#and she just. isn’t the same without it

[cressidagrey]

Garage Time

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Felicity and Bee Piastri: Two Peas in a Pod

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar had always known he wasn’t the smartest person in the house.

It wasn’t a competition. It wasn’t even close.

He could read tire degradation like a second language. He could predict weather shifts by the way wind moved across a track. He could tell you the weight of pressure on his back wheel just by how the steering wheel twitched in his hands.

But true brilliance—the intricate, layered, quietly relentless kind? That belonged to Felicity.

And now, it seemed, to Bee too.

He stood now in the open doorway of what used to be an old stable—transformed by Felicity into a workshop, a garage, and more recently, a sanctuary. It smelled like grease, dust, and something warm—like a life that had been lived in deeply. And it echoed, faintly, with the laughter of his four-year-old daughter and the murmur of her mother’s steady voice.

Bee was sitting on a stacked milk crate in her favorite overalls—dark blue with patches on the knees, one of which she’d sewn on herself with needle-sharp concentration. She was holding a mini flashlight and a torque wrench like they were holy relics. Her goggles were too big and kept sliding down her nose, but she pushed them up without pausing her inspection.

“Mama,” she said, very seriously, “the rust’s gotten worse again. The wire brush isn’t enough. We need the Dremel with the diamond bit.”

Without looking up, Felicity reached over and passed the exact attachment. “Already out. Be careful of the edges.”

Oscar just stood there, quietly floored.

They moved like clockwork—precise, in sync, saying more with glances than most people could manage in full conversations. There was a kind of sacredness to it. A ritual born from repetition, trust, and shared obsession.

The car in front of them—a fire-red ‘67 Alfa Romeo Spider— was half-dead. But he knew that it would run again. Because Felicity always took broken things and fixed them. Piece by piece, bolt by bolt. 

Their shared language wasn’t just tools and tasks. It was detail. Precision. Respect for the process.

Bee had preferences the same way her mother did—strong, specific ones. She didn’t like when the wrenches were out of order. She couldn’t focus if her socks didn’t match. She insisted on a clipboard instead of a notebook and wanted her snacks in “even-numbered bites.” Her world made sense when things were in place. When they followed the rules she understood.

Oscar leaned on the doorframe, watching as Felicity wiped grease off her hands and adjusted her ponytail with the calm confidence of someone who knew how to make something run again.

“Should I take out the bolts on the intake next?” Bee asked, peering over the engine like a surgeon.

“Not yet,” Felicity said, crouching beside her. “We check the seals first. Otherwise we’re redoing work we didn’t have to.”

Bee nodded solemnly. “That’s inefficient.”

Oscar could barely process it. His three-year-old was talking about mechanical inefficiency.

He scratched the back of his neck, a grin tugging at his lips. “I feel like I should be helping.”

Felicity looked up at him, eyes gleaming. “You are helping.”

“By standing here and trying not to mess anything up?”

“Exactly.”

Bee giggled. “Papa, your hands are too big for the screws. And you said last time the engine ‘judged you.’”

“It did!” Oscar protested. “It made a weird noise. I don’t trust it.”

Felicity rolled her eyes fondly. “It was the starter clicking. Because you wired it backward.”

“Okay,” he muttered. “We don’t all come with a degree in car resurrection.”

But he didn’t mind.

 Not even a little.

Because as he watched Felicity patiently show Bee how to handle the dremel, the way she knelt beside her daughter without condescension, the way Bee looked at her like she was a superhero in greasy overalls—it hit him again.

These two?

 They were brilliant.

Felicity, with her steady mind and quieter kind of sharpness. The woman who once redesigned their kitchen shelving because she couldn’t stand inefficient spatial flow.

And Bee, who had probably invented three new tools in her head before snack time.

He was raising a genius. And he’d married one too.

And somehow—by some miracle—they both loved him. 

He stepped closer. Bee didn’t look up. “If you mess up the socket order again, Mama said you’ll be benched.”

Felicity snorted softly. “Fair warning. Last week you rearranged them by size instead of frequency of use.”

“Because that makes sense!”

“Not to us,” Bee said without looking up. “We sort by practicality, not aesthetics.”

Oscar put both hands in the air. “Understood. I’m on thin ice.”

He sat on the edge of the workbench, watching as Felicity guided Bee’s hand on the Dremel with practiced calm. Bee's brows were furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out slightly, the same way Felicity looked when she was threading electrical wire.

They even leaned the same way when they worked—weight over their left hip, elbow tucked in, steady, focused.

God, they were so alike.

Same quiet brilliance. Same way of existing in a world that didn’t always understand how particularity could be a comfort.

Oscar loved them for it.

Even if he sometimes felt like a different species.

Still, he didn’t mind. He’d take the role of “fuel technician” or “guy who messes up the wrench order” any day if it meant getting to watch this.

“Do you want me to get snacks?” he asked eventually.

Bee perked up immediately. “Apple juice, please. Cold. In the bee cup. The one with the yellow straw.”

Felicity added, “And banana bread. No crust. Don’t forget the butter this time.”

Oscar grinned. “See? I have a purpose.”

“You’re our supply chain,” Bee said, solemn and sweet.

He headed for the kitchen, but his thoughts lingered behind.

Because here, in the garage, Bee shone.

But outside of it—at kindergarten, in playgroups, at birthday parties—she dimmed. Just a little. Enough for him to notice. Enough that it ached.

She preferred machines to playgrounds. She corrected her teachers, and she’d rather spend the day with chickens and torque specs than kids her age. She reached for her mama’s hand instinctively at parties, only relaxed when Felicity was near, and she quietly dimmed herself when other children didn’t understand her.

He worried about what the world would do with a girl like her.

With a girl who didn’t shrink for anyone. Who asked questions teachers couldn’t answer. 

Who didn’t just think outside the box—she would take the box apart with a ratchet set, draw schematics for a new one, and filed a request to optimize the corners.

Bee didn’t fit neatly anywhere.

Except here.

Here, in the workshop with her mother—who got it. Who was it. Who had been that same sharp-edged, too-bright child once. The one who asked too many questions and took apart toasters to understand thermodynamics.

And Oscar… didn’t know what to do with that. Not really.

He loved that Bee was uniquely herself. He wouldn’t change her for the world. But part of him worried, about how hard the world could be on girls who didn’t make themselves easier to understand.

So he made snacks.

He carved out spaces for her to be seen. To be known. He bought her every kind of notebook and wrench and Lego motor he could find, and he kept the world soft when it felt too loud for her.

In the kitchen, he poured apple juice for Bee and mango for Felicity. He cut thick slices of banana bread and added three forks—just in case Bee was in one of her “tools for everything” moods.

As he plated everything, he caught his reflection in the darkened microwave door—messy hair, oil smudge on his hoodie from leaning too close to Bee earlier, and a smile he couldn’t quite wipe away.

The kind of smile that came from a life that didn’t need spotlight to shine.

When he returned to the garage, it was quieter now, but only in the way a good story quiets down before the twist.

Bee was kneeling on a foam mat with a serious expression, focused on drawing something on a clipboard— Oscar could see crude sketches: rectangles, labels, what looked like airflow arrows.

Felicity was beside her, wiping down a set of socket wrenches, her ponytail starting to fall loose. There was grease on her jawline and a streak of dirt across her sleeve. She looked radiant.

Oscar set the snacks down on the workbench gently. “Refueling, as requested.”

Bee looked up from her clipboard. “Thank you, Papa.”

Oscar smiled. “You’re welcome, Bumblebee.”

She handed him her sketch. “I redesigned the air filter casing.”

It was crude and hand-drawn, but shockingly insightful.

“She got the concept from my old Haynes manual,” Felicity said, already chewing her bite of bread. “I left it on the shelf by accident. She read the airflow diagrams before bed.”

Oscar blinked. “She’s three.”

Bee held up four fingers. “Almost four.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Almost four and already smarter than me.”

Felicity smirked. “She gets it from me.”

“You both terrify me,” he muttered, but there was no real fear in his voice—only awe.

The three of them sat quietly for a while, Bee content to sketch while Felicity wiped her tools with a meticulous rhythm.

Oscar didn’t speak. Didn’t interrupt.

He just watched—content, in love, and quietly aware that he’d somehow been chosen by the two most remarkable people he’d ever met.

He might not always understand their blueprints, or why grease made them both so happy, or why the wrench order mattered so much—

But he didn’t need to.

They were his. He was theirs.

And that was more than enough.

He couldn’t predict how far Bee’s mind would go. Maybe she’d design cars instead of drive them. Maybe she’d run wind tunnel simulations in her sleep. Maybe she’d abandon it all for marine biology because she liked dolphins more than spark plugs.

He didn’t know.

What he did know was this:

He got to watch it happen. He got to be here. Even if he didn’t understand every detail, every gear, every tiny plan scribbled on scrap paper.

He got to be the one who brought the juice boxes. Who wiped grease off her cheek. Who kissed Felicity on the forehead while she calibrated torque like it was second nature.

He got to build a life alongside them.

He wasn’t the smartest in the house. Not by a long shot.

But he was the one who got to call it home.

And that? That was the best kind of win.

[plotholesaregreatactually]

Honestly we don’t see much about Duke in these crossovers.

So here’s a really long post! Though it isn’t exactly Duke.

@im-totally-not-an-alien-2 I hope you approve!

(Oh it’s really late for me rn)

I mean, pretty sure duke could use his powers to turn invisible and he usually does the day shift by himself I think so it’s a bit easier to get some of his DNA without being noticed and as the meta of the group it makes sense he’d be targeted.

I can even imagine how they meet.

The sole somewhat stable surviving clone of the vigilante Signal manages to escape from the facility he’s held in.

Similarly to Superboy he gets some knowledge downloaded into him but not on the same level as I imagine this to be a smaller and more lowkey organization. That’s also why he isn’t so stable.

He gets some of Duke’s memories to as *waves hands* somehow his meta ability allowed him to just have some of his memories, for flavor ig.

So escaped clone learned pretty early on how to turn invisible and does a few light shows every now and then when fighting against his previous captors and to better understand his powers.

Someone noticed some weird light shows and a new ghost story is born!

In comes the Fentons with the ectoplasm powered steel chair!

And Phantom swoops in to the rescue! The gh- wait this isn’t a ghost!

And flys away after saving Mr. To-be-named who has stars in his eyes after being rescued for the first time ever. Though he still has a bit of bat paranoia ingrained in his being.

Next comes a hilarious series of cutscenes of them hanging out and getting closer to each other!

Danny introduces Cloney to Nasty Burger!

Beam Supreme (the clone) has a powers mishap! And gets an array of lightbulb and light related punny nicknames from Danny.

Danny shows Disco Strikes Back! His astronomy knowledge by bringing to a special event at a planetarium, for some reason though Sam and Tucker couldn’t make it?

Our Clone boy remembers that his template tried out for track and soccer before and decided to see if it’s something he would like. The track reminds him of the few endurance tests he was put through though with soccer he loved the camaraderie the sport had, and the fact he got to join a team while his template got kicked out.

Rainbow Jumpscare earns that nickname by scaring off a group of ghost that tried to jump Danny as a civilian! …He really liked the feeling of saving someone… though he didn’t like the way his chest felt when he saw Danny in danger.

And many more happen though you can think those up!

[Next part is in sections so you don’t have to read one huge chunk of text]

(Pt.1) Danny accidentally shows off his weapons prowess when a ghost uses Paulina as a hostage, he even gets invited a party she’s hosting tomorrow! He’s so excited! Or. He should be. He’s not sure why he feels so, uninterested, it’s Paulina! The school’s idol! And where’s Sparkles?

(Pt.2) It’s the day of the party and our dear clone boy really doesn’t want to be around, he’s realizing something about himself and if he sticks around longer it won’t be just the G.I.W after Danny. Showing off his powers like that must have alerted someone to where he is, and… if Danny, if someone who’s been so head over heels for some girl since they met finds out about his feelings then! No. He won’t ever find out. (Not even Clone Duke can do emotions, well he was made from a guy born in Gotham)

(Pt.3) Danny, after talking to, surprisingly enough, his parents, comes to a realization that Paulina doesn’t really matter to him anymore! I mean she’s popular and he’ll still save her and all but his relationship with Glowbug means a lot more to him!

(Pt.4) They play a game of cat and mouse, Clone Duke manages to find and start methodically disassembling the G.I.W by destroying credibility and funding. Danny on the other hand somehow manages to follow his trail due to a unique ectoplasmic signature on a gift he gave Gleam Beam early on during their friendship. Danny thinks the G.I.W did something to his… His friend of course! Ha ha yup just friends no weird feeling at thinking that at all ha ha.

(Pt.5) The G.I.W is a few steps away from being irrecoverably broken and Clone Duke feels… totally not alone he can compartmentalize like any other hero clone! Danny really misses his Glow Bro really really misses him. But in a totally bro way of course!

(Pt.6) Danny nearly dies, Clone Duke nearly dies, they both get captured. Sam, Tucker and Valerie though begrudgingly manage to break in and cause enough of a commotion our duo escape! They then face down an insane man decked out in stolen and remodeled tech, who was the one to capture the duo, and defeat him.

(Pt.7) Clone Duke decides to ‘finally tell them his name’ aka. He just decided on one and is definitely not telling anyone he’s a clone.

He tells them his name is Asier.

Danny suddenly remembers Asier is also a pickle.

Pickle puns.

Many pickle puns. And jokes. And plushies. And keychains. And- you get it now right?

Though of course they aren’t telling each other about the weird feelings they have! Nope not that!

Despite their weird pretty much flirting during the entire fight.

And oh. Oh dear the rescue trio is not amused. And through *insert method here* the rescue trio call out the glowstick duo on their feelings!

And now they have to deal with PDA™️. Just kill them now but don’t because if they become ghosts they’ll deal with this for an eternity.

Btw Asier managed to destroy the group that cloned him and has several plans for the Fentons to make his beloved !Boyfriend! Happy!

Later he comes out with the whole clone thing after meeting Ellie after nearly dying from being a little too unstable and they decide to prank the Waynes for their anniversary.

(Hi! If anyone wants to add or write out any of this please do!)

(Also I’m not adding Cores or Obsessions or Ghost Instincts because this is meant to be lighthearted and I don’t want to delve in deep)

(Also if you give me content it fuels me and lets me make more so please type anything and I will consume it with the grace of a untrained dog given bacon that somehow manages to idk write bootleg Shakespeare)

Danny held back his laughter as he sprinted away. The note he left in the batmobile is going to rile up Gothams furries if what his boyfriend said was right.

All he wrote was, "I'm dating your clone, and there's nothing you can do about it." No signature, no fingerprints, heck, he didn't even reveal who's clone it was. Now he and his boyfriend are going to follow along with invisibility and popcorn to watch their heads explode.

[thinkshespretty]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: billie loses a matching promise ring while performing in new york

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: whole lotta fluff lol

it’s night two at madison square garden. the air buzzes like static, thick with heat and sound and that weird kind of electricity that only happens when twenty thousand people are holding their breath for the same person. billie’s already on stage, her voice floating through the arena like smoke and silk, soft and otherworldly. you’re sitting just above the pit, low enough to feel close but high enough to see the whole thing unfold.

the stage is a riot of color and shadow. deep reds melt into moody blues, lights pulsing in time with the bass that thuds through the floor, through your chest. a giant screen above billie flickers with grainy close-ups: her face lit up in turquoise, hair flowing down her back, eyes wild with that look she gets when she’s fully in it. she moves across the stage like she’s floating, or dreaming, or both.

next to you, finneas is leaned back, nodding his head to the beat. he’s seen her do this a thousand times, but you can tell it’s always magical for him to see his little sister on stage. madison’s on your other side, phone out for a second, catching a few seconds of a song before slipping it back into her lap. she’s singing along, quietly, just under her breath.

the crowd is loud but not in a messy way. it’s this huge, focused kind of love. phones glow like stars all across the arena, thousands of little lights pointed right at her. you keep looking down at her, watching her disappear into the music, and even though you’ve been here before, even though you’ve seen her perform from places like this, it never feels normal. maybe it's the lights or maybe it’s just billie, but there’s something almost sacred about the way she performs, her voice isn’t just something she sings with, but something that lifts people. it’s tender and massive all at once, full of ache and softness.

she’s at the b stage now, way out on the other side of the arena. from where you're sitting, you can barely see her without the screen, just a small figure in the middle of a sea of people. the lights around her are low and golden, soft like candlelight. the music fades out and she steps down from the platform, right into the barricade.

the fans closest to her erupt, hands shooting out, phones shaking in the air. she walks slowly, holding her arms out, letting people touch her hands as she moves. even from across the venue, you can feel the energy shift. everyone’s eyes are locked on her, even people way up in the nosebleeds. it’s like everything narrows down to just her and whoever's lucky enough to reach her.

she then climbs up onto the barricade. the screen above you catches it in sharp detail. her arms out, a group of fans pulling her into a hug. she leans into them, lets them hold her. she’s smiling, big and real. each time, the crowd loses it. people are crying, shouting her name. she keeps letting them in, holding on for just a second longer each time.

but after the third hug, you see it—something changes. her face is still soft, still lit up by the lights, but there’s something just under it. a flicker. barely anything. a look that’s not quite disappointment, but close. you watch as she slips under the stage, weaving her way back up to the main stage.

she sits at the piano, brushing her hair back with one hand, tucking it behind her ear. the lights settle into a soft blue, almost like twilight. she sighs into the mic, not loud, just enough that you catch it.

“okay,” billie says, almost laughing, “before we continue…i’m saying this so nicely, but…”

she pauses, glancing out toward the crowd, toward the far side of the arena. she lifts a hand and points somewhere near the barricade.

“i think somebody might’ve accidentally pulled off my ring when i was over there.”

the crowd stirs, some people boo, others just start murmuring, a mix of confusion and noise. she lets out a little laugh, calming it all down with just her voice.

“i know it was with a love intention,” she says gently, “and most of the time i wouldn’t really mind. but this ring was a gift, and it means so much to me. it was given by a special person, and i’d hate to lose it.”

you’re a little confused listening to her speak until you glance down at your right hand, a silver ring decorates your middle finger. silver, smooth, you and billie’s initials engraved around the band. and that’s when it clicks. she’s not wearing hers. it’s the matching ring. a promise ring you gave it to her months ago.

you feel a small pull in your chest, not mad exactly, just annoyed that someone would even think of taking her possessions in the first place. but then you look at her again, how serious she looked saying it, the way she tried to stay calm but you could hear the worry in her voice which causes you to laugh to yourself. she’s really stressed about it, probably more than she even realizes.

as you’re lost in your own thoughts, she suddenly stands from the piano bench and squints toward the barricade again. her face scrunches slightly, puzzled, and then she starts walking to the left edge of the stage. she crouches a bit, leaning down toward one of the security guards below. you watch her lips move as she says something quickly, motioning with her hands. then—suddenly—her whole face lights up.

she lets out a small cheer, half a laugh into the microphone, and holds something up in the air for the audience to see for just a second before bringing it back to her chest. the crowd erupts the second she lifts the ring. she looks down at it, almost in disbelief.  you can see her mouth a quiet “thank you” to the guard before she skips back toward the piano, slipping the ring back onto her finger before pointing her hand out to the audience, twiddling her fingers to show off her ring.

she’s back at the piano now, the crowd still cheering from the ring like it’s the grand finale. she laughs, brushing her fingers across the keys but not playing yet.

“sorry guys, i know i’m dramatic,” she says into the mic, grinning. “but this is a promise ring that y/n gave me, and i hold it really, really close to my heart.” giving a slight pout while batting her lashes to the audience.

your chest tightens a little in the best way. it was such a small gift, nothing flashy, just something you hoped would mean something. and clearly, it does. the crowd gets even louder at the sound of your name, a wave of noise crashing over the arena.

billie squints, trying to see through the spotlight. her whole face lights up when she finds you. you can’t help but laugh, lifting your hand in a small wave.

“i told you i’d never lose it!” she shouts into the mic.

you, finneas, and madison all laugh at once, shaking your heads. you remember the night you gave it to her, how you half-joked that she was way too forgetful to keep track of it. she blew you off, swore she’d prove you wrong. she blows you a kiss now, dramatic and playful, then immediately drops her hands onto the keys. the first soft chords of ocean eyes fill the air as a red hue takes over your cheeks, looking down at your matching ring.

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫: HIYA!! sorry for the abrupt ending i literally was so lost on how to finish this. i’m so in love with billie’s outfit at msg night 2 LIKE FUCKKKK. i just had to write about it. also SORRY for disappearing for a second, my school finals are coming up and im literally so stressed about it but i only have like 2 1/2 more weeks so im almost there guys. i love u guys sm and don’t worry, i have another fic idea hehe im so excited to share it with u.

[moonstruckme]

i mean if you INSISTTTTT….can we see intern reader trying to be flirty back with spence. or like them hanging out/doing something together maybe outside of work, the rest of the team can be there or not idk i just love them and your writing so much hehehe

Thanks for your request angel <3

cw: football concussion statistics? idk not trying to piss off any diehard nfl fans. oh also american football being referred to simply as football because I'm also not trying to piss off the rest of the world, and lastly some borderline HR violations

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1k words

“Alright, Jack!” Prentiss claps, before sticking her fingers into her mouth and letting loose a piercing whistle that makes both you and Garcia flinch in surprise. 

“Way to make the extra pass, kid!” Morgan shouts across the field. 

On the other side of the grass, Hotch nods like he seconds this, though his expression stays focussed and his eyes on his players. 

“He’s getting really good,” JJ says. 

Next to you, Garcia grimaces. “I wish he’d be good at something else.” 

“Beautiful,” Morgan chides, “don’t crush the kid’s dreams.” 

“He’s just a sweet summer child! There are, like, a crazy amount of concussions in football. I’m just looking out for him.” 

“In recent years, the NFL has reported a significant decline in concussions in professional football players,” says Spencer. 

Morgan makes a smug noise. “See? He’ll be alright.”

“But,” you raise your voice hesitantly, “wouldn’t the NFL have a bit of incentive to report that?” 

You’re looking at Spencer out of the corner of your eye. He meets your gaze, lips quirking. 

“Exactly,” he says. “That’s what I think, too. Independent studies have been less favorable.” 

Garcia mimics Morgan’s smug noise, victorious. Before she remembers to be worried and frowns again. 

Morgan laughs. “Hey, I didn’t sign him up. Jack likes football, you gonna tell him to quit?” 

Garcia comes back at him with some teasing remark, but you’re distracted by Spencer’s eyes still on yours. He’s looking at you like there’s something he can’t quite make sense of, which is happening so often lately it’s almost laughable. You have the most obvious crush in the world, and certifiable genius Spencer Reid can’t figure you out. 

You look away first. 

It’s sort of humiliating, how things have escalated between you in the last week. Every bit of that is your fault. You know it’s not professional, but you’ve spent lots of time thinking about it, and really a bit of flirting isn’t so bad if you know nothing is going to come of it. It’s harmless. Spencer is just so, so nice to you, you can’t help but want to be nice back; walking the line between friendly and something-else sort of comes with the territory. You would never actually endanger your position at the BAU. You only want Spencer to feel as special as he makes you feel. He deserves that. 

First it was bringing him breakfast after he helped you prepare your testimony. You wanted to thank him, so you picked up some breakfast tacos like he said he used to have back home in Las Vegas, and so what if you only know that because you’ve spent so much time chatting together? You’re training to be a profiler, remembering details is part of your job. Then you started complimenting him more, which was really just giving yourself permission to say your quiet thoughts out loud, making genuine observations about his taste in psychologists and the care he shows for witnesses even when the whole team is in a rush. And then maybe you began letting him teach you some things about chess even though you’ve never been interested in the game before, and bumping his knee gently under the table when he’s rambling without realizing everyone else has already moved on, and exchanging little smiles when you both look up from your desks at the same time. So what? None of that is a fireable offence. 

“I’m gonna go get water,” Spencer says, standing and starting to descend the metal bleachers. 

“Can you grab me one?” Prentiss asks. The rest of your team immediately chimes in with their requests, and you take a step down from the bleachers as well. 

“Want help?” you ask. 

Spencer seems to have been picturing the same thing you have: him coming back from the cooler in Garcia’s trunk with arms overflowing with plastic bottles, leaving a trail of them all the way back to the bleachers. He looks relieved. “Please.” 

You hop down, unable to look him in the eye when you take the hand he offers you for the last couple of steps. The sun is out in full force today, glinting off the metal of the bleachers and every car in the parking lot. The pavement radiates heat. 

Spencer hovers a hand above his eyes. “I wasn’t made for this.” 

“It’s a hot one,” you agree. 

“If Jack had a different hobby, we could be inside at a science fair right now. With air conditioning.” 

You chance a look at him. “Isn’t being involved in sports good for kids?” 

Spencer shrugs, though you’re sure he knows the answer. “I turned out okay.” 

Your lips tug. There’s no denying that. 

“Here.” You take off the baseball cap you’d put on for the game, holding it out for him as he pops open Garcia’s trunk. You pray to God the hat isn’t sweaty. 

Spencer only looks at it, surprised. “Oh, I—that’s okay. I’ll be fine.” 

“No, look.” You take a pair of sunglasses out of your bag, putting them on. “See? Now neither of us will have the sun in our eyes.” 

“Really?” Spencer asks, only taking the bill of the cap in hand once you nod. He settles it on his head like it’s his first time wearing one. “Thanks. Do I look stupid?” 

You shake your head, staring. “You look good,” you say. It comes out unchecked, before you can think about it. God, you’re so obvious. It’s true, though. Spencer’s still squinting a little even with the shade over his eyes, but it’s relaxed some; it reminds you of the way he looks when he’s puzzling something out. You’re hopelessly endeared by it. His hair, grown to what Garcia lovingly calls boy band length, wings out of the sides of the cap. Practically begging to be coiled around your index finger. 

“Thanks,” Spencer says again, the faintest tinge of pink—which can probably be attributed to the beginnings of a sunburn—kissing his cheeks. 

Bashfulness softens your voice. “No problem.” 

He opens the cooler, starting to scoop up waters and sports drinks (though one of the team moms is supplying drinks for the kids, Garcia had packed for you all like you’d be on the field too). Condensation drips down Spencer’s wrists. 

“Thanks for helping with this, too,” he says. 

“Pretty sure this is what interns are for,” you joke as you grab some too. 

“Always undermining yourself,” Spencer chides, something almost like teasing in his voice. It makes your stomach crowd with butterflies. “You know you’re more than that to us.”

[yvaineseleneposts]

Can you do nico x reader where they are dating for a while and she's a volunteer on a hospital and one day a lil baby girl goes to adoption and the reader ands up bounded sm with her that they adopt her?

(English it's not my first language)

Little Shifts of Fate

A/N: I thought this was a lovely request and I hope it meets your expectations!

Requested: yes by @choppedbluebirdprincess

Pairing: Nico Hischier x reader

Words: 1.5k

Warning(s): none (I think)

The children’s hospital was quiet that afternoon, a rarity in your experience. Usually, the halls buzzed with activity—nurses moving quickly, monitors beeping, tiny voices echoing from the playroom. But today felt... still.

You liked these moments. They gave you space to breathe, to reflect, and most importantly, to visit Ellie without interruption.

She was in the corner of the infant ward, nestled in a bassinet with a soft yellow blanket tucked around her. Her wide brown eyes met yours as soon as you approached, and a gummy smile spread across her face.

“Hi, Button,” you whispered, brushing her soft hair back. The nickname had stuck—she’d just looked like a perfect little button from day one. “You miss me?”

She cooed in response, grabbing your finger with surprising strength. You laughed gently, letting her wrap her tiny hand around yours.

You weren’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the first time she fell asleep on your chest, or the day she giggled while you fed her a bottle. All you knew was that you had bonded with her in a way you couldn’t explain.

That evening, you came home to find Nico sprawled on the couch, fresh from practice, a protein shake forgotten on the coffee table. His face lit up when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, sitting up to make space. “You okay?”

You smiled and dropped beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”

“About her?”

You didn’t need to answer. He already knew.

Nico had met Ellie once—just a quick visit when he brought you lunch during a long shift. She’d taken to him instantly, smiling like she knew him. He’d held her gently, a little awkward at first, then with a confidence that surprised even him.

“She’s still there?” he asked.

You nodded. “Her birth mom left a few weeks after she was born. No one's claimed her. They're starting the process to put her up for adoption.”

Nico went quiet. Then, softly, “Have you thought about... what that would mean?”

You turned to face him. “All the time.”

Another pause.

“Would you do it?” he asked. “Adopt her?”

“I want to,” you said, heart thudding. “But only if it’s something we both want. This wouldn’t just be my decision.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve watched you with her. You light up when you talk about her. I can already see how much you love her. And... I think I’m starting to feel it too.”

You blinked at him, overwhelmed.

“You mean it?” you whispered.

Nico turned to you with the softest smile. “Let’s become a family.”

The conference room at the family services office smelled faintly of stale coffee and photocopier toner. You sat beside Nico, your hand laced tightly in his under the table as a social worker named Marianne flipped through a thick folder labelled with Ellie’s temporary case number.

“You’ve both read the placement guidelines?” she asked, glancing between the two of you.

“Yes,” you said quickly, while Nico nodded beside you. He was in his calm, focused mode—the same one he used before big games. But you could feel his thumb rubbing circles on your knuckles. He was nervous too.

Marianne leaned forward. “This isn’t an easy process. You know that. Background checks, home inspections, references. And because she’s still technically in state custody, there’s a chance another family could petition before everything is finalized.”

You swallowed hard. “We understand.”

“But,” she continued, her expression softening, “Ellie’s already formed a strong attachment to you, and the staff reports have been overwhelmingly positive. If you're serious, and you're both willing to commit, we’ll begin the paperwork today.”

You looked at Nico, and his eyes met yours.

“We’re serious,” he said firmly. “She's already part of our life.”

The pen in your hand trembled slightly as you signed the first set of documents. It felt like the beginning of something sacred. Nico leaned in and kissed the side of your head.

“One step closer,” he whispered.

The next few weeks were a blur of logistics—clearing space in your flat, converting the guest room into a nursery, finding a family attorney, scheduling interviews. Nico juggled it all between games and practices, never once complaining.

One evening, you came home from a shift to find him building a crib in the middle of the living room, sleeves rolled up, and a measuring tape stuck behind his ear.

“Should I be worried this looks like IKEA trauma?” you joked, setting your bag down.

Nico grinned. “I’ve fought playoff defencemen. I can handle wooden pegs.”

You laughed, walking over and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. He leaned into your touch instinctively.

“I love you,” you murmured. “For doing this. For being all in.”

He turned, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “I don’t want half a life with you. I want everything—including Ellie.”

The day of the home inspection, you were a bundle of nerves, smoothing down non-existent wrinkles in the freshly vacuumed rug. Nico, cool as ever, passed the baby monitor back and forth like a puck in warm-ups.

The caseworker arrived right on time. She walked through the home, checked the outlets, peeked into the fridge, and asked dozens of questions—from how you’d discipline to how you’d balance parenting with Nico’s hockey schedule.

When she finally smiled and said, “I think she’ll be very happy here,” you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

A week later, Marianne called with the news:

“Parental rights were officially terminated. Ellie is eligible for adoption. And we’re moving forward—with you two.”

You sat on the floor of the nursery, phone pressed to your chest, tears slipping down your cheeks as Nico scooped you into his arms.

“We’re really doing it,” you whispered.

“We’re going to be her parents,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

And in that quiet room, surrounded by stuffed animals, pastel walls, and soft light, everything finally felt complete.

You didn’t sleep the night before.

You tried—God, you tried—but every time your eyes shut, your brain flooded with checklists and emotions: bottles, blankets, the tiny outfit folded on the dresser, the realization that in a few hours, Ellie would be yours forever.

Nico didn’t sleep much either. At 2 a.m., you found him sitting in the nursery, the soft hum of the white noise machine barely audible under the weight of your shared anticipation. He was rocking slowly in the chair, one of Ellie’s stuffed bunnies in his lap.

“She’s going to love this place,” he murmured when he noticed you, voice rough from exhaustion. “It already feels like hers.”

You nodded, curling into the other chair. “I think I’m just scared it’s too good to be true.”

“It’s not,” he said simply. “This is real.”

The drive to the hospital that morning felt surreal. You’d walked through those double doors hundreds of times, but never like this—never as Ellie’s mum. A diaper bag hung from your shoulder, and Nico carried the car seat, his grip steady even as his eyes betrayed the storm of emotion building behind them.

Marianne met you in the infant ward with a warm smile. “She’s all ready for you,” she said, leading you through one final round of forms and instructions.

Then she opened the door.

There Ellie was, in a tiny fleece jacket with ears on the hood, her little legs kicking happily in her bassinet.

“She’s been waiting for you,” Marianne said softly.

You scooped her into your arms, and all the paperwork, all the home inspections, all the nerves—everything—melted away.

Ellie gurgled and reached for your necklace, her chubby fingers curling around it instinctively. Nico stepped beside you, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, then one on yours.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered. “You ready to come home?”

The ride home was quiet. Ellie fell asleep halfway through, one hand gripping her pacifier, the other resting gently on the edge of her blanket.

You couldn’t stop looking back at her in the mirror.

“She looks so peaceful,” you said.

“She’s already used to us,” Nico replied. “Like she knew it was supposed to be this way.”

When you carried her across the threshold of your flat—her home now—it felt like stepping into the first chapter of a new life.

You placed her gently into her crib, and Nico stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“She’s ours,” you whispered, almost not believing it.

“She’s ours,” he repeated, firmer this time. “And we’ve got her forever.”

You turned to face him, tears threatening. “You ready to be a dad, Hischier?”

He grinned, that same grin that made you fall for him in the first place. “Only if I get to do it with you.”

And just like that, the little girl who once had no name, no parents, no place to call home, became the heart of a family that had been waiting for her all along.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

What do you Know? !NSFW!

Word count: 4.061

Content warnings: MDNI; smut, shower sex, angst with a happy ending

Summary: You wake up in Maya's bed after helping her with marketing late at night. But as the months go on, her avoidant and disorganized attachment styles come out along with a job offer from another studio, leaving you to make a life changing decision.

A/N: Hi!! I have officially moved to Miami! I'm still getting settled in, but I have a lot of time to myself this week, so I managed to pop this little oneshot out. Also, AU, Maya doesn't have a son (yet *wink wink*)

Spotify

Masterlist

When you accepted the position as Continental Studios’ second creative executive, you didn’t expect it to end like this.

When you decided to stay late at work to help marketing with strategy, you didn’t expect it to end like this.

You didn’t expect to be in Maya’s office at almost 12am, lights dimmed, drinks poured, nobody else in the building. You didn’t expect the conversations to turn into anything deep, or anything important.

You expected Maya’s snarky responses–and you got plenty of those. You expected hours of brainstorming, new poster ideas, and boxes of sushi delivered to her desk. What you didn’t expect was lingering touches and whispered confessions.

And you didn’t expect to be waking up in her West Hollywood home, wrapped in her satin sheets and legs tangled with hers.

Her arm is thrown over your waist, a heavy weight that’s oddly comforting. But there’s an ache in your chest that feels like shame, and a dull thumping in your head leftover from the drinks last night. The memories from last night flood back to you—her head between your legs, her nails scratching down your back as you return the favor. 

Oh, fuck.

You think of ways to get yourself out of this situation. If you leave without a word, it’ll make work even more awkward than it already will be today. You look down at her left hand resting against your abdomen—that same hand that brought you to the edge over and over and over again, after you pointed out the two shorter nails. 

“That’s not a stylistic choice, is it?” you had asked her, the third drink of the night hitting you hard. “I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have said that.”

But her reaction instilled even more confidence than the alcohol had. Her lips curled into a wicked grin and when she spoke, her voice was low and seductive. “Why don’t you find out?”

You carefully remove Maya’s arm from your waist and sit up slowly. You cringe with each move you make, desperately hoping that she doesn’t wake up. When your feet hit the rug that lays beneath the bed, you bend down to gather the discarded clothes that she tore from your body last night.

You hold the clothes close to your chest and as you tiptoe toward the bathroom, you hear her throat clear. 

“Got somewhere to be?” When you turn around, Maya is resting on her elbow, head in her hand as she grins. “Oh, turn back around, honey. You’ve got a cute ass.”

Your eyes drift to where the sheets have fallen off her bare chest, cheeks going warm before you redirect back up. “I—Um—It’s six. I was just gonna go take a shower…” Your voice is quiet and uncertain, but you take a risk, “…If you’d like to join me.”

Maya gets out of bed and walks over to you, mesmerizing as her hips sway. She looks down at you and brings her hand up to hold your chin. “Well, how could I say no to that face?”

A shower with Maya is never just a shower with Maya. 

The granite shower tiles are cold beneath your soapy back as Maya presses you against the wall. The water runs over you both in a steady stream. Her hands run over your body, lips on yours in a heavy, heated kiss. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathe. 

Maya kisses you again. “But isn’t that what makes it fun?”

You gasp as her fingers find your clit, running tight circles on it as her lips skim over your neck. Your nails dig into her hips and you shiver under her touch. 

“Touch me,” she commands, teeth nipping at the base of your ear. 

You let out a gasp followed by a breathy laugh, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Say it again,” she groans, and your fingers slip inside her. 

“Yes, ma’am,” you repeat. Her fingers circle faster, dipping just barely into your entrance before going back up. Your chest heaves and your legs start shaking. “Maya—I’m—Oh, God!”

Her head falls onto the wall beside you, forearm blocking you in completely on the other side. “I know, baby. I—Fuck—!” Her lips crash into yours. It’s messy, with tongues clashing and spit clinging to your lips as the shower water streams down your face. “Cum for me,” she breathes. “Now. Cum for me.”

The sight and feeling of you cumming on her fingers sends her over just moments after you. You hold each other up, panting into each other’s mouths. Your head falls back onto the tile and she presses soft kisses to your neck, being careful to not leave any obvious marks. 

You can feel her inhale sharply, breath tickling the delicate skin of your neck as she groans, “What a way to start the day, hm?” 

What a way, indeed.

“Um…Maya?” In a white towel, you stare at the clothes you wore to work the previous day. “I don’t have any other clothes, and these smell like the vodka you spilled all over me.”

Maya takes your shirt and brings it to her nose, recoiling instantly in disgust. “I wouldn’t let my worst enemy wear that…that’s not true.”

Her walk-in closet is massive—almost the size of your bedroom back at your townhouse. She searches through the racks of clothes, trying to find something that would suit your style more. Eventually, she finds something to your taste and brings it back to the bathroom. 

Maya takes a look at the underwear in your pile of clothes. She bends over, picks them up, and when she stands up straight she examines them as they hang from one finger. “Hm…looks like these are ruined…” She looks at you and grins. “I guess I’ll have to let you borrow a pair of mine.”

You stop breathing as she struts back into the closet. When she’s back, the pair you had are nowhere in sight, and she tosses a pair of black lace panties at you. 

You can feel Maya’s eyes on you as you slip her own underwear on yourself. She sighs, shaking her head, “Just as I thought…you look so much better in them than I do…”

“Maybe you’ll just have to let me keep them,” you shrug.

Maya’s tongue pokes through her cheek and you can see her eyes darken. “Oh, don’t tempt me, sweetheart.” 

With your inebriated state the previous night, both of you left your cars in the Continental Studio reserved parking lot. The Uber Maya orders doesn’t pull up out front though. You’re taken to the back gate entrance.

“Why this way?” you ask.

Maya doesn’t look up from her phone. “Because if those two jackasses see us get out of this car together they’ll immediately jump to conclusions.”

Jump to the right conclusions, you think

That night repeats many, many times. Occasionally it’s at your townhouse, most of the time it’s at her place, though. It’s how Maya destresses.

You knew that after a meeting where she fought with Sal or a director was being a pain in her ass, you’d see that message. Or, if she was feeling risque, she’d come into your office at lunch and murmur in your ear something along the lines of, “I’m getting takeout for dinner tonight, and I would love it if you joined me.” 

Usually the takeout would go cold, and then she’d complain a few hours later when you’re back in the kitchen after “destressing”. And then, while it heats up, she’ll set you down on the counter and have you again as an appetizer.

And you love it in the beginning. 

But the months continue. Fall turns into Winter, and on the horizon of Spring, you’re looking at an offer letter for an executive position at Paramount Studios. 

The door to your shared office opens and Quinn enters. “What’s that?”

You set the letter down on your desk and sigh. “Paramount Studios wants me as an executive.”

“Oh, shit!” Quinn says, her smile bright.

“It’s in their New York division.”

Her smile drops. “Oh, shit.”

You lean back in your chair as Quinn unpacks her lunch and turns on her desktop. “Can I tell you something? You can’t tell anyone else.”

Quinn eyes you suspiciously. “Yeah…?”

“For the past five months…” You hesitate saying the next words and can just barely make eye contact with her. “I’ve been sleeping with Maya.”

Quinn almost chokes on her water. “What?”

You nod.

“How–When–?”

“It was that night when I stayed late to help marketing,” you sigh. “She sent her little minions home, took out a bottle of really expensive vodka from her desk and just kept pouring.”

Quinn stares at the floor, thinking. “I mean, she’s not your superior, so…Isn’t she, like, twenty years older than you?”

“Seventeen, actually,” you say matter-of–factly. Your smile drops and you get quiet. “She’s avoiding me, though. I used to be over at her place like three times a week, or she’d be over at mine. Now she’s not even answering my texts.”

“She’s ghosting you?” Quinn asks.

“Yeah,” you say painfully. “It’s not even ghosting, though. I see her at work five days a week. The last time we spoke was three days ago and it was her asking me what I wanted for the staff catering order.”

“Have you tried asking her about it?” Quinn suggests.

“It’s Maya,” you groan. “She’s not the type for commitment. If I asked her, she’d probably redirect the question.”

Quinn looks at you quizzically, a grin growing on her face. “Do you love her?”

“What?” You scoff, not making eye contact with her.

“Do you love her?” Quinn asks again. “It’s a simple question.”

“I–I mean…” You’re trying to find the right words, but you have no idea if those exist. “I don’t know…”

“Well what do you know?” Quinn asks, taking a bite of her kale salad.

You sigh, begrudgingly answering her question. “I know that her favorite color is red, because it makes her feel the most confident…and that her guilty pleasure music genre is 70’s and early 80’s pop, even though she says her favorite genre is 90’s and 2000’s rap…”

You pause and think, voice going quiet as you continue. “And I know that…she says she’s a dog person, but actually she really wants a cat because her parents never let her get one…and that she already has a name picked out for the cat…” 

You start thinking about the smaller things you’ve noticed over the months. “I know that when she’s super concentrated, her nose scrunches up and she makes duck lips…and that, even though she doesn’t say it, she prefers being the little spoon…and her love language is gift giving and physical touch and…” 

“Quinn…” Your eyes water and you’re desperately trying to hold back your tears. As you start crying, she gets up and crosses the room. You cry into her shoulder as she hugs you tightly. “I hate it. I hate this feeling. I want her so badly, Quinn! I–God, I do love her, and I hate it.”

Days go by as you contemplate the job offer from Paramount. But the only thing you can think about is Maya.

You knock on the glass window of her office door. A quiet ‘Come in’ sounds from the other side and you enter cautiously. When Maya looks up from her computer, she flashes you a soft, almost polite, smile before going back to her work.

“Hi.”

You smile back as you approach her desk. “Hi.”

“What’s up?” She doesn’t look up from her monitor.

You feel awkward, like you shouldn’t be here. Maya seems disinterested and you hesitate when answering her question. “Nothing…Just seeing how you’re doing…We haven’t talked in a bit.”

Maya shrugs, still not looking up from her computer, “Well, I’ve been super busy…If my interns knew how to do their jobs correctly, I might actually have some fuckin’ free time.”

You let out an amused hum, the silence thick and awkward. “Um…Paramount has offered me a top creative executive position.”

“Really?” Maya finally looks up at you.

“Yeah.”

“You’re taking it, right?” she asks, like it's obvious what the answer is.

“Uh–I’ve been mulling it over…”

“What do you mean ‘mulling it over’?” she scoffs. “It’s an i–”

“It’s in the New York division,” you say.

She pauses, “Oh…Well, it’s a really good opportunity. I think you should go. They’d be really lucky to have you.”

“What if I didn’t want to go?” you ask quietly.

“Why would you turn down an opportunity like this?” she scoffs, laughing in a way that feels like she’s mocking you.

“Well, it’s really far from my family,” you shrug, “and I love working here, and…” The words are on your tongue. You’re trying so hard not to say them, but you’re desperate to know the answer. “What are we?”

“What?”

“What are we?” you ask again, “I mean–Am I–Am I just sex to you? Am I just here for when you need to ‘destress’? Is this just a fling?”

“Excuse me?” Maya asks, eyebrows raised in shock.

“We’ve known each other for five years,” you say, voice quiet, almost hurt. “And you don’t even seem fazed that I’m about to move to the other side of the country.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” she snaps. “Don’t go? Stay here?”

“Yes!” you cry.

Maya stands up, her hands on the desk as she leans toward you. “Why would I ever ask you to give up such an amazing opportunity?”

“Maya, I don’t want to leave!” you shout, emotion tightening in your throat. “I don’t want to move across the country! I want…I want you!” Your shoulders drop and your face softens. “But you’ve pulled away from me! You won’t answer my texts! We’ve barely talked in weeks!”

You can see her eyes falter briefly, but her face is stone cold and you can see the stubbornness return. You swallow hard, “And I can’t go back to just being colleagues who get drinks after work and only talk when passing each other in the hall. I don’t want to go, but if you don’t want me anymore…then I will…I’ll go.” 

Maya sits back down, pursing her lips as leans back. “Okay.”

“Okay?” you repeat, trying to hold your head high.

“Go to New York,” she shrugs, and acts like the whole thing doesn’t matter to her. “I’m not stopping you.”

You can feel your heart break and your voice tightens. “Okay.”

By the end of the day, your resignation letter is printed out and signed. It’s placed on Matt’s desk as you struggle to look at him, your voice quiet as he reads it.

“I really will miss it here,” you say. 

Matt sighs as he drops the letter onto the desk. “Well, we’ll miss you. Five years is a good run. You’re a great executive.” He’s quiet as he thinks. “How much are they offering you?”

“One-fifty,” you answer. “It’s not much more than I was making here, but you know me. I don’t do this for the money–at least, not entirely.

“I’ll give you one-hundred-seventy-five grand a year,” Matt says.

You open and close your mouth, not knowing what to say. “Um–Matt–I…It’s not about the money. It’s a…personal issue. I genuinely enjoy working here, but I just…can’t. I have a meeting with the president of Paramount in New York next Thursday. I’ll be signing my contract then, and I’ll be flying back that night to finish some stuff up here on Friday…and yeah.”

Matt nods carefully and looks at the letter again. “I hope you know that you can always rely on me for a good recommendation. You’re an amazing executive and Paramount will be very lucky to have you.”

Next Wednesday comes quickly. You haven’t heard a word from Maya since that day in her office. You had seen her in meetings and in the hallways–brief glances, tense eye contact–but neither of you spoke a word to each other and it was killing you.

“You’re really leaving, huh?” Quinn watches as you pack up the final items on your side of the shared office.

“Yep.”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” she asks. 

You don’t look up as you clean out your desk, “I told you, Quinn. I can’t stay here. I see Maya in the hallway and I wanna…crawl out of my skin.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” she sighs. 

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” you huff, throwing some trinket into a box. 

Quinn scrunches her eyebrows. “Because it’s true…?” She scoffs as she leans back and opens a cup of yogurt. “You’ve worked here for five years. We started here together, you’re one of my closest friends, everyone here loves you. So, of course when you leave to go work in New York City we’re gonna be a little sad.”

__________

A loud knock on the door startles Quinn from her procrastination fanfiction. She gets up and opens the door, meeting Maya with a raised eyebrow. 

“What’s up?”

“I need to talk to her,” Maya says.

“Who?”

Maya’s jaw drops. “Who the fuck do you think?”

“She’s not here,” Quinn shrugs, and opens the door to reveal your empty side of the office.

“Where the fuck is she?” Maya gapes as she stands in the doorway.

“On her way to New York City,” Quinn says, sitting back down at her desk.

“Why?” Maya asks. “It’s Wednesday. Her last day is Friday.”

“She’ll be back tomorrow night, but she has a meeting with Paramount tomorrow morning to sign on.” Quinn waits a beat and then looks up from her computer and adds, “Which you’d know if you bothered talking to her.”

“Oh go back to your Harry Potter fanfiction!” Maya snaps, and slams the door behind her.

She rushes across the second floor, past offices and boardrooms, pushing through groups of gathered interns and assistants until she makes it to Matt's office.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Maya bursts through the office door, in a heated frenzy of anger and frustration. 

“Excuse me?” Matt sputters.

Sal, who’s sitting across from Matt, groans, making a disgusted look as he rolls his head back. “What the fuck do you want, Maya?”

“She is an amazing executive!” Maya shouts at Matt, leaning over his desk and ignoring Sal’s jibe. “She’s helped bring in over 200 million dollars. Directors and producers love her! Jesus Christ, even Griffin fuckin’ doted on her! Why didn’t you try to convince her to stay?”

“I did, she turned them down!” Matt shouts back, defending himself hopelessly as Maya looms over him. “I offered her more money than Paramount was offering, but she insisted it would be for the best. Said something about it being a personal issue. Why do you care?”

A personal issue. There it is.

Maya’s head drops as the room goes silent.

Sal looks at her before connecting the dots. “Seriously? She’s like twenty years younger than you!”

“Hire her back,” Maya demands, and looks Matt directly in the eye.

Matt sighs, “I can’t do that.”

“You can, and you will. You know why?” Maya’s voice lowers, and she looks almost amused at the prospects. “Because I’m pretty tight with Patty. And do you know what Patty has? A video of you doing lines of coke off of Ryan Reynolds’s stomach with a one hundred dollar bill at the Oscars after-after-party. And I might accidentally send that to…” Maya bobs her head in contemplation. “Let’s say…Insider? And then that video will spread. And you’ll be asked to resign. And then Sal will be promoted to president, and not to mention, Ryan Reyn–”

“Okay!” Matt cries. “Okay! I’ll hire her back!”

Maya looks back at Sal and then gives Matt a curt nod, standing up to her full height. “Good.”

Maya storms up to your old assistant, who sits at her desk eating lunch. “Let me see her itinerary,” she demands, looming over her.

“I can’t do that.”

“Open her schedule, now!” Maya shouts. “I need to know what time her flight leaves.”

Your assistant opens your schedule quickly and Maya shoves her aside. She scrolls down until she finds the itinerary. “Oh, wow, first class?” she mumbles. She reads over it more and then slams the mouse onto the table. “Fuck! That’s in three hours!”

As she runs out of the building, she frantically searches online for a flight to New York City. Eventually, as she gets into her car, she finds one last seat on the same flight as yours. She cringes as she buys the final $700 first class seat.

LAX is only half an hour away, but with the LA lunch rush, it takes Maya almost fifty. She zippers through traffic in her Black G63–something you always hated her doing. She’s yelling expletives, even honking her horn, and when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she barely recognizes herself.

She’s never done something like this before–never canceled all of her meetings with some of the biggest directors in Hollywood, never driven an hour to the airport to chase down a girl. But at this point, there was no going back. If the contract is signed, she’d never see you again. You’d be lost to the East Coast, 2000 miles away, and working for those snobs at Paramount.

Maya parks crooked in the parking garage. Even in heels she’s running through the airport, and then comes security–undressing all of her layers and taking off her shoes that have way too many zippers to be practical. And she feels naked without her extensive amount of jewelry. 

By the time she’s out, there’s less than an hour until boarding. Maya sprints through the airport, heeled boots draped over her arm and Louis Vuitton bag on her shoulder with her hat and jacket stuffed inside, overflowing over the sides.

Without stopping for a break, she finally sees you at the gate, standing there, arms crossed as you wait for the boarding announcement to be called. There’s less than ten minutes left until boarding. She calls your name. Your head doesn’t turn. But the second time, when you hear your name called by that familiar voice, you snap your head in her direction.

And there she is, face red and her forehead shiny with sweat.

“First class, huh?” She wears that stupid smirk she always does when she tries to tease you, but there’s something breaking.

Your jaw clenches, and you’re trying to keep your cold composure. “Paramount paid for the travel fees. What are you doing here?”

“Don’t go.”

“What?” Your shoulders drop. You see the knee-high boots draped over her arm, her jacket stuffed in her purse, wearing no jewelry and the fact that she’s here, at the gate, past security.“Wait, did you buy a plane ticket?”

“Yes,” she says. “Don’t go.”

“Maya–”

She huffs, “Listen, I’m not good at this. I never have been. Shit gets real and I…” Her hands rub over her face in frustration, but when they drop, she looks exhausted. “I don’t know what I do, but it isn’t good.”

“I’ve already turned in my resignation. I have a meeting with Paramount tomorrow morning,” you say, voice quiet.

Maya closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath, “Matt will hire you back. He’ll double your salary, more benefits, more creative input on projects, your own office. Please. Don’t go. They don’t–I don’t want you to leave.”

“Maya–”

“I love you,” she blurts out. “And I know you. And if you go to Paramount New York you’ll be miserable.”

“You love me?” you mumble.

Maya lets out an exasperated sigh. “Yes! Please, don’t go.”

There’s a boarding call for first class and you turn your head to look at the terminal. You swallow the emotion stuck in your throat and when you look back up at Maya, there’s only one thing you can do. You drop your bag onto the ground and wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her down and crashing your lips into hers.

“Don’t go,” she breathes. “Please.”

Your hands hold her face close. “I won’t,” you say, and kiss her again. “I love you.” You kiss her again. When you pull away her eyes are dark and you can see tears forming in her waterline. You take a deep breath, “I’m not going anywhere.”

[justchillgurl]

Title: Quiet Things That Rot

Summary: "Obsession isn’t always about love. Geum Seong-je never thought of himself as the type to fixate—but some things get under your skin and rot you from the inside out."

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Psychological manipulation, stalking, obsession, dark themes, disturbing thoughts, unhealthy relationships, violence, emotional coercion, invasion of privacy.

Author's Note: This fic explores severe obsession, loss of agency, and emotional manipulation. It is not intended to romanticize abuse or unhealthy dynamics. Please read with caution.🫂

There are people who live loud — who shout their names into every hallway, throw punches just to be remembered. Then there are people like her.

Y/N wasn’t loud, but everyone knew her. Not because she tried to be known — but because she was warm. The type to help you carry your books without being asked. The one who brought snacks to class on test days and remembered your birthday even if you didn’t remind her.

She was all smiles, mismatched socks, and half-finished homework from helping someone else with theirs.

And Seong-je hated that kind of brightness.

Not because it annoyed him — but because he couldn’t understand it.

She didn’t laugh at people’s pain or gloat when she won. She didn’t spread rumors, even though everyone told her things. Her energy was too soft to be strategic. She wasn’t faking it.

She really was just… good.

And that made her a target.

He first saw her laugh — really laugh — in the courtyard behind the art wing. Some guy was trying to balance an eraser on his nose, and she doubled over, covering her mouth but not well enough. The sound was too honest, too full.

He didn’t like it.

He watched from the second floor window, chewing a piece of gum he didn’t remember putting in his mouth. That laugh made his spine itch.

She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t look through him like teachers did. She didn’t flinch like weaker kids. She didn’t smirk or fake courtesy. She didn’t even notice him.

He hated being unnoticed.

That’s when it started.

---

She was at the convenience store on a Thursday night. Schoolbag slung over one shoulder, a hoodie thrown over her uniform like she’d forgotten it was there.

Seong-je already knew she didn’t stay out late. Her parents were strict. The kind of family that sat at the dinner table together, even if no one had anything to say.

She stepped into the store with that same casual bounce in her step, picked up a cold drink and a snack — yogurt, something strawberry — and stood in line humming to herself.

He watched through the glass. She was smiling at the cashier. Said something dumb, probably. The guy laughed.

Seong-je felt something curdle.

She stepped outside and paused when she noticed him standing by the railing.

“Hey,” she greeted casually, like they were classmates who maybe knew each other’s names.

He said nothing.

She tilted her head slightly. “You okay?”

He was too confused, why would she greet someone like him?

He smiled, just a little. “Fine.”

She looked at him for a second longer — not scared, not interested, just... thoughtful.

Then she said, “Have a good night, Geum Seong-je,” and walked off.

She knew his name, yet she greeted him.

Weird.

---

I knew exactly who Geum seong-je was. Everybody did.

The guy who beat up people for no reason, just because it was fun. A part of the Union. An exclusive at that.

That night at the store, I didn’t think much of it. Just a weird coincidence. Maybe he needed something. Maybe he just hung around there. He didn’t say anything threatening.

But the way he looked at me stuck with me longer than I’d admit.

Like he was memorizing me.

---

That small smile she gave him? That casual little sentence?

It played on a loop in his head for days.

She knew his name. That meant something. She noticed. She remembered. Even if it was just out of politeness — it still counted.

He started following her schedule.

Not stalking. Not really.

He just... showed up where she did. Noticed things. Memorized the way her voice changed when she was tired. How she always offered her last piece of gum to whoever was nearby. How she comforted crying girls in the bathroom and shared her umbrella without asking anything in return.

It made him furious.

How could someone like her exist without anyone trying to break her?

And if they did — if someone did break her — what would she look like then?

Would she still smile?

Would she still be her?

She had a blog. He found it after three nights of digging. The posts were random — stories about her day, short quotes, silly thoughts. But they were real.

She talked about her life. Her fears. Her dreams. About how she hated when people lied to avoid confrontation. How she liked rainy days because they made her feel less lonely.

She wrote like no one would ever read it.

And now he read it all.

Somewhere between her post about helping a kid find his lost ID and a rant about school cafeteria soup, he fell deeper.

This wasn’t a crush.

This was ownership.

She didn't know it yet, but she was HIS. He'll make sure of that.

---

Something started to feel… off.

I couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t anything obvious. Just this weird heaviness in the air. Like I was being watched. A few times, I turned around and saw no one. But the feeling stayed.

I thought maybe I was being paranoid. Midterms were stressing me out. I was probably overthinking it.

But I started locking my phone more.

Stopped sharing where I was going.

Told my friends I was just tired.

And for the first time since I started writing my blog, I considered deleting it.

---

Unbeknownst to her.

Seong-je printed her blog posts.

Every single one.

He kept them in a folder beneath his mattress. Highlighted sentences. Circled words that felt too intimate. Drew tiny stars next to ones that made her sound sad or scared.

He didn’t want her sad.

He just wanted her to look at him the way she looked at everyone else — with light.

And if she wouldn’t give it willingly… he’d find another way.

He always did.

Act 2: Flicker

He watches her drop a packet of tissues into a girl’s lap before walking off without waiting for a thank you.

Her kindness isn’t performative. That’s what makes it so easy to ruin.

The girl in the seat sobs quietly, red-rimmed eyes blotched with makeup, but Y/N doesn’t linger. Doesn’t play savior. Doesn’t ask what happened. Just leaves something behind and goes.

Geum Seong-je lights a cigarette behind the gym. He doesn’t even like the taste of this brand, but it’s strong, bitter, and numbing. Perfect for mornings when everything feels too alive.

He exhales slowly.

The wind smells like her perfume.

Or maybe he’s losing his mind.

He hopes so.

---

Someone's been in my locker. That's what she thought as soon as she opened the small locker in the classroom.

It’s just a feeling. A wrongness. The books are arranged the same, but… something’s off. My extra scrunchie isn’t where I left it. My pen lid is slightly cracked.

I don’t tell anyone. I just start locking it tighter. Watching people closer. Moving slower.

Sometimes I think I see someone across the yard, near the fences. But when I look again, they’re gone.

Maybe I am going crazy.

Maybe I need some rest...

---

Seong-je doesn’t believe in waiting, but with her, he’s almost religious.

He follows her through the alleys behind school one day — not close enough to be seen, but just enough to know she cuts corners when she’s late. Carries too many books. Doesn’t tie her laces all the way.

He files it all away.

She doesn’t know yet, but he’s her shadow. Her spine. Her unsaid word.

And when someone makes the mistake of touching what’s his, Seong-je doesn’t hold back.

---

After School [4:38 pm]– Rooftop

The first guy’s name is Choi Min-woo. He tries to flirt with Y/N during lunch — the pushy kind, not dangerous, but enough to make her uncomfortable. She laughs it off. She always laughs it off.

But Seong-je sees her scratch at her sleeve after. Sees her pull her bag closer to her body. He files that too.

By 5 PM, Choi is limping.

His nose is bleeding. His friend’s wrist is broken. There’s blood on the railing.

“You think just because she smiled, you exist to her?” Seong-je spits, laughing as he wipes blood off his cheek. “She doesn’t even remember your name, asshole.”

Min-woo whimpers.

“She smiled at me too,” Seong-je says, crouching. His voice is too calm. “And look where you are now.”

He lights another cigarette, blood-stained fingers shaking slightly.

“I’m being nice,” he grins. “Next time, I won’t be.”

---

I heard Min-woo got beat up.

Rumors say it was a debt thing. Someone said it was about a girl. I keep my head down, but I can’t shake the feeling it has something to do with me.

That night, there’s a note in my locker.

He won’t bother you again.

No name. Just that.

I feel sick.

I throw it away.

But not before rereading it five times.

---

Internet Café – [9:47 pm]

Seong-je plays a shooter game with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a cut on his knuckles. He’s laughing again — not at the game, but at a comment someone made in chat. Something about honor.

Honor.

He clicks headshot.

The guy in-game crumples.

He leans back and texts someone from the Union. It’s not about work. He just needs a new pack of cigarettes.

In between rounds, he pulls a photo from his orange windbreaker jacket.

A candid. Blurry. Y/N at her locker, looking over her shoulder.

He touches the edge with his thumb.

“She looked at me,” he murmurs.

He’s still smiling.

---

Her friends don’t notice her flinches now. She hides it too well.

But she walks faster through empty halls. Turns corners more carefully. Deletes old blog posts. Stops writing anything personal.

She still helps people.

Still brings extra pencils to class. Still shares her lunch.

But she locks her door twice now. Doesn’t let her phone die. Doesn’t go to the convenience store alone anymore.

She doesn’t know what she’s afraid of.

That’s what scares her the most.

And now, she thinks she's paranoid.

---

Wednesday [8:15 am] School Bathroom.

A phone buzzes on the counter.

Y/N doesn’t notice it at first, but the vibration repeats. When she checks, it’s her phone.

But the notification isn’t normal.

It's a picture. Taken from behind. Of her walking down the hallway just ten minutes ago.

No name. No message.

She stares at the screen until it dims.

Her hands shake.

She deletes it.

But she doesn’t stop looking over her shoulder for the rest of the day.

---

Same day [1:23 pm] → Seong-je’s Room.

He has another folder.

Not the blog one.

This one’s thicker.

Photos. Screenshots. A few receipts from stores she’s been to. A single lock of hair from when she walked by too close and it snagged on his jacket.

He’s careful.

He’s not weird.

He just… needs to be ready.

In case she ever falls.

In case the world ever forgets her and he’s the only one left who remembers what she looked like when she smiled.

He smokes another cigarette and lets it burn into the ashtray.

“You’d thank me,” he whispers. “If you knew what I’m saving you from.”

---

Somewhere else. [ 6:56 pm]

My blog password stopped working.

I didn’t tell anyone I changed it.

But now the name is different. The posts are edited.

I never did that.

My hands start shaking again.

I try to change it back, but it’s locked out.

I feel like someone’s in my room, even when I’m alone.

Like something’s crawling under my skin.

I tell myself I’m imagining it.

But I stop writing after that.

For good.

---

Act 3: Spores.

It starts with a favor.

Not from her — from them.

A boy from second year messes up a delivery for the Union. Loses money. Panics. Tries to hide it.

Seong-je finds him first.

“I swear, I’ll pay it back,” the kid says, breath shallow, hand bleeding.

Seong-je lights a cigarette and smiles like he’s amused, like the whole thing’s a punchline only he gets. Then he stomps the boy’s knee hard enough to hear it crack.

“You will,” Seong-je says. “But not with mine.”

He doesn’t finish the job. He makes the kid crawl back to the Union with what’s left of his dignity. Bloody, limping, lesson learned.

Afterward, Baek-Jin pulls him aside.

“You’ve been sloppy,” He says. “Your head’s somewhere else.”

Seong-je doesn’t deny it.

“Handle it. Before someone handles it for you.”

He doesn’t reply.

Just laughs — low and quiet.

She’s not a distraction. She’s the only thing that keeps the world from rotting around him.

---

Her desk is different.

The small changes again — someone’s gone through her drawers. Her favorite pen’s been uncapped and left on a page that wasn’t open before. Her water bottle is open, half-drunk.

She stops drinking it. From then on, she brings a new one every day. Keeps her things with her, even in the bathroom.

No one suspects anything. To them, she’s still bright, still bubbly. Her friends still laugh at her jokes. Teachers still praise her for handing in assignments early.

But she’s starting to hate going to school.

There are moments where she’s sure she’s being watched.

Where her neck prickles and her breath shortens.

Sometimes she looks toward the windows and swears she sees someone ducking out of view.

---

Bowling alley [?:?? Pm]

A few guys are playing cards. Smoking. The air’s heavy with sweat and tension.

Seong-je sits off to the side, smoking as usual.

He doesn’t blink.

“Bro,” someone calls, “you zoning out again?”

“Shut up.”

"What's wrong with you these days?" Seong-Mok calls out again.

Seong-je doesn’t answer.

He decides against saying another thing , he goes quiet.

No one jokes with him twice. Not with Geum seong-je.

---

A girl from my homeroom comes to me crying.

Says someone posted her pictures online — not nude, but private. Sleepover photos. Messages. Screenshots.

I tell her I’ll try to help. I always do.

I check the source.

It’s anonymous.

But the link was posted through an old burner blog. One I remember using… once. For two days. It wasn’t even public.

The password is my old one.

The pictures were uploaded using my email.

I feel like vomiting.

I delete everything. Run a virus scan. Cry in the shower until my throat’s sore.

But when I check my mirror the next morning, someone’s scratched a smiley face into the condensation.

I don’t remember doing that.

---

Convenience Store – Night [?:?? Pm]

Y/N doesn’t usually stay out past 8 PM.

But today she forgot her science notes at a friend’s house and walked to get them back. The street’s too quiet. Her steps too loud.

She heads into the store and breathes relief under the flickering fluorescent lights.

That’s when she sees him.

Geum Seong-je — leaning against the back wall, cigarette in hand, arms crossed. He looks like something out of a wrong dream.

He doesn’t approach.

Doesn’t speak.

Just stares.

She grabs her things fast and walks out.

She doesn’t turn around.

But she knows he’s still watching.

---

She looked at me today.

Not through me. Not past me.

At me.

It was brief, cautious, like she didn’t recognize what she saw.

But it counts.

It fucking counts.

I keep a tally of every glance. Every blink. Every time she crosses her legs in class or fixes her hair in the reflection of a window. Every bite of her sandwich. Every time she scratches her nose when she’s lying.

I know her better than her friends do.

Better than she does.

I could draw a map of her routine with my eyes closed.

She thinks the world is kind. That people are decent.

She doesn’t know how many vultures circle her without her seeing.But I see them.I see everything.And I don't like it.

---

School – Girls’ Bathroom

She locks herself in a stall and stares at the back of the door.

There’s graffiti there. Most of it harmless.

But now there’s something new.

Scrawled in black marker, shaky but intentional:

HE SEES YOU.

She covers it with toilet paper and flushes it down.

She doesn’t go to the bathroom alone for days.

---

Bowling alley– Na Baek Jin's office.

“You sure this is just a crush?” Baek jin questions, not sparing him a glance, still looking at the test papers.

Seong-je doesn’t answer. Just smirks and flicks ash to the ground.

“She’s got a lot of eyes on her. Wouldn’t be smart to get involved.” Baek-Jin adds, he doesn't know why he's bothering with him. This is stupid. Pointless.

“I’m not involved,” he says finally, voice dry. “She’s just entertainment.”

“Bullshit,” Baek-Jin mutters, finally looking up from the papers. “You don’t beat the piss out of four kids in one week over entertainment.”

Seong-je’s smile widens, sharp and wolfish.

“Then maybe I’m bored.”

He leaves without waiting for permission.

No one stops him.

No one ever does.

---

She starts losing sleep.

Her grades don’t drop — not yet — but her eyes are redder. Her coffee cups are fuller. Her friends stop asking what’s wrong after the third time she snaps at them.

She stops saying she’s fine.

Now she says nothing.

Because something isn’t fine.

Something is wrong.

And she has no idea how to fix it.

---

Classroom – Morning

A rumor starts.

Small, sticky, hard to shake off.

She slept with a teacher. She cheated on an exam. She’s pregnant. She’s dropping out. Her family’s rich. Her family’s broke. She’s seeing someone from another school. He’s dangerous. He has pictures. He knows things.

None of it is true.

She knows that.

But rumors aren’t meant to be true — they’re meant to be believed.

They multiply like mold.

No one says them to her face. But she hears them when she walks by. She sees the glances. The people who used to ask for help now keep their distance.

And that suits him just fine.

---

She looked tired today.

Not the kind of tired coffee fixes — the kind that drags behind your eyes like chains. That folds your shoulders inward. That quiets even the kindest girls.

He likes it.

Not because he enjoys seeing her break — not exactly.

But because now, maybe, she’s closer to his world.

People like her don’t last long in it. They crumble fast. Burn bright, then out.

Unless they belong to someone who knows how to keep them lit.

---

School Courtyard – After School

Y/N’s walking fast.

Backpack pulled tight. Eyes on the ground. Keys gripped in her pocket.

She doesn’t notice the figure behind her.

Not at first.

But she hears the footsteps.

Turns.

No one.

She walks faster.

She doesn’t realize until later that her locker was opened. Her notes rifled through. A new pen left behind — one she doesn’t own.

It’s red.

She throws it away.

Later that night, she finds the same pen in her pencil case.

---

She’s jumpy now,Twitchy.Good.

It means the seed’s taken root.

She doesn’t know how much of her life is already mine. I know her passwords. I’ve mirrored her phone. I know which apps she deletes when she’s anxious and what music she listens to when she can’t sleep.

She called her best friend at 2 AM yesterday. Didn't say anything. Just breathed. Then hung up.

She thinks she’s losing her mind,She’s not.

I’m just finally in it.

---

School – Principal’s Office

She’s called in.

Not because she did anything wrong.

Because her blog was flagged.

Apparently, someone sent in screenshots of her “spreading inappropriate content.”

She explains: she runs a student news page. She doesn’t write anything personal. No rumors. No photos. No names.

The principal believes her. But tells her to shut it down anyway.

“Just to be safe.”

Her hands shake when she deletes it.

Six years of quiet cataloging. Gone.

Her friends don’t even notice.

---

Someone wrote my name on the whiteboard in red marker.

Just my name.

No message. No insult.

But it wasn’t my handwriting.

It was his.

I know it. I've seen it.

On an old desk in the hallway. On a busted lighter. On someone’s back in sharpie — one of the kids he beat up.

Geum Seong-je.

I didn’t even know he knew my name.

But now he’s writing it.

And I can’t prove it.

And I can’t breathe.

---

Convenience Store – Night

She avoids the place now.

But tonight it’s raining. She left her umbrella. Her phone’s dead.

So she ducks in, just for a minute.

And he’s there.

Again.

This time, he doesn’t just look.

He walks up to her.

Silent.

She backs up.

He doesn’t touch her. Doesn’t even speak.

Just grabs a can of iced coffee, pays for it, and places it on the counter in front of her.

Then leaves.

She doesn’t drink it.

But she takes it with her anyway.

---

It’s all about patience.

People like him — they don’t take. They tilt.

One piece at a time, until the whole table leans his way.

He doesn’t need her to love him.

He just needs her to forget what safety feels like without him.

---

Y/N’s Bedroom – Midnight

She finds a folded note in her backpack.

No handwriting.

Just a printout.

> “You’re prettier when you’re quiet, still I really want to hear you moan my name."

She tears it up, she feels like vomiting.

She flushes it.

Sits on her bed with the door locked and music on loud.

But even then, she thinks she hears laughter outside her window.

---

To be continued...

This is not related to the previous series, hope you liked it. Don't hesitate to give feedback.🫂

[toriaaniin]

Something's Changed: Setting the Stage

If you've been in the Lukola fandom for a while, you don't just feel the shift — you've tracked it. We've tracked it.

We’ve followed the breadcrumbs. We’ve logged the morsels. We’ve seen how the tone changes when the lighting changes, when songs are posted to an IG story, when a ring is worn on a different hand. When an adjacent posts about a woman making pasta. Confusion isn’t new. Neither is frustration. We’re used to both.

But something about the last few months has felt different, hasn't it? it's felt heavier, more intentional, less playful. What started as subtle shifts has become something more… forceful. Almost like we’re being bludgeoned from both sides.

Maybe the real shift began back on January 30th, when Luke showed up at the BOSS event with Antonia — her first physical, public proximity since July 2024. The fandom had assumed she was gone, until that night. And then came the SAG Awards in February, when Luke and Nicola shared the kind of energy that reminded us why we were here in the first place.

For a moment, it felt like maybe we were back on track.

But after that? The narrative began to twist. Nicola with Jake. Weird papped photos. Antonia rising in the media. BAFTA chaos. A growing silence between the people we’ve believed in.

This isn’t a shift you can’t put your finger on. It’s one you’ve been hit by — over and over again.

So this post marks the beginning of a short series — a space to slow down, observe, and maybe open the lens just a little wider.

I’m not here to defend or accuse. I’m not here to pretend I know the whole truth. I’m here to interpret, to ask questions that might help bring clarity — or at least context. Because right now? Most of us are reacting without enough of either.

What’s to Come

In the next few posts, I’ll be exploring three specific areas that feel central to this moment:

Luke’s Rebrand What if the shift we’re seeing — in tone, mood, content — is intentional? What if Luke is evolving his public image to break out of the "soft lover boy" mold and reposition himself as a leading man? This isn’t about abandoning fans. It might be about expanding his future.

The “Shitty Boyfriend” Hypothesis If Luke and Antonia are truly together, the optics are damning. But what if this is all theatre? What if the relationship is performative, and the actions we’re judging aren’t his — they’re just part of the script?

Shared Camouflage What if Luke and Nicola are not at odds, but in alignment — working in quiet coordination to create the illusion of separation, keeping the focus on their respective “+1s” instead of themselves?

Part I: The Rebrand Begins

Let’s begin with what we can see.

In the past year, Luke’s Instagram has undergone a steady transformation. Personal posts have been archived. Aesthetic choices have shifted — think moody black-and-whites, designer fashion spreads, dramatic lighting. Even how his tags are being done suggest the hand of a social media/PR team. Moments once rooted in warmth or personality — Luke's personality — are now stylized, distanced and deliberate.

On May 9, 2025 — the morning after the Vogue x Netflix BAFTA Pre-Party — Luke posted a carousel of images. It included a black-and-white cheek kiss with Antonia buried mid-post, and a striking first image of Luke in the backseat of a car, drink in hand, gaze direct but distant — his expression detached and deliberate, not inviting intimacy.

That same day, older personal IG posts were quietly archived.

A coincidence? Unlikely.

That morning wasn’t just a cheek-kiss drop. It was a rebranding milestone — an intentional aesthetic move.

What if that photo wasn’t meant to show affection… but to establish distance?

In my next Tumblr post, I’ll take a deeper look at what rebranding actually means for a public figure like Luke — and why it often involves walking away from old narratives, even when those narratives are beloved.

Because maybe this shift isn’t about who he’s leaving behind. Maybe it’s about who he’s becoming.

Aaniin Xxx

[phosphorusab]

Thinking about how despite needing to be invited in, Remmick always forces himself into where he is explicitly not allowed. He doesn’t understand racial tensions in Jim Crow Mississippi but also can’t comprehend Normal Fucking Boundaries. He hasn’t been human for so long that he either forgot, or he just doesn’t care.

He is a predator in every sense of the word. Every vampire that he or his followers create are made without their consent or knowledge of what vampirism entails. Every time he’s invited inside he achieved it through lying, manipulation or coercion. And he thinks it’s fine because he has a borderline religious mission to save souls from death and assimilate them into his cult of personality.

I counted the amount of onscreen romantic relationships that Remmick either ruins or forced himself into - I’ve come to a total of 5 couples.

1. This happens basically offscreen so I think it’s left up to interpretation, but Remmick did not turn Joan. He sits comfortably in a chair and watches Burt (influenced by Remmick) violently force himself on his wife to turn her into a vampire. And I have reason to believe that, considering the way he speaks to Grace.

2. After turning Bo Chow, Remmick learns of the existence of his wife Grace and their daughter Lisa. Threatening Lisa’s life by itself should have (and would have) been enough for Grace to let him inside, not even mentioning the safety of the whole town. But he doesn’t. What he does is flip through Bo’s memories like files, and find an extremely intimate and personal one of Bo and Grace having sex. And because this is a memory, this isn’t from a third person perspective, this is Bo’s perspective of going down on his wife that Remmick has voyeured himself to. And he lets Grace know it too, in her and Bo’s native language. He tells her that he knows how to have sex with her because he thrifted through her dead husband’s memories, all while Bo stands next to him. I can’t even tell if he was just trying to anger her to let him inside, or if he Genuinely Thought that he was Entitled to the bodies of all of his followers - they share all of their memories, what’s yours is his and what’s his is yours.

3. Pearline is turned into a vampire (by Remmick IIRC). So now Remmick has access to her memories, including her having sex with Sammie, whom he’s obsessed with. So that’s Fuckin Great. And then she dies. Sammie never forgets losing Pearline, he names his band after her. There’s also no mention of him ever marrying or having a family IIRC, so he might not have ever moved on from her.

4. He turns Cornbread, who dies a second time, leaving his wife behind.

5. Annie is about to be turned into a vampire and Smoke follows through on his promise of mercy killing her if that ever came to pass. Then Smoke is killed in a shoot out with the Klan - the same Klan that Remmick had said he was going to ‘rectify’ and Never Did, because he wanted to go some place where he was explicitly Not Invited.

The only relationship that comes out somewhat unscathed is Stack and Mary, but Stack will always have to live with the fact that he is separated from his best friend, his identical twin, forever - and he only has Mary to blame, but he also only has her eternal company.

We talk a lot about the racial assimilation of Remmick’s cult, but not about the boundaries of the relationships he destroyed.

[plaidos]

Hello. So, the leap at the beginning of my anon was based on the assumption that most trans men don’t live in progressive countries. Since most people in general don’t live in progressive countries. Sure, in the past it was easier to go stealth because 1. there wasn’t a big phenomenon of gnc women, so that wasn’t an immediate assumption. Butch lesbians went “stealth” as men all the time, too. Which they couldn’t today. 2. obviously, documents and stuff. That’s why I said most, and I still think it’s a pretty correct assumption.

I think you use male privilege a little liberally. It’s a specific thing that manifests in specific ways. If a trans man passes as a cis woman, he is actively targeted by misogyny in every single way a cis woman is, which is to say, a traumatic amount. The patriarchy isn’t affording trans men male privilege by treating them like cis, probably gnc women. What I was also trying to say at the end of the anon, was that trans men who don’t pass would be treated as cis women and have the same privilege that cis women have practically over trans women, but I can see how that doesn’t work if the person in question is openly trans (I was mostly thinking of mostly closeted people since that’s the experience I have). I still don’t think the patriarchy would afford male privilege to a perceived woman just because they’re trans. I think male privilege comes from being perceived as being cis men, only, because I mean, that’s how it’s been since its conception and that’s obviously how the world’s structured. I think that’s where a lot of the frustration comes from, though the response is obviously not right. I think you can say trans women are treated worse, and say it’s because transmisogyny is a more insidious kind of discrimination than whatever combination of misogyny and transphobia trans men experience, without saying it’s male privilege.

Rereading this anon I come across as sort of arrogant, but I promise I didn’t mean it! Just trying to discuss.

i mean, no, you are totally wrong in your belief that "male privilege comes from being perceived as cis men" -- you just get lower returns on male privilege if you are trans. the same is true for men of color, disabled men, poor men, gay men. any men outside of the ordinary will get a lower return of male privilege. would you say that men of color, disabled men, poor men, gay men do not have privilege above women of color, disabled women, poor women, gay women? why are we comparing trans men's male privilege to cis men's? nobody is saying trans men are treated equal to cis men. we're saying they're afforded male privilege that trans women obviously are not.

...but even all the traumatic experiences of facing all the misogyny a cis woman would does not compare to the experiences trans women have. you accept & agree this -- but i'm trying to tell you that a demographic gap between the privilege trans men face vs trans women is inherently male privilege, even if those men are not universally recognised as men. disabled men, men of color, gay men, intersex men -- these are other examples of men who are considered not "full men" and yet they still obviously have a male privilege above women of their demographic.

plus, you're still approaching this from mainly the position that trans man predominately don't pass. this isn't true, and besides, in trans & queer spaces, trans men are still more likely to have their voices & experiences listened to than trans women, regardless of how much they pass.

some of the things you're stating here have a rather wicked & deceitful implication of "trans women who aren't out the closet still benefit from male privilege" but i can tell you, as somebody who was maligned for her gender long long before she came out, that isn't true.

it doesn't matter if trans men aren't afforded the patriarchy as much as cis men (of course they aren't? that's how intersectionalism works.) we aren't talking about cis men -- we're talking about trans people. and no matter how you slice it, no matter which way you flip the issue over in your head or redefine it, trans men are certainly afforded many more benefits of the patriarchy than trans women, period. no ifs, ands or buts. period. trans men have better employment rates, housing security, they're less likely to be homeless & less likely to be targeted by violent hatecrime than the women of their demographic. what the fuck do you call that if not male privilege?

[alvestial]

more alpha rafe and omega reader pls!!!

Alpha!Rafe & Omega!reader

Synopsis ⋆♱✮♱⋆ reader is desperate, in heat and everyone of Rafe’s friends can tell. Pure filth follows

Hands are grasping at bedsheets as you toss and turn, legs clenching together tightly as you gasp out, half asleep.

Rafe knows. He can practically taste you from his office, the sweet, delicate, delicious smell wafting from between your legs reaching his nose in a way that makes him grip the edge of the desk with white knuckles. He knows you’re in heat.

It’s fucking killing him. He’d left you in bed this morning after a quiet, quick fuck, you half asleep but present in every way as he mated you once again. If he could, he’d have stayed there all day, fucking into you in every way imaginable.

But unfortunately for him, and his cock straining in his pants, he had work to do. Topper and Kelce sit across from him at the desk, absentmindedly chatting away about the company but Rafe knows what they’re thinking about: you.

Despite his claim on you, when you were in heat any alpha could smell you, claim you if they wished so badly to. It makes him see white.

“What is that delectable smell?” Kelce asks, standing from his chair. Topper hums in tandem, eyes glancing up to meet Rafe’s.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with that sweet omega of yours you’ve suddenly required, would it?” Rafe’s hand stills on the keyboard he’s been typing away on, fingers locking.

“Don’t even fucking think about it or you’ll never see the light of tomorrow.” Topper laughs as Kelce takes a seat again, eyebrow quirking as he reshuffles some papers.

“If she’s that strong you need to put her somewhere that isn’t full of guys just like you my friend. S’what I had to do.” Rafe’s hand stills knows topper is speaking sense but his friends talking about you in that way still makes him mad. More than.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” His voice comes out rough, teeth gritting together as he clicks on his computer to shut it down. He needed a distraction and he needed it now.

Topper raises his hands in self defence as he grabs Kelce arm, dragging him to the door.

“We’ll pick this up another day. Have fun.” They disappear with a soft click of the door. It takes Rafe all of one second to be out of the same door, almost running down the hallway to your shared room where you’re now awake, desperately pushing a pillow between your legs. Eyes watering, plush lips parted and you look up at the sudden intrusion.

It’s Rafe. You scramble, reaching the waistband of his pants as he’s at the edge of the bed, one of his hands stroking the top of your hair.

“Desperate huh? You want my cock?” Rafe knows he’s just as bad, head tipped back with a groan when you free him from his pants and take him straight into your mouth. He can feel absolutely everything and he’s sure it’s never felt this good.

You’re sloppy, hands grasping at what doesn’t fit into your mouth, tears slipping down your cheeks as you grind down on the heel of your foot. You’re so desperate, slick pooling in your panties to no end.

Rafe doesn’t let you sit like this for long, pushing back on your head despite his own wants as he fully pushes you back onto the bed, wasting no time pulling your panties down your legs and throwing them somewhere in the room.

His lips attach to your clit, thumbs spreading you open as he slurps up all the gathered arousal. You’re whining, tossing through the sheets like no tomorrow from even the littlest touch. Rafe’s ego grows, one of his hands slipping down to your entrance to slot two fingers in.

“Oh Rafey, fuck, fuck, so bad, need it.” Rafe finds himself nodding, pace unrelenting as he grinds his own problem down into the bed. You’re gushing all over him without even cumming yet but when he curls his fingers at the right spot you do cum, squirting everywhere. Rafe laps it up like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, and he’s sure it is.

Your hips are rocking up into his face, gasping, whining as you grasp at his hair, trying to pull him up.

“Rafey, need your cock. Please.” He gives you one final lick, pulling his fingers out from your sopping cunt. His eyes catch as beads of white cum deep out of you, and you’re sure you almost hear a whimper from him at the sight.

He’s tugging his pants and boxers down quick, grasping his cock with a reddened tip as he climbs back ontop of you.

“So desperate for me aren’t you? Need this real bad.” He presses the tip into your entrance and you mewl, keening as you nod frantically. You push your hips forward, hoping to get him inside but now Rafe’s feeling playful, pulling back.

“Uh-uh. Words, sweetheart. Tell me how bad you want this.” He swipes the head of his cock through your folds, catching your clit which causes you to cry out, back arching. Rafe can see how pebbled your nipples are through your shirt and instinctively his hand reaches up for it, pushing it up your chest.

“Please Rafe, please need it so bad. Need your knot, please.” You’re blubbering and it almost makes Rafe laugh, but he gives you mercy, pushing in with one hand, the other pinching your nipple.

You’re moaning so loud you’re sure the entire neighbourhood can hear you but you’re too far needy to care, hips already grinding down on Rafe’s as he stills, knot already forming.

“Fuck sweetheart, so fucking wet, n warm. All for me, yeah?” You nod, frantically, spreading your legs wider to let him push in more. Rafe groans at you, hand moving over to your other nipple.

“Gonna let me fuck this sweet pussy? Breed you, like the bitch you are?” You’re nodding again and it makes Rafe chuckle because he’s confident you’re not listening, but he still folds both your legs over his shoulders and begins a relentless pace.

If you thought you were loud before, it’s nothing compared to now. Rafe can still hear the squelches of your pussy over your moans and he feels his knot already swelling inside you. He’s sucking one of your nipples into his mouth and can feel you getting closer as you’re grasping at his biceps, crying out his name as you gush around his knot.

“So fucking good for me. All mine yeah? Whose pussy is this?” Rafe’s teeth sink into your shoulder, pace faltering as he reaches his own high. He kisses a certain part of your cervix that has you keening once again, crying out his name as you come again, back arching into Rafe’s chest.

“All yours Rafey, all yours. Please, please give it to me.” Is all you can muster as Rafe gives it one final pump, knot swelling as he cums heavy and hot.

“Oh fuck. So fucking good. Taking it like the good girl you are.” He pulls his teeth from your neck, a fresh bite adorning the previous one, eyes glinting as he observes his handiwork.

You’re spent, falling flat on the sheets, a small smile playing on your lips as you watch him clean up.

“Again?”

You can hear Rafe laughing in the bathroom.

An ⋆♱✮♱⋆ do we want more ???

[julietcpulet]

The Verdigris Sisters and Romance

This is something I thought of when another poster commented about Lihaku and Pairin and the progression of their relationship. It made me think about the four women of the Verdigirs house potentially representing 4 different kinds of love and romance. Each is supposed to show different depths of what love can look like, or lack of for that matter, and the choices made to lead in that direction. Basically my thoughts are: Meimei - unrequited love, Pairin - casual love, Joka - bitter love and Maomao - true love. I’ll explain why for each one below. (Spoilers under the cut)

Meimei - She represents unrequited love or remaining single against one’s wishes. Although it can be seen that Meimei is romantic and has felt love, her feelings go unmet. She expresses a desire to be bought out of the Verdigris House but isn’t and we even have some idea that she wished Lakan had bought her out but knew that wasn’t much of a possibility. Even when she is finally taken it’s because of her skills at Go, not a romantic notion. So her representation is that of a woman who remains single and fulfills other ambitions but likely against what her heart truly wishes.

Pairin - She represents casual love or remaining single because she’s unable to accept love that’s already there. This one may be controversial due to how some view her and Lihaku’s relationship. However, I’ve never seen it as particularly “romantic”. We value his devotion to her because she’s the only one in his eyes, but that’s not reciprocated from her direction. She still acts as if she’s waiting for a prince even though Lihaku adores her only and has spent years coming to see her. To me Pairin’s affection for Lihaku isn’t love, it’s casual affection of convenience, wanting to keep Lihaku around for what he gives her without equal reciprocation. In the light novel it’s been 6+ years and yet there has been no movement past this casual state of their relationship. We see Lihaku’s love as pure because he’s not with anyone else but Pairin is not shown to give the same level of affection. People will claim it’s due to her life as a courtesan but as Maomao says she only has to take costumers occasionally but instead takes customers because she wants to and is, to put it frankly, a sex addict. This shows that while Pairin says she wants a white knight to come and take her away, she’s too addicted to her current lifestyle and the fantasy she’s created to ever leave. As it’s been made clear she has enough money to leave the Verdigris House and the madam would even let her go to a suitor for half the price if it was her wish, yet she stays. As such I feel it shows she an Lihaku are forever in this “casual” place where one wants more but Pairin will remain single because of unrealistic expectations and not being honest that she may just like being a courtesan and having multiple sexual partners too much.

Joka - She represents bitter love or being single because of unwillingness to move past hurts and form actual relationships. It’s clear from interactions with Maomao and how she’s described as a courtesan that Joka is a difficult person, harsh and critical, who has trust issues. She throws barbs at Maomao about being a whore’s daughter and is almost a copy of the miserly madam. Instead of being willing to see how Maomao is growing she insults her and says she cannot have a normal romance but must be like Joka herself, rejecting people. It’s suggested that she will one day be the one to take over the Verdigris House as well, showing that because she cannot learn how to move past her own problems she will stay in the same cycle of bitterness collecting only what’s valuable to her which has become money.

Maomao - She represents true love or love that is fulfilled through growing friendship, understanding and romantic connection. While Maomao isn’t perfect and neither is her past she hasn’t let that be a deterrent to creating meaningful relationships with others, namely Jinshi. Even though she’s immensely skeptical and shrugs off or denies the possibility he could love her because of who she is and her own devaluation of herself, she comes to realize he does want her and this realization leads to communication. This willingness to open up to possibility, to friendship, to romantic love is where Maomao differs from her sisters. As all of them have gone unfulfilled in romance not just because they’re courtesans but also because they make choices that can close them off from others. While Maomao has this tendency due in part to her sisters upbringing, she’s learning to actively go against it and pursue what’s between her and Jinshi. Even when she’s doubtful he will want what she has to give because she sees her own feelings as “lukewarm” compared to his deeper ones she pushes forward anyway and we know that Jinshi doesn’t devalue her reciprocation at all. To this end she exemplifies the chance at true love.

This is all just speculation on my part, I’m not sure if the author intended any such correlation or not it’s just what I picked up from seeing the women’s stories unfold and how they’re each on these particular paths (or lack there of).

[moosesarecute]

Chapter 4: The Cursebreaker and Home

Masterlist

Series masterlist

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Y/n asked him.

She had recently been ordered to be Lucien’s servant, so she stood at the opposite side of the throne hall than he did.

Lucien was a good male, or so he had heard, so he didn’t worry too much about it.

He himself stood frozen still at just listen to the girl standing before them.

Feyre.

His Feyre.

“That’s Tamlin’s girl, yes,” he answered as calmly as he could. Tamlin’s girl…

But he was not calm. He was freaking out. How had she gotten back to here? He thought he had scared her away. He thought she would be safe and alive in the mortal world.

“We both know that’s not what I am talking about,” Y/n answered matter of factly and he could feel her stare from the other side of the hall.

He cursed himself for telling her about his dreams. The hands and the paintings that had lived in his dreams for the past three years. The dreams that had given him hope and courage to keep going, to keep living.

And now, his hope currently stood before him, facing certain death.

 “That’s her yes,” he answered plainly.

“I’m sorry,” she told him back. Like she already knew that Feyre would be dead sooner rather than later.

Y/n was very pessimistic. He had learned that about her early on. In situations where Rhys tried to find hope, she often made peace with the worst outcome.

A different coping mechanism than he liked, but it seemed to work for her. She never got her hopes up and also never got her hopes crushed.

She was strong like that.

It hadn’t been long ago when she randomly told him she couldn’t even imagine a world where she would be back home. Back with her family. Back with Azriel.

She hadn’t cried as she told her. She had just stared far into the fireplace.

He didn’t tell her back that he was thinking the same. He needed to be the positive one.

However, it had been soon five decades without them, and he couldn’t remember their voices even if he tried.

They had an evening where they talked about their families. Y/n explained that she was the oldest of her siblings and that it was almost thirty years until her closest sibling. There was a brother in between them, but he died at birth.

“Both my mother and I had stillborn as our seconds. Sebb, my son, was born without wings. He didn’t breathe as he was born. My brother was born too early.” It broke his heart to hear about all the horrors she had experienced with childbirth. “I love all my children. I would never want to live without them, but I wish they had been made by love and not force.”

“You were bred to make more faeries with wings, right? But to use the wings you’d die?”

“They wanted as many as possible of us to use in the war,” she answered. “They mostly wanted the men to fight and when they died or were unable to fight anymore, they’d take their wings. All the men above 18 had to fight in the war. They were only allowed back once or twice a week to ensure the pregnancies kept going. Or, if it had been twenty years without having a pregnancy both the male and the female got their wings cut off. That’s how my daughter Cindy died. It was awful.”

Rhys remembered from the first memory she had shown him that losing both wings were the most painful death they could have. He couldn’t imagine being a parent and knowing his child had gone through that as they died.

“How many of your children are dead?” he asked carefully.

“Three,” she answered. “As I know of. Sebb, Cindy and Jesper. Jesper died in the war. He and Cindy was close in age, but died at different times. There’s also Oscar. He lost his left hand in the war. However, he and Trace are identical twins, so it makes it easy to tell them apart.”

They laughed a little at that.

“Illyrian males often try to clip the wings of their females. My dad saves mom seconds before her own wings were clipped, but it was only because she was his mate. I banned wing clipping the second I became High Lord, but I fear they have gone back to old traditions now that we’re not there to keep them in check.”

He thought about it often. How there was no one with power to take care of the females. He knew it didn’t take many hours for illyrians to kill and torture females, so he didn’t even want to imagine the damage they had done in fifty years.

“Every time I see a female with clipped wings I feel like I let them down.”

“Every time a child or sibling of mine turned 18 I felt like I had lost too. The world definitely has changed since we last experienced it. It’s a lot of steps backwards, but I’m sure we’ll get through it eventually. Maybe even improve some of it.”

Rhys felt almost confused about her positive tone, but at the same time it lightened his bad mood.

It had been fifty years. Fifty years where he had strived to keep going. He was not going to stop on the finish line.

“That was stupid,” Rhys told Y/n as he threw a healing tonic her way. “Reckless, uncalled for, and so fucking stupid.”

“It had to be done,” she told him.

He did his best to not notice all the wounds she was currently carrying. All the small cuts and the bruises from the whip. He knew she would be…weakened for the next couple of days.

“They found you helping him. They found you and knew you had been stealing from them-”

“What do you expect me to do?” she raised her voice back. Y/n rarely raised her voice. This was only the second time it had happened. “She’s a girl, Rhys. She’s nineteen. Nineteen-year-olds shouldn’t need to fight for the life of an entire world. They should worry about their crushes and their appearance, not how to survive three impossible tasks against an evil witch. If me helping Lucien heal by stealing a tonic will save her, then I will do it again, and again, and again.”

He understood why this was hard for her. Y/n had raised so many babes, and while not all of them reached the age of 19, she probably saw her own children or herself in Feyre. She had only been 18 when her traumatic tasks began, and even though their tasks are very different, she didn’t want Feyre to go through any of it.  

19 year olds shouldn’t need to do anything of importance, he agreed in that, but Y/n was putting herself in too much danger.

��Y/n, if they now decide to, they can choose to sentence you for other missing things too. They know you have been stealing, and they were kind with this punishment. So, please, be careful.”

He knew better than to ask her to stay away. She was stubborn and brave, sometimes a little reckless, but for the most part smart and collected. Y/n did what was the best for others, he knew that.

She had given her brother a part of her own body for cauldron’s sake.

 “We need to protect her, Rhys. She’s our only hope right now and she will need help. She will need healing. Humans heal slowly. Even slower than I do.”

They hadn’t discussed her slow healing since she showed him what had happened. How her wing had melted into his brother’s chest and healed it within seconds. How she had forced the shadows to come get them, and how she had hidden away before he and Cass had gotten there.

Azriel had been healed in only a couple of hours.

Rhys remembered the golden swirl that had taken place on his brother’s chest. The swirl that Y/n’s wing used to have.

It made him nauseous, but at the same time, he couldn’t imagine a world without his brother. And Y/n couldn’t either.

“Amarantha can’t find out that we’re helping Feyre. She’ll probably kill both of us, and Feyre.”

“We’ll have to find a way to help her that doesn’t seem like helping. Feyre doesn’t have to thrive; she must only survive. Tamlin isn’t going to do anything, and not any of the other High Lords either. So, we’ll have to do it.”

And that’s how they managed to come up with a plan that made Feyre hate them, but it at least kept her alive.

They had done it. They were free. Amarantha was dead. Feyre was alive.

Cauldron, they had actually done it.

Rhys was too exhausted, but if had carried a little more energy, he would have almost danced on the way to his room.

He opened the room and found it…empty?

“Y/n?” he asked aloud, but he got no answer.

He looked around and noticed the letter folded neatly in front of the fireplace.

Dear Rhys,

Thesan will soon winnow me home.

I will make sure all my family know how you saved me. How you helped me keep going. It will never be forgotten.

If you for any reason need it, you have friends in Dawn that will help you or your people. Azriel will know where we are.

Please know that as you are reading this, I’m hugging all my children and grandchildren and bawling my eyes out.

Thank you again,

Your roomie

She had drawn a heart over the i in Azriel.

He wasn’t surprised she left without a proper goodbye, but he had just always imagined taking her back to Velaris. To Azriel.

He guessed Cornelius would let Azriel know.

“They’re going beat you up,” Mor told him as he flew them to the House.

“I certainly hope so,” he answered. “If they don’t, something is seriously wrong.”

He landed on the balcony, and it only took seconds for his brothers to arrive. They were both sweaty and looked tried, but they had smiles on their faces.

To his relief, they looked like they always had.

“You bastard,” Cassian beamed at him as he hugged him tightly.

Rhys thought he had cried out all his tears with Mor, but a couple more of them still fell down his face. His brothers were safe, pissed at him, but safe. That was more than he could ask for.

Azriel carefully joined the hug and Cassian almost engulfed both of them.

Rhys suddenly started to think about the heart Y/n had written over Azriel’s name. Suddenly realized that Azriel had someone way more important than him to welcome home.

He broke out of the hug and turned to Azriel.

“Get to your wife,” he almost commanded. “Now.”

Azriel’s eyes widened, but it didn’t take him many seconds to fly off the balcony and disappear into the shadows.

“You met her?” Mor asked him and Cassian also looked over at him.

“Yes,” he answered plainly, but decided to wait to talk, until Y/n had told Azriel all she wanted him to know. He didn’t want to overstep. “I definitely met her.”

Rhys had slept at the Townhouse, but he had heard from Cassian that Azriel had arrived back home within a couple of hours. Which made no sense.

Something obviously wasn’t right.

The next time he saw him, he looked at him with a raised bow, but Azriel didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything in a couple of days actually, but that wasn’t unusual.

Therefore, Rhys decided to just ask his brother.

“I get it that you worry, but if you could leave my love life alone, I would appreciate that brother,” was Azriel’s only answer. He spoke in such a calm, but lethal voice that Rhys knew he had to let the topic go.

And, as Feyre started to take up more and more space in his head and heart, he didn’t even think about it that often.

Until one evening.

It was almost a random day. Feyre and Mor had wanted to have girls’ night, so he and Cassian had prepared a boys’ night.

However, Azriel showed up late. And he was drunk. Which was very unusual. Azriel never acted drunk when he was drunk, but his hiccups always gave him away.

“What’s going on?” Rhys asked, but he knew Azriel probably didn’t want to talk about anything. But he also suspected he knew what was wrong.

Both Cassian and Mor had pointed out how Az spent a lot of time in Velaris between missions. It didn’t seem like he was a lot with Y/n.

“Nothing,” he answered and sat down in the couch beside Cassian.

“Trouble with the wife?” Cassian asked, and Rhys felt relived he didn’t need to ask him. He felt he had made too much trouble about it already.

“I’m not even sure I have a wife,” Azriel answered honestly and both Rhys and Cass got a bit surprised. “Haven’t seen her in 53 years.”

He picked up his cup with a hiccup and poured some wine into it.

53 years. That’s one more year than Amarantha. Why had they been apart for an entire year before that? Rhys tried to think back, but he couldn’t remember anything of significance.

He also couldn’t remember Y/n mentioning anything about it. She hadn’t talked about not seeing Azriel for a long time.

But, Y/n had also never freely spoken about Az. She had always lowered her voice and thought twice before she spoke. Had she tried to keep from him the fact that their relationship had paused?

He was about to ask Az, but he just kept speaking. He was definitely drunk.

“I mean, I know she’s been there. I smell her in our house all the time,” he drank the rest of the wine in his cup. “But she’s never there when I get there. She leaves flowers there as usual and there’s always food in the cabinets, but I still never see her. It’s like she’s taking care of me from afar.”

“Why is she leaving before you get there?” Rhys asked.

He thought back to all the times Y/n had spoken about Azriel and all the times her wings had glowed. He thought about the smile she wore only when speaking about him.

But he also saw the embarrassment and guilt in her features. He thought about her hanging wings and her distant eyes.

“She promised to protect me,” he answered. “She vowed to do all she could to keep me safe. I didn’t realize how seriously she would take it.”

Y/n hadn’t kept him safe. He had almost died in her arms, and she had been willing to protect him with her life. She stayed away from him to protect him. To make sure if the bounty hunters came back, they would take her and not Az.

Rhys opened his mouth to ask questions. He didn’t really know what to ask. If they could help. Or if it was something he needed.

But it seemed like Azriel realized he had just spoken freely about his emotions, and it didn’t take long for him to stand up and walk away.

Rhys and Cass sat in silence for a long time.

Rhys had tried going to bed, but falling asleep without Feyre in his arms proved to be a struggle.

He was up and awake when he heard a knock on his door.

To his surprise, and total horror, Madja stood on the other side of the door.

She was going to tell him that one of them had died. That the mission at Hybern had done so badly that he had not only lost his mate to his enemy court, but also that one of his brother’s had died from the injuries.

“What’s going on?” he asked her before she could speak.

“I honestly have no clue,” Madja answered, and they walked silently to the clinic.

As they walked inside Azriel’s room, he soon understood what had happened. Azriel’s chest was glowing in small swirls.

“The wound healed itself, I only barely had time to clean it before it was closed,” Madja told him, and he only shook his head in relief.

“It’s a special kind of magic. It healed him before, so it’s healing him now too,” he informed Madja, but Madja still looked confused at him. “There’s this healing magic from Dawn. It’s not known amongst many, and there’s a good reason for it. These fae can heal, but they also get weakened by it. Their own healing abilities die down. If they take too much, they die themselves.”

“Such a sacrifice can’t have been made easily. He’s lucky to be alive.”

Rhys stayed by Azriel’s side for a while, before he decided to move to Cassian’s room. He turned at the door and looked back at his brother. His chest was almost not glowing anymore, and Rhys hoped it meant that he was healing properly.

“Oh, Y/n,” he muttered as he left the room.

Taglist: @tele86 @mariahoedt @miadialila @fuckingsimp4azriel @bookandtealover @saltedcoffeescotch @brekkershadowsinger @scatteredstardustt @pablopascal @bravo-delta-eccho @meritxellao @grey-clowd @adventure-awaits13 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @chicken-fifi @helo1281917 @coeurdeveea @i-am-infinite

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

[loveanton]

until august says goodbye | lee anton pt. 1

⟶ summary: every summer job, every inside joke, zero personal space—since you were fourteen, it’s always been anton. even with college pulling you in different directions you stayed close… just less effortlessly so when he says, “one last summer job, just us,” you don’t hesitate. the only thing is, something’s different this time. he still packs your lunch, still gives you the better locker, still makes it feel like no one else exists when he talks to you but now you’re starting to look at your best friend differently. the worst part? he’s always looked at you like this.

˗ˏˋpairing: best friend!anton x f!reader, slight sungchan x reader ❀ genre:  summer love, slow burn, best friend to lovers ❀ word count: 13.52k ❀ staring: maya (22)- xg, anton (21)- riize, sohee (21)- riize, sungchan (22)- riize, harvey (22)- xg ⟶ warnings: mentions of edibles, getting high, drinking, arguments, swearing, makeout sessions, talk of toxic relationships, mentions of panic attacks and anxiety, mentions of blood, allusions to sex, let me know if i missed anything.

✎୭: in honor of my first full year as loveanton and the start of summer ! also, this was meant to be a one-shot of 28.9k words but due to tumblr rules i had to split it into two parts, part two will be up soon!

ʚїɞ taglist: @gacktsa @dreamiestay @yoursyuno @yctfreaky @stormy1408

Your dorm looks like it exploded.

The room’s a mess with half-packed boxes, a rogue sock on your bedpost and three different cups of half-drunk matcha on your desk. Your roommate’s sitting cross-legged on the floor folding your clothes like she doesn’t have finals in twelve hours.

“You always wait until the last second,” Maya says.

“I had finals,” you protest, throwing a tangled heap of chargers into a box labeled kitchen things even though it clearly isn’t.

She snorts. “You also took a two-hour nap in the middle of folding your laundry.”

You grin in response. Fair.

Maya’s been your roommate since freshman year—assigned totally at random and somehow it just worked. You weren’t expecting much but she showed up with a full-size speaker, a neon pink kettle and two coffee mugs.

She's funny, stylish and has been the kind of friend who knows when you need to be told to get it together and when you need someone to bring you overpriced sushi and sit with you in silence. Three years later you still share the same room, same favorite mugs, same playlists on loop. She's become a second home.

Your first home however has always been Anton, your childhood best friend.

You met him when you were nine in the middle of an English immersion summer camp neither of you really wanted to be at. He sat next to you during arts and crafts and told you your macaroni picture frame was ugly and then gave you the glue stick you were missing. Somehow, that was the beginning.

From that point on the two of you did everything together. Swim lessons, school projects, awkward middle school dances where both of you swore you’d rather die than slow dance with anyone else. Every summer in high school the two of you found a job be it ice cream stands, lifeguarding, even one cursed summer as camp counselors. It was a tradition, one that lasted longer than either of you expected.

Now, you’re both rising seniors in college and time’s harder to come by. If he’s not busy with swim practice then it’s late-night labs or RA responsibilities but even with the time limitations, some things haven’t changed.

You still show up to all of his swim meets sitting in the same spot cheering loud enough for him to hear underwater. Still make time to grab boba every Friday night as a trio and occasionally make time for off campus frat parties where he watches over you and Maya like a hawk.

“You still haven’t packed your toiletries,” Maya points out, tossing a pair of your sneakers into a box without bothering to make sure they’re even the same pair.

“I like to keep my skincare in reach,” you say, which is mostly true. You just don’t want to admit you haven’t figured out how to pack twelve steps of face wash and serums into one Ziploc bag.

“You’re not going off-grid,” she replies. “You’re going home.”

“Same thing.”

Maya gives you a look but doesn’t say anything before standing and stretches, glancing at the mess around the room. “This better be mostly done by tonight because I am not helping you do a 2 a.m panic pack.” She warns, heading toward her desk.

You snort, “babes, you and I both know that’s not true.”

Maya tries her best to hide her smile but can’t and rolls her eyes before opening her laptop. “Screw off,” she mutters, pulling up a stats lecture she’s already watched twice today. There’s a knock at the door before you can respond.

Maya looks up brows raised. “You expecting someone?” You shake your head and cross the room, tugging the door open without thinking.

Anton stands on the other side, holding a tray containing three drinks in one hand and a roll of industrial-sized trash bags in the other.

“Hi,” he says like it’s the most casual thing in the world, like he’s not supposed to be studying for his neurobiology final. Like showing up at your door with Dunkin’s and a stack of trash bags is a normal Tuesday thing.

You blink. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying?”

“Figured you’d be knee-deep in panic packing, I brought reinforcements.” He says, surveying the room.

You say nothing and step aside to let him in. He moves past you and enters the room like he’s done a hundred times before and sets the drinks down on your desk.

“Mango pineapple lemonade refresher,” he says, sliding yours toward you. Then, to Maya, “Strawberry matcha, extra ice, no sweetener.”

Maya happily takes the drink and thanks him before turning back to her laptop. Anton gestures to the room. “Alright. Where do you want me?”

“You have an exam,” you remind him.

“Yeah and I’ll pass,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing then adds, “and you’ll forget your toothbrush if I don’t help so really I’m doing us both a favor.”

Maya snorts. “He’s not wrong.”

You sigh, reaching for your drink. “Fine. You can stay but only if you promise not to judge how I pack.”

Anton’s already taping a box shut. “No promises.”

You sip your drink as Anton settles on the floor beside your pile of clothes, legs stretched out casually peeling tape from the roll like he’s the one moving out. You glance at Maya who’s still half-focused on her laptop and say, “I’m gonna miss you.”

She doesn’t look up. “Okay, drama queen.”

“I’m serious, you’re ditching us. Going all the way to Japan while we rot in Jersey.” You pout.

That gets her attention. She sighs and finally looks at you just in time for you to toss your weighted dino Antoinette, a birthday gift from Anton right at her head.

She catches it with both hands and clutches it to her chest. “You’re right. I don’t love you. Only Antoinette.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Shut up.”

“FaceTime exists, you’re gonna call me every day. We’ll groupwatch trashy TV and complain like always.”  She says, petting the dino like it’s a cat.

“Promise?”

She smirks. “Only if you don’t cry during move out.”

You flip her off and she grins, setting Antoinette on her lap before turning her attention back to her screen. “So what are you two doing this summer anyway? Internships? Summer classes? Something productive?”

You shrug. “I don’t have plans. Probably just sleep, eat and annoy Anton.”

Anton hums without looking up from the hoodie he’s folding. “Confirmed.”

You glance at him. “What about you Ton?”

He shrugs. “Nothing locked in but I saw the old country club near my house is hiring again.”

You sit up straighter. “Wait—the one from freshman year?”

Anton glances up at you, smiling. “Yep. Same one.”

Maya looks between the two of you. “You guys worked at a country club?”

You grin. “It was our first summer job. We were like…fourteen? Mostly did poolside snacks and towel returns.”

Anton nods. “And there was the golf cart incident.” Maya raises a brow.

“She stole one of the golf carts and crashed it,” he says, gesturing at you.

You gasp. “That is not how it happened.”

He grins. “It absolutely is and I took the blame.”

You shake your head, laughing. “First of all, he’s being dramatic. Second of all, he got off with a warning. He’s making it sound worse than it was.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of the people,” Anton says, sipping his drink.

You roll your eyes. “They let you off because of your dad.”

“More like because of my amazing personality,” he says proudly.

“Privilege,” you correct.

“Semantics.”

You shake your head, still laughing as you reach for another hoodie to fold. Maya’s grinning behind her laptop clearly entertained. Then Anton casually says, “We should apply again.”

You pause mid-fold. “To the country club?”

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. “One last job. For old times’ sake.”

You glance at him and raise your brows. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Anton nods. “Why not? It’s close to home, the pay wasn’t terrible and we already know half the staff’s probably the same. No stress. Just summer.”

You eye him. “Why though? You could intern anywhere or do research or I don’t know…rest?”

He shrugs. “And you could do the same but we both know you’re not doing anything structured this summer.”

“That’s…not untrue,” you admit.

Maya shuts her laptop with a soft click. “Okay, hold on. You two are telling me you’re seriously considering spending your last free summer wearing ugly polos and dodging rich people at a country club pool?”

You and Anton both nod. She sighs. “Gosh, you’re perfect for each other.”

You throw a sock at her.

Anton leans back on his hands, sipping the last of his drink and not commenting on Maya’s words. “Come on. No essays, no cramming, just a few shifts a week and bad iced coffee, and maybe some golf cart redemption.”

You narrow your eyes. “Only if you’re driving this time.”

“I’m an excellent driver.”

“Says the man who didn’t get his license until last year.”

It’s Anton’s turn to throw a sock at you. “And yet it only took me one try unlike some people in this room.”

You gasp scandalized. “Low blow! It’s not my fault my first instructor had it out for me!”

Anton laughs and dodges the squishmallow you throw at his head. “And the second and third time?”

You roll your eyes,  “That’s rich coming from the guy who thought parallel parking meant ‘close enough.’”

Anton raises his hands, grinning. “Okay, okay. Truce.”

You toss the last hoodie into a box. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Anton shakes his head but says nothing. Maya pushes her laptop away and stands, stretching like she’s aged ten years. “Alright, I’m gonna shower before I lose the will to study.”

She grabs her caddy and heads toward the bathroom, pausing only to scoop Antoinette off her desk and cradle her under one arm.

“I’m stealing your daughter,” she says over her shoulder.

“Just don’t drop her,” you call back.

“You won’t get far,” Anton says, barely looking up. “Antoinette’s got separation anxiety like her mom.” He jokes.

You slap his arm as Maya snorts. The door clicks shut behind her and the room settles into something quieter. Anton’s still sitting on the floor, legs stretched out fiddling with the edge of a new piece of tape.

He leans back on his hands. “You know I was serious, right?”

You glance over. “About what?”

“The country club.”

“Oh. Yeah. I figured.”

“I mean, it’s dumb but…” He shrugs. “It’d be fun. Like—one last summer. Just us. Before everything…changes.”

You don’t answer right away because it sounds fun, of course it does but under the surface something else tugs at you. It’s the realization that this might really be the last summer like this. He’s right…things are changing and they’re changing fast.

Fall means senior year, your last one. After that he’s off to med school probably in a different state. Maybe a different coast. You’re taking a gap year to travel, to finally breathe after years of nonstop coursework. You don’t have much time before “just showing up” turns into scheduled calls and missed birthdays.

You’ve known him for thirteen years. He’s been in every version of your life and suddenly that constant is starting to shift.

No more Friday night boba runs. No more post-practice phone calls. No more knowing someone will always be exactly where they’ve always been. It hits you and it stings. All you’ve ever known is him.

You don’t say any of that though. Instead, you nod. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

He looks over at you, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah I’m down.”

Anton smiles, soft and boyish like it’s just another one of your shared inside jokes. “I’ll send you the link.”

And that’s it.

You don’t need to say anything more. He doesn’t push. You both just sit there in the middle of the mess, pretending like next summer isn’t already pulling you in opposite directions.

May 30th 2025

Your name tag clicks as you fasten it to your new polo—navy blue, crisp and slightly too long in the sleeves. The country club rebranded since the last time you worked there. No more ketchup red polos or painfully thick khakis. Everything’s been toned down, modernized.

It’s been a week since spring semester ended. The dorms are cleared, Maya’s off in Japan and you’re back home in Jersey sleeping in your childhood bed but everything feels different. You feel different. Mostly because of what this summer means.

You want this summer to be good.

Scratch that, not just good but fun, worth remembering. You want to laugh until you’re on the verge of vomiting, take off guard point fives and have stories to tell when you’re older. If this is your last summer being attached at the hip with your best friend, then it better be one for the books.

You head down the stairs and make a quick detour into the kitchen. The fridge hums quietly as you open it, grabbing the water bottle you left chilling overnight. It’s already fogging from the heat. You stuff it into your tote before slipping into your beat up New Balances by the door. Your phone buzzes just as you’re smoothing out your shirt.

10:53 am | ton🦕: outside ☀️

In the living room, your parents are lounging on the couch, half-watching the morning news with matching mugs.

“I’m heading out!” you call.

“Tell Anton we say hi and that we love him!” your mom shouts over the TV.

Your dad raises his mug like a salute. “Drive safe.”

“Will do,” you say, already stepping outside.

Anton’s Jeep is parked out front, angled just slightly onto the curb like he’d pulled in too fast and couldn’t be bothered to fix it. The silver paint reflects the sky, windshield dotted with pollen. He’s standing next to the passenger door in his lifeguard uniform, his name tag slightly crooked.

The Jeep was a gift from his dad last year—a “congrats on passing your road test” paired with an “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.” It’s nice. Too nice honestly but Anton doesn’t brag about it. He hardly talks about it at all.

He was bummed his dad couldn’t teach him how to drive. Not that he ever said it outright but you know. He wanted his dad to be there, to sit in the passenger seat, correct his turns and congratulate him when he nailed parallel parking but his dad’s still in Korea. Always has been and while Anton understands why it doesn’t make it suck any less.

You don’t bring it up though, neither of you do. Some things are just better left unspoken. When he sees you Anton straightens up and pulls open the door.

You raise a brow. “Still opening doors for me? Must be nice, having money and manners.”

He snorts. “Didn’t realize chivalry was a tax bracket thing.”

You grin. “Your mom really raised you right.”

“She tried,” he says, shutting the door behind you before jogging around to the driver’s side.

He slides in, adjusts the a/c and and pulls away from the curb.

“My parents say hi,” you say. “And that they love you.”

His mouth quirks. “Tell them I say it back. My mom says hi too.”

You settle in as the car coasts through your neighborhood. As he slows at the first stop sign, he gestures to the backseat. “Oh— I packed you lunch.”

You look at him shocked. “You did what?”

“In the lunchbag, kimchi fried rice with spam. My mom made the rice, I fried the spam.”

You give him a look. “You fried?”

“It might be a little crispy but the thought counts, no?” He admits.

You snort. “Remind me to text your mom later.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

He smirks. “You were thinking it.”

You don’t reply just reach into your tote and quietly pull out the water bottle you grabbed earlier. You offer it to him.

He blinks. “What’s this?”

“Cold water,” you say. “You always forget to drink when you’re on pool duty.”

He takes it from you slowly. “Thanks.”

You shrug. “It’s nothing.”

You say it’s nothing but the way his eyes linger on the bottle before setting it down makes you second guess…is it?

Is it nothing that you remembered even after all this time? That you chilled the bottle overnight just because you knew he’d forget? That he packed your favorite lunch like it was second nature or the fact that he knows your drink order without asking.

Is it nothing that your mom still calls him her other child or that your dad always asks how Anton’s doing before asking about you? That it’s been thirteen years and somehow, this still feels like home?

You tell yourself it’s nothing because if it isn’t nothing…what is it? Before you can think about that too hard, the next song clicks on through the speakers.

You freeze. “No way.”

Anton laughs. “You remember this one?”

“Growl?” you say.

He cranks it up slightly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. You both sit there for a second, just listening.

Back in high school, Anton was obsessed with this song. Learned the lyrics and the choreo. He forced you to learn with him to keep him accountable, you still remember late night dance practices in your garage. He ran those practices like you were in boot camp.

He told you one night after lifeguard training that he wanted to be a K-pop idol. That he was serious. Like—leave school, move to Seoul and audition serious.

It’s not that you didn’t believe in him. Anton’s stupidly talented, he can play multiple instruments, produce, sing, dance. If anyone could’ve made it, it was him but his parents shut it down. They said it wasn’t stable, that he had too much potential in science and medicine to “throw it away on a whim.”

He never brought it up again. He still makes music sometimes, beats in his room, covers for fun, a little keyboard loop here and there but it’s just a hobby now.

You glance at him. “You still remember the words?”

He nods slowly. “Not all of them. But yeah.” You start humming and he joins in.

The windows are down, the music’s too loud. You’re both singing off-key and half-laughing. The ride continues like this until Anton turns the music down as you pull into the long driveway of the country club.

The stone entrance is the same but everything else looks newer and cleaner. The landscaping is sharp, the hedges manicured like they’ve been cut with scissors and the old faded sign has been swapped for something sleeker, modernized with some fancy rebrand name neither of you care enough to remember.

He parks in the staff lot angled slightly on the curb like always and hops out to grab your bags before you can even unbuckle your seatbelt.

You follow him inside through the back entrance down a hallway lined with beige walls and emergency evacuation posters. The staff break room smells faintly like sunscreen and freezer burn same as it always did. At least the lockers have been upgraded, sleeker and less dented metal and sharp corners.

Anton eyes the row before stopping at the end. “Take this one,” he says, nudging open the cleanest locker.

You tilt your head. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Bigger shelf.”

You don’t argue. You just smile and tuck your stuff inside. You’re taking down your water bottle when he nudges your shoulder. “Let’s go. You know they hate when we’re late.”

You roll your eyes but follow him through the staff hallways back to the front desk, where three others are already waiting.

The first face you recognize almost immediately, he’s about three apples tall, warm-eyed and has a smirk that’s impossible to miss.

“Sohee? No way.” You blink, half-laughing.

He grins. “Look who finally came back.”

You rush over, giving him a quick hug. It’s been forever, two years at least. Sohee was your summer coworker-turned-honorary brother back when you were fourteen. He worked the snack shack while you manned the front desk and Anton kept an eye on the pool. He went to high school in the next town over but somehow you all clicked immediately. Sohee had a big basement, a decent playlist and a personality that made him easy to trust.

After graduation, he headed to California for college. Got tired of Jersey winters and wanted a change. You’ve only really kept in touch through Instagram and random texts, low maintenance, long-distance kind of friendship. The kind that picks back up like nothing changed.

“You working front desk again?” he asks, already guessing the answer.

You nod. “Duh.”

He glances at Anton. “Pool?”

Anton nods back, reaching out for a bro hug. “Wouldn’t be summer without it.”

The guy next to Sohee is new; tall, tan, slightly broader than Anton with soft brown hair and a jawline that looks carved.

“This is Sungchan,” Sohee offers. “New hire. Lifeguarding with your boy over there.” He’s leaning casually against the counter sipping a Gatorade like he’s already claimed his chill guy status.

“I’m Harvey,” the girl beside him says cheerfully. She’s shorter, hair pulled into buns with spikes and practically bouncing on her heels. “Poolside snacks. Is this your first summer too?”

You smile. “Not exactly. We worked here freshman year of high school.”

Anton nods. “Figured we’d come back for one last round.”

“Ohhh, that makes sense! I saw you guys come in together, he was carrying your bag and opened the door for you and everything. You guys are so cute. Are you dating?” Harvey asks brightly.

The question stuns the group into silence.

You falter. “Oh—no, we’re just—”

“Friends,” Anton cuts in, laughing a little too fast. “Definitely just friends.”

You nod quickly. “Yeah. No. We’re just friends.”

It’s not a new question. People have been asking you that since middle school. Usually, you deny it without thinking, sometimes with a laugh, sometimes with a dramatic gag for effect. Living with Maya has made it easier to ignore the comments; she’s always teasing, always shipping, always nudging with that “but what if?”

But for some reason this time it lands wrong. Like a splinter, like something you can’t quite shake off. Especially when you glance at Anton and he’s laughing like the idea of dating you is absurd. Not even worth considering.

That…stings a little more than you expect it to. The conversation moves on.

Sungchan asks where you go to school. You tell him. He says he’s at Rutgers, studying kinesiology. He asks if you’re pre-med. You say no. He asks if you’ve ever been to Atlantic City. You say a hundred times over. It takes you a second to realize he’s flirting.

Sohee notices too, he smirks subtly, eyes flicking toward Anton who says nothing. Just stands there jaw tight arms crossed like he’s suddenly bored of the conversation.

Harvey loops back into your chat easily, bubbly and warm, clearly excited to be working her first job. You like her already.

Sohee eventually claps his hands together. “Alright losers, we should probably actually, you know, do our jobs.”

Anton mutters something under his breath and turns to Sungchan. “Let’s go before they stick us on towel duty.”

The two of them walk off toward the pool deck and Harvey waves before darting back toward the breakroom for her apron. Which leaves just you and Sohee at the desk.

He folds his arms and looks at you for a second too long.

You side-eye him. “What?”

He shrugs, clearly biting back a smile. “Just surprised. Thought maybe something would’ve changed between you two by now.”

You make a face. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything.”

“You are.”

He leans forward, elbows on the desk. “I’m just saying, if I didn’t know you guys—”

“Well, you do,” you cut in. “And there is nothing going on with me and Anton.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment just hums like he’s filing it away for later.

You look down at the sign-in binder, suddenly very interested in the pages that haven’t been filled yet because maybe once it was easy to say there’s no you and Anton and not think twice but right now…you’re not so sure.

___

You and Sohee spend most of the morning shift alternating between joking around and pretending to be productive.

He makes fun of your growing squishmallow collection, shows you a dumb video of a goose chasing tourists and bets you ten bucks someone’s gonna try to sneak in through the tennis courts again before noon.

“You still have that one video?” he asks at one point, tapping on the desk with a pencil. “The one Anton filmed after your crash out over that burger king worker getting your order wrong.”

You laugh. “Oh my gosh! I completely forgot about that night!”

He grins. “We were so annoying.”

“We still are,” you say and he doesn’t deny it.

Right before noon a girl storms through the front entrance, sunglasses still on and sandals clacking like she owns the place. She doesn’t even say hello before launching in. “My friend’s pass isn’t working and it’s hot and I swear if I have to stand in the sun one more second—”

You stare at her blakly. “What’s the name the pass is under?”

She scoffs before answering, “Lexi.”

You check the binder. “There’s no Lexi on the guest list.”

“She’s with a member. My dad okayed it.”

“I get that but if the member didn’t authorize her, we can’t—”

She cuts you off. “Are you incompetent? I just said my dad is fine with it.”

You smile—tight and polite. “I’m just following policy. Again, if your father reaches out to the front desk we can get it sorted.”

She gives you one last huff and storms out her heels clicking. You lean back in your chair, eyes narrowing. “I hate it here.”

Sohee snorts. “You handled that like a pro.”

“She called me incompetent.”

“Yeah but you didn’t cry or threaten to quit. Growth.”

You snort and toss a pen at him. “You’re so stupid.”

He dodges. “So are you, take a break.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re going to murder someone and I don’t want to be a witness.”

You groan but nod, grabbing your water bottle from under the desk. “Text me if another demon shows up.”

“Only if they’re hot.” You laugh and shake your head as you walk away.

Outside, the sun hits you instantly. The pool is packed, kids screaming, parents sweating and lifeguards trying to look like they’re not losing their minds. You spot Anton climbing down from the stand, towel over his shoulder, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. He meets your eye. “Break?”

“Sent out by Sohee before I committed a felony.”

Anton grins. “Be right back.”

He disappears into the staff building to grab the lunch he packed while you claim a shaded spot under a cabana kicking off your shoes and letting your socked-legs rest against the cool concrete. A breeze rolls in and you lean back, eyes half-closed.

“Hey,” someone says beside you.

You turn to find Sungchan, shirt slightly damp and water bottle in hand. “Mind if I sit?”

You shake your head. “Be my guest.”

He drops into the chair beside you, stretching like a cat. “I’m dying.”

“It’s a billion degrees out,” you agree.

“You always work front desk?”

“Yeah. It’s my thing, Anton’s tried getting me to do lifeguarding but he’s always been the better swimmer.”

“Cool,” he says and then offers you a fruit snack and asks if you’re from around here. You tell him you grew up just ten minutes down the road. He makes a joke about Jersey shore and you actually laugh. Anton rounds the corner carrying the lunchbox in one hand slushies in the other. His gaze flicks to where you’re sitting laughing at something Sungchan said and something shifts behind his eyes.

He doesn’t say hi. Doesn’t look at you. Just walks up and sets the lunchbox on the table between you without a word.

Sungchan blinks. “Hey man.”

Anton glances at him. “You’re still on break?”

“Uh…yeah?”

Anton doesn’t respond. Just raises a brow like really?

Sungchan stands slowly. “I should probably get back.”

He gives you a little wave. “See you later.” You wave back a bit thrown then turn to Anton.

“Seriously?”

He doesn’t meet your eye. “What?”

“That was rude.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t trying to be nice.”

You narrow your eyes at him, grabbing the lunchbox and flopping back into your seat.

“You okay?” you ask.

Anton shrugs again, collapsing into the chair beside you. “Just hot.”

You snort. “Yeah, hot and grumpy.”

He gives you a side glance then finally cracks a small smile. “Yeah, well. I brought slushies. That’s gotta count for something.”

You grab yours, mango, your favorite and take a long sip. “You’re lucky you remembered. I was about to write you off for being so rude.”

Anton reaches into the lunchbox and starts unpacking the contents. Two mismatched Tupperware containers, a few napkins, two forks. You watch as he places everything on the small table between you.

He pulls out the kimchi fried rice and hands you the portion with the less-burnt spam without needing to be asked.

“You’re so weirdly domestic,” you mutter, digging in.

“I don’t know what that means.”

You grin and the silence between you settles. The heat of the afternoon hums low around you but the breeze blows in every now and then and keeps things comfortable. From across the pool, a whistle blows and a kid does a cannonball that earns gasps from half the loungers.

You kick your leg slightly. “Remember that one time some kid got his arm stuck in the vending machine?”

Anton laughs with his mouth full. “Didn’t you encourage him?”

“I did not!”

“You absolutely did. He was trying to get the last bag of Doritos and you said, and I quote, ‘bet you can reach it if you just wiggle your arm a little more.’”

“That could’ve meant anything.”

“He almost dislocated his shoulder.”

“Okay but did he get the Doritos?”

Anton points at you with his fork. “You’re the reason we have warning signs now.”

You snort, shaking your head as you take another bite. You chew slowly, watching the pool sparkle under the sun.

In a softer voice you ask, “Why’d you bring up working here again? Really.” Anton doesn’t answer right away. Just sips his slushie, eyes fixed on something far off. When he finally speaks, his voice is casual.

“Figured we’d have fun,” he says. “Just us. Like before.”

You nod before really thinking about it but the words catch up to you. Just us.

You’ve said that to each other a hundred times over the years, maybe even more. When you were kids convincing your parents to let you go on class trips. When you got your first job together. When you swore off dating apps after two back-to-back disasters. It’s always been a comfort. Something easy. Something true but now, sitting here under a cabana with your lunch still warm between you and the summer breeze curling at your ankles, it feels different.

He says it so simply, like it’s not supposed to mean anything. Like it’s obvious but your chest tightens anyway, like maybe…maybe it does mean something or could mean something.

You glance over and search his face but he’s not looking at you. Just tearing little pieces of his napkin, focused on nothing at all.

You clear your throat. “Well…so far, so good.”

His lips quirk. “Even with Sungchan?”

You let out a groan and nudge his shoulder. “Oh my gosh. He was being nice.”

“He was flirting.” He argues.

“I don’t even know him.” You counter.

“He offered you his fruit snacks.”

You stare. “That is not flirting.”

“That’s first base,” he says deadpan.

You laugh despite yourself and shake your head. “He’s cool I guess but he’s still a stranger. I barely know the guy.” You take another sip of your slushie. “Besides, no one’s stealing your spot.”

He looks over at that, just for a second. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

But even after you say it something lingers in the silence between you. Something neither of you names, not yet. You look back out at the pool, squinting against the sun and pretend not to notice the way Anton shifts beside you.

June 17th, 2025

It’s a slow afternoon at the club. Sohee’s meant to be manning the front desk with you but really he’s just spinning around in the office chair balancing a bottle of Gatorade on his head while you lazily fold brochures into lopsided thirds.

“You know,” he says, steadying the bottle with one finger, “if I wasn’t working here, I think I’d make a pretty decent spy.”

You snort, folding another brochure. “You can’t even sneak snacks past the manager without getting caught.”

“That was one time and the chips were loud.”

The side door creaks open letting in a sticky gust of summer air. Anton and Sungchan walk in from the pool deck, Sungchan’s mid-story talking animatedly with his hands and Anton looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“—and then the kid straight-up cannonballs next to me like I don’t exist. I got splashed in the mouth.” Sungchan says frowning.

Anton shrugs. “I don’t know man, you did yell at him.”

“That crotch gremlin deserved it!”

They drift behind the desk, Sungchan flops into the second chair and kicks his feet up, Anton leans against the counter beside you standing closer than necessary. You glance at the clock, only an hour left on pool duty before rotations, Harvey had the early shift and already left.

“You’re dripping everywhere.” Sohee says glaring at Sungchan who just shrugs and shakes out his hair making Sohee groan as he gets soaked.

Just then, your manager strolls in glancing toward the darkening sky beyond the windows. His clipboard is tucked under his arm and his brows furrow slightly.

“Storm’s coming in early, might have to shut the pool soon. Don’t need the whole crew if this keeps up, anyone wanna head out early?” He announces.

Before anyone can say anything, Sohee shoots to his feet. “Yes. Me. I will gladly shoulder this burden for my best buddy pals.”

Your manager snorts. “That was fast.”

“I’m a man of action,” Sohee says, already grabbing his bag. “Sungchan, you coming?”

“Yeah, I got family stuff anyway.” Sungchan says, standing with a stretch.

Anton arches a brow. “Didn’t you say that yesterday?”

“Different side of the family,” Sungchan replies smoothly, already halfway down the hall.

You stifle a laugh as the door swings shut behind them, leaving the front desk quiet. Outside, the first low rumble of thunder rolls somewhere in the distance.

Anton glances at you and tilts his head toward the towel cart. “And then there were two.”

You sigh dramatically pushing off the counter. “Guess we better make ourselves useful.”

Anton follows you to the towel cart bumping your shoulder with his as he grabs a stack. “At least it’s just for a few hours?”

“I guess.” You mutter, folding a towel sloppily.

Just then, your manager pokes his head out from the breakroom half-distracted by the radar on his phone.

“There’s not much left. Just make sure the locker rooms are clean, stack the chairs if it rains and lock up if I’m not back by closing. I’ve got a staff meeting at the main branch.” He says.

You and Anton both blink. “Wait, you're leaving?”

He shrugs. “Storm’s rolling in so no one’s sticking around today. You two will be fine.” With that he leaves, the door swinging behind him and umbrella already up.

Anton stares after him. “Did he just abandon us mid-shift?”

You nod. “Yeah, I think that’s exactly what just happened.”

The sky grows heavier as you both finish up—tossing used towels in the bin, wiping down snack bar counters, dragging pool chairs toward the fence line as wind picks up. The club slowly empties around you. A couple teens from the tennis court wave goodbye, the remaining lifeguards shout something about “good luck,” and soon it’s just you and Anton, stacking the last of the loungers as the first drop of rain hits your arm.

You both scramble under the nearest overhang just as the clouds finally open up drenching the deck in seconds. You’re out of breath, a little damp and your shirt’s sticking to your back.

“Well, guess we’re stuck.” You breathe, watching the rain hammer the pavement from the safety of indoors.

Anton props his hands on his hips. “Could be worse.”

As if on cue the hallway lights flicker once, twice then cut out completely, leaving you in the dark.

You turn to him slowly. “Seriously?” Anton winces, hands already up in surrender. “Not my fault! How was I supposed to know!?”

You squint at him but he’s already backing toward the supply closet. “I’ll grab the flashlights.”

You huff and duck back behind the front desk. It’s weirdly peaceful here without the usual hum of air conditioning and squeals from the pool. Just the sound of rain and the occasional thunder rumble.

While he’s gone, you dig into the lower drawer under the desk and pull out Sohee’s “secret” stash of cards (the one he swears no one knows about but everyone definitely does). You grab the Uno deck and a half-empty bag of jolly ranchers, shaking the cards out and ‘shuffling’.

Anton returns with a flashlight already turned on, tucking the second into the tissue box holder for hands-free lighting.

“Please tell me you shuffled better than last time,” he says, eyeing the deck suspiciously.

You pause. “...Maybe.”

You’re both crouched behind the desk, legs tangled and cards fanned out while the flashlight glows between you. The storm outside is getting heavier and you mentally sigh knowing you can kiss your rewatch of TVD with Maya goodbye.

“Draw four.” Anton says, smug as he tosses the card down.

You gape at it, betrayed. “Dude! We just started.”

He leans back, stretching like he’s got all the time in the world. “Don’t care, pick ‘em up.”

“I’m never forgiving you.” You say as you pick up four cards.

He laughs, biting into a watermelon Jolly Rancher and tossing you a blue one without looking. You catch it and roll your eyes.

You glance at him, hair still damp from the sprint, sleeves pushed up, lips slightly pink from the candy and it hits you again, just like it did in his car on the day of your first shift, how much he means to you. How dangerous this feeling is becoming but you say nothing, just slap down a wild draw four and smirk. “Your move, loser. The color is green.”

___

Eventually, the round ends with Anton barely winning and the sugar buzz from the jolly ranchers wear off. With nothing else to do, the two of you flop back against the floor, heads tilted toward the ceiling.

“This is so boring,” you groan.

“It’s either this or alphabetizing the lost and found.”

You squint at the ceiling tiles like they hold answers. Anton shifts slightly and pulls out his phone checking the battery. “Eight percent. You want music before she dies on us?”

You nod and toss your own phone over. “Bluetooth’s still connected to the speaker in here. Just use mine.”

He queues up your liked songs on shuffle and taps play. The first song to play is Ordinary by Alex Warren. You sit up immediately. “Oh my gosh, I love this song.”

Anton raises an eyebrow, watching the way your face lights up. “I can tell.”

You hug your knees to your chest swaying a little with the beat. “I’ve been obsessed since it dropped. Wanted to see him in concert but the prices were ridiculous.”

He hums. “Wanna dance?”

You stare at him. “Right now?”

He shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Why not?”

Your eyes search his face. He’s not teasing just asking. After a moment you slowly nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

He stands first and offers a hand which you take as you get to your feet. The two of you step around the scattered cards, the dim flashlight casting shadows behind you. The storm outside softens to a steady patter and somewhere in the distance thunder hums low.

Anton places a careful hand on your waist and you loop yours around his neck. It’s a little awkward at first, a little silly but then it isn’t.

You sway and he hums along under his breath. You snuggle closer to his chest, finding comfort in the way his chest vibrates with each note.

Your heart starts doing that thing again, fluttering and aching and racing all at once. This feels like nothing but it also feels like everything.

Suddenly Anton says, “remember when you made me promise to marry you if we’re both single by thirty?”

You pull back slightly to look at him. “Wait—when did I say that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sophomore year. After things ended with that junior—what was his name? Woobin?”

You gasp, “Oh my gosh! I lost so many aura points that year.” You say as a shiver runs down your spine.

You were with Wonbin for a little over six months though sometimes it felt like twice as long.

At first he was exciting, mysterious with a dry sense of humor and a way of making you feel like the center of his universe until you weren’t.

What started as something fun and flirty quickly slipped into something…heavier. You started bending more, giving more. Time, patience, pieces of yourself and he kept taking. He never asked you to shrink yourself, not out loud at least but somehow you found yourself doing it anyway. To keep the peace and to keep him.

He didn’t like that Anton was always around. Didn’t like that your phone lit up with his texts or that you studied together late. No matter how many times you explained that Anton had been there long before him, that it was never like that, he’d just give you a look and change the subject. He never raised his voice, never cussed you out but he was cold in all the places warmth should’ve lived.

And his friends. You shiver at the reminder of them. Girls who barely spoke to you, who made inside jokes you weren’t part of, who looked at you like you’d taken something that didn’t belong to you. You tried. You really did but trying only made it clearer you weren’t welcome.

The breaking point came in the common room. You’d found out that one of those girls used to date him. You didn’t come at him yelling, you just asked why he hadn’t told you. Why he’d let you sit next to her, smile at her, try so hard to be liked by someone who used to be where you were.

He didn’t even let you finish, called you a hypocrite and said he didn’t owe you explanations when you had Anton on speed dial. Then he walked out. Just like that.

You didn’t chase him. You just stood there in the middle of the lounge, hands trembling.

Maya came to you not even a minute later. She’d been eavesdropping from the hallway. She didn’t say anything at first, just wrapped an arm around you and walked you back to your room.

“I always hated him but you already knew that.” She said the second the door closed.

You slumped onto your desk chair while Maya cracked open a bottle of Tito’s. She was celebrating the end of your situationship, you were grieving. Sort of.

“He sucked but you’re still hot.” She had said plainly, handing you a shot. You drank to that.

Then you kept drinking. The two of you ended up blasting music, dancing around the dorm, mascara smudged and feet bare, shouting lyrics you only half knew. That’s when the knock came.

Anton was the RA on duty that night, he looked tired but concerned, already wincing when he saw the speaker blinking blue. “Girls—”

“We got a noise complaint?” Maya guessed.

Anton nodded. “Two, actually.”

You winced. “Are we in trouble?”

He glanced at the open bottle on your desk and sighed. “Technically? Yes. Realistically? No.”

He didn’t write you up. Just stepped inside, clicked off the speaker and lowered the lights. Then he grabbed two water bottles from under your bed, handed one to Maya and sat with you on the edge of your bed helping you drink while she wandered to the bathroom, mumbling something about needing makeup wipes.

He didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t need to. He already knew. Anton always knew.

He knew that Wonbin never held your hand in public unless people weren’t watching. That he rarely walked you back to your dorm after study sessions. That he “forgot” your birthday until Maya posted a story about it.

He was the one who bought you a cupcake when Wonbin didn’t show up to your dinner plans. The one who printed your essay for you the morning your laptop died because Wonbin hadn’t answered your texts. The one who sat outside your chem lecture for an hour once, just to walk you home after your midterm.

He didn’t like Wonbin. Never had but he never said anything because you kept insisting everything was fine and he didn’t want you to feel like you had to choose so he just stayed quiet.

Anton wrapped you up in your blanket that night and helped you sober up while you ranted about love and timing and how you had “plans that you couldn’t share because the haters would sabotage you.”

You remember him giving you a blank stare before asking if you were seriously quoting Dr. Umar. You’d just shrugged then made him pinky promise. First it was to marry you if you weren’t in a serious relationship by the end of senior year but Maya chimed in from the bathroom and said that was too soon so you adjusted it—thirty. If you were still single by thirty, he had to marry you. You passed out right after.

You blink at the memory laughing softly and a little horrified. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I actually said that.”

Anton chuckles, his fingers tightening a bit on your waist. “You were drunk.”

“You should’ve stopped me.”

“I don’t think I could’ve. You were very persuasive” He says grinning. 

You groan. “That’s so embarrassing.”

He tilts his head, thoughtful. “I don’t know. It was kind of sweet.”

You snort. “I was in the trenches.”

“I remember. I wanted to punch that guy sometimes.” He murmurs, voice quieter now. 

You glance up at him, not shocked. “You and Maya.”

“I would’ve done it, y’know,” he says after a beat.

You cock your head still half-smiling. “Punched him?”

Anton shakes his head. “No. Marry you…you know, if we were thirty and single.”

You blink, breath catching in your throat. He says it so easily. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been obvious.

Your mouth opens but no sound comes out at first. “You would?”

“Yeah. You’re not exactly hard to imagine a future with.” He says simply, like the thought doesn’t scare him at all.

For a second you don’t know what to say because it’s Anton, your best friend, saying he’d marry you and saying it like it’s nothing, like it’s already written somewhere in the future, just waiting for the two of you to catch up.

You think about waking up to him. About sharing a bathroom and arguing over toothbrush placements. About movie nights in old pajamas, mismatched socks and legs tangled under the blanket. About apartment keys and slow Sunday mornings and his name showing up on every contact form you’ll ever fill out again.

You think about bringing him lunch at work. About him rubbing your back while you fall asleep. About the two of you building a home from scratch, filling it with too many throw pillows and framed polaroids and mugs that don’t match.

You even think—just briefly—about kids.

Maybe a little girl with your smile and his eyes. A boy who makes the same scrunched-up face when he’s concentrating. Anton would be the softest kind of dad, you know it. The kind who learns how to braid hair and shows up to every dance recital or soccer match early just so he can save a front-row seat.

Your chest squeezes at the thought because the idea of forever with him doesn’t feel scary. It doesn’t feel rushed or wrong. It feels…easy and almost right.

Anton shifts slightly, eyes flicking down to meet yours like he feels it too. Like he might say something more but then the lights flicker back on with a quiet buzz. You both freeze then blink dazed like a spell’s been broken.

Anton clears his throat and takes a careful step back. “We should probably lock up.”

You nod quickly. “Y-yeah. Before the storm comes back.”

Neither of you says anything else. Not about the dance. Not about the promise. Not about what might have happened if the lights had stayed off just a minute longer.

July 3rd, 2025

It’s been almost a month since the storm, you and Anton never brought up that night again. You moved on like nothing happened and went right back to being best friends.

The days have since blurred into sun-drenched afternoons and late-night group chats with slushies and sunscreen. Summer is halfway through and you’ve done more than you thought you would.

Harvey’s become one of your favorite people. You’ve spent more time with her than anyone lately, just the two of you doing silly girly things like you’ve known each other forever. You’ve gotten your nails done twice; matching pastel chrome one week then tiny hearts the next.

You’ve had sleepovers where you ate too much candy, tried on outfits for no reason and stayed up until 1 a.m freetyling to old beats Anton had made. You’ve gone on aimless shopping trips, floated in her pool while talking about first crushes and dream jobs and made it a tradition to blast One Direction during every 7-Eleven run.

You’ve spent a lot of time with the guys too. Group hangouts at Sohee’s house are now routine. His basement has become the unofficial meeting spot, snacks everywhere, a projector hooked up for movies, blankets in every corner.

You rotate who gets to pick the movie (Sungchan keeps choosing weird action flicks and Sohee only ever wants to rewatch Rush Hour) and every hangout ends with someone yelling over who ate the last bag of gummies.

One night Sungchan brought over edibles from his college roommate Eunseok. You were hesitant at first but Anton nudged your shoulder and said, “why not” so you gave in. You all ended up sprawled out on the carpet of Sohee’s basement laughing at nothing and everything, whispering nonsense while trying not to wake his family upstairs.

At one point Harvey started crying because the ceiling “felt too big,” and Sungchan offered her a half-eaten Rice Krispie treat like it was a solution. Sohee kept trying to freestyle over the Wii music theme and Anton couldn’t stop giggling every time he looked at you.

You don’t remember falling asleep, just that you woke up with Anton’s hoodie draped over you and a bag of marshmallows stuck to your arm. How they got there, you still have no clue.

You’ve also spent time with Anton. There was a week where he decided completely out of nowhere that he wanted to bleach his hair. You helped, obviously. Sat with him in his bathroom while he panicked over the yellow stage, laughed when the toner stained his ears purple and eventually helped him dye it back to black two weeks later when he said he “missed feeling like himself.”

You went on a picnic too, just the two of you at the park where you used to ride bikes as kids. You brought drinks, a bag of chips and laid out an old blanket while he strummed his guitar. It felt a little like slipping back into a memory. Safe and familiar. Comfortable in a way you didn’t even realize you missed.

You’ve texted with Maya here and there. She’s having the time of her life being back home in Japan, eating well, reconnecting with family and promising to bring back enough souvenirs to redecorate the whole dorm. You miss her but you’re glad she’s having fun. If anyone deserved a break, it’s her.

So far, you’d say this summer’s shaping up to be one for the books like you hoped.

Currently, you and Harvey have just pulled into the staff lot five minutes after your shifts have started, windows down, music still playing from your drive in. She’s wearing her “Snack Shack Queen” visor ironically and sipping from a pink water bottle covered in glittery stickers. You’re both still laughing about something Sungchan texted in the group chat.

Harvey parks her beat-up Corolla with a glitter Hello Kitty air freshener dangling from the mirror next to Anton’s Jeep. He usually drives you both but since you crashed at Harvey’s last night, you figured it made more sense to go together, his shift started before yours anyway.

“Tell Loverboy I say hey,” Harvey says, grabbing her apron from the backseat and shooting you a wink.

“He’s not—” you start but she’s already skipping toward the snack bar, waving over her shoulder.

You shake your head, smiling and sling your tote over your shoulder before heading inside. The country club smells like chlorine, sunscreen and money. You pass the front desk and spot Sohee’s station empty, he called in “sick” this morning, which you’re 99% sure just means he didn’t feel like putting on khakis today.

Out by the pool, Anton’s already leaning against the towel cart, arms crossed, hair still damp and glinting in the sun. His name tag is crooked, sunglasses hooked onto the collar of his navy polo like they live there.

“You’re late, I had to fold, like, four towels without you.”  He calls out but he’s smiling. 

“Tragic,” you deadpan, tossing your bag into the breakroom on the way over. “You want a medal or a hug?”

“A raise, actually.”

You roll your eyes but the corners of your mouth tug upward anyway. He looks good, tanned and relaxed with a confidence he only wears in the summer. You’ve known his face forever but lately it feels like you’re noticing things more than you used to.

The way his shoulders have filled out. The way his hair curls slightly when it’s wet. The way he chews on the edge of his sunglasses when he’s focused. It’s subtle. Barely anything but it’s there. You grab a towel and start folding next to him.

“How’s Sohee?” Anton asks.

“Too sick to answer texts apparently,” you say with a laugh. “But healthy enough to post a gym selfie.”

Anton snorts, shaking his head as he flips a towel. Then after a beat he says, “My dad’s back.”

You glance over, softening. “Yeah?”

He nods once, eyes still on the towel in his hands. “Flew in yesterday. Just for the week.”

You pause. “How do you feel about that?”

He shrugs, like he doesn’t want to think too hard about it. “Happy, I guess. Just wish it was longer.”

There’s more he doesn’t say but you know it’s there. Anton doesn’t talk about his dad much. Not really. You know he wishes he came home more often. That he hates how normal it’s become to miss him.

He clears his throat. “Anyway, my parents invited you over for dinner tonight. You don’t have to come if you’re busy, but my mom thought it’d be nice.”

You smile, folding another towel. “I’d love to. I miss being around her.”

He glances over and the smile he gives you is soft. Grateful. A little relieved. “Cool.”

You finish the last of the towels in silence then the two of you head off to your stations, the sun already climbing higher in the sky.

___

You and Anton clock out right as the sun starts dipping behind the trees, casting everything in a late-summer haze. Your shirt sticks slightly to your back, your name tag is crooked and your tote feels heavier than usual.

Anton unlocks his Jeep with a click and you toss your bag into the back seat before climbing in. The windows are already down helping a bit with the heat. He turns on the car and your phone automatically connects to aux before he can even ask.

You scroll for a bit before settling on a random indie playlist. You’re halfway through the second song when your phone buzzes.

5:47 pm | sungchan 🐸: tell me this isn’t you 😭

The next text is a meme of someone dramatically face-planting into a bed labeled “me after a 5 hour shift of standing still pretending to be helpful” You snort. Another buzz comes in.

5:50 pm | sungchan 🐸: also ur slushie combo is elite don’t let anyone tell you diff brodie 🙏🏻

You giggle, thumbs tapping out a quick reply. Anton glances sideways. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head. “Sungchan went back to the seven eleven to try my slushie combo you all clowned me for and for the record he thinks it tastes great.”

Anton lets out a short laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You two text a lot, huh?”

You glance at him. “I mean…yeah, I guess. He’s funny.”

“Hilarious,” Anton mutters as his fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel. You blink but say nothing, turning back to your phone.

Anton pulls into his driveway a few minutes later and before he’s even out of the car, you spot someone through the window waving a controller in the air.

Anton helps you out of the jeep and unlocks the front door of his home and allows you to walk in first. “About time,” Junyoung calls from the couch, controller in hand. “I’ve been waiting for backup.”

He looks so different it almost knocks you back. He’s taller than Anton now. Freshly sixteen. Still adorable but no braces, no bowl cut just sharp cheekbones, a deeper voice and the same mischievous grin.

“Excuse me,” you say, stepping inside and tossing your bag down. “I’ve been working. What’s your excuse?”

“Don’t need one,” he says simply, then pulls you into a hug that knocks the air out of you. “Also, Anton still sucks. You’re playing next round.”

Anton scoffs. “You got lucky once.”

You throw yourself onto the couch beside Junyoung grabbing a spare controller with a grin. “Please. You’ve always sucked at gaming.”

“Facts. You remember that one time he rage quit because you beat him three rounds in a row?” Junyoung says smirking as he unpauses the game.

Anton groans behind you. “That was like eight years ago.”

“It’s okay, Ton. Losing builds character.” You say sweetly, nudging Junyoung with your shoulder.

He’s about to retaliate, probably with a pillow to your face when the soft sound of footsteps interrupts. Anton’s mom appears from around the corner, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“There she is,” she beams, already pulling you into a warm hug. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”

You hug her back tightly. “I’ve missed you too.”

She pulls back just enough to cup your face in both hands. “It’s been too long.”

“I know! I’m sorry for not coming by sooner. Summer’s been more packed than I expected.” You say bashfully.

She waves off your apology with a soft cluck of her tongue. “As long as you come by again before the summer ends, you’re forgiven.”

“Of course! There’s no way I’m leaving without seeing you again.” You say.

That earns you a delighted cheek pinch and a mock stern, “Good. Now, are you hungry?”

“Always.”

“Perfect. I made all your favorites.”

You stare at her shocked. “Wait, seriously?”

She smiles. “You think I don’t remember?”

Your heart swells. “Can I help with anything?”

She waves you off. “No need. I’m sure Junyoung is dying to have you all to himself.”

Junyoung shrugs with a lopsided grin. “She gets me.”

Anton’s dad steps in next, he offers you a hug too, less animated but just as sincere.

“Hi, Welcome home.” You say, suddenly shy.

“It’s good to see you.” He says

You nod, a little overwhelmed. “It’s really good to see you too.”

He pulls back, studying your face for a moment like he’s trying to memorize it. “You’ve grown up well.”

You duck your head, smiling. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad you’re still around, means a lot to me. To all of us.”

You blink a few times, heart tugging at the edges. “Me too.”

He gives your arm a squeeze before turning toward the kitchen to join his wife.

You plop back down beside Junyoung, resuming your spot with the controller and clear your throat. “Okay. Let’s see if you’re actually good or just all talk.”

“Bet,” Junyoung says.

Anton disappears up the stairs to change and you don’t think twice about it at least not until he comes back down a few minutes later with an extra hoodie draped over his arm. Without saying anything, he tosses it into your lap.

You look up at him. “What’s this for?”

He shrugs like it’s obvious. “The AC’s blasting,” he says casually. “You always get cold.”

You blink a few times then smile. “Right.”

You tug it on without thinking. It’s soft and smells faintly like his laundry detergent, the sleeves are a little too long and the collar is stretched, proof it’s been worn a lot.

Your chest tightens in a way that’s becoming more frequent around him. It’s nothing. Just a hoodie you try to remind yourself but it still makes your chest go a little funny.

Maybe it’s because he just knows. He doesn’t ask, he just knows. Little stuff you don’t even realize you’ve said out loud like how you always run cold or that you sleep better with background noise or that you hate when your food touches on the plate even if you pretend it doesn’t matter.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Anytime.” He says as he shrugs like it’s nothing.

You settle deeper into the couch, tugging the sleeves over your hands and letting the warmth wrap around you. Anton turns his attention to the screen, where Junyoung is still mid-game yelling something about lag and you pulling him down.

You glance over at Anton once more and wonder when this started feeling different. When something so small, so simple began to mean so much.

Soon, Anton’s mom calls everyone to dinner and Junyoung is the first to jump up, already bragging about how he carried the team.

You and Anton follow behind and the smell hits you instantly. His mom has always been an incredible cook and the dining table proves it. Bowls of banchan, platters of rice, soy-glazed chicken, kimchi pancakes still steaming. Your mouth waters just looking at it.

Anton’s dad pours sparkling water into your glass before settling across from you and his mom gestures for you to sit wherever you’d like. You slide into the seat beside Anton without thinking.

“So,” his mom says brightly, already passing you the rice spoon, “how’s school?”

You sigh and give a small laugh. “It’s…fine. I’m ready to be done.” Everyone laughs at that. Even Anton lets out a knowing groan.

“Any plans for after graduation?” his dad asks.

You shrug. “Thinking of taking a gap year. Traveling a little before applying to grad school.”

“Ooh, I love that,” his mom says, eyes lighting up. “Where to?”

You rattle off a few places; Shanghai, maybe Spain, somewhere in West Africa if you can swing it. His dad nods. “Do you know what your concentration will be?”

“Not yet,” you admit. “Lately I’ve been leaning toward cancer research but it’s still a little fuzzy.” Anton hums beside you, like he’s storing the answer somewhere.

Then with barely a beat his mom tilts her head. “And what about dating? Anyone special?”

You choke on your water a little, coughing into your sleeve. Anton groans immediately. “Mom,” he says, dragging the word out like a sigh.

“What? I’m just asking. You’re gorgeous and smart. Don’t tell me no one’s caught your eye.” She says smiling innocently.

You laugh awkwardly but politely. “No, there’s no one right now. I haven’t really thought about it much lately.”

“Mmm, what about Sungchan?” She says then smiles again.

That makes you pause. “Wait—how do you know Sungchan?”

“I saw the photo strips,” she says with a little twinkle in her eye.

Oh. Right.

You’d completely forgotten about those. A few weeks ago all five of you had gone to Boston on a whim. No plans, just the weekend off and nowhere to be. You’d convinced everyone it would be fun. Harvey wanted to thrift, Sungchan wanted an excuse to wear his bucket hat, Sohee said he knew a good boba spot and Anton didn’t even need convincing.

You took the train into the city and spent the morning biking around the reflecting pool weaving past couples on picnic blankets and kids chasing each other through fountains. The five of you looked ridiculous riding in a single file line, Anton almost crashed into a tree trying to get a video of Harvey singing One Direction off-key.

You drifted in and out of thrift stores, tried on sunglasses you didn’t plan to buy and dragged the boys into little boutiques on Newbury with Harvey. Sungchan found a pink faux fur jacket and wore it for twenty minutes before the shop owner asked if you were planning on purchasing anything.

You ended your trip at a hole-in-the-wall record store where there was a photobooth hidden away inside. You took one group strip first, crammed shoulder to shoulder props half-falling off, the flash going off before you were ready.

You remember Sungchan's arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer at the last second. In one of the shots, you and Anton are smiling at each other and the rest of the frame is a blur of laughter and too many hands trying to hold up signs that said things like “hot stuff” and “assalicious.”

After that you and Anton took one together just the two of you. You don’t remember much about what you were doing (laughing probably) but you remember the feeling.

The warmth of him beside you in that cramped booth. The way he nudged the silly heart glasses higher on your head. You’d meant to keep the strips in your tote, maybe stick them on your mirror when you got home but now that his mom mentioned it…you must’ve left them in his car.

You clear your throat. “He’s nice,” you say carefully. “Funny. Cute, I guess. I don’t know if he’s interested though.”

She nods in understanding and asks Anton about the Country Club. You’re not shocked at how easily she jumps from questioning you about your love life to a casual conversation with her son about work.

No, what surprises you and catches you a little off guard though is that your heart doesn’t jump. It doesn’t flutter. Doesn’t twist or do any of the things it’s supposed to do when someone mentions a boy who might like you and that’s strange, isn’t it?

If you’re being honest, Sungchan was a highlight that day. He made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt when he tried to mimic a Boston accent and failed miserably. He offered to carry your tote bag without asking.

At one point, he walked beside you while you searched for somewhere to grab dessert and gently guided you away from an oncoming cyclist by your waist. It was the kind of casual touch that should’ve made your stomach flip but it didn’t. It was sweet. He’s sweet but that’s not what your brain lingers on.

You think about Anton standing at the boba shop counter, ordering and paying for your drink without needing to ask. You were all sitting along the curb outside, legs stretched out taking some polaroids. He didn’t even look at you when he slid the drink into your hand, just nudged your arm and said, “stay hydrated.”

You think about the matcha cream puff you couldn’t finish and how he took the last bite like it was nothing then wiped a bit of powdered sugar from your cheek. No one saw but it stuck with you.

There was also the walk back to the station. You were tired, arms full of snacks and shopping bags and Anton reached out without a word to take the heavier ones. A minute later, your hands brushed. Then again and on the third pass, he took yours gently and held it the rest of the way.

You also think about the tiny corner gift shop at the station, where you were killing time before the next train. You’d wandered off from the group, flipping through a rack of silly trinkets and keychains when Anton joined you, holding up a set of tiny peaches; one smiling, one frowning.

“So you don’t lose your keys,” he said, voice teasing but quiet.

You snorted. “You’re so annoying. I don’t lose my keys that often.”

But he still bought them.

Later that night on the train, he clipped the frowning one to your keys while you weren’t looking. You only noticed after he dropped you off at home and you pulled them out of your tote. The smiling one showed up a few days later, hooked to the strap of his duffle bag.

Anton doesn’t say anything. You glance over and he’s still eating but slower now. Focused a little too hard on pushing rice across his plate like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

The conversation keeps going. His mom is asking about dessert. Junyoung’s already halfway through his second helping. His dad pours another glass of wine and says something that makes everyone laugh but it all blurs around you.

The truth is, your heart does flutter. It does twist and tighten and pull in that annoyingly dizzying way you’ve always associated with feelings you told yourself you didn’t have. They were so woven into everything that you didn’t notice when they shifted into something else. 

You look down at your plate and suddenly you’re not as hungry because it’s in that moment that it dawns on you…you’re in love with your best friend.

You stay quiet for the rest of dinner, laughing where you’re supposed to, answering questions when asked but your mind is still back there. Looping through little things—glances, touches, inside jokes that suddenly feel like more. Anton offers to drive you home. You nod.

The ride is quiet. The playlist from earlier still playing low. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and you pick at your cuticles.

“Sorry about my mom,” he says eventually, voice softer now. “She’s just nosy.”

You force a smile. “It’s fine. She’s sweet.” He glances over. You don’t meet his eyes. Your throat feels too tight.

When he pulls into your driveway, you unbuckle your seatbelt a little too fast. “Thanks again. For the ride and dinner.”

He starts to say something, maybe to ask what’s wrong but you’re already out the door, waving. “Night, Anton.”

You don’t mean for it to sound rushed but it does. You shut the door gently almost guiltily and don’t look back as you walk up your porch steps. He stays there for a beat before finally driving off.

The second you’re inside you drop your tote in the hallway and lean against the door. The realization crashes over you again like a wave. You’re in love with Anton.

You fumble for your phone, thumbs shaking slightly as you scroll through your contacts. The tears don’t fall right away. You rush up the steps into your bedroom to avoid facing your parents. Once you’re in your room you close the door and hit call.

It’s 10 PM your time somewhere past noon in Japan but Maya answers on the third ring, eyebrows raised and hair in a messy bun. “Hey! I was literally about to text—wait. What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

You open your mouth but the tears slip out before you can stop them. Maya sits up fast. “Wait—what’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”

You shake your head quickly, wiping at your cheeks. “I’m okay. I’m just—Maya…”

“Hey, hey, slow down, what happened?” She says softly, her voice losing its playfulness. 

“I think I’m in love with Anton.”

She pauses. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t laugh. She just exhales like she already knew. “Okay.”

You sniff, surprised. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Tell me what happened.” She says.

You wipe your eyes and tell her everything. About the night of the storm, about dinner, about the hoodie, about the way it just hit you all at once. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. It’s so obvious now.”

Maya listens quietly, nodding like she’s been waiting for this call for years.

“But he doesn’t like me,” you add quickly. “Not like that. He’s never said anything and if I tell him it’ll ruin everything.”

Maya’s deadpan. “____. The boy gave up his summer to work a minimum-wage job at a country club with you.”

You frown. “It’s not like that. We’ve always done stuff together. It’s tradition.”

She actually scoffs. “Okay, what about the time he walked across campus in the rain just to bring you cough drops because your throat was sore? Or how he always waits outside your last class so you don’t have to walk back to the dorms alone, even when it’s freezing? He doesn’t do that for anyone else.” You open your mouth to argue but she keeps going.

“He’s the one who made you that dumb finals playlist when you were stressed remember? And brought you hot chocolate when your cramps were bad. He even learned how to fold your laundry the way you like because you hate when your shirts get wrinkled.”

She’s not even teasing anymore. She’s just listing things. Facts. Things you somehow forgot until now.

“He brings an extra hoodie to study nights without saying why, brings an extra charger in case you forget, reminds you to eat before exams, he carries your bag when your shoulder’s acting up.”

Each example lands a little heavier than the last. Maya gives you a second, then says softly, “All that isn’t just sweet. That’s someone who’s paying attention.”

She waits for you to say something but when you stubbronly stay silent she says. “That’s someone who’s equally in love with you.” You sniff in response.

It’s one thing to feel it, the persistent ache you’ve been brushing off all summer but it’s another to hear it spoken out loud. Plain, true and undeniable. Your voice comes out small. “But what if I’m wrong?”

“You’re not.”

“But what if I ruin everything?”

Maya doesn’t flinch. “Then you ‘ruin’ it for the right reason.” She says with air quotes.

You pull your knees to your chest, hoodie sleeves covering your hands. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“You won’t. You know him. Anton wouldn’t walk away just because things got complicated. He’s not wired like that.” She says gently.

Still, your silence stretches long. Maya’s voice softens even more. “Just sit with it. Don’t panic. I’m not saying confess your love tomorrow or anything.”

You let out the weakest laugh imaginable.

She smiles. “Just…think about it. Let it be true for a while. See what it feels like.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

There’s a quiet beat between you, like the calm after the storm. Maya’s eyes are kind through the screen. She doesn’t say I told you so, doesn’t tease, just sits with you in the moment. Your phone buzzes and you glance down at the notification banner.

9:10 pm | sungchan 🐸: kickback @ mine tmr u losers in?

You read it twice. Maya notes your expression. “Groupchat?”

You nod. “Sungchan’s throwing something tomorrow.”

“You gonna go?”

“Yeah, I think I need the distraction.”  You murmur.

Maya hums. “It’ll be good. Just…don’t avoid Anton okay? He doesn’t know what you’re feeling. If you pull away now he might think it’s about him.”

You nod again. “I won’t. Promise.”

“Good and text me the second anything happens. Happy, awkward—whatever. I want updates.”

You smile and nod. “Thanks, Maya.”

“Of course, that’s what best friends are for. Now go to bed and call me tomorrow. I still want to finish our Vampire Diaries rewatch.”

You laugh. “You just want to yell at Damon again.”

“He deserves it.”

You hang up with a grateful goodbye then scroll back to the groupchat that’s now lighting up your lockscreen.

9:13 pm | harvey 👽: sungchan can u get more edibles and should i bring snacks 9:13 pm | sungchan 🐸: i’ll ask eunseok 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 9:14 pm |sohehe🕺🏻: i’ll bring beer 9:14 pm | sohehe🕺🏻: also can we crash at yours sungchan? don’t feel like driving after 9:16 pm | you: does ur house have a pool it’s gonna be 90 degrees 😭 9:16 pm | sungchan 🐸: duh. bring ur hottest bikini 😉

You snort and thumbs down the message.

9:17 pm | you: reported for harassment. 9:18 pm | sohehe🕺🏻: bro u flirt like a 2007 facebook status 9:20 pm | sungchan 🐸: y’all are just jealous i’m bringing the ✨vibes✨ 9:20 pm | ton 🦕: you’re bringing a headache. 9:20 pm | you: chat he’s already sighing and we haven’t even left the house 9:21 pm | ton 🦕: i’m sighing because i know i’ll be the one cleaning up after you gremlins 9:22 pm | you: anyways can someone bring uno 9:22 pm | harvey 👽: ooo and the karaoke mic 9:23 pm | sungchan 🐸: oh it’s so over for y’all 9:23 pm | ton 🦕: if you bring that mic i’m leaving 9:23 pm | you: you say that every time and you stay the longest?? 9: 24 pm | harvey 👽: and hog the mic like it’s your world tour 9:24 pm | sohehe🕺🏻: WHO is this diva 9:25 pm | sungchan 🐸: bro sings like simon cowell is in the room 9:25 pm | ton 🦕: i hate you all. what time should we be there 9:26 pm | sungchan 🐸: idk maybe like 1 9:27 pm | sohehe🕺🏻: i’m not bringing sunscreen someone better share 9:30 pm | you: i got u 🫦 9:31 pm | sohehe🕺🏻: 🫤 that emoji was unnecessary.

You’re about to turn off your phone when it starts buzzing again but this time with a FaceTime from Harvey. You answer and her face fills the screen framed by fairy lights and the beginnings of her skincare routine. She’s got one of those fluffy headbands on, the kind with little bear ears and she’s holding a popsicle like it’s a microphone.

“Heyyy,” she sings, already grinning. “Can I come over in the morning to get ready with you?”

You nod, shifting on your blanket. “Only if you drive to Sungchan’s.”

Harvey snorts. “Obviously. You act like I trust you behind the wheel of any vehicle.” You laugh and tell her to shut up, she laughs as well but then her expression shifts still playful, just a little more curious.

“Also, random question, what’s going on with you and Sungchan?” She asks, tilting her head.

You balk at her “Me and Sungchan?”

She shrugs, licking her popsicle. “I don’t know. Just…I’ve picked up on some flirting. Has something happened?”

You shake your head. “No. Not on my end at least. He’s just a cool friend.”

Harvey hums like she doesn’t entirely buy it but isn’t surprised either. “Cool. Still team Anton, though.”

Your breath catches slightly but you force a smile. “Harv…”

“What? I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.” She says with a lazy grin.

You don’t say anything to that. You could and you probably should but the words don’t come. Not yet, not when your heart still feels like it’s trying to catch up with itself.

“Anyway,” she says, glancing at the time, “I’ll be there at ten. Charge the karaoke mic.”

You nod. “Night, Harv.”

“Night, girly pop.”

The call ends and you set your phone facedown on the nightstand. You collapse onto your bed and stare up at the ceiling.

Tomorrow you’ll have to see him again smile like nothing’s changed and pretend everything hasn’t completely shifted beneath your feet. You roll onto your side, pressing your face into the hoodie he gave you, the sleeves still bunched at your wrists.

You don’t know what comes next, you don’t know what it’ll mean if he doesn’t feel the same. You don’t know if you’re ready to find out. For now, you just lie in bed still and silent, hoping that somehow when the sun comes up, you'll know what to do.

[cinnamon7girl7]

"THROUGH THE SILENCE, I WILL RETURN TO YOU ."

♡ — Summary: I thought I had it all — Satoru’s love, Megumi’s warmth, and Suguru’s trust. But even the strongest love can break when truth hides behind silence. One betrayal changes everything; pain drives them apart, yet memories and a love still alive won’t let them go. Now, Satoru fights for a second chance, and she must decide if, after all the hurt, love is still worth it. ♡ — Author's note: This is the first fanfic I’ve written, so I apologize if some things don’t make sense. My first language isn’t English, so I apologize if there are any spelling mistakes. This story consists of 5 chapters and several epilogues, which I can upload if you’d like, as only the first episode is available so far. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1 — "Those Days We Swore Would Last Forever"

Sometimes I think that if I could trap time in a jar, I would take the days when everything was peace. Days like that one, when the sun poured through the window, and I listened to Megumi teasing Satoru while he burned the pancakes again.

—"Look, sweetheart! This time I didn't burn them!" —Satoru would say, proudly showing me a half-raw batter that I couldn’t help but smile at.

We lived in that bubble. Small. Intimate. Ours.

I remember when I made mochi for him for the first time. It was the middle of winter, and I just wanted him to try something that made me feel close to home. I made it clumsily, without the exact recipe, but Satoru tasted it with that silly, sweet smile of his.

—"It tastes like you," he said, resting his head on my shoulder. "A little sweet, a little warm... and absolutely perfect."

That day, it was snowing outside. But I was warm. I had him.

The story with Megumi was different, quieter. But just as intense. When he first came home, his eyes were filled with shadows. He kept his distance, as if he feared breaking something just by breathing.

It was weeks of patience. Until one night, I heard him murmur in his sleep:

—"Mom..."

I didn’t know if he was referring to me, or if it was just a coincidence. But the next day, when he woke up and found me softly stroking his hair without saying anything, he said it again.

—"Can I keep calling you that?" he asked, softly.

I didn’t answer. I just hugged him.

Since then, he was our son. Even though we didn’t say it out loud every day. Even though the documents didn’t confirm it. He was our child.

One night, Megumi had a nightmare. He ran to our room and crawled between us without saying a word. I hugged him on one side, Satoru on the other. We ended up all wrapped up in the same blanket, as if the cold couldn’t touch us like that.

—"We’ll always be with you," I whispered.

Satoru just kissed him on the head, as if it were the most natural thing in the world...

And then there was Suguru. He was the kind of friend who understood just by looking at you. He always told me that I was the spark that lit up the idiot Satoru. That without me, he would’ve stayed stuck in that arrogant loneliness he used as a shield.

Sometimes he would joke,

—"Sometimes I get jealous. But I’m glad it’s you. He needed someone to make him feel like his life mattered—even outside the battlefield."

We were inseparable, the four of us. A dysfunctional family, but a real one.

Until something started to feel… different.

It didn’t happen all at once. It came in small details.

First, Satoru’s absences. He said it was work—last-minute missions. But he came home late, exhausted, no longer full of excitement. He didn’t burn pancakes anymore. He didn’t ask for mochi.

Then came the sidelong glances. The half-conversations between him and Suguru. The uncomfortable silences when I entered the room.

One night, while fixing his hair, I asked him,

—"Is everything okay?"

—"Yeah, love. Everything’s perfect," he replied with a smile that never reached his eyes.

I wanted to believe him. But Megumi didn’t.

He grew quieter. More serious. One day I found him drawing something strange: a giant crack splitting a house in two. I got worried, but I didn’t push. I thought it was just imagination. Or fear.

Until that afternoon.

We were in the garden. Satoru had gone out again. Suguru had stopped by to drop off some books. And I was playing with Megumi, trying to catch butterflies with an old net.

He suddenly stopped, net still in the air, and looked at me.

—"Mom… is it true that Satoru is going to marry another woman?"

Everything stopped.

Even the wind.

Megumi’s question hung in the air, like the world refused to move forward until I answered. But I couldn’t. The words caught in my throat. Where had he heard that?

—"What did you say, sweetheart?" I asked, trying to smile and keep calm.

—"I heard it… I know it wasn’t meant for me. But they said it. Satoru… and Suguru. In the kitchen, when they thought I was asleep. They said they had to tell you… but they didn’t know how."

My heart was racing.

A few days earlier, I had noticed Suguru wasn’t coming by as much, and when he did, he seemed tense. He didn’t stay long. He talked fast, like he didn’t want me to ask anything.

—"Is everything okay with Satoru?" I asked him.

—"Yeah… yeah. Just stress. You know how he is."

And then he changed the subject.

I knelt in front of Megumi and took his little hands. They were cold.

—"My love, sometimes adults say things they don’t mean. Things that aren’t always true. Maybe you misunderstood, or didn’t hear it right. Don’t worry, okay?"

He just lowered his gaze.

—"But… you always tell me not to hide the truth."

I felt myself cracking inside. Because he was right.

One night, Megumi asked me,

—"Why does Satoru always smile even when he’s sad?"

—"Because he thinks it protects others," I answered.

—"And you?"

—"I… I prefer to cry if I need to. To show how I feel. Because I want you to know it’s okay to feel bad sometimes."

He hugged me tightly.

—"I love you, Mom."

I stayed seated in the garden while Megumi went back to chasing a butterfly. But he wasn’t playing anymore. He was just pretending.

Inside me, everything started to shake.

When Satoru came home that night, I greeted him with a smile. I didn’t ask anything. Not yet.

But I looked at him differently.

And he… he avoided my eyes.

—"Everything okay?" he asked.

—"Yeah. Perfect," I replied. Just like he had said to me before.

We hugged like always. But it felt different.

Because in my head, Megumi’s question kept echoing over and over again.

—"Is it true that Satoru is going to marry another woman?"

[nhmkhnh]

Girl you just had me thinking of best friends parents caitvi with that one

Sleepovers every night from then on

good lord omg! gotta write down some short scenarios before i forget all of them, maybe a bit of smut in the future (?) if you guys like it, or i will write and keep it for myself haha. note: bsfp = best friend's parents.

bsfp!caitvi would notice you more than they should. vi saw the way your lip quirked when you teased their daughter—how easily you lit up a room without trying. caitlyn noticed your thank-you’s, how your voice went soft when you pet their dog. you weren’t just another teenage friend—they just didn’t know it yet.

bsfp!caitvi would start inviting you over more. vi would nudge their daughter: “tell her to stay for dinner.” caitlyn would bring out an extra set of tea cups—early evening light catching her cheekbones as she smiled too politely. you’d sit on their couch, knees tucked up in oversized hoodies. they watched. too long. too closely.

bsfp!caitvi would ask about your love life. it started with vi’s elbow on the counter, casual: “so, you seeing anyone?” her tone was light, but her eyes were searching. caitlyn just watched. “strange,” she murmured later, once you’d gone. “she shouldn’t have anyone. not yet.”

bsfp!caitvi would grow jealous of the wrong people. when you laughed at some boy’s message while sitting on their porch, vi’s jaw tightened. caitlyn didn’t say a word—but she didn’t offer you tea that day. they sat closer than necessary. vi’s shoulder brushed yours. caitlyn tucked your hair behind your ear. “you deserve better,” caitlyn said, soft and low.

bsfp!caitvi would buy you things. caitlyn found herself picking out earrings, creamy notebooks, a scarf in your favorite color. vi got you snacks she swore she just ‘had lying around.’ “you can keep your stuff in the guest room,” vi said, handing you a key. “in case you stay over more.”

bsfp!caitvi would watch you sleep. they didn’t mean to. not at first. but when you dozed off on their couch, blanket slipping low, breath soft, caitlyn stood by the hallway too long. vi sat on the floor, head tilted. “she’s perfect like this,” vi whispered. caitlyn didn’t disagree.

bsfp!caitvi would begin to touch you too often. caitlyn adjusted your necklace even when it didn’t need adjusting. vi gave you “friendly” shoulder rubs that lasted seconds too long. once, both their hands met on your back at the same time. you startled. they didn’t move.

bsfp!caitvi would whisper about you in bed. their daughter asleep, the house quiet, they’d talk in the dark. “you see how she looks at us?” vi murmured. caitlyn’s breath hitched. “she’s so sweet. so good. and she’s ours, isn’t she?” vi’s hand slipped low. caitlyn didn’t stop her.

bsfp!caitvi would begin to test you. vi cornered you in the kitchen, caging you in with her arms. “you ever been kissed by someone who knows what they’re doing?” she whispered. caitlyn later gave you a ride home and rested her hand on your thigh the whole drive. “you make me feel… young again,” she said, laughing, but her voice cracked.

bsfp!caitvi would get possessive. they didn’t like seeing you in tight dresses with boys your age. vi’s voice went cold: “you don’t need them.” caitlyn gently removed your lipstick with her thumb. “you shouldn’t waste yourself like that.” that night, they sat on your instagram for hours. together.

bsfp!caitvi would confess. caitlyn did it first—took your hand across the patio table, fingers trembling. “i know it’s wrong, but i see you,” she whispered. vi didn’t speak. she just leaned forward and kissed your cheek—slow and reverent. “you’re ours now,” vi said. “say it.”

bsfp!caitvi would ruin you—slowly, tenderly, completely. their daughter was out of town. you were left in their care. it started with wine, then hands, then lips. vi’s mouth trailed down your neck as caitlyn whispered praise. you melted between them—sinking into sheets and words like: “good girl” and “ours.” they didn’t stop until your voice broke and your body trembled. you never left their house again.