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adelheidvonschicksal · 7 months

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⋆｡°✩ Do Roommates Sleep Together?

“We’d be roommates, much better than neighbors,” you manage to explain, proud when you hold firm, but the delicate foundation you built cracks when his laugh highlights the room. You could nearly melt. “Do roommates sleep together too?”

Synopsis: Your relationship with Xavier is unconventional, skipping and trampling on the many proper steps society deems appropriate. It should take months to form the trust needed to sleep together, and it should take years for you to ask him to move in with you.

Yet, here you are, with more courage to ask him to live with you than to tell him you’re in love with him.

Content Warning: fluff, suggestive dialogue, pining, literal sleeping together, a lot of internal exposition, mild angst, hurt/comfort, acquaintances to friends to lovers, implied soulmate tomfoolery to justify the fast burn, small references to chapter 4 main story, Heartstring Symphony, Nighttime Stroll, Shooting Stars Myth, and Unit 602's Representative Phone Call, Xavier sucks at following the non-interference policy (he tried his best), female reader, 6.5k words, safe for work

A/N: First section before Warm Wishes/Dreams within Reach tender moments and second section after Close Feelings tender moment to give a better timeframe. This is going to be two parts with the second part NSFW.

“Do you want to hang out at my place?”

Your smile begins to flatten as Xavier stares at you from his doorway. There’s a listless energy radiating from him. It’s intimidating even if there’s no anger behind his hooded gaze, the kind of intimidation where you’re afraid he might not be listening to you or even wants to listen to you.

“This new scary movie came out. Tara was supposed to watch with me, but she had a last-minute thing to take care of,” you explain, watching as he yawns and wipes his eyes. “So, I thought that maybe you’d like to watch with me instead. Or, we can do something else. I got games. Monopoly, Phase 10, Kitty Cards.”

Xavier rubs at the back of his neck, refusing to meet your eye. “Are you sure you want it to be just the two of us?”

There are many things to be said about your relationship with Xavier. You’re work partners, neighbors in the same apartment complex, and you consider him your friend. It’s also true that your friendship is young despite the many hours at the arcade together and whatever stories your co-workers like to imagine, making your offer sound more like a date invitation than hanging out. It causes you to go tongue-tied as your innocent mistake blankets you.

“Oh, not in that way! I mean not that it would be a bad thing.” You start to lose your composure when you meet his gaze again. It’s not like you wouldn’t go on a date with him if given the opportunity. He’s tall, soft-spoken, and very handsome. It’s more surprising he doesn't have a girlfriend. “I was thinking it could be a good way to foster friendship between hunters. Yeah, that’s it!”

The truth was that you were looking for something to distract yourself ever since the incident at your grandmother’s house. Tara having to cancel bummed you out more than you wanted to admit, but you didn’t want him to agree because he felt sorry for you.

“I understand,” Xavier cuts in. “I’d be happy to join you…in an hour,” he finishes with another small yawn.

“Great!” you cheer. “See you soon.”

When you make it back to the elevator, you’re taken aback about how happy you are that he agreed. You thought you were simply happy not to have to be alone on your day off, but this was a different kind of satisfaction than when you invited Tara. It was a little strange but you ignored the thought and clicked the button to your floor.

When Xavier arrives, everything goes as planned. You spread out an array of snacks on the table in front of the sofa, which your selection seems to be approved by how quickly he opens the package of chips and hums to himself when he takes a bite.

“This is supposed to be super scary! I read you won’t sleep for days after,” you tell him, grabbing the remote to play the movie.

“For days? Sounds awful,” Xavier mentions between bites, making you chuckle.

“If you get scared, you always have me to protect you.”

“I’m more worried about you than me,” he mouths off. “You always look like a statue when I tell you scary stories.”

“Fake movies and stories based on real places are different!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he agrees on the surface. You’re not sure how you only make friends with people who love to tease you, but you make no mention of it as the movie finally reaches its opening sequence.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize this movie’s fear factor was greatly over exaggerated. There were monsters, sure, but also one too many jump scares and dark scenes that made it hard to tell what was happening. Fighting wanderers for a living did leave you a bit desensitized as well, you guess.

As you reach to fill in your boredom with more chips, you can’t help but notice how Xavier looks like he’s about to give out any second. His eyes are drooping and his head bobbing to the side. You lose count of how many times he forces his limp body straight and strains to watch the movie playing on the screen, one agonizingly slow blink at a time.

“I’m fine,” he says before you can bring up how tired he looks.

“It’s not a big deal, Xavier. This movie is pretty boring, so if you wanna call it a night, it wouldn’t hurt my feelings.” You don’t want him to leave yet but you don't want to keep him up either. Sighing, you’re frustrated the movie isn’t as exciting as you thought it would be, and it’s difficult to fight the disappointment from showing on your face.

And, well, Xavier…

“It’s alright. It’s honestly not bad, so—”

Xavier doesn’t even finish his sentence before his head hangs over. In hindsight, you start to realize that you must have woken him up earlier, explaining his prior passiveness.

You always wondered what he did on the days he wasn’t working. It should’ve been apparent to you that he spends most of his free time sleeping. No wonder his apartment was always so quiet during the day. You’re thankful he wasn’t actually annoyed at you earlier but guilty for interrupting his rest and decide to grab him a blanket.

You don’t notice him tilting to the side before you have the chance to get up. It’s quick after that. Without warning, he falls into you, his head brushing the side of your shoulder before he collapses on top of your lap.

The situation takes you by surprise, and the world churns to a slow stop. The sounds from the television fade into the background in favor of your heartbeat becoming the thing you’re most aware of when it registers that Xavier, a man you recently can call a friend, has fallen asleep in your lap. You have no idea what to do in a situation like this. It isn’t on purpose, so there’s no need to blow up, but you can’t allow this to continue.

So, you choose to wake him up.

“Xavier,” you call and rock his shoulder. You call his name again, a third time, and finally give up when he doesn’t budge by the fourth. “Would it be too mean to roll him off?” you wonder, grimacing as you imagine him hitting the floor. It would definitely be too mean.

Sighing, you gaze at his face nuzzled too comfortably against your thighs. Xavier looks so incredibly soft like this, bundled in an oversized Blanchi hoodie. It isn’t anything you’re not used to seeing him in. However, this is different. With his hair strewn across his temple and his face so at ease, it reminds you of a big fluffy bunny flopped over for an evening nap. Just like a cuddly bunny, you can’t resist petting him, brushing your fingers across his bangs to fix them. Your heart flutters as you confirm his hair is incredibly soft and his pale eyelashes longer than you ever noticed.

Not able to restrain yourself, you gently poke his cheek, marveling when it’s much chubbier than you imagined. It causes him to moan, his eyes twitching from the intrusion.

“Mm…what?” he groans out.

Swiftly, you pull your hand away, frightened he might have caught you.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” you stammer out, not the best of excuses; but in your defense, he caught you off-guard by waking up from something so small. When he doesn’t respond again, you quickly realize he’s still asleep. “Oh, he sleep talks!”

A mischievous wave washes over you from the new piece of information you acquired. Teasingly, you poke his cheek again, giggling when he shifts to hide his eyes from the light.

“Xavier, I have a question to ask you.” You slide your fingertips along his bangs once more. “Be honest. Are you Lumiere?”

Patiently, you wait for a response. However, nothing comes after several seconds. Just when you’re about to give up hope, you hear him muttering. You lean your head closer, hoping to hear him better.

“Red…” he mumbles.

You repeat after him. “Red?”

“Red…extra spicy.”

You blink at him, knitting your brows. “Extra spicy?”

Oh. The hot pot restaurant.

“Dreaming about food? That tracks.” You shrug. It was worth a shot. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

Choosing to leave him be, you’re about to sit back and continue the movie except you are interrupted by him mumbling again. This time, he whispers your name quietly under his breath causing your undivided attention to fall on him.

“Yes?” you ask.

Xavier sighs softly, peacefully.

“Come home…with me…”

There must be a world record for how fast someone can heat up, and you must have broken it. It’s like someone threw you directly into boiling oil and left you to burn in it. There’s no way you heard him correctly.

Did Xavier really ask you to come home…with him? Is he dreaming about you? If so, in what kind of dream? And why?

These are the questions stumping you. Sure, you consider him your friend, but when did he start to see you as someone close to him?

The more important question is why aren’t you doing anything about it? You aren’t angry about him whispering your name in his sleep nor offended, and it didn’t feel out of place to be close to him, like this, with his head resting in your lap and your hand in his hair. The moment becomes nicer and nicer—treasured—the more times you run it through your head, familiar even, like déjà vu.

There are too many variables for your brain to piece it all together in such a short amount of time. Praying for the tempest battering your emotional insides to reside, you resign yourself to your fate, allowing him to have his peace while your mind completely focuses on the words slipping from his dreams.

When Xavier begins to stir hours later, your movie is long finished, credits rolling as some dramatic music plays in the background. His eyes tighten then relax before he finally opens them, greeting you with hazy blue. He lifts himself into a stretch then rubs his eyes with his wrist. When he finally adjusts to his surroundings, he looks at you with an apologetic sulk.

“Did I…fall asleep on you?” he asks, grogginess still riding his voice.

“Literally or figuratively?” you ask as a joke, but it doesn’t seem to comfort him. Shaking your head, you try to ease the tension—the one known by him and the tension inside of yourself—by laughing. “It was both.”

Xavier blinks a few times, turns his head to the screen to see the credits rolling, and snaps his eyes back on you questioningly. “And you let me for two hours?”

“You looked really tired,” you explain, ignoring how hot your cheeks start to get. You couldn’t tell him you got distracted by his cute face. “I didn’t want to move and wake you.”

“I don’t wake that easily,” he states, proudly even. You almost tell him how well everyone knows he can sleep through a typhoon, but it’s drowned underneath the softness of his smile. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

The look he gives you is so tender, like looking at a fond memory. It brings back the fluttering knots in your stomach from before as you imagine what could be the true reason behind that gaze. What could he possibly be thinking in his waking moments that would make him dream about you?

“Xavier, do you know you talk in your sleep?” The confused and panicked, deer caught in headlights expression, he gives causes you to fidget with your fingers and drop your gaze to your lap where they lay.

His face tinges slightly. “Nothing too embarrassing I hope.”

You bite your bottom lip as his face reddens. He looks so sweetly shy for once, and you’re starting to question if you’re overreacting by confronting him about something as silly as a dream, one that probably didn’t mean much.

“You tried to order food in your sleep!” you tell him with a small laugh, and his shyness melts away.

“I did? What did I get?”

“Red sauce. Extra Spicy.”

“Then, I guess that’s what I’ll get for dinner tonight,” he remarks. He doesn’t laugh but you can see the amusement reflected in blue eyes, which makes you return his happiness. Yet, the calm moment is short-lived as your mind becomes overwhelmed again by questions you were too nervous to ask; and a small piece of you, too afraid to know the answer.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, drawing you out of your rampant, clashing thoughts. “You look sick.”

“I do?”

He nods, his expression softening.

”Are you still thinking about everything?" he pauses, his worry becoming more visible as he looks at you. "It must be difficult.” Your head blanks at his words. You weren’t aware Xavier gave you enough attention to notice your mood was different. You thought you did okay coming to terms with everything at least while at work to where he wouldn’t notice.

“It’s been a pretty rough week, weeks, actually. I haven’t been sleeping well either,” you agree, struggling to keep your mind anywhere else but there. You’re sure you must look exhausted though. Your under eyes have been darker, the days you could convince Jenna you didn’t need any more leave a bit sluggish, and even Zayne warned you not to lose yourself in grief. It’s easier said than done.

What you don’t expect is for Xavier to grab your wrist and pull you closer.

Xavier normally isn’t the one to draw you, or others for that matter, to him. You’re the one who's been taking the steps to get to know more about him. Offering to help him get his plushie, bargaining with him into becoming your partner, asking him to watch movies with you, while he always seems to keep you a little at arms length, not opening up as much as you wish when sharing stories even when sometimes he looks like he desperately wants to before deciding against it.

Your eyes widen when your nose hits the side of his chest. It's strange to have him be the one pulling, failing to keep his boundaries and also testing them. You don’t want to push him away though. You liked this. Maybe because he was handsome. You hear pretty people can get away with anything, but it feels like more than that. Tara might have been right. Maybe you do have a crush on him but you didn’t care the reason right now when it’s so comforting. You can feel his muscles underneath the thick, warm fabric of his hoodie, and the clothing smells so nice. You can’t help thinking he definitely feels like a bunny too.

“Sleeping is much better with someone.”

“How do you know?” you mumble against him.

“Well, I just had the best sleep I’ve had in days thanks to you. So, allow me to return the favor. I’ll be your pillow this time,” he offers; and surprisingly, your eyes do feel oddly heavy when his soothing voice reaches you. “Relax. I promise not to move for at least two hours, but you can take more if you like.”

”How kind,” you say with a smile, and it feels genuine.

Once again, you get the same familiar sensation from before, that same odd suspicion this has happened once before—or rather it’s supposed to happen? You’re too tired to think about it. You close your eyes to the most blissful dreams you’ve had in weeks.

When you wake up again, it’s not by choice. Xavier is looking down at you, his arm gently wrapped around your shoulders as your head lays on his chest. Your mind is still trapped halfway between being awake and asleep when he begins to talk.

“Welcome back. Did you sleep well?”

You nod. “Real well actually."

Xavier says something else but your tired mind misses the majority of it aside from the fact it’s getting late.

“You can spend the night if you want,” you tell him, allowing sleep to win back over as you try to close your eyes again, but he lifts you away from him, your head swaying with the motion until you find a place to prop your forehead on his shoulder. Your mind echoes with the thought of how soft his hoodie is and how you need one like it as you try to drift back off. Xavier is right. Sleeping with someone else is better, and this closeness you’ve been missing since you lost your family makes you needy.

“It probably wouldn’t be appropriate.”

For some reason, it hurts to think he's back to pushing you away. Even though, it shouldn't.

“But you didn’t get a chance to watch the movie,” you reply, looking for an excuse for him not to leave. “It’s a 48-hour rental, so we can try again.”

Xavier shakes his head, gently poking at your forehead to force your head back. “I’m sure it’ll be twice as boring for you the second time.”

“If we watch it together…”

He meets your foggy gaze apologetically. “I don’t think we’d get very far.”

“We won’t know until we try,” you argue drowsily.

“You don’t look like you’d make it another ten minutes. You belong in bed.”

“I can,” you whimper as the too-bright lights of the overhead fan hit you.

“Doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result,” he murmurs softly, almost teasingly until his tone takes on a seriousness you’re too lethargic to grasp, “Isn’t that insanity?”

“I like to call it determination. Who knows? Maybe this will be the time it works,” you joke. Instead of the smile you expected the look on his face is pensive and a little sad, like you touched a delicate spot. The sudden remorse wakes you up almost immediately. “Xavier?”

When he realizes you’re watching him, the longing in his gaze melts into something you can’t describe, other than the fact it makes your heart climb in your throat.

“Alright,” he agrees, much to your surprise and relief. “Let’s try again…but tomorrow.”

Frowning, you avert your gaze, which makes him pet your head.

“Don’t pout. Tonight, I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, moving back to rest your head against his chest.

Maybe your grandma wouldn’t have liked you getting so close to a man you didn’t know much about so quickly. Caleb would at least have a few questions, but your intuition tells you that you’re making the right choice when his arm goes back around you. As you start to drift off, you can swear you hear Xavier laughing at you under his breath. “You’re as impossible to say no to as always.”

You’re not entirely sure what time Xavier went back to his apartment that night, but the next morning you wake in your bed, looking forward to seeing him again. You only hope the sweet and confusing fact that you’re in love with him, of the parts he shows you when you’re alone, stays in your dreams the next night and the many nights following that you share with him.

Over the months, as your relationship with Xavier grows stronger, you find it common to share many things with each other. You play online games, house sit for one another, grow strawberries, and usually go home together after your deepspace trials. Most interestingly, you two take naps together on your days off sometimes, nothing sexual about it despite what Tara and her Tarot cards believe. Sure, there might have been questionable situations, but it was all innocent in the end. It's often a short nap in the afternoon after running errands or having lunch together. It's one of those days that you finally build the courage to bring up what's been on your mind for a while now.

It's late when it happens.

The skyscraper lights begin to glow through your balcony door, blinking out the gentle shimmering of distant stars that managed to cut through the trickling rain earlier in the evening. It’s a little disappointing to lose sight of the stars. They’d become a comfort for you in the time you’ve spent with your friend. You'd never given them much thought before then.

The downpour of rain splattering against the glass panels of the balcony makes the city lights milkier to your sight and the steady dripping of water returns some form of calmness when paired with your neighbor’s breathing next to you.

It’s deep and warm, ushering you towards the world of dreams. Everything about Xavier is like a white noise or a desperately needed hug, which is why you’re curled up at his side in this bed that’s too small for the both of you. You didn’t care, and you suspected Xavier didn’t either.

He didn’t mention the smallness of the bed when you offered to take a nap together nor when your head found the bulge of his bicep to use as your pillow. You didn’t give him time to respond when one of your hands slid across his lean chest, reaching for his always subtle pulse. You find the lazy pattering easy to count while the heat in the sheets become much more apparent when you feel the weight of his touch cradle that very same hand to his chest as if promising every beat to you.

Everything about the situation causes your eyes to flutter with tiredness, but you want to savor this moment a little longer. In case this is all an elaborate dream. You hope to death it’s not. So, you force your eyes to remain open, releasing a soft sigh instead as you cuddle into his arm.

Too soon, you feel Xavier slipping further away from you.

You don’t want him to go yet. More than ever, a force inside you needs him to stay tonight, and you lock your grip on the white knit shirt he wears. You tug him back over to you to close this unbearable distance he made. The few little inches he moved were more than enough to cause your heart to yearn.

“Not yet,” you want to plead but make it a soft demand. “I just found the perfect spot.” You muffle the neediness of your requests into his skin, though your head is afraid that somehow he’ll feel it.

“You always use that excuse.”

“And it’s always true. So, no moving,” you order.

Xavier gives in so wonderfully quickly. Your heart is rapidly firing when the corners of his lips turn into his usual waif-like smile. You fail at hiding your satisfaction at his surrender, pressing more of your weight against him, in a sure sign to him that you have no intention of letting him escape any time soon.

“I take this to mean you’re finally admitting it’s your fault we didn’t do our errands today?”

“I never said that,” you disagree half-heartedly. “And don't pretend like you weren't the one who kept saying he didn't feel like getting up earlier.”

“And now that I do, you won’t let me up. Am I right? Why’s that?”

There’s a beat skipping in your chest when he asks. His tone is light and open, easy to treat as a teasing joke but also firm enough to be taken seriously. That was always your trouble with him. You could never quite tell what he was thinking and when he was serious. Xavier is hard to understand sometimes, sometimes vague and sometimes very straightforward in his words; and lately, you think he’s consistently more hot than cold towards you ever since the first time you've slept together.

You like to think this development is a good thing. People who knew you always said you worked a little too hard, a little too observant, overly energetic despite your fragile heart; but with Xavier, you could relax. Moments like these: when his arm was around you and when his breath was at the side of your neck, the soft words he speaks in his sleep dancing in your mind, were the moments when patrolling for wanderers and every loss in your life from your family to your problematic heart dissipated into the back of your mind for a few hours.

It isn’t an exaggeration to believe his influence must have been the cause, at least when it comes to this. But your influence is seeping into him as well. Given his loner habits when you first met and his frequent disappearing acts, you never pictured him as one to be so sweet and considerate and adorably charming in a way.

However, you can’t tell him that you enjoy…sleeping with him. You have a strong feeling he already knows how much you like him. Or, you’d like to think he does with the way he constantly seems to hint at it. He can make you flustered with a few words and easily leave you guessing if you’re reading too much into his actions or if he’s really that good at baiting you. It could also be a little of column A and a little of column B, which somehow makes you more antsy around him. Like how you feel now when his eyes meet yours.

“It’s supposed to be cold tonight,” you whisper. It’s a poor excuse but the only one you can use to defend yourself. “They say the best way to fend off the chill is body heat. Who better for that task than you, dear partner?”

“Many things, I assume, a portable heater comes to mind,” he says, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s slyly teasing you behind that naive tone.

“Right, right, those things,” you grumble causing him to laugh as you hide your bashful face against him. “So loud, you know?”

“Are they? Alright, then five more minutes should be doable,” he says in the same low voice that makes your insides boil before his arm lowers to curl around your back. “Although, you’re too comfortable.”

His ears tinge in a lovely rose-colored blush, and you shudder when he finally fails to maintain eye contact and quickly scans your body. It’s slow enough for you to catch though. It makes your chest tight as you watch his quiet inhale and the murky flash of want dye his eyes shades darker before they fade back into clear pools of blue, big and pleading as he studies your face.

“I might end up falling asleep here.”

It’s a warning, to make you think about the meaning of your actions, you think. However, this isn’t the first time this has happened nor the first time you spent a rainy day inside with each other; the kitchen counter lined with empty take-out trays, with his body heat radiating into you while a long-forgotten movie plays in the background.

It’ll continue like that until one of you is finally coherent enough after drowsy naps to try to piece together who fell asleep on whom first or who is making the other too hot. Neither of you wants to accept the fault without a lot of bickering; that’s if Xavier doesn’t fall back asleep mid-debate.

Even this time, you’re not sure who managed to drift off to sleep first earlier but neither of you tried to get up, let alone leave the house, until now. Ah, but it was your idea to use the bed this time, wasn’t it?

But it was his choice to agree.

Even now, he looks very peaceful nestled with you, and he still whispers your name in his sleep sometimes, which reminds you of the first time you slept together and he dreamt about wanting you to come home with him.

When you’re like this, you want the same thing. You want him to come home…with you.

“Xavier?” you ask quietly. You wonder if he’s fallen asleep already like he said. Carefully, you free your hand from his hold, slide it up his chest, and begin to draw smooth circles with your pointer finger once you reach his cheek. There’s a soft response from him, barely a moan but it’s enough to know he’s not out of it yet, at least not completely. “I’ve been thinking.”

The air is suddenly stifling when he engulfs the top of your hand with his own, holding it tighter as if he’s upset that you moved it out of his grasp in the first place, but it’s not the case as he affectionately seals your palm against his cheek.

“About what?”

The look he gives you makes it hard not to stumble over your thoughts like a schoolgirl despite being very much an adult.

“Wouldn’t…” You pause to steady your voice; you have to force yourself to not avoid his gaze, but each small movement makes your throat tighten. There’s no doubt you have his full attention now, at least what little remains of it. “Wouldn’t it be easier if we…move in together?”

You’re not sure where the courage to ask him a question like that comes from when you’re too unsure to even confess or to ask what the two of you even are but you didn’t have this fear of rejection until now.

“How would it be easier?”

“Well,” you start, unsure why you’re surprised that he’d want a reason. “We’re always visiting one another, and you made me your representative at the tenant meetings, so everyone already treats us like we’re a combined unit. It would also save me trips on watering your plants when you’re away or when you want to come over to eat. We could save money. Money that could be spent at the arcade or on more hot pot.”

There’s a quiet atmosphere that makes you too uneasy. The thrumming of rain grows louder in it along with the beating in your chest that’s telling you that this was stupid. Is it possible to be drunk on endorphins? Perhaps that’s what gave you the idea to ask something so foolish; you’d have to get Zayne to examine your empty head and tell you.

But then, Xavier smiles.

“Those are good reasons especially more hot pot, and I’m sure all the plushies would feel better if they shared a home again.”

Your anxiety lessens and you share in his smile. Luckily, you managed not to ruin everything it looks like.

“But.” Slowly, the inklings of self-doubt begin to return. A but. There’s always one of those. You should’ve expected as much. “If we move in together then we wouldn’t really be “neighbors” anymore.”

“Oh, um—” You become staggered by his observation, even more so when he interlocks your fingers. It’s another time when you’re not entirely sure if he’s being serious or not. His innocent puppy-eyed expression doesn’t help you differentiate either. It always makes your mind wander to more inappropriate topics—like the fact Xavier told you he didn’t believe that other neighbors acted like you two. The memory nearly makes you squirm. In this position, you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “We’d be roommates, much better than neighbors,” you manage to explain, proud when you hold firm, but that delicate foundation cracks when his laugh highlights the room. You could nearly melt.

“Do roommates sleep together too?”

There’s a shine of amusement that makes his face glow and heat claw higher up your neck. You know the question should be taken literally but when he words it like that…with that warm implicative inflection to his voice, you’re unable to think properly, and you realize that maybe you made a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t have given him the benefit of the doubt this time.

“I’m sure some do,” you answer with some courage, “I’d imagine at least once a week.”

“I believe we’re up to twice a week now. So, if we become roommates, I think we have to do it at least that many times, otherwise I’m afraid I’m going to have to reject your offer.”

“Two times?” you repeat, silently begging the flapping of butterflies in your stomach to calm down at the suggestion, at the implication that he enjoys sleeping with you just as much as you do with him. It makes this strong emotion in your chest blossom even further. “I can manage that.”

“Additional proposal,” he interrupts suddenly. “Perhaps, three times? I can even throw in a pair of those fuzzy socks that I can never manage to find after you visit,” he adds coyly.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re around your apartment somewhere,” you quickly respond before releasing the buildup of nervous air in your lungs. You smile. “Proposal accepted. Shared naps three times a week minimum.”

“In that case,” he breathes in softly, and he slips his hand down releasing all your fingers except for your pinky that he wraps into his own. “I think I would like to be your roommate.”

Inside, there’s unadulterated joy beginning to flood you. You know that this agreement will require a more in-depth discussion that Xavier will probably try to gloss over but this is enough for you right now.

“We should take tonight to practice for our move.”

Confused, you raise your eyebrows. “Practice?”

He nods.

“Sleeping together overnight. We did a few times before, well, only twice in the same bed, once in yours and once in mine,” he explains. You definitely have the clearest memory of that time, of bandaging his wounds, of cluelessly pinning him down shirtless on his bed before he turned the tables on you, and then—you remind yourself to resist going over the details, not with him this close to you. Somehow, Xavier is the one who looks the most insecure between the two of you. Finally, he whispers, “I haven’t forgotten even if it was a long time ago.”

His eyes are half-lidded, cloudy with thought. Something about him looks restrained and longing but it disappears when you finally swallow your swelling emotions and call out his name. There’s a twinkle of adoration that blows away whatever doubt there as he focuses on you again.

“I think about it when I have a hard time sleeping on overnight missions.” Xavier turns and slides his arm from under your head, choosing to lay on his side to face you. “It makes it a lot easier to rest in the hunting zones when you have good memories like that. So, it's nice to have a chance to make more."

“I don’t think I could fall asleep at all if I thought of something like that,” you admit, as close to an admission of your love for him as you could muster without mountains of alcohol. “I’d just think about how much I’d rather be home with them.”

“And now? Are you having trouble sleeping?” he asks huskily, and you have to fight not to keep staring at his lips and the dire need to kiss them as you breathe each other in. You reach out, touching his bare collar then instinctively searching for his slow pulse, counting it to calm yourself from the rush of adrenaline building in you.

You’re not even sure when you breathed out the “yes” that echoes softly from your mouth. His lips are so close to yours that you’re sure he could catch it in his breath if he wanted.

“How about I tell you a story to help you fall asleep?” He sees your hesitation and laughs under his breath. “I promise it’ll be much better than the last one.”

Accepting his offer, you agree to listen to him.

Xavier nods and gently swoops the back of his hand against your forehead and then your cheek before cupping it. There’s a gentle squeeze, and you think you understand why he likes it so much when you do it.

“Once, there was a beautiful queen and a knight,” he begins. “They lived together in a palace far away.”

“And they fall in love and live happily ever after?” you question, too busy in the full and fuzzy sensations filling your being to hold back.

“No, they were separated from each other for a long time,” Xavier corrects but his expression softens at the trickling concern building on your face. “Don’t worry. They meet again and become neighbors.”

“And then?”

“They become roommates,” he states matter-of-factly, which causes you to chuckle at him. You can’t even be bothered to care that he’s poking fun at you.

“Then, happily ever after?”

“I don’t know yet,” he answers, causing you to frown and your face to wrinkle with a sullen expression. His head tilts further into the plush of the pillow. “But you can help me figure out the ending.”

Feeling exhausted from the cathartic flow of emotions from him to you, you wiggle into him and throw your arm across his waist. “There’d probably be a lot of naps and stargazing involved,” you mumble before a tiny yawn.

“Sounds like a happy ending to me. It's good to finally see it,” he agrees, and you sigh when you feel a strong squeeze around your waist. “Although, you forgot to mention the part where the queen promises to not get out of bed without waking him this time.”

You giggle. “She promises not to get up without her knight.”

Content, he hums. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep now?"

"I think so after a story like that," you confess, reaching out to brush his hair back so you can see his eyes more clearly. "Then again, I always sleep good with you."

"You’ll sleep best when we're close, right?"

You gasp when he shifts on top of you. His lips briefly brush your forehead, by accident or not, you can’t tell as he pins you between himself and the bed. With a stutter, you call out his name yet he pays no heed as he nuzzles his head into your hair.

“Good night, roommate.”

“Xav-!” You pout when he instantly slumps against you. There’s no point trying to wake him up now that his five minutes of alertness have long expired.

Settling your chin against the top of his shoulder, you hook your arms under his to hug him against your chest. Your forearms settle at his mid-back as you hold him close so you can gently brush the ends of his hair.

When you ultimately decide to give in minutes after him, it’s to the warmth of his weight on top of you, the tickle of his hair against your forehead, and the increased pulsing of his heart. Xavier was right, this is too comfortable. Letting your eyes fall close, you wonder if three times a week would really be enough to satisfy this strangely familiar craving. You only wish that the two of you could meet in your dreams like he says, but it's enough knowing you'll have each other in the morning and then on.

“…Good night, Xavier. Sweet dreams,” you whisper before you too give into sleep’s spell.

#xavier x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #xavier fluff #xavier

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jamsterrr · 30 days

Text

N. RIKI . . . MY BIGGEST HEADACHE ⭑.ᐟ

ni-ki. manager. headache proned. annoyance. teasing. “ just because you’re the assiastant doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do “. dickhead.

description. you grew up with your older brother heeseung playing basketball, so you knew much more than the next girl. but being the captain’s assistant isn’t easy when your your brothers annoying friend is apart of the team. when you get stuck riding with him on the way home. how will you do?

words : 2.8k

ni-ki x female!reader

contains. ‼️ ; sap , slight making out , tongue kissing ( ?? ) , cursing. ( let me know if i missed anything ! )

WARNING. : everything is fictional! and this is not how any of the enhypen members are at all! this is purely for fun and entertainment <3

part 1: my biggest headache | part 2: mbh: bet chapter

link to my masterlist . . . !

don’t take this serious. this is just a fanfic. tbh.. idk what this is.. i’m not even going to lie.. this kind of sucks.. and I feel like i should’ve named it something different but idk. it seemed to fit??! sorry if it’s so sappy, I was trying to at least get something out to you guys! 🥺 sorry it took me so long to put something out. i was sick for like the whole first week of august and i have a lot of stuff going on. but i have so many good drabbles! stay tuned <3 ( heeseung , jake , sunghoon drabbles soon ehehe )

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

You were fairly a good student. You didn't do much outside of school but volunteer stuff, and that's probably how you ended up here in the first place. At the gym at 6:00 on a Friday, watching the team you helped coach, score each time from the other team. You had been ripping and running all day. You were tired, hungry, dehydrated and felt like you smelt like the bottom of Shrek's ass.

Your eyes were bouncing all over the court, landing on your brother Lee Heeseung, captain of the basketball team. Since you could remember, he was always teaching you something about basketball. At a young age you came to love it. It was something you both held dear to your hearts and something you bonded over. You would've joined if your school had a girls basketball team, but no one was interested. Accompanying your brother on the courts were his closest and best friends, some you came to adore and know.

Others... not so much.

They were Jake Sim. His longest friend. Park Sunghoon. Typically, the quietest one. Park Jongseong. But people called him Jay. And Nishimura Riki. But he went by the name Ni-ki. He was by far the most annoying. Maybe it's because he was the closest to your age. Or maybe it was the way that he didn't listen to anything you said, no matter what it was. You could hand him a water bottle in the hot sun, and he wouldn't take it.

That happened. Literally last weekend.

Each time it was the same thing. He wouldn’t comply with you, he’s always knock you down during practice, though you weren’t scared to try and do it back, though his height advantage beat you sometimes.

You tried to keep your cool. For your sake.

Regardless, you always tried to be nice to him, over and over. Chance after chance. But your patience was running thin. During the remainder of the first half of the game, you continued to watch, seeing the score for your team go up. The crowd cheering with each dribble of the ball down the court, Jake shooting and scoring a point. Soon the buzzer buzzed, and the first half of the game was over. You finally took the chance to sit down, taking a small seat until Heeseung came over and you smiled, a wave of happiness coming over you as you seen your brother.

"Hey." He spoke to you out of breath, his heart lips showing his full smile as you handed him a cold washcloth. "Hey." You replied back, watching him. The male mumbled a small thank you and you waited for him to finish before continuing to speak. "You did amazing out there. It was like watching Lebron James" you joked, and he rolled his eyes, nudging your shoulder. "Lying is bad, you'll get lie bumps." he said, sticking out his tongue at you.

You grinned and replied back. "Must be why your taste buds are visible. The two of you laughed before spotting Jake, his hands resting above his head. "Hey, Y/n" he spoke, your name rolling off his tongue, followed by his Australian accent. "Mind rounding up a couple water bottles for us Seven?" he asked, and you nodded. Knowing Jungwon and Nicholas were going to be put in the next game. "Of course, I'll be right back." You said, excusing yourself from the conversation you were having before making your way to concessions.

The line was full, and you had approximately 18 minutes to make it back with water bottles for the seven. While standing in line you couldn't help but notice Ni-ki walking from out the double doors, you crossed your fingers hoping he wouldn't bother you. To your luck, he didn't.

That was a first.

Waiting what felt like hours but had only been a couple of seconds, you felt a slightly taller presence behind you, their hands wrapped around your body as you slightly tensed. "Guess who~?" they sung out and you laughed. It was your best friend, Sunoo. The two of you met in Middle school when he was in 8th grade, two grades higher than you back when you met. The two of you instantly clicked.

"I didn't expect you to be here, I thought you went on that date?" you asked, and he moved his hands, pouting his perfect lips. "They cancelled, but hey, it's their loss." he spoke, and you nodded, agreeing with him.

"What are you in the concession line for?" The male asked, the two of you in your own little world, ignoring the hustle of the outside world, anyone but you two. "I'm getting water for everyone on the team, though I'm annoyed none of them brought their own water bottles." You groaned, leaning your head back slightly. "Or maybe they did and just want to make your life harder." Sunoo grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes as it was finally your turn to place your order. "Yes, May I please have 8 water bottles?" you say as the small child that was helping rounded up your total. Sunoo leaned over and whispered to you. "I thought you only needed Seven?" "Well, I want one too" you frowned.

After a small call over from the child, another lady helped them calculate the total, the little kid speaking. "That will be $16 ma'am, cash or card?" he asked, "Cash" you responded, feeling around in your pocket, patting your jacket *and* pants pocket, but not being able to find it nowhere. You leaned over to Sunoo, whispering slightly. "Do you by chance have $17 dollars? I'll pay you back, I promise you" said as he shook his head. "No, I only have 5, the ticket lady took my money" he frowned.

You couldn't even deal with the mountain of embarrassment that came over your body at the moment, your cheeks flushing red. Hell, your whole face. Until you saw a hand reaching across, and a $20 bill being handed to the small boy that started to count the change. You and Sunoo both looked over to see Ni-ki, his hair slightly sticking to his face, his side profile causing you to stare with a slight smirk on his face. You were slightly mesmerized by the males looks. He definitely wasn't the worst looking person you'd ever seen. If only his attitude towards you wasn't such a dickhead thing. Who knows, maybe the two of you would actually be friends. Sunoo and you collected the water while Ni-ki collected his change.

The three of you stepped out of line. "Uh, thanks..." you said, holding the cold-water bottles, before feeling Ni-ki take one from your hands. "Well, you were looking a little embarrassed in the line..." he said, sucking in air through his teeth. "I wouldn't have wanted to be you" he laughed, turning around. "I'll take my $17 in any form of payment" he said before turning around and walking back through the black double doors. Your eyebrows furrowed as you watch Sunoo roll his eyes. "Gosh, I don't know how you have the strength to deal with him. He's so sarcastic."

"To be fair, so are you" you laughed, and Sunoo rolls his eyes playfully. "Yeah, but I'm better" he joked, and you shook your head. "Okay, let's get these to the boys" you said, leading Sunoo to the boys, making their way over to you, thanking you for the water and smiling. "About time." Heeseung joked as you rolled your eyes and sat down.

Oh, weren't you ready to go home.

Once the second quarter of the game started you were back in your mode, making sure to keep look for any fouls. The people that were playing the game now was Nicholas, Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon and Ni-ki. The quote-on-quote best players on the team.

Your eyes kept flickering towards Ni-ki. Trying hard to look away but the male was so captivating even though he boiled your blood with the things he said. As the crowd cheered, your eyes jumped to the score board. 42 ( — ) 24. Heeseung was on the 3-point line, dribbling the ball as he tossed the ball to Ni-ki who threw it back to Heeseung after distracting a couple of the opposing teammates that were near him at the time. Your brother shot the basketball, from the line. It goes in with a... *SWISH*.

The people on the crowd stood up, stomping and shouting, the cheerleaders performing and waiving their pompoms. The band performing. Total chaos in the school's gymnasium. A big smile on your face as you watched your brother get showered in the love he deserved.

You ran towards him, wrapping your arms around him, giving him a big hug. Feeling a sense of pride for your brother, for him to be doing something he truly enjoyed and getting credit for it along with the rest of the team. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of happiness. All those long weekends of practice and after school practice came in handy. The score flashing 45 ( — ) 24.

“Hey, can you get a ride from Ni-ki? I’m not going straight home and everyone else already left. I already asked him, and he said yes.” Heeseung spoke as you frowned. “I really don’t want to; you know me and him don’t get alone. I can’t promise you I’ll be nice.” You crossed your arms as you put your book-bag strap over your shoulder, after uncrossing your arms.

“Oh, come on, try and be nice? I will be home later but I’m sure you’re ready to just go home. It’s only like a 15-minute drive, you will be okay.” Heeseung spoke, leaning and pressing a soft kiss to your head. “Don’t wait up for me.” He spoke. “WASNT. planning on it” you said slightly annoyed, but you couldn’t even be mad at him. You sighed, searching the halls, calling out the male's name gently, getting louder with each call.

“Ni-ki!” You shouted, groaning as you looked around, screaming and raising your hand to hit the male once he popped out from the corner, grabbing your hand as he laughed. His hand holding your wrist, gripping it tightly. “God-! You scared the shit out of me!” You whine and gently took your wrist from his hand. The male let it go and laughed a little. “Yeah, sorry about that... not” he laughed, and you rolled your eyes. “You’re annoying. Take me home.” The attitude evident in your voice as he rolled his eyes at it, standing there for a second, his gaze burning a whole into you.

You took a deep breath before looking at the male and hummed. “Please...” you said, biting your tongue. You didn’t want to stall anymore, you just wanted to go home and that was it. Needing a hot shower, something to eat and relax yourself on your bed since it was the afternoon. “Yes, I can.” He finally spoke, him glancing at you before he started walking to the back of the school, the parking lot where every student with a car parked. It was quiet except for the two of your footsteps, the sound of the door opening as he held it out for you, a soft “thank you” escapes your lips as the two of you made it quietly to the male's car.

Not knowing whether it would be rude of not to sit in the back seat, you got into the passenger side of the male's car, placing your book bag on the floorboard in-front of you, buckling up your seatbelt.

Ni-ki did the same and started the car, turning on the radio as he drove off. The first bit of the car ride was a little awkward. You didn’t move much, causing you to get a slight stiff in your neck since you were looking out your window. Something came over you that made you ask the question.

“Why are you always such an asshole to me?” You didn’t know why you had the urge to say it right now out of all times, I mean you could have just easily did it at school when you didn’t have to see him that much, but you asked him in his car. “An asshole to you?” He answered your question with a question. Leaning back in his seat as he turned his head to look at you, his eyes roaming your body.

“Yeah, an asshole to me.” You replied firmly. “I’m not an asshole to you.” He answered, causing you to scoff. “Ni-ki, don’t play stupid with me. You know what I’m talking about. Ever since I started being the assistant you have gave me nothing but trouble. I want to know why, what have I done to you?” You asked, now starting to wonder what truly could be behind the male's mind. Ni-ki started driving, the car ride being silent. Filled with the awkward silence and the soft tunes of the radio. The time flew by. To you it seemed like it’s been at least an hour. But the 15 minutes was coming to a stop.

“I don’t know, I just think you’re fun to mess with.” He spoke, but you weren’t buying it. “Can I ask you a question?” Ni-ki asked, pulling up in front of your house, parking in the driveway, in the spot Heeseung normally parked in, but since he wasn’t home. Ni-ki used it. “What’s that?” You ask, slightly curious at the question you were about it to be asked.

“Do you and Sunoo date?” He asked, not looking at you, his eyes staring straight forward as he bit his bottom lip gently, putting the car into park.

Nothing could have prepared you for that question. You widened your eyes slightly at it. “What- no- Sunoo is my best friend. Why would you even ask that? What business is it to you?” You asked, - shocked - your lips slightly agape. “Good.” Is all he said.

“Good??!” You repeated and he finally looked at you, his eyes flickering around your face, clearly noticing your slightly distraught but concerned look.

What happened to the Ni-ki I know? The one that makes me want to ring my brain out. Why was he acting like this?

The male licked his lips and gently placed his hand on your cheek, biting his bottom lip as you felt your heart began to race. “Wh-what are you doing?” You question before feeling his soft and plush lips against yours. Your eyes closing as you let yourself melt into the kiss. it was like something snapped inside of you. After all these times, the feelings you couldn’t deny rushed into your body, butterflies fluttering with each sound both of your lips made smacking together.

Your body was turned, facing his as you ran your hands through his hair, his hands placed on your hips, slightly rubbing the skin there. His tongue poked at your bottom lip as you opened your mouth, allowing the males tongue to explore the inside of your mouth.

The two of you pulled away the only thing connecting you two was a single strand of spit that was soon gone, heavy pants playing loudly over the man that was speaking on the radio. “What was that..?” You questioned, licking your lips as your eye fluttered to look at him.

A soft smirk appeared on his lips. “Me saying that I’ll pick you up tomorrow, that we should actually get to know each other better.” Ni-ki smiled and placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin of your cheek.

“Can I see about that..?” You slightly blushed and he nodded. Taking his hand, you gently intertwined your fingers and placed a soft kiss on the back of his hand, getting out of the car and grabbing your backpack. “See you..” you said before he waved and returned it with a smile. “See you.” Once you were clear out of the way of the car, Ni-ki pulled off and made his way out of the neighborhood, you stood still for a second, sighing as you watched his car disappear. You touched your lips which were now a little swollen and a bit tingling from the kiss that still lingered on your mind.

Gosh, what did you do.

After you finally showered, feeling the freshest that you could, you sat down in your bed, hearing a bunch of iPhone dings coming from your notifications. It was a group chat filled with the basketball team, excluding your brother. A new one.

Y/N kisses Ni-ki. [ the bet. ]

Ni-ki: [ *sent 2 attatchments, picture & video* ]

Jake: I knew it was going to happen.

Nicho: Ha! Called it. Pay up.

Jungwon: SOOOO not fair. I thought it’d be at least 2 months.

Sunghoon: damn, I owe Sunoo $70

Jay: 💀

You widen your eyes. Was that what that was? Were you just a bet. To see how long it would be until you kissed someone apart of the basketball team. Your best friend even participating in it. You felt disgusting. Your head pounding after you left the group chat, tears welding into your eyes. Your head pounding.

“Fucking Nishimura. My biggest headache.”

#fanfic #kpop fanfic #fanfiction #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfiction #heesung enhypen #jay enhypen #enhypen jake #enhypen #enhypen niki #niki x reader #ni ki fluff #enha x reader #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop ff #enhypen fic

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justmeinadaze · 7 months

Text

Don't Be So Hard Part 2 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

Warnings: Older Steddie (Early 30s), Dom Coach Steve Harrington/ Dom Professor Eddie Munson/ Sub (Early 20s) Plus Size Fem Y/N

SMUT! Jealousy fueled smut, mean!Steddie, punishment (spanking), degrading (whore, slut, dumb), hair pulling, semi public (in Eddie's office on campus), use of the stop light system (Yellow mentioned), aftercare of course.

ANGST! Angsty, angsty, angst (because I'm me), Steddie gets jealous when reader starts dating a boy she acts with on stage even in the beginning they push her away to "protect her". They do catch her with him after they both have particular bad day/evening.

Mentions of Chrissy and their scars again. Mentions of what happened with reader and the football player in the last chapter (brief).

Word Count: 4349

Chapter 1 Here

As your alarm went off that following Monday, you stayed completely frozen in bed. That Sunday morning prior, you awoke to an empty house and a note telling you that your car was outside and your things were by the door whenever you were ready to leave.

You were unsure of what to do. Do you leave your number? Do you wait and confront them? Did they just want this to be a one-time thing? Were you supposed to pretend nothing happened?

Now with the new week starting, you had brand new concerns like if Martin would be in class and what would he even say or do?

Braving the outside world, you got dressed and headed for your first class. As you stepped inside, you were thankful Martin wasn’t there but your bliss was short lived when a hand lightly but firmly ushered you forward.

“Find a seat Miss Y/L/N.”, Eddie commands without so much as a cursory glance your way as he heads towards his desk. As the class continues, he avoids your eyes, choosing to look anywhere else as he speaks making you feel extremely self-conscious as you hug your arms around your body.

“Alright, you guys are free. Get out of here. Miss Y/L/N, can you stay behind please?”

“Yeah, of course.”

While you wait for the class to leave, your eyes take in his slightly agitated frame. His hair was a bit more messy than normal and his clothes were not as put together as before. The aroma of cigarettes was heavier around him and even as you slowly walked towards his desk at the front of the room, he still didn’t look your way.

“D-D-Did I do something wrong?”

“Uh, no, Y/N; Steve and I did.” When his beautiful hues finally met yours, they seemed so hollow as if he hadn’t slept. “What happened was a mistake and can’t…WON’T…happen again. To avoid any further confusion, I would recommend you get a transfer to another literature class or drop my class entirely. I’d be more than happy to sign a form for you.”

Your eyes widen as he speaks completely thrown off guard. You could understand if they wanted it to be a one-time thing but to say it was a mistake…that hurt.

“I don’t want to drop or transfer.”, you whisper.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t just about you, sweetheart.”, he responded curtly making you angry.

“Fuck you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Fuck you. If you didn’t want me you should have just took me back home.”

“Forgive us for considering your feelings and shit. We wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“By fucking me like a whore!”

“Lower…your…voice.”, Eddie growled as he started to step around his desk, pausing when you backed away.

“I didn’t think it was a mistake.”, you mumble.

The professor chuckled condescendingly as he folded his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to, little girl, but like I said, WE fucked up. Go back to your pathetic little life and forget about us.”

“Did you give Chrissy Cunningham the same option?”, you sass under your breath, immediately regretting your words when his chocolate irises shift your way and you see the pain behind them.

“HEY!”

You jump at Steve’s booming voice as he enters the classroom and promptly hang your head feeling like a small child getting caught saying a bad word. His presence towers heavily over you as he places himself just inches in front of your frame.

“That’s your professor and MY partner. You will show him respect.”

Blinking away tears, you find the courage to meet his equally annoyed gaze.

“Or what? You’ll punish me? I’m a mistake according to your partner!”

Grabbing your arm tightly, the coach starts shoving you towards Eddie’s office in the back corner with the professor himself slamming it closed behind him.

“Lower your goddamn voice.” Sighing, he turned to his boyfriend. “Did you tell her?”

“I emphasized that we made a mistake but she doesn’t seem to agree.”

“Why are you doing this? Did you…I thought…was I that bad?”, you ask in a small voice that shatters their hearts to pieces and falters their hardened demeanors.

“No, Y/N—”

“I don’t understand then. I thought you were attracted me.”

“We were…are…—”

“Were you just using me? Is that why you two were gone when I woke up?”

“STOP INTERRUPTING ME! Jesus Christ! I’m trying to fucking tell you something here! You did NOTHINGwrong. Do you hear me? Nothing. Eddie was right. You’re a twenty something student who’s so fucking beautiful she deserves to be seen and live her fucking life! We’ve been hiding for 10 years, Y/N, I assure you it’s no picnic.”

“Sweetheart, we liked being with you and not just the sex the part. It was nice to feel needed for once… but like he said…It’s not just because you’re a student. There’s so much more to it. You deserve better.”

Wiping your eyes, you nod as you stand up straighter.

“You could have just said that… Um, I’m sorry for what I said to you, Mr. Munson and giving you both attitude. I-I-I would like to stay in the class please. I promise I won’t…make trouble.”

Eddie nods as you flash them a small smile and quickly run out the door to collect your things.

#############

The next month went by with little to note as you floated through your days. Eddie barely looked your way during class and when you ran on the track Steve was never there. The one time you did see him was as Martin’s father was stomping out of the locker room and you got a glimpse of the coach fuming in his office.

Focusing on your production, you continued to rehearse your lines repeatedly till you had them down to a T but when it came to your scenes with the boy playing Rocky you found yourself slightly nervous and it wasn’t just because he was gorgeous to look at.

Every time he glanced your way during any scene he was in made you blush. One day, you were doing a dress rehearsal with him wearing only gold boxers and you with your bra, panties, and a lab coat. When he walked out your eyes immediately ran over his delicious looking abs before averting your eyes so you didn’t get caught.

“Brad. Janet. What do you think of my creation?”

“Oh, well, I don’t like a man with too much muscle.”

The boy beamed in your direction before ducking his head like he was supposed to. As soon as you finished, you expected him to disappear to quickly put on some clothes but he lingered behind with you on stage.

“You’re really good at all this.”, he grins as he gestures around the auditorium.

“Oh, um, thank you. I haven’t seen you in any of my classes or any other productions. Are you a theater kid or did you just transfer?”

“Naw, the school said I had to have some kind of arts credit and I thought this would be fun. Mrs. Lilah comes to the arcade that I work at sometimes so I know she’s a cool, easy-going lady…kind of like you…but not as pretty.”

You giggle as you push some hair behind your ear and he smiles.

“Can I, um, may I have your number?”

After giving it to him, his smile grows as he extends his hand out to you.

“I’m Theodore but my friend’s call me Theo.”

“Y/N.”

As your hand connects with his, he playfully bows and kisses the back of it.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

You grin as you watch him run off stage but it’s wiped clean off your face when you turn to grab some of your things, coming face to face with Eddie who had been watching your interaction from one of the rows in the auditorium while your teacher was talking to him.

***

Throughout the week, Eddie began appearing at all the rehearsals and the last few times he brought Steve with him. You ignored them as best you could, doing your scenes and listening to what your director was telling you.

It wasn’t until the evening you had your scene with you ‘naked’ in the container with Theo that they said a word.

“Hey Liliah! Are you sure this play is a good idea? I mean having them getting caught being intimate and then you have two students that close together in front of an audience…like that.”, Eddie critiqued as you pretend to not be listening.

“Huh. Out of all the people in Hawkins I thought you would condone this more. Its expression and these students are consenting adults. Y/N! Theo! Do you two feel uncomfortable about the scene right now?”

“No ma’am.”, the boy responds with zero hesitation.

“No ma’am. I feel extremely comfortable and safe next to Theo here.”, you coo as you lean your head on his shoulder and he in turn wraps his arm around you.

As the night came to a close and you gathered your things behind the curtain, you were surprised to hear both men’s voices as they continued to sit in the auditorium.

“I fucking hate this, I hope you know that.”

“I know but we both agreed this was best.”, Steve exhaled heavily.

“Fuck, every time his hands touch her I just wanna—“, Eddie growls as his partner chuckles.

“Yeah and every time she allows it, I wish I could just throw her over my knee. You know she’s getting off on it though; making us jealous.”

“Well, it’s working because I want to fuck her so hard and make her scream my name repeatedly till she fucking remembers who she belongs to.”

A small groan leaves your lips at his words. You desperately wanted that to but they pushed you away. Theo seemed like a good man and if they insisted on not being with you there wasn’t much you could do.

############

Sitting in the bleachers Friday night, you clung to Theo’s hand as you two watched the football game unfold. Since Martin was removed from the team, Steve had a new quarterback in play and everyone was talking about it. Every missed throw or tackle had him growing angrier as he paced back and forth fuming.

People around you speculated what could have happened and parents condemned him for removing his star player from the team. If only they knew… Hell they’d probably take Martin’s side. Everyone in the town had a backwards way of thinking.

“Hey, are you alright?”, Theo asked, not realizing that you had squeezed his palm tighter.

“Yeah, just, um…hearing people talk…”

“About what happened with Martin?”, he inquired with a low tone so no one would hear. “The game’s almost over. Do you want to go for a walk?”

He grins when you nod, leading you down the row and towards campus.

“I’m sorry you went through that. Guy is a fucking dick.”

“Yeah, he is, but…”

“But nothing. Just because he’s king badass or whatever doesn’t mean he can hurt you like that. Have you heard anything yet from like the dean or anyone?”

“No, not yet. I haven’t even see Martin. I’m terrified what he’s going to do when we do run into each other.”

“I’ll protect you.”

“Oh, you will, huh?”, you smile as he flashes you his own.

“I will, babe. These abs just aren’t show!”, Theo chuckles. “So, um, are you like Janet? Are you not into guys with muscles?”

Biting your bottom lip, you blush as he grabs your arm to stop you two from walking down the hall.

“Because I can get some flab if you want me to. I can gain like a sexy paunch and—”

You laugh before tilting up on your toes to tenderly kiss his lips.

“I think you’re sexy just as you are.”

Theo’s hand slides behind your neck and brings your lips back to his, kissing you with much more passion as he walks you back into a classroom. Feeling something hard against your back, the boy doesn’t miss a beat as he lifts you onto the desk and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you as he grinds his hips against yours.

“I’m not…moving…too fast am I?”, he pants between kisses causing you to vigorously shake your head. “Good…your lips…taste really…really fucking good.”

“HEY!”

You both jump apart as Eddie and Steve angrily enter the classroom.

“The fuck do you think this is?! A bedroom!?”, your professor shouts. “Sex and making out on campus is prohibited but it’s definitely forbidden on my fucking desk.”

Glancing around the room, you realize you were in his classroom.

Shit.

“I swear, Mr. Munson, we didn’t know this was your room?”

“So, that makes it better?”, Steve snaps sharply. “You disrespecting other people’s property by grinding on it?”

“No, sir.”

“Please Mr. Munson, Coach Harrington, this isn’t her fault. I brought her in here—”

“She doesn’t have a mind of her own? From what I saw she was a willing participant.”, Eddie cut him off. “Get out of my sight and be lucky we don’t tell the dean or Lilah about this.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

Taking your hand in his, Theo starts to lead you to the door before Steve grabs your bicep.

“No. Don’t want you both leaving together and ending up in another room on campus. You can wait a few minutes, Miss Y/L/N.”

As soon as the door shuts and your date leaves, the coach tugs you roughly towards the office before Eddie bangs the door behind him.

“I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know—”

“Face the wall.”, the coach commanded, growling when you hesitate. “I said face the wall and place your hands against it.”

Slowly, you do as he says, gasping when he roughly takes hold of your hips and brings them out more before lifting your skirt to expose your panty covered ass.

“I’m surprised she has panties on. Fucking little slut seemed so desperate for his cock.” Steve’s palm came down hard and you jerked forward at the feeling. “Don’t move! Keep your ass out.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Harrington.”

In quick succession, he spanked you a couple more times, his hand grabbing at your flesh before delivering another. Fingers aggressively yank down your underwear and he spanks you again.

“Jesus, Ed, look at her. Fucking pussy is dripping. You’re so fucking needy aren’t you, little girl.” When you didn’t respond, he hit your behind much harder than before. “Answer me!”

“Yes…yes, sir, I’m a needy girl. Ahhhh…”, you whine as he hits you again.

Hearing him back away and shuffle around behind you causes you to turn your head but he immediately forces your face forward with his palm as he smushes your cheek into the wall.

“Don’t fucking look at me. You want to be a whore? We can treat you like a whore, Y/N.”

Running his tip through your folds, he guides himself into your entrance and sets a brutal pace allowing you no time to adjust like they had before. Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of his hands fall on the other side of your head as his other spanks you before gripping your hips.

“Is this what you—mmph—what you fucking wanted, little girl? You think that little boy can fuck you better? Huh?”

“No—mmm—no, Mr. Harrington.”

“That’s fucking right.”, Steve grunts as he slows his rhythm but not his intensity as he slams his cock deep inside you.

“Oh…Oh my god.”

“Yeah, you little slut? That’s the spot. I know, baby. I know how to please desperate, needy things like you.”

“I…I don’t…understand…”, you whine.

“What? What doesn’t your dumb little brain understand? Why you’re being punished?”

“Yeeeesss. This is what you—fuck—what you wanted.”

Pulling out, he spun you around, hooking his arm under the back of your knee to lift your leg and slides his length back inside of you.

“This is what we wanted? For you to fuck some other guy on Eddie’s desk? To…to touch him on stage while you’re practically fucking naked?”

Your hands tug on his hair forcing him to meet your lust filled gaze.

“I-I wanted you two.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as you cling to the base of the neck and cum hard around him. Steve’s head falls onto your shoulder as he pounds his cock harder into your cunt chasing his release before gripping your hair tightly in his fingers and pushing you to your knees.

“Open!” You do what he says, moaning as he forces his dick into your mouth. “Look at me! Don’t take those eyes off me.” When your irises meet his honey ones, they flutter slightly as he thrusts his cock down your throat. “Th-That’s it, baby. I want this burned into that dumb little brain of yours. MMM! That way when you’re on your knees for him, you think of me.”

Steve grunts and his grip tightens as he spills down your throat. Your eyes never leave his as you swallow every drop he gives you.

As soon as he steps back and out of the way, Eddie’s on you, lifting you to your feet and manhandling you to the couch against the wall of his office. Spreading your legs open wide, you groan loudly as he shoves his face into your pussy, open mouth kissing between your folds as his tongue flicks your clit.

“P-Please…Please, Mr. Munson.”

Your hands try to tangle in his hair but he promptly grabs your wrist and holds it against the sofa. Tilting back, he spits into your hole before maneuvering his cock out of his jeans and guiding it into your heat.

“No, little girl. You don’t get to fucking touch me. Your hands have been all over your new boyfriend.”, he says with disgust as he rolls his hips hard making his length slam roughly into that spongy spot inside you. “Fuck, sweetheart. Have you fucked him yet?”

When you don’t answer, his palm spanks you hard.

“No.”

“No what.”, he growls as he hits you again.

“N-No, sir.”

“Shame. I’d love to—mmph fuck—know what that little fucker says when he realizes you’re ruined.”, Eddie spits as he pumps into you a bit faster. “You begged us to, baby, remember? To split you in half a-and stretch you open. Fuck. Still so fucking tight for us but little prick like him…”

“Eddie…”

Leaning down to hover over you, the metalhead grips your throat tightly between his ringed fingers.

“You say it correctly, whore. You’re in MY office in MY classroom.”

“F-Fuck…I’m sorry, Mr. Munson…feels so…good..”

“I know, baby. I know it feels good. You know what didn’t? Watching you flirt and swoon over that asshole on stage. Watching him touch you and you not pull away. Didn’t take you long to move on from us. What did—mmm—we fucking expect. You’re meant to be a toy, Y/N. Just a fucking slut for men like us to use.”, he growls in anger, completely oblivious to the tears that had begun to fall from your eyes.

“Yellow.” Your word comes out barely above a whisper; so small you’re surprised he heard it. Eddie lifted his head as his movements stopped, his eyes scanning your face as he blinks back his anger and worry replaces it. “I didn’t move on. I wanted you…I liked being with you. You pushed me away… Y-You said so many mean things after class…”

Your professor sighs as his forehead falls on yours.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you. Can I make you feel good? Can you say it?”, he requests when all you do is nod.

“Yes, sir, you can keep going.”

When he starts thrusting into you again, it’s much gentler than before.

“We didn’t use you that night, Y/N. Fuck, you have no idea how much we still think about you.”

“We talk about you at night while we’re in bed.”, Steve adds in low, soft voice behind your head. “It almost always leads to us playing with each other as we talk about how tight you were or how much your whimpers made us hard.”

Your eyes flutter closed at their words as Eddie picks up his rhythm once again.

“Shit. You feel so good. We-We don’t just talk about your body but we like how kind you are and so fucking smart, princess. I love reading your essays about the books I assign. You have this—oh my—this unique view of the world…”

“Why-Why did you push me away?”

Falling flat against you, he clings to you back as he rolls his hips and his cock pushes impossibly deep inside of you.

“Because this is wrong, honey.”, Steve answers for him. “So fucking wrong but…fuck…watching you with that kid…”

“You’re ours, sweetheart. Fuck, baby, cum.” Grinding your waist, you thrust up to meet his movement till you feel your body tremble as the coil breaks. “Good girl, Y/N. Good girl.”

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to follow and his eyes squeeze shut as you feel him warm your insides.

Nobody speaks as he pulls out of you and grabs your hand to help you sit up, petting your head as you wince slightly at the pain in your behind. Steve quickly comes between your legs and cleans you, tenderly kissing your knee when you whine at the soreness.

Both their heads hang when he comes back to take a seat beside you.

“D-Did you guys win?”, you ask, sighing when the coach shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington.”

“Steve…” Your gaze shifts his way as he mumbles his name. “You can call me Steve when we aren’t out there or playing.”

“I’m sorry we made you uncomfortable, Y/N.”, Eddie exhales. “We didn’t mean to be so rough. We’re just…passionate people.”

“That’s an interesting way to say you were jealous.”, you tease as they smile. “It wasn’t the roughness. I like rough. It was the implication that…you used me solely to get off that night…After what you said to me in class, it just…hurt my feelings.”

“I understand. I’m sorry, baby.”

“We’re just trying to—”

“Protect me, I know. I just don’t understand from what. At first I thought it was because your faculty and I’m a student but then you said it was because I deserve to be seen… yet here we are… and I still feel you…pulling away. What aren’t you two telling me?”

“Did you just interrupt me again? Jesus Christ. IS it me? Am I just not as intimidating as him?”, Steve tries to joke and deflect.

“Does it involve what happened with Chrissy Cunningham?”

The metalhead grumbled as he exhaled, turning to face you with a newfound fire in his eyes.

“We gave you rules that first night, remember? Don’t ask about our scars. Maybe that rule deserves some expansion. Don’t ask about what happened 10 years ago AT ALL. Not only do we not want to talk about it but we CAN’T talk about it. If that’s a fucking problem then we can fully end this thing now. No little games or what happened tonight. Hell, I’ll even tell the dean myself what I did so he can fire me.”

At this declaration, Steve growls and when you glance his way you’re surprised to see annoyance, not towards you but to his partner.

“Ok, I understand, Eddie. I won’t ask any questions anymore but I need you to know…whatever happened I’m not afraid. I never thought you did anything to them and I trust you both. I know they say Hawkins is cursed but I feel like it’s more the people here that are said curse. I’ve been bullied most of my life by people like Martin. These backwards citizens condemning you for no reason and then hurting Steve because he’s your friend… it’s bullshit. I’m sorry you went through that and if anything happens again I’ll defend you.”

“We know, honey. That’s what worries us.”

“You don’t want to go through what we did, Y/N, trust me. We don’t want you to experience the pain and loss we have.”

“You’re implying my life has been devoid of pain and loss up to this point.”, you breathily laugh causing them to exchange a concerned glance. “I, uh, I should head back to my dorm. Theo’s probably calling to make sure I’m not dead. He really is a nice guy.”

“Do you want to come back to our house? You can take a bath and we can make you some dinner.”, Eddie offers nervously.

“Decide now. I can’t go back and forth with you two. If you want me to be yours I can be that. But if you’re going to push me away again or I’m going to wake up alone, I’d rather go back to my single dorm room and call the guy that seems to genuinely like me and isn’t afraid to say so.”

“We aren’t afraid, Y/N. This right here is more complicated than all that but we aren’t afraid to say we like you.”, Steve answered as he rose to his feet, reaching for your hand to help you do the same. “Can we take this one step at a time? Don’t forget, this is new for us to and a lot more is on the line. We could lose our careers and reputation.”

“And I don’t have much of one in this town to begin with.”, the metalhead joked making Steve roll his eyes.

“You’re willing to put all that on the line for me?”

“Of course.”, they responded in unison with zero hesitation making you grin.

“I did it for Eddie countless times and I’d do it again.”, the coach coos as he grabs the man’s cheeks and brings his lips to his own.

“Ok…one step at a time.”

##############

@joannamuns9n @dckweed @corkadymu @lilaclazer @aol19 @nailbatanddungeon @dashingdeb16

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yumeka-sxf · 1 year

Text

Seems like this chapter just about wrapped up the Mole Hunt arc. I decided to analyze a bit more than I usually do with my chapter reviews since there was a lot to talk about on the Twiyor front!

When Fiona questioned Twilight about not killing Yuri, he gave his official "for the mission" reason, but slipped up by calling Yor "Yor-san" instead of "Yor Briar." This made it obvious to Fiona (who already knows about him softening) that he's trying desperately hard to cover up those feelings. Even though this would have been a good opportunity for her to imply that she's a better fit for the wife role, she doesn't even try because she knows Twilight would defend "Yor-san" in every subtle way he could.

When he gets home and finds out that Yor doesn't actually have gripes with him, he's relieved of that last load of stress and is finally able to relax, causing him to collapse (similar to the very first chapter when he collapsed after Anya passed the Eden entrance exam). After he realizes how utterly exhausted he is, he can't help but ask Yor to help out with his housework.

Her reply is what really makes everything sink in for him - despite all his attempts to be a flawless spy, she doesn't want him to be that way. She's happy when she can be useful to him and thinks it's bad if he pushes himself to be perfect all the time.

And yet, that's exactly what he has to be in order to survive as a spy. The fact that he had to ask someone for help with simple housework, plus someone telling him that he doesn't have to be perfect, made him recall the feeling he had when he looked into Wheeler's eyes...that he lives in a world where you have to be perfect in order to survive, and having any kind of weakness just won't due.

While Twilight continues to be clueless about Fiona's feelings for him among other things, what he does realize at the end of this arc is his own feelings - that he does have a weakness. He's beginning to understand more than ever that a spy can't afford to be anything but perfect. And yet, his refusal to kill Yuri, which is a result of him caring about Yor (even though he gave Fiona his usual "for the mission" reason, she saw right through it) is conflicting him even more.

I also have to point out how considerate Yor was of Loid's exhaustion - she completely pushed Yuri away, even after noticing he was injured. She didn't even invite him to stay and have tea with them!

What Twilight was about to say to Yor (in his mind) before Yuri interrupted is debatable, but going by his previous line of thought, it was probably something bittersweet like "which is why...once Operation Strix is over, I'll have to leave the Forgers" or possibly something more immediate, where he now realizes how compromised he truly is and so might reconsider the stipulations of Operation Strix even before it's over. Though I think it's more of the former since his thoughts in the shower in the next scene make it seem like he's not ready to do anything drastic yet, but the idea is still gnawing at him.

Fiona had noticed his leaking emotions way back when she was first introduced, but this is the first time Twilight himself is realizing it and not denying it. Whether anything major will change in his actions from now on is yet to be seen. Will there be another aftermath chapter or two with Twilight still being jostled by this realization? Or will things go back to normal now and he'll brush those feelings aside for another day? It seems like Yuri has been totally thrown off the scent, so his identity should be safe for the time being. Will Anya get to read his mind the next morning and finally find out everything that happened? The next new chapter won't be out for another 4 weeks, so brace yourself for a grueling wait!

#spy x family #spy family #sxf #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #twiyor #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers #sxf spoilers

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nickfowlerrr · 9 months

Text

it’s a love story, baby, just say yes.

pairing: neighbor!bucky x curvy!reader

warnings: not the conclusion i was hoping for but that just means there’s more of these two to come. this feels like such a tease of a chapter lol i’m sorry. no smut. a lil tinny tiny bit of angst from reader’s perspective. mostly cute idiots in love. if something needs to be tagged please let me know.

words: 3.2k

notes: is the title a little on the nose? yes, yes it is. and it took me forever to land on. 💀 there will be more, i promise. sorry for the wait. thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy this little update. 🫶🏻 also also! happy birthday again to the anon who messaged me about this next part. hope your day was wonderful ✨💗

series masterlist / character outfit inspo

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Easy.

Just like that.

You can’t stop looking in the mirror.

You look…you look…god. You look terrified.

Fuck.

This was a bad decision. A really bad decision.

What the hell were you thinking?

What the hell was he thinking?

God, you feel like you can’t breathe again.

Focus.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

You smooth your skirt, pulling it once again for no reason. None other than habit, you suppose.

You look over yourself. Not awful, you think. You’re wearing your staple black long sleeve top with your high waisted houndstooth skirt. It’s cold outside, so you’re in your black thigh high boots. The ones that took you ages to find but have been your favorite since coming across them. You swear this pair was made in heaven because it felt like a miracle finding ones that actually fit your legs properly. You’ve accessorized with your trusty belt and your favorite jewelry and your hair somehow looks the best it has in days. Makeup is flawless and though you try to find something to fix…you just can’t.

And still, there’s that gnawing feeling telling you that you’re doing something wrong - that you are wrong.

You don’t know why you’re being so down on yourself today, but it seems like you’ve poked at each and every insecurity you’ve ever had in the past hour alone.

Maybe some part of your mind thinks it’ll convince you to not go through with this if you feel badly enough. Too bad you don’t really have the option of chickening out.

You sigh and finally look away from the mirror, instead reaching for your bottle of perfume and spraying yourself lightly with the lovely scent.

You smile a bit as you set the bottle back down in its spot.

You remember the first time you wore it. It was the day after your birthday - you had gotten it for yourself as a gift. You went over to Bucky's for your weekly movie watch and when you walked by him as he held his front door open for you, he seemed immediately taken. He was all over you as he followed you in close behind.

You had jerked away when he leaned in to smell you, giving him a look of incredulity.

“Creep,” you groused.

“Sorry,” he laughed, “but you smell incredible,” he complimented, leaning into you again. “Is that new?”

“It is, yeah. Smells good, right?” you smiled, loving your choice even more.

“Like heaven,” he simpered.

You knew he loved this perfume, but that is not why you are wearing it tonight, you tell yourself. That is simply a coincidence. It may be his favorite, but it was your favorite first.

You double check your phone, despite it having not gone off at all in the past two hours, just to ensure you weren’t missing any messages…particularly one that would read something along the lines of “Sorry to cancel so last minute but…”.

Of course, you find nothing.

Checking the time, you have fifteen minutes til seven.

Fifteen was plenty of time to get yourself to finally calm the hell down a bit.

You can do this.

It’ll be…what it is.

And no matter what it is, it’ll be.

You breathe a deep breath.

…Maybe you still have time to cancel…

A knock on your front door startles you and you leave your room to stand in your hallway, eyeing the door as if you’re expecting it to burst open despite the gentleness of the sound.

Nothing.

Then another knock.

You brace yourself, swallowing thickly as you approach the door.

Of course you know who it is.

Impending doom.

No! Stop with the negativity, you chastise yourself.

Of course he’d be early. If you weren’t so caught up in your head, you’d roll your eyes at his punctuality. You shouldn’t have expected anything less.

“Early is on time, on time is late.” You can hear him saying it now.

You get to the door and unlock the bolts one at a time, as slowly as you can, trying to drag out the inevitable as you focus on your breathing.

You grab hold of the knob, and once again remind yourself to get your shit together. The door slowly creaks open as you pull on it heavily and when you finally chance at glance at the man at your door, you find Bucky’s eyes on you. His lips part ever so slightly as he takes you in before his gaze comes back up to meet yours.

He titters, the corner of his lips coming up in a half smirk as he breathes a sigh of relief.

“You answered,” he says.

“Yeah,” you blink dumbly at his words, “why wouldn’t I have?”

“I don’t know, you’ve been avoiding me all week,” he accuses. “I was honestly a little worried you were gonna cancel on me.”

You look down, a little embarrassed at being called out. But he was right, you had been avoiding him.

Well not him. It wasn’t him. It was just the nerves. You weren’t sure you’d be able to talk to him, let alone look at him without somehow screwing everything up all too quickly.

Anytime you caught even just a glimpse of him in the hallway or heard what could have been him coming or going as you were, you would make yourself scarce as soon as possible. Even when you clearly saw one another, eye contact established and everything, you’d be gone before he could get a word out in your direction. The last time you spoke with him face to face was New Year’s Eve.

The breathy “yes,” that left your lips still shocked you when you thought back on it. Which you had often this past week. Replaying the way Bucky’s face lit up at your answer, how happy he looked… before you quickly turned tail and rushed your “good night”; hurrying back to your apartment and leaving Bucky standing there in a bit of a stupor, huffing a laugh out his nose as he watched you flee, but his half smile never breaking as he called a good night after you.

Bucky has tried to talk to you since then, of course, but you just kept evading him. If he really wanted or needed to get to you, truthfully, he could have - but he didn’t want to overwhelm you. And a part of him was worried about the two very same things you were, just from his side.

Part of you was afraid you’d just flounder and end up outright canceling and the other part was scared you’d lose all self control and end up kissing him again. Not that that sounded like the worst thing in the world…But still, you kept your distance while you could.

“These are for you, gorgeous,” he continues before you can say anything in response. You only then notice the bouquet of flowers he holds in his hand.

They’re gorgeous. Nicer than the ones he had on Valentine’s day, and even nicer than the bouquet you had been gifted from your coworker that day, too.

“Wow,” is all you can utter as you take them from him. “Thank you,” your voice is quiet as your surprise at the gesture overwhelms you.

You’ve never been given flowers this nice before. And you definitely weren’t expecting it.

“They’re so pretty,” you say, eyes flitting up to see his enamored gaze on you before you look back down to the flowers.

“Just like you,” he says, stepping closer to you in the doorway. “You look stunning.”

You smile, albeit a bit stiffly, at the compliment, offering another ‘thank you’.

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire at his words and you bite your lip as you turn from him to head to the kitchen.

A second passes and you turn back to see him still standing in the doorway, not following you.

You raise a brow, “What are you a vampire?” you ask sarcastically. “Come in,” you instruct with a laugh.

“Didn’t want to be presumptuous,” he says, finally coming inside, closing the door gently behind him.

“Yeah? Since when?”

He smirks again then, following you to the kitchen as you search out your vase.

“I’m being a gentleman,” he states.

You eye him, scoffing before turning back to readying the bouquet for the water.

“What’s funny?” he questions, faux offense in his voice.

“You,” you shake your head, fighting your smile. “...You look nice, by the way,” you compliment after a second of fighting your nerves.

“Thanks, doll.”

You jump as his voice comes from right beside you, his stealth surprising you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he laughs, admiring your handiwork as you arrange the flowers just right.

You turn into him, taking a breath as you really look at him again. The blue of his eyes stand out even more with the depth of his black sweater under his dark wool overcoat. The outfit fits him well, you absentmindedly admire. He really does look nice.

God, he always does.

You breathe in his dark, woody cologne in your proximity and your knees threaten to go wobbly as you do.

Is this really real?

“You ready?” he asks. You flit the thoughts away and meet his eye, nodding in response before you look at his arm as he offers it to you.

You meet his eye once more before taking it and he leads you to the front door, but not before you grab a coat of your own.

Breathe, you remind yourself.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Easy.

—

Walking up to the doors of the restaurant side by side with Bucky, you feel that contentment you only ever feel when he’s around.

The cab ride was nice, the sound of the rain falling outside lulling you unthinkingly into Bucky’s side as you looked out the window, street lights and headlights flashing by - people with umbrellas still walking along the city streets.

You smiled as you felt Bucky’s warmth radiating from him, the slow alternative music flowing through the speakers making everything feel that much more intimate. You’ve spent plenty of time with Bucky, you’ve sat this close to him before, but this still felt different. The date hadn’t even really begun and you could end the night right here and now and still be happy.

Man, was that pathetic?

You started to feel the worry building up inside you again, but then you felt Bucky’s arm come around your shoulders, holding you to him. You instantly relaxed into him, but didn’t turn your head to meet his gaze.

What had you been so concerned about to begin with? It’s not like you were or ever had been forcing yourself or your presence on the man. Bucky asked you on this date. He kissed you first. And even before the party, he always invited you over to his place, and would somehow always manage to convince you to stay just a little bit longer - no matter how long you’d been there. It was clear he liked being around you. All the signs of reciprocated feelings were there. And yet for some reason, you still found it hard to believe.

You felt like you were in a dream.

Bucky guides you up the short steps leading up to the entrance of the establishment, his hand on your back as you take careful steps in your heeled boots on the slippery steps as the rain continues beating down on and all around you. Your left hand is in his metal one as you hold onto it for balance.

Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you to enter before he gives his name to the host at the front of the restaurant.

“Sergeant Barnes, it’s an honor. Please, follow me this way, your table is all ready,” the young man smiles before he walks you and Bucky to the back, to a closed off area of the restaurant. You look around, a bit confused, but not at all upset at the privacy.

There is a table set for two in the dimmed dining area, a small lit candle on the table along with more flowers. Your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest as you take it all in.

Your seat is pulled out for you by Bucky before he helps you out of your coat, and once you’re sat, he effortlessly pushes your seat back closer to the table before he removes his own coat and takes his seat across from you.

Your host shows you the menus briefly and takes your drink orders before he takes his leave, letting you know your waiter will be by soon to get drinks started.

It’s not a five star restaurant, more like a quaint, family owned eatery, but it feels even more intimate here. And with only you and Bucky back here, you really feel like you’re in your own little world. It’s nice.

It’s more than nice, actually.

It’s damn near perfect.

Bucky smiles at you as he notices you looking at him.

You hadn’t even realized you were, but you don’t look away despite being caught.

“I’m impressed, Barnes,” you offer with a small smile. “I was expecting…well,” you huff a laugh, “I don’t know what I was expecting, but this is still somehow exceeding all expectations.”

“Good,” he smiles. “I know you hate fancy food so I thought this place would be perfect. Mom and Pop’s kinda dinner.” His voice doesn’t sound it, but from the way he breaks eye contact as he over explains himself, you know he wasn’t entirely sure about his decision to come here over somewhere else.

“I do hate fancy food,” you nod. “This was a good choice.” You pick up your menu and look it over, giving some thought to what sounds appetizing. “What are you getting?” you ask without looking up. You know Bucky isn’t looking at the menu because you can feel his stare on you.

“Sirloin,” he says without hesitation, “and you?”

“Mmm. I’m thinking burger.”

“Classic,” he supports.

You titter, setting the menu down after deciding on what you’d be ordering.

Your eyes meet Bucky’s and after a second you give him a nervous smile.

“So…” you begin.

“So,” he echos.

Before you can start to speak again, you see your waiter coming into the private area, walking toward the table, a tray in hand.

You thank him as he sets down the glasses and a basket of warm bread on your table before Bucky gives him your orders.

When you’re all alone again, you copy Bucky as he takes and butters a roll, using the other half of his butter packet so you don’t have to open another one. You tear your roll apart, eating it in pieces as opposed to Bucky who squishes it down and bites into it like it’s a biscuit, amusing you. It’s fresh, so warm, and so fluffy.

“This is so good,” you rave.

“It’s bread and butter, it’s impossible for it not to be,” he smiles.

You point a manicured finger at him as you chew on your next piece, “You got me there.”

He sets his roll down on the plate as he licks his teeth, eyes trained on you as he does. You try to ignore it as he tilts his head while staring at you. It feels like he’s trying to read your mind.

“So…” he repeats your earlier sentiment, “were you going somewhere with that before?”

You kiss your lips, your eyes flicking up to his. You take a breath, measuring your words.

“Yeah. Uhm,” you think a moment longer. “I’ve just been wondering, how long?”

His brows furrow in an unspoken question but he doesn’t get the chance to ask before you elaborate.

“You said you’ve been wanting to do this for months, I just - I’m curious how long exactly you’ve been waiting.”

He knows his answer, but he also knows you won’t believe him if he tells you. Since the very first month you met, he’s been wanting to do this. But he won’t say that. Not right now, anyway.

“A while,” he settles on. “A very long while.”

He holds your eye as he answers you and you know he means it.

You nod, pursing your lips to keep your smile from completely breaking across your face. “A while…” you muse. “What took you so long?”

“I didn’t wanna scare you away,” he says truthfully.

The look in his eye is so intense and earnest, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“...You wouldn’t have,” you tell him, your voice quiet, not far off from a whisper.

He can’t help his smirk, “I don’t think that’s true,” he scrutinizes you.

You make a face, a cross between a scowl and fighting a pout. But you know he’s right. God, he has a habit of calling you out every time you need to be.

“Yeah, okay,” you begrudgingly agree while he relishes in your pouty acceptance.

It took all of your heart’s strength to agree to a date tonight, even after all the time you’ve spent with him, how real you know your feelings to be - whether or not you wanted to play them off as silly daydreams or not - all of this and you really almost did run away scared without giving him an answer that night. You know you would’ve said no in a heartbeat had it been when you first started getting to know one another. You’ve never been one to risk it, you wouldn’t have then, either.

But sitting across from Bucky here and now, you’re glad you took the chance.

“I guess it’s true what they say…Timing is everything.”

He nods, “And lucky for us, I’m a very patient man.”

You smile, with a quirked brow, “Lucky indeed.” He laughs, his grin full of nothing but admiration and contentment as he leans closer to you across the table. You hadn’t even realized you’d been doing the same, your elbows on the table as you unconsciously wanted to get closer than you already were. Your knees brush, but neither of you move away. In fact, Bucky scoots his chair in closer. Your tongue slips past your lips so quickly you don’t even register it as you wet your lips. You grab your glass, raising it before you and he does the same with his own.

“To my luck?” he asks, lips still curved in his perfect smile.

“And to your patience,” you add, your own soft smile gracing your face as you look into his brilliant blue gaze, hoping he can see the thankfulness you feel for him there.

“To your yes.”

“To the first first date ever that I haven’t wanted to run out on,” you joke.

You lightly clink your glasses, both of you sipping from your drink.

He shrugs as you take another drink from your glass, “Though, the night is young,” he muses.

You sputter on the liquid as you laugh into your glass, earning a similar laugh from Bucky.

You smile through your cough as you look at him again, wiping at the liquid on your chin. His gaze as warm and mirthful as ever.

Yeah, you think. He’s worth the risk.

#bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x reader #neighbor!bucky x reader #neighbor!bucky x curvy!reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x plus size reader #ciwywt #bucky x reader #bucky x curvy!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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yuikomorii · 3 months

Note

I got a question but I need an objective answer please. So I saw a lot of people complain about Yui being written in a very bad way in Ayato’s routes starting with More Blood and was curious if you think that she became a bad girlfriend as the story progressed?

// I will analyze Yui’s versions from Ayato’s routes and provide an answer at the end of this post.

More Blood:

Even from the first two chapters we are aware of the fact that Yui got a big crush on Ayato merely because of his looks and pleasure he gave her. At first sight, these reasons seem very superficial, but at the same time you can’t blame her completely for that. Yui went to a normal school and used to read magazines for teens, therefore it’s obvious she would have hormones and fall in love with someone who got features portrayed as the beauty standard.

It's understandable why some found her annoying, as she repeatedly cried for Ayato's love without making any real effort to earn it. Apart from giving him her blood, she didn't try to understand what he was going through, even when she noticed changes in him that made him crave so much blood.

Nevertheless, I believe that she did redeem herself in the last chapters, where she admitted being selfish and only thinking about her own desires, instead of focusing on Ayato’s struggles too. I know she paralyzed him out of jealousy and cheated on him in the bad endings, but in the good one, she’s actually a really loyal person. Yui waited years for Ayato to wake up from the coma and Ayato searched for Yui for years in his dream until he finally woke up. This ending confirmed the genuineness of their love.

In the After Story, Ayato planned to attend university for Yui's sake, aiming to get a job and buy a house. Yui helped Ayato with his studies and praised his skills. Initially, she fell for his looks, but in the After Story, she mentioned falling in love with him again because of his caring, determined, and hardworking personality.

Vandead Carnival & Lunatic Parade:

I really liked Yui in both of Ayato's routes and honestly, I can't find anything to criticize about her behavior.

It's not that Yui was a bad partner; it's just that Ayato was portrayed as too good, such as when he ran through flames for her or protected her from a bomb explosion. But that's likely because these are fan service games, where the love interests are designed to be your knights in shining armor. xD

Dark Fate:

I absolutely loved Yui’s portrayal in that route. It was the sweetest version of Yui I’ve ever seen, and I really enjoyed seeing her so happy and soft. Regarding her relationship with Ayato, he was truly the apple of her eye, lol.

The only problematic thing she did was pushing Ayato to face his abuser, Cordelia, even though he didn’t want to. I honestly don’t care if a character does something to another character, as long as it doesn’t affect them and the story, so since Ayato didn’t get mad at her for that, I didn’t mind it much either. However, from an objective point of view, I agree that doing such a thing is quite bad. Being in the presence of someone who ruined your life can trigger intense memories and forcing a confrontation removes the victim's agency in deciding how to cope with their trauma. Ayato might not have been mad at Yui for planning that, but if it had been Laito, I’m sure he would have shown why Yui was in the wrong.

Other than that, she was a kind and supportive girlfriend throughout the whole route, clearly having no ill intent, and I appreciate that she had an actual important role in the route.

Lost Eden:

Ok, I really can’t defend her anymore there. She literally had no redeeming qualities, no matter how many times she got the chance to fix herself. I discussed my thoughts about LE Yui in this post, but I’ll sum it up.

She tried to convince Ayato that despite Cordelia abusing him, she actually did it because she “cared about his future”, and then acted surprised when Ayato started feeling uncomfortable because of her words.

Yui knew the reasons behind Ayato’s behavior, yet when his brothers started mocking him, she didn’t even try to defend him. Everyone ganged up on Ayato, and he was on the verge of a panic attack, yet she remained silent.

Another terrible scene was in one of the last chapters, when Ruki admitted to turning the Vibora Clan and Church organization against Ayato out of envy, aiming to kill him. Instead of criticizing Ruki’s actions, Yui justified them and spoke ill of Ayato behind his back. I wouldn’t like to date someone who claims to love me but keeps hurting me without learning anything… It felt as if Ayato only continued being together with her because he had no one else. No wonder he didn’t marry her there.

Chaos Lineage:

I found Yui quite boring in CL in general, but she started off as determined and sweet in his route, so I liked that.

For most of the route, Yui’s entire personality seemed to revolve around Ayato, and she didn’t do much. There were many cheesy moments between them that made me cringe. Still, I’m sure a certain audience enjoyed those.

My only complaint is that when his brothers started treating Ayato unfairly, despite the fact that he came up with the idea of breaking the glass floor of the church, Yui did nothing to defend him, again.

However, I do appreciate that she gave him that adorable monologue. I just wish she had done it in front of others instead of only acting when Ayato was already insecure and sad.

Now… let’s see what kind of girlfriend Yui was in each route by judging her progress:

MB: Good

VC: Good

DF: Very good

LP: Good

LE: Very bad

CL: Decent

#diabolik lovers #yui komori #dialovers #komori yui #admin

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unholybacon355 · 3 months

Text

Everything stays in the family

Park Jihyo x G!P Huh Yunjin

Word Count: 6.8K

TW: Incest.

[PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

DISCLAIMER: I'm adding this disclaimer because I think it's necessary.

This story have some taboo themes like incesto to name one. I need to say that obviously some of the things I wrote here aren't good and by any means I'm trying to make it look like good and normal things. Read at your own discretion.

Everything you see here is fiction and many things in this story are not really good. This is for fun and only for that. Also, all the characters you see here are adults and Jihyo is older, but I'm not specifying how old she is.

Another thing to say is that I have no clue about how human bodies actually work, so you can't expect me to be very accurate about some things. I'm not saying what because I want you to figure it out as you read.

Last thing to say is that I've been posting this story for a while on Ao3 and just now I'm doing it here. Because that I gonna post the two first chapters as one here, and this chapter gonna be full of sad things but this is necessary for the plot and background. So the smut really start on the next chapter, chapter that gonna be posted really soon here.

Summary: Things in Yunjin's life really turn upside down when someone unexpected returns from her past. After that everything becomes chaos in her life.

CHAPTER ONE

“Why is it so hard for you to call her like that? Just say it and that's it”

"Why? Maybe because she is not my mother… Not the real one at least.”

Chaewon stared at Yunjin before continuing, perhaps pondering her words or perhaps thinking of something completely different. One could never be sure with this girl. “You just admitted that you see her like a mother. It shouldn’t be that much of a problem just calling her that.”

Yunjin hugged her girlfriend around her waist and settled better next to her on the bed. “I know, it's just… It doesn't seem fair.” She pronounced the last part of that sentence lowering her voice, as if she thought she was saying something bad. “Yes, she has been very good to me and she helps me in everything she can without me even needing to ask. But I think I still owe something to my mother.” The redhead rested her head on her girlfriend's shoulder.

"Love. You don't owe that woman anything. She doesn't even talk to you anymore.” She gave the other girl a quick little kiss on the top of her nose before continuing. “It's like she has already forgotten that she is your mother, instead Jihyo has been taking care of you all this time. ”

“You make me look like the bad girl here.”

“None of that, I'm simply pointing out facts.”

“Well, I guess I'm avoiding calling her that because that would be accepting that my real mother doesn't love me anymore.”

Chaewon took her girlfriend's face with both hands and covered it with small kisses to try to change the sad expression that had taken over her. “If you lose a mother you will gain another fantastic one.” Another round of kisses on Yunjin's face and her expression began to change. “Plus I think it's a little bit hot.”

“EEEEEEEEWWWWWWW! It's my mother you're talking about.”

“Do you see how it is not so difficult? “You just need the right motivation.”

“My girlfriend trying to seduce my father's wife is not the kind of motivation I would expect.” As soon as she finished the sentence she couldn't contain her laughter, which quickly spread to her girlfriend. She kissed her back, laughing, and they both fell back on the bed. Yunjin had to admit that although sometimes the most random phrase one could expect could come out of Chaewon's mouth, or not, but when she was right she really was. “Her birthday is coming up, it would be a good gift. “I just hope she doesn't think I do so I don't feel displaced.”

“I'm sure she will understand and she will be happy. She's going to have two new daughters at the same time."

“Are you still with that idea? The truth is it is still too early to know that. There is still about a month left to know for sure.”

“It's just a feeling, but I want a younger sister.”

“Not only is it enough for you to want to steal my mother, you also plan to steal my new sister.”

“You really accepted the idea of calling her mother very quickly.”

“I do it partly to make you ashamed of making those horny jokes, even though I know it's no use.” Both girls laughed happily at Yunjin's words.

“Of course it's of no use. But you know I only find her hot because she looks a lot like you.” As soon as she finished the sentence, Chaewon blew a kiss to her girlfriend, which made the two of them burst into uncontrollable laughter.

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

Hours later, Yunjin drives home later than she should have been. She had promised Jihyo that she would help her with some things around the house, but because of her girlfriend Yunjin had missed the time. Even though she knew Jihyo wouldn't be upset, she was still worried that she didn't get home on time.

Her father's wife had always been very good to her. From the moment they met she treated her well, even before they became a couple with her father they already got along well. The truth was that Jihyo was a kind and happy woman, hardworking and very brave; but from what Yunjin had heard she was also very strict at work. Jihyo was a boss who liked the company rules and the delivery times of reports, or other activities, to be respected.

Jihyo and Yunjin's father had known each other a long time before she was born. Jihyo had originally been friends with Yunjin’s biological mother, but she had moved away a couple of years after Yunjin was born and she disappeared from her family's life for many years. After a successful career abroad she had returned to the country and her destiny ended up reuniting her with Yunjin's father. This after her parents' marriage failed.

Some time after resuming their friendship, Jihyo and Yunjae (Yunjin's father) had formed a company together. Company that to this day continued to grow and allowed them to live well, not surrounded by luxury but comfortably. Parallel to their work relationship, their personal relationship became increasingly closer, to the point that it was impossible for them to continue denying what they felt and they began dating.

While they both talked to Yunjin about her relationship and Jihyo always respected that her daughter came first for Yunjae, she didn't really care. It's not that she was indifferent to the matter, but she had already accepted a long time ago that her mother was not going to return and that her family would never be together again. On the other hand, she was very happy to see her father happy with her again. She could see that Jihyo was good for her father and that could only mean that she was the one for him. So as far as Yunjin was concerned, as long as Jihyo didn't hurt Yunjae she had no reason to poke around in their relationship.

On top of all that was the fact that Jihyo had never tried to assert herself as Yunjin's mother. She knew that she wasn't and that it wasn't her place to take that role either, no matter how much she might love Yunjin; And the truth was that the girl was very grateful for that. By this point she had already spent many years without a mother, practically all of her adolescence, so she had to learn to live without a mother figure around her. You could say that the closest thing she had to that was Chaewon's mother who always took care of her, but it was still not the same.

Nowadays, Yunjin hardly thinks about her mother anymore. Not after putting up with her lies for so long, when she stood her up, when she didn't show up to her school presentations, or because one day she simply stopped texting back to her. Because some time before Jihyo entered her life, her mother had begun to distance herself definitively, and by the time her father began the new relationship, they practically no longer spoke. Now the only contact Yunjin had with her mother was when she sent her a text to congratulate her on Christmas or her birthday, but nothing more.

For all these reasons it bothered her that she had forgotten to help Jihyo, especially now that they knew the woman was pregnant. Although she was only a couple of months pregnant, her body had already begun to show signs of change, which was why she along with Yunjae had decided that Jihyo should rest more. She now worked from home and only did the essentials, no long meetings or staying up late filling out paperwork and putting everything in order. For that she had employees, and they even took care of her and tried to make sure she didn't overexert herself. Which is why Jihyo ended up scolding them, claiming that she was only carrying a baby inside her, and that she had not become incapacitated overnight.

Even more so, she resented not having arrived on time due to the fact that Yunjae had had to make an emergency trip and would be away from home for a few weeks, so now Yunjin and Jihyo were alone. And although she knew that nothing would happen also knew the woman well enough to assume that Jihyo would try to do everything by herself. So she hurried to drive home as fast as she could without breaking the law.

When she finally arrived at her destination, she was struck by the fact that there was an unknown car parked on the sidewalk in front of the house, but she thought it could be a company employee who came for something that couldn't wait. Or maybe it was an Jihyo's friend who came to help where Yunjin had failed. Trying to push the thoughts of her guilt out of her mind, she hurried to put her own vehicle in the garage and sneak into the house, trying not to interrupt if Jihyo was in an important meeting. Certainly Yunjin would have never imagined the true nature of the conversation that was taking place in the living room.

The first thing that caught her attention was seeing Jihyo and her companion in the living room. Well, from the posture and expression of her stepmother you could easily tell that she was not comfortable at all, which made Yunjin think that it was definitely something related to her work. But then why were they be here and not in the office? Jihyo had a fully equipped office in the house, where such a meeting would normally have taken place. It was not normal for her to use the room for such things.

Now somewhat intrigued, Yunjin tried to sneak to the stairs that will take her to the second floor and the safety of her room, but when she was already setting foot on the first step she heard a sob coming from the living room. Something strange was definitely going on there. Although Jihyo was strict at work, never to the point of making her employees cry, that was something that could never be expected of her. But apparently that sob hadn't come from her stepmother either. Yunjin froze for a second until her desire to know what was happening was stronger than her, then she slowly turned and approached the entrance of the living room.

With her back pressed against the hallway wall, Yunjin could now hear what was being said inside the room. Jihyo was talking to a woman, who had a strangely familiar voice, but Yunjin was not able to identify it among the employees she knew. Straining her ears she tried to better understand what both women were saying, perhaps she did understand what they were talking about and could know the reason for the sobs.

“How dare you after everything I did for you?” The stranger said.

"Sorry? Did I listen well? Because according to my memories I was the one who had to leave, or have you already forgotten?” Jihyo was definitely angry, even though she tried to hide it, Yunjin could tell. In her mind she could almost visualize Jihyo clenching her jaw to suppress her rage.

“If I hadn't intervened, things would have been much worse for you.”

Even being on the other side of the wall, Yunjin could clearly hear Jihyo snort through her nose, almost as if trying to release some pressure from a boiler that was about to explode. Anyone who knew the woman well knew that it took a lot to get her to this point.

“I saved your and your brother's asses and all I got was the company blaming me for what happened. You two were the cause of all the losses the company had, but nevertheless the one they ran into and ended up transferring to another country was me. It took me years of hard work to make a name for myself again. ”

“What did you want me to do? My family would have lost everything if it was known that it was our fault. I couldn't put my husband and daughter through that shame, no…”

“But yet you ended up abandoning them.” Jihyo cut her off abruptly, to which the woman let out a small sob. “And control those fake tears, you're not going to fool me again.”

Apparently the woman came from Jihyo's past, and in Yunjin's head an idea was forming of who this mysterious person could be; but she wanted with all her might to be wrong. Never before had she wished so much that she was making a mistake.

“That has nothing to do with you. But of course, you benefited from it anyway. “You couldn’t stay out of Yunjae’s bed and you tried to steal my daughter.” Yunjin's heart skipped a beat, what she was hearing couldn't be true.

“My relationship with Yunjae is none of your business, and as for Yunjin. You should take better care of your words. I was the one who was there for her on all those occasions when you failed her, I was the one who had to teach her things that her mother was supposed to show her. Regardless of how things ended between you and Yunjae, she wasn't the one to blame. Yunjin still loves you, she even keeps waiting for you to call her on important dates. She tries to hide it, but I can tell how she gets sad on her birthday or Christmas.”

“You're a bitch who stole my family, don't try to lecture me.” The tone of the woman, Yunjin's biological mother, had changed drastically. Now it could be clearly seen that she was also very angry.

“You abandoned them and they took me in. End of story." In the other room Yunjin heard someone stand up. “Now you should go. I have nothing more to talk to you about. Yunjae is away, I'll tell him to contact you when he gets back. Whether he does it or not depends entirely on him. And as for Yunjin, she should be arriving any minute, but I'm not going to let her see you like this. Not today. You no longer have the right to hurt her, much less in my house.”

“It's your house only because you stole my family. That you will not forget."

“The one that should remember is you. Remember how you left your family for an adventure that only lasted a couple of months. If you care so much about your daughter, you should have stayed with her instead of chasing an idiot.”

Yunjin couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her parents had never told her the real reason why her mother had left. Although they talked to her, she always suspected that there was something more behind the whole situation. Now that she was finding out everything, she would have liked it to happen differently.

“Damn bitch, don't tell me what to do!” Yunjin's mother was clearly losing her temper, and the girl, unable to take it anymore, quickly stood up and entered the room facing both women.

Sure enough standing in front of Jihyo, who looked like she was hurting herself because her jaw was so clenched, was the woman who had given birth to Yunjin. The same one that had dumped her, the same one that had forgotten about her and now burst into her life as if nothing had happened. Just now that everything seemed to be going well.

"Mother!" Was all Yunjin could say as she burst into the room. She could now see the two women standing in front of each other, both with unfriendly expressions. At the sudden appearance of the girl Jihyo changed her expression drastically. Going in a matter of seconds from having the sternest look Yunjin had ever seen on her, to an expression of deep concern.

The other woman on her part seemed to get even angrier. She had a vein in her temple that was about to burst, and she seemed to be blowing steam out of her nose from how angry she was. "Damned!" She yelled at Jihyo. “It was probably your idea for her to listen to our conversation. You can’t stop putting things in my daughter’s head.” With the most poisonous look she had she tried to pounce on Jihyo, but in a reflex action Yunjin put herself between both women.

“Mom, what are you doing?!” Yunjin couldn't believe what was happening. "Stop." She added, but her voice barely came out. From one moment to the next her throat had dried up to the point where it was difficult for her to speak.

“Yunjin… I… Get away from this bitch. Don't you see that she's trying to turn you against me?” While the woman spoke she changed her tone on more than one occasion. First surprise, then confusion, and finally impregnating her words with rage and venom.

“Mom, no…” Yunjin slowly lowered her arms that she had opened without realizing it, to prevent her own mother from reaching Jihyo. “Is everything I heard true?”

"Daughter. Don't believe this bitch, she just wants to play the victim. She is trying to turn you against me.”

"Mother. Is it true or not?" At some point Yunjin's eyes had started to water. “Is it true that you abandoned my father for an affair? Just for that?”

“Don't listen to her my love… All this woman wants is to destroy my family.”

“‘WE ARE NOT YOUR FAMILY ANYMORE!’” The scream escaped from Yunjin like a reflex, like an outlet for all the rage and pain she was suddenly feeling. “You abandoned us for nothing, you no longer have the right to call us family.”

“Daughter… I…”

“GO away, just go. I don't want to know about you anymore. And also leave my father alone, now we are happy with someone who loves us and cares about us.” Yunjin was really holding back her tears, and gathering all her strength so that her voice wouldn't end up breaking.

“Daughter, that woman…”

“You heard her,” Jihyo intervened, advancing and putting herself between Yunjin and her mother. “You have to leave, I won't repeat it again.” The expression on Jihyo's face was as stern as her muscles would allow her to express. At first glance you could see that the woman was not playing.

"Bitch. You’re going to find out who you’re messing with.” Despite the hatred printed in her words, the woman took her bag and headed for the exit.

“No, I'm not going to do it. I already know what kind of vermin you are, I learned it a long time ago. But if you still care about something, you are not going to come near this house again or everyone is going to find out what happened in that company.”

Both women held each other's gaze for a few seconds that seemed eternal, then letting out a cry of frustration, Yunjin's mother left the house, slamming the door loudly. Inside Jihyo and Yunjin stood as they were for a few minutes, listening as the woman started the car and collided with what seemed to be a flowerpot in the garden, to finally leave.

Suddenly Yunjin found herself surrounded by Jihyo's arms, in an attempt to comfort and contain her. But the demonstration of affection had the opposite effect and Yunjin could no longer hold back her tears. She burst into tears hugging the woman standing next to her as tightly as she could. The woman who had defended her from her own mother, which made her cry even more. And even though she could feel her tears falling onto Jihyo's expensive suit she couldn't help but continue crying.

Yunjin thought she was over her mother, but this sudden intrusion had clearly shown her that was not the case. Besides, now she didn't know what hurt her more, whether her mother's lies, how she had treated Jihyo, or that she was the one who had to defend her from her mother. Right now the only thing Yunjin was sure of was that she felt an emptiness in her heart and she didn't want to let go of Jihyo for any reason.

For her part, the woman said nothing. She just kept hugging Yunjin tightly and stroking her hair from time to time. Every once in a while she would kiss her on the head and try to clean the tears out a little, but she didn't try to say anything or stop Yunjin from crying. She knew it was better to let her release all her grief, but what Jihyo didn't know was that this spontaneous display of affection only made Yunjin cry more.

Yunjin had just kicked her mother out of her life, which she certainly deserved, and it was Jihyo who was supporting her in this strange situation. She couldn't believe that just a few hours ago she had doubted whether she should call Jihyo mother or not, and now the woman had earned it. It wasn't like she didn't deserve it before, but now she herself had shown that she loved Yunjin more than her own mother. It was incredible how life could turn upside down in just a second.

They stayed hugging like that for a long time, so long that they began to get tired, but Jihyo did nothing to move the girl from the spot. She just let her cry as much as she wanted, as much as she needed to. However, Yunjin suddenly realized that she was hugging a pregnant woman, that Jihyo had gone through a very difficult time, and that she couldn't force her to stand for so long. Yunjin slowly released her hug and turned her face away from the older woman's body, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“You should sit down” She whispered looking at the woman, but Jihyo just wiped the tears from Yunjin's face with her sleeve. “It's not good for you to be on your feet for so long.”

"Dear." Jihyo said with a kind smile on her face, showing how worried she was for the girl. “I'm fine, I'm more worried about you.” In a reflex action, Yunjin couldn't help but hug her again.

"Let's sit. I do not want anything to happen to you." Jihyo let herself be guided by the girl to the couch where they both sat one beside the other.

Yunjin didn't know what to say, and for her part Jihyo didn't want to force her to speak. So they stayed silent as Yunjin slowly leaned down and hugged Jihyo again. The older woman once again surrounded her with her arms, in a rather maternal attitude, which made Yunjin shed another tear. It was incredible how she had never noticed how Jihyo always treated her like her own daughter.

Yunjin was once again lost in her thoughts as she hugged Jihyo, so she didn't notice that she had started crying again. Now they were small tears that ran down her cheeks, which also ended up on Jihyo's suit. But the older woman again said nothing, Yunjin's well-being was still more important to her than a piece of clothing.

Again they stood there hugging for what seemed like an eternity, and again Jihyo let the girl cry in peace. Yunjin was really grateful for that gesture, all she needed right now was peace. A peace that it pained her to remember had been taken away by her mother.

"Dear." Jihyo whispered in Yunjin's ear when they had been like this for quite some time. “I know it hurts you and that you should let it all out, but it's too late. ”For a second Yunjin thought that she would be reprimanded for taking up the woman's time, but she was greatly surprised when Jihyo continued. “I guess you haven't had dinner yet. Do you want me to order something to eat? We can talk about what happened while the food arrives.”

Holding back tears, Yunjin separated from Jihyo and nodded. She was sure that now she herself couldn't speak, her throat hurt a little and she felt a little dizzy, but in fact she also suddenly felt very hungry.

"Very good. Give me a second." Then Jihyo in another maternal gesture kissed Yunjin forehead before taking her own phone and opening an application to order some dinner. After a few minutes she put the phone aside again and put her hands around Yunjin's. “Do you want to talk now?”

Again Yunjin nodded her head. “But I need to wash my face first.” She added with a small sigh, before getting up to go to the bathroom. She returned minutes later, a little clearer and with her face clean of all traces of tears. She still had red eyes though. “Is everything you said before true… About my mother?” Yunjin asked, finally sitting down next to the older woman.

“I don't know how much you heard, but everything I said is true. Many years ago I had to leave my life behind because of her and your uncle.”

“Is it also true that she left us to pursue another man?” Yunjin asked as she felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

“That is also true. But you should ask your father about that, I have no authority and I shouldn't get involved in that matter. It's something you have to resolve between yourselves, however I'm going to say that Yunjae didn't tell you anything trying not to hurt you.”

Yunjin stifled a small sob that threatened to make her cry again, but gathering all her strength she managed to suppress the cry. “Okay, I'll wait for my father to come back to talk to him. But I have a couple more questions that I would like you to answer.”

“Shoot and we'll see if I'm in a position to respond.”

The conversation that followed was long and in many parts Yunjin was on the verge of crying again, but Jihyo always managed to comfort her in time. Some of the girl's questions were not answered, either because Jihyo believed it wasn't her thing or simply because she didn't want to delve into certain topics right now. Anyway, after two long hours and a dinner in between, Yunjin was visibly calmer.

The girl sent a couple of texts to her girlfriend telling Chaewon in general terms what had happened, and promising that the next day she would update her on everything that had happened. Then she and jihyo decided that it was late and they should rest, so they got ready to go to bed. The older woman said goodbye to Yunjin with a new kiss on her forehead and made her promise that if she needed anything from Jihyo she would not hesitate to go talk to her. Which planted a strange seed in the girl's head.

Minutes later, when Jihyo was ready to get into bed, she heard Yunjin knock on her bedroom door, with small, timid knocks. “Come in, you can come in,” the older woman said loudly so the girl could hear her. "What's wrong dear?" She asked when Yunjin was inside the room.

“Jihyo… Can I ask you a favor?” Yunjin asked the question by looking away and trying to hide her hands in the sleeves of her pajamas. “It's actually silly, so if you don't want to it's fine, but…” she swallowed and thought that she couldn't continue.

"Calm down. It doesn’t matter what it is, just ask.”

"Good." Yunjin swallowed again. “You already did a lot for me today, more than I would have been able to ask for. But I wanted to ask you… I wanted to know if I can sleep with you tonight.” Yunjin finally shoot.

For a small second Jihyo's face lit up with a wide smile. “Of course you can, no problem.” She gestured for Yunjin to close the door t, and join her on the bed. Shyly Yunjin walked slowly until she reached the edge of the large bed, thought about it for a few seconds and finally got into the place that her father would normally use.

"Thank you. For what happened before, and for letting me sleep with you.”

“No problem, it's the least I can do for you. I may not show it but I care about you. ”

"I know. I've always noticed it, and I'm grateful to you for that. I’m glad it’s not like in the movies.”

“Are you glad I’m not the evil stepmother trying to steal the father's fortune? Honey, you can’t claim victory yet.” It was obviously a joke and Yunjin knew it, so she couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. “Now that you are happier, we should sleep. We both need to rest.”

“Ok evil stepmother.” It was Jihyo who couldn't help but laugh this time, as she turned off the light.

“Be careful, maybe I have a hidden cauldron in the basement.” For the first time since they met, Jihyo allowed herself to tickle Yunjin, to which the girl responded with more laughter.

“What happened to sleeping?” Yunjin asked with a laugh. "The one who needs rest the most is you, I don't want anything to happen to my brother."

“Now you sound like your father. Killjoy." Yunjin wasn't able to see the small pout Jihyo made, but that only meant how comfortable the woman felt being around her. A strange connection had formed that night between the two of them. "Good night."

"Good night."

That time they did remain silent, trying to sleep, covered up to their necks next to each other. However, the minutes passed and Yunjin was unable to fall asleep, there were too many things in her head that did not let her rest. She felt a little tormented by everything that had happened just a few hours ago, so Yunjin instinctively approached Jihyo. It had been so many years since she had last slept with her mother that she wasn't even able to remember how she felt. There was nothing left of that familiar warmth that once existed between them. All she had right now was the woman who was lying next to her.

Without really knowing why she was doing it, Yunjin clung closer to Jihyo and tried to hug her from behind. She slowly circled her waist, until she froze when she felt the woman move. But far from scolding her or pushing her away, Jihyo intertwined her fingers with the girl's, while she herself clung a little closer to Yunjin's body. Without saying a word Jihyo took Yunjin's hand and raised it to her chest.

The girl had to hold back tears once again at Jihyo's gesture. She had already lost count of how many times something the woman did had almost brought her to tears that day. "Thank you." She whispered so quietly that it was impossible for Jihyo to have heard her, since she was saying it more to herself.

Again the minutes passed and again Yunjin couldn't sleep, but this time for a different reason. “Jihyo. Can I ask you another question?” Said in almost a whisper.

“The last one of the night. You have classes tomorrow, don't forget. You know your father gets angry if you miss school.”

Yunjin gave a small smile before speaking again. “Today I was discussing it with Chaewon, and the truth is… I was going to ask you at some point anyway, but I guess after what happened today I don't want to wait anymore… You still don't have to answer right away, and it's totally valid if you tell me no.”

“Yunjin, just ask the question. I promise to think carefully before answering.”

"Okay. I wanted to know if you are okay with me calling you… mother?” The girl could feel a knot forming again in the pit of her stomach, and she prepared to run away at any moment.

Jihyo, for her part, remained silent for a few long seconds, contemplating her response. Then she brought Yunjin's hand up to her face and placed a small kiss on the girl's fingers. “Of course you can, but only on one condition.”

Yunjin's heart stopped for a second upon hearing the answer, but all happiness escaped upon knowing that there was a condition. Without really knowing what to think, she felt Jihyo turn to face her, and although Yunjin couldn't see her because of the darkness, she knew that Jihyo was looking directly into her eyes.

“You can call me mother only if you let me call you daughter.” Now Yunjin was about to suffer cardiac arrest. At this moment that conversation she had had with Chawon the same afternoon seemed so far away, she couldn't believe that it had been on the same day.

With a huge smile Yunjin approached and kissed Jihyo on the cheek. “Then we have a deal… Mother” She felt strange the first time she said it, the first time Yunjin called this woman mother, but at the same time she felt warm. The mere mention of the word manifested a deep connection between the two of them, which although it already existed. Now she was strengthened from one moment to the next.

Jihyo kissed her back by gently pressing her lips against Yunjin's forehead, like she had done so many times that day. “Now you should sleep, or Yunjae is going to scold me for keeping you up late.”

“If you don't tell him, he won't find out.”

“Smart girl, come here.” Jihyo pulled Yunjin close to her, in a warm hug. “I don't want the first thing I have to do as your mother is scolds you.”

"Goodnight mother." Yunjin responded between giggles, while she also hugged her mother.

"Good night, daughter." With a new kiss on Yunjin's forehead, both women prepared to sleep, this time for good. One next to the other, hugging each other. Finally Yunjin's heart was calm, and the girl managed to fall asleep with her head resting on Jihyo's chest.

The next morning they had breakfast together, laughing and trying not to think too much about all the bad things that had happened the day before. They also did not abuse the status they had both earned, after all Jihyo already used to call Yunjin “Honey” or “Dear” in an affectionate way. For her part, the girl was used to calling the woman by her first name, not because she was disrespectful because it had been Jihyo herself who asked her to do so.

After the lively breakfast Yunjin got ready to go to university, and Jihyo sat at her desk next to a steaming cup of coffee. The woman was still wearing her pajamas, but since she worked from home and she was the boss, there was no problem with that. When Yunjin came to say goodbye to her and announce that she was leaving, Jihyo was already immersed in reports and client orders. Even so, she took a minute to wish her daughter a happy day and say goodbye to her.

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“You have the SD card with you, right?” Yunjin's eyes widened as her girlfriend opened the car’s door. It had been about half an hour since she left the house, and with all the hustle and bustle of the night before and the cheerful chatter of the morning Yunjin had completely forgotten about the SD card that contained their project. “You forgot itr!” Chaewon quickly accused her when she saw the expression on Yunjin’s face.

“A lot of things happened last night, don't scold me…” Yunjin pouted very sincerely, to which Chaewon responded by rolling her eyes.

“If you don't start the car now and we go back to your house to look for that memory, I'm going to accuse you of your father.”

“Why does everyone suddenly want to accuse me of my father?”

“Because you listen to him, and because you're a daddy's girl.” This time it was Yunjin who rolled her eyes at her girlfriend's words and the giggle that came after. But she ended up laughing with her.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Yunjin started the car and headed towards her home. The girl took advantage of the trip back home to update her girlfriend on the events of the previous night, or at least tell her everything as best she could considering that they were almost late for college. They were probably going to miss the first period of class, but that was better than arriving empty-handed at the project review.

Chaewon let her girlfriend talk while patting her thigh to try to comfort her. She would have liked to do more at that moment, but she was prevented by the fact that Yunjin was driving almost at excess speed and trying not to hit anyone. Fortunately they had the afternoon free, so she was sure that later she would have plenty of time to talk and comfort her properly.

“Do you at least remember where you put it?” Chaewon asked when they were outside the house.

“Yesssss, I already told you. It can only be in one place.” Yunjin almost ran out of the car and didn't even bother to turn off the engine, they wouldn't be there for more than a few minutes.

She was very sure that she had the damn memory with her before going to bed the night before, she was carrying it next to her phone. Which meant that Yunjin had most likely forgotten it on her father's nightstand, so it must still be there.

She quickly headed to Jihyo's office to let her know that she would go to the room to check if the memory was there, but Yunjin found the office empty. Maybe her mother had gotten up to use the bathroom, or she had had to go to the office for something important. Whatever the case Yunjin didn't have time for that now, so she abandoned the idea of telling Jihyo and preferred to just go see if she found the damn card.

Yunjin went up to the second floor and turning down the hallway she faced the door of the room where she had spent the previous night. Normally Yunjin didn't go in there if she didn't need to, but it was clear that this was an occasion where she did. So she opened the door and quickly entered her parents' room. So fast that she forgot to knock on the door in case Jihyo was in there. A mistake that Yunin instantly regretted, because what she saw left her frozen in the spot.

She saw Jihyo lying on the bed with her head hanging over the edge closest to the door, only this time the woman was completely naked. She didn't have any piece of clothing covering her body, and she certainly didn't need it for what she was doing. As Yunjin could tell.

Jihyo played with her heavy tits, which had certainly grown since she'd gotten pregnant, while her other hand held a wand vibrator to her crotch. The woman had her eyes tightly closed as she made small moans, which had surely been the reason why she did not hear Yunjin enter. Who was now gawking at her mother's naked body.

For some strange reason the sight of those huge tits, topped by large brown nipples, was triggering something in Yunjin. That added to the moans and as Jihyo's hips rose and her pussy lips opened in an attempt to engulf the head of the vibrator, all that together had begun to send a lot of blood to Yunjin crotch, where an erection was now forming. It was that or maybe it was the perfect mop of hair that hid Jihyo’s clitoris from Yunjin's view that was making her member throb. Maybe it was all of that combined or what had given the girl the fastest and most painful erection she had ever had in her life. Not even the many depraved things she had done with Chaewon had brought her to that point.

All of this happened in just a few seconds. In a fleeting moment that was interrupted when Jihyo massaged one of her nipples more than necessary, causing a stream of milk to fly that ended up right in Yunjin's face. The girl screamed out of pure instinct, thus interrupting her mother in that very private moment. Jihyo, for her part, opened her eyes wide and stared at Yunjin in shock, petrified in the mid of her movement. With her hips raised and the vibrator pressing against her vagina lips.

#twice #twice smut #le serrafim #le sserafim smut #jihyo smut #yunjin smut #yunjin x jihyo #This is kinda dead dove #fanfic

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supernovafics · 13 days

Text

series masterlist | last part — next part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k words

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol/drinking

summary: growing closer to steve during the trip was pretty much inevitable, but it still surprises you how easily it happens

CHAPTER THIRTEEN | ❝𝒊 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆❞

Summer 2017

“Does that make sense?”

“I’ll be honest, not really, no.”

It was dark in the small motel room and you both were facing each other. Your eyes had long adjusted to the dark, so you were able to vaguely make out Eddie’s face and the small smile pulling at his lips.

“Okay, let me try to phrase it this way. You know that feeling you get when your heart drops?” He asked.

You nodded then. “Mhm, yeah.”

“That’s pretty much what it’s been like.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “So, you’re saying that this entire road trip has felt that way for you?”

“Yeah.”

“But, that’s the worst feeling ever.”

“No, sometimes it’s good. Like, when you're on a rollercoaster.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” You said, eyes falling shut just for a second before you opened them again and let out a laugh when you thought about something. “Y’know, when I asked how you've been feeling lately, I initially expected just a simple good or bad.”

“That would've been a boring answer,” He answered. You weren’t looking at him anymore, instead you were lying on your back and staring up at the ceiling, but you could still hear the smile in his voice. “So, how have you been feeling lately?”

“Good,” You answered. “And I’m okay with my answer being a boring one because I’m too tired to think of a better way to say it.”

You heard Eddie laugh. “Understandable.”

You turned on your side again and faced him. He was still smiling and you smiled back. He’d been happy a lot lately, which was nice to see.

“Glad to know you’re doing good, though.”

You gave him a quick nod. “You too.”

This was the first time that you couldn’t block out the thought; the realization that you still liked him.

It didn’t surprise you at all. Instead, it annoyed you. Because there was still no way that you could admit it to him and it all still felt so hopeless. Only a month had passed since his breakup with Chrissy, and although he seemed better about it now, the thought of confessing anything to him felt like the dumbest idea ever.

You pushed the realization away, trying to forget about it completely because you didn’t want it to ruin what was left of the road trip for you. Especially since there were only a handful of days left of it.

“You falling asleep?” Eddie asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“A little bit, yeah,” You said softly, letting your eyes slip shut. It actually wasn’t that much of a lie. “Which is weird because I’m usually never the first one to fall asleep.”

“First time for everything.”

“Yeah,” You said, voice still quiet as you turned away from him again. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Spring Semester 2018

Sunday quickly became your favorite day of the trip. It was the only day that ended up feeling like an actual vacation.

You and Steve decided to order in breakfast because neither of you could really bother getting out of the room, or even out of bed— especially you. Your body was still aching after experiencing the most intense hike that you’d probably ever been on, even though it had been deemed as “beginner-friendly.”

You managed to get out of bed when the food showed up and Steve decided to set it up on the table outside on the balcony— everything about the room was too nice and too big, even the balcony.

You expected to spend the majority of the day with Steve’s parents, and you were mentally preparing yourself for that inevitability as you ate breakfast. But then his dad was calling and Steve was pulling his phone out of his pocket and proceeding to talk to him inside for the next few minutes.

“I just got us out of going on an all day boat ride with my parents and aunt and uncle,” He told you when he returned, walking over to you and pocketing his phone back in the basketball shorts he was wearing.

“How did you do it?” You had asked as you took another bite of fruit from the bowl that he ordered.

He sat back down across from you. “I said that you get seasick easily.”

“Solid excuse.”

“We do have to meet them for dinner, though,” He said and you nodded at his words because you were completely okay with doing that.

You two spent the rest of the morning in your room, on the balcony specifically, and then you were suggesting that you go to the beach because the weather was too good not to and the view of it from the balcony also made it look really nice. Hours were spent out there in the sand and in the prettiest blue water until the heat became too unbearable and you found yourselves back in the room until the sun went down.

Even the dinner with his parents got canceled because, after the boat ride, they were too exhausted to do anything else; apparently, there had been a lot of snorkeling involved. So, you and Steve had dinner alone and then ended up at one of the bars on the resort that was having a karaoke night. There was something about watching drunk people on vacation doing karaoke that was very amusing to both of you.

You were the one that tipsily suggested that you two play rock, paper, scissors, and whoever lost had to go up and do a song, and Steve was laughing as he agreed. You lost on the tiebreaker third round but ultimately refused to follow through with the punishment because you weren’t near drunk enough to go and sing something and not throw up from embarrassment.

“You still owe me a song,” Steve reminded you now as you two sat by the pool. “Or did you forget about last night?”

You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was smirking at you. You instead took a sip from the drink in your hand— the lemonade that he had actually gotten for you barely ten minutes ago. The weather was hotter than yesterday, but the umbrellas covering your and Steve’s long lounge chairs made it actually feel okay, and the drink was helping too. And then there was the added fact that today was your last full day here that made you want to stay out by the pool for as long as you possibly could.

Steve had been the one to suggest the pool day idea when you two woke up and you immediately agreed. And then, barely two hours later, alternating between actually being in the pool and wasting away next to it in two lounge chairs was where you found yourselves after having breakfast with his parents and one of his aunts and older cousin. You two had purposefully acted extremely smitten at breakfast— chairs pushed close together, hands held, an arm draped around your shoulders at one point, and yours circling his torso at another— so no one asked to join you; surprisingly, not even his mom. It seemed like the idea of you and Steve being a perfectly happy and serious couple was fully sold, and you felt relieved.

You set the drink in your hand down and then finally looked at Steve. “I didn’t forget about last night. But, that song is never gonna happen. I don’t stand by the things done or said by my past drunk self.”

“You weren’t even drunk then.”

“Tipsy still counts.”

He laughed a bit, slightly adjusting the sunglasses he was wearing, a fancy-looking pair of black Ray-Bans. “That’s the shittiest excuse.”

You knew that it was but you still stood by it. “I have no idea why I suggested the karaoke thing. You can have anything else for winning rock, paper, scissors.”

Steve nodded and things were quiet just for a moment before he was asking, “What are you reading?”

You looked down at the book in your towel-covered lap. It was a short novel, barely two hundred pages, and you were only a few chapters in. “It’s something for one of my classes.”

“Read to me.”

For a second, you simply looked at him with an amused smile on your face. And then you were saying, “Seriously?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, there’s really nothing else to do. And you said I could get anything else I wanted.”

You gasped dramatically. “Holy shit, is this the moment where I finally turn you into a person who doesn’t hate books?”

Steve gave you a playful smile. “It is. This is your one shot.”

You let out a laugh as you rolled your eyes and then met his gaze. You fought the urge to reach over the few feet that separated the two of you and steal his sunglasses for no other reason than you wanting to see his stupid brown eyes.

You and he had grown closer over the last couple of days, which shouldn’t have surprised you because, with the set of circumstances that you two were in, it was kind of inevitable. But still, you were pretty surprised about how much more you two felt like actual friends. It was a friendship that you had a feeling you’d really miss once all of this was done and over.

Pushing your thoughts away from that for the time being, you gave him a brief catch-up on everything that had happened in the book so far and then you picked up where you left off, reading out loud for him. It felt a bit awkward at first, you couldn’t remember the last time you read a book to someone or even just read out loud, but then you were falling into a sort of rhythm and you felt perfectly fine.

Eventually, you two moved back into the pool— it was too hot not to. Steve got all of the way in and you simply sat on the edge with your legs in so that you didn’t get the book wet. Everyone else in the pool probably thought you two looked insane, you reading out loud to him, but it was hard to really care or even feel all that weird about it.

Steve moved closer to you, crossing his arms and resting them on your thighs. You told yourself that the sudden jolt you felt was from his cold and wet arms abruptly touching your dry skin, nothing else. This wasn’t that far off from any other time you two had touched— holding hands or keeping one another close with arms draped around each other. However, there was something about this moment that felt the tiniest bit different from the others because this moment wasn’t for show.

Or maybe it was. Actually, you quickly figured that it definitely was because his parents could technically pop up at any minute, so it would be good to just keep looking completely infatuated with each other. Right? Yeah, of course.

Steve turned his head and rested it on his folded arms.

“Are you still listening?” You asked, stopping in the middle of the sentence you’d been reading. His damp hair was dripping onto you but you didn’t even mind it all that much.

“Of course.”

You stole his sunglasses then, putting them on for a second before pushing them up and letting them sit on the top of your head.

A part of you wished that you could just stay stuck here in this moment— in this entire weekend, actually. Where things weren’t complicated and you were basically living a life that was much easier than your actual one. Where your thoughts and feelings toward the Eddie situation were tossed to the side for the time being, and where you didn’t have to preemptively stress over the questions you knew that everyone would have when you eventually told them that you and Steve were “broken up;” you were still in the middle of working out a story that you hoped would make enough sense to them.

You knew that going back to reality would suck and it was nice to push your mind away from it all, even just for a short amount of time. You were good at that— avoiding certain thoughts and problems. If you weren’t overthinking, you were probably avoiding.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“Stop, there’s no way that you actually think that’s gonna happen,” You said as you shook your head. It was that head shake that made you realize that the half-empty glass of champagne you had sitting next to you at this table was doing its job.

There was an amused smile on Steve’s face as he simply said, “Why not?”

“He can’t die. He’s the son. It would make no sense for him to die,” You said with another head shake and another reminder that you were the tiniest bit tipsy. Talking about a book with Steve in the middle of a wedding reception wasn’t exactly where you expected the night to go— especially since it was him who brought it up in the first place— but you liked it just the same.

“Yeah, exactly,” He told you. “That’s exactly why it would happen. Right as he and the dad finally get their relationship to a good place, boom, he dies.”

You refused to believe that Steve could possibly be right; even if his words did kind of, sort of, maybe make sense.

“You’re insan–” You weren’t even able to finish your words before he was abruptly kissing you.

It was entirely unexpected and also entirely unlike the moment barely two days ago when he gave you the quickest peck that quite literally felt like nothing. This one reminded you a lot more of your date with him— that first and only date barely a month ago where he kissed you and for the briefest second it actually felt right.

In this moment, Steve had one hand on your cheek and he was moving in quickly, but his lips were still softly finding yours; it seemed entirely contradictory but somehow he managed to do it so smoothly.

Your heart did a weird thing— a sudden drop that surprisingly didn’t feel all that scary and made you think about that conversation in that motel room with Eddie, a moment that felt like forever ago. And then all you could think was why the hell were you thinking about that moment in this one?

This was more than just a simple peck, but still, you had no time to really process it before Steve was pulling away, lips finding your cheek instead and then lingering by your ear. To say that you were completely sobered up would be an understatement.

“Sorry for the no warning. My mom was walking past and looking our way, and I wanna sell this as much as we can before we end things.”

“Mhm, got it, no problem,” You said softly, and then before he could potentially question your sudden shyness and whatever else was happening with you right then, you continued. “You wanna dance? That’ll probably really sell it, and this is a good song for it too.”

You didn’t recognize the song playing, but it was slow; a soft guitar melody that you two could easily move together to.

Steve pulled away from your ear then, meeting your eyes and nodding. “Sure, yeah, that’s a good idea.”

You finished what was left of the champagne in your glass and then set it down on the table before standing up. Steve led the way and you followed him onto what was probably the most lively dance floor you’d ever seen at a wedding. The number of people who danced and genuinely looked like they were having a good time when more upbeat songs were being played during the first hour and a half was actually surprising to you. And even at this moment, there were so many couples paired up on the floor and swaying to the soft song.

Your hands came up to rest on Steve’s shoulders and then linked at the nape of his neck, and his circled your waist and settled at the small of your back. You could feel the warmth of his touch through the silky fabric of the dress you were wearing; or maybe that was in your head. Either way, with how close you and him were right then, everything was weirdly starting to feel a bit too real and serious, so you quickly decided to bring up the first thing that you could think of.

“Your mom does hate me, by the way. You were right about that.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “She said that to you?”

“Not outwardly, but I could read between the lines,” You responded. “I forgot to tell you, but it happened when she asked me to go to the gift shop with her before the hike on Saturday. She mentioned that you and I look happy together, and it seems like I make you happier than Nancy did, which is good. But, she also implied that I’m only “good” for you for now and definitely not forever because I’m not a certain kind of girl from a certain kind of family. I’m guessing certain means rich.”

“I’m sorry,” He said and he sounded so genuine about it that you weren’t sure if he was apologizing for his mom’s words or for something else entirely.

You shook your head anyway. “No, it’s okay. It’s good, honestly, because it means that this is working. She believes that we’re— well, more specifically, you— are happy and in love and in a great relationship. So once you tell her that we broke up because I cheated or whatever, she’ll believe that you’re actually heartbroken about it. This is definitely gonna work for you.”

“This should’ve worked for you too. I still don’t get why it hasn’t,” Steve said, shifting the conversation to what you really didn’t want to talk about, but, of course, he didn’t know that. “I can tell that Eddie likes you. It just doesn’t make sense why he hasn’t admitted it to you yet.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine,” You said and shrugged like it was truly no big deal, even though it was and you’d been trying for the past week to convince yourself that it wasn’t. “Doesn’t matter, honestly.”

Steve gave you a look that was too hard to decipher. “I feel bad, though. This whole thing was for you.”

You didn’t say anything in response to that and instead focused on the music playing; the current song started to fade out and it transitioned into another one that sounded similar.

You knew that this was when you should’ve been honest with him. You should’ve finally told him about the conversation you had with Eddie; the rejection that you’d been trying hard to avoid thinking about because you just wanted to move on from it.

“Maybe I can say something to him,” Steve started before you could potentially admit any part of the truth. “Tell him that I can tell that he likes you, and then maybe it’ll all finally click into place for him and–”

You were shaking your head and interrupting him mid-sentence. “No, stop, there’s no way you’re doing that.” The thought of that happening made your heart drop and that one was not in a good way. “Seriously, Steve, it’s okay that this whole fake dating thing didn’t work for me.”

You could tell from the look on his face that he was going to try and debate your words, maybe even try to convince you that his idea was a good one, so you pulled away from him and quickly walked off before he could say anything. A part of you wanted to leave this banquet hall that the reception was in and head back to your and Steve’s room. Simply wallow for the rest of the night and continue to forget and push away everything that you didn’t want to think about. It was a walk that you knew would take less than five minutes, even with the slightly uncomfortable shoes you were wearing.

Instead, though, you sat back down at the table that you and Steve had been occupying throughout the night because that felt a thousand times less dramatic.

Steve joined you after a second, once again sitting down in the chair across from you. “Hey, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll stop bringing it up.”

You shook your head, more so at yourself than at him. “I’m sorry too. For walking away from you back there; that was shitty. It’s just…” You trailed off, still unable to say the words, the truth. Ultimately, you shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever. It’s okay.”

The only thing you wanted to do right then was end that part of the conversation entirely— no more talking about you and what worked and what didn’t work and whatever else.

Before Steve could say anything, you were leaning in and kissing him. It lingered longer than just a simple peck, but it was still quick; it was basically a repeat of what he did to you barely ten minutes ago. When you pulled back, you could tell that he was surprised by the abruptness of it.

“That was just in case your parents were watching us,” You said as you let one of your hands find his, trying to look like that “happy couple” again. “Don’t want them to think that we’re mad at each other or something for leaving the dance floor abruptly.”

He nodded, throwing on the sweetest and most charming Steve Harrington smile that you’d probably ever seen. “Good thinking.”

“Thank you,” You responded with the quickest nod. “Now can we please just drink more champagne and have fun on our last night here? No talk of anything else.”

He gave you a real smile then. “Yes, cheers to that.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

next part!

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(if your user is crossed out it means i can’t tag you</3)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x reader #bestfriend!eddie munson #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington series #steve harrington imagines #stranger things fluff #stranger things imagine #stranger things series #stranger things fic

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dovveri · 3 months

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aftermath

bachelorette masterlist - part 1 ▸ part 2 ▸ part 3 ▸ part 4 ▸ part 5 ▸ part 6

synopsis: the finale! and then the afterparty :')

warnings: suggestive, cursing, sana kisses a fictional man im sorry

w/c: 2.9k

a/n: surprise! double feature release! bcs theyre both quite short compared to the other chapters and i lwk just wanted to close this series and be done with it - im v happy w and vvvv grateful for all the support ive received w this - it was my first ever published fic and 36.7k words later im pretty happy w how it ends :)) stay healthy and safe!! mwah <3

⊱✿⊰

true to her word, sana ended up telling everyone that she had gained feelings for you during the filming experience. you had wanted to go with her but she insisted it would be easier for those who had gained feelings for her to accept it if you weren't there. so you were stuck at home, twiddling your thumbs watching reruns of the last few episodes anxiously waiting for her to come home.

you're up in seconds when you hear the door click open softly, rushing to greet her.

"hey! how'd they take it?"

sana's a little surprised to see you in such a hurry, but recovers quickly, smiling and tilting your chin down to peck you sweetly.

"hello to you too. they were okay." you help her organise her things as she settles in, "jihyo was obviously eliminated after house visits like i promised i'd do. i still have a soft spot for her but it was easier to talk to the other three when she wasn't there, probably because i could get my entire story across uninterrupted. unfortunately, jiwon decided to forfeit herself after the news which she has every right to do. the producers are going to mark it off as a family emergency and say she can no longer participate in the filming."

"oh... and the other two?"

"momo took it pretty hard, but jacky seemed to already have a clue what was going on. they both agreed to stay on until the end of the season though. i still feel terrible for having to put them through this, especially the last 2 dates with each of them, knowing that they don't have a chance with me anymore..."

"hey, it's okay. they agreed to stay right? they're being good friends right now and feeling bad or sorry for them and not giving it your all for the last few days isn't going to be helpful for them."

she sighs, "you're right. after all this craziness is over i'll definitely try and do something for them."

you smile, pecking her temple, "and i'll help you."

⊱✿⊰

because there were no more group dates, and the season would end after the final 2 dates and the decision sana makes, you weren't really needed for the filming of the rest of the season.

so most of your time was spent at home, lounging around in the pool or in the kitchen while sana was out on extravagant dates not with you, and completely bored out of your mind.

at nights, you'd bound excitedly up to sana and find out what adventure she went on, completely attached to her, even sitting on top of the toilet seat while she was in the shower so you were never apart. the seperation anxiety for just a few hours was definitely something that caught you a little off guard but after spending practically every minute together while filming, combined with your newfound romantic love for her, you couldn't bear being apart from her.

soon enough, the final day of filming came. it was set in this beautiful meadow with flower strands that reached mid-calf. sana was in the most perfect sundress, like she belonged in the meadow, like she was aphrodite herself born not from the sea, but the flowers.

typically, the final choice is snapped together with flashy editing between tension building scenes of sana walking up to both of the final contestants in two different settings. they filmed her rejection shot the day before already, so there wasn't much suspense watching as sana walked through the meadow towards her final choice. not that there needed to be, you were enthralled enough just being able to take in the breathtaking view that was minatozaki sana, just imagining it was you she was walking gently towards.

but it wasn't. and the mindless chatter of the cameras and crew served to remind you that again, you had to stand in the background while the love of your life confessed to someone that wasn't you. no amount of reassurance from her would be able to get the feeling of utter despair out of you.

⊱✿⊰

sana walks forward with a gentle, rehearsed smile.

"hi."

"hey sana."

"how are you feeling?"

"could be better. i'm either about to have my heart broken in front of the entirety of korea and my family back home or i'm about to be able to call the most beautiful girl on the planet my girlfriend. pretty big moment."

sana giggles, "welll... jacky... regardless of the outcome-"

"oooooh that word's not a great sign is it?"

she hushes him, "shhh, just let me finish. jacky... the time on this show, the time you've given me, has been absolutely incredible. from the first time i met you with your charming smile and lively wit, it was hard to forget your dual entrance with eunji, both of you looking absolutely dapper in your suits. and then on our individual date, you dared to go on that hot air balloon at the asscrack of dawn to watch the sunrise with me, and even though i'm not totally sure if you did see it or not, the fact that you went up there, and you overcame that fear, it was so inspiring and courageous of you. it was that moment that really made me realise the kind of person you were, and the courage, and fun you'd bring into a relationship, and even to a family in the future. that is... if you wanted to officially become my boyfriend?" she finishes her piece with a shy smile, a strand of hair falling cinematically over her face while she peers up at him under her eyelashes.

jacky gapes a little, and then he's grinning, hoisting her up in a whoop and spinning her around on the spot, stopping finally to plant his lips on hers.

when they break apart, they both have the widest smiles on their faces, eyes glowing in adoration of each other.

"yes! yes of course i'd be honoured sana! i hope to spend the rest of our lives together until we grow old and wrinkly and our kids have to come dote on us in the retirement home while we annoy them with how unbelievably cute we are even in our old age. and i look forward to watching reruns of our season and being able to show our kids how absolutely gorgeous their mom looked and how incredibly lucky i got being able to be the one at the end of it all!"

there are happy tears and more kisses, hugs, and spins, and with that, the bachelorette season for 2024, is officially over.

⊱✿⊰

"eugh, did you seriously kiss him?"

sana throws the popcorn at you playfully, "yes but it was all planned babe and you're a way better kisser anyway."

"show me."

"oh i will." sana grins, sliding into your lap, pushing the bag of popcorn aside, lips immediately finding yours while the credits for the final bachelorette episode run in the background.

you smile into the kiss, hands finding their place naturally on her waist while her hands cup your face, tilting her head slightly to angle the kiss better.

she breaks away with an over-exaggerated smack that has you rolling your eyes and wiping at your lips in mock disgust.

"so now that the final episode is out... are we allowed to be seen in public together yet?" you're voice is whiny, pleading with her.

she coos, "my little babyy, i thought you weren't big on pda?"

"well i'm not but i'm sick of everyone thinking that you're with someone that's not me!"

sana giggles, "just think how this is for jacky right now. poor eunji..."

you scoff, "eunji will be fine. she's never been one to care about what the public thinks anyway."

"everyone says that but no-one is immune to societal pressure." she boops your nose with her finger gently, "but to answer your question, yes. we'll be able to go public soon i promise. and soon enough the tabloids will get bored of me and move on to the next big celebrity or whatever anyways so it'll be fine. now c'mon, we gotta get ready for the reunion, get your cute lil butt into your fit for the night."

you groan, pulling her back down when she tries to move off of you, "nooooo one more movie?"

sana laughs, pushing you out of her neck, "absolutely not. i'm not gonna be the only star for tonight, this time we're both gonna be the centre of attention, and we cannot be late! i swear if we don't get ready now you're sleeping here on the couch tonight."

"what?! you wouldn't!"

"i would."

"you couldn't survive without cuddles anyway."

"i can replace you with mr. bean."

"not my arch nemesis... i knew winning that bear for you was a bad decision... i'll rip off his stuffed head..."

sana laughs freely, "as if winning was a decision for you. you went back to that stall like 6 times."

"i should've left him there the 5th time..."

"nope! so if you don't want me getting all close and personal with him tonight you're gonna come get ready now with no funny business."

she stands up and you let her, your hands still attached as she pulls you up as well.

you smirk, "what funny business? i never pull any funny business!"

"yeah like the time you fucked me in a bathroom while everyone was waiting for us outside to start filming for national television. and then did it again at a public amusement park like a week later."

"i don't recall you saying no."

"well i'm saying no funny business now."

"okaaaaaayyyyy." you grin, fingers crossed behind your back while you follow her to your room to get dressed.

⊱✿⊰

"y/n!"

"miyeon oh my god!"

miyeon's running towards you with her arms outstretched, easily wrapping them around you the moment she sees you.

you laugh into her, hand still held in sana's while you greet her.

"sana too hi!"

miyeon breaks away from you easily, going in to hug your girlfriend with her everlasting friendliness.

"how are you guys!? i heard through the grapevine that after the filming ended you were finally able to get together officially, even though you kinda had to keep it on the down low so it wasn't like publicly official but it's a step further?"

you laugh, "awwwh yeah you heard right, but now that the show is officially over..." you bring you and sana's intertwined hands up to your lips, kissing her knuckles, "we can say we're officially together!"

miyeon squeals happily, "yay! i'm so happy for both of you. really. no jealousy sana?"

sana laughs as well, hitting miyeon playfully, "noo don't remind me."

"oh i'm afraid it's permanent now. unless they burn every single copy of this season the day you broke my heart is forever recorded in history."

"oh god... y/n... swear to me you'll never show this to our kids."

"can't do that babe. gotta show them their mom in her prime. the sweetheart of korea at one point in her life."

"just one point?"

"sweetheart of mine for my whole life obviously."

sana grins, kissing you cheesily, miyeon doesn't even mind, simply happy to see both her friends together.

"are jacky and eunji here?" you ask miyeon when you break away with a smile.

"i haven't seen them but i also haven't said hi to everyone yet. c'mon let's go!" she leads you into the garden where the party's being hosted.

you and sana are attached by the hip, if one of you has to let go of the other's hand, another body part will eventually replace it, your skin contact is constant, never parting from one another while you greeted all the old contestants.

some were still a little surprised to see that sana had come with you in hand and not with jacky, but she explained what happened patiently, apologising for the confusion.

"jacky! eunji!" sana spots them first, calling them out.

you grin at the sight of them, wearing matching suits, hand in hand, waving them down.

"hey couple of the hour! how are you guys faring tonight?"

"oh says you. finally got the girl jacky?"

jacky blushes, "crazy how things turned out right? just two sets of best friends realising they're in love with each other and not the person they're both dating. kinda lucky it turned out that way so we could fake that finale sana. it's just a shame for momo..."

"yeah i felt terrible especially after all she did with that home visit in japan. but i talked to her after filming ended and we actually get along really well as friends, we have so much more in common and so much more to talk about when we're not in a controlled environment like the filmset!"

"you guys talking about me?"

you turn in a flash, surprised but excited to see momo coming up behind you.

"momoring!"

sana goes in for a hug first, which momo gladly returns with a giggle.

"hi everyone. it's nice to see you all again outside of the filming."

"of course! it's great to see you again too. how have you been holding up?"

"oh alright. i was contacted already to be on the next season of bachelor in paradise which is always just a massive orgy i swear, so i won't be going on, but i heard jiwon accepted a place!"

sana pouts, "i hope jiwon's okay... she's the only finalist i haven't talked to since breaking the news. i thought it'd be too soon to reach out to her after she left..."

"you talked to me right?" momo playfully nudges sana's shoulder, "jiwon's doing better. she's happy for you both, really. and she's getting her second chance so there's really nothing she's complaining about."

sana smiles gratefully, "i'm glad."

momo turns her attention to the other couple, "and jacky, eunji! i can't believe you guys got together in the end! i mean i was pretty oblivious in the house but nayeon always swore there was something between you two. guess she was right."

eunji laughs, "it came as a surprise to the both of us as well. i guess we just spent so much time together in the house that it was a lot like old times and then when seeing each other go off with sana and realising we weren't jealous of each other but jealous of sana, well that did it!"

"this entire thing is honestly just a mess of feelings. i don't know how you guys do it as contestants. i had a hard enough time not even being a part of the competition."

"to be fair you did kinda insert yourself in pretty heavily when you started sleeping with sana."

"hey!"

there's laughs and teasing all round. the night goes on like this, in the company of people you've grown easily close to in a very short amount of time, and holding hands with the woman you fell in love with.

⊱✿⊰

"sana, y/n, can i steal you both for a minute?"

you both turn, surprised to see jihyo there, looking a little sheepish. you squeeze sana's hand, looking to her for confirmation. she nods, clearing her throat, "yeah. sure jihyo."

jihyo leads you to a quieter clearing, then stands in front of the both of you, eyes on the ground, awkwardly rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"i just wanted to say i'm sorry for how i acted the last time we saw each other. i was jealous and petty for bringing sungbin and i wanted to throw sana off her game so that she'd admit she was in love with you on national television. i went into it wanting to embarass sana and i'm sorry."

sana sighs, gripping your hand reassuringly, "we know. it's okay jihyo. i'm sorry about how it went down between us. i do hope you find the right person one day."

jihyo looks up then, "thank you. really. and it probably doesn't mean a lot coming from me but i am glad the two of you ended up finding each other. she makes you happier than i've ever seen you sana. i genuinely hope for all the best for the both of you."

"thank you jihyo." sana smiles at you then, and you return it softly. "she does make me really happy."

"after some time... maybe you could both come by again? my siblings and my parents miss you lots and i'd like to make it up to both of you for the last time you were there."

"we'd love to. thank you jihyo."

jihyo smiles gratefully, bowing and leaving the two of you alone.

sana sighs, turning to you and looping her arms around your neck.

"you okay?"

she hums, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead against yours. "never better."

you giggle, stealing a quick kiss, "the headlines are gonna get pretty crazy once they get wind of the current couples."

"let them have their drama. all i need is you."

"cheesy."

"you love it."

"i love you."

"i love you too." she grins, bringing you into another kiss, sealing the love you have for each other between your lips.

#sana #minatozaki sana #twice sana #sana x reader #twice sana x reader #twice imagines #twice x reader #sana imagines #dovveri

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iznyangwoni · 2 months

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EASY TO LOVE | chapter eighteen !

You dont know what’s gotten to you. The first thing you wanted to do when Jungwon said those words was to slap him, then you wanted to kiss him, but you instead decided to shake your head and not believe him.

He doesn’t like you, he can’t like you. You ruined his best friend’s life, kept so many secrets from him, used him like some sort of toy to play with just because he was the new guy. You suck, you’re a bad person, he can’t and won’t ever like you.

At least that’s what you keep repeating to yourself, now hiding in the backseat of your car and crying like a baby. Your hands are so dirty because of your makeup, you dont even want to think how much of a mess your face looks like.

Someone knocks on the window and your tears seem to fall with more force when you see Moka and Wonyoung with a huge box of french fries in their hands. You let them in your car, but with all the hiccups and cries getting out of your mouth it’s not really that easy for you to speak.

“Okay, okay. Y/n. It’s not the first time a guy said something like that to you, why are you acting like this now?” The truth is pretty simple actually. You didn’t care about those guys, but you do care about Jungwon. “Yeah! You should be happy he likes you back!” Wonyoung gently slaps Moka’s arm at ther words, that only make you cry even harder.

“I don’t know,” You start, pushing the tears away from your face. You take a deep breath, your head hurts like crazy, like it always does when you cry. “I dont know how to make it up to him, i dont want him to be mad at me but i can’t just the tell him the truth or-“ Wonyoung sighs and, before you can finish your sentence, she puts a couple of french fries in your mouth.

“Don’t you dare say what i think you were going to say.” You sniff up with your nose, and you start eating calmly. Moka’s hands are on your hair, braiding them and playing with them, she knows how much it soothes you, so, slowly, you manage to calm down. Every once in a while a couple of tears fall down but you’re no longer praying for some air.

“Y/n, no matter what your father said to you, what happened last year is not your fault.” Wonyoung says, somehow she always knows the right things to say, she’s so much more mature than you are, you’re glad to have these two as your friends. “Besides, if you want things with Jungwon to work out, i feel like you should tell him.”

“It wouldn’t work out anyway.” you dont mind what Moka suggested, but there’s so many things that could go wrong between you and Jungwon, your secret is not the only thing keeping you apart. “First of all, i ruined his best friend’s life-“ “He wouldn’t be friends with her if he knew what happened.” Wonyoung stops you, and as smart as that sounds, you dont think Jungwon would go that far for you.

“But there’s still that thing about my father and his mother owning rival companies.” That’s what scares you the most, your father is not a comprehensive one, nor has he ever been a good person either, who knows how he would react to you dating his rival’s son. Or to you dating in general. “You’re an adult, Y/n. Date who you want, you can’t be on your father’s shadow all your life.”

You nod at their words, it should be obvious, but its not that easy for you, still, you are an adult, so maybe you could get over it. “But what if Jungwon doesn’t believe me?” “Oh. My. God.” Moka lets go of your hair and cups your face instead, you still have a fry in your mouth but she doesnt seem to care.

“Y/n. I’m gonna be dead serious when i say this; I’ve never seen a man look at you the way Jungwon does, its like he holds all the love you didnt get in these twenty years of your life in his eyes i swear to god its disgusting and so fucking cute at the same time, open your damn eyes!” Moka has to catch her breath when she finishes.

The car becomes silent suddenly, Moka isn’t usually the type to say these kind of things, which takes both you and Wonyoung by surprise. What startles you even more is the way people see you and Jungwon from the outside. You have to look up to not cry again, your lips pouted and trembling. “Fuck, i need to talk to him.” “Yes you do.” They both say.

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#enha imagines #enha scenarios #enha #enha fluff #enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen smau #jungwon #jungwon smau #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #jungwon x you #jungwon imagines #jungwon x reader #jungwon smut #jungwon scenarios #yang jungwon

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skzdarlings · 10 months

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part ix: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 11,700 words)

chapter warnings: the usual dynamics. child abuse history. reader in peril. violence and death. explicit sexual content.

(THE SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER! <3)

You move back into your father’s house after graduation. You are surrounded by all your old pains, your childhood and adolescence written into each familiar brick and tile. Your past overwhelms you at every turn. It is a fight to focus on your future.

But you are ready to fight.

The only question is how, especially when you are battling your own emotions in that house.

Your reprieves are small. You find some solace in routine and the distraction of your job. Your father gives you an internship at his company. The role is honestly superfluous, comprised of busy work and redundant tasks, but it is clear he is not ready for you to meddle in any real business affairs. You are not sure if that is because he does not trust you or because he does not trust his business people with you.

You still see Jeongin and Seungmin, less than you did but often enough. They are both pursuing higher degrees so when you meet them at that campus coffee shop, it feels like a moment back in time. But lingering on the past, even the good memories, is no greater help than lingering on the bad ones.

Because there is also Felix.

You return to silent, secret communication. He will make you feel flushed with just a glance, so much thought in his gaze that you feel it to the depths of you. It seems like he does not even need to touch you to make love to you.

But when he does touch you, it releases you from the prison of your house and your mind. You put your body in his hands for a few precious moments and he takes care of it. And in the long days in which he bears the dehumanizing commands of your father, wearing the identity of a non-person to never arouse suspicions otherwise, then he places his humanity in your hands for safe keeping. You give it back to him with your own glances and careful touches.

It takes so much effort to take care of each other, so the idea of active offense seems nearly impossible. Felix certainly thought it was impossible, the one time you asked, but that was years ago. Things have changed. You and Felix have changed.

You do not know what your father is holding over his head. You only know it is something, and you think it might be time to find out what.

You want to do this right. Felix does not have to carry his burdens alone anymore. You need him to truly understand that you want to protect him as much as he protects you. You know there is a part of him that still believes he does not deserve it.

All your plans are thrown into flux the day your father calls Felix into his office.

Usually when your father summons Felix, it is for routine updates. But this is a long meeting. It lasts at least two hours with the office door sealed shut. Your mind races with the possibility of what is being discussed.

You find yourself gravitating to that side of the house, anxiety worsening the longer that door stays shut. As the clock ticks, your nerves get the best of you. You wander closer, hoping you can hear from the corridor.

The guard at the door stares at you. His scrutinizing regard gets under your skin. Before you can stop yourself, you snap at him, “What? I’m just walking.”

“You don’t need to walk here,” he says and waves you off, dismissive as always.

A lot of the men in your father’s employ seem to get some perverted joy out of dismissing or punishing you. They have since you were a child. Their surveillant eyes played host in your nightmares for years. His smug countenance coupled with his threatening stance makes your blood boil in helpless frustration.

“Fuck you,” you say. You want to hurl it at him, but it spills out of your lips no stronger than a whimper. Your fists are balled at your side and your brain is screaming to walk away, but your body goes cold.

“Do not take a tone, bitch,” he says.

The unwarranted name-calling feels like a slap. It is him flaunting the obvious truth: your father has never taken your side and he never will. You are nothing but a problem that needs to be solved. You are still just a stupid, emotional child who needs a fist closed around her to keep her safe from the greatest danger in her life: herself.

“I said walk away, little girl,” the guard continues. “Your presence is not needed.”

“I’ll go where I want,” you say. “This is my house.”

“It’s your father’s house. Now walk away or I will escort you myself.”

“I dare you to try.”

You feel like you are outside of your body, watching this ridiculous scene unfold with no way to stop it.

He takes a menacing step forward and you stumble back. You bump into the wall and hit a small mirror, barely a nudge but enough to knock it off its hook.

It shatters at your feet. Yu step on a shard of glass and sharp pain lances through your foot. It feels like someone driving a knife straight through it. You scream, the sound ripped out of you in surprise.

The office door swings open and your father storms out. For a moment, he looks alarmed, eyes wide and brows high, but this only fuels his anger when he sees you are unharmed. Fury conquers fear in moments.

“Look!” you cry in protest. You lift your foot because you must have a massive shard of glass protruding from it.

Your father does not even look down. He marches into his office and shouts something that you are too disoriented to register. Your attention has narrowed to a pinprick of a point, centred entirely around the gash in your foot.

You only register what is happening when a familiar face enters your vision. Felix is in a black t-shirt and jeans, his hair in a short ponytail with not a strand out of place. Whatever transpired in that office was clearly not confrontational. He is completely fine.

His thick boots crunch over the glass. On your father’s order, he swoops you easily into his arms and carries you into the office.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you say. Your tears infuriate you. They are the result of physical pain but it is only exacerbating the hurricane inside you. “God, it hurts so much. How big is it—”

“A foot wound hurts more than usual cuts,” Felix says.

He puts you on the couch in your father’s office. You father is standing by his desk, drinking coffee and rolling his eyes. You want to shout at him, purely on instinct, but your coherency is shot when Felix pulls the glass out of your foot.

More tears fall, some in relief. Then you look down and see an impossibly tiny shard. You cannot believe how small it is. It truly felt like it went deeper, like it slashed right through your foot.

“Show me,” your father says.

Felix meets your gaze, his eyes apologetic. He lifts the glass for your father to see. Then another glass breaks when your father smashes his coffee mug in a fit of frustration.

“It really hurt!” you protest, feeling as pathetic as you sound.

“Ridiculous, dramatic child,” your father says. “Felix, close the door.”

Felix obeys. He cannot show any hesitation. He is the emotionless robot that your father wants.

Felix closes the door as commanded then stands against it. He folds his hands behind his back and stares ahead, not sparing you another glance. He looks every inch a waiting soldier. Someone who would sooner drive a knife through his own hand than disobey an order.

“You want to cry?” your father asks, as if you are not already hiccupping on half-aborted sobs. “Do you have any idea about the scale of work I have to accomplish this week? Do you think I play games behind these doors? For you to – to – to waltz around, acting like a child and throwing a tantrum over nothing—”

You must be dripping blood on the hardwood but he does not even care to look. He stalks to his desk where he sits.

“Felix,” your father says, his rage barely suffused in the address. He gestures to you and says no more.

You and Felix meet eyes. He conceals his alarm fairly well. You doubt anyone else would see fear and concern in the subtle crease of his brow. He makes it look contemplative, but you see it. You see him.

And you know he is making a mistake before he even says anything.

“Sir?”

Your father, who was looking at a file on his desk, lifts his head.

You and Felix have been in this office many times. He has watched your father beat you, and you have watched him take as many strikes on your behalf. Your father’s instructions are implicit in the environment, under the circumstances. He is asking Felix to deliver a beating on his behalf. Experience and common sense should be clarity enough for a soldier like Felix.

This confusion, feigned to buy himself a moment, is worthy of your father’s furious stare.

“What?” your father snaps.

Felix hesitates, then approaches.

That moment of hesitation is enough. You look at your father. Just like you can read Felix, you can read that man. You can see the calculation behind his eye. Everyone is a thing, a statistic, a number, something that be crunched and calculated, something that can be used and discarded if the calculations are unfavourable. Things are supposed to function according to his commanded algorithm.

Felix is not supposed to hesitate.

You were correct to assume your father would never suspect your affair based on romance. He does not see or recognize an exchange of true love. But he understands violence. He understands its absence. Felix could kiss you and your father would not notice, but Felix refusing to hit you is worth a second glance.

With very little time to think, you diffuse those suspicions before they take flight. When Felix is near, you do not hesitate to swipe at him. You land a mean smack on his cheek that sufficiently surprises him.

He meets your eyes. They are narrowed with righteous anger as you play the part you must. You know he sees the apology in them. You hope he sees the forgiveness.

Felix returns the smack. He does not hit you anywhere near as hard as he could – even your father would hit you harder – but it is still enough of a crack that your head turns on impact. You clutch your cheek and your whole body quivers, like it is confused by the alternating directions of pain.

“Don’t you dare touch me again,” you say, looking at Felix. “You stupid animal. I hate you.”

That you know he cannot misunderstand.

And so it is within that mute understanding you hand yourself over, as you have so often done. Felix does what he can to lighten the severity, just as he always does, but it still requires a few good hits so your father believes your weepy surrender.

You are very quiet after. You can hear your father’s pen scratching across a paper pad. He watched it all then went right back to work.

You remember when you chased the high of his attention just to linger in a pit of despondency for hours after. You do not feel that now. Pure, unadulterated rage flows through you, hot as fire and as all-consuming. You feel no other emotion in that moment.

You look at your father, unwavering.

“I despise you,” you say.

Then pen on the paper stops. For a moment, he seems struck. But then he crosses a line on the page and resumes his work, not once looking at you, your bruises, or your blood. Not acknowledging your anger, the one trait you inherited from him.

“You’ll see,” your father says, with a fair degree of poise and equanimity. Unbothered, like he is talking about ordinary things. You suppose he is. What could be more ordinary to this man than the ominous prophesizing of his self-inflicted horror? “One day,” he says. “When I am gone and you really see the world for what it is, you will understand why I did what I have done. You will be safe and you will thank me.”

I will kill you before I ever thank you, you think, and realize with a shiver you truly mean it.

“Felix, retrieve Domino,” your father says.

Domino is the guard posted at the door. When he enters, he gives you a cursory glance, his cheek dimpled, the amusement towards your situation scarcely concealed.

Your father’s money might afford him influence over this stock of men, but they are all in the business of profitable pain. Military men, ex-cops: they are a dirty and criminal ilk who are accustomed to holding authority in their own right. It is little wonder they never liked you and you never liked them.

“Sir,” Domino says, at attention.

“Take my daughter to her room and see to it she is tended. Then send someone to clean up this mess. I have work to finish here and I will not tolerate any further interruptions. None. Do you understand?”

“Sir,” is the reply, affirmative, with a sharp nod.

“Good. Felix. Sit.”

Your father gestures to the chair across his desk and Felix moves towards it. Unlike the perfect boy soldier who once sat in that chair, Felix kicks it because he is glancing back at you.

You meet his eye for a brief moment, then the world spins as Domino picks you up. It is a grappling yank, like you grab a thing, with no care for injury or a polite touch.

You are carried out of the office and back to your room. One of the crew’s medics patches your foot. You sit through it with a cold detachment, then your room is empty and you are alone, waiting in bed for Felix so you can ask what is happening and discuss what to do.

Felix never comes.

In your wildest imaginings of what transpired behind that door, a job is not what you anticipate. It is at once too strange and too mundane.

A job is not an operation; it is an errand, a sleight of hand conducted in the shadowed crevice of a greater business scheme. It is not unusual for your father to send his men out on these jobs. But in all the years Felix has been in his employ, he has never been sent out. His only occupation is to serve as your bodyguard, and he has proven time and again how he is irreplaceable in that position.

You do not know what makes this job different. You glean only a little information from the chatter of the crew, just enough that you know it is a stealth acquisition and a rare, unprovoked move against Miroh. Your father is known for his defensive tactics, seldom manoeuvring in offense, so you suppose the inclusion of his best solider on a risky venture makes sense. Felix is likely your father’s only guarantee.

But you cannot shake there is something else. Felix is more than just a soldier and Miroh is more than just a businessman. You know their past is tangled together.

You do not get a chance to ask. The next time you see Felix is through a window. You are in the upstairs corridor, staring down at the driveway as he climbs into a van with a few other agents. Then the van pulls away and it is just you in that house with your temporary replacement bodyguard team.

Even your father leaves, though you doubt he will be involved in the physical mission itself. You overhear him telling your security that he anticipates returning in a week. You count down the hours until then.

By the second day, you are sick with worry. Sitting around with your unanswered questions makes the time drag. Hours pass in dissociation, unmoving and anxious. You decide that waiting will only worsen your state. Although you are not keen to wander around town with your security entourage in tow, you cannot sit here either.

The team is made of three men including Domino. They are all as subtle as a scream with their bulk and demeanour, and every bit like all the others.

Though they will undoubtedly report even the most mundane actions, they acquiesce and take you into town. The campus café is one of your father’s approved locations.

You are not sure if you want to run into your friends. The distraction would be a welcome one, not to mention the balm that is a smile from a friendly face, but you also have no idea how you will explain the obvious security. You are exhausted with lies. You are not sure you could spin a convincing story even if you wanted, and you do not.

The café is always quiet before lunch. There are a few students scattered around so even though you feel ridiculous, no one pays you much attention.

One guard waits outside the door, one inside by a window, and Domino stays by your side as you order your drink and take a seat.

You forgot just how invasive and uncomfortable this dynamic was. If you were not so drained, you would be snapping at them just to relieve the tension drawn tight in your chest. Instead, you endure. Every breath feels more strained than the last. You cannot focus on your work any better here. The words on your screen are just meaningless letters and shapes.

You stare at your hands, at their faint, vibrating tremble.

Then you hear your name. The guards have been addressing you as girl, sometimes subject or the daughter when speaking to each other. The gentler murmur of your name momentarily stills the shaking of your fingers, steady as a hand grasping yours. You lift your head and see Jeongin, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder, his dark hair a shaggy mess, and his concerned eyes flitting between you and Domino.

“Hey,” Jeongin says with that dimpled smile. “What’s up?”

“Who is this?” Domino asks. Before you can answer, he turns to Jeongin and says, “Stand back. You do not have permission to stand here.”

“Oh my god,” you say, slapping a palm to your forehead.

You are flooded with childhood memories, idiots like this intimidating everyone who tried to speak to you for longer than a minute. Whether they took the form of a guardian or masqueraded as a janitor or something else, they always made everyone sufficiently uncomfortable. Even Jisung was often disturbed by them, though he drew the wrong conclusions about their identity. He was good with weird.

Jeongin must be made of a similar mettle. He gives your guard a pinched look, lip curled like he smells something bad, but he does not move. He looks at you with a tip of the head, concern once more creasing his features.

“Do you need help?” he asks.

The poor guy must be so confused. You look like you are being held hostage in a coffee shop by a stupidly inconspicuous thug.

All you can do is sigh and shake your head. “I’m fine, Jeongin,” you say, a very unconvincing lie. “I’ll catch you around, yeah?”

“Move along,” Domino says.

Jeongin looks at him. His glance flicks up and down. Then he says, “Your fly is down.”

Domino stares at him, unblinking, as if he can vaporize Jeongin with just a glare. Jeongin stares back.

“Really, Jeongin,” you say. A genuine breath of a laugh leaves your lips. Jeongin could not even throw a punch without smacking a chair, but he is willing to stick up for you. And his annoyance tactic is the funniest defense you can imagine.

Jeongin finally leaves, but with a glance over his shoulder. You fight the urge to throw something at the guards who watch him go.

“Who was that?” Domino asks.

“I don’t know his name,” you say. “He was just a classmate a long time ago.”

You hope that is enough to make him forgettable.

You act casual, taking a sip of your coffee. Then Domino looks down into his lap, quickly checking his fly. Your snorting laughter sprays coffee everywhere.

Fortunately, this does not impact the report. You are allowed to return to the same coffee shop the next day. This time both Seungmin and Jeongin are there, books open but blathering in distracted conversation. Another young guy is sitting with them, maybe a classmate, though he has no books with him. He is sprawled in a chair, holding a coffee and grinning at whatever the boys are saying.

He notices you first, probably because you are staring. He tips his head as he looks at you, black bangs falling across his forehead. He is noticeably stocky and broad, but he smiles behind the brim of his coffee cup and it is incredibly disarming.

He is handsome but the overt flirtation brings only pain. It makes you think of Felix. You barely slept last night, tossing and turning with anxiety. Your stress only worsened when you woke in an empty bed.

You are so fraught with anxiety, your whole body feels taut like a thread about to snap.

Something is going to happen, or maybe it already has. It is bad. You know it intuitively, the way you know which hand will strike when your father is in a mood, the way you know a black car on a quiet street is an enemy, the way you have always known this life is a death sentence, a slow execution by the brutality of weathering.

You look away from the stranger’s smile. Then Jeongin sees you and his laughter fades, concern and curiosity drawing his brows together. He nudges Seungmin who looks too, tipping his head with a questioning look.

You just shrug and take a seat at a different table. There is nothing else to do.

Domino sits with you, as bored with his duty as ever. You believe your whole team is annoyed with their job. Your father would not leave weak soldiers in charge of you, but he also had to take his very best with him. These men are probably too competent for menial work and are likely offended by their assignment. They are the worst of the best.

Which is how you steal a moment to talk to Seungmin. One guard outside, one at the window, and Domino at your table. He lets you leave to get some sugar for your coffee, watching with glazed-over indifference as you fuss at the counter.

Seungmin joins you, pretending he is also grabbing sugar.

“You’re keeping some weird company,” he says in a low voice. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need help?”

You swallow an unexpected lump in your throat. Your friendship with Seungmin and Jeongin was only ever casual, so it is quite touching that the two civilians are so willing to defend you, even when standing at an obvious disadvantage against your thugs.

Your prepared lie gets tangled in that lump. You swallow it down. For a moment, your mouth is open with nothing to say. You both stir your coffee slowly. Eventually you take a breath.

“It’s complicated,” you say. “It’s just to do with my dad. Thank you, though.”

There is a beat of silence before he says, “We’re friends, okay? Just let us know if we can help.”

You have been trapped in solitude for days now. Seungmin provides the comforting reminder that your world is not all bad. Though he cannot do much to help, the sentiment in his simple offer is enough to temper the worst of your anxiety, at least for the time being.

“Thank you,” you say. “Really.” You spare a glance at Domino who is watching you intensely, just waiting for you to slip up and do something that warrants a reprimand or report. “I better get back,” you say. “Say hi to Jeongin, and say sorry from me for yesterday. You guys have fun with your friend.”

“Oh, we don’t know that guy. He just sat with us out of nowhere,” Seungmin says, laughing. “He says his name is Changbin. But he paid for our coffee so he can sit wherever he likes, haha.”

You smile at his playfulness. He smiles too, then he walks back to his table. Your eyes follow him and settle on the stranger – Changbin.

You want to keep smiling, want to imagine the stranger is just an awkward university kid making friends in a weird way. But Changbin is looking at you again, with the same intensity as Domino. Your eyes skirt his shoulders and biceps and his too-charming smile.

You want to chalk it up to paranoia, exacerbated by the extra stress of the last few days. But something is off about this stranger appearing here, suddenly, at a place you are known to frequent, the week your father is moving against Miroh, when Felix is gone and you are vulnerable. He is sitting with your friends, like he knows they are your friends, like he can trick you into trusting him by their proximity.

He is not like your father’s guards who are blatantly out of place. Changbin is so visible that he is invisible. Just a friendly college boy.

Just like Felix.

You are being ridiculous, you tell yourself. You cannot walk around assuming everyone is an enemy. But you cannot shake the feeling of wrongness, the awful premonition that something is going to happen.

You try to ignore Changbin as you drink your coffee but you are unsuccessful. Your hackles are raised and will not come down, made worse by the indifference of everyone around you. Domino is none the wiser. The other guards have not left their posts. Your friends are laughing with him like he is just some guy.

You ask yourself what Felix would do. You imagine he would not cause a scene or confront Changbin. He would quietly take your arm and usher you to safety, only fighting in retaliation if necessary. Part of his job has always been discretion, but he has never relished in violence anyway. It is always a last resort.

Your instincts have often propelled you into heated action until you freeze, always one extreme or the other. Now, you calm yourself and steady your shaking hands. You comfort yourself the way Felix would. You tell Domino you want to go home. He makes some agitated remark about you needing to make up your mind, that you only just arrived, but you do not rise to his bait. You close your laptop and pack your bag.

It takes one second. Changbin is sitting with your friends, then you look down. When you lift your head, he is gone. The boys think nothing of it. Your guards don’t notice. You want to scream but you know it won’t make a difference. These men won’t listen to you.

You leave with your guards. The large campus is practically a city unto itself, separated from the mainland by a stretch of woods. It is a scenic drive with a deer park in its centre, but all you see is rain ripping through branches and the shadows between each slash of grey daylight.

You are almost relieved when something thumps heavily onto the roof. But the relief that you were right is short-lived when all hell breaks loose.

You close your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself in the back seat. Glass shatters and the car skids to a rough stop, flying off the road and onto the forest terrain.

You open your eyes to the windshield in pieces, the driver frozen with his head thrown back. Domino and the other guard are out of their seats in seconds, making the same mistake as Miroh’s men all that time ago. You know how this fight will end.

You look through the broken windshield. Changbin flies into view and knocks Domino onto his knees. It takes one roundhouse kick for him to fall over, unconscious. The other guard tries to take a shot but Changbin disarms him with a couple sharp moves. You close your eyes when Changbin shoots.

He fights with the same fluidity as Felix. For a moment, you are back there, eighteen years old and frightened and relieved all at once. Except when the back door opens this time, you are not quick to rush out. It is not Felix waiting for you.

Changbin clears his throat and you slowly look over. He is wearing jeans and a leather jacket and does not look ruffled in the slightest. Dark hair falls over his forehead as he tips his head. He smiles, handsome and charming. As unassuming as Felix when his eyes crinkle up with delight and he laughs like he has never known pain. Like he was not raised for the purpose of violence, property of Miroh, of your father, of whoever else, acting as their hand because they won’t get their own fingers dirty.

Changbin gestures to you, curling his fingers, a mute come here.

“Hurry up,” he says. “Time to go.”

You imagine escaping out the other door, trying to make a run for it through the forest. You know you will not get far.

“Are you one of them?” you ask, impulsively. “Miroh’s?”

You already know the answer.

Changbin blinks at you, then laughs.

“It depends,” he says, then tuts like he thinks you are preciously naïve. “I personally think I’m one of a kind. But I guess we’ll find out. Now get out of the car.”

With little choice in the matter, you obey. Your legs wobble when you stand so you instinctively take the hand he offers.

You have not yet steadied yourself when he yanks you into his arms. Though Felix undoubtedly holds strength in his lithe form, he is more dexterous and athletic than outright powerful. He knows how to use his body to its best advantage. But Changbin is strong and he does not hide it, the bulge of his biceps crushing you in the hard, ungiving circle of his arms. Leather and muscle cage you in tightly, so unyielding that you cannot even squirm. Your heels dig at the ground as he hauls you away from the car. A belated scream claws its way up your throat but gets strangled in his chokehold.

Then you feel ice, so cold it burns. Your racing heart propels each freezing shard through your bloodstream.

You realize he stabbed you with a needle. It is a flickering thought, only momentarily realized, then you are plunged beneath the surface of that ice, drowned in black waters, and you think no more.

You are plunged into an oblivion so deep and so fast that you wake thinking no time passed at all.

You hear before you see. The patter of rain overhead is not unlike its tapping against the roof of the car. Groggy, you think you are still there, your arms wrapped around yourself while waiting for the worst.

Then your sense of smell creeps in, overwhelming you with damp and something metallic. A cool breeze pebbles your skin as it washes over you. It coaxes you out of your bleariness.

You blink awake, the blurry world taking gradual shape around you. It is not the world you left behind, no sign of a car or campus or coffee shop. It looks like an old warehouse or maybe a factory, but the room has been stripped to its bare bone essentials. The exposed pipes and rotting damp of the high walls account for the smell.

The breeze blows from your left where a garage door is open. You squint towards the grey light of the rainy day. You do not know how long you have been unconscious. It looks like early afternoon but your body tells you that you have been asleep for longer than a few minutes.

You try to gather your bearings. You see a harbour in the distance, past the pavement and the fence and what must be a drop to water below. Your university is not near any body of water. So you must have been unconscious long enough to transport this far. A few hours at least, but given the light maybe it has been a full day.

That is all you can deduce. You do not recognize the warehouse or the harbour.

You do recognize the man in front of you, though it takes a second. Changbin is no longer dressed like a civilian, wearing a black combat uniform and boots. His shirt covers his arms but fits like a second skin, his bulk emphasized. He is squatting on the ground a few feet from you. He holds a black mask in his hand, one that covers the lower half of his face when he swings it up. He lifts and lowers it a few times, absent-mindedly it seems. Then he realizes you are stirring and fastens it in place.

Your head is pounding. Your petulant side wants to bark a complaint, but even you know taunting this man would be beyond stupid. Changbin is not just any soldier. Miroh did not send one of his regular men. He clearly learned his lesson last time. Even without asking, you know Changbin is like Felix. He did not merely train as a soldier; he was born and moulded into it.

And, unlike Felix, he has had no reprieve from Miroh.

You come into your body, stretching your fingers. Your hands are cuffed behind your back and locked to your chair. One ankle is cuffed to the chair leg. Metal jingles as you move, testing your bonds.

You stop when Changbin approaches, your heart thumping as hot adrenaline melts the ice in your blood.

“Good morning,” Changbin says. “How did you sleep?”

Your body is still slow to respond, but you manage a decent glare. It makes him laugh.

“They told me you were funny,” he says. “That you make your father’s men look like a joke – not hard, to be fair.” He tips his head, looking at you like he is waiting. All you do is stare. “Come on,” he whines. “Say something funny.”

Your stomach turns over itself, not because Changbin is taunting you… but because you think he isn’t taunting you. He does not speak with the sarcastic intonation of your father’s men, dryly mocking your helplessness in his presence. His eyes are big and resolutely focussed, seeming to genuinely anticipate your retort. He is almost child-like with his attention.

This impression only solidifies when he sighs, morose, and crouches again.

“Do you want something?” he asks.

“Let me go?” you say.

It comes out rough but it makes him laugh behind the mask, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Aha, you are funny,” he says and slaps his knee. “Anything but that. But don’t worry your head.” You flinch from his touch, but all he does is pat your head like he is reassuring a frightened puppy. “This isn’t about you,” he says. “Well, not yet. Maybe later. First… Your father took something from us. And he won’t give it back.”

Changbin removes the mask so he can smile, one of those disarming smiles that is so at odds with the rest of him. Felix might switch demeanours depending on the circumstance, but Changbin flickers between faces from one breath to the next.

“We just need it back,” Changbin says. “Then, maybe, we’ll even the score. Maybe. Don’t worry about that yet. For now, you just need to sit. Are you thirsty?”

The distinct reverberation of gunfire comes from the front of the building. You shriek and duck your head, like that will do anything to protect you, gasping as you listen to bullets ricochet off the walls in some distant room.

When everything goes quiet, you lift your head. Your chest is heaving with each deep breath, your adrenaline bleeding out your pores so even the air around you feels like it is humming. You stare at Changbin who has not moved a muscle, still squatting and staring.

“I think we have lemonade,” he says. “You want that?”

You do not even know what to say. His sincere but stunted peculiarity reminds you so much of a teenage Felix even though Changbin looks older than both of you.

There is more gunfire. You duck your head and slam your eyes shut. Changbin does not move until it stops, his mouth open with another comment, but he silences himself when the far door opens. Then he is swift, on his feet with his mask secured. He stands at your side as he silently watches the approach of a small group of men.

You are still reeling from panic, so it takes you a second to realize what is happening.

“Felix!” the cry leaves your lips.

Five of Miroh’s men surround him, suited guards in various states of dishevelment, like they have been fighting for much longer than a few minutes. Felix is bound with his hands behind his back, a yellow bruise already forming on his chin. His own dark uniform is singed with bullet holes. His hair looks like it was slicked back, but he has sweat through some of the product, tendrils of blonde falling into his face.

Despite his state, his attention is all on you. Eyes assessing, scanning you from head to toe.

When you meet his gaze, the whole world falls away. These men, this place, none of it exists for a breath of a moment. Felix is here and that means you will survive. Everything will be fine. You have always kept each other alive. This time will be no different. You can see it in his eyes, in that oh-so subtle twinge of a smile. You can hear him without him moving his lips.

Hello, sweetheart. You’re safe.

They put him on his knees. His gaze flits to either side. You can see him calculating. Oh, he is here on purpose. He let himself be caught, you are certain, so he could find you and rescue you and—

“Target acquired,” a man says.

It takes you a moment to realize he is talking about Felix.

You look at the man then at Changbin, considering his earlier words.

Something your father took. Something they want back.

It hits you all at once. You have not been kidnapped as leverage against your father. You have been taken as bait for Felix. They don’t want you, they want him. An irreplaceable soldier your father stole from Miroh a decade ago, that he has paraded in front of him for years at galas and parties. Using him as a bodyguard for his wayward daughter and not as a soldier, not until now. Biding his time before using Felix against the house that made him.

You can see your father’s stupid machinations clicking into place. He is a perpetual child throwing a tantrum. His movements are sloppy and immature. He steals from his enemy, a weapon he does not know how to use, thinking it will keep him safe, letting it make him cocky. And now he is sitting somewhere as it all blows up in his face.

Or it would. In an ironic twist of fate, you are saving your father.

Because as far as Miroh knows, Felix is here as your bodyguard, acting on your father’s orders to retrieve you. All Miroh has to do is pluck him from the fray. And as a bonus, he has you in captivity for future leverage.

It would have been a good plan. It would have worked if Felix was an emotionless machine. If would have worked if Felix was here because of a command.

But Felix loves you.

He is here to save you.

In a quick move, Felix sweeps two men off their feet. He rolls on his back and propels himself to his feet, hands bound under him, leading with his core. He slams his head into an oncoming guard and the man stumbles back. Three out of five on the ground. Then suddenly one hand is free of the cuffs – he must have been picking at it the whole time - and he swings the dangling metal in another’s eye.

You flinch away from the violence, even while rooting for Felix. A few more thuds and you know all five men are incapacitated. You open your eyes and lift your head, watching Felix drop the handcuffs on the floor. He absently rubs his wrist, his gaze drifting from you to Changbin. His fingers freeze, his eyes narrowing as he perceives the stoic soldier at your side.

Felix stares, like he if he looks hard enough, he will see through the mask.

“You’re new,” Felix finally says.

Changbin rolls his eyes.

Changbin reels back and hurls a knife in a swift arc, right at Felix’s face. Felix is just as fast and catches the handle. He returns the throw. The knife clatters on the ground as Changbin surges forward.

These two are evenly matched. Watching them fight is terrifying and unpredictable. They dance around each other, delivering equal blows and blocking similar shots. In the end, Felix wins in one move miscalculated by his opponent. With an opening granted, Felix takes Changbin down. One, two, three hits to the head. Changbin stumbles backward, his mask falling. He is disoriented when he looks Felix, but Felix sees him with complete clarity.

You learned to read Felix a long time ago. You know all his expressions by heart, the crease of each smile memorized, the track of each tear committed to heart.

You have never seen this face, this mix of horror and bewilderment as a barely conscious Changbin slams onto the ground. Then it is Felix who missteps, tripping over his own feet as he reaches for the opponent he just threw down.

“Changbin,” he says. “You’re alive, I—”

Changbin swings at him but is too dizzy to land a hit. Felix catches the punch. He should throw one back, finish him off, but he hesitates. His brow furrows. He grabs Changbin by the neck of his shirt and yanks him close.

“Chris,” he says. “Chan. Chris. Where is he?”

Changbin laughs. It turns to choking when a dribble of blood gurgles past his mouth. He spits it at Felix then heaves a rough breath.

“Oh, fuck you, Yongbok,” he says. “’You’re new’ – didn’t even recognize me—”

“It—it’s been so long—and I thought you—”

“Yah, not all of us got to attend pretty parties these last years like you—”

“Stop it, you don’t know anything about what I’ve been doing—”

“Chris he says. First thing he says.” Changbin squirms but does not have the strength to rip away, especially with Felix gripping him so hard. He heaves another aggravated groan. “You know Chris died because of you. He’s been gone for years.”

“No,” Felix says, his voice pinched. His eyes rapidly water, his knuckles white from his death-grip.

Changbin shakes his head but slips further. Felix once more catches him when he should be ending him, sniffling hard as he gets on his knees.

“He’s not dead,” Felix says. “He can’t be dead—”

“Why don’t you ask your boss?”

As if on cue, your father’s men burst into the room. Felix looks at them in surprise even though he must have coordinated their arrival.

Changbin laughs. “I hope it was worth it, Yongbok,” he says. He uses one last burst of energy to throw himself forward, propelled away from Felix. He rolls across the ground then stumbles to his feet, running past the open garage door, into the rain, and disappearing around the corner.

Felix is too stunned to chase him. You look at Felix, on his knees and holding nothing, palms up like he expects something to appear in them. He closes his fists as your father’s men approach.

Then he slides his figurative mask in place, assuming his usual role. He kicks the literal mask discarded by Changbin, then finally looks at you.

“Get the car,” Felix says to the men. “And check the grounds for anything useful.”

The men disperse and Felix approaches you. He kneels at your side and picks at the lock of your handcuffs. You are crying before you can stop yourself, overwhelmed with everything that just transpired.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Felix whispers, looking at you with pain of his own. “It will be okay. Just a little longer.”

The handcuffs drop. He squeezes your hand in his.

“Just a little longer.”

You are several cities over, hours away from home and even further from the job your father was conducting against Miroh. Miroh was clearly trying to divert his enemy. He tried to steal Felix back while doing so.

Neither he or your father accounted for you, for Felix, for all the love between you.

You are in a small hotel room away from prying eyes and military men. You are scrubbing yourself clean in the bath and he sits on the rim of the tub, wiping your back with a cloth.

You checked in two hours ago. You spent most of that time blubbering incoherently, catching your breath even hours after freedom. You have not had a real conversation yet. Felix has been quiet, his eyes intermittently far away or so intensely focussed on you that it makes you hiccup with more tears.

You hiss when he presses his thumb to the mark on your neck, the little bite from the needle so carelessly plunged into your vein.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, smoothing with a gentle circle.

“This has been the worst week of my life,” you say. “And that’s saying something. Oh my god, and it’s only Wednesday.”

Felix laughs in spite of himself, though it is more of a breath than a sound. He drops the cloth in the water and you shiver as he caresses the bare skin of your back.

“I love you,” he says, like it is something he has always said, like it is easy to say. Like he could say it again and again.

The room feels so quiet. His voice is soft but it sounds like a shout, echoing back in this intimate space. Your breath catches. You go very still.

Then he says your name in a breathless murmur that is exhaled with more adoration than the word love itself.

“No games,” he says. “No jokes. No hidden meanings or secrets.”

“Felix,” you say. It is all you manage.

“I know,” he says weakly. “I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to say anything, I just…”

His hair is wet from a quick shower, combed back neatly, more composed than the rest of him. You look up as he runs his wet fingers through it. The bruise on his jaw is darkening, a burned gold that looks incredibly painful. He shed his outer layers, is wearing a black t-shirt and black pants. He has a silver army tag, or something like it, marked with your father’s name and not his own. It’s new. Something the field agents wear. Good as a collar.

You reach out and take hold, ripping it off his neck. He looks at it dangling from your fist, as surprised as you that it broke so fast.

Maybe it really is it that easy.

His hurt jaw wobbles. He touches the bruise and looks down, away from you, head bowed as if in supplication. Worshipful. Penitent.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lighter than a whisper. “I will tell you everything. I just want to be a person for you a little longer.”

“Felix,” you say, dropping the tag on the floor. You kneel in the bath and reach for him with your wet hands. He does not lift his head when a silent sob wracks his body. His shoulders shake when you touch him. “You have always been a person to me.”

“I know,” he says, voice breaking. “I know, sweetheart. I owe you so much—”

“You don’t owe me anything—”

“I owe you everything.”

He looks at you then, his dark eyes wet with tears, his expression serious. He breathes a shaky exhale then leans away, grabbing a towel.

“Come here,” he says, and stands.

Moments later, you are standing on the floor, wrapped in the towel in his arms. He bundles you tightly and you rest your head on his shoulder, safe and secure with his strong hold around you.

“I love you,” he says, his wet cheek pressed to yours. “Even if you hate me, even if you don’t, even if you can never say it back, I love you and all the life you have in you.”

“I’m a mess,” you say, trying to laugh, but it comes out weak.

“You’re alive. I don’t think anyone understands better than you, what it means to have a life,” he says. “The way your life fills you, the way you hold onto it no matter how many times someone tried to take it away.”

You are hiding your face in his neck, embarrassed and amorous and teary all at once. Then he lifts you up and turns around, perching you on the counter. You wriggle your arms free, tucking the towel beneath them. You steady your breathing as he picks up a cloth to wipe the smudged vestiges of make-up off your cheek.

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he says. “I’ve always been so scared. I hide it, yeah? But it’s there. Miroh, your father, everything about them… It was like living in a nightmare. They were bigger than life. They controlled dangerous people. I couldn’t imagine anyone standing up to them.” He smiles now, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. “Then you burst into the room and started a fight with one of them. I was shocked. I thought, is this girl crazy? What have I gotten into?”

“That girl was crazy,” you say, laughing.

He laughs too, but shakes his head. “She was the only sane one,” he says. “God. You had more passion in your little finger than I had ever felt in my whole body my whole life. And I thought… I will never feel that much emotion. I knew it was too late for me. I wasn’t living for myself and I was fine with that. I couldn’t be saved.” His eyes are teary again. He takes your hand and looks down at it. “You took my hand. Even in your anger, even in your everything, you saw something… You touched me once and it was like life rushed into me. And I hated myself everyday after that because I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t what you needed. I could take your beatings but I couldn’t save you because I was a scared coward and you were stuck with me—”

“Shh, stop that,” you say. You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing the pieces he rucked up.

He wipes his cheeks. He plants his hands on the counter, on either side of you. His eyes are closed when he takes a deep breath.

“Miroh couldn’t kill your grandfather,” Felix says. “He tried and he failed. Your grandfather was willing to sacrifice everything for himself. Your mother died in his place. You and me were on opposite sides of the world, both just babies. You never knew your mother. I never knew my parents. Miroh decided he needed a new generation of soldiers. There were a few of us, all over the world. When we were old enough to speak and run and fight, he recruited the best. I was one of the best. So was Changbin.”

“And Chris,” you say, remembering the exchange in the warehouse.

Felix’s face scrunches in pain. He nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “We travelled together. We trained together. We were like brothers.”

“What happened?” you ask. You lay a hand on his chest and he takes it, holding it there.

“I was stupid,” Felix says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I believed Miroh. I thought… there are bad guys out there, simple as that. If we get rid of them, then we won’t have to be scared anymore, yeah? They wouldn’t have to hurt us if we just got rid of the bad guy. But it wasn’t that easy. I killed your grandfather and it didn’t end anything. Chris was right. Because he always knew. He said it wasn’t right, what Miroh was doing. Chris could have been the best if he could let go of who he was, and just be what he was supposed to be… but he didn’t. I… I felt like I… I couldn’t afford to be that way… If I wasn’t the best, I was nothing. If I couldn’t kill, I was going to be killed. And by the time I realized he was right, it was too late.”

He finally meets your gaze, squeezing your hand in his.

“I almost died on a job and Chris saved my life. He wasn’t supposed to. In Miroh’s order, if something happens to a soldier, you leave them behind. You don’t waste resources on the weak. Chris disobeyed orders and all his training to save me. I told him I wouldn’t have done the same and he said I know, that’s not why I’m doing it. It’s just the right thing, Felix. I thought, how can someone like this even exist, after everything he’s seen and done, how does he still try to find the good? I didn’t know if he was stupid or smart. Then a commander found out what he did and they took him out of our order for re-training. I still saw him but we couldn’t talk. He had so much potential and the organization didn’t want to throw it away. They tried to break him. It wasn’t working. It broke me instead. I realized I had to get us out or die trying.”

He looks at you and says, “You get it, don’t you? The way Jisung saved you. The way he was your friend. The way he was just there. That was Chris for me, yeah?” His voice is rife with desperation, like he needs you to understand this more than anything else.

“Yeah,” you say softly, feeling that very heartache all over again. “I do. I get it, Felix.”

“Then you know,” he says, voice breaking, “how I felt when I let him down. I let everyone down. I fucked up a job, trying to undermine Miroh. I thought I could outsmart him but I didn’t. It just opened a door for your father to get in. There was a stupid skirmish over a politician in Miroh’s pocket. Your dad was trying to buy him out and it ended in a fight. Three of our best men dead. Including Changbin, I thought. Just someone else I let down. I was taken alive. I knew if I went back to Miroh, I was dead. If I ran off on my own, Chris would never escape, and they would break him eventually, or kill him trying. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t take Miroh on my own. So I made a deal with your father.”

And what I get is a life worth more than mine.

You remember those words. Felix once spoke them in an emotional moment, lost to his memories. You never knew what he meant. You realize now he meant Chris, the friend he left behind, the friend he sold himself to save.

“You gave up your life to my father,” you say, “and in return—”

“He would rescue Chris,” Felix says. “It was a win for us both, yeah. Take out Miroh, steal his assets. My friend gets his freedom. Your father gets a soldier. I was willing to give up my life. I figured I never had one. I wouldn’t miss it. All I knew was how to be a soldier. I didn’t even know how to want something else. But then you… You.”

“Felix,” you say, overwhelmed with his confession and the depth of his feeling.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I let you down.”

“What? How?” You touch his face, cupping his chin in both hands. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t save you,” he says, voice rasping and light again, speaking above a sob. “At first because I couldn’t leave, not until we rescued Chris. And there was never an opportunity. I waited years. Years. And by then I had to keep waiting, because I couldn’t have wasted all that time for nothing. I had to save him. I had to save someone. Or else I failed everyone. It had to mean something. I couldn’t—”

“Felix,” you say. “It was an impossible situation. We were kids for half of it. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“I do,” he says, barely more than a breath, a faint whisper against your skin. “I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t do enough.”

“We have no way of knowing what else could have happened,” you say. “We did our best. And now—”

You cut yourself off. And now? What happens next? You heard their conversation in that warehouse. You know why Felix looked so torn apart.

“Chris,” you say. “Is he…?” Dead. “Was Changbin telling the truth?”

“I don’t know,” Felix says.

Dead. For years. Because of Felix. Because of your father.

It does not take much to piece together the implications. Your father is a cowardly, underhanded schemer. He poisons teenagers and beats his daughter and hides in his mansion except when he’s lashing out for attention. He put Felix under contract, but the only guarantee of servitude was his honour and one stipulation. Honour would mean little to your father. But a person, that he could leverage. That he could calculate and control. So long as he could dangle Chris over Felix’s head, then Felix would be bound to him.

And the best way to guarantee he would never have to fulfill his end of the bargain, the best way to guarantee Chris would never escape, would be to kill Chris himself and never tell Felix.

You see it written all over Felix’s face, the horror of this very plausible idea. That in his effort to save Chris, he actually got him killed.

There is a long moment of quiet. It is a very empty silence. There is no way to confirm if Chris is truly dead, and so Felix cannot truly mourn him. There is also no way to prove he is alive, so he cannot take any action.

You hold his hand. It is all you can do right now. You look at where your palms touch, where your fingers lace. The caress of his skin against yours never fails to touch your heart. Even this simple touch warms you. It affects him too, because he exhales and leans in, resting his forehead against yours.

You want to comfort him but your shiver betrays you. The heat from the bath is diffusing and you are in nothing but a towel. Felix laughs and shakes his head, withdrawing.

“Sorry,” he says. “Let’s, uhh, get you dressed first.”

“Or at least under some covers.”

“Someone could come knocking,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say with a jut of your chin. “And?”

He stares back at you. This silence is not so empty, a heady and contemplative regard as he glances at your lips then the rest of you. Then he sweeps you into his arms and carries you into the room.

You kiss his cheek, just above his bruise. You are not sure if he winces from the pain or the affection.

The moment your head touches a pillow, you feel your eyelids drooping. Exhaustion hits you instantaneously. You groan and snuggle under the covers, quite convinced this plain hotel bed is the comfiest bed in the world.

Felix hovers at the bedside, folding your towel. You look back at him with sleepy eyes. It is early evening but he must be as tired as you, from the physical exertion if not the emotional one.

“Aren’t you sleepy, baby?” you ask.

He drops the towel and has to fold it again. It is messier the second time, then slides off the dresser into a lump on the floor. He ignores it, approaching the bed. You pull back the cover in offering.

You think he strips down to his boxers, but you are fast asleep before he even unzips. You stir a little when he climbs in the bed, but his presence is so comforting that it sends you right back to sleep. It is the most restful sleep you have had in a while. But, predictably, falling asleep in the early evening means you wake up in the dead of the night, bright-eyed.

The room is dark. The clock reads 2:17 AM, blinking in red, the only light in the room other than a blue wash of moonlight pouring through the translucent curtains.

Felix is curled up behind you, an arm under his head and the other over your hip. When you wake, he follows but slowly, shifting and grumbling. He does not usually sleep so deeply. It is a testament to the day.

You sidle up to him, your back to his front. He is in his boxers and nothing else, bare skin against yours as he hauls you up against him. You lay your hand over his, resting it on your stomach then on your breast. It is not especially flirtatious, merely intimate. He touches you and you sigh contently, too awake to lose yourself but enjoying the comfort nonetheless.

He exhales. It sounds a little ragged. You look over your shoulder, at his dishevelled bed hair and dark freckles, the bow mouth you so missed, the tenderness in those dark eyes when he gazes back at you.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Hmm? For what?” You roll onto your back to look at him better.

He scrubs a hand down his face then pushes back some unruly hair. “I think, um.” He looks up at nothing. “A part of me always thought a day would come when you would hate me for real. I’m, uhh, a little… I guess I just… was more prepared to be hated than, um, cared about, after everything.”

You lean over him, propping yourself on one arm. He meets your serious gaze, licking his lips under the intensity of your stare.

“Do you see me that way?” you ask. “That I would be that unforgiving and fickle?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Of course not. It’s not how I see you, it’s… myself.”

“Well, I don’t want you to see yourself that way either,” you say. “It offends me.” You say this was a dramatic air, making a point of shoving your nose in the air.

It makes him laugh, a real smile pulling at his lips. You swear it brightens the room.

“Does it?” he says. “I’m very sorry. I’ll have to make it up to you.” He reaches for your face, strokes his knuckles over your cheek, but you pull away.

“That won’t be necessary,” you say, in the same playful tone as him.

“Oh?” he asks, chasing, stroking your other cheek.

“Yes,” you say. You catch his hand and lower it. When you speak again, it is sincerely, without any joke or artifice or double-entendre. “I don’t just care about you, Felix,” you say. “I love you. And you don’t need to thank me or pay me back. You just need to believe it.”

He blinks up at you, surprise written all over his face. You feel flushed with heat even though the admission is obvious. Saying it out loud, truly and honestly, makes your heart flutter anyway. Love and want tangle together in a knot inside you, making you feel soft and desirous at once.

His lips part with a breath as he stares at you. You chase those lips, leaning down and sealing his mouth in a kiss. It takes only a second for him to kiss you back, cupping your cheek and parting your lips with a swipe of his tongue. His bruise must not hurt too badly, or maybe he is just ignoring the pain, but you are careful with your light kisses despite his attempt at more.

You always happily concede to his more dominant guidance. This time it is a little different. You are telling him something with your kisses and you want him to hear it, without any games or distractions. So you take both his wrists and push his hands into the bed, at the same time swinging on top of him. He looks surprised a second time, looking at where you press his hands into the sheets.

He could easily buck you off, but he lets you kiss him like that. You kiss his cheek and under his jaw, avoiding the bruise, then down his neck. His hips lift under yours, rolling against you to get hard. You are already wet and naked, making him moan, a low, dark sound as you grind your softest parts against the hardening line in his boxers.

It makes you want to skip right to it, but you are determined. You kiss down his chest and he laughs when your tongue swipes his nipple, evidently a little ticklish. You smile and keep going, until your lips hover above the hard bulge in his boxers. You kiss him through the material then tug it down. He shuffles quickly, ripping them off and tossing them aside. Then his hand is on the back of your neck as you take him in your mouth.

The hotel room affords some privacy. He makes a little more noise than usual. Or maybe he truly does not care anymore.

Yes, you think, loving at him with your mouth and hands, let yourself go.

He must be getting close because he squeezes the back of your neck and lets out a groan. “Slow down,” he says. “Please. It just—”

“Feels good?” you ask, a little cheekily, but he answers earnestly, with a nod and shaky exhale. “Mmm, okay,” you say. “Tell me what you want.”

This gives him momentary pause. Then he grips your neck more possessively and guides you up.

You follow his direction, lifting your head until your pretty raw lips are hovering just inches from his.

“Get back on top me,” he says. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“Oh. Well.” He has said far dirtier things in the past, but usually in the context of your role-play, where you are the worst versions of yourselves, the real you just laughing under it. It is a little different for the real him to so blatantly state his desire.

It leaves you just as weak in the knees. It is a miracle you manage to swing a leg over him, but you get there. He helps line you up, then he holds your hips and slides you right down until he is fully inside you. It is a lot all at once, especially after time apart. You did not have many opportunities for sex before that either. But you are so wet, despite the sharp burn, it is a smooth fit, and you adjust quickly, mostly because he wastes no time rolling his hips up into you.

“Oh,” you say, hands on his shoulders and mouth falling open.

“That’s it,” he says, taking complete control even though you are on top, holding your hips, guiding you to match his rhythm. “Could – uh, yeah – could have you on your knees, begging for it, without doing anything. So easy for it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, gasping. “Just for you.”

“Just for me,” he says. He pushes himself upright, wrapping an arm around you and pushing your face into his shoulder. He holds you there, fingers stroking the nape of your neck as he fucks you, drawing all those soft, whimpering sounds of you. “That’s it,” he says. “That’s my girl. Just for me. Hold onto me. I’m gonna come. Spread your legs, your pussy can take it. Good girl. Just like that.”

You are wrapped tightly around him, clinging to him as he comes as promised, deep and hard inside you while you tremble and sigh in his arms. Then he lifts your head to kiss you, a quick peck before he presses your foreheads together to just breathe.

“Can you…�� Your voice comes softly. “Can you maybe stay inside me, just another minute.”

“Fucking… fuck,” he says, making you laugh. He smiles too. “Yes. I can do that.”

He keeps you in his arms as he lays back. You lay against him, his heart pounding against your chest. You stay like that for a while, almost drifting to sleep when he slides his hand up your spine, reawakening every sensitive nerve in your body.

He says your name, that loving murmur of a sound. You lift your head to look at him. His gaze darts to your lips then back to your eyes.

“I wouldn’t trade places with any of them,” he says. “I want to be your bodyguard. I want to set you free. I want to keep you safe until the day I die.”

“On a few conditions,” you say. “The first, that you cannot die for a very long time. The second, I will only be free when you are. And finally, you can be my bodyguard, but only if I’m your bodyguard too.”

He smiles, his eyes bright and his cheeks dimpled. His nose nudges yours.

“All right,” he says. “Consider it a promise.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

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icejjfishesz · 7 months

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009. ༺ALWAYS, ALWAYS༻∘

a/n: last chapter why am i kinda sad, lol😬

summary: after getting unexpectedly left by your roommate, you find yourself in need of a replacement.

contents: happy ending 🥳. smut (am i going to hell for this? idk probably). reader is damn near mute at the start. they're both so very down bad. l-bombs. this is almost double the length of the other chapters so y'all better love me.

previous. next. masterlist.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

she half expected you to shut the door in her face. she wouldn’t have blamed you if you did — but you didn’t. you opened the door and you’re listening.

what she thought she could get from olivia, that same thing she’d been craving and fighting for years, she gets so easily with you. just by your eyes meeting hers. you’re looking at her again — albeit in annoyance and hurt — but it’s still you and it’s still her. how it’s supposed to be. and there it is again. that feeling she had been uselessly chasing with olivia –– that pull. a feeling she only gets with you. she’s addicted to it. the way her heart begins to beat faster, how her eyes seem to be fixated on your pretty face, the way her body reposes in the wake of you. she feels so alive when she’s near you.

she whispers your name, unlike the last time you’d heard her say it –– guilt ridden and shameful –– she says it in pure relief. her shoulders visibly relax when you don’t shut the door on her. she visibly relaxes at just the sight of you. as if her time away from her took away her ability to breathe and seeing you again, right in front of her and beautifully you, gave her back her air.

“she isn’t you…” paige repeats, longing for you to say something. anything.

“what do you want me to say, paige?” you roll your eyes. “you want her? go have her.”

“i don’t.” she shakes her head, stepping forward, close enough that she could almost feel that familiar warmth of your body again. “i want you.”

her gaze disrupts any calm you might’ve felt. her words cleave the quiet. it leaves you silent. completely silent.

“you were right. i was running…because i was scared.” she swallows thickly and you pause. she was scared? “but i’m not afraid anymore. i’m done running. i’m here and i won’t leave again. never again.”

“scared of what?” you almost don’t recognize your own voice, too in shock to process your words before they leave the gap between your lips.

“of this.” she gestures between the two of you. “i’ve never felt the way i do when i’m with you before. i just want another chance. i want to be yours and i want to spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

you hold your breath, remembering just how much you missed her. you missed her touch, her smell, her face, and the way she looked at you. you’re frozen at her words, at the tender look of desperation she gives you but you shake your head despite yourself. “i can’t be with you if you aren’t sure…”

the statement makes her heart sink. she had brought this on herself, she knew that. but it didn’t make it hurt any less. she doesn't like that she was the source of your anguish, it pained her. she’ll do anything to take that pain away.

the frown on your face said it all; that she’d hurt you, that you were upset, and that you cared about her. that’s what she had relied on. it gives her the courage to reach out and touch you, to give herself that closeness she’d been craving since the minute she left. she grabs your waist and smiles at the way your body recognizes her touch. “i’m sure.”

suddenly your mouth felt dry. sure, you had played this exact scenario over and over again in your head but you never expected it to actually happen. so you stay silent, desperately searching for words that never leave your mouth.

“baby, i promise. i’m so sure. please.” she stresses, she’s sure.

you’re staring at her, in shock and heart pounding, having a mental debate. holy shit say something. anything. but you can’t.

“just let me fix it…” she leans in, testing to see if you’ll pull away. you don’t. “let me deserve you.”

you nod, finally able to speak again. finding yourself unable to deny her –– to deny yourself. “okay..”

and then she leans in more, letting her lips take their place on yours. she pulls you even closer and you walk backwards into the apartment, paige shuts the door behind herself. she pulls away from the kiss to smile at you.

“i love you…” she whispers and you pause again, body almost malfunctioning. she what??

paige takes your silence as discomfort and immediately backs away from you with widened eyes. “oh…um, i’m sorry –– i mean, it’s true but you don’t have to say it back or anything i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable i just, fuck.”

you grab her hand, smiling softly at her. every hair on your body standing in the wake of her confession. “i love you too…”

at that moment paige feels almost every emotion; happiness at your words, anger at herself for running from this, guilt because she had hurt you. but you kiss all those thoughts away until her brain can only ideate one concrete picture: you. always you.

she can’t help it, she grabs your face and presses her lips to yours again. your kiss is hesitant. on one hand, she doesn’t deserve to taste you after what she’d done to you. on the other hand, she tastes so good. fuck, she taste like yours.

she wanted to atone, to show you that she’d realized the error in her ways. she wanted you to forgive her completely for letting her fears hurt you. because you taught her something she’d never dreamed of learning before you. you taught her how to pay homage.

“you know what else i missed?” she whispers in your ear making you laugh despite yourself. paige could always take the edge off. always able to make you laugh no matter the circumstances.

“i’m sure i could guess…” you let your hand reach underneath the hem of her hoodie so you could feel the bare skin of her waist. she laughs too, with her whole chest and it’s beautiful. you’re just staring at her, basking in her euphoria and your heart swells. you’re in love bad. “you’re so pretty…” you mumble, unable to stop yourself.

she smiles wide, all teeth and red cheeks. “stop…”

you shake your head. “no…you’re my girlfriend now so i can call you pretty as much i want to.”

her grin only seems to widen if possible and you can’t help but mirror it. “i love hearing that…”

“yeah?”

“mhm…i love hearing pretty much anything you say but especially that.” she kisses your jaw and you bring your hand from under her shirt to the back of her neck. “my girlfriend…” she whispers in awe and it makes you laugh again.

she starts to kiss your neck and your laughter immediately ceases. you also missed the sex. a lot.

you hold onto her for stability as your breathing quickens. “you never…told me what that other thing you missed was?”

“thought you were gonna guess?”

“i said i could guess.” you hum, pulling her face from your neck so you could hover your lips over hers. “but i wanna hear you say it.”

“well, you just forgave me so i wasn’t sure if it was a good time –– ”

“what do you have against makeup sex?” you tilt your head and she laughs. she doesn’t respond immediately but she places a chaste kiss on your mouth before she sucks in a breath.

“your room or mine?”

you don’t even answer her question. it doesn’t really matter, but hers is closer. you kiss her again as you back into her bedroom.

she always liked being this close to you. close enough to hear your heavy breathing and to feel the warmth of your skin under her palms. she pulls you even closer. she gently pushes you down onto her bed, straddling you. “did you miss having me like this, baby?”

you shudder, nodding. “mhm…” and then you take a good look at her attire. “are you hot?”

she smirks. “you tell me.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re annoying.”

paige chuckles but nods. “yeah…normally it’s cold as shit in this apartment but for some reason it’s literally hell in here.”

“ac broke. and you’re kinda overdressed.” you lay back on her comforter, rubbing her thighs. “i’m surprised you didn’t say anything sooner. you love to complain.”

“i just got everything i want…i have nothing to complain about.” she smiles and then groans, not thinking twice about taking her hoodie off. “gotta get that fixed, babe…” she starts kissing up your neck and then tugs at your shirt for you to take it off.

you lift it over your head with a hum before laying back down so she can resume her kisses. “yeah. maintenance guy comes tomorrow.”

“good.” she nods in acknowledgement. “take off your pants.”

“i wanna touch you first…” you whisper but paige just shakes her head.

“no…i want to give you a proper apology.”

you chuckle. “well, i’m not gonna say no.”

you watch her body in anticipation as she climbs off of you and slowly takes your pants off. she settles between your legs, locking her arms around your waist to keep you pressed firmly down into the bed and your breathing quickens. she kisses your stomach and then both your thighs, sucking little reminders into the soft flesh so that you can remember how she felt tomorrow. it makes you squirm but her grip never falters.

“stop teasing.” you buck your hips but she holds you there. that’s another thing you loved about paige. she’s so strong. when she finally does put her mouth where you want it, she’s lazing about it. but still exact.

she eats you out with precision only a woman begging for forgiveness could have. you can’t help the sounds you’re making but you’re far too turned on to be embarrassed by them.

it’s all you can do to slump in her hold and just watch her, the way her mouth devours you and the way her eyes watch your every reaction. the sight is so lewd you could cum from just watching her work.

“feels so good…” you mewl, clinging to the bed sheets so hard your fingers cramp. she looks up at you, reaching for your hand to lace your fingers with hers.

she knows it does. she learned exactly how to please you and she was proud of that. she knew exactly how you liked it.

she knows when you’re about to come. almost before you do. she makes sure to continue doing exactly what she’s doing because she knows that’s what you’d be begging her for if you could speak right now. but she’s happy all you can do is be pretty and take it. take her apology and cling onto her.

she rides it out for you, only pulling away when you’re too sensitive for her to keep going. she smiles at you. it’s smug.

“shut up…” your chest is heaving and there’s a thin layer of sweat coating your skin. she feels almost prideful that she did that to you. she gets the sudden, intense desire to touch you so she does. she reaches up to caress your cheek.

“so beautiful…” her voice is starstruck again and you chuckle tiredly.

“enough.” you whisper tiredly. “come here…your turn.”

she slowly moves closer to you, you lick your lips when you notice how red she is. how turned on she is just from pleasing you.

you help her out of her pants, and then you sit up so she can straddle you again. she hovers over you and you stare at her for a moment. “what do you want?”

she knows better than to be shy about it. she trusts you too much to be shy about it. “your fingers. please.”

you can’t help but snicker.

“please? when did you get manners?”

“i’ve always had manners.” she mutters.

“you sure about that?”

she nods, eyes sparkling at you and you poorly attempt to bite back a smile.

“cute…but save it for azzi or something.” you chuckle before you circle her clit with two fingers. she immediately groans and the sound is mesmerizing. “feel good?”

she nods again and you don’t even try to hide your smile this time. “how good?”

she sucks in a deep breath when you pick up your pace a little. “really good. don’t stop.”

“wasn’t planning on it.”

“i kinda expected you to get me all worked up and then leave me like this as punishment.” she half laughs, half whimpers.

“hmm…i didn’t think about that. maybe i should just –– “ you slip your fingers away from her and she whines but you chuckle softly. “i’m just kidding…i’d never do that to you.”

“and miss a chance to torture me? i don’t believe you.” she can barely speak in full sentences with how good your hand feels on her.

“and miss a chance to see how pretty you look when you come?” you mock her tone of voice when you rebuttal. “never.”

she moans, something she rarely does and this time it’s your turn to be smug. she hides her face in your neck, embarrassed by how quickly you can weaken her.

as much as you want to make her look at you, you don’t want to embarrass her further so you just move your fingers harder against her.

“you smell really good…” paige mutters in between soft moans and then she cringes. “sorry, that’s probably weird to say right now.”

you dismiss her, fingers never changing pace. “no…it’s okay. thank you. you’re really sweet when you wanna be.”

“i’m always sweet.” her voice is practically slurred as she starts to feel the knots building up in her stomach. “i’m so close…”

you keep going until her legs start shaking, pulling your hand away from her and kissing her sweetly.

she pushes you to lay down again so she can wrap her arm around you and cuddle you. for a moment, you’re both silent. just settling in the afterglow, kissing softly here and there and smiling at each other. until you speak.

“you know…” you pant against her lips, she rubs your thighs and hums as you pull away slightly to talk. “i’ve wanted you since you moved in here…”

“yeah? why didn’t you say anything?” she chuckles, pulling you impossibly closer.

“i don’t know. so many reasons.” you stare into her eyes, meeting her smile. she leans in to kiss your jaw and then whispers in your ears.

“name a few.”

you roll your eyes, they’re all obvious. “olivia for starters –– ” she groans, hiding her face in your neck which makes you laugh. “plus, i didn’t wanna rock the boat.”

she shakes her head, pulling back to look you in the eyes. her voice is pure silk when she whispers softly, “from the moment i first saw you…that ship sailed.”

you snicker, putting a hand over paige’s face. “cheesy…”

“you love it.” she kisses your neck again. “you love me.”

you nod in agreement but that isn’t enough. most likely, it never will be. she lets her hands trail your waist exploratorily. “say it.”

you shudder at the command in her voice. even if you could deny her, why would you want to?

“i love you...”

#rock the boat!#paige bueckers x reader #god i'm so awkward abt this chapter too!!#might deactivate my whole shit rn #we'll see

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wardenparker · 8 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 1

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 14.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Not much for this chapter! Mostly fluff, a little flirting, and playful but on-point use of the term 'tramp stamp'. Summary: On a failed date at the local market, Marcus runs into an old friend and gets an invitation to visit. The beautiful inn and fantastic food were explicit in the invite -- but you are a complete surprise to him. Notes: Welcome, welcome, welcome my lovelies! As a girl who grew up on The West Wing and fosters an unapologetic love of all things romance, a story like this has been on my wish list to write for a very long time. I hope you're all ready for a cast of new characters and the grand appearance of Pedro's character from Graceland, because it's time for Marcus Pike to meet his soulmate! 🧡🧡🧡

There’s something about the hustle and bustle of D.C., that while it can invigorate someone and inspire them to live life as fast as possible, it can also drain them. At least, that’s what Marcus Pike has learned from the last three years of therapy. That and he’s prone to rushing into relationships, being in love with love, as Dr. Barnes would caution him.

It seems sometimes as if he’s unlucky in love, despite the universe providing a perfect match for him, he’s never found her. Always looking, but also being open to loving someone who doesn’t share marks or scars. Someone who just wants a stable and steady man to worship them and give them the world.

He hasn’t dated in almost three years. His therapist had advised him to focus on himself. To work through his emotions of a failed college marriage, a failed engagement. To make himself happy with who he is before introducing another person into the mix. He had thought that’s what he was doing, but apparently he had been wrong.

Finally feeling ready to date again, he had dipped his toes back in the water. Only to have it backfire tremendously. So much so, that he finds himself walking around the Eastern Market on his own. His idea of a farmer’s market casual date obviously not a good one, according to the woman who had tossed the drink he had bought her on the trash and stomped off, abandoning him to feel like a fool.

Smiling faces beam back at him from the covers of glossy gossip magazines, flashing headlines critiquing fashions worn to the recent inauguration ceremony and parties. The new president and her family wave from above the fold of newspapers — the happy family that Marcus himself doesn’t have. Ignoring the rude reminder, he wanders through the stalls and vendors of Eastern Market aimlessly until he reaches the family-owned sweet shop that he’s been coming to for years now. They know him, and like him, and his sweet tooth knows no bounds. There’s another man at the counter just before Marcus so he stands back, but Jenny waves hello from behind the counter. “Morning Marcus! Gimme one second and I’ll be right with you.” She says, turning back to the order marked Juan in her big, looping handwriting. “Six cannoli, right? Two pistachio, two double chocolate, and two cherry chocolate?”

“Right.” The man in a corduroy jacket with his short hair trimmed neatly nods. “Thanks, Jen. The girls are going to be over the moon.”

Another reminder of a life he craves. Marcus frowns slightly and tries to remember what his therapist has told him. Everyone moves at their own pace. Just because he’s not juggling two kids, a dog and a lovely wife with his workload doesn’t mean he’s failing. It just means he’s not met the right person, soulmate or not.

The other man pays for his order and turns to leave but stops dead in the middle of a cordial nod when he sees Marcus standing a few feet away. Sure he had heard Jenny say hi to someone…but he hadn’t looked. Now though? He huffs a laugh at the ghost of his past. “Pike?” They’d been mistaken as brothers — or for each other — so many times back at the Academy that it would be impossible not to recognize Marcus Pike.

“Badillo?” It’s amazing to see the other agent, although he had heard that he had left the Bureau after a friendly fire shooting. He looks good though, and Marcus cracks into the first real grin of the morning since being left high and dry. “What the hell? How are you doing, man?” He asks, coming in for a friendly hug while being mindful of the box in Juan’s hand.

“Good! Good. Errands.” Juan huffs, returning Marcus’s hug with equal surprise and affection. The men had been quite good friends at one time, more than a few years ago now. “Pregnant wife gets whatever pregnant wife wants, ya know?” He grins, bright and shining. “When did you get back to DC?”

“Pregnant wife, huh?” Despite the knife to his heart, Marcus paints on a grin, happy for his old friend. “Three years ago.” He shrugs slightly. “Heading up Art Crimes now. How about you? I heard you got out.” He lifts his eyebrows, allowing Juan to talk if he wants or brush it off if he doesn’t.

“I did.” Juan nods, knowing that various stories circulated after he left the Bureau. Most of them false. “Decided to take a little road trip vacation to clear my head and ended up meeting my soulmate in Yosemite on day two of the whole thing, and I followed her East.” He shrugs, ever the unapologetic romantic just like Marcus. They had had that in common. “How’s Lara?” He asks, remembering the woman that had been Mrs. Pike during their Academy days. Marcus had been over the moon for her. “Is she liking being back?”

Marcus grimaces a little and shrugs. “She’s, uh, we got divorced about ten years ago.” He tells him. “She found out she did have a soulmate.”

“Ah shit.” Blowing out a breath and shuffling his feet, Juan rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’m sorry, man. That’s—there’s just no easy way to get through something like that.”

“It’s okay.” Marcus had loved Lara, but he wasn’t going to stand in the way of soulmates. It wouldn’t be right. “It was actually a very easy divorce; she hated hurting me. More than I can say for the last date, or last fiancée I’ve had.”

“Shit.” Juan huffs again, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s eleven in the morning but I feel like I ought to be buying you a drink, man.” Hearing that someone as genuinely good as Marcus Pike is has had his heart bashed so often is a fucking bummer, and Juan chews on his lip for a second before his head tilts in that Universal signal of natural curiosity. “I’ve got time today. If you want to hang out? Catch up?” He offers, knowing that drinks will most likely come later if the two old friends spend the day getting back on the same page.

Marcus chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do I look that dejected?” He asks, even though he’s not really looking for an answer. “I was supposed to be on a date, I figured a farmer’s market/brunch date would be easy enough and yet thoughtful, but I was ditched.” He snorts. “I have zero luck it seems.” He nods his head towards the cannoli. “But you can’t leave your pregnant wife waiting on those.”

“No, I can’t.” Sydney is waiting back at the restaurant with bated breath, he knows that, but he does offer Marcus a smile. “But she does run a restaurant, so you don’t have to be brunch-less unless you choose to be.”

“Yeah?” He perks up at the idea of trying out a new place, always loving brunch foods. “Where at? I might have to take a spin over there.”

“Her place is called Il Corvo.” It takes a second, but Juan digs a business card for the restaurant out of his jacket pocket and hands it over. “It’s the in-house restaurant at The Inn at Jones Point in Alexandria.” He reports proudly, always ready to brag about his soulmate’s amazing success. Running a restaurant is no small feat. “I know the card says the dining room opens at 4pm, but ignore that. She does brunch for guests at the inn and for special guests from time to time.”

“Are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing, trust me.” Knowing his wife as well as he does, Juan is more than certain she’ll be doting on Marcus in no time. “As long as you’re on board for Italian food, come by any time you want.”

“I’m out on the bike.” Marcus tells Juan, remembering how the other agent also loved to ride motorcycles. “I might swing by sometime. Normally go for rides on the weekend.”

"Anytime you want," Juan repeats, and he hopes Marcus understands how entirely he means it. "It's good to see you again, man."

“Good to see you too.” Marcus means that, smiling at the former agent. “Nice to see that you are okay.”

The two men part with a smile and a nod, and Juan hustles away to get his precious cargo back out to his soulmate. Maybe he'll pitch the idea of inviting Marcus to their next board game night if Sydney and her best friend don't mind the extra company. Not that they ever mind extra company.

Marcus doesn’t mean for it to be two weeks from the chance encounter with Juan before he steers his bike down the country, winding roads towards this inn that he had been told about. He had a case that required him to travel. Then it was reports and the never ending budget fiascos that new presidencies always bring, his boss wanting a new projections for the fiscal year for some reason.

Now though, he’s enjoying the scenery as the wind blows over his face and he leans into the curve, enjoying the small thrill that races up his spine from the inherent danger.

The winter has been mild so far and all the snow left behind by the storm the area had gotten while he was traveling has melted, making the ride an easy and calming one. He had intentionally driven a long route around Alexandria and the surrounding area, letting him arrive at his destination a little after noon on that cold, sunny Sunday. The inn is a large brick farmhouse, probably originally colonial but it looks like it was redone sometime during the Federalist architecture craze of the early 1800s. Now its clean white painted window frames and front porch are as welcoming as the pristinely kept front garden. The Inn at Jones Point proclaims a sign out front, which is accompanied by a smaller complimentary sign with an impressionist painted black bird that reads Il Corvo in an artistic script. There are cars in the lot with a plethora of states listed on their license plates, another motorcycle that he has to assume is Juan's, and a very government-issued-looking black car parked close to the building.

Marcus is enough of a romantic to fully appreciate the appeal of the property and more importantly, grounded enough to be able to appreciate it without having a partner here to enjoy it with. Since working with his therapist, he's spent a lot of the last three years 'dating himself'. Instead of waiting to make a date to try out a new restaurant, he goes by himself. Not limiting himself to new experiences with partners, he has found that he enjoys the hunt for the perfect spots to eat. The little Indian restaurant he had found is an absolute gem and he is looking forward to discovering a new little brunch spot. If this place is half as good as Juan says, he might make it a monthly habit while he can spend some time with his old friend.

Inside, the lobby of the inn is bustling. Guests sit in plush chairs with travel brochures or excitedly type on their phones. A family is gathered around a display of pamphlets for different travel experiences and tourist attraction. Another guest is hovering around the front desk, seemingly waiting for someone to return.

From the rooms off to the left, wave after wave of stunning smells wafts past Marcus as he looks around. A set of French doors stands open but the hostess stand for Il Corvo stands empty while a small number of diners sit inside, happily chattering over their meals. The scent of fresh coffee permeates everything else just a second before he can see why, as a woman in a blue silk shirt comes around the corner with two travel cups — presumably full of coffee — for the guest standing at the desk.

“Here we are, Mrs. Richards. Thank you for your patience, the pot was just finishing brewing. These will keep you nice and warm while you walk around Old Town.” Smiling as the woman walks away, your eyes survey the room and land on the new arrival with a touch of confusion. “Good afternoon,” you greet, in your typical sunshiny tone. This man isn’t a guest and you genuinely almost thought it was Juan for a second — even though you just saw Juan in the restaurant. “How can I help you today?”

“Hi— uh, I—” Marcus realizes he knows you. Your mother’s picture hangs on his office wall next to the current FBI director’s, and furthermore, it’s hard to not see the darling First Daughter in some news story – although it doesn’t seem like you enjoy the press. “Yeah, sorry, Juan said that brunch is served here?” He asks with an apologetic smile. “I’m Marcus, uh, Pike. We were in the Academy together and I ran into him a few weeks ago.”

You’re prettier than he ever imagined the pictures and news reels, your voice curling into his stomach pleasantly. In true, Marcus Pike fashion. He finds himself instantly intrigued by you.

“Oh, you’re Marcus!” As bright and cheery as you sound, something flips in your stomach and clenches at your chest and you swallow down the oh god he’s really hot impulse that you haven’t felt in…well, in years. This guy looks like someone took Juan and gave him broader shoulders and better hair, and put a little bit more James Dean in his style. “It’s really nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself, probably unnecessarily, but it’s good manners and keeps you from getting nervous or going off track. “Come on this way. Juan said you might be stopping by but he wasn’t sure when.”

“I’m sorry, should I have called first?” He asks, feeling guilty and slightly in the way. The last thing that he wants is to cause an imposition.

“Not at all.” You slip out from behind your desk and wave for him to follow you. “He’s been excited to introduce you to everybody.” The inn is a decent size, with the ground floor being public spaces and all the rooms upstairs being ready-made for guests except for the attic apartment, and you quickly lead the way through the rooms toward the restaurant kitchen.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve caught up.” Marcus admits. “We were close in the academy, most people through we were twins to be honest.” He chuckles slightly.

“I almost thought you were him when I saw you,” you admit, glad to know you aren’t alone in it. Juan had said they look alike but it really is extreme. “Here we are.” Humming as you push open the door to the restaurant’s bar, you huff a soft laugh when a woman slightly taller than you with masses of curls in a tight bun at the nape of her neck in a black suit sidesteps the pair of you and opens the kitchen door to look inside before letting you in. “Thank you, Agent Bailey.” As odd as it is to have constant supervision like this, you’re doing your best to be patient and understanding with it. “Come on into the kitchen,” you offer to Marcus. “Brunch is almost over and this is where Juan sits when he hangs out.”

“Really? The inner sanctum already?” The tone is joking, but Marcus knows that for a lot of chefs, the kitchen is their sacred place. He wouldn’t know, because his kitchen is used to make coffee, but he’s had a few relationships with amateur gourmet cooks.

“Marcus!” There’s no question that this is where he’s supposed to be, when Juan is waving from a corner of the kitchen and immediately zips over to say hello. “How are you, man? Good to see you!”

“Hey.” He grins when he sees the other man, obviously happier here than any time in the Bureau and he’s happy for him. He seems like a completely different man, just from the quick glance. Perhaps it’s the fact that he found his soulmate. “Sorry it’s been a few weeks. Got caught up on a case.”

“I completely get it,” he assures his friend. “It’s been kind of crazy around here anyway. Weddings booked every single weekend and the restaurant stuffed full with reservations.” He beams, proud as a peacock, and waves slightly as you disappear back out through the bar to return to your counter. The inn is full up with last night’s wedding party and you have your hands full. “I want you to meet my wife,” Juan says, clapping Marcus in the shoulder and pulling him further into the kitchen.

There are only two people cooking right now and they are both winding down. Enough that the petite woman with tied-up hair and a look of intense concentration on her face can look up and smile. “I hear you talking about me,” she warns with a laugh.

“Syd, this is Marcus Pike.” Juan introduces, bringing his friend out in front of him. “Marcus, this is Sydney. The gorgeous goddess the universe decided to grace me with.”

“Nice to meet you.” Again that pesky pang of longing lurches inside Marcus but he throws her a smile and takes her hand after she offers it immediately. “I’ve only heard angelic things about you, so rest assured, he’s not talking ill.”

“He’s does nothing but tell stories about you since you guys ran into each other at Eastern Market.” Sydney tells him honestly. “Can I make you something to eat?”

“I was hoping to experience the brunch option that Juan was bragging about.” Marcus admits as he glances around, admiring the state of the art kitchen. “Didn’t expect to see this from the historical facade.” He admits. “It’s charming though.” He adds, hoping that neither one of you take offense.

"Charming is her specialty." Sydney points her thumb in the direction of the door, indicating the main lobby of the inn. "We took over running this place about three years ago now. The previous owners weren't able to keep up anymore so they sold to her and we updated the restaurant. Modern Italian dinners and brunch for the inn's guests. It's a big step up from the B&B that this place used to be." Grinning proudly, Sydney moves over to the nearest counter and plops a paper menu down at the stool beside her husband. "What would you like?"

Marcus looks at the menu and lifts a brow, impressed by the sophisticated menu. This isn’t some little spaghetti shop that pretends to be Italian. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good Uova in Purgatorio.” He moans. “Since the last time I was in Naples.” He clicks his tongue. “But I want to try the ricotta pancakes too.”

"Then you will get both," Sydney insists, clicking her tongue and getting to work. "A G-man in Naples, huh?" She barely glances up from her work as she moves. "Art crimes must be the fancy branch of the Bureau."

“I work on international cases with Interpol and Scotland Yard.” He explains as he sits down and admires the fluidity of her movements in the kitchen. She’s completely at home in her space and it’s evident she’s in command. He’s slightly envious of her comfort in a kitchen, if he’s honest.

"Oh, so it definitely is the fancy branch." She laughs. Juan hops up from his seat to grab coffee for himself and Marcus, brushing a kiss on her cheek as he moves past, and the other woman who had been cooking moves away to the other end of the room to work on cleaning up from the brunch rush.

"Fancy branch of what?" The kitchen door swings open again and you come strolling back inside looking infinitely more tired than you had just a few minutes ago but still in a generally good mood. "The wedding party is finally gone. I am officially taking my break."

Marcus stares at you for a moment and then looks down at his hands, feeling like he might be bragging if he were to tell you what they’ve been talking about. There’s something about you that is knocking him off kilter, he’s normally a little more confident than this.

"Art crimes is swanky, apparently." Sydney tells you, never stopping or slowing as she moves around like a controlled whirlwind. "Eggs in purgatory and ricotta pancakes for your brunch? I'll make up a big batch." They're two of your favourite things anyway and it's easy enough to just make a double serving of each when she knows that your break time is always mealtime.

"That sounds incredible," you moan in agreement, making a beeline for the industrial refrigerator in the corner of the room to make yourself an iced latte that is far more espresso than milk. A generous swirl of flavored syrup joins your cup before you plop down on the edge of the counter and sip your drink with a happy sigh. Normally people exclaim over you when they realize they recognize you but Marcus Pike hasn't said a word — and you wonder if he doesn't recognize you from the papers or if you even care. It's nice to not have someone make a fuss for once. To just be nice and not suck up to you for being the President's oldest child.

“Weddings take it out of you, huh?” Marcus asks, smirking a little at the drink in your hand, although it looks delicious. “Or were they just demanding?”

"It was a big party. Very specific needs." Sipping your drink and finally sitting is immediately relaxing, and you're always ready to meet new people. Especially when they're someone that your best friend's husband speaks of so highly. "Nothing I can't handle, but weddings are always tricky. It's the most important day of at least one person's life, so you always want to try to make it as perfect for them as you can. Thankfully," you gesture around you. "I have an incredible team. Syd is the best Italian chef in the Chesapeake Bay and Juanito is an incredible event coordinator."

Marcus snorts and cuts his eyes over at Badillo. “He always did have an eye for details.” He admits, snickering at the nickname you’ve bestowed on the former federal agent. “Although it’s surprising that it’s manifested in wedding planning.” He teases playfully.

"Event planning," Juan clarifies, but he's grinning regardless. "We host a lot here. Weddings, anniversaries, holiday parties, all kinds of personal events. I get to put my organizational mind to work on it. It's actually pretty rewarding."

"Don't let him sell himself short. Juan plans a hell of a wedding." There is pride on your face, pride for your friend and in your work "We've gotten written up in a bunch of bridal magazines and on websites the last few years."

“Good job, Juanito.” If there’s anything that Marcus enjoyed more than the courses in the academy, it was busting his friend’s balls. All in good fun of course, he had taken his share of ribbing as well. It was par for the course. “That sounds like a hell of a job, making people happy and sharing in their special moments.”

"We do our best." Juan will never take the credit for himself, always attributing the effort to the team as a whole. This time, though, he flashes a knowing grin at you. "Although the next one we plan might be a hell of a lot bigger than what we do here."

“Oh?” Marcus asks, turning towards you. “Are you getting married soon?” His eyes drop discreetly to your hand and he tries to remember what he’s read about you but for some reason, he’s drawing a blank.

“No, Juan just likes to tease.” You shake it off with a roll of your eyes, knowing that — unfortunately — your friend is completely right. If or when it does happen, it will be a damn circus. “It’s this…guy that I met last year, and it’s been really good and he really took all the stress of the last year in stride, and these two love to tease.” In truth, you’ve been intentionally moving forward slowly with the junior Congressman from Maryland that you met at a campaign event you attended with your mother last year. Sam is a good guy and has big ideas for the future. It’s just that you normally dive into relationships so fast and so deep that your heart does all the talking before your mind can catch up. And now that you’re a public figure, you can’t afford to have that happen again. “I’m perfectly content to watch other people have their big days for now.”

“I can imagine that it’s hard to have a relationship right now.” He sympathizes. “The press either treats you like a darling celebrity or some kind of public spectacle, right?” He asks, curious as to your view on the entire thing. Personally, he hated the idea of politics taking on a celebrity flare and you aren’t on politics, your mother is.

“I’m honestly lucky that my younger siblings take some of the focus,” you admit. So he did recognize you. It’s nice that he didn’t fuss. You’re grateful for that. “My brother is in law school and my sister is in undergrad and they’re both living in the White House while they study but…yeah. We all agreed to give up our privacy for a while so Mom can do some good work. That means relationships aren’t easy right now.”

“It’s good you had a choice.” Marcus admits. “Sometimes I watch the campaigns for some of the politicians and it’s obvious the family would rather be anywhere else and are putting on a facade.” He shrugs, not wanting to delve too deep into a subject you probably are uncomfortable with. “Nice that you don’t have too much interference here, except for the Secret Service agent.”

"Agent Bailey's okay." In fact, she's sitting outside the kitchen door right now, giving you a bit of space and privacy to try to pretend you still have a halfway normal life. "We're still getting used to each other. I had somebody else during the campaign, but she's been assigned to my sister now. It all works out in the end." Smiling, you take another sip of your coffee and wonder why your stomach is fluttering over this very kind man who has been introduced into your lives very much by chance. It's...unsettling. To say the very least. "But that's plenty about me. How about you, Special Agent Marcus Pike? Where're you from? How are you liking Art Crimes?" You grin, throwing him a mischievous expression. "Who'd you vote for, for president?"

Marcus laughs, a real laugh that comes from his belly and he relaxes. “Let’s see…I’m from the great state of Texas - Go Rangers.” He ticks off. “I love Art Crimes, especially when we can recover sentimental pieces and keep “collectors”,” he uses air quotes, “from locking away art from being enjoyed by all.” He grins at your last question. “And my momma told me never to discuss politics or religion in social settings….but….my candidate is currently hanging on my office wall.”

"Rangers, huh?" Glossing over the not insignificant tidbit that he did, in fact, vote for your mother, you find yourself thoroughly enjoying getting to know this friend of your friend. It's usually not this easy to click with a new acquaintance, although you've become an expert at seeming interested just to be polite. That doesn't seem to be necessary at all with this man. "When we get our Phillies/Rangers series this year we'll have to come up with a bet of some kind."

“It’s gonna be a losing bet on your end.” Marcus predicts. “We’ve got Darío Álvarez and then Elvis Andrus is going to continue stealing bases.”

"Oh thank god," Sydney huffs, flipping ricotta pancakes on her griddle top and grinning as she throws you a wink. "She's finally got someone else to drag to baseball games. I'm free!"

"My alleged best friend," you smirk and decide to tease her back. "And her husband are both hockey people. So I'm generally either stuck watching the game on my own or dragging Syd along with promises of beer and ballpark dogs."

“Nationals aren’t my favorite team. Since they are National League.” Marcus smirks. “But I have season tickets since it’s too expensive to fly back to Texas for every game.”

It would be bragging to admit that you've been asked to throw the first ball out at the Nationals opening game this season as the most vocally baseball-loving member of the new First Family, so you just smile. You know it can feel like a big sacrifice to leave something about home behind. "Maybe I'll see you there," you offer instead. "The Nationals aren't my team either, but the game are pretty fun."

“Oh they always are.” He admits wholeheartedly. “Plus the Navy Yard is close so it’s always interesting.”

"Heeeeere we go." Onto the counter in front of you, Sydney heaps four plates of food – making each of you identical breakfasts. "The fruit compote for the pancakes right now is cranberry lemon. And I threw a little extra chili into the sauce for the eggs." She grins. "Some folks who stay at the inn say it's too spicy but it's how we like it," she tells Marcus.

Marcus chuckles and Juan snorts, hooking his fingers towards the agent. “This man ate his way through a five alarm chili contest and didn’t even touch his beer.” He boasts to the two of you. “If it’s not spicy, I don’t want it.” Marcus confirms with a grin. “Thank you. It smells amazing.”

"Then next time you're getting Calabrian chili instead of just the wimpy flakes." Sydney promises with glee. "That's how our girl likes it, but that's too much even for me most of the time. I have to be in the mood for it."

“You like spicy?” He asks, smirking towards you. “How do you feel about the Indian food around here?”

"There's a place in DuPont Circle that is probably the best Indian food I've ever had in my entire life." Even as you're getting ready to dig into your best friend's comfort Italian fare, your mouth starts watering thinking of curries and dal. "The kind of place where they don't make it really spicy until you've been there a couple of times and they know you can handle it. I swear I've eaten there more than I've cooked my own food since moving out here."

“Rasika’s?” Marcus groans, nodding. “I love that place. They make the best curry I’ve ever eaten in my life. I’m sweating, but I never tell them to bring me the yogurt sauce.”

"If you don't sweat while you're eating there, you're doing it wrong." It's a slight point of contention with Sam, who generally considers mustard to be too spicy most of the time, but you ignore the side eye you're getting from Sydney and dig in to your brunch. Having come in early today, this is halfway through your shift and you're going to be excited to head upstairs to your little attic caretaker's apartment when the time comes this afternoon. "Mmmmm," you groan happily and do a little wiggle in your seat unconsciously. "Syd, I swear. If you hadn't already married Juan, I'd marry you for your brunch."

Marcus takes that as the best kind of advertisement and cuts into his own meal to fork up a bite of the eggs. “Christ.” He groans as soon as the flavors hit his mouth. “That’s amazing.”

"I told you," Juan boasts, sitting up in his seat a little taller with pride for his soulmate. "She's amazing."

“You weren’t kidding.” Marcus huffs, taking another bite. “If this got out, you could run on brunch alone.”

"We're considering offering an incentive package for events." Starting to clean up, Syd watches the two of you eat while she wraps the kitchen up from brunch to get everything prepared for dinner service. "Wedding brunches are coming back in fashion, but a lot of people are wanting to do morning after brunches for their families before everyone goes their separate ways."

“I can see that.” Marcus nods. “Lara and I had a lunch thing before we all said goodbye, but that was casual.”

"Your wife?" You guess, struggling to remember if Juan had mentioned that his friend was married. He's not wearing a ring, but some men don't — a habit that generally rubs you the wrong way because those men are always the ones who basically want their wives to walk around wearing a giant 'I'm married' sign but will never show any outward signs of commitment themselves.

Marcus gives a small shrug and smiles self-consciously. “Ex-wife.” He admits, knowing that soon enough the pitying looks will start. “We divorced a while ago.”

Sydney clicks her tongue, having remembered that fact, and says nothing more. You, though? For some reason you can't help yourself. Something about Marcus Pike compels you to offer comfort in whatever way you can. "If you ever find another Mrs. Pike, you let us know. We've got you covered."

Marcus chuckles. “So far, that search has been in vain.” He admits. “Apparently it’s not in the cards for me.”

"She's out there." Juan offers with confidence. "If I remember correctly, you've even got a couple of tattoos to prove it."

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I do.” He snorts. “If I ever find her, I want to know why there is a hummingbird tramp stamp on my lower back.” He laughs. “I get why, but why???? Why a hummingbird?”

A glare of questioning moves soundlessly between you and your best friend — the perpetually meddling woman who sat next to you when you were eighteen and challenged you to answer trivia questions while you had your own hummingbird tramp stamp inked onto your skin in celebration of your high school graduation. "Oh yeah?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you while you furious try to communicate with nothing more than wide eyes that you do not want her to ask what she's about to ask. "What kind of hummingbird? How trashy are we talking?"

“It’s not exactly trashy.” Marcus defends. “It’s actually a pretty blue and green.“

"Interesting." Sydney hums, practically giggling with glee as she cleans up the kitchen and you bury your face in your meal like it will help you escape the entire conversation. "Maybe hummingbirds are her favourite bird?"

I'm going to kill you in your sleep says the glare you send your best friend's way.

“Totally trashed my punk rock image.” He laughs. “Although I didn’t think of that at the time. Thinking I’m this hardcore next Kurt Cobain rocker and I’ve got a hummingbird tattoo on my lower back.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “But it’s always been a question I’ve wanted to ask. What made her choose that? What’s special about it to her?”

"Hummingbirds symbolize love and devotion," you murmur next to him, not quite looking up and wondering if the world is really turning on its ear right now or if it's just that you've been thrown off kilter by the possibilities. It's not like you're the only girl in the world with a hummingbird tattoo, after all. Far from it. "And they're supposed to be good luck."

“I like that.” Marcus hums softly. “It’s wistful, hopeful.” There could be a thousand different reasons why his soulmate chose that symbol to etch on her body and in turn, his, but he would rather it be a loving sign. You aren’t looking at him, and miss the small smile he throws you. “Poetic.”

"So she's gotta be out there somewhere." Sydney needles the point a little bit, sounding breezy as hell but just about ready to pounce on any clues Marcus offers up. "Maybe a hopeless romantic with a stubborn streak and an encyclopedic knowledge of Lost Generation authors and impressionist painters?" She shrugs like she's just pulled the example out of thin air. "Who knows?"

Throwing Juan a look, Marcus smirks. “Sounds like your husband has been talking about favorite kind of woman.” He jokes, although he’s pretty sure that he would love it if his soulmate turned out to be just that. “I just want to have someone that wants to be build a lift together. A partner.” He shrugs. “Most people think that it’s crazy, but I think that your significant other should be your best friend and your lover.”

"Absolutely crazy." With as clearly sarcastic a tone as she can possibly muster, Sydney practically deadpans in Marcus's direction. "So weird. How dare you want to spend your life with someone you loves you as much as you love them?" Every single thing she's described has been about you, and while neither of the guys are picking up on that for even a single second, the fact that you have your head down over your plate means you're reading her loud and clear. "I bet your dream girl will even have a thing for your old rockstar days," she goes on, as if she's stringing out a hypothetical and not explicitly describing your opinion that musicians are sexy as hell. "Don't tell me. You were a bassist, right?"

“And vocals.” He admits, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s alright if she doesn’t like that. God, it’s been years since I’ve picked up my bass.” He realizes. “I should do that. Between the bass or the motorcycle, I just spent more time on the bike.”

Bass. Vocals. And motorcycle? You practically groan out loud but barely manage to swallow the sound and instead hop up from your seat immediately to hopefully combine the noise you just made with all manner of other commotion. "Just grabbing another drink," you explain, when all three of their heads turn toward you at once. "You, uh...you should do what makes you happy, Marcus. If that's not overstepping things for me to say. We just met today. But I've always heard that the best things in life tend to fall into your lap when you're not looking for them. So maybe just...enjoy yourself? And who knows what can happen."

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Marcus admits. “My therapist agrees with you. That we need to enjoy ourselves and not just search.”

"Our therapists agree with each other, then," you admit with a chuckle. "I started seeing someone when Mom decided to run for president. I figured it would be good to have someone to check in with and make sure I was handling my stressors in a healthy way." The conversations you had had with them about whether or not to factor your soulmate into future plans when you had never met them were slightly less straightforward.

“That’s always a good thing.” He nods quickly. “I’ve never been one to think that therapists are a waste of time.” He shrugs. “My mom was a therapist all my childhood.”

"It's an incredibly important profession. And an incredibly important resource to have." Seeing as Marcus's mug was empty as well, you bring back two glasses of water to the counter and sit down again, hoping that Sydney won't keep pushing. Or at least that she won't reveal things if she does. "My little sister is a psychology major. She's thinking about medical school next, and talking about different paths she might taken with her studies. Therapist being one of them."

“It’s a good profession.” Marcus admits easily. “Just- let her know, most therapists have their own therapists they see. It’s draining to take on everyone’s secrets and burdens, trying to do the best you can to give them the tools to help themselves. So tell her that there’s no shame in that.”

"I will." It isn't worth negating the kindness of Marcus's thoughts and advice by telling him that all three of the First Kids started therapy at the start of the campaign. It's the care he has for other people — people he has never met and may never meet ever in his life, that touches you so very deeply. "Thank you, Marcus. That's very kind of you."

He nods and picks up the glass of water, needing to wash down the remnants of the eggs before starting on the pancakes. “So, Juan, how did you and your lovely wife discover you were soulmates?” He asks curiously.

"Uhm..." Juan chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and looking to Sydney for her permission to tell the story.

"Go ahead," she laughs. "I've go to start dinner prep. Tell him as much as you want."

"It's not exactly PG," he admits, still laughing softly to himself. "The polite version is that we compared tattoos."

Marcus isn’t the head of his department because he’s dimwitted. “One night stand?” He asks, lifting his brows in surprise. It wasn’t like he had never had them himself, but both men had preferred to be in relationships rather than sleep around. Not that he’s judging.

“I was willing to take whatever that goddess was willing to give me,” Juan admits without shame. “One night would have been a memory to cherish. But the universe said it should be a lifetime, instead.”

“I’m happy for you.” Marcus promises with a slap on the back for his old friend. “You deserve it. Glad you found her.”

“You say that now.” His friend smiles happily though, beaming at the commendation. “But now it’s going to be my mission to find you that girl with the hummingbird tattoo.”

Marcus smiles, a little sadly, but he just shrugs. “I’ll find her when I’m supposed to.” He reasons. “Knowing my luck, she’s happily married.”

“Not as happily as she would be with you.” He’s confident in that, and Juan looks to you to bolster his encouragements. “How could anybody not be ecstatic to have a guy this good, right?”

It feels rude. Like a trick from the universe that you do not like one bit. Like the powers that be are rubbing your nose in your defiance of their plans. “They’d have to be blind.” You offer, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Sam is a good guy. He’s been a good boyfriend and has made you happy. Why are you suddenly thinking about someone else after an hour of knowing them? That’s utterly ridiculous. “You…never really know how the universe is going to have things work out.”

She’s just being polite. Marcus realizes that when he sees your smile, his stomach churning unhappily. It doesn’t matter, you’re seeing someone. A woman in a relationship has always been off limits to him. He doesn’t like, nor respect cheaters and yet he’s upset that you don’t seem that attracted to him. Or, you’re reluctantly attracted to him. He stares down at his pancakes and sighs. “All that matters to me if that my soulmate is happy.” He decides.

Juan and Marcus talk about this and that for the next few minutes, but you quickly finish your pancakes and excuse yourself. It was very nice to meet Marcus, and you tell him so, but you’re a little rattled by the possibility that was just laid out in front of you and you need a few deep breaths of fresh air before your break is over and you have to go back to solving guest’s dilemmas.

Juan doesn’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes follow you out of the room and he smirks. “Thinkin’ about it?” He asks, knowing you are the other man’s type.

“No.” He shakes his head quickly. “I mean, I would if she were single, but she’s not.” Deciding to change the subject, he leans in. “Did they heighten security here, or just the one agent?”

“Updated cameras and increased security personnel. We turned the spare office into a surveillance room but her Secret Service detail doesn’t butt in on anything they don’t need to.” Juan shrugs, knowing that things always change over time. “So far.”

That’s good and Marcus nods. “Sounds like you might have had some input.” He knows that Juan is very analytical, he would know what the weakness were in a place like this.

Juan snorts, taking a sip of his drink and shrugging vaguely. "My wife's childhood best friend is the First Daughter of the United States. If I can help her be safe, I'm going to."

“I can certainly understand that.” Marcus admits.

"It's a good system." Juan acknowledges. "She always has a detail agent nearby and the place needs the security because we've gotten a hell of a lot busier since the campaign last year."

“I’m sure.” Marcus snorts. “Everyone wants to claim they have some insider pull.” He says, a little cynical, but he looks around. “And I’m sure a lot of it is the fact that this place is a little gem.”

"272-year-old farmhouse with restored gardens and a barn and a gazebo from 1823. The place has had so many owners and been used for so many things." It's clear that Juan has nothing but affection for the place, and that he really has leaned into a fully civilian life. "I'm glad you came out to say hi," he tells Marcus honestly. "Hopefully we'll see more of you around here."

“With food like this?” Marcus groans, throwing his buddy a grin. “Those are the best damn pancakes that I’ve eaten in forever.”

"And considering you're a certified pancake expert, that says something." Juan chuckles. When Marcus hadn't shown up for a few weeks he was afraid that maybe he had said something wrong or that his old friend had moved on from the comradery they used to have, Apparently, neither was the case.

“Still love pancakes. It’s finding the time to eat them, that’s the problem.” He snorts. “It’s getting better now that I run the department, but after I ran into you? I was flying out two days later.”

"Sounds like you earned a day to relax." Sounds like he earned a lot more than just one day, but Juan knows how the Bureau works. A single day can sometimes be a miracle to come by. "There's books and board games in the library if you want to stay and spend some time relaxing."

“What do you have going on?” Marcus asks, tilting his head curiously.

“It’s…board game night.” As silly and domestic as it sounds, it’s a nice tradition that they’ve managed to keep going among friends. “Every month we have a group of friends over and we do a potluck for dinner. Just to unwind and be social. Just catch up, eat some good food, and play board games. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Marcus shakes his head, wondering if he’s so desperate that it sounds like great evening or if it just really was.

“It’s not imposing,” Juan assured him. “We bring new friends all the time. There’s about six of us usually, so it fluctuates depending on how many other people we bring or if someone can’t make it.”

“Well, is there a store or something?” He asks. “I can pick up some wine or something to contribute.”

“Old Town has some good liquor stores.” The historic district of Alexandria has become increasingly popular in the last several years, and the revitalization of the neighborhood has helped the inn as well.

“Anything else you could possibly want?” Marcus asks seriously. He’s willing to go get anything that could be thought of, the prospect of not spending the night alone incredibly cheering.

“Get whatever you want,” Juan encourages. “Every once in a while someone will show up with something they’ve never tried just try to it together. So really — anything you want.”

“Okay.” Marcus grins, excited about this and reaches out to slap Juan on the back. “Do you still ride bikes or have you given that up?”

"Hell no." Juan tuts, glad to see the smile back on Marcus's face. "My Indian is back at our house. We take rides when we've got time off together."

“That’s good. Although the rides have taken a pause since the pregnancy, right?” Marcus asks. “I can’t imagine a doctor signing off on a pregnant woman on the back of a bike.”

“Yeah…these days we take rides in the station wagon.” He chuckles at that, and Juan knows how ridiculously domestic it sounds but he really doesn’t care. He’s in love with his life in a very unexpected way, and that’s okay. “It’ll be nice to have someone to ride with again.”

“I can imagine.” Marcus is missing that, but on the bright side, he rides when and where he wants. “Do you guys know what you’re having yet?” He asks.

“Not yet.” Juan is excited, though, as evidenced by the way he lights up when asked about it. “It’s still too early to find out. Obviously we don’t care, as long as they’re healthy and happy.”

“Congrats, man, you’re living the dream, you know that?” As envious as he can admit to being, he’s also incredibly happy for Juan. “You deserve it. Especially after, you know…”

“Life is totally different now.” Leaving the Bureau is what was best for Juan. He knows that now, even if it was a painful decision to make back then. “I’m not going to ever downplay the things in my past, but the future is looking pretty fucking good, man.”

Completely understanding the fact that Juan doesn’t want to talk, he nods. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”

“I appreciate that, man.” Juan grins and pats Marcus on the shoulder. “Enjoy some time in town and come on back here around seven tonight. Syd isn’t working the dinner rush tonight so we’ll all be able to relax.”

“That sounds good.” The comfortable jeans and a sweater will still look sharp enough for game night and he sends his friend a smile before he walks out of the kitchen.

Things have calmed down in the lobby when you return to the front desk to pick up a few papers and check in on your concierge before retreating into your office for the rest of your shift. The inn may have calmed down but you're still spinning wildly on the idea that your soulmate might have walked through the door of the inn this morning with absolutely no fanfare and a nervous smile on his incredibly handsome face.

Nope. Stop it. Sam is coming for board game night tonight and you really fucking like him. Don't give up your whole stance on freedom of happiness just because some absolutely dishy FBI agent has your tattoo.

"Everything going okay, Malachi?" You will be professional, and not a blithering mass of nervous energy. Even if it takes all the energy you have to force it.

“Everything’s fantastic, we had another couple call to book a room for next weekend. So we officially will have no vacancies.” He reports proudly, like he had recruited the couple himself.

"Good. That's actually excellent. That means we have no vacancies at any point for two week on either side of Valentine's Day unless someone cancels." It's always possible. After all, break up happen around that particular holiday. But with the way they've been booking rooms lately, they should be able to fill a hole more easily than not. "I'm going to go to my office and work on the schedule. If you need me, just call."

“Of course.” Malachi cranes his neck as that handsome guy walks out to a beautiful motorcycle. “But before you go.” He hums. “Who is that?”

You can't help but chuckle, your concierge's obvious interest making you recognize the ridiculousness of the whole situation all over again. "That's Juan's friend," you tell him, gathering up your paperwork. "He'll be around more, and he's allowed into the kitchen. So you know he's special."

“And does Juan’s friend have a name?” He asks, smirking slightly.

"Special Agent Marcus Pike." You smirk right back at him, giving Marcus's title along with his name. By now Agent Bailey has probably done an entire workup on the agent. Why wouldn't she?

“Special Agent.” Because it’s the two of you and there’s no guest around, Malachi watches out the window with unabashed interest. “He can mount me like he mounts that bike any time.”

"Mal!" There's no reason for you to be taken aback by that comment considering how well you know Malachi Debose, but you still find yourself stifling a laugh with wide eyes. You tell yourself to joke, ignoring the twist in your chest at the idea of Marcus with anyone else. It's not up to you. He's his own person. And he might not even be your soulmate to begin with! "I'm pretty sure he's straight, honey, but you never know. It would not be the first guy you've swept out of the closet who didn't even realize they were in there in the first place."

He sighs dramatically, even though he’s smirking proudly. “You’re right.” He admits. “We’ll see how mister Special Agent Marcus Pike acts and then I’ll decide.”

"Behave yourself." Is the playful warning you give him before turning and nodding to Agent Bailey. "Time to sit in the office while I swear at my computer," you tell her. As the Secret Service agent who is with you most of the time, Kendra Bailey has learned your past, your friends, your job, and your habits like a book. She appreciates that you're not throwing yourself into politics because it means her days are a little calmer than they could be, but the coming and going of all sorts of people through the inn on a daily basis presents its own challenges.

She nods, already curious about the FBI agent that she’s encountered here. It’s not unusual to run background checks on people who continuously hang around the inn, and it sounds like he will become a fixture for the foreseeable future. “Of course, Hummingbird.”

You groan softly, realizing that that is going to get said around Marcus Pike at some point or other, and just try to shake it off for now. "You can call me by my name around here, you know." She won't. You've had this conversation more than once, but sometimes you think you'll never get used to being ma'am or Hummingbird at all times to your Secret Service detail.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods, both of you aware that she’s not going to break protocol like that. Instead, she’s turning to the chair that has been placed outside your office, tucked into a discreet corner so it’s not completely obvious that you are being guarded. Giving you the illusion of privacy.

"Someday I'm going to get you to at least come into the office." There are rules. A hell of a lot of them, in fact, and you know that they exist for a reason. But Agent Bailey is allowed to be in your office with you, and you hope it won't take your mother's entire first term in office for her to get comfortable enough with you to do that.

“I understand that, but if I’m in your office, you won’t concentrate.” She reminds you with a small, unseen smile. The first time you had insisted, you hadn’t gotten anything done.

"Too social for my own good, I guess." With a small smile exchanged between the two of you, you nod in agreement before heading down the hall to your office. She's right, and you both know it.

Outside, a snazzy sports car pulls up. Not too flashy, because a junior congressman from Maryland can’t be seen throwing money away frivolously, but sporty enough to make him grin as he changes gears. The door pops open, sunglasses tossed on the dash and Sam hustles out of his car, eager to see you.

"Hey Sam." Malachi looks up from the desk when the door opens and offers up a smile. Professional, but friendly. So far, Congressman Chase hasn't done anything to warrant the cold shoulder. "Is she expecting you?"

“Not until later, but I was hoping to surprise her.” He admits, sending the concierge a wink. “She in her office?”

"Just went in to work on the schedule." Malachi reports, but his smile morphs from professional to earnest in half a second. "The new software is giving her a headache and a half. I bet coming in with a cup of coffee with also be a welcome surprise."

“You are a good man, Malachi.” Sam slaps the antique reception stand and grins. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He lifts his brows and points at him as he changes directions to the kitchen to beg a cup of coffee from Sydney.

A knock on the kitchen door is odd but not unheard of, and Sydney glances back over her shoulder when the swinging door pushes open to admit the six-foot Congressman she now affectionately calls, "Sam Sam! As happy as I am to see you, your lady friend is not in the kitchen."

“I know.” Sam tosses the chef an easy grin. “A little birdie told me that she might appreciate a cup of coffee, so I’m here to be her runner.”

Sydney smirks, never ceasing in her work but nodding to the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen. “Go right ahead. I’m sure she’ll be grateful.”

“Thank you.” He immediately beelines for the coffee maker, intent on also making himself a cup. Though he would prefer a cocktail. “It smells great in here, like always.” He tosses over his shoulder.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She hums happily in return. “I made a lasagna for game night. Are you staying?”

“Unless an emergency session is call.” Sam snorts. “And you know half those crusty old bastards don’t want to work.” He adds some creamer and sweetener to his, doctors yours and turns back. “Is this the lasagna with the pancetta?” He asks, giving her a pleading look.

“It is, and I did a little something different with the ricotta layer this time, so you’ll have to tell me what you think.” One hand shoos him playfully away, but she does laugh. “I’ll feed you later. Go see your lady.”

“Thank you!” He laughs as well, zipping out the door to head in to see you. Hopefully you aren’t working on anything too important that you can’t steal away some time for him.

Two short knocks on your door could be anyone, but you save your progress in working on next week’s schedule and call for them to come in. It’s probably Malachi with a guest accommodation question, which is no problem. You can hit pause on scheduling the housekeeping staff around their various class schedules to answer just about anything.

After getting the okay to enter, Sam juggles the cups and pokes his head in the door. “Can you spare a few minutes, beautiful?” He asks.

The grin that spreads on your face is surprise and relief, and you hop up from your dream to open the door fully. “If that’s coffee in your hands, I can spare more than just a few.”

“Of course it is, fixed just the way you like it.” While he doesn’t drink it nearly as sweet as you do, he also doesn’t make fun of you for it.

“To what do I owe the early visit?” The door clicks shut behind him and you sit back in your chair with a happy sigh.

“We let out early.” Sam explains. “Figured we could spend some time together .”

“I’m always glad to see you.” It’s true. It genuinely is. Which is why you hate the nagging guilt of the fact that you had just been telling yourself to stop speculating about your possible soulmate and focus on work.

“That’s a good thing.” Despite the idea that dating the First Daughter was good for his career, Sam genuinely cares for you. It might not be the passionate love he had imagined years ago, but he’s mature enough to understand that a solid connection was a good thing.

“So your meeting went alright?” The committee that he’s on had an unofficial lunch meeting today, which must have gone well if he’s already here saying hello. “I was afraid they’d have you all day and you’d miss out in lasagna and the new Clue game that Sydney’s sister picked up.”

“No.” Sam snorts. “They wanted it done as quickly as possible.” He tells you. “I’ve got to admit that I’ve never seen people that hate to work more than politicians.”

“Well that’s hardly encouraging,” you snort, and shake your head before taking a sip of hot coffee. “I guess you’ll just have to whip them into shape, Congressman. No two ways about it.”

“I’m trying.” He laughs and shrugs. “Right now I equate it to herding cats.” He jokes, sitting down on the other side of your desk and watching you for a moment while you savor your coffee.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever called a member of the House of Representatives.” The two of you share a laugh, and you shift in your seat a little with an awkward expression before talking again. “I…got an email this morning. From Mom’s office. Informing me of my first few expected photo ops as First Daughter.” It’s a big part of the job, for you at least, to look the part and play the part and help the country to see your mother as not just the president, but a family-oriented professional as well. Being the first female President has its challenges and your mother is plowing into them head on. Which, honestly? You give her a lot of credit for. “They asked if I would be willing to release some social media photos from our Valentine’s date…” The fact that you hadn’t planned one yet is slightly beyond the point. Now you pretty much have to.

“Well, what kind of pictures would you like?” Sam asks easily, aware that you don’t relish the attention, but it’s part of the job. “We can do a dinner at home, appeal to the base of Americans.” He suggests.

“I don’t love the idea of someone recognizing an aspect of your house or neighborhood and you getting doxed for it,” you admit ruefully. It would have to be Sam’s house, since you don’t actually have one. You can’t exactly put out photos of your attic apartment and expect the White House press core not to make noises. “I was thinking we could put the spotlight on a minority-owned small business or go to some low-key arts event? If they’re going to ask me to be in the spotlight then I want to use it for good.”

“Do you want to decide?” He asks, aware that you can be quite choosy at times. He doesn’t really mind. “Or do you want me to come up with something?”

“It’s probably easier if I figure it out.” You admit. It’s not your favorite option, all things considered, but since it’s dumb for you to be even vaguely upset that your boyfriend didn’t announce he had secret plans already in the works — which your stupid romantic comedy loving brain had hoped for but knew was a longshot — it’s better to just be practical. “So the Secret Service can tell me if wherever I pick is insecure or something like that. Even though I can’t imagine that anybody is out to get me. That’s absurd.”

“You’d be surprised what humans are capable of.” Sam reminds you, having read some of the most horrific reports imaginable. He likes that you are practical, even if you are a bit naive.

“Not a super fun thing to hear from your boyfriend, but okay.” It’s nothing you can’t brush off, and you do so with a wave of your hand. “There is also a state dinner coming up in a few weeks that I definitely do not want to go to without you.”

“I’m available.” He promises. “I’ve got a couple of events in my district coming up. But I’ll mark that on my calendar.”

“Thank you.” Though you aren’t blind to the ways that attending these things helps him, you appreciate the company. You aren’t effortlessly charismatic like your brother or a star student with enigmatic insights like your sister. You’re the least comfortable in the public eye out of your whole family, and that is what it is. At some point in the night when he inevitably veers off to shake hands and schmooze politically, you’ll sit quietly at your table and smile politely while you wait for Sam to come back, and that’s okay. “I really really appreciate it.”

Sam huffs, sending you a small smirk. “A night where you are wearing a beautiful dress, we eat an elegant dinner, what’s not to love?” He leaves the part about making connections unspoken, both of you know how this game is worked. “And maybe you can come spend the night at my place after.”

"What an absolutely scandalous suggestion." One hand clutches your nonexistent pearls, pretending to be aghast, but you throw him a wink. Intimacy in your relationship unfortunately does have to be scheduled at a certain point...just on the basis that you have a Secret Service agent you can't simply ditch, and he has a personal assistant that might be even more invasive than the Secret Service. "I love it."

“Good.” Sam smirks back at you and sends you his own wink. “I’ve missed a cute little snore, and I need to get some cuddling in.”

"I do not snore." Despite pouting at him – and knowing that you do, in fact, snore – you end up grinning. "But we have been low on cuddle time lately, I agree."

“Yeah, I know my job is hectic and yours isn’t a walk in the park.” He acknowledges wholeheartedly. “But I want this to work. Maybe we just need to move in together.” He hadn’t meant to just blurt that out, but he’s been thinking about it.

“I—what?” You nearly spit out the sip of coffee you had just taken and sit up arrow straight in your chair, staring at him without the ability to stop yourself. “You—you want me to—to move in with you?” It’s never been discussed. Not really. At least not with a timeline, and that’s probably your fault. You’re so prone to jumping into relationships head first that you had told yourself you would move slow with Sam. That…seems to not be the case now.

“It doesn’t have to be now.” He promises. “Just something to consider. That’s all. We would get more time together.”

"I can honestly say I was not expecting that today." It's shaken you up a little, if you're honest, but you reach over your desk and squeeze his hand before leaning out of your chair to kiss him.

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” It’s not quite the reaction he was expecting, if he is honest with himself.

"No, not at all!" You're quick to reassure him, realizing that Sam's expression is a little more guarded than usual. You've disappointed him. That's not a feeling you like at all. Not even a little. "I'd say the fact that my boyfriend wants to spend more time with me is a very good thing." If it's such a good thing, why is your mouth dry and why are you all tense with nerves? "And I want that, too. You just surprised me, that's all."

“Of course we need to talk about it more in depth.” He relaxes slightly, happy that you are at least open to the idea.

"Is that...something you want to talk about soon?" There are ideas rolling over in your head with varying levels of comfort, but the fact is that you hadn't realized that Sam was already there. Sure you had said your I love yous already, but you really had been trying to go slower this time, and that pace had seemed to suit Sam just fine. And why is it suddenly now that your mind is stuck on the idea that he isn't your soulmate? Is it just because you met a man who could be? You had always told yourself it didn't matter before now...

“We are coming up on our one-year anniversary of dating.” He reminds you, wondering why all of a sudden you look like you’ve seen a ghost. He’s been patient, letting you move slowly since you were afraid of diving in too much too soon, but this is the natural next step. Otherwise, it will be random sleepovers whenever you can manage it for the rest of your lives and Sam doesn’t want that. “I figured we could discuss what our next steps were.” He smiles softly. “I want the next steps, whenever you’re ready.”

"You're right." He is right. The logic is there, and the sweetness, and you do genuinely like him. In fact, loving him came easily and naturally. It's just that today has you a little shaken up and you don't want to admit it to yourself. Any other day and you would have been ecstatically throwing yourself into his arms. "You're absolutely right. This is definitely next." Composing yourself into a smile and reminding yourself to goddamn relax, you pick up your now cold coffee and finish the cup. "Why don't we pick a night this week to cook dinner together and talk through what we want our future to look like?"

“That works.” He flashes you the boyish grin you claim to love and nods. “Little food. Little wine, little….cuddling while we talk. It’s exactly what we need. You’ve been peddle to the mettle lately, and so have I. It will be good to decompress and hash out our concerns.”

"Perfect." And you will, you tell yourself sternly, get your shit together by then.

“But tonight…” he winks at you. “I’m going to whoop your ass at Clue.”

Because it's your turn to host, your small apartment has been cleaned top to bottom in preparation for the night. Sydney took care of making dinner, you have dessert in the refrigerator, and you have it on the authority of the group chat that garlic bread and salad are both coming as well. Juan said he and Marcus were supplying drinks, so everything is set up with plenty of time for everyone to arrive.

Agent Bailey is sitting on the couch waiting for her evening relief so she can go home to her own family and Sam is setting a stack of mismatched plates on the dining room table when Juan, Marcus, Sydney, and her sister Anna Leigh all show up very promptly on the turn of the hour.

Marcus is a little nervous aware that he has a tenuous tie to the game night, but he is quickly at ease when everyone starts greeting people like old friends. He hadn’t quite known what to get, so he had bought several bottle of whiskey and wine, figuring someone would appreciate it. The bottle of ‘76 Statesman Reserve a personal favorite of his and the little store he had stopped at had one last bottle.

"Hey, we didn't scare Marcus off!" Maybe you're a little happy to see him, but you excuse that as being glad that Juan has his friend back and ardently ignore the way your chest clenches when he walks into your little apartment.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers instantly, holding back from flirting like he wants to. You are seeing someone. “But I brought gifts.” He holds up the bottle, the others in his bag.

“Statesman.” You practically groan with delight at the sight of the bottle. “When we were campaigning in Kentucky, my little brother and I toured their distillery, I love this stuff.” Fighting the instinct to offer him a hug — and it really is an instinct — you grin and wander toward the kitchen to complete introductions. “You already know Syd and Juan, of course. The beautiful agent of chaos currently throwing garlic bread in the oven is Syd’s sister Anna Leigh, and the intimidating lady on the sofa with the New York Times crossword in her lap is Agent Bailey. I don’t know if you two officially met earlier or not. Looking around, Sam is not in sight, but you chew your lip for a second and smile. “My other half seems to have disappeared, but I’m sure he’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay.” He shouldn’t be disappointed that your boyfriend is here. That’s what he keeps telling himself. “Congressman from Maryland, right?” Okay, he might have read up on you.

“Right.” There’s a note of something off in Marcus’s voice but you can’t figure out what, so you just smile. “I promise we don’t use official titles over board games.”

“Good.” He cracks a lighthearted grin. “I hate when I’m made in charge of the jail in Monopoly.” He jokes. He hands you the bottle and looks around the little apartment. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I think we’re just waiting for Issy and then everyone will be here. So for now if you want to maybe pour drinks while we all get settled?” This is always an informal setting and you want everyone to feel relaxed as much as possible. “Let me give you the grand tour first?” What a stupid thing to say in your little, tiny space. But now you’ve said it, so you just have to pretend it was something charming to say instead of awkward.

“That sounds good.” Marcus quickly agrees, although it’s obvious that there’s not much to the small space. “The private sanctum.”

“Eat it kitchen.” Is the space you’re standing in, with a too-big dining room table that is also your prep counter because there is basically no counter space — just enough to put a few grocery bags on and nothing more. “I have an unholy love of dinner parties, hence the big table. Over here is the living room. Mandatory bar cart with the tv, and as many throw pillows as the couch can hold.” Agent Bailey currently has her arm resting on the head of a pillow shaped like a horse that you brought back from a campaign trip out West. “Bathroom is down the hall, just here.” The door is closed, so that must be where Sam is. “And just turn the corner and you’re in the bedroom-slash-library.” You have to call it that — you really have to, because the entire room is covered in wall to wall bookcases that are pretty much entirely full. The only exceptions are where your sleigh bed and writing desk sit on opposite ends of the tight room. “It’s more library than anything else.”

“Obviously like to read.” He nods. “What genre? Or is it too embarrassing to mention in company?”

“I’m not embarrassed at all to read romance novels.” A whole section of the shelf by your bed is dedicated to them, in fact. Healthy sexuality and healthy explorations of that sexuality are vital, but you won’t get that far into the topic. “I have a lot of various things here, but the majority are probably mystery, thrillers, and classics from all over the world.” The shelf you’re standing by has your collection of writing by both F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and you smile. “Of course, some of the classics are romances. That’s to be expected.”

“They are. I find that if you limit yourself in what you read, you are missing out.” He looks over your shelf with interest. “It looks like a wonderful collection.”

“Thank you. A compliment for my books is the highest compliment possible.” There’s a warm smile on your lips when the bathroom door pulls open a few feet away and you feel like you’ve been caught although there isn’t a single thing wrong about showing a new friend around your apartment. There’s no reason to jump out of your skin, but here you are with burning cheeks feeling embarrassed.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Sam doesn’t frown, but he wonders who this man is and why he is in your bedroom.

"Hey." Your smile does widen of its own accord, and you motion between the men in a sort of vaguely formal way that is definitely odd for you. "Sam, this is Marcus. One of Juan's old friends. He came by the inn earlier today and we thought it would be nice to introduce him to the group." It's awful, and very unnecessary, how heavy your tongue feels when you go to make the introduction the opposite way. "Marcus, this is Sam. My boyfriend."

It’s a little awkward, Marcus can admit that but he extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” He offers, smiling in a friendly, first meeting kind of way. “My connection to the group is through Juan.” He explains. “We were at the academy together.”

"Ah, a government man." That seems to win Sam's approval, though his handshake might be just a hair tighter than it would otherwise be based on the tension in the air. "Well, welc—"

"Babe!" Sydney's voice comes loud and clear from the other room as the door opens and the sound of chaotic friends can be heard. "Issy's here! Let's gooo!"

The introductions are interrupted and it’s probably not a bad thing. Marcus lets go of Sam’s hand and immediately makes for the door. “Guess that’s our queue.”

“Coming!” You call back, eager to be standing anywhere but your doorway between these two men. “Issy is a friend from college.” That’s the easy explanation you give Marcus as Sam steers you back to the kitchen with his hand on your back. “Syd, Anna Leigh, and Issy and I were suite mates at Mount Holyoke.”

Marcus nods, committing everyone to memory. “Nice to meet all of you. Thank you for letting me join you tonight.”

Getting everything set up doesn’t take much longer, and a buffet of cheesy garlic bread, a huge salad, Sydney’s pancetta lasagna, and the lemon tiramisu you made for dessert is all laid out on the counter. Everyone digs in and says a loud chorus of rowdy good nights when your Secret Service detail has its changing of the guard in the middle of it all. It’s a lot, and it’s chaos, but it’s so comforting because these are all people you love to spend time with. Even Marcus, as new as he is, fits right into the group effortlessly.

“Oh! Sydney.” Marcus dives back into the bag and pulls out a bottle of sparkling white grape juice and some sodas and grenadine. “I figured you might like my family’s version of Shirley Temple’s?” He offers. “So you can have a mocktail with the ladies?”

“Absolutely!” Syd’s eyes light up at the offer, and she brings her overstuffed plate over to the table to sit beside her husband. In her favorite baggy sweatshirt, no one could ever tell she’s pregnant, but one of her hands rests on the side of her belly anyway. “That sounds fantastic.”

“So my grandmother used to make these for all the kids, so we could feel special too.” Marcus explains as he grabs a wine glass and starts to mix together the non-alcoholic drink. “It had to be sparkling grape juice because of the bottle shape.” He chuckles now, but back then? He had felt grown up. “When she died, we served these at her wake.”

“That’s so sweet.” Sydney awes softly as Marcus carefully pours out the drink. “These are Birdie’s favorite, actually,” she points her thumb back at you while she chats at him. “We usually spike them with rum, of course. To be a Shirley Temple Black. I can’t remember the last time I just had a regular old Shirley Temple.”

“A dirty Shirley?” Marcus gasps in faux horror. “The best way to spike that is with Statesman.”

“On it!” You hop up from the table immediately to grab a glass and line up next to Sydney at the counter. “I’ve heard of people doing them with rum and vodka, but never with whiskey. I have to know.”

He chuckles and nods. “You won’t regret it. The grape juice plays off the smoky, oaky flavors very nicely.” He tells you. “It’s almost better than a robust bouquet on a red.”

“I can’t claim to know anything about wine, but I’m trying to learn.” Sam prefers wine, and you’ve been trying to not feel foolish when people discuss wine pairings at official dinners. It’s been a fairly deep learning curve. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

“More of a whiskey girl?” Marcus asks, filing away the information even though it’s not like he’s going to use it. One of those odd little quirks of his time in the Bureau, he tries to read people.

“Always have been.” As evidenced by the Whiskey Makes Me Frisky sweater still stuff in your closet from college, which won’t see the light of day again until your mother is out of office. “You too?” Your eyes widen immediately and you stumble over correcting yourself. “Guy, I mean? Whiskey guy?”

Marcus laughs and gives you a guilty grin. “I learned to enjoy wine. My ex was a wino to the point where we honeymooned in Napa Valley.” He snorts. “But my first love was a Jack and Coke.”

“The next time you’re sick, have a whiskey and ginger beer.” The advice comes as he hands you your glass but he looks skeptical. “I mean, it’s a good drink no matter what, but I swear it knocks out my colds faster than anything else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Marcus hums and decides that he will make one for himself. “Tell me what you think.”

One sip has you groaning, and you bring the glass back to the table like you’ve found the Holy Grail. “Sammy, try this. I know you’re not usually big in whiskey, but this is fantastic.”

Sam wrinkles his nose, really uninterested in trying it, but he politely takes a sip. Pleasantly surprised, he makes a face. “Huh. That’s not as horrible as I imagined.”

“And that,” you look back at Marcus and laugh. “Is the highest compliment he’s ever given a whiskey drink.”

Marcus chuckles politely and motions towards the table. “There’s a nice Cabernet that he might like better.” He offers.

“That sounds perfect.” You move back to the counter to collect a wine glass, corkscrew, and the bottle to bring back, knowing that Sam will open it far more neatly than you can.

“So how has everybody been?” Prompting conversation once everyone is at the table gets the ball rolling nicely, and conversation starts as everyone starts to eat their dinner.

“Well, everyone knows that Sydney is expecting.” Juan boasts proudly, obviously loving the prospect of becoming a father. “But she started experiencing her first cravings.”

“Oooo, what are they?” Issy sits up in her chair immediately. “Please tell me it’s something non-gourmet. If this baby is a food snob I’m not going to have anything to tease you about.”

“Right now….” Juan grins and sends his wife an utterly besotted look. “Ranch flavored bugles.”

“Oh my god!” Both Issy and Anna Leigh practically scream with laughter immediately and your jaw hits the table with maniacal giggle.

“I know,” Syd moans in embarrassment. “I know! The baby likes ranch!”

“There must be a joke there somewhere.” Marcus laughs, enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere of the group and how they are all so easy with each other.

"Syd's current greatest fear is having a kid who doesn't care about food." You explain, picking up a forkful of lasagna. "If they turned out to not like food or hockey, she'll be doomed."

“I see.” He chuckles, although he himself had a less refined pallet when he was younger. Now he enjoys trying new things.

"They're exaggerating." Sydney promises, not wanting her husband's old friend to think she's that much of a snob. "Obviously no kid comes out loving caviar and oxtail."

“No, I can see why you would expect your child to give you cravings for something like this.” He praises, lifting a forkful of the lasagna. “I gave my mom cravings for salami and bologna. Which she couldn’t eat.”

"My mom had a lot of cheese cravings." Not expecting baby-oriented conversation was probably an oversight on your part, but it's fun and your best friend just absolutely glows whenever it's brought up. "With me it was gruyere, with my brother it was cheddar, and with my little sister it was asiago." The memory makes you grin, and you laugh a little, mostly to yourself. "She ate so many asiago bagels when she was pregnant with June."

“Ohhhhh I could see how that could be an easy craving.” Issy snorts. “I have cravings for those all the time and I’m not pregnant.”

"Right?" You're nodding in agreement instantly. "I'm honored that my pregnancy craving was gruyere. That's quality cheese."

“Maybe the craving will change to truffle cheddar fries.” Marcus suggests with a grin. “With ranch.”

“See, this is the kind of encouragement we should be thinking about. Positive thinking all the way.” Sydney grins, beaming across the table to her husband’s friend. Even if her hunch about the true nature of Marcus’s soulmate marks isn’t true, he’s still a good addition to the group. “What’s everybody else been up to.”

Everyone starts talking and Marcus leans back. Watching the dynamic of the group and it’s obvious that everyone is comfortable with each other. Talking over one another and laughing, poking fun in a gentle way. It seems as if Juan - and you - have a solid friends group.

The tempo of the night is unchanged from any other — there is as much laughter and fun as any game night you’ve had in years. The joy of having your friends nearby is never tempered, but tonight it is…just a little bit different. As for first time ever — with your boyfriend sitting next to you — you have to wonder if maybe your soulmate is actually sitting there at the table. And what will you do when it isn’t the man with his arm around you?

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #love triangle

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taexual · 10 months

Text

sleepwalking ● 12 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, some angst, DESCRIPTIVE SMUT with maybe 1 pet name and 2 jokes, a bunch of reminiscing and relentless flirting (bc jungkook is dowwnnnn badddd), praise kink if you squint?, minors please don't interact

words: 7.6k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 12 ► fall into your eyes like a grave, bury me to the sound of your name

You and Jungkook were silent for a solid fifteen minutes after you let him into your hotel room. You were both sitting on the bed, but with so much distance between you that it felt like you were on two different floors.

After your phone on the bedside table lit up for the sixth time in the last fifteen minutes, Jungkook finally spoke up.

“Your phone keeps buzzing,” he pointed out helpfully.

“Yeah.” You sighed. Being silent with Jungkook oddly felt less draining than dealing with whatever was happening on your phone. “It’s Kai.”

Jungkook nodded, remembering your brother’s misadventures the last time you two talked. He was almost happy to use that as an excuse to dance around the elephant in the room a little longer.

“How is he?” he asked. “With his broken…”

“Leg, yeah,” you finished, leaning your head against the headboard. “He’s home. Mum’s grounded him. She’s turned off the router and taken his Xbox, so he’s texting me because he’s got nothing else to do.”

Remembering how angry you were when your brother got himself into trouble and upset your mum, Jungkook asked with a small smirk on his lips, “and you had nothing to do with the Xbox?”

You shook your head. “I don’t believe it’s an appropriate punishment to withhold things from your children. I think it makes them withdraw from their parents, especially when they’re seventeen like Kai. And it makes them annoy their siblings instead,” you paused. Then shrugged. “But I’m not a parent, so easy for me to say.”

Dignified, Jungkook cleared his throat.

“You’ve contributed greatly to raising your brother,” he said in a voice full of contempt for your family’s general tendency to use the nine-year age difference between you and your brother as an excuse to have you babysit for free.

Although your heartbeat increased at the sound of his confidence—and his almost reflexive habit of defending you from yourself—your outward appearance remained composed. It was easy to appear collected when you weren’t looking at him and he felt so far away.

“And look at him now,” you said, an ironic smile on your face. “A mess.”

Jungkook snickered. “He’s really not that bad.”

Sighing again, you ran a hand through your hair and felt your fingers get caught in the last strand, only adding to your frustration with your brother.

“Sure. He’s a good kid,” you said, looking up at Jungkook. “But he tries too hard.”

Jungkook saw the parallel, he felt it. You might as well have said that about him.

At last, it seemed like the time had come to address the real reason he’d come to your room. He knew that this casual chit-chat was only temporary anyway. But if he wasn’t careful, it would be the last time the two of you spoke to each other with such ease, such familiarity.

He cleared his throat and said, “this might be the hardest conversation we have.”

He didn’t need to elaborate, you understood. And still, you thought about his words for a moment and decided to disagree.

“Or the easiest,” you said. “I mean, everything important that we could have said, we’ve pretty much said already.”

He blinked, surprised at first. Then dizzy.

There were several things he wanted to say to you, but he expected to listen to you first. He knew you wouldn’t initiate a conversation about your feelings, but he’d hoped this was different, especially considering all that you’d said to each other on the street.

It wasn’t different. You sat across from him on the bed and you looked a little uncomfortable, but not particularly confounded.

He’d expected to find you grappling with questions, armoured with rightful accusations, but you appeared settled.

Maybe it’s because it’s been four years, he realised suddenly. He hadn’t been there to watch you build your defences. He hadn’t seen your walls grow.

He worried, suddenly, that nothing he’d say would mean anything to you. He worried that the only reason you let him into your room was to deliver the finishing blow—to tell him that you were done one more time.

He switched the arm he was leaning against the bed with; his right arm was slowly going numb. Actually, so was his left, and, if he was completely honest, his whole body felt a bit like it was floating away from him, but he tried to focus on the moment.

“Uh, w-we haven’t said everything,” he said.

You looked at him. “What else is there?”

“Two things.”

Inhaling sharply, you turned away. You did not really want to continue the discussion you’d had by the canal. In fact, you didn’t think there was anything to continue at all.

You’d walked away as soon as you realised that you’d come face-to-face with your break-up. And this was it. You’ve found the reason why this could never work. Why you and him together could never work. And it was truly simple: it’s because it hadn’t worked before. You already knew it, but you enjoyed the leisure of pretending that you didn’t.

All that you two had to do now, in your opinion, was reach a formal agreement that this would be it. You’ve explored each other’s boundaries enough during this tour. The time has come to stop. To go back to your normal lives, your regular jobs and duties.

However, now that he was here, there was hesitation behind your closed eyes. You had learned that the two of you had different ideas about why you broke up. And you’d spent four years boiling in them, convincing yourselves you’ve moved on from them, then facing them head-on when you really looked at each other again.

Perhaps there were a few more things you had to talk about, after all, before you could truly put this behind you.

Finally, you nodded your head once and told him, “okay. What’s the first thing?”

“The first thing,” he started, “is that I'm sorry.”

It was well known that “sorry” wasn’t always a heavy word. People threw it around like a pebble and watched it bounce off the surface of the water, rarely ever intending for it to sink, to reach the depths not visible to the naked eye. Jungkook had been one of those people many times in his life.

But the word he used here felt different.

It carried a weight that forced him to lower his head as he said it. As if all his thoughts had been poured into this sentence – this fateful “I’m sorry” – and the heaviness of it was difficult to bear. As if he’d assigned different meanings to each “sorry” in his head, and all these little pieces suddenly added up to one big word that took up the whole room.

“For not realising what I was doing back then,” he said, dissecting the apology, “and what it meant for our relationship.”

He figured there wasn’t much that you could say that would make it easier for him to breathe – the conversation by the canal, the bet, the apology, all of it was too significant to leave much room for oxygen in his lungs.

But you said, “I forgive you.”

And it felt a lot like you were performing emergency resuscitation and successfully maintaining his brain function.

He wasn’t certain if you’d said that because it was the right thing to say, or because you’d meant it. If it was the former, Jungkook would have rather suffocated.

“You do?” he asked, unsure if he was prepared for your explanation.

“Yeah,” you said. “I didn’t know that you weren’t—that you didn’t realise why—why we broke up the way we did. And it sucks that you didn’t, but…”

You faltered here and Jungkook was keenly aware how you’d said it sucks, but you’d really meant it hurt me. It hurt that he’d been dismissive, negligent, and heedless – and had the audacity not to realise it.

He closed his eyes while you finished, “it sucks more to know that, all this time, you thought I’d just walked away for no good reason.”

An apology was on the tip of your tongue, he could sense it. Although you had many reasons to be angry with him for being so impossibly stupid, you also felt guilty because all this time, he had thought you woke up one morning and suddenly decided you didn’t want to be with him anymore. Like it was your fault that he didn’t realise he’d been taking you for granted every day for months before you broke up.

You should have been angry with him. Instead, you thought you were responsible for not explaining your reasoning properly before you left.

He couldn’t even begin to describe the ache in his chest. He wanted you so much, but more and more he realised that he didn’t deserve you.

“I didn’t try to stop you,” he said before you could say anything else, because this was another element of his initial apology. One more thing he had to be sorry for.

You shrugged with one shoulder. Over the years, you’d come up with several reasons why he never fought for your relationship, not even considering that he might have assumed you had fallen out of love with him. At the end of every day, you simply thought he didn’t care anymore.

“I thought you were okay with it,” you said. “When I told you we were over, you just stood there. You didn’t ask why and I didn’t... answer.”

“I wasn’t okay with it,” he replied. “But I didn’t think there was anything I could do.”

With a thoughtful nod, you agreed, “there probably wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but I felt that way because I assumed that you—you didn’t want to be with me. That you didn’t care about me anymore. And you, uh,” he stopped here and waited for a long minute. Finally, he inhaled deeply. “You thought the opposite.”

You probably should have shouted at each other as you discussed this, you thought abruptly. That would have been appropriate. Maybe even healthy, all things considered.

But then, perhaps the realisation that you both had different views on why you broke up was precisely the thing that softened the impact. His hurt because you’d left him without an explanation, and your anger because he made you do it—they both took up outstanding amounts of space in your chests. They weighed you down. And they almost balanced each other out.

Perhaps you weren’t ready to shout just yet. Or not anymore.

Perhaps you’d left most of the shouting in the past four years ago. Now you were finally on the verge of closure.

That was the point, after all: the two of you boasted—really, there was no other word for it, you were both proud of it—that you’d never spoken to anyone about the details of your relationship.

That could have been admirable, of course, this utter devotion to each other and no one else. Except that, you didn’t talk about your relationship with each other, either.

“Do you think this is our own fault?” you asked. “We were good at talking about everything except… well, us.”

“I know,” Jungkook was quick to agree. You had both been like this from the very beginning—that’s likely why he was never fully aware of his behaviour. You’d always argued, but never about the things that really mattered. “I nearly threw up before I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

You did a double take, your mind racing to supply you with a memory that matched his words, but coming up short.

You squinted at him. “Did you actually ask?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but let it hang there, no words coming out for a good minute.

“You don't remember?!” he accused, his voice so high-pitched that it could almost shatter glass.

“I remember going on at least five dates before someone called you,” you explained, “and I heard you say into your phone, ‘sorry, I’m with my girlfriend.’ And that’s when I assumed that, huh. I guess I’m your girlfriend then.”

Jungkook could remember this exact moment. It was Sid who had called him because the two of them were working for Sid’s grandfather fixing his Camaro at the time. Jungkook had needed the money, while Sid simply enjoyed the ‘69 classic car.

The memory sent a shiver down his spine because he recalled turning Sid down. He had prioritised you over everything back then. What had happened to him later?

Regardless – in Jungkook’s mind, the timeline of your relationship was different.

“I vividly remember asking you on our second date,” he said.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you attempted to remember the very beginning of your relationship.

Your first date was the traditional movie and dinner—although it turned into a movie and the rain when you got stuck in the park. You recalled the whole day with near-perfect clarity.

Your second date was a week later, at the carnival in town. It took you three hours to get back to your dorms, because the event was held across the forest that separated the university campus from a small town nearby. Jungkook had insisted that you could walk home, he had claimed to know the way. And then he proceeded to get you lost within a few seconds of entering the forest.

All you could remember him asking you back then, was, ‘I know where I’m going, so trust me, okay?’ and that certainly did not include any terms that specified your relationship status.

Confused if you were remembering this wrong, you asked, “when we got lost on our way home from the carnival?”

“Before that!” he was even louder now, both of his hands in the air as he frantically explained, “on the Ferris wheel! I can’t believe you don’t remember!”

“On the Ferris—Jungkook, you had motion sickness the whole time we were on it,” you reminded him.

“I wasn’t sick,” he argued. “I was nervous.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “All you said to me during that entire ride was ‘please’ when we were at the very top.”

“That was me asking!”

“That was—” You laughed in surprise before you could finish the sentence. “Okay, well, you can see why I wouldn’t remember that, considering you didn’t use a lot of words to explain what you meant. I thought you were asking me to end the ride. Not that I could have ended it, but—”

“You said yes, though.”

You didn’t think you heard him right, his tone noticeably lower compared to the agitated screaming before. “Hm?”

“When I said, ‘please?’,” he spoke, “you said, ‘yes.’”

You watched him, considering it.

“I think I was asking,” you said and demonstrated, “yes?”

“No. You made a statement,” he disagreed, showing you, “yes.”

You pursed your lips, choosing to quit before this escalated into an argument.

“Alright, fine,” you said. “Maybe I read your mind, then.”

He scoffed, turning away. “And forgot about it…”

Nevermind taking the high road.

“Well, I didn't think it meant anything,” you argued, “you were—”

“I had a different plan. I was going to fully embrace The Notebook and dangle from someone else’s seat to ask you,” Jungkook said, “but for that to work, you would’ve had to go on the ride with someone else. And at that point, I couldn’t let you sit in that cabin with someone who wasn’t me.”

You could feel your cheeks stretching as an involuntary smile spread across your lips.

“That’s a little crazy,” you said gently.

“Please,” he replied, lowering himself on your bed until he was lying on his back. “It’s just crazy. I went on a binge-watching session of romantic films before our first few dates. I did my research.”

You knew him too well not to point out, “was it really only for research?”

“Alright, after the first few, I started to really enjoy them,” he admitted, earning a knowing nod from you. He smiled in response and continued, “but then I got to know you better, and I figured that if I serenaded you like Heath Ledger did in 10 Things I Hate About You, you’d break up with me immediately.”

Your laughter sounded so sincere and calming that Jungkook felt his smile widen as he turned his head to look at you from where he was lying on your bed.

“So I became a singer instead,” he said, encouraged by the lightness in your laugh. “You can’t break up with me if singing for you is my job.”

Your stomach performed an intricate Loop-the-Loop and then dropped, seemingly down ten floors, all the way to the lobby of the hotel.

Desperate, you tried, “you’re not—it’s not—”

Noticing you were about to downplay his words—either because you didn’t think he meant it, or because you didn’t feel comfortable knowing that he did—Jungkook changed the topic instead.

“Were you angry at me?” he asked. “For not chasing you after you left that time?”

Struggling to collect the remains of your thoughts, you spoke very slowly, “I... I was angry that you didn’t put in any effort while we were still together. After that, I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

“I did,” he said. Then, realising, he corrected himself, “I do. And I didn’t want to make the same mistake again today.”

Hesitantly, you asked, “how do you mean? Because I left today?”

He nodded. “I'm not going to wait another four years before we talk about us.”

“Jungkook...” you said, but the sound of his name on your lips caused your thoughts to jumble once more. Your words stuck to your throat as your heart threw itself against the walls of your chest. You hoped to divert the topic, “y-you said there were two things. What—what’s the second thing?”

“The second thing is that I love you,” he said in one quick breath. “I took everything we had for granted, and I’m sorry. But the truth is that even then I was—I-I’d never stopped loving you.”

A sense of déjà vu clouded your mind, while the rest of your body reacted as if this was the first time you’d heard him say this. As if the four years you hadn’t been together were long enough to start a new lifetime, and now you’ve met again, reincarnated into different people – Jungkook, the vocalist of a rock band, and you, the manager.

But, buried deep in your subconscious, locked away in a box that your brain dared not touch even in a dreaming state, was the memory of the first time he’d said these words to you.

It was spring. You’d been together for about five or six months at that point, and you’d skipped class together to go to the same park where you’d had your first date. You’d spent the whole day walking around hand-in-hand, reminiscing about the past, dreaming of the future, taking pictures of the freshly bloomed cherry blossoms, and picking up the pale pink leaves from the grass to throw them at each other.

During the car ride back home, you were so exhausted that you could hardly keep your eyes open. The two of you had been running around so much—his energy was infectious, you’d both acted like Golden Retrievers set loose—that your legs felt wobbly and unsteady.

After a few more minutes, you had lost the battle against yourself and settled more comfortably into the passenger seat, closing your eyes. Your mind was already beginning to fill with the bliss of sleep when Jungkook stopped the car at a red light.

He glanced at you, seemingly asleep on the seat beside him, and leaned in to press his lips to your forehead. When he pulled back, he noticed a pale cherry blossom in your hair and a soft smile on your lips.

It was nothing more than a whisper—“I love you so much”—that slipped from his lips because he thought you were asleep. Nothing more than an overwhelmed confession as his heart drowned in his feelings.

But, to this day, nothing has ever come close to making your heart beat nearly as fast as it had in that car when the light turned green and he drove back to your dorm, still thinking you were asleep. That first confession of love remained a secret between you, him, and the stray cherry blossom nestled in your hair.

Slowly, you opened your eyes as the memory tugged at each and every cell of your skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface. You looked around the hotel room before you dared to look at him again.

Contrary to what Jungkook believed, you didn’t appear collected because you were done. Or because you didn’t want to fight with yourself about wanting him anymore.

It was because you were tired of still wanting him so much in spite of everything.

You were tired of forcing yourself to let go. To move on. To be rational and responsible.

Tired of feeling happy about things that were probably inappropriate.

Tired of finding those things inappropriate.

But rationally, you knew that you had to leave this behind and return to your normal lives after this, regardless of what you wanted.

It’d be much harder—to an infinite extent—because this wasn’t how you’d imagined this conversation going.

Quietly, you broke the silence, “I’m sorry, too.”

“Why?” he asked, sitting up on the bed.

“We can’t...” the words trailed off before you could catch up. You tried again, “I can’t—we can't do this.”

He observed the battle behind your eyes and then spoke, very softly, almost inaudibly, “we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“We’re—"

“We’re the ones who put meaning to things,” he continued. Not to contradict you, but to reassure you. “If we say it doesn't mean anything, then it doesn't.”

You shook your head with a sad smile, the situation vaguely familiar.

“It’s never that simple,” you said. “There’s so much more than just you and me to consider.”

“It is simple,” he insisted. Then, just like back in your bunk on the tour bus, he asked, “do you want me to leave?”

Just like back then, you answered without hesitation, “no.”

“Then this can have as much or as little meaning as you want it to. I don’t give a fuck,” he said. “I’m yours. You are all I’m considering. And I’m staying.”

In less than a second, the determination in his voice made you realise that rational didn’t always mean reasonable.

Rationally, you knew you should have drawn the line. You should have left or told him to leave. Should have distanced yourself from him for the sake of your heart. Your job. For the sake of the atmosphere backstage.

You were aware of all the damage this could do. You were aware of the risk. Of the questions. Of the pain.

You were aware that you were having the very conversation that you’d stopped him from pursuing a few hours ago on the street. But your response to him was vastly different now.

Really, the situation felt different, too.

The second thing is that I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—

You couldn’t imagine yourself leaving.

There was no place in the whole world that you would have rather been in right now. And no one else you would have wanted to share that place with.

It felt reasonable to stay. And wish for him to stay, too.

Jungkook had to scoot closer on the bed to reduce the distance between you two, and as soon as he did, he leaned in right away. He’d hesitated before, got scared, panicked and changed his mind. Tonight, he would do nothing of the sort.

His lips touched yours before you could formulate a single doubt and his kiss effectively silenced all the noises and echoes in your head.

Truthfully, he knew that there was a third thing he didn’t tell you, but when you kissed him back, less tentatively than the first time on the bus, he couldn’t imagine ever saying anything to you again. Speaking seemed like an immeasurable waste of time.

Instead, he pulled you closer, his lips locked on yours as one of his hands held the side of your face. His gentle fingertips contrasted with the coldness of his lip ring against your lips as he touched the skin of your cheek like he wasn’t sure, not even now, that it was really you he was holding. His other hand found its way around your waist and settled there—the gesture so intimate, so familiar.

He kissed you and it felt inevitable. Like everything you’d been doing up to this point was meant to lead you here – even the break-up four years ago.

As Jungkook felt your hands on his chest, careful and barely there, he mentally cursed himself for wearing this white shirt yet again—the fabric was too thick for him to properly feel you.

Still, he recognised the ghost of your touch as though he’d never been apart from you. As though you’d always stayed like this, locked in a desperate embrace in the tenth-floor room of a hotel in Amsterdam.

There were endless somethings bursting persistently in his chest as he tasted you, deepening the kiss by bringing his tongue over yours. Fireworks and flames and entire conflagrations all wreaked havoc on his heart.

This time, there were no promises of five minutes, and no curtains to separate you from everyone else. When you whimpered quietly, in response to him pulling you up until one of your legs was thrown over his and you were seated firmly on his thigh, he was the only one who heard it. The only one who felt your heavy breathing on his lips as he kissed you.

And if, by a lucky chance, there was any oxygen left in the room, neither of you needed it as your holds on each other grew tighter, hands grasping whatever materials they could reach and pulling—until he took your shirt off, until you took off his.

Every single one of your nerve endings was focused solely on him—his taste, his scent, his touch, his warmth, the roughness of his dark jeans underneath you, the softness of the skin on his chest. Your body instinctively drew closer, prompting him to clench his thigh as he wrapped his arms around you even more tightly.

His lips gently trailed kisses down your jawline and onto your neck, and it was as intoxicating as it was overwhelming. He remembered your body—how could he forget when it haunted his dreams almost every night?—but he yearned to create new memories, to trace the lines of your figure that he’d memorised and bring them to life in a new and different way.

You helped his eager hands find the edge of your sports bra and had to briefly pull away from him to slide it over your head. He pulled you back to him as soon as you did, needing to get lost in your touch, to feel your skin against his.

Your hotel room was filled with so much electricity, the two of you could have lit all of Amsterdam up.

“There’s so much I want to say to you. So much I have to say,” he breathed against your lips while his hands caressed your exposed sides, tracing the familiar maps on your skin.

You pulled him closer by gripping the back of his neck and exhaled, “show me instead.”

The meaningfulness, or rather, meaninglessness, of the moment seemed secondary. You wouldn’t analyse what this symbolised or where you stood.

Instead, you’d analyse how kissing him—touching him, feeling his skin, hearing his breathing—felt good. How it felt right. Like you’d been lying to yourself by doing everything else but this.

Sitting on his lap as he held you firmly in his arms—essentially trapping you in his grip, in his scent, in him—you could feel the rest of the world fade away into the recesses of your mind that you didn’t consider important at this given point.

Focusing on the feeling of his tongue against yours and the firmness underneath you, you allowed the scorching heat of the moment to take control of your movements as you instinctively moved your hips against his and forced him to suck in a shaky breath.

You undid the buckle of his belt and he had to pull back just a little, breaking the kiss. His head was spinning, overwhelmed by your closeness and the rapid beating of his heart. It wasn’t the first time you had been this close, but it had been so long, and he’d wanted this so much, that it felt like he’d never done this before.

Noticing your trembling hands, he helped you with his belt by loosening his grip on your waist. As soon as your fingers reached the zipper of his pants, he grabbed your forearms—successfully halting your progress in ridding him of his jeans—and swiftly flipped you over onto your back on the bed.

Your eyes met for a split second as he hovered over you, silently exchanging a conversation that neither of you dared to voice.

He leaned in to kiss you again and allowed you to get back to the previous task. Kissing him back, you finally managed to lower his jeans to his knees, and the simple feeling of your touch on the back of his thighs nearly made him see stars. Leaning his forehead against yours, he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to regain his composure.

He briefly sat up to kick off his jeans—as quickly as he could, because the room temperature fell a hundred degrees when he wasn’t touching you—and you took a moment to trace the patterns of ink on his arm with your eyes.

You were with him when he got his first tattoo.

He acted tough in the tattoo parlour, but once the artist took you both down to the basement, all of his bravery faded. It was rather chilly down there—Jungkook was pouting when he took his jacket off, revealing his shivering skin—and he’d chosen his knuckles as a place for his first tattoo. It was going to hurt.

He knew that, in theory. But the way he squeezed your hand and bit his lip when the needle pierced his skin for the first time still surprised you both. You weren’t sure who was in more pain by the end of the session—him, from the fresh ink on his hand, or you, from how hard he’d been squeezing your hand.

Now, he had a full sleeve. And you felt a pang of pain in your chest, because there were so many tattoos that you hadn’t seen him get.

You hadn’t been there when the needle pierced his skin again and again. You hadn’t seen the way he closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and placed a hand on your knee—for support, for reassurance, for overwhelming love.

You hadn’t helped him apply lotion on the fresh ink, hadn’t teased him for being a baby, hadn’t been shut up with a kiss. You hadn’t traced the intricate lines on his skin with the tips of your fingers—careful, gentle, loving.

You hadn’t been there for four years.

But you were here now.

Just as your gaze reached his shoulder, your eyes locked on the patterns you’d never touched, Jungkook turned to you and caught you staring. The dazed look in your eyes before he had even done anything affected him in more ways than he could count.

With a wide, shameless grin and a raised eyebrow, he leaned into you again. You noticed right away that he was about to say something that would surely ruin the moment, but you pressed a hand to his chest, stopping him before he could.

“Don’t,” you warned. There was humour and light and excitement in your eyes.

Chuckling as if you’d read his mind, he pressed a kiss to your lips and mumbled, “wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Liar,” you exhaled against his mouth as he quickly slid your biker shorts and panties down your hips, your back barely leaving the bed.

“Honest,” he countered in a soft whisper, his lips hovering over your neck as his hands returned to your waist and he aligned your hips with his. “I have better things on my mind.”

It was hard to determine which one of you was to blame for ending this unnecessary bickering by inhaling too sharply – you, who reached the edge of his boxers and pulled them down, removing the last layer of clothing between you; or him, who gently caressed your thighs, drawing deliberately slow, teasing circles that inched closer to your core.

He managed to kick off his boxers without letting go of you—which was a talent that was difficult to advertise, but a talent nonetheless—and kissed you deeply. One of his fingers slid over your thighs and traced over your folds, causing your body to twitch in anticipation as you gripped his forearms for support.

His touch felt foreign and familiar at the same time – he knew how to find every single one of your nerve endings, but your body seemed to have forgotten that he knew.

It was almost frightening how he sensed exactly how to touch you to elicit a response—the pillows of his fingers effortlessly reached the bundle of nerves on your clit at just the right time to make your back arch off the bed involuntarily, seeking more friction. Your breathing grew louder every time he applied more pressure to his touch.

It really didn’t feel fair at all—the way he appeared to know your body better than you did, even after all these years.

A frustrated whimper escaped your lips when he added another finger, picking up the pace. He alternated between gentle rubs and teasing caresses, and his touch made your head spin, but you wanted more of him. All of him.

He only inserted a finger for a fraction of a second before lightly brushing it over your folds—the motion so sweet and then suddenly not enough. Your nails were about to draw blood from how tight you were gripping his arms.

“Don’t tease,” you exhaled, more a plea than a command. “Not now.”

There was a hint of promise here, and Jungkook smiled before nodding. He kissed your lips, but instead of pulling away, he increased his pace—toying with your clit with just enough pressure and at just the right angle that you could have cried out if you hadn’t been biting your lip so hard.

“Fuck,” was all you could respond with as your eyes rolled back from the intense sensation. “Jungkook—”

This time his name was encouraging. It was begging. It made him groan as he leaned in, already almost painfully hard as he rubbed your clit, spreading your wetness with his fingers.

“Hmm.” He touched your neck with his lips in a sloppy, wet kiss that sent shivers down your spine. “You look so beautiful.”

“Fuck,” you repeated, the relentless ministrations of his fingers rendering you incapable of a more coherent sentence. “Fuck.”

And just when you felt the pressure in your stomach building, he pulled away abruptly.

The loss of contact made you exhale with enough agitation for it to resemble a whine. This earned you a smirk from him as he pulled back slightly, convinced he was just doing what you’d asked because he did indeed stop teasing.

To be fair, it was for his benefit, too. Your body, your warmth, your heavy breaths—he knew it all teased him more than he could ever tease you.

Struggling to maintain his composure, he bit his lip and reached for his length, giving it a few languid strokes.

The first glimpses of concern started to creep in when he realised he had no protection, but he saw you nod at the pile of suitcases by your bed. Confused initially, he rolled off of you and approached what appeared to be a welcome basket on top of the pile.

“Don’t tell me…” he mumbled in disbelief as he picked up the wicker basket—decorated with an appropriate white bow.

“Yeah,” you confirmed his thoughts and sure enough, among complimentary bottles of shampoo and tubes of toothpaste, he found a box of condoms.

Under different circumstances, he would have embraced his inner teenager and dropped everything to giggle at this, but he tried to stay composed. That is, until he looked at you and saw that you were biting your lip in an obvious attempt to hold back laughter.

“Well, this is quite convenient,” he remarked, encouraged by your amusement, as he climbed back on the bed. “Almost meant to be, no?”

“Don’t spoil the moment,” you warned, pressing your lips together to conceal your smile. “Just hurry.”

“Say that again for me?” he teased. “I love it when you beg.”

Undeterred by the punch on his shoulder that he received in response, Jungkook laughed and ripped the bag open. He unrolled the condom onto his length with relative ease despite the slight shake in his hands.

You reached out to help him, and he realised he might actually pass out when he felt you touch him. The tips of your fingers were on the tip of his length as he brought it closer to your entrance.

He shook his head and warned breathlessly, all of his previous confidence gone, “I’m not—not going to last long.”

He could tell as much even before he entered you, but after you nodded—giving him voiceless permission—and, slowly, almost agonisingly, he slid inside, he realised he may have miscalculated.

He might not last at all.

Lowering his head as he paused, not even halfway in, he bit his lip in concentration and closed his eyes. He couldn’t get himself together when you looked like that under him—almost too lost in the feeling of him, in the pleasant stretch, in the way you couldn’t help but clench around him as your walls anticipated fitting all of him in.

“Fuck,” he exhaled shakily as you tightened around him. He really needed to get a grip. More sternly, he repeated, “fuck,” and, with a more forceful thrust of his hips, he fully bottomed out.

You threw your head back at the sudden motion, needing a second to adjust to the stretch. This was helped greatly by one of his hands as he caressed your hips, your waist, your breasts while he gave you as much time as you needed. Hė toyed with your nipple between his fingers and the gentle touch and the utmost admiration in his dark eyes sent sparks straight to your core.

After you quietly urged him to move, it still took him a whole minute before he felt confident enough to pull almost all the way out and then push back in, testing both of your limits. He looked at you—because he couldn’t not look at you underneath him, not even if it meant he’d lose himself right away—and the expression on your face was so dreamy that he didn’t even realise he shuddered in exhilaration.

Your head was still thrown back as you held your lower lip in a tight grip between your teeth. When you slowly opened your eyes, your gaze met his right away. And there was barely anything—fuck it, there was nothing—that he could have done to prepare for it.

He thought he may as well have died then and there because nothing in his life would ever compare to the colour of your eyes when you looked at him.

Swallowing the groan in the back of his throat, he leaned in to press his lips to yours as he began to move. It was slow at first, then his hips gradually gained more speed as he felt your warm walls pulling him in. Your fingers found their way to his hair, getting tangled in the dark strands as his hips pressed into yours harder—not just faster, but with more force, too, each brush of his length igniting a new fire inside of you.

He made it impossible for you to catch your breath as he kissed you with as much fervour as before, not once slowing down the pace of his hips. Everything he did was in response to you—the way you arched your back, your whimpers in between the messy, open-mouthed kisses, the way you pulled his hair, the way you held onto his shoulders.

He knew that if he lost concentration, he’d unravel immediately. It’s been so long, too long. He’s wasted far too many nights in foreign beds, chasing highs that had always felt forced and artificial. He wasn’t prepared for the real thing. He wasn’t prepared for you.

“Fuck. I’d missed you, my love,” he whispered hazily between kisses, each word accompanied by a thrust of his hips, “so fucking much.”

You felt shivers run down your spine again. If you could have formed a sentence—let alone voiced it—you would have reciprocated.

You would have told him that you missed him too. And you would have told him how much it scared you, the way this feeling was so intense that you seemed to disregard everything else.

But you couldn’t focus.

His length stroked your walls with an exemplary balance of force and tenderness. His tongue was in your mouth, the kiss hot, heavy, messy. His hands were all over your skin, warm, eager, relentless.

He filled your head with stars.

You could not speak, you could not say anything that wasn’t a breathless whisper of his name every time he pulled away to give you both a chance to inhale.

He understood you without words, however. And the response you had to him was about to tip him over the edge. His movements became too fast to be precise, his thrusts grew sloppy, his breathing got heavier, his groans louder.

The knot in your stomach formed much faster than you would have liked. You wanted this to last longer, but all of it felt reckless—dangerous and outrageous—and so good—too good—that you broke the kiss, a strangled cry of his name passing your lips as a warning that you were close.

“Yeah?” he whispered, kissing your jaw as he pressed his thumb on your clit. The rubbing motion matched the speed of his hips and the intensified pleasure caught you so unexpectedly that you could no longer control how loud you were.

Your heavy breaths mixed with curses and broken fragments of his name—he knew these sounds would echo around his mind for every waking moment—as your back arched off the bed and into him.

And when he heard you cry out, when he felt your grip on his arms tighten as your body jerked forwards, your hips meeting his, then lowering again in uncontrollable muscle spasms, when he felt your walls clench around him so much that they nearly stopped his movements, he almost whined, sensing his own high, brought on by the feeling of yours.

There were curses spilling from your lips as you came and you held onto him so tightly that he knew he’d have bruises on his arms tomorrow morning. Already, he couldn’t wait to look at them. He couldn’t wait to do this again.

His hips drove into yours—sloppily, accompanied by loud sounds of skin slapping on skin—until he fell over the edge, groaning loudly as he spilled himself into the condom. His body twitched as he pushed into you—one final stroke of your soft, sensitive walls—then he stilled completely.

His face was inches from yours, and you were the one who reached out to connect your lips, turning his groan into a dangerous whimper. Your kiss burned through him like electricity and, impossibly, seemed to prolong his climax.

He kissed you back like it was the first time, still powerless from his high, still feeling like he was floating, unable to come down, to pull out, to stop kissing you.

Breathless, you whined against his mouth and felt him stir inside of you, sparking a sudden new fire in your stomach before the previous one could fully go out.

He wanted you, needed you still—maybe he’d never stop. But it was the way you responded to him, the way he felt you need him as much as he needed you, that made him growl into the kiss as his hands reached for the parts of you that he'd touched hundreds of times tonight already.

It was almost desperate, the way you were still clinging to one another—like you’d never touched each other before and never would again.

Finally, you pulled away to inhale. And to, hopefully, recover.

“Fuck,” Jungkook whispered, summarising all that you were about to say.

You both chuckled, giddy, excited, almost euphoric.

He rested his forehead against yours and pressed another soft kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out, and stepping back to discard the condom.

In no more than three seconds, he was back on the bed next to you, pulling you to his side and kissing you once more.

It was three seconds then, he decided, that he could survive away from you.

For a good minute after that, the two of you just watched each other, your chests rising and falling as your bodies tried to fathom something that your minds failed to grasp.

Suddenly, you shook your head.

“What?” he asked. His lips were stretched into what felt like a permanent smile.

“Nothing, I just… it would be very difficult to explain where we were if someone noticed us missing,” you said—your words humorous, but the meaning behind them serious.

Even though you smiled as you spoke, Jungkook swallowed and nodded, solemn all of a sudden.

“I know,” he said. “And I don’t care if anyone knows. I only care that we do.”

You ran your tongue over your swollen lips, preparing to say something that he knew he wouldn’t like. But he was paralysed as he watched you. He swore your lips were the colour of his dreams, and he had to clench his jaw so he wouldn’t lean over and kiss you again.

He forced himself to roll onto his back and spoke up before you could, making sure his voice was as nonchalant as possible, given the hurricane inside his chest, “can we—can we not talk about that right now? Can I just stay here instead?”

You looked at him—which was incredibly easy when he wasn’t looking back at you—and forgot, for a moment, that you had to reply.

He looked almost ethereal like this, with his head resting on the pillows next to you, his hair tousled, stray curls sticking to the droplets of sweat on his forehead, his lips pursed slightly as he stared ahead. A part of you wished to take a picture, to hold onto this moment forever. But a different part of you didn’t want anyone else to witness him like this, not even the lens of your phone camera.

He suddenly turned his head to look at you and you blinked, averting your eyes as you remembered that you hadn’t spoken.

“Hmm. Yes,” you said, the word scratchy as it caught in your dry throat. You cleared it and tried again, “okay.”

Jungkook hummed somehow ambiguously and looked away.

“What?” you asked, confused by the look on his face.

“I thought you’d still tell me to leave,” he admitted.

You sighed. “You should. But I want you to stay. I’m fine with doing what I want tonight, however stupid that might turn out to be.”

He ignored the doubt in your voice—he was getting good at that—and looked at you again. He knew you probably couldn’t even begin to imagine the sort of fire your words ignited inside of him, and just how far the sparks travelled on his skin.

“Then I hope you know,” he said, “that I’m fine with only getting ten minutes of sleep tonight.”

Quietly, you replied, “I think I’m fine, too.”

“Yeah?” he asked, briskly turning to his side and propping himself up on his elbow with renewed excitement.

His abrupt jump made you chuckle despite your best attempts to remain serious, and his grin widened as he brought his hand to the side of your face and leaned in to kiss you once more. Then, twice more. Then three more times—in perpetuity, he hoped.

He knew that he was blessed to have experienced a lot of happiness in his life. But nothing came close to the feeling of your lips on his as the two of you played around in your hotel bed in Amsterdam, two nights before his band’s inaugural performance in The Netherlands during their first European tour.

This was a dream, it had to be.

And he was determined to do everything to make sure he never woke up from it.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “like that”

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