it to invest in a good painkiller. 

“Jamie?” you said softly, touching your tender neck, and he stood to his full height, examining you. He tsk-ed his tongue a few times as his fingers touched your neck as well, and he reached for your abandoned sweater, helping you pull it on.

“It won’t hide them,” Jamie started. “But it’ll do.” His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the solid black heart on his chest visible through the gap, and you smiled at the thought of him. Your handsome man, your God, your inked and pierced and tatted rock-and-roll God. “I don’t mean to scare you with this, lamb, but if you think that this life would suit you, we could… Well, let’s say that you might not be leaving on Friday.” 

“No?” you asked. “I’d be staying here with you, I suppose?” 

“Only if you’d like,” Jamie said quickly. “If you want, you can go back to your life in the big city and forget about this small town, it’s what I would do.” 

“But what if I don’t want that?” you asked. “What if I want to be… I don’t know, your muse? Your Mother Mary? What is a simple girl to a god?”

“You can be whatever you wish to be,” Jamie told you. “I’d marry you right now, in fact, to keep you. But I guess we should probably try to at least act like we’re courting like a normal couple instead of getting married within three days of knowing each other.”

“But couples back then used to do that all the time,” you said quickly. The thought of marriage excited you, wearing his ring and carrying his name and maybe even his child; it was all so invigorating. “My grandfather proposed to my grandmother after a week of meeting her.” 

“A week does not three days make, little lamb,” Jamie chuckled. “How about this? We’re together, using whatever title you’d like and makes you comfortable, and, after enough time, we can tell the church that we’re getting married.” 

“How much time is that?” you asked. 

“Enough time for those hickies to fade, at least,” Jamie said, pressing his thumb to one of the marks on your neck. “Does that sound nice?” 

“Yes,” you said. “It does.” 

Jamie walked you to the front door of the church and he opened the door for you. You saw your parents’ car idling in the small lot, all alone, but, before you could say anything, Jamie pressed his palm to your cheek and kissed you gently. Only his lips pressed to yours, no snaking tongue or wandering hands, and you gasped gently. “Jamie, my parents can see—“

“This was our first kiss,” he told you quickly. “We spoke about how you wished to be closer to God, and I asked you to dinner, and I couldn’t control my urges and kissed you. Now, I’ll make a face and turn away, regretting what I’ve done.” 

“What an actor I’ve got,” you giggled, and Jamie smiled against your mouth. The kiss finally broke, and Jamie smoothed down his jacket on his body as he assumed the anxious energy of a man who wasn’t sure of his actions. “When will I see you next?” you asked. 

“Tonight,” Jamie said. “For dinner. I’ll pick you up at your house.”

“Alright,” you said. “Umm… Goodbye, my God.” 

“Goodbye, my lamb,” Jamie said, and you felt his steely blue gaze on you as you turned and made quick time to your car, sliding into the backseat. 

“So,” your mother said slowly as you slammed the car door shut. “You and Father James…” 

“He said he could see me struggling with my faith,” you lied quickly, your neck burning with the marks he gave you. If you craned your head and looked at yourself in the rearview mirror, you could even see the red patches that would bloom to purple overnight. “And he helped me pray.” 

“And what else?” 

You swallowed thickly. “He asked me to dinner,” you said carefully. 

“Did he?” your mother asked smoothly. “Anything other than that kiss?”

“I-I didn’t ask for him to,” you said quickly. “He just… Did. And he apologized for it.” 

“Are you still going to dinner with him?” your mother asked, and you nodded quickly. “Be careful. Father James might be a holy man, but he’s still just a man. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“I won’t get hurt,” you said. “Not so long as I have him by my side.”

[kiliinstinct]

Chapter 32

Rating: R Pairing: Nalu FF.Net || AO3 [Ch: 1] ||| [Prev] | [Next] Well, this was a doozy and took longer to update than I wanted. Special thanks to @phoenix-before-the-flame as always. And I'd also like to give another special thanks to @genavere for helping motivate me to get this chapter out. A few set backs had drained my inspiration for this and she helped put me back on track! See This Post For News About Future Updates The post linked above is an older one, so I'll also say this here, Flame's Desire Will be back with the Start of Act 3, but like last year, I'm going to take a 2 month Vacation from it to get my stuff back in order. So expect me to come back by the End of August! Enjoy!

Soft breathing broke through the quiet settling in the still room. The chaos that ensued mere moments ago still echoed in the minds of Natsu and Lucy; Both kept their distance from the other, too afraid to speak first.

Natsu sat upon the charred bed, head in his hands. Fingers dug into his scalp as he pulled at his hair in frustration. As if attempting to keep his broiling emotions under control through distracting pain. Holding back a pitiful whine, Natsu grew all-too aware of his reddened cheeks. Not from the magic that sizzled beneath his skin, just waiting to explode at the slightest drop in concentration, but at the shame filled embarrassment that rolled in his gut. Likewise, a similar embarrassment painted Lucy’s face. Sitting on a dust-covered chair in the corner, she twiddled her fingers. Unable to sit still, Lucy crossed and uncrossed her legs, eyes looking this way and that. Her face was burning, her neck and ears pounded in tune with her heartbeat. Searching for a distraction, she kept her gaze everywhere but Natsu. She couldn’t face him. 

Not yet.

Both were too lost in the maze of their own minds to figure out what to do next. He could still feel her lips against his; Still taste the slightest hints of her on his split lip. The memory swam behind his eyelids, refusing to sink under the rest of his emotions. Her frame, soft in his arms —and the sheer comfort of having her close — made him feel empty at the loss.

He needed to regain control of his emotions before they clawed their way back up his throat and exploded another hole through the keep.

That was his goal.

It should have been his main focus, but this new development knocked him flat off his feet.  He didn’t even have anyone to blame other than his own, impulsive self.

Lucy was a welcome relief that he desperately wanted to cradle in his arms and tightly hold onto. While concerned for his health, she had entered his room without pity, without fear — so unlike what he’d become used to over the last few days. Despite Makarov straining against his own injuries during his visits, it only served to fill Natsu with so much guilt he couldn’t breathe. And then there was Lucy… a balm he feared to lose after his days of isolation.

Once Freed and Levy had visited, mostly to reinforce the runes placed on his door. And though they attempted to speak with him, Natsu had stubbornly pulled the sheet over his head as they worked, refusing to speak with them.  He couldn’t stand the pity in their gazes, or the way they tip-toed around him as if afraid he’d pop off a second time. 

He’d almost done the same when Lucy had come knocking. It was too exhausting, too debilitating to continue seeing the results of his lack of control. He had been seconds away from shouting at his new visitor to leave him alone until Lucy’s voice broke through his discomfort like a siren song.

It took all the control he could muster not to tear the door off its hinges when he threw it open to see her.

The sight of Lucy gave him such exaltation that he reacted before his thoughts could catch up. Instinct needed to hold Lucy tight and let her calming aura seep into his very being until all he could feel was the gentle magic she possessed, pulsing beneath her skin.

In those span of seconds of holding Lucy tight, the warring thoughts in his mind went quiet and his vision clouded. What came next? … he… he wasn’t so sure after that. 

It wasn’t until she bit hard on his lip, palm striking across his cheek, that sense finally returned to him.

Natsu released her immediately, eyes wide as the world froze. He struggled to put together exactly what he’d done while Lucy had spared no moment to scramble as far from him as possible.

When she had slipped in her rush, Natsu was coherent enough to steady her with a hand on her shoulder. But Lucy slapped his hand away with wide eyes. He was confused at first, uncertain why she would wish to run from him, but the sight of her sucking in air as if she’d been drowning, lips swollen as she shook, made Natsu finally step back. A part of him focused on her lips for a second too long before he realized exactly what he’d done.

He really fucked everything up. 

Having the time to gather his thoughts and think clearly, Natsu stole a glance towards Lucy as he released his grip on his hair.  Her face was still red, but carefully set in a neutral expression that gave nothing of her inner thoughts away. If not for her restlessly twitching fingers, he may have thought she’d gone numb from shock. 

“I- … Lucy-” And words stuck like moss in his mouth, filling his throat and lungs until all he could do was stare at the floor. 

Seeming to have better control of her vocal faculties, Lucy inhaled deeply as she replied, “I want you to start talking now. And you better have a good reason or else I’m going to make sure my hand leaves a proper mark when I slap you again. You can’t just give a girl her first - “

“I don’t know why I did that.” Natsu interrupted, words practically tripping over themselves as they fell out his mouth.

She paused, her neutral mask cracking, “... it … was a whim?”

 Natsu leapt to his feet in a flash, “No!” He protested as an underlying edge of panic filtered through him.

“Then what was it?!” She demanded. “Why-” “I don’t know!!”

Natsu knew it sounded foolish. Ridiculous even, but what else could he say? 

Lucy’s mouth fell open, ready to respond in a fury Natsu felt was more than deserved. She had every right to tear into him. The scathing words he expected never came, however, as the words caught in her mouth, only to die a second later. She sighed instead, shoulders sagging as every ounce of her fury escaped through that one, deep, exhale. 

Instead, she pinched her nose, eyes shut tight as she struggled to hold back a wave of frustrated tears.

Panic set in. He’d made her cry. Despite her attempts to remain calm, he’d done the one thing he never wanted to do. Reflexively Natsu stepped forward, intending to console her, but forced himself to stay in place a second later. She wanted distance: he should give that to her…. right?

It wasn’t right. Natsu didn’t dare offer comfort now . Not without permission. Indecision and discomfort settled sickly in his stomach as wispy tendrils of smoke curled off his shoulders. His words were useless, coming out faster than he could process as he struggled to say anything that could fix things. But what could he say when he didn’t fully understand his own actions?

“I mean, it’s not like I didn’t enjoy kissing you-” No, that was wrong.

“I mean, I never thought about it before until right now, but -” That somehow sounded even worse! 

Growling, Natsu groaned as he tugged at a strand of his pink hair. The stone beneath his feet was starting to melt as the build of magic and emotion grew too much yet again. Ugh, why was this so hard? Lucy wasn’t responding, and he couldn’t look at her again, shame filling his gut like a cascade of stones.  Frustration at his inability to explain himself made his eyes water.

What was wrong with him?

Ever since the beginning, he’d been pushing his luck with her. Natsu knew that. What started as duty turned to friendship and friendship turned to… he couldn’t put it into words. It was some connection that compelled him to stay near right until she’d screamed those awful words at him. Despite assuring him otherwise, Lucy’s panic over being touched still echoed in his memories. 

It was his fault then. Reminding her of the horrors of their first meeting was his doing. And while he’d once promised never to give her a reason to remember, he’d broken that vow.

First nipping her when he was half asleep at the tower and now this? His knees buckled as he attempted to reign in his magic. How was he any better than the man that night? Forcing himself on her, saying things like–

Natsu stilled, eyes wide. He recalled his earlier words, pounding into his reddened ears, ‘It's about time you got here’

Why did he say that?

He suddenly couldn’t breathe. The heat of his embarrassment and shame was unbearable as he pleaded for her to leave the room. She shouldn’t be here. She didn’t need to see him like this. Natsu didn’t deserve the company, didn’t deserve the chance to explain – his thoughts derailed as Lucy moved, the chair clattering behind her. Grasping his face with cool, soft fingers, she kept his gaze on hers, lowering them both to the floor as she brushed the hair from his eyes. “Hey, Hey, shhh, calm down-” She said, brows knitting together at his answering, pathetic whine, “Your magic is going crazy, shhh.”

Battling with his broiling emotions and the struggle to breathe, Lucy stayed close, prying his hands from his scalp and holding them tight. The words she spoke melding into the background, muted by his own pulse. He clung to her hands like a lifeline, grounding himself as the steam continued to rise off his heated body.

Sweat beaded on Lucy’s brow, his own body heat treating the room like a mini sauna. Strands of her hair stuck to her neck as she powered through the heat. He needed to stay in control, before it became too much, before he -

He tried to tell her to leave again, but she stayed, mumbling quiet assurances that he couldn’t catch over his own, labored breaths. 

Seconds turned to minutes. And with time, the air returned to normal as the steam dissipated. Natsu focused on her hands, glowing in a soft, ethereal light, blanketing him in a cold that soothed his magic.  When his senses returned, tears were streaming down his cheeks and his body shook from the exertion. “... I’m so sorry-” He pleaded, exhaustion and hopeless desperation bleeding from his every word, “I… I missed you… And then you were here and I hadn’t seen anyone in days and I just- “

He just… what? How could he explain what he also didn’t understand?

“... take deep breaths,” her words finally reached him, talking him through the aching terror in his chest as her magic answered him. Lucy’s magic spilled from her fingertips, flowing freely in warm golden threads that pulsed weakly, wrapping his arms and torso in a soft light. The rhythmic thrums became a subtle call to calm the beast of power inside him.

Her voice pulled him back into focus, “That’s it, just keep breathing. Remember what you told me before? You’re okay, it’s going to be okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Stunned, Natsu blearily lifted his head, confused,“But I-” “Yes,” She clarified, covering his mouth, cheeks still red, “You crossed a boundary, and we’re going to talk about it. But I need you to understand that I’m not going anywhere. You’re still my friend. I didn’t sneak up here just to run away. ”

Her firm declaration forced a startled sob from him. He curled in on himself, finally allowing the grief and guilt to escape him. All that’d he’d held back, the crushing weight of all his wrongs that he’d stuffed away cascaded down his face.

How long had it been since he’d cried so openly in front of another, without the cover of night to hide behind? Since he’d allowed himself to fall apart? 

So many secrets, so many things he feared speaking of; And now his Chief, a man he saw as his own family, was permanently injured. The loss of control Natsu thought he’d left behind in a childhood he believed to be separate from himself was coming back to haunt him. And now this.

Lucy didn’t deserve this.

She didn’t deserve his lack of understanding, his inability to control his emotions, his touch, his —  the sobs shook his shoulders and he held himself against her. He soaked in the comfort she willingly gave. Apologies tumbled from his lips over and over again until he no longer understood what he was sorry for. She took it in. He couldn’t explain it, but she held him tight and let his emotions spill out of him like an ocean until his eyes burned and the tears dried, staining his face.

When he could cry no more, Natsu held still, spent of his energy. His throat felt raw and bleeding and his stuffed nose was irritating. He knew his eyes hardly fared any better, puffy from his emotions. For a moment, Natsu wanted to cover his face, but he was too tired to move. He chose to wait for Lucy to make the next move, instead. 

He’d crossed enough boundaries for one day.

The seconds passed by and Lucy, lost in thought, continued to run her thumbs over his scarred knuckles. It was….strange to see Natsu like this. She knew he had his secrets -everyone did- but to witness him at such a loss was a different thing entirely. It hurt to see her friend so normally full of life terrified of things he couldn’t name.

Just how much was he holding in? How deeply did his grief run?

Lucy didn’t have the answers, but whatever had led him to this breaking point could wait. As he'd done for her, she would help him over this hurdle even if it meant sitting with him till sunrise. Then she'd get answers.

Minutes bled steadily by, matched by the lack of circulation in her legs and the muscles twinging in protest. In response, she tugged him closer, pressing his ear against her chest and continuing the soft circles over the back of his hand that matched the beat of their hearts. A moment of hesitation hung between them when he tensed against her, and she feared he would bolt.

However, that fear dissipated with each labored breath that slowed and left her shivering from the differing temperatures. Slowly, as the tension lessened and his weight increased, she could feel him piecing himself back together—or attempted to. Even a shattered mirror would show the cracks once repaired.

“Natsu?” she hummed his name gently, enquiring.

Burying his face further into her shoulder remained the only answer he had for her, one she seemed to accept for the time. Grateful for the extra time, he focused on the scent on her skin—a distinctly Lucy infusion of spice and something that reminded him of that moonlit night on the beach. Breathing became easier, and his thoughts less muddled. 

And that clarity brought a sigh to his lips. There would be no running away from this mess. Lucy was too smart and knew him too well. She’d give him a push, but he’d have to open up first if he wanted this cleared up between them.

“A lot…” —he swallowed through the pain and discomfort in his throat— “a lot happened.”

Lucy snorted,  “I couldn't tell-”

“Oi,” He defended, popping his head up and pouting. “I'm trying here. Really.”

“I am, too.” Her voice, a soft caress to the tatters of his being, wormed their way into his chest and stoked the growing ember. Even with her thinly veiled threat that followed, “I’m trying hard enough to give you a chance to explain yourself while I weigh whether I should slap you again for good measure or not.”

Maybe not so thinly veiled, Natsu let out a low chuckle and motivated himself to finally put some distance between them. “I wouldn’t stop you if you did. Maybe you’d knock some sense into me.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a moment of reprieve to gather his thoughts—or tried to. He rocked back onto his heels and felt the pull of the freshly healed scars. “I wouldn’t know where t'start, if I'm honest.”

“How about explaining why you were moved from house arrest to an actual cell,” Lucy offered, scooting around to sit next to him and stretched her legs out.

Natsu ran a frustrated hand over his face and flopped back against the cool, stone floor—a welcome balm compared to the emotions stirring inside. “The actual cells are downstairs,” he explained, staring at the ceiling. “This is just the old man’s extra room. He thinks its best I stay here ‘til I get a handle on myself.”

“But he still hasn't told anyone else why,” Lucy interjected, the accusation already pouring from her lips. “It's like everyone who was there is keeping it one big secret!”

“...Probably ‘cause he wants to make sure I wont blow up a room again when he does,” Natsu said with a shrug.

“Oh right, that.” The reminder of the now gaping hole in the keep mollified her. “Why…?” She let the question hang unfinished between them. 

Natsu swallowed, mouth dry, ”I lost my temper, and I– I ain't exactly right in the head right now, so I don’t blame ‘em. I scared everyone pretty good when I snapped over something stupid and got tossed in here. And I—it’s just—” 

He sighed, trying to gather his thoughts. “Everything's all over the place, and I was just feeling too much when you came in. It was…good to see someone who wasn't staring at me like I was a bomb or something.“ 

”So…you kissed me because I don't expect you to blow out another wall?“

When she put it like that, he had to wonder why she decided to stay and not turn tail immediately. “No, that’s not…I mean…Yes? Or maybe? I was just feeling too much at once and my body reacted before my brain could.”

Her silence spoke volumes; he quickly raised a hand and continued, ”Don't take that the wrong way or anything! S’not like I'd have done that to just anyone who came to visit! But that doesn't mean I understand why that was the urge I had when I saw ya, either! ...Damnit, why is this so hard to explain?!“

“Because it's embarrassing, Natsu!“ she hissed, covering her face with a whine. ”VERY embarrassing! We’ve never done that before! I’ve never done that! We’re friends! Close friends, but still only friends! We can’t—we don’t—! We don’t even like each other like that, Natsu!”

“…But… I do like you.” 

Lucy blinked through her fingers, “...Come again?“ 

“I DO like you,” He emphasized, scratching the back of his head and realized what his words meant. Not just for himself, but for Lucy, too. Everything slowed as he focused on emphasizing what needed to come across in a form of communication he always struggled with. “At least, I'm pretty sure I do. I’m just not sure what kind of like that is.”

“So you,” she started slowly, trying to understand clearly, “are not sure how you like me?”

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out, fixing his gaze on the wall ahead. “I can't say there ain’t somethin' there, I just haven't really thought about it, and—and after what—'' Lucy heard the click of his teeth as he quickly shut his mouth, backtracking on his words. “ I put you in a weird spot. If you still wanna hit me, you can. I deserve it.”

“No!” She felt him pulling away and felt trepidation choke her. “It’s just...I guess that makes sense?” Her voice wavered, the words more of a squeaking sound. But, a weird sense of satisfaction pushed down the panic earlier as she watched color creep up the back of Natsu’s neck. 

It also brought clarification.

Why wouldn’t it make sense, she mentally chastised. Since they had met, every interaction, every emotion that they shared had been carefully tucked away. A connection born from when he had seen her at her worst, and helped her to find her footing in a new place that she wanted to call home so badly. They were…close but even Lucy had to question herself in moments of solitude. Her swiftness in seeking him out when things felt off, the peace his presence often brought.

Their friends could view what they had however they wanted. Tease them from an outsider's perspective. 

She had never thought of it beyond the line she firmly drew. Nor did she want to before.

“I’m confusing myself,” Natsu muttered after some time.

Lucy coughed out a helpless laugh, burying her face in her hair. “This is…not how I was expecting all this to go. It’s…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “...awkward…”

And that was an understatement if either of them ever heard one.

“I’m not happy about what you did.” The words were forced, her lips pursed together as tightly as the grip of her fingers on her skirt. But the words rang true, the bitter taste of lies nowhere to be found. 

Natsu mumbled, eyes lowered. “I know.”

Slowly, feeling consumed with emotions she still struggled to name, much less handle, Lucy allowed herself to take in the expanse of his marred back. Earlier, her mind could not grasp the discolored skin, the erratic scarring of Laxus’ magic that warped flesh and muscles. Every raised portion, each jagged edge looked painful even with the healing magic she could feel it doused in.

Would it ever fully fade, she wondered, reaching out to touch without permission.

The skin felt stranger than she had imagined. A softness that belied the truth of how it was imparted. Biting her lip, Lucy carefully moved her fingers to the only spot devoid of scarring over the whole of his back. She caught his gaze over his shoulder and felt the fluttering of her heart at the small glimpse of red on his cheeks and soon the back of his neck again—a similar color to her own cheeks, she knew.

“But it’s something we can move on from right? It’s not… this whole—” She waved a hand around between them, “—This situation between us isn’t what we expected. There is something between us, but, maybe, right now isn’t the best time when neither of us are in the right state of mind to figure it out.

She took a breath, and with a finger and a look, gave him a pointed warning. ”So, just don’t do that again without warning. And, I don’t know, ask first? Then it’ll be fine when we sort ourselves out.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, stomach twisting and churning, “Yeah, I can do that.”

For a split second, Natsu thought he saw disappointment flash across her face, but it was gone too fast to register. It gave the distinct feeling of missing a step in the dark, but the relief he felt strongly overpowered the sensation. She didn’t hate him. She was fine. She understood, maybe. She wasn't going to leave-

He took a breath, trying to calm the inane spiraling he could feel pulling at his sanity, and focused on Lucy. Heat and iron warring in his chest at the tentatively hope blooming there.

“So,“ he prompted, “are we...good?”

Her smile settled the tension in his heart, the heat radiating outward and the iron raising him up. “Yeah, we're good for now.” Though he didn't have much longer to relax, as her attention turned back to the other elephant in the room, “But you still need to tell me exactly why you’re stuck in here.”

He groaned. Damnit, did he have to tell her all THAT too?!

.

.

.

Their conversation went well into the early morning. Once Natsu began, Lucy couldn’t stop asking questions. It wasn’t until the first chirps of birdsong reached their ears that Natsu cut her questions short, reminding her of the time. “The old man’s gonna be coming soon. He always drops by with food so I don’t eat alone. And he hasn’t been late yet.” 

With the time fast approaching, Lucy didn't have time to process their earlier conversation or the retelling of events that happened the day before. What's more, she knew without a doubt that Natsu still hadn’t told her everything that had transpired. 

Recalling the way he'd burnt her and the damage to his house, it wasn’t hard for her to accept that he’d lost control of his temper. What she couldn’t accept was laying the blame all on Natsu. Every situation lately had come up after the arrival of that Draconis, Gajeel. This stranger seemed well equipped with enough knowledge to poke the Natsu’ buttons with ease, which she said as much, pressing into the last few minutes they had until she forced herself to leave.

When Natsu heard the truth in her words, he fumbled, eyes darting to the wall as words tumbled from his mouth in quick succession. “And he was a jerk who said too damn much and pissed me off!” He snapped, flinching when Lucy pinned him with an imperious stare. 

He skimped on the details of what Gajeel had actually said and she knew it, “... He uhh..I think he knows me, from before I came here. And he said some stuff about that…”

He hated thinking of it. The fact he'd lost sight of friend or foe in that moment, weighed heavily on his shoulders. He didn't want to relive it again, even to tell Lucy the truth.

So he didn't.

"...The others, if I asked them what he said, would that upset you?" Lucy asked cautiously.

Natsu knew Makarov had sworn them to secrecy, it was something the old man drilled into him on each visit, a constant reassurance that his secrets would stay just that. He knew this, but a horrified grimace still shadowed his features from where he lay, telling Lucy all that she needed to know. 

Lucy sighed, picking at the hem of her skirt nervously before her final question, "Ok. Then will you tell me when you're ready? I'll wait."

He desperately wanted to say no. The vicious thought of how rumors of his lineage would spread through the village crossed his mind. No, Lucy would never do that, but what if she turned away from him? If he dared to tell her what lay buried away inside, would she still see him in the same light once she knew?

Natsu stayed quiet, nodding instead. She had given him a choice, not a time limit, and he'd tell her when ready.

Didn't she also have things she didn't care to speak of? 

Her train of thought followed the same lines as the conversation abruptly ended. Both were unsure how to continue. While Natsu fretted over the details he wished not to face, Lucy reached for him, gently rubbing his shoulder.

"I know it's hard," She murmured, sweeping a stray strand of hair from her eyes, "when all the pain you don't want to think about gets brought up against your will. I understand. ... thanks for telling me as much as you could."

Natsu felt like the breath was stolen from his lungs at that moment. His eyes stung with unshed tears. He refused to cry again, he’d already broken down once. He'd burdened her enough with his lack of control.

"Makarov's gonna be here soon," He reminded, easing away from her touch. He grunted with effort as he rose to his feet, his shoulders tense with apprehension. Lucy looked as if she wanted to call out to it, but fell silent when he offered his hand. “You should get outta here before he catches ya.”

And that was that.

Lucy saw the dismissal for what it was and took the invitation, allowing Natsu to lead her out. But not before crushing Natsu in a tight, desperate hug that made the pressure in his chest better and worse all at once. He sucked in air like a drowning man when she released him, leaving behind remnants of her scent on his skin.

It was dizzying, but relief flooded him the moment the door clicked shut. He had too much to think about after today and his head hurt from the enormity of it. 

Lucy, on the other hand, wavered behind the door as soon as she left. Something inside her screamed to stay, to keep him company and damned what Makarov said when he arrived. But she also didn't want to push her luck. They both needed a break, him especially and she...

She leapt back from the door as if it had shocked her, face flaming red as she thought back on their earlier conversation.

Did she... basically tell him she shared the same confused feelings he had? 

"Oh god," She whined, panicking, lacing her voice as she rushed back down the stairs, "what did I say that for?!"

Fortune proved to be on her side. Too wrapped up in her racing thoughts to be cautious and hide her presence, Lucy raced down the halls. However none one was around to catch her when she finally made it out into the open air, cheeks still brightly aflame as she ran home. 

Lucy thought of many things as she went. Every piece of information circulated from one emotion to the other. Her embarrassment would jump to worry, then to anger and frustration as she thought back to Natsu alone in that room. After blowing up so much of the keep, she understood Makarov's reasoning, but the Draconis' desperate tears as he clung settled against her skin like an invisible brand.

Natsu was suffering... That alone was enough to make her insides squirm and feel sick. 

She thought, now that Kage was dealt with, that her odd dreams and premonitions of danger would be long gone, but these new developments overlayed that hope with a deeper apprehension.

Just what exactly was going on? 

And that question, wrapped along in the seriousness of Natsu's explosive temper, circled her right back to her earlier embarrassment. Running a finger over her lips– the ghost of her own touch was nothing like the searing kiss that he gave – pulled her deeper into distraction. She struggled to ignore it. Skewed priorities, Lucy figured, but she managed to put the issues aside in lieu of eating the moment her home came into view.

Hopefully the Draconis had his meal already and maybe, just maybe, Makarov would realize just how strained Natsu was with this whole ordeal and change his mind. These were a lot of hopes that Lucy held tightly to as she thought over what dried fruits she had to nibble on for breakfast.

-Only for those thoughts to fly out the window as she opened her door and came face to face with the Chief, sitting calmly at the table as if he lived there.

"What the hell are you-" She shrieked, mind catching up with her just in time to change her wording, "Sorry! That... slipped out."

Amusement crinkled the edges of Makarov’s eyes as he smiled. And for the first time, the romni got a good look of the bandages covering half his body beneath the jacket. Though the table hid most of him from view, Lucy feared the wrappings covered far more than anyone would have liked. 

Her earlier apprehension blossomed anew as she shut her door with a shaking hand. He shouldn't be here alone, she surmised. Not with injuries like that. Looking around the room, Lucy searched for any other intruders, pulling a laugh from the elder.

"You're right to suspect another," Makarov said, wincing as his chuckles stretched a sore muscle, "She's next door with Mirajane. Porlyusica wouldn't let me too far from her sight even if I ordered it. And she's interested in giving you another check up."

The ‘she’ll be back soon’ was left unsaid, but understood.

Well, that answered one thing at least. Lucy furrowed her brow, unaware her earlier shock had melted into aggravation. "... Natsu said you were supposed to visit. Whose with him now then?"

A brow raised, “So you've seen him after all, have you?”

Lucy cursed inwardly: busted by her own big mouth.

But fury spurred her onward, kicking respect out the window before she could collect herself, "No one ELSE was telling me anything, were they? I like it here, but the way you keep everyone in the dark while you deliberate with only a few people is almost TOO much for me! You know what? I'm not even sorry. Do what you want with that!"

An aggrieved sigh escaped Makarov as he deflated, slowly repositioning himself to lean against the table. 

For that moment, he didn't look the part of an elder or a Chief. Just a tired, hurt man, with too much weight on his shoulders. He looked small. His eyes were downcast, tracing the grooves in the wood without a sound. Almost like a child being scolded. 

It was almost enough to mollify her, but not enough.

"You make an excellent point," He said after a time, just when Lucy thought the silence between them would drive her to shout more obscenities at him, "and I'm willing to discuss this. In fact, that's exactly why I'm here.  Please, sit down, Lucy, you shouldn't have to over use your magic in your own home."

It was a well-placed observation that made her realize just how tired and sore she felt. The magic she called to support her leg was becoming second-nature, but the drain on her body was immense after a full day of use. She slid to a chair and breathed in deep to collect herself.

It seemed, she was in for another long talk; She mourned the loss of getting a little shut-eye and a light meal. 

 Makarov wasted no time. Once she was comfortable, he cut to the chase, folding his fingers together as he watched her with a hard, unreadable stare, "I'd like to speak with you regarding your place here in the village. And whether you would consider leaving." 

He waited for a response, unaware of his words shooting Lucy’s heart out of her body and into a dark void. The world dropped out around her, suspending her in nothingness.

.... what?