#i love those ocs more than anything and would never change them

[whumpy-wyrms]

…thinking about alien abductions, alien parasites, possession, mind and body control, telepathy, hypnosis, the completely helplessness of being taken control over by something far more powerful and otherworldly than you, the vulnerability of knowing they can do whatever they want to you and you’re helpless against it, them being able to read your thoughts and communicate through your mind, the fear that comes with it all, and the fact i desperately need ocs like this or i may explode

[lovelyhan]

— melting point ⟢

rumor has it that icy department head of pledis insurance has something going on with her loyal secretary, wonwoo. well, she does—it's just not the kind of behind-closed-doors business one would expect for them to partake in.

★ FEATURING; secretary!wonwoo x afab!oc

★ WORD COUNT; 12.3k words

★ TAGS; coworkers to lovers, revenge fic, angst, smut

★ WARNINGS; blackmailing, manipulation, mentions of past bullying, graphic sexual content (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; hi... it's been forever, hasn't it? i missed tumblr a lot, and have decided to grace the tags with this fic after months of radio silence heheh ! this was a commissioned piece on twt which i tweaked to fit my tumblr audience better! cheers to 5k followers even in my absence t__t you guys are the best!

★ PS; i'm sorry i can't be bothered to dig up my taglist and tag those who filled it up T T

There’s a saying in PLEDIS Insurance that goes: enjoy your coffee early because once the Ice Queen is in, it’ll turn just as cold as she is. 

Of course, the words were merely thrown around in jest. Something that bored employees come up with in the break room whenever they’re careless enough to think their little jokes won’t reach said ice queen’s ears. But still—they’re just jokes. As long as they worked enough to satisfy their salaries’ worth, Emma the Ice Queen would always turn a blind eye. She might be cold, but she isn’t completely heartless.

Most of the time.

“Good morning, ma’am,” her secretary, Wonwoo, greeted with a curt nod as she entered her office. 

Emma scoffed before setting her things down on her work desk, the frown on her face only worsening when she sees the elegantly wrapped gift box in front of her. “What's this?” 

Wonwoo swallowed thickly, like he was nervous. Wonwoo never gets nervous.

“We have an...unforeseen circumstance,” he prefaced before tapping away on the iPad in his arms. “Sir Leo from the Choi group wants to pursue you.”

“Unforeseen?” Emma repeated. “Wonwoo, this is completely foreseen. Isn't it our from the start is to make them fall in love, only for us to expose their dirty secrets in the end?”

He looked as if he wanted to agree. But after turning the screen of his iPad so Emma could see the article written on some shoddy newsletter, her brows furrowed together in confusion.

A Race for the Inheritance: How the Choi Group’s Next Generation of Ambitious Youngbloods Will Do Everything to Get Their Fill of Old Money. 

The title itself didn’t give Emma much context of what exactly was making Wonwoo—her ever-composed secretary—lose his composure. It’s natural to see the sons and daughters of a powerful business conglomerate fight each other for their rights to the family inheritance. But after reading through what the rest of the article had to offer, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly started to fit.

“They're seeing who gets to get married first?” Emma laughed incredulously before handing the iPad back to Wonwoo. “Does Leo really think he can get me to become his lover—even more so his wife—after everything he did to me in high school?”

Wonwoo breathed in deeply. “Miss Emma, we both know the answer to that. If it were all up to you, you could easily put him to shame and reject him. But his interests somewhat align with the director’s interests as well…”

Ah. Her father’s interests.

“No,” she answered sharply. “Even if he kicks me out of my position, I’m not going to be wed to that prick.”

“Are you sure about that?” Wonwoo sighed before adjusting his glasses. “Miss Emma, we both know you love your work more than anything. And you're chronically attached to this company even if you despise the executives. Sir Leo has good leverage over you, sad to say.”

There was something irritating about hearing Wonwoo call his ex-best friend Sir, as if he was underneath some scumbag of a human being like Leo. But then again, years have passed since then. Lots of things have changed. 

But Emma’s grudges hold steadfast, still.

“Hmph, whatever.” She dismissed the matter with a nonchalant wave before unwrapping the gift box in front of her. “Was this from Leo, too? Is he on a deadline or something?”

“Hmm, first one that gets married before December gets the rights to the inheritance,” Wonwoo informed her as he picked the clutter of ribbons off Emma’s desk and pocketed them in his coat for later disposal. “Do you want me to look up the progress of his siblings and cousins? We can sabotage him while it's still early.”

Emma didn’t respond right away—preoccupied with unwrapping Leo's so-called gift. But when she sees a red velvet box with an engagement ring and a folded letter inside, she begrudgingly realized that Leo wouldn’t be as easy a target as her other high school bullies.

No, this man really was rotten to the core.

By the time you’re reading this, I’m sure you already heard the news. You know what to do, right, Emma?

Or should I say, wifey? ;)

“Send this back to him. Now.”

Wonwoo nodded obediently as Emma pushed Leo's cursed gift box away from her. “Alright. Anything else I can do for you? Like…have someone plant a snake in his bedroom or something?”

Despite the sour mood that Leo undoubtedly put her in this morning, Wonwoo's little idea of a joke made the corners of her mouth turn up into a small smile. The offer was tempting, but in the end, she shook her head and booted up the PC on her desk instead.

“As much as I want his death by a snake bite to headline the news, Leo doesn’t deserve to get out of this the easy way.” Emma muttered as she started browsing through the hard-drive she’d hooked up onto the computer. “And lucky for us, I finally got the evidence to send his suspiciously prosperous career down into a spiral.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow before taking a peek behind her. “What's that? Money laundering records? Tax fraud?” 

No. It was really something as simple as—

“Footage of a mass orgy he participated in,” Emma casually told her secretary as she clicked on the only video on the hard drive. “Might not look like a big deal compared to what we had to go through with Ezra, but Leo belongs to a family of devout Catholics. Good thing your contact from Leo's favorite bar had some use. All I did was ask around and he quickly spilled all the details with the right amount of money.”

Wonwoo chuckled as he flashed her an impressed look. “As far as I know, I’m the one who’s supposed to do the dirty work for you. Why are you directly involving yourself in matters you can leave to me?” 

The lewd video continued to play on her screen—muted, of course—and one could easily make out Leo Choi's face amongst the crowd of sex-depraved freaks. Once they sent this over anonymously to each and every person who might think that scumbag deserved to inherit his family’s wealth, it would be all over for him.

“‘Cause we’re a team, Wonwoo,” she chuckled. “You’ve done your fair share of work when we took down Gavin and Ezra. But admittedly…I've got more bones to pick with Leo. I think it’s only fair for me to orchestrate his downfall with my own two hands.”

“Right…” Wonwoo agreed with a hint of fondness in his tone that completely went over Emma’s head—far too triumphant with her newfound ammunition. 

“We’re a team.”

But it wasn’t always that way.

Wonwoo was actually more deeply involved in Emma’s mission to exact revenge on the people who’ve wronged her years ago than one would otherwise expect. He’d been best friends with Leo since they were kids, and when they eventually met Gavin and Ezra in their high school basketball team, the four of them were quite inseparable. 

But despite being his best friend, Wonwoo knew that Leo could be quite…off-putting with his behavior sometimes.

“Hey, look at that,” Sixteen year-old Leo scoffed before gesturing towards the loud girl earning amused stares in the cafeteria. “She's so fucking loud. Is she the new transfer student?”

Gavin snickered as he took a bite out of his lunch. “How'd she even get in here? Our tuition isn't a joke, and she doesn't really look like she can afford it. The kid of a maid, maybe?”

“Or she could be one of those financial scholarship kids,” Ezra pitched in with a shrug. “Though she doesn't look very bright if we're being honest.”

Wonwoo didn’t offer anything to the conversation, merely eating his food quietly as his friends talked smack about the new transfer student in their class. Emma Rodriguez was like a piece of meat thrown into a pit of vipers. Some might like her—like the classmates who were howling with laughter because of her antics—but others looked at her with disdain. 

She didn’t belong to any wealthy well-known families like every other kid in their grade. The girl simply popped out of nowhere like an eyesore, according to Leo. Wonwoo didn’t really mind her presence though. She made the boring monotone of his school days a bit more bearable with her energy.

But what Wonwoo thought was just his friends’ surface-level dislike for a girl who behaved differently from the others in their grade turned out to be something else.

Something worse.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what bullying was, and was well-aware that what his friends constantly did to Emma wasn’t something that normal high schoolers did. Leo was the most vicious about it, and Wonwoo never really got to know his reasons for doing all those horrible things. 

But whenever they spotted Emma horsing around in the hallways, Leo would always be the first one to come up to her—calling her names like fraud, gold digger, and the like. Gavin and Ezra followed each and every time, and they were usually the ones who pushed her around for no real reason.

And Wonwoo? Wonwoo was the one who always stood a few feet away every time his friends decided they were in the mood to pick on the transfer student. The one who always stayed quiet and pretended nothing unsightly was happening in front of him.

The one whose gaze Emma always tried to silently catch, hoping he’d be the one to stop his friends from harassing her. 

But he never did.

That cycle of three boys bullying a once bright and bubbly transfer student became commonplace. Before their third year in high school came to a close, Emma suddenly vanished off the radar. She didn’t attend their classes, nor was she there in the completion ceremonies at the end of every school year. 

Most of the kids around Wonwoo didn’t really give two shits about her sudden disappearance. Word around the street was that she transferred out because of the heavy harassment she was getting, not just from his friends, but also the rest of the students from their grade. They didn’t think Emma was funny because of her silly antics and loud jokes anymore.

Everyone started to collectively think of her as a nuisance, and the fact that she had no familial connections to protect herself with only fed into the senseless yet oh-so popular trend of crushing Emma Rodriguez’s hopes and dreams into the ground.

It was almost like Wonwoo was the only person in their entire grade who felt the tiniest bit of pity for her. But he told himself long ago that someone like him had no right to feel sorry for someone he never bothered trying to help. 

The years passed by in a flash. After Emma’s disappearance, Wonwoo quit the basketball team and  completely cut off his friends and everyone else who actively hurt her. He didn’t really know why either—all he knew was that he couldn’t stomach the idea of keeping those connections despite what they drove Emma to do. 

Of course, he knew he wasn’t completely innocent either. But it wasn’t too late to be a decent person, right?

Wonwoo simply went through the motions of graduating high school, then college, before pursuing a career in the vicious world of the corporate hierarchy. But instead of gunning for executive positions like his fellow fresh grads dared to dream, he worked his way up without using his family’s prestige to his own advantage. 

In fact, Wonwoo realized he liked working closely with his bosses. That’s why he became the designated secretary to all the finance department heads who walked through the doors of PLEDIS Insurance. He was content with being a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy who’s at the beck and call of someone else—a tool who worked on the sidelines. He never really wanted to be the face of any company anyway.

But then, in his fifth year on the job, he was told that there were a couple of changes in PLEDIS’ executive board. The boss he’d been working under was set to retire and he’d be replaced with a new one—someone younger and full of promise, as the head of human resources dramatically explained to him. 

It wasn’t really a deal breaker or anything. As long as Wonwoo got paid, he’d gladly work for even the most terrible of people in this industry.

But on the day his new boss was set to start, he was haunted by a ghost from the past instead.

Wonwoo hasn’t spared a single thought for Emma Rodriguez in God knows how long. Yet the moment she stepped into the office, he recognized her almost immediately. There was no trace of that girl people called gold digger and other derogatory names because of her appearance. This was a woman with her head held high—someone who oozed confidence in every stride with a gaze sharper than her winged eyeliner. 

Yet Wonwoo couldn’t be mistaken. This really was Emma Rodriguez.

He wondered if she remembered him, too. The boy who kept quiet about those who bullied her in those few crucial years of her life. Wonwoo even considered apologizing for not doing anything to help her when he should have. 

“Ah, Wonwoo Jeon?” Emma repeated his name with a dismissive air, almost like she was wholly uninterested in him. “The one who just watched when Gavin Kim pushed me in the muddy courtyard at school? The one who pretended not to see when Leo Choi splashed paint all over my uniform? Of course I remember you.”

God. Was this her exacting retribution?

For the next few days since she came into the office, Wonwoo helped Emma get used to the feel of things in the Finance Department. At least, that was his intention. 

From the looks of it, Emma already knew the ins-and-outs of managing a company’s cash inflow and outflow, as well as the other gritty, more technical details that came with accounting for each and every cent. She managed to prepare and present several sets of data that his previous boss had trouble organizing to the current board of directors within two days’ time. 

Her work ethic was admirable—she got the job done quickly and efficiently, and that made her earn the respect of her subordinates faster than Wonwoo had seen them warm up to their previous bosses. It would have been the perfect relationship between the new department head and her employees, if it weren’t for Emma’s stone cold behavior towards other people. 

Not only did she look different from the Emma he knew in high school, but she acted differently too. Wonwoo couldn’t picture this Emma purposely making a fool out of herself just to make the people around her laugh. This Emma wanted the entire team to get the work handed to them done as soon as possible, and if they did, the most they’d receive in return is a mere nod in approval and nothing else.

It was for that reason that employees would start calling her the Ice Queen. Though she wasn’t some tyrant that gave people an unreasonable workload—she was actually very lenient and fair about the division of tasks—her people skills needed a little work. 

That or Emma was purposely shutting everyone out with her chilly attitude. 

Wonwoo had a few clues as to why she’d want to do that, but he’s a secretary, not a therapist. The only thing he could do about it was to keep his silence.

But then came a day when Emma asked him to come into her office to do something he completely expected from her but didn’t at the same time.

“Are you still in touch with Leo, Gavin, and Ezra?” she asked him, not even bothering to look up from the report she’s reading off her PC.

The question caught Wonwoo off-guard and it was obvious Emma caught on to his reaction if the tiny smirk that curved across her lips was anything to go by. Still, he took it in stride—breathing in through his nose as he thought about his answer.

He hasn’t been in touch with any of them since his high school graduation. All their attempts at reaching out to Wonwoo to invite him for a quick game of ball or a round of drinks somewhere in the city were all ignored. Not even turned down—ignored. 

Leo was the most persistent about it. After all, they were best friends. But after several years of Wonwoo not even bothering to give their invites a single glance, Leo stopped reaching out altogether. Wonwoo's life became a lot more peaceful since he cut ties with them, and he never really regretted the decision to do so. 

But perhaps the universe really was telling him to pay the price for his past inaction now that Emma was bringing up the past on a regular Wednesday afternoon. 

“No, ma’am,” he told her honestly. “Do you want me to reach out to them? Their contact details are pretty easy to get our hands on.”

Emma sighed quietly before meeting his gaze, an unreadable look hovering across her face. “Mmm. Yeah, I’d like that. But aren't you going to ask why I want to contact them again?”

He wanted to, but Wonwoo learned that in his line of work, the last thing he should do was ask questions. It made him wonder if Emma was purposely setting him up on some sort of conversational bear trap, but seeing as he didn’t really have anything to lose by giving, he chose to relent. 

“...Why?”

The silence of her office rang in his ears as Emma typed away on her keyboard. It was a mechanical one with tactile switches that matched the color of her desktop wallpaper. He didn’t take her to be someone who cared enough about aesthetics to that degree, but then again, Wonwoo never really got a chance to get to know her back then. 

He was too much of a coward to do so.

Once she was done, Emma got up from her ergonomic chair (which also matched her desktop setup), leveling her gaze with Wonwoo's even if the latter was easily a head taller than she was. Something about the glint in her eyes made him swallow the lump in his throat. Not to mention that sweet yet chilly smile that graced her bright red lips.

“It’s really simple, Wonwoo,” she told him with a laugh. 

“I want revenge.” 

And that’s how their little team was formed.

It was a two-person job. Emma entrusted Wonwoo with digging up the information she needed about the three men she wanted to bring down, all while she was in charge of putting their plans into motion by heading over to the front lines. 

Gavin was an easy target. Unlike the other two, he’s the only one who pursued professional basketball and for a while, he amassed quite the number of fans and admirers because of his outstanding plays. What’s more was that he managed to wife up a beauty queen who’s already conquered the international stage a few years back. Now with their first baby on the way, one would think that Gavin Kim has a picture perfect life.

But further down the road, talk about how he’s actually a womanizing wife beater started to seep out of the cracks and crevices of the athletic industry. The allegations were serious, but no one really bothered batting an eye. It’s normal. Lots of athletes are like that. We can't do anything about it.

It was easy to get a hold of which gym Gavin frequents to maintain his physique. He preferred working out in public facilities instead of the one provided for his team because it gave him all the freedom to ogle and flirt with other women who just happened to be hitting the gym on days he was on the prowl. 

Wonwoo even added a little footnote in the file he prepared that said likes to engage in post-workout coitus in the shower rooms. Emma rolled her eyes in disgust when she read it, but made sure to keep it in mind.

The day finally came when she’d collect enough evidence to ruin Gavin’s career. Emma hasn’t dropped by the gym in a while—work having sapped her energy too much to let her psych herself back into working out. But she realized she didn’t have to act out too much because the moment she started operating the treadmill right next to Gavin’s, he was already checking her out.

He didn’t seem to recognize who she was, unlike Wonwoo. But then again Gavin was easily the stupidest out of her trio of high school bullies. This man was all brawn and no brains, which was why it was all too easy for Emma to seduce him in the showers of this shoddy gym not thirty minutes since she’d arrived.

It wasn’t the most pleasant experience. The last thing Emma wanted was to have this idiotic man inside of her so she offered to go on her knees and blow him instead—something that Gavin was all too happy to relent to. 

He didn’t even boast a cock of considerable size. It probably wasn’t any longer than her middle finger, and for a split second, she wondered why his beauty queen wife stayed with him despite having a cock that didn’t back up his cocky attitude. It was probably the money.

Emma didn’t waste much time though. Wonwoo visited this gym only a few hours prior to plant a bug somewhere inside the specific shower stall they were currently occupying. She just had to hope she and Gavin were positioned well enough so the camera would get a full view of what they were doing. 

It was the longest twenty minutes of Emma’s life, and she had to go home right away to disinfect her mouth about ten times, but hey. All in the name of vengeance, right?

At around eight in the evening on that same Saturday, her phone lit up with an email notification from Wonwoo. 

From: Wonwoo Jeon  Subject: CLASSIFIED Good evening, Miss Emma. I hope this message finds you well. I retrieved our bug from the gym earlier today and extracted the videos taken before properly disposing of it. Attached to this email is the MP4 file of our evidence against Mr. Gavin Kim. Around the time this message arrives to you, I have simultaneously sent said evidence to Mr. Kim’s managers, sponsors, teammates, other colleagues, and of course, his wife.  The only difference between their emails and yours is that this is a self-destructing message. Once you’ve closed this window, it will be deleted from your inbox without a trace. So if you are interested in watching the video below, best save it to your device of choice for better perusal. If you have any further questions and concerns, I am merely a text message away.  Regards,  Wonwoo Jeon Secretary, Finance and Logistics Department PLEDIS Insurance 

Like hell she was going to watch it.

The moment Emma finished reading through Wonwoo's overly formal email, she quickly exited the window and, true to his word, the message itself had disappeared. Despite being a fairly new player to the game, she had to commend all the precautions Wonwoo was setting to make sure her plans were a success. 

It made her wonder if his previous bosses have also asked him to do shady things under the company’s nose in the past. Whether or not that's true, she was reaping the benefits of his expertise, so she had no room for complaints. 

As long as she had Wonwoo, she’d get to punish everyone who wronged her without fail.

Gavin’s downfall followed soon after. 

Tabloids were their best friend in that scenario. The thumbnail of the video that Wonwoo spread around like some virus that wouldn’t stop replicating headlined every single paper, talking about how one of the most promising basketball stars of their generation had fallen prey to his own vices.

It was a good thing that not only was Wonwoo careful enough to not leave digital footprints as he sent out those emails, but he also edited the video to keep Emma’s identity a secret. As Gavin’s world started to crumble before his eyes—him being kicked off the starting roster of the team, his wife leaving him behind, and the public execution of his reputation—Emma simply shared a bottle of aged wine from Tuscany with the man who helped her pull off a wonderful performance.

“You’re not too bad,” she mused as she took a small sip, crossing her legs from where she’s seated unceremoniously on the edge of her desk. “You're surprisingly more on-board with this plan than I thought. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were never friends with Gavin in the first place.” 

Wonwoo retained his stoic demeanor, not having touched the glass Emma offered him simply because it was against company regulations to intoxicate himself on the job. “If my boss tells me to ruin someone's life, I'm mandated to do it. I’m just doing what’s written on my job description, ma’am.”

Emma’s lips stretched into a grin as she threw her head back with a laugh. She leaned in closer to Wonwoo, who seemed wholly unfazed by the fact that the gesture granted him an ample view of her cleavage through her blouse. 

“Does your job description cover watching and editing your boss' sex scandal so you can mass send it to hundreds of people?” She giggled before leaning back to take another sip of her drink. “You’re in the green for now, Wonwoo. Keep it up and I might just have a pay raise arranged for you with HR if our next escapade is a success.”

He hummed in understanding. “Who’s next?”

In usual Emma fashion, she didn’t give him a straight answer right away. Instead, she hopped back to the carpeted floor of her office—not even wobbling in those thin heels she’s wearing—before rounding her desk to access her computer. 

“Have you been watching TV lately? Primetime soap operas?” she asked him as she clicked away on her screen. 

Wonwoo shook his head. “They don’t really interest me, ma’am.”

“I figured they wouldn’t. But this might.”

Emma gestured for him to peer at her monitor and Wonwoo wordlessly followed suit, getting up from his seat and standing behind her. Flashed on the screen was an article from a more reputable news outlet that featured two co-stars who played the main couple in a popular network’s newest drama. 

“Ezra Lee and Alaina Park…” Wonwoo muttered under his breath before his eyes flickered to Emma. “You have any leads I can work with?”

His boss chuckled before looking up at him with an expectant smile. “Someone's determined. I never thought I’d get to see someone so eager to do the dirty work for me.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Miss Emma, I'm not sure if you're aware but desk work gets boring sometimes. You’re right. This is a lot more interesting.”

“Alright, then,” Emma chuckled before retrieving both of their wine glasses and handing Wonwoo's back to him. “Unlike Gavin, I don't have a lot of surface-level leads with Ezra. He’s a celebrity—their reputation needs to be squeaky clean, so it makes sense why I can’t dig up anything about him through regular means. But this should be a piece of cake for you, right?”

Wonwoo stared at the bright red liquor inside the expensive glass, gaze darting to the wicked smile playing on Emma’s lips. If he looked a little closer, he would be able to tell that the shade of her lipstick matches the color of the liquor in her hands. 

He took it from her grasp with a sigh, clinking the edges of their glasses together before downing the entire thing in one fell swoop. The wine was aged well, and had somewhat of a sweet aftertaste, but despite the appealing flavor, Wonwoo reminded himself to never drink on the job ever again. 

“I’ll get back to you once I have the information you need.”

Wonwoo swiftly left Emma’s office after that little victory party. Even with his new sideline of being his boss’s lead henchman, he still had a lot of work to do for PLEDIS Insurance. And that included telling the other employees to quit horsing around in the break room when their designated lunch break ended hours ago.

“Sir Wonwoo,” one of said employees, Soonyoung, snickered before throwing an arm over Wonwoo's shoulders. “You've been hanging out in Miss Emma's office pretty frequently. Is there something going on? You became close real quickly.”

“Yeah” said one Seokmin, who’s still snacking on a wafer despite Wonwoo's scolding. “Boss, we know you're not the fuck-your-way-up kind of guy, but who knows, right? But with your position right now, do you really need it?”

Seungkwan, the last member of their unruly trio, slapped Seokmin’s arm with a scowl. “Hey! Do you really have to say it to his face? Oh, boss, if you make a report about these two, please know I have nothing to do with whatever they're saying.”

Soonyoung snickered. “Are you sure about that? Weren't you the one who first noticed that Sir Wonwoo was stepping inside Miss Emma's office more frequently—”

“Hey! Boss told us to scram, didn't he?! Let's go.”

Seungkwan quickly ushered his two friends out of the break room, scolding them in a hushed tone before they all went back to their respective cubicles. Wonwoo shook his head with a sigh, muttering something about inevitable rumors as he made himself a cup of coffee.

Was that how they perceived Wonwoo’s sudden closeness with the department head? That he was fucking Emma in the solitude of her office? Well, the idea of a boss having illicit relations with their secretary wasn’t too far-fetched. He’s heard about how the head of the Advertising Department gets frisky with his secretary through the corporate grapevine. But just because it was a popular trope among the employees’ strange fantasies, it didn’t mean it applied to himself and Emma as well.

They were strictly professional: he did the dirty work and she paid him in full. That was all there was to it.

(But what people don’t know was that editing Gavin’s scandal wasn’t exactly the walk in the park Emma thought it was.

Despite being one of the most indifferent people in the company, Wonwoo was still a man. Seeing his boss, whose body would be coveted by anyone who dared to want her, in such a compromising position excited an…unexpected physiological reaction out of him.

His resolve was as sturdy as steel, however. Instead of taking care of the obvious problem in his pants as he edited the scandalous video, Wonwoo dealt with it by taking a long, cold shower until all the blood that rushed down south started circulating properly again.

He told himself not to think about it come morning.)

“A drug den?”

Even Emma was baffled by the news that Wonwoo brought her the following week—a scowl of disbelief permanently etched on her face as she scanned the file her secretary prepared for her. Wonwoo merely stood at her side, waiting for her to finish going through the data he’s gathered. 

And he sure hoped she understood every single word printed on it. He practically risked his life trying to investigate Ezra’s secret business. No wonder it was so hard to dig up any dirt on him—dead men tell no tales after all.

“This is…” Emma swallowed thickly before continuing, “way above my expectations. If he was just getting faded on his own with a private dealer, I'd understand. Lots of celebrities do recreational drugs. But for him to head an entire operation? Where'd he find the time on top of his taping schedules?” 

Wonwoo sighed. “I would’ve been able to investigate further if his men weren't so meticulous. They're fiercely loyal to Ezra. Couldn’t bribe him like we did with Gavin’s gym coach.” 

“And you made sure to keep your identity under lockdown?”

“Positive.”

Emma drummed her fingers across the smooth surface of her work desk—brows furrowed as she stared into nothingness. Though they’ve only been working together for roughly six months at most, Wonwoo knew her well enough to realize she hit a wall.

It made him wonder if this was where she would draw the line. Their success with Gavin gave them both an unexpected high, sure, but Wonwoo recognized that this game they were playing was a dangerous one. The people they were trying to take down had more money and connections than the two of them could ever hope to get their hands on. 

But one thing that he failed to recognize right away about Emma was that she’s always been grossly ambitious. 

“The file you gave me also mentioned na he was hoping to insure his new house in Incheon,” she pointed out. “Care to tell me why you decided to include that?”

“I know you told me not to involve the company in this as much as we can, but I couldn’t think of any other way to penetrate into his circle.” Wonwoo adjusted his necktie, suddenly feeling like he’s being watched by the hawk that was his boss. “I’ve been told that he’s wary of people. Side effects of the cocaine, probably. Though the info broker sounded like he was joking, it’s best to be wary of him. If he can hide behind the protection of his management and his family, we need to play our cards right and protect ourselves, too.”

Emma took a moment to process what her secretary just told her, nodding slowly before closing the folder containing Ezra’s file and locking it inside a hidden drawer beneath her desk. 

“Oh, Wonwoo. If only all men were as intelligent as you are,” she sighed, getting up from her seat before pinching his face. “Good work. Let's go out for drinks later. My treat.”

Wonwoo's face twisted with confusion. “For what? Doing my job?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “For going above and beyond every single time. You think you're only good at doing dirty work? At being my errand boy? You never fall behind your quotas here in the office either, you know. I think that in itself is a cause for celebration.”

Now that she’s reasoned it out, Wonwoo was even more weirded out by this strange turn of events. In the six months that Emma Rodriguez has spent as the head of PLEDIS Insurance’s Finance head, she never failed to uphold that arctic cold façade. She treated both executives and regular employees with the same degree of cut-throat harshness. 

And that’s when Wonwoo realized that she didn’t really treat him the way she treated them.

Huh. Did the Ice Queen have a melting point after all?

Despite his extensive protests, however, Wonwoo let Emma rope him into grabbing dinner and drinks at a food hub several districts away from their office. The fewer people who could recognize them outside, the better. Of course, he pleaded and reminded her several times that she was his boss and she really didn’t have to—

“Hey! Keep drinking!” Emma slurred with a huff, face red from the alcohol as she pushed another pint of beer into Wonwoo's face. “Why aren't you drunk yet, huh, Wonwoo Jeon? Are you God? Maybe that's why you're so good at obtaining information for me. Ah! No! Maybe you're the devil! Right, what we're doing isn't exactly good nor is it legal…”

Wonwoo exhaled long and hard as his boss continued blabbering nonsense across from him at their shared table. One glance at the smartwatch on his wrist told him that it was near midnight and that he should probably bring Emma home before she could make a scene. 

But…maybe they could stay for a few minutes more.

“Miss Emma? Are you sleepy?”

“Hm? Why would I be sleepy? We're drinking, aren't we?” 

“You're half-asleep on the table, so.”

At the prospect of being called out, Emma quickly shot into an upright position—looking around to see if anyone caught her drooling. When she realized she was in the clear, she narrowed her eyes at Wonwoo.

“Not a word about this in the office,” she warned, using one of the finished barbecue sticks on their empty plates to threaten him. “But...yeah. Alcohol makes me sleepy. Drive me home.”

Not even a please. This woman was really shameless even when drunk.

Not a peep of complaint was heard from Wonwoo when he drove Emma all the way to her condo unit in uptown Poblacion. Though he had to practically carry her inside and even help her out of her clothes and into her pajamas (at her request, not his own initiative), he simply told himself this was all part of his job. 

When his boss was safely tucked in bed, he was ready to bid her farewell and head back to his own place to catch up on some sleep. But for someone who was intoxicated beyond belief, Emma was still quite aware of her surroundings. The moment Wonwoo took a step away from her bed, her hand shot out to grab ahold of his wrist, making Wonwoo look back at her with an eyebrow raised.

“Wonwoo,” she murmured, face still smothered in her pillows despite her tight grip. “Can you stay?” 

“There's nowhere for me to sleep,” he chuckled. “I should go.”

“Then sleep next to me.”

The furrow on his brow merely deepened. He’d ask her to repeat what she said, but Wonwoo could recognize that Emma wasn’t really in the headspace to be reasonable right now. So instead of refuting her wish, Wonwoo carefully pried her fingers off his wrist so he could take off his work coat and fold it neatly on top of her vanity table.

This is all part of the job, he told himself.

Wonwoo laid on his boss’ duvet perfectly still. He didn’t want to make the mistake of touching her when he didn’t have explicit permission to do so. He was merely told to sleep next to her after all—nothing else.

But about fifteen minutes after he lied next to her, Emma shifted on her side of the bed—turning to him with a sleepy look in her eyes.

“You know,” she whispered, so softly, he would’ve missed it if he wasn’t as observant as he was. “I hoped...so hard back then that you would help me when I needed it. But you never did.”

Emma probably won’t remember what she mumbled in her drunken stupor in the morning. But the sadness and honesty that underlined her words sent him back about ten years into the past. To a time when he was a much greater evil than those who directly wronged her.

An apology sizzled across the tip of his tongue—something that’s a decade overdue. But before Wonwoo could hope to let her hear his piece, Emma’s breathing had become even and shallow. 

She was already fast asleep.

He sighed, staring up at the dainty ceiling of her bedroom as he chuckled helplessly to himself.

“That’s why I’m making up for it now.”

If Gavin’s case was a walk in the park, Ezra’s was an Olympic-level marathon.

Wonwoo didn’t want to dwell on the details anymore. To cut it short: he was going to cross out ‘exposing a notorious drug lord’ off his bucket list without thinking of doing it again ever. While he managed to get out unscathed during his investigation, it just so happened that their final altercation with Ezra ended up putting Wonwoo in the hospital. 

But so what if he fractured a couple of ribs trying to save Emma from being killed by that drug-addicted lunatic? As long as their goal to bring Emma’s enemies down was achieved, he’d gladly sustain any life-threatening injuries.

Which was, admittedly…strange. 

Long before Emma came into the picture as his boss, Wonwoo never would’ve pictured himself risking his neck for the benefit of someone else. Though he had an entire arsenal of skills and knowledge at his disposal, it would take more than just his generous salary to get him to put them to good use.

But with Emma, he found himself utilizing whatever means to help her exact her revenge—on people he once called his friends, much less.

He must be going insane. 

“Wonwoo…?”

Funnily enough, he ended up recalling everything that happened over the past two weeks first before recognizing that he was just regaining consciousness in the intensive care unit. Wonwoo's eyes hurt because of how bright the fluorescent lights were overhead, but for some reason, he didn’t flinch away from her relieved smile when it was a million watts brighter than the hospital’s indoor lighting.

“Good…day, ma’am,” he croaked out awkwardly, belatedly realizing that he didn’t know what time it was. “What day is it? Did someone fix your schedule for today? Did someone go over your meal plans in my stead? Were you—”

His endless stream of questions was interrupted by hacking fit—making Emma scramble for a glass of water on the table by his hospital bed, a concerned look lining her gaze.

“Don't talk too much,” she scolded him as he finished his drink. “You’ve been out for two days, idiot.”

Two days? 

Needless to say, he couldn’t do a thing about it once his boss started fussing over him. She called over doctors she personally knew and handpicked only the most competent of nurses to look after Wonwoo. How Emma could be the judge of that, Wonwoo wasn’t very sure, but he gladly let her take care of him for a change. 

After all, they successfully concluded another chapter in Emma’s little revenge story.

“When are we going to start with Leo?”

Wonwoo brought the matter up about three days after he woke up, right in the middle of eating the stale hospital food served to him for dinner. Emma, who was snacking on some takeout fast food, hummed before tossing a french fry into her mouth.

“You're not even healed yet, and you're thinking about work?” she sighed before pointing a fry in his direction. “I’m still paying you your regular wage even if you're stuck here. You don’t have to worry about making ends meet so much, Wonwoo. You just need to rest—”

“But I don’t want to rest, I want to be useful to you,” he interrupted her gruffly, which was strange of him because he never interrupted his employers. 

For a moment, Wonwoo thought he’d be on the receiving end of a verbal lashing even if he was still recovering. Emma never let other people talk back to her without consequences. But instead, his boss threw her head back with a laugh that bordered on a snort. It’s a look that Wonwoo had seen on her time and time again—a look that he noticed Emma only showed to him. 

Back then, he didn’t really think of her smile all that much. But now…

“You’re being useful enough just by being alive, Jeon,” she reassured him, that grin of hers unwavering. “Enough questions about Leo. I'm not even thinking about him yet because compared to the previous two? He’s a lot easier to track down.”

Wonwoo shot her a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Same approach lang with Ezra.” She flashed him a toothy smile. “We’re going to get him to insure some of his properties under PLEDIS. But instead of us going to him, he'll be going to us instead.”

“I…? Sorry, ma’am. I don’t follow.”

Emma stifled a soft laugh behind her palm, unwrapping the burger included in her takeout meal before taking a bite of considerable size. “The Choi Corporation is expanding a chain of shopping malls somewhere in Jeju. Leo Choi personally contacted our CEO and there we have it: another big shot client.”

Another person to drag down to hell.

“Is that good enough for you?” 

Wonwoo was still processing the news as they both finished up their respective meals. He should probably be glad that Emma didn’t decide to put their secret operation on hold just because he was out of commission. But something about how smoothly they’re progressing into the next phase of Emma’s big revenge plan that made him wary of treading any further. 

He felt like he was being paranoid—probably the aftermath of almost crossing to the other side because of what happened with the Ezra incident. Wonwoo couldn’t help but be wary of any and all threats to both his life and Emma’s, and it was for a good reason.

“Okay,” Wonwoo breathed, wincing a little when he felt the spot where his ribs broke ache at how fast he inhaled. “What do you want me to do for now? Investigate? Trace his whereabouts?”

Emma’s smile suddenly turned ice cold. “I want you to rest, Wonwoo. Do I have to keep repeating myself?”

“But—”

“No buts. Boss’ orders—I'm your boss, right?” 

Ah, there’s the Ice Queen they all knew and loved. 

Fine. Maybe he could use a break from all that quote-unquote field work he just did. But one thing about his entire hospitalization still remained unanswered.

“What did you tell HR? About…this?” Wonwoo gestured towards his battered but healing body. “You’ve got the charisma, but I’m pretty sure it’s difficult even for you to go into cahoots with the other employees of PLEDIS. Much more, our human resources head.”

Emma waved away his concerns with a shake of her head. “You're so persistent, aren't you? Don’t think about HR. Or Leo. Or the rest of our plans. Can’t you be a normal salaryman and be happy that you have a break from all the things I make you do?”

“I told you, Miss Emma. I just want to make myself useful.”

“And I told you that you're the least useful in your current state. So give. It. A. Rest,” she threatened, putting emphasis on every syllable. 

But behind her intimidating façade was someone who actually cared for him. The details were still a bit muddled in Wonwoo's head, but he remembered being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. Remembered how Emma never let go of his hand as they made the trip all the way. And how he heard her pray for him to make it out alive despite being a well-known agnostic.

Once their conversation had mellowed down, he laid back against the steady elevation of his bed, watching the scenic city lights glimmer outside the window of his hospital room—just behind the woman who made his life a lot more interesting.

He couldn’t wait to be useful to her again.

“I hate this. I fucking hate this so much.”

Wonwoo spared his employer a quick glance as she practically glared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. He’d been browsing through a sports car catalog tucked underneath the hotel’s coffee table, but watching Emma have a furious meltdown about her wedding was more worth his time. 

“You're the one who said that there'll more benefits if you accepted the marriage proposal,” her secretary reminded, crossing his legs as he leaned back on the couch he was sitting on. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Of course I was just…gaslighting myself about this entire fucked up situation!” Emma growled as she stomped over to him with a scowl. “Can’t fucking believe my dad agreed to marry me off just like that, too. After all his talk that I needed to love whoever I'm supposed to marry...”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Anyone can be blinded by money—especially if it's from the Chois.”

“Even you?”

It’s a question that sunk into the room with a rhetorical implication. Emma was quick to exchange the earrings her stylist chose for her with something more suited to her taste—a pair that didn’t sparkle all that much but was worth more than six months of Wonwoo's salary. In her reflection on the vanity mirror, he could clearly see the way her red lips parted in concentration as she clipped the earrings in place. 

“No,” Wonwoo responded even if he knew she wasn’t looking for an answer. “I’m more easily blinded by other things, ma’am.”

Emma glanced behind her with a puzzled look, not getting his drift. “Like what?” 

Wonwoo didn’t dare think twice. 

He got up from his once comfortable position on the couch, closing the distance that sat between him and Emma in long, calculated strides. She didn’t seem fazed by his sudden need to walk over, but the moment Wonwoo was behind her, she stiffened when he reached a hand in front of her face. Then, with a firm yet featherlight touch, her secretary wiped off the lipstick that stained past her lip line with his fingers—not once breaking eye contact with her in the mirror. 

“It wouldn’t be fun if I told you, now would it?” He smiled before pulling his hand back. “I need to keep you on your toes sometimes, too, Miss Emma.”

He half-expected her to scoff and brush off his attempt at being smart with her. Emma was a no-nonsense kind of person, and with the wedding happening soon, Wonwoo understood why she’d be more high-strung than usual. 

But instead of acting the way she always did with him, Emma took Wonwoo by surprise when she fisted his silken necktie in her manicured nails, tugging him down so that their eyes were leveled with each other. Normally, that wouldn’t be enough to wrestle Wonwoo into complete submission, but this was his boss they were talking about.

There’s a glint in those sharp eyes of hers that had his heart beating off the charts. This wasn’t the gaze of someone entitled the Ice Queen of their office. No, there’s something warm in there—borderline sensual. And before Wonwoo could even hope to figure out what it was, Emma was already closing her eyes and sealing their lips together like some unspoken pact. 

It’s an inconsequential kiss. Wonwoo has made out with both men and women alike—all desperate gasps and lust-fueled passion—but somehow, none of those experiences could hold a candle to the way Emma Rodriguez pecked his lips for a fraction of a second before pulling away. 

“You're getting more and more insufferable,” she muttered, resting her forehead against his. “You were never this cheeky before. What happened?”

You, he wanted to tell her. You happened.

At that point, Wonwoo's brain was merely operating on carnal instinct alone. He lunged forward to capture her lips again, making her gasp in surprise as he snaked a strong arm around her waist. Thank fucking god Emma’s wedding dress had a simple design—no pretentious frills to obstruct his movements. 

Despite the fact that this woman—his boss—was getting married in less than two hours, Wonwoo couldn’t even give a damn. He swiped all the makeup boxes and accessories off the vanity table, propping Emma up on the horizontal surface as he kissed her until she saw stars. 

“Wonwoo,” she sighed against his lips, thighs inching apart as he bunched the long hem of her gown up to her waist. He wondered distantly if Emma was going to ask him to stop—to see reason. But the glazed look in her eyes told him otherwise.

“More.”

Wonwoo wanted nothing more than to give her more. He’d do everything she could ever dream of asking him. Never mind the fact that it was more than a little messed up for him to consider fucking his boss right before she’s married off to the man who tormented her endlessly at sixteen. 

Nobody else mattered—not Leo, not the director, not even Emma’s intricate revenge plot that was years in the making. At that moment, only the two of them existed, only separated by a few layers of clothing before they could finally become one. 

But Wonwoo was abruptly reminded why he always chose reason before ambition long before he met Emma. Dreams and delusions were bound to end when you least expected them to. Reality, on the other hand, would always remind you of life’s harshest truths.

“Miss Emma?” They both could hear the voice of Leo's personal assistant outside the door to the hotel room, preceded by a few short knocks. “It’s time for your prenup shoot. Director Rodriguez is also looking for Sir Wonwoo. Is he in there with you?”

Whatever dream the two of them have fabricated only minutes ago had been erased from existence—all that was left was a bride-to-be with her dress ruffled in all the wrong places, and a pitiful secretary with red lipstick stains adorning his face.

“Yeah, he’s here with me,” Emma yelled over to the doorway, eyes refusing to part from Wonwoo's. “We’ll be down soon. Thanks, Christina.”

“Okay, ma’am. I'll just wait for you in the lobby.”

Wonwoo counted to ten before peeling himself away from Emma, quickly striding towards the bathroom to get some tissues both for himself and his employer. But while he was wiping off the lipstick on the corners of his mouth, Wonwoo immediately noticed the shift in the atmosphere.

Emma was already busy straightening herself out—smoothing down the creases in her gown and retouching her makeup as best as she could without her stylists. Wonwoo wouldn’t have minded the silence, it’s exactly the kind of setting he preferred working in. 

But just when he thought he’d managed to melt the Ice Queen’s heart over the past year, she turned arctic cold all over again. 

“After the wedding, tell my driver to accompany me to Leo's penthouse. Though I despise the idea, we have to go home together to keep up the act for everyone to see.” She gave her orders the same way she used to tell Wonwoo to sort the company’s financial reports—straight to business with little room for playing around. “Other than that, I don't have any more orders. You can rest easy for the day, Wonwoo.”

He felt like he should say something to address what just happened between them five minutes ago. To ask why she was pretending as if they weren’t breathing each other in like all the oxygen on the planet had gone in a flash. But Wonwoo wasn’t some desperate fool that overestimated his place in Emma’s life. 

“Duly noted, ma’am,” he muttered with the same degree of aloofness she’d just given him before tossing the soiled tissues in the trash. “I’ll be waiting for you outside.”

Emma didn’t even break face as Wonwoo's footsteps resounded on the carpeted floor. She didn’t even spare him a second glance. But then again…

He was her secretary, and she was his employer. 

That was all there was to it.

Much to Wonwoo's surprise, Leo's case was closed much sooner than he thought it would be.

Before Emma could even make it to the cathedral, the commotion had already started. Wonwoo had arrived earlier in the venue with Emma’s father, the director of PLEDIS Insurance, and were just about to take their seats among the other principal sponsors when the television screens mounted all over the church suddenly started playing a video.

A video that Wonwoo has already seen before.

He didn’t have to glance at Leo to know that he was sporting the most horrified look he could muster upon seeing one of your many sex scandals having an impromptu screening at the cathedral. Collective gasps and disgusted remarks were heard in a chorus of murmurs that reached all the way up to the high ceilings. 

Wonwoo could hear Leo's assistant, Christina—who turned out to be part of the sex parties her boss secretly indulged in—barking orders for the church staff to cut the feed. But it was too late. Those who needed to see the truth have already gotten their fill.

Recognizing that his daughter couldn’t possibly be wed to a man with a reputation that’s been tarnished in a church, of all places, Director Rodriguez ordered Wonwoo to contact the bridal car driver and tell him to send Emma straight home instead. It’s a job that Wonwoo got done fairly quickly, and despite the numerous text messages that Emma sent him demanding answers about what happened, he didn’t respond to any of them right away. 

After a few hours of digging around, Wonwoo eventually found out that one of Leo's cousins was behind the public exposé. Apparently, said cousin was able to obtain the same footage that Emma acquired and was able to sabotage Leo's attempt at seizing their family riches before Emma could even put her plans into motion. 

Well, at least someone else already did the dirty work for them.

As usual, Wonwoo collated all the information he’s gathered in a concise email. This was how he kept Emma up to speed about their progress—through self-destructing emails. He informed her about the involvement of Leo's cousin and how the trash had taken itself out, ensuring that Leo Choi had fallen from the false pedestal he’s clung onto for years.  

Their behind-the-scenes mission has been fulfilled.

While he didn’t expect Emma to respond enthusiastically, receiving radio silence in return wasn’t something Wonwoo had anticipated either. But he opted not to read into it much. She must’ve been royally pissed that Leo's demise wasn’t brought about by her own hand, and Wonwoo respected that.

The following Monday after the canceled wedding, however, he ended up finding out the reason behind her silence. 

“Boss,” sobbed Seokmin when Wonwoo timed in at the office. “Please don't leave!”

Immediately backing him up was Soonyoung, who didn’t hesitate to hug Wonwoo, even giving him a few pats on the shoulder as if they were old drinking buddies. “It's okay, Sir Wonwoo. You've been here long enough. Maybe it's about time you found your path elsewhere.”

…Huh?

“What are you talking about?” Wonwoo voiced out his confusion. “You’re speaking like I got fired.”

As if on cue, the third member of their trio walked in on the conversation as he sipped on his usual iced americano. Seungkwan stared at Wonwoo with a puzzled expression before saying:

“But weren't you fired, sir? Miss Emma announced it this morning, but I think she left right away after, too.”

Not privy to the way the pieces started to click in his head, Seokmin and Soonyoung kept consoling Wonwoo as he made his way to his (old) cubicle. Emma had been one step ahead too—someone already having packed away most of his belongings in storage boxes. Not to mention the notice of contract termination sitting on his desk. Effective immediately, it says.

“I really don't get it though” Seungkwan droned behind him. “You? The best secretary in the city? Fired just like that?”

Seokmin nodded. “I don't understand it either. You two were business-as-usual after the wedding. Miss Emma must've been so pissed that she didn't get married that she laid off the boss here.”

“True,” Soonyoung agreed with a snicker. “Boss, maybe Miss Emma's just being unreasonable. I bet she'll be begging for you to come back in a few days' time.”

Yeah. That’s what the situation would seem like to an outsider. But Wonwoo knew perfectly well that Emma wasn’t bluffing about this. She fired him for a reason that’s been stewing for more than a decade. Even if Gavin, Ezra, and Leo have had their taste of justice, Emma’s revenge plot wasn’t finished like Wonwoo thought it was.

Because Wonwoo was one of her targets all along, too.

I hoped...so hard back then that you would help me when I needed it. But you never did.

“Where is she?” 

Seungkwan perked up. “Uh, maybe she went home? She told us something about feeling a bit under the weather?”

Seokmin nodded. “She's probably in her penthouse or something. If i were you, I'd start making it up to her.”

“Hey, you're talking like they're actually dating,” Soonyoung scolded with a laugh.

Not even bothering to thank them, Wonwoo turned on his heel and made a beeline for the office entrance—dead set on doing exactly what Seokmin jokingly suggested.

This is why I'm making it up to you, he mused with an exasperated air as he buckled up in his car. 

Can’t you just let me in?

Emma spent her first Monday after the entire wedding disaster with Leo holed up in her unit—stuffing herself full of ice cream. The only reason she bothered going to the office today was to formally announce that her secretary Wonwoo Jeon was fired—just like she’d been planning since the moment she met him again as her secretary after all these goddamn years.

Her high school bullies have been put in their place. Her fifteen-year revenge plot was finally over.

But why did she feel so fucking depressed about it?

She sighed pitifully when she realized she’d already emptied her tub of double dutch ice cream, finally deigning to get up from the couch to deposit it in the kitchen for later disposal. But just when she was about to continue moping in her living room, the doorbell to her unit buzzed from the entrance, making her glance that way curiously.

It could be her next-door neighbor. A kind, elderly woman who lived with her daughter. She borrowed Emma’s rosemary spices yesterday—something that she barely used because she often opted to go for food deliveries instead of whipping up her own meals. 

With that reasoning in mind, she didn’t bother checking who was at the door through the peephole. She simply undid the locks before opening the door—only to come face-to-face with—

“Hey,” Wonwoo sighed as he jammed his foot between the door and the doorframe. “Ma’am, please talk to me first. Did you think I wouldn't catch onto what you were trying to do?”

“Why do I have to explain myself to you? You’re fired, right?” Emma growled as she pushed the door with her back, but sadly, Wonwoo easily overpowered her. At least he was decent enough to not let himself in—he simply lingered out in the hallway with a placid look on his face. “What?”

“Emma,” her ex-secretary addressed her for the first time without any formalities. “If you fired me as vengeance for not helping you all those years ago, I get it. I deserve it, even. But after what happened sa hotel…

“You can’t convince me there’s nothing between us anymore.”

Her breath hitched, face growing warm at the reminder of that intimate moment they shared hours before she was supposed to get married. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could still feel Wonwoo's mouth on hers. But that wasn’t a thought that was healthy to entertain at the moment.

“What are you saying? That was all part of the plan, you know?” She bluffed with a mirthless laugh, fully turning to face him as she crossed her arms. “Make you smitten enough with me to let your guard down. Look, you didn't expect me to fire you, did you?”

“No, but you can’t fool me, Emma,” Wonwoo chuckled with a self-satisfied smirk. “You wanted me too—that was real. If I’m mistaken, then make me leave. Call security on me. If I’m the nuisance you so desperately want me to be, then get rid of me here and now.”

The silence was thick between them. Emma was practically shaking with frustration as Wonwoo stared down at her with that overconfident look on his face. She wanted nothing but to punch him, hit him, slap him—

Kiss him.

Maybe Wonwoo was right. Maybe Emma did want him more than she led herself to believe. 

Because why the hell did she fist the front of Wonwoo's work shirt before pulling him inside her penthouse? Why did she slam him against the door, earning a sexy groan from him as she crushed their lips together?

Was this a healthy way to deal with your current predicament? No—definitely not. But it felt too fucking good to pass up on.

Wonwoo, however, was all too quick to regain control—hooking one of Emma’s thighs around his waist as she gasped into his mouth. She could practically feel him smirk against her lips, and though she’s loath to admit, it only made her want him even more.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he chuckled before peppering her neck with love bites. “You might need to kill me first before I stop pursuing you.”

Emma spared him a breathless laugh that quickly melted into a moan when Wonwoo's hand found itself inside her oversized sleep shirt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were obsessed with me, Jeon.”

His fingers were warm against her skin, and Emma couldn’t help the full-on shudder that racked her body when Wonwoo grazed her bare nipples. The smile on his face was wicked—dangerous, even. 

“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, his breath fanning against her flushed face.

“What would you do if I was obsessed with you, Ma’am?”

Emma was well aware that Wonwoo knew the answer to his own question. It was obvious in the way he quickly picked her up from the floor, fully wrapping both her legs around his waist as he carried her towards her bedroom. But despite the carnal urgency in his grip, Wonwoo was awfully gentle as he laid her down on the mattress.

“Last chance to kick me out,” he murmured against her ear as he started unbuttoning his shirt. “You could exact your revenge on me even better, ‘no? I’m giving you the leeway to frame me for forced entry…among other things.”

God. She knew Wonwoo was a little crazy when he accepted Emma’s orders to help her make his old best friends suffer. But the way he looked at her with such crazed desire further confirmed her suspicions.

And she didn’t want her men any other way.

“Fuck me, Wonwoo,” she told him clearly before stripping her own clothes and laying herself bare for him to feast on—eyes lidded, desiring him just as much as he did her. “That’s an order.”

He shook his head with a chuckle, and Emma had to force herself not to drool over his perfectly built torso. If she had more patience, she would’ve taken her time worshiping every inch of Wonwoo's body, but he’d already set a fire in the pit of her stomach. One that she fully expected him to deal with sooner than later.

“So wet for me,” he observed with a lopsided smirk, pressing their foreheads together as he lathered his fingers with her slick. “Have you always wanted me this way? Do you touch yourself to the thought of me, Miss Emma?”

Yes. Fuck, yes. 

“That’s none of your business, Jeon,” Emma stubbornly insisted, keeping herself from moaning when his lips descended onto one of her hardened nipples. 

Wonwoo made good on the opportunity, using the fingers he’d used to feel up her slick cunt to rub her essence across the other bud he wasn’t suckling on. The effect was near immediate—Emma throwing her head back with a pretty little whimper as Wonwoo started to massage her breasts. 

Fuck. He’d always dreamed of getting to smother his face between them.

“Wonwoo,” she gasped out loud, hips bucking desperately when he bit down on her sensitive flesh. “F-Fuck me. Now.” 

“Demanding.” He pulled away from her sensitive nipples with a pop, staring up at her with a lustful gaze. “You enjoy ordering me around too much, you know?”

“You enjoy being ordered around, too,” Emma pointed out with a scoff, trying her best not to moan too loudly when Wonwoo's fingers started to toy with her leaking cunt again. “Just—I need you. Please.”

Ah, he never thought the day would come when he’d hear Emma Rodriguez begging for his cock.

“Okay, Ice Queen,” he relented with a playful laugh, kicking his underwear and trousers off as he pumped his already hard length. “Since you're so eager for me to fuck you, I’m not going to prep you anymore. You better not cry when my cock splits you open, okay?”

Hearing him talk so lewdly to her made her pussy gush with excitement. What’s more was that, not only was her secretary blessed with a face and body that gods would covet, but his cock was something she was afraid she’d keep looking for even when he was done with her.

He was awfully careful when he first pushed inside of her, sharp eyes riveted on her face as it twisted with both pain and pleasure alike. His size was something that one needed getting used to, and he wasn’t about to make his first time with Emma uncomfortable for her.

No, he wanted her to keep thinking about him even after they’ve had their fill of each other.

“Squeezing me so fucking tight,” he rasped against her neck, licking a long stripe along the column of her throat to make her shiver. “Too bad you already fired me. I always wondered what it would feel like to bend you over and fuck you in your office.” 

He could feel her pussy squeeze his cock even tighter at the shameless image she put in her head, making Wonwoo smirk with pride as he started to move. Emma mewled his name, grabbing his face as he chased his lips. He was all too willing to give her what she wanted, meeting her with an open-mouthed kiss as their tongues clashed together in time with his thrusts.

“W-Wonwoo,” she moaned into his mouth, hips eagerly meeting his. “Deeper. Fuck me deeper.”

And fuck her deeper, he did—Emma’s got him wrapped around her pretty manicured fingers, after all. 

Wonwoo was relentless with the way he pounded her into the bed, the sound of skin slapping against skin ringing much too loudly in his ears. But he didn’t fucking care. The feel of Emma’s velvet pussy walls pulsing around his cock sent his mind into a frenzy—fucking her until the bedframe creaked, until Emma was begging him to give her more, more, more—

All of a sudden, she gasped, “Coming, coming—!” 

If being inside her was life-changing, feeling her cum around his cock sent Wonwoo straight to heaven. Her cunt spasmed deliciously as Wonwoo helped her ride out her high—lips locked together as they breathed each other in. 

“Cum inside me,” she murmured deliriously into his mouth, practically rubbing her breasts—sensitive and littered with all the marks Wonwoo left on them—against his toned chest. “Make me yours, Jeon.”

He didn’t have to be told twice.

“God, I love you,” he sighed a little mindlessly, and those carelessly uttered words made Emma’s eyes widen with surprise before losing herself to the feeling of delirium. 

Wonwoo spilled his load inside her quivering cunt with a long-winded moan, feeling like he’d been shot through the head and was experiencing a level of euphoria that bordered on illegal. Emma moaned at the feel of his warm cum filling her to the brim, bringing him down for another sloppy kiss as the heat of the moment started to dissipate in the quiet atmosphere of their bedroom.

As their breaths started to settle, Emma was the first to glance at him—to meet his eyes. Wonwoo couldn’t find any trace of the arctic cold Ice Queen that practically told him to scram the other day at the hotel.

No, it was just Emma. 

His Emma.

“Can I still take back my verdict?” she muttered softly, inching closer to bury her face in his chest. Wonwoo instinctively pulled her in for a tender embrace, kissing the crown of her head with a smile.

“You mean the contract termination?” Wonwoo chuckled. “Take it up to HR, Miss Emma. I’m just a lowly secretary.”

All of a sudden, Emma rolled over so that she was seated upright on the bed. Wonwoo had to keep himself from groaning at the sight of her—hair disheveled and body sporting all his marks. Seeing her freshly fucked by him was doing things to his libido. 

“You’re not just my secretary, Wonwoo,” she sighed, twiddling with her fingers awkwardly. “I…I wasn’t going to fire you anymore. I got used to your company. I…

“I fell in love with you.” 

The words floated between them like a cloud that couldn’t easily be swept up by the wind. Wonwoo offered her a comforting smile before pulling her into a firm kiss.

“Yet you fired me anyway,” he pointed out with a laugh. “Why? You couldn’t deal with the fact that you fell in love with one of your high school bullies?”

That earned him a punch in the shoulder. “You’re not one of them. You’re different.”

“And you’re in love with me too, no? You said it yourself. Since when?”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo then pressed a soft, featherlight kiss on her nose—one that had Emma’s heart fluttering like she was a schoolgirl.

Gosh, this man. He’s fifteen years too late.

“Maybe I’ve always been a little in love with you. Who knows?” Wonwoo spared her a Cheshire cat smile. “There’s more where that came from though.”

Emma punched him in the chest this time—a bit too close to the spot where he broke a few ribs months prior. But he didn’t care.

She could send him to hell and back and he’d do it for her in a heartbeat.

From: Wonwoo Jeon 

Subject: NOT-SO CLASSIFIED

Good evening, Miss Emma. I hope this message finds you well.

I heard that you dealt with quite a stressful client today. I’m very sorry that I wasn’t here to help you with the matter as I was given tasks to do elsewhere. In order to make up for this lapse on my part, I am cordially inviting you to dinner at 7PM tonight after work. 

Rest assured, the expenses shall be shouldered by me and your only job is to sit and look gorgeous as I wine and dine you for the evening. Sincerely hoping for your most favorable response.

Regards, 

Wonwoo Jeon

Secretary, Finance and Logistics Department

PLEDIS Insurance 

Your boyfriend :)

end notes: this wasnt thoroughly proofread so if you spot some strange errors (aka sentences in a different language bc this fic was partly in filipino) here and there, pretend you didn't see em! as always, ur feedback means everything to me so scream in the tags or my ask as much as you want ^__^

[suiana]

hihi!! yr posts are so funky i love them sm

ya have any ideas for a yandere that has no actual connection - like, you've never even seen them before and yet it's stuff like "i didn't leave that book open" - "where did my favorite shirt go" - "i just woke up why am i so sticky" rjfjfhjf

omgee I've actually been thinking about this lately HAHA,, thank u anon for giving me motivation to write this <3

✎ yandere! stalker headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― stalking, nsfw, obsessiveness, slight violence, delusional yandere etc.

(gn! reader x male yandere! oc)

✎ yandere! stalker who is absolutely obsessed with you. you don't even know him yet his whole life is dedicated to you! how romantic <3

✎ yandere! stalker who has completely memorized your schedule and everything about you. he swears that he can answer any question about you :) no one knows you better than him, not even yourself!

✎ yandere! stalker who doesn't even remember when or where his obsession for you started from. babe, you never even talked to him before! so how did he fall so deeply for you? truly a mystery...

✎ yandere! stalker who gives you plenty of gifts. you could wake up with a random box of chocolates or with your laundry done! though a shirt or two might be missing! truly a pleasant surprise, no? your stalker hopes you like his gifts! :)

✎ yandere! stalker who has so many pictures of you that it's insane. what the fuck, how does he even get these??

✎ yandere! stalker who protects you from dirty people. that weird associate who made you uncomfortable? he suddenly went missing! that old uncle who was staring at you in a nasty way? brutally beaten up in a dark alleyway! don't worry your pretty little head darling, your stalker is there to protect you ♡

✎ yandere! stalker who masterbates to the thought of you every night. god you're perfect! he wishes you would notice him :( but he supposed that you not noticing is for the better... for now.

✎ yandere! stalker who is rich and likes spending his fortune on you. your phone is slightly chipped? get ready to wake up with a brand new phone on your desk :) oh, how he loves watching your cute reactions through the teddy bear he once gifted to you <3

✎ yandere! stalker who starts to grow bolder once you've warmed up to his gifts. oh? so you like his gifts? that means you like him now right? stalker, babe, that's not how it works that means he can start getting more personal with you right?

✎ yandere! stalker who starts to touch you in your sleep. your reciprocation towards his gifts is a sign that you're okay with this right? right?!

✎ yandere! stalker who is hysterical when he sees you talking to you friends about how you hate waking up slimy in the morning. what do you mean you hate his gift to you?! do you hate him now?!

✎ yandere! stalker who gifts you multiple things to try and apologize. you must be mad at him! you surely must be! even if you don't know who he is, your complaints about being sticky is a subtle sign of your anger towards him! he can't have his reason of living being mad now, can he?

✎ yandere! stalker who impulsively kidnaps you once you decide to make a police report. no! he can't lose you to those scummy officers!

✎ yandere! stalker who knocks you out so hard that you lose your memories. and when you wake up he tells you that he's your husband. a manic grin adorning his features as he does so. this must god's way of giving him a second chance! honey... no!!

✎ yandere! stalker who would change anything about himself for you. he exists for you only. anything he does is for you. he is yours to control. he should be anything and everything you want. so please, tell him what you like! he'll do anything in his power to achieve it. even if it means dying for you.

✎ "haah~ I love you so much ♡"

[dungeonsanddragonsfifthedition]

sixty-nine more questions for your ttrpg characters!

(i originally made one of these on a defunct sideblog; i thought it was about time i made a new one! send an oc’s name and a number, go wild!)

-

1. what drives them? what’s their ultimate goal?

2. what was your original concept for this character? how did playing them change that concept?

3. can they accept failure?

4. what one person, place, or thing do they love more than anything else?

5. is there something they want to be known for?

6. how have they changed in the last year? how about the last five years?

7. there’s a magic item (or technological innovation, or special resource) made just for them—what is it?

8. what songs remind you of them? if there are specific lyrics or movements, list ‘em!

9. when in their life were they most scared?

10. what inspired this character’s creation?

11. if they have a pet or animal companion, how do they spend time with them? if they don’t have one, what sort of animal would they be interested in raising, if any?

12. how have they altered their body? piercings, tattoos, biohacks, or other modifications—anything. why (or why not) did they (or someone else) make those changes?

13. what are some motifs you associate with them? did you intentionally bring in those motifs, or did it happen over time?

14. what keeps them up at night?

15. is there something that never fails to make them laugh?

16. do they value their appearance?

17. they’re crying—what did it take to make them cry?

18. what dish brings back the best memories for them?

19. what sparks genuine, unadulterated rage in them?

20. what attracts them to someone—platonically and/or romantically, anything counts.

21. do they have an idea about how they’ll die? do you?

22. how would they decorate their living space, if they had a chance?

23. in what moment did they consider themselves to be “grown up”?

24. are they close to any family members?

25. who is their best friend?

26. what type of person pisses them off?

27. how do they usually dress? why do they dress the way they do?

28. do they collect anything?

29. what feelings do they internalize?

30. how do they handle confrontation?

31. do they respond well to praise? how about criticism?

32. which of your decisions led to their voice being the way it is?

33. what artistic medium are they most drawn to?

34. what languages do they speak? how did they learn them?

35. when did they feel loneliest?

36. how do they fidget?

37. if they’ve had one, what was their first kiss like?

38. do they see themselves as an important part of their party?

39. are they insecure about their appearance? how about their personality? what aspects specifically worry them?

40. if you had to remake this character right now, how would you change them?’

41. how do you keep notes for this character, if at all?

42. can they dance?

43. how much do they know about the world they live in?

44. what lies do they tell others?

45. what lies do they tell themselves?

46. have they taught themselves any skills just for fun?

47. what could they talk about for hours on end?

48. do they relate to anyone in their group? conversely, which person do they relate to the least?

49. how often do they cut their hair, if at all?

50. do they have a go-to beverage, alcoholic or nonalcoholic?

51. what element of their backstory are you proudest of?

52. how would they dress themselves up for a formal event?

53. do they keep their plans close to their chest?

54. how important is money in their life? do they save up for ages, or spend quickly?

55. they’re seeing their greatest wish come true—what’s happening?

56. who would they trust with their life, unequivocally?

57. do they see value in the laws of where they live?

58. how often do they swear? do they mind when others swear?

59. what’s an element of their philosophy that you disagree with?

60. what do they have faith in? what keeps them believing?

61. is there an in-game moment of theirs you think about and just laugh?

62. do they believe in good and evil?

63. what’s a meme or tiktok or vine (or whatever) that you associate with them?

64. how would a party member describe them?

65. what would their go-to karaoke song be?

66. which fruit do they like most?

67. do they consider themselves to be special?

68. where’s their home?

69. what’s one secret they don’t want getting out?

[jinhyun]

—mean it.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader, oc x reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut, college au, dance major hyunjin, art major reader

word count: 16.2k (i'm so sorry omg)

summary: hyunjin crashing at a party he wasn't initially invited to, with the one and only purpose of seeing you, could either go incredibly wrong... or incredibly right.

warnings: mansion party, drinking, cursing, heavy making out, foreplay, very slight fingering and handjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), MINORS DNI!!!!

a/n: hellooo, here it is!! this monster of a one shot!!! i am so sorry to those of you who aren't into long fics (i feel you my bbs i'm one of them lol) but you can always take your time and read this in a couple of days or something idk :')

either way i hope you guys enjoy and please, please, pleaseeee let me know your thoughts on this. it really took me more effort and time than i had initially calculated lmao and i would really love to gossip about it with you guys<3

Feelings were something Hyunjin had avoided all his life. Or at least for as long as he had learned the meaning of them, along with the implications of being in a formal relationship with the one person you allegedly had said feelings for.

He just didn't understand why anyone would want to complicate things with them, when they could simply live in the moment and be with anyone they wanted, whenever they wanted. No strings attached seemed like Heaven, and the best way to live your life.

It had worked for him all these years. No complications. No misunderstandings. Just meaningless sex, with girls who knew beforehand they would not be getting anything else from him. If they were lucky enough, they might get to be with him more than once in the name of having a good time, but that was it. That was all they would ever get. That was all he would ever give to someone.

Up until you came into the picture.

You had come to change his entire world without a warning, as you were the exact opposite to him by not being afraid of your feelings — if anything, being in love with the whole concept of them. You were shameless when it came to them. You were in love with the idea of love.

You had feelings for him, and you did not try to hide it one bit. You knew that he knew about them, yet you did not try to play it cool or to even deny it. No, you embraced it. And that was both annoying and terrifying to Hyunjin.

He didn't know how to react to that. He didn't like feelings. He didn't want complications. He didn't want commitment.

But then he found himself caring a little too much about you and Changbin hooking up.

And he found himself looking for excuses to spend time with you.

And feeling his chest tighten at both the sight and thought of you and his friend.

Until he kissed you. And suddenly he didn't only feel all that about you and his friend alone, but about you and anyone else. You and anyone who wasn't him.

He started caring a little too much about you. Wanting to be with you at all times. Wanting to kiss you at all times. Wanting to talk to you, to make you laugh. Wanting to make you feel better whenever you were down, and be there with you through all your achievements.

He started wanting you all to himself.

Just like that, he got caught in the complications he never wanted, and the commitment he had so diligently tried to avoid.

And it took him to lose you for it to hit him why he had found himself caught in all those situations he so confidently claimed to despise.

Feelings. That was the answer. His feelings for you. The very ones he had tried his best to look past and now could no longer deny.

The very ones that ended up bringing him into a house —not to say mansion— he had never been to before, surrounded by people who were mainly strangers to him, looking for the one person amongst all of them he only cared about.

Changbin had called Soyeon as soon as they arrived at the mansion, so she could open the door for them and let them into the party they were both crashing at. Hyunjin only got to greet her before he realised he was third wheeling a matter of seconds later — flashbacks to that one time he had found them making out in Minhyuk's kitchen coming to mind and making him cringe, being enough to excuse himself from them and decide to wander around on his own instead.

Taking a look around, he couldn't help but curse under his breath over how fucking big the place was. He was pretty sure the fancy living room alone was bigger than his entire shared apartment with Seungmin and Bin. The marble stairs to the second floor looked straight out of an upper class movie, and he failed at counting all the doors that were at simple sight.

How the hell was he supposed to find you in here?

He was not giving up that easily, though. He had literally only come here because of you, after all. So, with a subtle shake of his head, he made his way through the many acting majors so he could reach what he thought would be the kitchen. You being there getting a refill or just hanging out seemed like a very high possibility.

Only you were not.

There were only a few people in there, and after doing a double take, he came to terms with you simply not being there. Letting out a sigh, he walked up to the counter and poured himself a drink, taking a sip of it as he pulled his phone out and scrolled down on Twitter — maybe you had posted something that could give him an idea about where exactly you were inside this endless-looking place.

"Hyunjin?"

His head snapped towards where his name had came from — having been too focused on his phone to fully take in the femenine voice, yet hoping he would lock eyes with you. Instead, he found himself locking them with Lee Somin, an acting major he had met at a party last year and ended up taking back home that same night.

"Somin…" he couldn't help but sound disappointed.

"Hey" she smiled. "Wow, I haven't seen you in a while".

"Yeah, it's been like… a year?" his eyebrows knitted together deep in thought.

"I'm pretty sure we ran into each other last term" her lips curved up in a way he could tell she was flirting. "But yeah, a year more or less".

Hyunjin nodded, silently looking down into his cup as he considered taking another sip.

In all honesty, he couldn't care less — neither to remember how long had it been, nor to keep this conversation going. It had only been a one time thing, after all. He had maybe seen her one or two times on campus after that. Not important enough for him to keep track of.

He should have considered the possibility of running into his past hookups when coming here. Any other time, he wouldn't have minded. Three or maybe even two months ago, he wouldn't have minded in the slightest. But tonight he only wanted to find you. Entertaining any kind of conversation with those he had been with at some point before you was truly not part of his plans.

"Didn't think you'd be here" Somin gave it another shot at initiating small talk.

"I wasn't," he blurted out. "I mean, it was last minute".

"Couldn't turn down having some fun, huh?" she raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer to him.

Hyunjin moved away, slightly, not to seem rude. "Uh, yeah… I just…"

"Maybe we could stick together" she proposed with a smirk, and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe she was way past tipsy by now. "We had lots of fun together last time".

"I'm actually here with someone" he confidently informed her, both to her and his own surprise.

"Oh? I thought dating wasn't really your scene?"

"It wasn't," he agreed. "It just sort of happened".

"Who's the lucky girl then?"

Hyunjin shrugged.

Y/N. You. Of course that was the answer, what he wanted to believe — what he wanted to be true. But going around telling people that you two were together was not the most ideal of moves. Not when it was not true. Not when he was trying to win you over again and didn't want to hurt you nor make you mad any further.

"Well?" she pushed it. "Don't make me think you're only making it up to keep me from taking you home with me tonight".

He rolled his eyes, taking a long sip of his drink and muffling his answer. "Y/N".

"What?"

"Y/N," he repeated, louder this time after having swallowed. "I'm with Y/N".

The smirk that had just curved up her lips at the sound of your name almost made him sick to his stomach. "The artist?"

He nodded.

Somin shook her head in amusement. She did not believe him for shit.

"I mean, I heard that around a couple of times but I just couldn't believe it" she chuckled. "You guys must be in a pretty messy relationship then, considering she's been very lovey dovey with Na Heesung tonight".

Hyunjin found himself physically having to bite his tongue, not to say anything he'd regret later. "You know where she is right now?"

She shook her head no. "I ran into them like an hour ago and I haven't seen them since. Maybe they're in the backyard, or in a room upstairs".

Hyunjin felt his hands turn into a fist at the last remark. There was no way, right? You couldn't possibly be hooking up with Heesung as they spoke.

"Funny" he took another sip, letting his body lean against the counter.

"I mean it, though" she cocked an eyebrow. "I've seen a few couples go upstairs and not come back yet. Apparently it is a thing to hook up in a mansion with as many rooms as an apartment complex. Not like Yurim cares anyway".

"She wouldn't" Hyunjin mumbled.

"Y/N?" Somin wondered, looking up at him before her stare softened. "You guys are really together?"

Once again, he fell silent, staring into his cup like his life depended on it and shrugging her question off.

As if on cue —and almost as manifested by him— your laugh was heard in the living room, getting closer by the second. And before Hyunjin could straighten himself up in order to walk towards where he had heard your voice, you entered the kitchen. Much to his disdain, in the company of the one and only Na Heesung.

"Hyunjin-ah" you said the moment your eyes abandoned Heesung and locked with Hyunjin's first thing, clearly surprised by his presence.

"Hey, Y/N…" he smiled, not bothering to acknowledge the guy next to you who had just excused himself to pour yourselves a new drink.

Hyunjin would be damned to look at anyone else right then as you were right in front of him looking like that. You had gone for the black dress you had shown him through the picture he had whined for, and if he had died at the sight of you in it through his phone's screen, he was sure he had reached Heaven by now. The way you had decided to let your hair down in the end, somehow only managing for him to find it harder to breathe.

That button down black dress would be the end of him, that was for sure.

He wanted nothing but to pull you to him right then and run his fingers through the smooth fabric of it, which hugged your body so beautifully he found it hard to control himself.

Oblivious to the thoughts going through his head at the mere sight of you and your choice of clothing, you smiled back. "I didn't know you were coming?"

He cleared his throat, snapping out of it. "I was invited last minute".

You nodded understandingly, eyes travelling from him to the girl by his side, whose presence you were only now noticing. Not taking his eyes away from you, Hyunjin saw your smile be erased in a second, and that was all it took for him to realise you were putting two plus two together and not exactly getting four out of that sum.

"I see…" you tried to smile again, accepting the new drink Nana was offering you.

"Not by…" Hyunjin rushed to explain, throwing Somin a quick glance before his eyes were back on you. "She didn't—we're not…"

Your smile grew bigger, genuine, at his poor way with words. "It's okay, I get it".

"No but—"

"We just came here for drinks, so…" Heesung spoke up, trying to help you out of that situation and earning himself a glare from Hyunjin while at it.

"Ah, yeah" you agreed, giving Hyunjin and the girl one last look as you followed Nana out of there. "Have fun, you guys".

-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

Having come all the way here, Hyunjin had most certainly not expected that to be his first encounter with you.

He had come all the way here for you, to see you. Running into one of his past hookups and having her next to him right as you ran into him, making you believe he had come here with her, had entirely defeated the whole purpose of him showing up.

Sure, the main reason he had come here was to make sure you and Heesung wouldn't end up hooking up —or worse, becoming a couple— by the end of the night, but it was also so he could spend some time with you. He wanted to be with you. Maybe get a drink together. Talk. Laugh. Win you back.

And every hope of his to get to do just that tonight had been shut down not even fifteen minutes into the party.

Running a hand through his hair as he and Somin walked out of the kitchen and parted ways, he found himself feeling not only frustrated over the whole situation, but also embarrassed as hell after being caught in his own white lie to the girl.

He tried his best to put all of it past him and once again look for you, not wanting to give up just yet — coming up with excuse after excuse to try and take you away from Heesung the moment he saw you again, so he could finish explaining himself. Just a couple of minutes would do.

"Guys, guys!" a blonde yelled from the other side of the room, where a small group of people was sitting down on the floor. "We're about to play a game, in case anyone wants to join!"

Not thinking much of it, Hyunjin resumed his way through the living room on his search for you, shaking his head in amusement when he saw Somin run towards them and sit down in the circle that was only getting bigger and bigger.

And he would've actually walked straight past said group of people and out to the backyard, if it weren't for the fact that he caught a glimpse of you — already sitting down on the floor, careful enough not to have your dress accidentally roll up your thighs. Surprised not to see Heesung next to you, he looked around, almost not believing he had left you all alone in a room full of strangers, about to play a drinking game.

That didn't last long, though, for the next second Nana was back in the picture, sitting down right next to you —in a spot you had apparently saved for him— and placing a black jacket on your legs. You smiled, visibly touched by that considerate gesture of his, before you shifted into a more comfortable position now that your legs were mostly covered. Into a position closer to him.

"Hyunjin, you're playing?" Somin asked from the opposite end, snapping him out of it.

Only then he realised he had been staring for too long — more eyes on him than he would've enjoyed, all of them waiting for his answer so the game could begin.

Hyunjin shook his head no, walking over to the closest wall and leaning against it as he faced the human circle that had just been created. "Just watching".

Feeling your familiar stare on him from the corner of his eyes, he locked them with yours, and he could see you shift in your place as you became nervous under his piercing stare. No one else but Heesung had seemed to notice the subtle change in your mood.

Your eyes only broke contact when the same girl that had announced the game for everyone to join before began to explain the dynamics of the so-called 'whisper game'. It was simple — one person secretly asked a question to another one, the latter answered out loud for everyone to hear, and whoever wanted to know what the question was had to take a shot.

Hyunjin could only thank that they had gone with that drinking game instead of the cliché spin the bottle one. Although he might've played this time around, in hopes to get to feel your addictive lips on his one more time. The idea of you kissing someone else, however, was not nearly as appealing — not to say horrifying.

This whole different game was pretty boring from the sideways, he realised ten minutes in. Hearing answer after answer without getting any context as to what had been asked seemed pointless, yet he could not find himself to be interested enough to sit down and play, nor indifferent enough to leave — not when you were still playing.

The only time he had felt the urge to join was when this other guy had gotten close enough to whisper something to you and make you laugh quite loud, which was followed by a shake of your head and a confident "no". Half of the people there had not hesitated to drink up and crawl over to the guy so they could find out what he had asked you, and Hyunjin would lie if he said he didn't consider taking a shot right then.

Other than that, he could feel himself grow bored.

Up until a redhead asked something to Heesung later on, causing him to look shy for a moment there. And, you see, that itself was not enough to catch Hyunjin's attention, he could not care any less about the guy and what he had to say. But seeing him lean in to whisper something in your ear, when it wasn't even his turn to ask, had him tensing up on his place.

You seemed a bit taken aback by whatever it was that Nana had told you — your eyes unconsciously going up to Hyunjin for a millisecond before they were back on Heesung. And then you nodded.

As if mimicking your actions, Nana nodded as well, fixing his eyes back on the girl who had asked him a question before he finally answered. "Y/N".

The girl covered her mouth as she squealed, that simple action having people taking shots like their lives depended on it — all of them obnoxiously cooing once they got the answer they had drank for.

Only you had seemed not to drink. Maybe because you already knew the answer, he thought. Maybe that's what Heesung had whispered to you before announcing your name to everyone else. Maybe he had just confessed, and he wanted you to be the first one to know.

Hyunjin's head was all over the place — the mere idea of you and Heesung together, and him being too, late made him want to scream.

As if that wasn't enough to freak him out, Heesung's turn to ask was next. The second he leaned in to ask you something, Hyunjin knew he was taking the shot.

Having heard the question, you sat back up, conflicted eyes once more locking with Hyunjin's, as you seemed to look for the answer deep down you already knew.

And for a moment there, just for a second, Hyunjin thought he would be your choice. Whatever the question had been, whether important or not, he thought his name would be the one abandoning your mouth next. However, he was proven wrong the second your eyes went back to Heesung.

"You".

Heesung smiled, and Hyunjin felt his hands turn into a fist for the second time that night — only now he could actually feel his knuckles turn white out of anger. Out of jealousy.

Before he could stop himself, he was taking a seat next to you and snatching from your hand the shot that had previously been refilled, not even caring about the stranger next to you he had just shoved aside to get some space in between, and most definitely not thinking twice before he was downing it all in one go and feeling the liquor burn its way down his throat.

"You can't just get in the game whenever you feel like it" you quietly recriminated him.

Hyunjin shrugged, staring at you in such a way you knew he was not giving this up. "I already drank, so tell me".

-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

How you had found yourself to be in such a situation was beyond you.

The party had been going great for the first hour and a half. You and Heesung had been stuck together the entire time, taking things to the backyard and sitting down on a bench by the pool, just talking and laughing the night away, joining in eventual conversations with his classmates — yet somehow preferring to just be the two of you for most of the time.

It had been later on when everything had seemed to go to shit. When the two of you had gone back inside after you had gotten cold, and Heesung proposed going to the kitchen to get more drinks. You had agreed to it in a heartbeat, laughing on your way over there, as having another drink sounded just perfect to you.

Until your eyes met Hyunjin's first thing once in there.

And maybe it wouldn't have really mattered to you that he was there, if it weren't for the fact that he had company.

You couldn't help but feel stupid right there. Two months. You had been trying to get over him for a little over two months now, and you still felt your heart squeeze at the sight of him and someone else.

All you could do right then without being too obvious about the evident change in your mood was to greet him — quickly, barely acknowledging him before moving on.

That's why you had thanked Heesung for getting you out of there as soon as you were back in the living room, and why the drinking game was perfect timing. You had not even hesitated before you dragged Nana to join it with you. You would get to avoid Hyunjin and his date —or whatever that acting major was to him— and get your mind off the way your heart had felt at the sight of them together.

Of course, you didn't count on her wanting to play as well and sitting down right across from you. At least Hyunjin didn't seem interested enough to join in as well — you surely wouldn't have been able to handle his answers to the possible questions he would've been getting, especially when he seemed to have come here with someone else. No matter how hard you had tried, you realised right then you weren't nearly halfway getting over him. You were nowhere near ready to see him with someone else just yet.

The questions had been pretty silly at first, everyone was having a laugh and drinking for the sake of it. Or, well, for the sake of gossip. Drama was something that seemed far away from the game. Up until this one guy asked a girl who she'd rather make out with in the party and she answered with no hesitation. From then on, the questions began getting more serious, spicier.

You had been too busy laughing at Heesung when a redhead —whose name you had learned was Minseo— used her turn to ask him of all people a question, to even notice him leaning in towards you and placing his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"Do you wanna see whether Hwang feels something for you?"

His words had you physically leaning back and away from him, staring at him in shock for a moment before your eyes travelled towards Hyunjin, whose awaiting eyes were already fixing on yours.

Did you? That was the thing, did you want to know whether he felt something for you? Did you want to know now of all times? Now that you guys were done and you were trying your hardest to move on?

The rational side of you was quick to answer no. No, you did not want to know. You were done with him. Whether he felt something for you or not did not matter in the slightest, because it would not change anything.

The romantic side of you, the one that had been in love with Hwang Hyunjin for over a year now and that was still hurting over him not feeling the same way you did, wanted to know. Because that part of you was the hardest to shut down, especially when it came to the one person you had felt the strongest for.

In the end, the answer was simple. Your heart always seemed to win when it came to making decisions somehow. So you nodded.

And as Nana said your name out loud and everyone freaked out over it, even more after hearing what he had been asked for him to say your name as his final answer, you couldn't bring yourself to stop looking at Hyunjin.

Reading him, his feelings and thoughts, had never been an easy task to do. Right then, however, although still wearing a rather unreadable serious semblance, you could tell he was not happy.

He did not like to have your name abandon Heesung's mouth like that in the slightest.

And for a moment there, you thought he was about to join the game and take a shot. You thought he would care enough to go and find find the answer. But he didn't.

Too focused on him, you didn't even drink. Not like you really cared about what the previous question had been, you knew Nana hadn't meant his answer anyway. Plus, you would probably end up hearing it from someone else at some point, just like you were sure Hyunjin would, too.

When it was Heesung's turn to ask and he leaned in once more towards you, though, this time asking an actual question that you would have to answer out loud for everyone to hear, you were able to get an idea as to what he had been asked right before.

"Out of everyone here, who would you like to kiss tonight?"

Now, you knew he was doing this to help you get a reaction out of Hyunjin. Therefore, you were supposed to answer him, Na Heesung. Not a single thought. Just say his name. Right away.

But you couldn't help but actually give it a second thought.

You could've said Hyunjin. He was the one you wanted to kiss that night, being honest, and you wanted nothing but to slap yourself across the face for you to wake the fuck up. You were not supposed to want to kiss him. Not tonight, not ever. Yet here you were, locking eyes with him while you internally debated whether you should say his name or not.

No, you couldn't say his name — you were hit with a change of heart. Even if you wanted to kiss him, even if you were dying to feel his mouth on yours like you had oh-so-many-times done by now, you couldn't say it out loud. Not for everyone to hear. Not for him to hear. Not when you knew he didn't want to be with you in the same way you wanted to be with him.

You couldn't keep making a fool out of yourself. You couldn't keep giving him the pleasure of your undivided attention when he didn't reciprocate.

Forcing yourself to look away from him, you nervously fidgeted with one of the buttons on your dress, collecting all the sanity you had left before you could find it in you to confidently look at Nana and to answer for once and for all. "You".

The collective cheer that followed your one-word answer, right before the nosy players began drinking down their shots, was no surprise. You had expected it no matter what your answer was.

What you were not expecting was for Hyunjin to sit down next to you in what felt like a second — snatching the drink from your hand and downing it all in one go, so he could demand to hear what you had been asked.

It was funny, not to say tragic, how, somehow, all your decisions, all your feelings, always came back to Hyunjin.

You had come to this party to forget about him. You had felt that annoying, oh-so-familiar pressure in your chest because of him, when you saw him with someone else. You had decided to play this drinking game to once again keep your mind away from him. You had agreed to play along with Heesung's scheme because of him. You had answered Heesung because of him.

And now, you were currently panicking because of him. The one and only, Hwang Hyunjin.

Always, Hwang Hyunjin.

"Well?" he pushed it. "What was the question?"

"Um…" you hesitated, looking back at Heesung, in hopes of getting some help from him.

"Oh, come on," the girl Hyunjin had been with when you greeted him earlier that night spoke up. "Everyone already drank, you guys can announce it out loud and save us the trouble of having to go there and hear it one by one".

Heesung's eyes locked with yours, silently asking for permission to let everyone know what he had just asked.

You shrugged, defeated. Everyone would end up knowing anyway. Hyunjin would end up knowing anyway. There was no escape this time around, so it was better to just get it over with.

"Um. I asked who she'd rather kiss".

Everyone's reaction was the exact same as it had been when they found out why Nana had answered with your name before. Only this time it was in unison, louder, as they had all found out at the same time.

And this time you could feel Hyunjin tense up right next to you.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, keeping it safe instead by looking down to your lap, while your face burned up in embarrassment as you heard different voices speculating about your relationship with Heesung.

"Hold on, hold on," Minseo's cheeky tone brought everyone's attention to her. "So Nana said he'd like to take Y/N home with him by the end of the night and now Y/N said she'd rather kiss him~"

Hyunjin's face snapped in your direction, a frown visible on it as he seemed to be piecing everything together. The same as you were at this newfound information. So that was what Heesung had answered your name for.

His intentions of helping you out made a lot more sense now that Hyunjin had heard the question, too.

Not like he had much time to process it anyway, as another girl who had gotten way too much to drink by now was fast to chant, "Ohhh, now kiss!"

Both you and Heesung tensed up in your spot, exchanging looks as you hoped no one else would engage with that comment.

Your luck was no such, though, for it was only a matter of seconds before everyone started chanting for the two of you to kiss as well.

Everyone but Hyunjin, of course. Unlike the rest, who seemed to be enjoying this way too much, he remained silent, still, almost scared of moving — as if the slightest of movements from him would send you straight to Heesung's mouth.

"We're not kissing in front of you all" Heesung tried to play it off with a laugh.

"Yeah," you joined him. "You guys are crazy".

That had only served as fuel to the fire. The chanting now becoming louder, followed along with claps, to the point you knew there was no changing their drunken minds unless you gave them what they wanted.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

"Ugh, I'm sorry" he apologised to you, voice barely audible in between all the madness.

You shook your head, letting him know it was alright. "Let's just get it over with"

Although your voice came out in more of a mumble and you would've thought he wouldn't hear you, the surprise displaying on his face let you know otherwise.

"You sure?" he whispered.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

You nodded, it was just one kiss after all, no big deal. The fact that Hyunjin was right next to you had been completely pushed to the back of your head by now, his presence being long overshadowed by the loud unison voices clouding your judgment.

Watching Heesung nod as well in silent agreement, you leaned in, meeting his lips halfway. Just like that. No hesitation, no second thoughts.

They were nice, soft. Enough so that you knew you would've actually enjoyed the feel of them on yours a lot more if it weren't for the cheers hurting your ears — not to say if it weren't for the fact that you were only doing it because of the social pressure.

You also would've enjoyed it one hell of a lot more if your mind weren't suddenly back on Hyunjin as Heesung's lips sucked on your bottom one.

You could've sworn you had heard his voice call out your name right as your mouth pressed to Nana's. But then again, that might've been the part of you that was still head over heels for him — the one part of you that was still hopeful, the one that still wanted him to show any kind of feelings for you.

The part of you you needed to get rid of.

Pulling away from Heesung after a couple of seconds, Hyunjin was gone.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

"I'm sorry" Heesung apologised for the third time since you had quit the game.

The whisper game had been turned into spin the bottle right after your kiss, and neither you nor Heesung wanted to partake in it.

It had been harder than you had thought to leave the game, as everyone was trying to make you guys stay so it wouldn't turn boring due to losing players, but you had managed to sneak into the kitchen after a while.

You were not kissing anyone else that night.

"Nana, it's fine" you tried to laugh it off once more, sipping on the water you had decided to take in order to cancel out the few shots you drank. "It was just a game".

"Yeah, but…" he sighed. "I don't know, I didn't think it'd go that far".

"Neither did I, but… it's done now" you shrugged, placing your now empty glass down on the counter.

"At least we got a reaction out of our main target" he smirked.

"What tar—oh" you remembered, making Heesung laugh at your cluelessness. "He just left, though…"

"And that itself says a lot?!" he pointed out in disbelief. "And come on, he literally jumped to take that shot when you answered with my name".

"I mean, yeah, but…" you shrugged. "I don't know, he's always been jealous… or possessive, whatever you want to call it, like that".

"He's always had feelings for you then".

At that, you couldn't hold your laugh. "Yeah, right".

"I'm serious, though".

"No, I think it's just… I don't know, he grew way too used to being the only one in my eyes. Any other time I would've answered with his name. He doesn't like not having that anymore, that's all".

"Y/N, you cannot for the love of God be that oblivious!" Nana whined, grabbing your shoulders and shaking them for you to get a grip. "He wouldn't go to such extents just because of that".

It was now your turn to whine, letting your head fall to his shoulder as you lamented. "Everything is just so confusing when it comes to him, I don't know what to believe anymore".

"I think you should believe what you just saw, I mean… Y/N, he literally left when we kissed".

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling Heesung's shoulders slump down as he decided to drop the topic and pull you into his arms in a comforting hug.

"You wanna leave?" he asked after a couple of seconds.

"Yeah… that might be for the best" you mumbled, slowly pulling away from his embrace as you stood up straight. "There is no way we're leaving together now, though. I won't have my name in yet another rumor".

"Seems like the fair thing to do" he chuckled. "But there's no way I'm letting you go back home alone so late, I'll just head out first and wait for you outside or something".

"I guess that could work" you agreed.

"It will," he reassured you. "Although, to be honest, I don't think they'd start a rumor regarding us two".

"I can't trust your classmates anymore, I'm sorry" you shrugged, much to his own amusement. "No but that's not all because, like, imagine if they saw us leaving together and made us kiss again".

"I get that it was mere social pressure but don't make it sound like kissing me sucks" he dramatically clutched at his chest.

Rolling your eyes, you looked away as you denied, "I didn't hate kissing you, if I'm honest… I'm just saying".

Heesung smiled. "I didn't hate it either".

You felt your cheeks heat up all over again, just like they had when you pulled away from the kiss a couple of minutes ago. That had probably been the alcohol speaking, but you did mean it.

The kiss was nice. Pleasant. Different from Hyunjin's. Different from the way you felt with Hyunjin's. But nice nonetheless.

Before any of you could try and say anything else, however, someone clearing their throat at the entrance caught your attention.

Hyunjin stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and a stare you had not seen on him for a good while now, if ever. It was cold, and you couldn't pinpoint whether he was hurt or mad, nor whether he was feeling that way towards you or Heesung — or maybe both.

So cold, that you felt yourself to be oh-so-little under it.

"Am I interrupting something?" his voice sounded just as cold as his eyes looked.

Heesung bit his bottom lip, swallowing his own words not to make the situation any worse and looking at you instead, so you could be the one to answer.

"N-No…" you stuttered, eyes abandoning Nana's and fixing on Hyunjin's.

He nodded, entering the kitchen and silently going over to pour himself a drink.

Giving you an understanding look before you could even process what was going on, Heesung took a step away from you and towards the entrance. "We forgot my jacket in the living room after the game, so…"

"Nana…" you whispered, failing to grab his hand for him to stay.

He motioned towards Hyunjin, whose back was turned towards you, and gave you a reassuring smile before he left the room.

You stayed in your place. Hyunjin and you were now the only ones in there, and you couldn't bring yourself to say a word to him. Were you even supposed to say anything? His back was turned to you, after all, maybe he didn't want to talk at all. Maybe you were just supposed to leave. Maybe he wanted to be left alone, too.

Leaving seemed like the best option.

"He a good kisser?" Hyunjin asked, still not bothering to look at you.

You stopped in your tracks just as you were about to cross the door and turned around to look at him, finding yourself at a loss of words — completely taken aback by his bold question.

"What?"

"You enjoyed the kiss?" he rephrased it, finally turning around and looking at you as he took a sip of his drink.

"Why are you asking me this?" your voice faltered. "Shouldn't you be with your date?"

Hyunjin snorted. "Had you stayed one more second when we greeted and had you let me explain, you would've known by now that I came on my own and it was Changbin hyung's date who snuck me in".

The relief you felt at that made you mad at yourself all over again. It shouldn't matter who he came here with, nor who invited him in. You weren't supposed to care. You weren't supposed to feel your heart so at ease over this.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, though…"

"Don't I?" he tilted his head, placing his cup on the counter and walking towards you. "Why did you bring my supposed date up then?"

Looking up at him, you were once again at a loss of words. You couldn't give him a proper answer, not without letting him know you still cared. So, you said nothing, instead shaking your head before you walked right past him and out of the kitchen.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

"We're not gonna talk about it?" he pushed it, following hot on your heels as soon as you entered the living room looking for Heesung.

"There is nothing to talk about" you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear.

Looking around for a second, you poundered your options. Going to the couch by the corner that had a free spot would only draw attention, as you were sure Hyunjin would not give it up just because there were people around. Going to the backyard would be pretty much the same.

Your eyes went up to the main staircase and then to the second floor, and that was all it took for you to go for it.

"No?" he followed you up the stairs, reaching for your hand and pulling you back towards him as soon as you were in the hallway. "So kissing another guy right in front of me is nothing now?"

You scoffed. "Why do you even care?"

"I thought it was obvious?"

"It's not" you answered coldly, pulling your hand out of his grasp.

"Think again then".

You shook your head in defeat. "Is it because it's Heesung?"

That had seemed to catch him by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Are you mad that I kissed someone else in front of you or are you mad that it was Heesung?"

Hyunjin scoffed. "You could've kissed some complete stranger and I would've been just as hurt".

Hurt. Hurt.

He said hurt. Not mad, not annoyed, but hurt.

For the first time in a while, you felt yourself being delusional and allowing yourself to believe he did feel something for you. Something more than simple care. Something more than the selfish need to have your undivided attention all on him.

That simple use of words of his had been able to make you feel the hope you no longer thought you had by now.

"Y/N?" Hyunjin snapped you out of it. "Are you even listening to me?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitating before you spoke. "I don't get you, Hyunjin".

"What is it that you don't get?"

"Why you're acting like this…"

"Because you kissed another guy" he repeated, and you could tell he was beginning to lose his temper.

"That's not—" you sighed. "Okay, so I kissed another guy. I kissed Heesung. I did. But as opposed to what, kissing you?"

Hyunjin's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You're talking like I cheated on you somehow" you pointed out. "You're mad that I kissed someone who was not you, but it's not like we're kissing either?"

"Do you want us to kiss?"

It was now your turn to scoff, staring at him incredulously for a moment before you tried to walk past him once again and go down the stairs.

"Y/N, wait" he stopped you once more, holding you by your shoulders.

"You just can't be serious for shit, can you?" you snapped, shoving his hands away from you.

"I am serious!" he exclaimed. "I am serious, Y/N. I'm just so fucking conflicted right now because I literally saw you with someone else and I'm trying to win you back here—"

"Win me back?" you whispered, inaudibly to him.

"But there are so many thoughts running through my head right now I can't think straight, like, do you like him? Did you feel something when you kissed him? Does he like you? Is he a better kisser than me?"

"Hyunjin…"

"Because I don't think he could be. He isn't, right? Is he?"

"You can't just ask that" you frowned. "Why would it even matter anyway".

"It just does…"

"I don't go around asking you if all the girls you've kissed apart from me are better than me".

"You could" he shrugged.

"What?"

"You could ask me. And I'd say you in a heartbeat".

"Hyunjin—"

"You are better than them, Y/N".

"Hyunjin".

"I'm serious" he stated. "There's a reason I kissed you pretty much every time we saw each other. It's different when there are feelings involved".

You scoffed, rolling your eyes before you looked away. "Glad you could tell how head over heels I was for you".

"I'm talking about me".

You froze.

Silent, still. Eyes looking for some kind of amusement in his — anything that would hint at his words being a joke. Just one mean, fucking cruel joke.

You found nothing.

"W-What?"

"I'm talking about my feelings, not yours".

"You—No. Feelings? No, you can't do this again".

"Y/N..."

"You can't mess with my head all over again, I thought we were past this".

"We will never be past this," he denied. "Not until you listen to me and actually believe what I've been trying to tell you for a while now".

"And what is it that you've been trying to tell me now?"

Hyunjin sighed, nervously looking around and only then hitting him that the two of you had been in the hallway all along. Although it was pretty much isolated, apart from the couple in their own world a couple of meters away, he felt shy all of a sudden. Especially since anyone could walk up the stairs any minute.

"Not here" he mumbled.

Staring at his hand on yours the next second, you let him guide you through the hallway in search of an empty room the two of you could talk inside of — without other people possibly watching or even overhearing everything you had to say.

It only took opening three doors and coming across two locked ones to finally find an empty bedroom.

Walking inside, you were thankful by the fact that a small lamp remained turned on by the nightstand, providing you both with some much needed —dim— light, as you had been too busy pulling your hand out of his grasp and Hyunjin too busy closing the door behind you to bother looking for a light.

"So?" you pushed it. "Are you telling me what's going on?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm trying, Y/N. It's not easy for me".

"That's what you said last time" you reminded him. "I don't know, Hyunjin. I'm trying to be understanding here and be friends again but you keep pulling this kind of stuff and honestly by now I feel like maybe this is all about attention".

"Attention?"

You nodded. "You had never been interested in me until I started hooking up with Binnie. And now you started being all sweet to me and getting jealous all over again when I started hanging out with Heesung".

"It's not like that…"

"Then how is it like?" you crossed your arms over your chest. "Because it really does look like I'm some kind of game to you".

"You're not just a game to me, Y/N. You're so much more, I—" he exhaled shakily. "Okay, yes, I started showing interest after you and Bin hyung started hooking up, there's no denying it, but I kinda needed that to realise that I wanted to be with you".

"You didn't want to be with me, though…" you mumbled. "Not seriously, at least. That's the point".

"Yes, I did" he confessed, and you felt as if your heart had stopped for a moment. "I did, Y/N. I was just too much of an idiot to realise".

"You don't…" you sighed. "No, what are you saying?"

"I want to be with you, Y/N. For real".

Your whole body stilled and your knees went weak, needing to lean back against the door for some kind of support.

You could not believe your ears. He could not be serious, could he? He was joking. This was all some kind of mean, mean joke. It had to be. Wasn't it?

"Can you say something?" he nervously whispered.

"You don't mean that…"

"I do mean it. I had never meant anything else as much as I mean this".

"Do you realise your timing?" you recriminated him, finally snapping out of it. "Like, you do realise how much of a joke this sounds like right now, don't you?"

"Why would I be joking about something like this?"

"I don't—I don't know…" you shook your head, unconsciously taking a step back. "It does sound to me like you only want to make sure I don't get over you and move on to someone else".

"You really think that low of me?" Hyunjin questioned, eyebrows furrowing not really in offense, but hurt instead. "You genuinely believe I'm doing this out of attention?"

You remained silent, much to his dislike.

"You really think I'm doing this to keep you wrapped around my finger? Seriously, Y/N?" he questioned. "All the sweet words? All the art studio visits? All the times I try to hang out with you alone or just talk to you? All the times I've gotten so obviously jealous? You really think I'm doing it all to play with you?"

You shrugged, not daring to look him in the eye as you replied, "I don't know when it comes to you anymore…"

That had felt like a punch in the gut for him, finding himself leaning back as he took a shaky breath. "Wow…"

"I'm just saying, you did all those things before too and you didn't want a serious relationship, how am I supposed to know it's any different now?"

"Because it just is!" he threw his head back in frustration. "I wanted a relationship with you too back then but I was too stupid to realise it. I wanted to be with you at all times, I wanted to kiss you, I wanted you all to myself. I didn't even care about going to someone else to hook up with but I still made myself believe I did just because I was too scared to admit to myself that I was falling for you".

"Hyunjin—"

"No, you're listening to me now" he cut you off, decided to get his point across and determined to make you hear him out. "I know the timing could not be any more shitty and that it seems like I'm doing this just because I want you to only ever have eyes for me, and yes, I do want you to only ever have eyes for me, but not for the reason you're imagining. I want you to only be into me because I too am only into you".

You snorted, incredulously rolling your eyes as you backed away and tried to reach for the doorknob. At that, Hyunjin pressed his hand against the door — his strength overpowering you and forbidding you from opening it. The way his face was now inches away from yours as he cornered you against the only exit you had, however, had been enough to keep you still and stop fighting him right away.

"Why is it so hard to believe that I am only into you?" he mumbled this time.

"I, I just—I don't," you struggled to get the words out of your mouth. "You literally said that you didn't think you'd ever be able to give me the relationship I was expecting from you, that you wanted to be free and—"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I was just being stupid?" he repeated. "What I wanted was right there in front of me and I was too much of an idiot to see it, until I eventually lost you and what we had and it hit me".

"And how do I know you won't go back to wanting to be free and sleep around after we get back together? How do I know this is what you truly want and not just you wanting what you can't have?"

"Because I have feelings for you!"

-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

Feelings. Feelings.

His feelings. For you.

Although he had hinted at it minutes ago when he was recriminating you for kissing Heesung, you had chosen not to believe your ears. He had not meant it like that, as far as you knew.

But now he had said it, word by word. He had looked at you straight in the eye and told you he had feelings for you. Actual romantic feelings for you. And he wanted to act on them now, as opposed to months ago when he claimed to like you one hell of a lot yet didn't feel like being in a relationship with you.

You remained frozen, quiet — scared of moving, even. Feeling like your voice would fail you the moment you opened your mouth to speak.

"You what?" you whispered, weakly.

"I have feelings for you, Y/N" Hyunjin said once again, calmer this time, yet somehow determination being clearer in his voice. "It took me way too long to realise, but there's a reason I couldn't let go of you even after you wanted nothing to do with me. There's a reason what we had was so close to an actual relationship to begin with. There's a reason I hate to see you and Heesung together now, and why it hurt so fucking much to see you kiss him that I had to physically leave the room or I would've either broken down or beaten him up right there".

"I didn't…" you took a deep breath. "I didn't think it would hurt you, I didn't do it to spite you…"

"I get that, Y/N, but it fucking hurt. It fucking hurt so much, more than I could've ever imagined. I really wanted to pull you away from there and to be the one to kiss you instead. Because I do have feelings for you. And that is the exact reason why I won't go back to wanting to sleep around," he leaned in, softly resting his forehead on yours. "I only want to be with you. I mean it".

"You do?" you whispered, already feeling yourself melting under his simple touch.

"I do," he confirmed in a heartbeat. "Fuck, baby, I want to be with you so bad".

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of the pet name you had not heard in so long.

"Hyunjin…" you pouted. "Don't play with me".

He took a deep, shaky breath, bringing his thumb up to trace your bottom lip. "I'm not playing," his eyes travelled back up to your eyes. "You're driving me crazy, Y/N. I don't know what else to do for you to believe I'm serious about us".

Us. Us.

You could've screamed right then and there if it weren't for the fact that your voice was failing you when you needed it the most.

You couldn't believe just how weak you were still when it came to him.

"I'm just… so confused, Hyunjin…"

He nodded understandingly, letting out a heavy sigh as he tried to compose himself as well. "I get that it's all very confusing and hard to believe, but I'll do anything if it means you'll believe me" he whispered, gently bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. "I do mean it when I say I want to be with you, Y/N. Only you".

Too stunned to say anything, you nodded — gently, almost invisibly, as right then you weren't sure of anything. It was a dream, as far as you knew.

But it was a dream you didn't want to wake up from.

"Okay…" you whispered.

"Okay?" he asked, hope clear in his voice.

"You can… show me that you mean it…"

Hyunjin smiled brightly, his eyes turning into two crescent moons as he tried to process your words. "You're serious?"

"Mhm…" you softly nodded. "If you fuck up again after this… I won't be able to give you any more chances, though…"

"I won't," he promised. "I won't, I—fuck, I'm so happy" a breathy laugh escaped his mouth, making your heart flutter as you watched him try to compose himself.

You couldn't help the small smile that had curved up the corners of your lips at the sight of his own, closing your eyes when he once again rested his forehead on yours and lovingly bumped your nose.

Looking down to your mouth for a second, his uncertain eyes were back up on yours. "Would I be an asshole if I kissed you right now?"

You shook your head no, maybe a little too quickly for your own liking. As much as you had tried to deny it, to push such thoughts away, you wanted him to kiss you.

You needed to feel his plump, cloudlike lips on yours again. Right then, as you had them only a centimeter away from yours, and as you could feel his hot breath hit your mouth, you felt like you would die if you didn't get a taste of them.

Thankfully, you didn't need to reach such an extent, for Hyunjin himself felt like he would die if he didn't feel your mouth against his right at that moment, and so your shake of head was all he needed to close the small space the two of you were going insane over.

You had not forgotten how much you missed the feel of his mouth on yours, but as his lips opened ever so slightly to press deeper against yours, you could only realise just how fucking much you had actually missed it.

It was needy, messy, different to every other kiss you had shared before — even during your make out sessions. Your breathings not taking long to become heavier and have you gasping for air. It almost felt like you would die the moment your lips pulled away from each other.

Having his tongue massage yours the way only he could and biting on your bottom lip like he knew it drove you crazy, you couldn't stop the small hum that escaped your mouth, feeling yourself getting drunk on the touch and taste of him.

Hyunjin smiled, hands tightening on your hips to pull you as close as he could to him, before they traced their way up your back and pressed your chest to his — letting out a heavy yet blissful sigh when you took his look for closeness one step further by tightening your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss.

"Fuck, you're driving me crazy" he mumbled against your lips, feeling you chuckle in between the kiss in response.

Air no longer seemed like a necessity, both of you being too long gone to even think of breaking the contact between your mouths. Instead, Hyunjin's hands travelled down to your lower back to pull you closer, as he had felt you move slightly away from him and he was not having it.

Missing the touch of his right hand on your lower back the next second, however, you whined, earning a breathy laugh from him against your hot mouth. That's when you heard the lock of the door twist behind you, and suddenly it made sense why his hand had abandoned the comfort of your body.

Not giving you time to react, the same hand of his you had whined about now travelled further down to the back of your thigh, pulling it up around his waist before his other hand joined and he lifted you up. You smiled in between the kiss, helping him by wrapping your legs around him as he adjusted himself in between them and held you up against the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" you teased him, barely catching your breath.

"Nothing yet" he smirked, sucking on your bottom lip.

You smiled, leaning down to trap his bottom lip in between yours and then pulling at it with a soft bite. "And what's stopping you?"

Groaning at both your words and the pressure your teeth were applying on his flesh, he went back to suck on your lip — his hot tongue tracing over it before it opened its way into your mouth and was gladly met by yours.

A small, barely audible moan escaped your mouth when your body slid slightly down and the friction against his sent a wave of pleasure to your inner thighs. So quiet, that he wouldn't have heard it had he not been kissing you right then, unintentionally muffling out that one sweet sound of yours he wanted to hear the most.

Wanting to hear more of it, he tightened his hold around your waist, so he could let one of his hands travel down to your ass, giving it a light squeeze and not letting go until he reached the king bed, where he gently laid you down on, and wasted no time to be right back on your lips.

"You're not drunk, are you?" he wondered, tenderly caressing your waist.

You shook your head no, resting a hand on his cheek. "I wasn't that into gossip to drink as many shots as everyone else".

Hyunjin chuckled, stealing a lingering kiss from you. "You won't hate me in the morning then?"

You bit your bottom lip, anticipating what was about to happen with just that simple question of his. "I won't".

"Promise?" he mumbled, slowly brushing his lips on yours.

"Promise" you smiled, pulling him down by his collar and trapping his bottom lip in between your needy ones.

Not letting go of the white fabric of his shirt, you began to slowly unbutton it down — one button at a time, slowly enough to drive him crazy.

Neither you bothered taking it off, nor did he bother removing it. You just stared, running your fingertips over the uncovered skin of his toned chest and smiling at the visible goosebumps your touch alone had provoked on him.

"Don't be a tease" he warned, burying his head in the crook of your neck.

"I'm just touching you..."

"Exactly".

A small giggle escaped your mouth at his answer, feeling him smile against your skin before he placed an open mouth kiss to it. And then another. And another. Sucking on your flesh in such a way you would be surprised if you didn't walk out of there without a purple mark on it.

Just as his hand was placed on your waist to keep you in place and your breathing became heavier, his kisses began moving down to your chest, leaving a trail of them all the way from your neck to your shoulder, where he stopped for a moment to pull down the sleeve of your dress so he could press a wet kiss directly to your skin. He then moved to your collarbone, loving the way he could already feel your chest heavily move up and down before he could even get to it.

And then he moved down to your cleavage.

Holding the first button of your dress in between his fingers, he looked up at you, asking for permission before carrying on. At a loss of words, you nodded, feeling your body heat up when he undid the first one and moved onto the second one — and so on until he stopped right above your belly button.

He couldn't help but admire you, not needing to undo any more buttons right then as he had you lying down with nothing but a black bralette covering your chest. Leaning down to plant a kiss to your addictive mouth, he couldn't help his hand from grabbing one of your breasts, feeling himself grow hard at the sound of the small gasp you had just let out against his lips.

Using his knee to pull your legs apart, he lied in between them, slowly thrusting against your core as he squeezed your breast once again. This time, you couldn't help the moan that had slipped right past your lips, as you felt him hard against the one place where you needed him the most.

Hyunjin smirked, kissing you harder and muffling out another moan of yours after he thrusted once more, harder as well.

"Fuck, baby" he breathed out. "You're driving me crazy".

"I should be the one saying that…" you confessed.

He chuckled, leaning down to devour your mouth like his life depended on it. Letting go after what felt like too short of a time for your liking, he went back down to your chest and bagan peppering a few kisses on the uncovered skin. A small groan left his throat when his kisses moved further down and his lips were met no longer by the softness of your naked body, but with the fabric of your bralette instead.

Barely detaching his mouth from the spot he had been teasing, he pulled your bra down to uncover one of your breasts and wasted no time to wrap his mouth around your nipple. It hardened at the first touch of his, feeling him smile against your flesh right before he began to swirl his tongue around your sensitive bud.

Your breathing became heavier, chest tremblingly moving up and down as he continued his ministrations — bringing one of your hands to your unattended breast so you could touch yourself. Only Hyunjin didn't let you, grabbing your fingers right as they grazed over your bra and pulling your hand down on the mattress.

"I'm the one touching you, baby" he gazed up at you, just like that having you obey him.

Without another word, he pulled the remaining cup down as well to release your other breast and give it the attention you had silently been begging for, not forgetting about the one he had been sucking on previously, as he gave it a slow squeeze before he pinched your already sensitive nipple.

You writhed underneath him, lifting your hips up to rub against his erection and get some of the friction you so desperately needed. Hyunjin didn't fight it, instead pressing a hand down on your waist to keep you still as he grinded on you just the way you wanted him to.

"Hyunjin… fuck".

Grinning against your chest, he let go of your now over-sensitive bud and traced his fingertips all the way down to your thighs instead. He teasingly rubbed his thumb right beside your inner thigh, without really touching you where you were desperate for him to touch you.

When a pretty whine of yours reached his ears not even three seconds later, however, he decided to stop your torture. Gently palming your core over your panties, he felt himself grow harder over how much more wet than he had expected you actually were.

"Fuck," he groaned, running two of his fingers up and down your slit over the damp fabric. "Can't wait to be buried deep inside you".

You whined under your breath, that thought alone having you trying to squeeze your legs together, in desperate need to release the sudden itch in between them. Noticing this, as you had failed ever so miserably given that he was in between your legs, stopping you from pulling them back together, Hyunjin took it upon himself.

Leaning down to crash his mouth on yours, parting your lips with his tongue as he searched for the touch of yours, he pulled your panties aside, earning a melodic whimper from you the moment those same fingers than had been touching you over the thin fabric before were now running up and down your wet folds.

"Hyunjin," you breathed out when he stopped right at your entrance and toyed with it, pushing one of his fingers inside you. "Hm—fuck, Hyunjin, don't tease…"

He chuckled, biting your lip before he pulled you into another kiss — curling his finger up as he softly pistoned inside your walls. "But I wanna take my time…"

"Please," you begged, feeling yourself clenching around his finger. "No teasing tonight, I just need you inside me".

"No teasing tonight?" he pulled away from your mouth and removed a strand of hair from off your face with his free hand. "You're saying there will be another time?"

You didn't reply, feeling the heat reach your face as the implication of your own words had just hit you. Hyunjin laughed breathily, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"Okay then, no teasing tonight" he gave in, removing his finger from you and having you whimper over the sudden emptiness. "But I still need to make sure you're wet enough".

"I'm already wet enough" you whispered.

He smiled against your lips. Fuck, he swore right then you could not look any hotter, and he could not be any harder.

"You think so?" he mumbled against your lips.

"Yes," you blurted out in a heartbeat. "Please, Hyunjin, just fuck me".

"Fuck, you're so hot" he breathed out, earning a breathy, contented laugh from you that was followed with a short kiss to his mouth. "You're on the pill, right?"

"You didn't bring a…"

He shook his head no, and you could feel him begin to panic. "You're not?"

"I am, it's okay," you reassured him with a kiss, gently brushing his hair back. "I just thought you'd at least carry one around at a party".

"I only came here for you tonight, and I wasn't being this optimistic".

"Mm… maybe we should stop right here then, to keep things closer to your expectations".

"Don't you dare" he warned you.

You chuckled, trapping his bottom lip back in between your mouth and bringing your hand down to his pants, palming his bulge over the black fabric and feeling yourself grow needier as a muffled moan came out of his mouth at the sudden pressure.

You had said no teasing, though. So, following your own words, you palmed him one last time before your hand moved up to pull the zip down. Not giving him much time to take in your actions, you took a hold of his hardened member and pulled it out of his underwear.

"Fuck," he growled, already feeling oh-so-sensitive under your touch as you began to move your hand up and down around his length. "You said no teasing".

"I'm not teasing," you breathed out with a small laugh. "But you can't fuck me with it still inside your pants, can you?"

Hyunjin's mouth crashed against yours. "You're gonna be the end of me, for fuck's sake".

Sitting up on the bed, he pulled his pants down to his knees, then taking a hold of your thighs and pulling you closer to him, making a rush of heat run through your whole body and up to your face when he removed your panties completely — even more when you caught his hungry eyes staring.

"Hyunjin..." you called his name when he could not stop himself from touching you.

As if snapping out of a trance, he fixed his eyes on yours, allowing the curves of his lips to curve up as he leaned back down to hover your body. "You're so hot, how am I not supposed to—"

He was shut up by your mouth on his, muffling the following moan of his that ran past his lips when you took a hold of his cock once more and pumped it up and down. Cursing under his breath, he took over your touch when you guided him to your cunt, grabbing his length and slowly rubbing his tip against your slit.

"You sure you want this?" he looked you in the eye.

You quickly nodded, digging your hands under his open shirt and tracing your way to his back as you had suddenly forgotten how to speak.

"Words, baby" he nuzzled your neck.

"You just wanna hear me beg" you complained, feeling your heart race at the sound of his soft laugh.

"Tell me" he pushed it, aligning himself with your entrance. "I'm not fucking you until you tell me".

"Please, Jinnie" you whined.

"Please what, baby?"

"Please, fuck me" your voice could only turn him on more. "Please".

Hushing your pleas with a tender kiss, he held harder onto your waist, keeping you still as he was finally done with the teasing and slowly pushed into you.

"Fuck," he groaned into your mouth, as soon as his tip had slid past your wet walls. "Fuck, you feel so good".

All you could do in return was breathe out heavily, getting lost in the feel of every inch of his stretching their way inside you, rubbing your walls in all the right places as he bottomed out.

Rolling your hips up to meet his as you could only want and need more of him, you got a groan out of him, running your fingers down to his lower back and hinting at him to start moving.

You bit your bottom lip to contain a loud moan from coming out when he complied with your wishes — pulling back and stopping right before the tip of his cock could slip out, to then push all the way back in.

"Oh, my—" you gasped, placing your palms on his waist.

"Feels good?" he asked against your open mouth, pressing his lips to it after you had hummed in content. "Tell me, baby" his hips slammed on yours, making you whimper. "How do you like it?"

"Just like that" you whined, digging your nails on his flesh as his thrusts had become harder. "Fuck, Hyunjin, just like that".

"Yeah?" he smirked, pressing his mouth to the corner of yours.

"Hmm… feels so good".

That was exactly what he wanted to hear.

Smiling against your mouth as another moan abandoned it after one particular thrust of his, he pressed one last kiss to it before hiding his face in the crook of your neck, allowing himself to let out a groan when you once again rolled your hips against his and caused him to reach deeper inside you.

Chest pressing flat on yours, he grabbed hard on your thigh, removing it from around his waist and pushing it down against your ribcage. The new angle had you moaning and your walls clenching around his cock in a heartbeat.

"Y/N, fuck" Hyunjin whined, going up to rest his forehead on yours. "You feel so fucking good".

You trapped his bottom lip in between yours, entangling one of your hands in the black locks at the back of his head and pulling at them ever so lightly, just enough to turn him on even more than he already was and to get a raspy moan out of him — taking the gap in his lips to your advantage by sticking your tongue in it and being met with his responsive one.

Letting go of your thigh, he rested his hand on your ribcage, right under the curve of your breast, pulling away from the comfort of your chest so he could take a proper look at you and the way your body moved with every thrust of his.

"You're so hot," he groaned, rubbing his thumb over your hardened nipple. "So fucking beautiful..."

Throwing your head back at the pleasure, feeling your legs grow weaker by the second, you allowed a moan of his name to slip past your throat. That only had him leaning back down to crash his mouth on yours and grind deeper on you — harder, faster.

The sound of your hot flesh slamming against one another over and over filled the room, to the point you were thankful by the loud music that was playing downstairs and helped this bedroom become as soundproof as it could be.

Your walls clenched around him once more, as his cock had finally reached your most sensitive spot and the friction of his pelvis on your clit was starting to become too much, in the most delicious of ways.

"F—uck," he let out a shaky breath. "If you keep doing that I don't think I'll last for too long".

You bit your lip, feeling almost ashamed as you could hardly speak. "I'm not lasting… much longer…"

Because it was all too much. All the time you have had feelings for him, all the months you hadn't been intimate with anyone, the way he had managed to know just the way you liked it the first time around, the way his cock was rubbing against the one spot that could make you see stars in a matter of seconds.

The way it was him.

Everything was too much, and you were afraid it would be over sooner than you wanted it to.

Hyunjin's eyes softened, and a sweet smile curved up his lips — leaning down to kiss you gently this time. Cupping your face with his hand, he drew tender circles on your chin with his thumb.

"Cum for me, then" he mumbled against your mouth, bringing his hand down to your clit.

"Hyunjin," you gasped when his thumb rubbed on it. "Fuck, I don't—"

"Hm, baby?" he asked, thrusting into you. "You don't, what?"

"I don't wanna cum yet" you choked out.

He chuckled, feeling your body tremble underneath him. "Your body says otherwise…"

"Hyunjin, ple—fuck," you cried, palms pressing against his abdomen when he pounded into you. "Please, it feels too good".

"I know, baby…" he hushed you, not letting go of the pace he had set that was driving you over the edge. "You're driving me crazy over here, too".

Hearing the way his voice had halted, you could tell he was close, too. So, pushing your own needs aside, you began to roll your hips and meet each of his thrusts halfway all over again — no longer caring about coming undone right then and there, as long as you helped him find his own release.

"Y/N—oh, fuck" he moaned, heavy breathing mixing with yours as he let his forehead rest on yours.

"Hyunjin, I'm coming" you whimpered, feeling your back arching and your legs beginning to shake. "Oh, God, I'm—"

He pressed a kiss to your mouth, removing his hand from your clit and pushing your thigh back against your chest so he could slam harder into you — deeper.

"Let go, baby" he whispered, feeling his own orgasm approaching. "Cum for me, hm? Be a good girl to me…"

With one last thrust of his and with those last words being said, you couldn't hold back anymore — toes curling, legs shaking and nails scratching his back, as you hid your face in the crook of his neck and let out a cry.

Hyunjin couldn't hold back a moan at the mere sight of you shaking and coming undone under him. "Holy fuck, you're so perfect" he breathed out, holding onto your waist to keep you in place as he helped you ride through your orgasm.

Letting your head fall back down against the pillow, you looked down to the place where your hips met. Amazed by the way his cock appeared and disappeared inside you, you placed your hands on his lower back to help him reach his climax while you were still going through yours — throwing your head back against the pillow when his cock kept on hitting your most sensitive spot.

Just like he had warned you, your walls clenching around his cock would be what ended up sending him to the edge.

"Y/N, holy—" his words got caught in his throat, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he slammed into you once more.

One last curse abandoned his lips, and suddenly you were feeling his damp chest pressing on yours and his warm release being spread inside you.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

Heavy breathings mixing together, Hyunjin leaned in to steal another kiss from your swollen mouth, not being able to stop a giggle from escaping his own and lovingly bumping his nose on yours, before pressing his lips to yours one more time.

"Fuck, I needed you" he exhaled, kissing you again. "So much".

You chuckled, gently entangling your fingers in his slightly sweaty hair and pulling him into another kiss. "I needed you, too".

Hyunjin's smile turned bigger, brighter, and you once again felt like you were in a dream when he cupped your cheek and tenderly caressed your skin. He looked at you like you were holding the stars in the sky, and for a second there you grew afraid — afraid of having let your walls down, more than you ever had before, to the point your mind was now making up the feelings behind his eyes to compensate for the love you still felt for him.

All your worries were quickly shut down when he pressed a soft kiss to your nose, then another to your forehead, and then one to your cheek, before he let his bodyweight fall on you, burying his face in the valley of your breasts as his arms snuck around your waist and pulled you closer than you'd ever been to him.

"You're heavy" you whined, with the exclusive intention of annoying him.

He didn't even budge. "You can take it for a couple of minutes".

Allowing the corners of your mouth to curve up into a smile, you gently ran your fingers through his hair, feeling his chest move up and down as he sighed contentedly. He had missed you playing with his hair. And you had missed feeling him melt into a puddle under your loving touch.

It was ironical, how that same day you had been beating yourself up over having flirted with him like you used to, even after everything that had gone down between the two of you and how hard you were trying to get over him, yet here you were right now, with your dress doing little to nothing to cover you up as Hyunjin lied on top of you — face buried in your chest as he tenderly caressed your hip under the black fabric of your dress he had previously pulled up to your waist, and your breathings synchronized as the two of you had finally managed to fully come down from your highs.

As ironic as it sounded, though, there was a difference between your flirting earlier that day and the intimacy you had just shared: You didn't know he had feelings for you before.

The main reason why you had beaten yourself up over having slipped up and flirted back with him was because you felt delusional. And how could you not? He knew you had feelings for him all along, you knew they were one sided, and you still had managed to make a fool of yourself by giving him just what he wanted. You had found yourself falling in his game all over again.

Only it was not a game to him. Now you knew.

A voice at the very back of your head told you that you should be ashamed, that you had given in too easily, but you couldn't find it in you to feel anything other than peace right then.

You had missed him. You had needed him, more than you could have ever imagined.

You had tried to get over him, you had really tried. But having him tell you all that, when a part of you still felt so strongly about him, had managed to make it all come back — every single feeling you had managed to push away. Just like that.

And maybe it was the hopeless romantic in you, or simply your love for him, that made you want to believe with everything in you that this time would be different.

You wanted, begged, to believe that this time around your heart wouldn't be shattered into one million pieces.

He had said he only wanted you, that he had feelings for you. Whether said feelings were love or he was just slowly beginning to get there, you wanted to believe they were true.

After all, he had said he would do anything for you to believe him. You were truly counting on that.

"Did you mean it?" you wondered, voice soft as ever.

"I meant everything I said".

You giggled, feeling his heart race up as you shook your head. "No… I'm talking about what you said about having come here just because of me…" you specified. "Was it true? Or were you just trying to make me melt?"

"I made you melt?" he looked up with a smirk, both proudly and teasingly.

"Don't" you whined, earning a giggle from him.

"I was serious, you can ask Changbin hyung if you want".

"What does he have to do with it?"

"I told you, his date was the one who let me in here. I had to beg him to ask her".

"That deep?" you taunted him.

"Laugh all you want," he dared you, going up to press a small kiss to your chin and then hover your lips. "Coming here was the best decision I could've made".

Not fighting the smile that had just curved up your mouth, you met his lips midway into a loving kiss. One that slowly turned into one peck after another, getting a blissful giggle from you as Hyunjin could not find it in him to entirely pull away just yet.

Once he felt like your lips had touched a fair enough amount of times to make him the happiest, he rested his head back on your chest, gently bumping his nose against your neck before he buried his face in the crook of it. Your arms didn't wait to wrap around him, holding him close to you as you found comfort in his naked chest moving up and down against yours with every breath you took.

The little utopia the two of you had built was disrupted the next minute, when a sudden turn of the doorknob had your heads snapping in its direction.

"Fuck" you whispered, trying to get up but having no success at it, thanks to Hyunjin's body on top of you. "Jinnie, get up".

He whined, only burying his face back in your chest. "They can go get another room".

"Hyunjin!" you whisper-shouted this time, hearing the doorknob unsuccessfully twist again.

"What, I'm serious" his embrace around you tightened. "This is my Y/N time, whoever they are they can fuck off".

As if on cue, the turning ceased. And you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the sight of the smile that had just taken over Hyunjin's face.

"Y/N time?" you mockingly questioned.

He nodded, no sign of his smile being erased anytime soon. "I said what I said".

You laughed under your breath, placing your palms against his shoulders so you could push him up and off you — only managing to make him look at you so far. "We have to leave".

He pouted. "So soon?"

You nodded. "We're literally in the middle of a party, anyone could walk in".

"The door is literally locked".

"What if Yurim comes".

He shrugged. "It's gonna be locked anyway. Plus, I heard she doesn't really mind having couples do their thing in here".

You rolled your eyes, both in amusement and disbelief. "You're a liar".

"I'm not!" he reassured you, yet the laugh that had followed his words was not very convincing of him.

"Mhm… if you say so" you teased him.

Leaning in to steal a kiss from him before he could fight back like you knew he would, you took advantage of the way he was too busy deepening the kiss and grabbed the hem of his shirt, swiftly buttoning it up until his chest was covered.

"Let's get dressed" you mumbled against his lips, pressing one last kiss to them.

Hyunjin sighed, definitely not wanting to leave you, nor this moment, anytime soon, yet not even dreaming of pushing your limits any further. Just having you this way right now, having had you as intimately as he had done minutes ago, was more, so much more, than he could ever have asked for.

Adjusting his pants and poorly fixing his shirt, he rushed to help you out. Your hands were already pulling down your dress so it would cover your thighs, so he focused on your chest, fixing your bralette first and then carefully —not to say reluctantly— buttoning your dress up. Lastly, he moved on to help you reach for your panties on the other end of the bed so you could put them on.

Once you were all done, he offered his hand to help you sit up just as he did.

"One of us should leave first…" you mumbled.

He nodded, quietly running his fingers through your hair to fix its messiness. "You can go first. I'll stay here and make the bed look presentable again".

You bit your bottom lip, feeling your face burn as you seemed to only then have been hit with what the two of you had just done. Nevertheless, you nodded, standing up and running your hands down your dress in hopes to make it look just as straightened as it was when you arrived.

"Okay, um… I'll see you around?" you tilted your head rather awkwardly, not really knowing how to say goodbye now.

Letting out a chuckle, Hyunjin stood up as well and walked over to you — confidently pulling you in by your waist, so that your body was once again pressed to his and his mouth could brush over yours. "If you think I'm not texting you first thing tomorrow then you've got a whole other thing coming to you".

As much as his words had made you shy, you couldn't control yourself when it came to pulling him into a kiss by his collar.

Hyunjin kissed you back in a heartbeat, a smile curving up his lips as both hands cupped your face to stop you from pulling away just yet.

"Actually, I'm calling you later tonight to see if you got home safe" he let you know as he caught his breath, going in for another brief kiss. "Or maybe I should take you home instead".

"We're not having a second round" you warned him.

Hyunjin laughed under his breath. "No, it's not…" he shook his head, opening his eyes to meet your awaiting ones. "I meant your home, as in, dropping you off at your dorm. Although I wouldn't mind taking you back to mine with me".

You amusedly rolled your eyes, doing a pretty poor job at hiding just how hard your face was burning up at his words. "You're not taking me to either" you remarked, having him sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. "I need to go look for Nana, we came here together, so…"

He nodded every so softly — not being able to hide the drop in his mood. "Can I ask you to, like… do... or not do something for me?"

"What is it?" you wondered.

"Don't go back home with him? Or with anyone else for that matter?"

"You mean, going home as in…"

"As in the way you accused me of wanting to take you home" he smiled softly.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for another round with anyone else either after what happened between us" you joked.

"Shut up," he half whined, half laughed, resting his forehead on yours. "You know what I mean".

You smiled, leaning in to kiss his pout away. "I won't".

"Good" he smiled, too, stealing another kiss from you.

"But, Jinnie, you know…" you sighed, trying to look for the right words. "You know this doesn't mean everything is magically, one hundred percent okay between us… don't you? I mean, we did just—but, we're not…"

He nodded, with that simple act of his letting you know he understood. "I know. I have to show you I mean everything I said…" his hands softly traced their way down your arms, until they reached your hands. "But it's a start, right?"

You smiled, looking down at your hands as your fingers interlocked with his. "Mhm… I guess it is".

"I'll be better, I promise" his thumbs drew tender circles on your skin. "I'm done being scared of commitment".

"I'm not trying to push you, though…" you mumbled. "I mean, I wasn't trying… if you're still having doubts—"

"I'm not".

"Don't feel like you need to stay, because if you end up changing your mind later on—"

He shut you up with a lingering kiss. "There's no changing my mind this time".

"I get that it can be pretty scary…"

"Not when it comes to you anymore".

Speechless, you stared into his genuine, determined eyes for a moment, while you tried to take every word of his in. Once you did, you showed him you appreciated his efforts by gently pressing your mouth to his for what could easily be the hundredth time that night.

"Please don't change your mind tomorrow…" you pleaded, failing at trying to hide just how heartbreaking that mere thought was to you.

"I'd be damned to" he whispered, sweetly yet reassuringly squeezing your hands. "I'm actually scared you'll change your mind tomorrow".

"I won't" you reassured him in a heartbeat.

"I won't either," he repeated. "So I guess you're stuck with me now".

"I'm not opposed to that…" you shyly chuckled, having his lips back on yours in a second.

Feeling his hands abandon yours to be placed on your waist instead, knowing all too well that was his way to deepen the kiss, you found yourself resting your palms on his chest to try and push him away before things began to escalate all over again.

"I should really leave now…" you announced, clumsily walking backwards towards the door as he followed without letting go.

"Just one more" he mumbled against your lips, sucking on your bottom one and bringing his other hand to your nape, to prevent you from pulling away just yet.

"Hyunjin…" you warned him with a smile.

"Okay, okay" he stole one last kiss. "I'm done".

"God, who would've thought you'd be so clingy" you pointed out in feigned annoyance, earning a proud smirk from him.

"Oh, you've seen nothing yet, baby".

Rolling your eyes at him, you reached for the doorknob, unlocking it before you finally were able to make your way out of the bedroom — not without first having warned him about not even daring to come out of there right after you did.

Although he would've loved to do just that and have everyone at the party know the two of you were together, he followed your wishes, only walking up to the door once you were out of there so he could lock it back. So that no one would accidentally find out he had, too, been in there all along.

Turning around and walking towards the bed, he was met with the mess you had made on it together, and he couldn't help the smile that parted his lips as the memories flooded his mind.

He knew sex was great, that was pretty much the main reason he liked being single so much — being able to sleep around with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But fuck, no one had ever told him just how much, much better it felt when it was with the one person you had feelings for.

It had never felt as good as it did with you.

It had never made him want to stay before. Stay all night if possible, like he had wished to stay with you — hugging you, kissing you, cuddling you, caressing you.

And that could only reassure him of his feelings for you. If anything, he was now realising they seemed to be way stronger than he had thought.

Covering his eyes, he slumped down on his back as a small giggle escaped his mouth. He was aware that he looked like a mad man right then, but the ghost of your lips on his and your hot skin against his was more than enough for him not to care about it and, instead, allow himself to get lost in the fresh memories of you.

He was the happiest he had ever been, and he would do everything in his power to keep it that way. To show you he had meant every single word that had come out of his mouth that night.

tag list: @blaaiissee @hyuneytoast @staysuki @tardiscompanion @princehyun-jin @hyuka-luvbot @halesandy @nattisbored @qnjayn @hibuki-chan @purenjuniverse @seungly @suhnnyskiess @midsoulz @kwanisms @esme-ordaz @perriwiinkle @firnze @soobin-chois @moon-320 @multifandomizer @elviransworld @valewoos @ktttwwn @hazzaloveschopsuey @hannahdinse8 @youngestdelacour @zoe8stay @leechanniee @phenomenalgirl9 @aeminju @threevracha @kai-maree @laryisthinking @wolfietara @iam2out @kingggjaay @cosmic-railwayxo @straykidsficsrecsbaby @marsophilia @choibeomgogi @ddaengpotate @oceanyocean @rinsdesires @jhslmhbtsskz @lixlovesworld @keenlampponyclam @yerimselgi @mal-lunar-28 @littlestarhyun

[perotovar]

into the beat of the night (ch 1) "transmission"

gif by me, moodboard by the lovely @sp00kymulderr ♥

pairing: frankie morales/nb!oc (they/them) rating: T (for now) chapter warnings: discussions of sexuality/gender (frankie doesn't understand some things and may use language that would be harmful, but it's not intentional), limited knowledge of the military, goth stereotypes abound, mentions of drug addiction/recovery, swearing, cute shit word count: 2.7k dividers by @saradika

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series summary: frankie morales thought he had himself figured out by now. he liked both men and women, had dated both in the past. but when someone that challenges what he thinks that means comes into his life, in an unlikely place, he truly learns who he is, and more importantly, who he loves.

series masterlist

a/n - i can't thank y'all enough for giving my fic a chance! i'm really nervous about posting it since i haven't properly written anything in years, but i've had some lovely cheerleaders (@scenaaario - who is also my lovely beta, i want to kiss you on the mouth for making this fic sound like i wanted it to ♥♥ - @undercoverpena @mrsquill and @kedsandtubesocks i love you guys ♥) along the way that gave me the motivation to post this little story. comments and reblogs are super appreciated! i'd love to hear what y'all think <3

In 1994, the U.S. adopted “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” as the official federal policy on military service by lesbian, gay and bisexual individuals. It was officially repealed in 2011. Seventeen years. For seventeen years, LGBTQ folks, Frankie included, had to hide. At least, he felt he needed to.

He knew he was bisexual when he and his childhood best friend Mateo were in their sophomore year of high school. Frankie and all the other boys started to hit puberty the year before and things were changing: facial hair was slowly growing, voices were dropping.  Mateo started to develop a little faster than Frankie did. Frankie really liked how Mateo was developing. It was a little weird, because they’d been best friends since they were still wearing underoos, but Frankie started to feel things whenever he hung out with Mateo. Things he normally only felt whenever Alana in third period flipped her hair over her shoulder, or whenever Charlotte in fifth period stretched before she started writing and her sweater pulled over her chest a little too much.

Frankie didn’t know what to do with this information or these feelings. He didn’t have a word for any of it, so he just never said anything. He had a couple girlfriends throughout high school, and to anyone who cared to think on it, would see that Frankie was like any other straight, high school boy.

In 1994, Francisco Morales joined the military. He was nineteen. It was never his plan growing up to join, but his dad always wanted him to. When he didn’t have his own plan after high school, he figured it was a safe bet since he had family in the service. While there, he worked his way up in the ranks and eventually met his brothers: Santiago, Benny, Will, and Tom. They would die for each other, had signed up to do so, in fact. He’d grown closest to Santiago, and it was the first time since he was 15 that he got those feelings again. He pushed them to the side, though, because that’s when she came into his life. He didn’t need those feelings getting in the way.

Frankie’s bisexuality really only came into his life a couple of times. His first girlfriend in the military, Layla, was also bisexual and that’s when he learned what the word was and that it also applied to him. She only ever told him since Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was in full swing. Of course he kept her secret, because she also kept his.

The only one of his group of brothers that didn’t know about his sexuality was Tom. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell him, and the others agreed it was best to keep it quiet. Santiago was the first one to know, then Will, and finally Benny. Ben was Ben about it when he found out. He immediately hugged Frankie and excitedly suggested they go to a gay bar instead of their usual hang out. It made Frankie laugh and Will smacked Ben on the back of the head. (They did end up going to a couple of gay bars from time to time. Frankie only went home with a guy once and the guys gave him a lot of shit for it, asking for details. Santiago gave him a smile and patted him on the back and said, “I’m glad you’re finally here, hermano.”)

Frankie had one man he’d consider a “boyfriend” in his life. After he left the military and after DADT was repealed, he went on a bit of a binge. He started hooking up with people more often, despite his introverted nature. He was always careful, safe, and eventually kept to one man for a couple years, before an especially messy breakup.  They were both pilots in the military, but were based in different states; Frankie in Florida, and Jackson in Kentucky. They bonded quickly after meeting at a nightclub in Nashville. Neither one of them remembers why they were there, but they made it a point to see each other frequently, each of them taking turns flying out to see the other.

The breakup happened after Jackson found Frankie’s stash for the last time. The military affected everyone differently. For Frankie, his coke addiction is what got him through the sleepless nights. Jackson had found Frankie one too many times leaned over the back of a toilet and snorting god knows what. Jackson had his own problems with drugs and felt that Frankie ignored them in search of his next fix. Addiction had completely taken over Frankie’s life for the better part of five years. Frankie hated Jackson for leaving him when he most needed him, and lashed out, accusing Jackson of only ever wanting to fuck. That broke Jackson, as he thought about how deeply he loved Frankie. Gay marriage was legalized a year later, and had things panned out differently, they might still be together. He doesn’t blame Jackson for leaving anymore.

Frankie’s daughter, Marisol, changed everything. She was the love of his life, and he would do anything for her. After going back to his days of sleeping around after Jackson left, he met Maya. He kept telling her that he would get clean and go to therapy while she was pregnant, but not until he held his little Marisol in his arms for the first time did he commit to both. He and Maya never planned on being together officially, and decided co-parenting would be their best option. 

He’d been clean and sober for two years by the time Santi told him about the Colombia job. He hadn’t flown, or been allowed to in that time, and was pretty content to never do so again. Every time he got in the pilot’s seat, it would take him to terrible places. But Santi was his best friend, so he took the job. He relapsed when he got home, after Tom. He never blamed Santi for it. He gave Frankie a choice, and where he could’ve said no, he didn’t.

Which brings him to where he is now, two years after Colombia. He’d crossed the street and stood in line for the entrance. He hadn’t been to this nightclub in a while. He looked up at the sign for the club, and raised an eyebrow. The Night Owl. That… isn’t what it was called last time. Was it sold? Apparently, it had recently undergone a rebranding, with new owners, and a slightly… different clientele. 

The best way he could describe it now was that it was a goth club. Frankie had never personally been to this sort of club, not really being a fan of the music or subculture, but never had a negative opinion either. He stuck out like a sore thumb when he entered, the bouncer giving him a once over and chuckling, but letting him in anyway. 

He made his way over to the bar and had a seat, taking in his surroundings and started people watching. He planned on going out tonight, and possibly go home with someone. A club is a club, so he decided to stick around and see what all the fuss was about. 

The walls shook with the heavy bass and beats of the music. It wasn’t like anything he’d heard before. His nostrils filled with the scent of clove cigarettes and hairspray. Everywhere he looked, someone completely decked out in teased hair and black clothing caught his attention. He smiled softly at all the variations in people’s style, wondering how long it took for all of them to get ready in the morning.

The bartender, a large man with heavy eye makeup and a lot of chains and spikes, came up to him and smirked. He felt a presence behind him and when Frankie finally faced forward again, he startled a little, not expecting such an imposing figure to be giving him a staredown.

“What’ll you be havin’, stripes?”

“Stripes?”

The bartender, who had a patch sewed onto his denim vest that read “Viper”, rolled his eyes and gestured vaguely to Frankie’s whole self. “You mean to tell me you’re not military?”

Frankie blinked a couple times and huffed a laugh. “Ex-military, yeah. Is that… okay?”

Viper gave him a long look, eyes slightly narrowed, and pointed to one of the many tattoos on his arm, up high on his shoulder. It was an old one, a little faded, but Frankie recognized it as the stripes given to Sergeant Majors.  “I left after this. Got injured,” he said.

“Sorry to hear that.”

Viper shrugged and reached under the bar, cleaning a glass. “I’m not. So what’re you havin’?”

Frankie thought about it for a second. “I’ll probably regret this, but surprise me.”

An amused look crossed Viper’s features, but he nodded and started mixing a drink for him. Frankie noticed all the ingredients used; lager beer, hard cider, and some kind of syrup. He raised a brow and picked up the glass as Viper slid it across the bar for him. Frankie gave him a look as if to say, ‘Is this safe?’ despite having just watched Viper make it. The bartender chuckled and just gestured for him to give it a try.

Frankie took a deep breath and gulped down a drink. A little foam was stuck to his mustache when he lowered the glass from his face. “Not bad. What is it?” Frankie asked.

“Snakebite. Kind of a staple around here,” Viper hummed, cleaning a different glass.

Frankie chuckled at the name. Of course that’s what it was called. 

Viper was pulled away when a pretty girl with big, teased hair and dark makeup came up to the bar. Frankie took the opportunity to look around the place again.

The music was best described as “dark” and “broody”, unsurprisingly, with slow tempos and even lower vocals. Everyone on the dancefloor was slowly swaying back and forth and, once in a while, would move their arms in ethereal shapes. 

Frankie remembered seeing one of the younger teachers at Marisol’s daycare wearing a t-shirt with a band logo that looked like a bundle of sticks. He tried figuring out what it said once, but was too afraid to ask, so he still doesn’t know. He doesn’t think she’d be at this kind of club.

“You’re new. Bit like a zoo your first time here, I bet.”

Frankie startled, putting his hand over his heart and turned to look at who was talking. Someone had sat next to him and was grinning, taking a sip from their own drink; something dark red and a little cloudy. He blinked a couple times and took in their features; big green eyes rimmed with dark lines, two different nose piercings, and black lipstick. Their hair was long and straight, dark, and with the right side in front of their ear shaved completely. He couldn’t quite figure out if who he was talking to was male or female, the androgyny of their look very clear.

“Uhh, hello?” They waved their hand, full of rings and black nail polish, in front of his face and chuckled quietly. “Oh! Maybe–” They cut themselves off and started making a bunch of symbols and shapes with their fingers and hands.

Frankie blinked and started laughing softly. “I’m not deaf! Sorry,” he grinned. “You just startled me, that's all.”

“Oh!” The stranger laughed, too, putting a hand on his right knee in a friendly gesture. He looked down at the hand and smiled, his heart skipping a beat. Even if he didn’t know very much about them, he couldn’t deny it; they were very pretty.

He removed his cap and ran his fingers through the unruly curls for a second before putting the hat back on. “Sorry,” he repeated, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, it’s my first time here. I didn’t realize the club had changed owners.”

“It did?” They asked, tilting their head to the left slightly. 

“Yeah, it was a– Uh, last time I was here, it was a… different kind of club,” Frankie mumbled. 

The stranger’s eyes twinkled mischievously, the smirk still present on their lips. “What kind of club? Are you secretly into some really heavy BDSM type stuff?” They wiggled their eyebrows.

Frankie had started taking a drink of his Snakebite again and nearly choked on it at the stranger’s teasing. He coughed a couple times, a wide grin on his face. “No! Nothing like that,” he chuckled.

The stranger snapped their ring-clad fingers like they were hoping he’d say otherwise and slumped their shoulders in disappointment. “Damn…”

Frankie’s cheeks warmed at the insinuation, but laughed, convinced they were just joking with him. He cleared his throat and continued, “Y-Yeah, uh, I wasn’t expecting this kind of… group, when I came by. Although, the name of the place probably should’ve warned me.”

“What kind of group?” The stranger grinned, watching his handsome features change from thoughtful to concerned.

Frankie panicked, worried he’d somehow offended them, and cleared his throat again. “N-Not that there’s anything wrong with– Um! I don’t, actually… know,” he tapered off, looking down as he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

The stranger snorted and waved him off. “I’m fucking with you,” they laughed. “I know what you mean. When I heard a new club opened up closer to my apartment, I got pretty excited. No more hour-long drives to the nearest one, y’know?”

Frankie nodded, their low, smooth voice captivating him the longer they spoke.

“Oh! Meant to say this before, but my name’s River,” they smiled and held their hand out to him to shake.

“Frankie,” he answered, holding his own hand out to return the gesture. But River beat him to it, and gripped his long, thick fingers in their own hand and kissed the back of his softly.

Frankie blushed like mad, eyes widening slightly. No one had ever kissed his hand before. He kept his eyes downcast, his hand still securely in River’s grasp.

River tilted their head, brows furrowed in concern before letting go of his hand. “Sorry, was that–?”

“No! N-No, um…” Frankie smiled shyly, tugging at a loose curl behind his ear. “It was fine– Nice, actually.”

River grinned as if they had clocked him immediately. “Well, Frankie, it was very nice meeting you. Will I see you here again?” They asked, looking him up and down.

Frankie found himself nodding before he could say or do anything else. “Y-Yeah, absolutely. Um, how–?”

“My song just came on, and I simply must dance to it. Later,” River winked, stood, and leaned over to kiss Frankie’s cheek as they slipped something into the front pocket of his flannel shirt.

River was gone before Frankie could ask anything else, his eyes following after them as they reached the dancefloor. He watched them dance for a few minutes before he was brought out of it by someone clearing their throat behind him. He spun around and saw Viper, the bartender, leaning toward him and giving him a look.

“You gonna pay for these drinks?” He grumbled, motioning toward Frankie’s Snakebite and whatever River was drinking.

He followed Viper’s tattooed finger and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his wallet out and putting a couple bills on the bar. Viper nodded in thanks and Frankie took that as his cue to leave.

As he stood, he looked toward the dancefloor again in the hopes of seeing River one last time. When he didn’t, he tried to shake himself off and made his way toward the entrance. The bouncer gave him a look and Frankie just shrugged as he exited the club. The cool night air hit his still-warm cheeks, making him feel like he came back to reality. 

“Oh, right,” he mumbled to himself and reached into his front pocket and pulled out a little scrap of paper. A phone number with two cute little devil horns drawn on either side and a little, ‘text me?’ written down beneath it.

Frankie smiled to himself and rubbed the ink on the paper with his thumb.

[keen-li]

Can you please write a jungkook ff based on the song ‘renegade’ by Aaryan Shah? And about the reference in the song. The ‘she’ in the song is the oc (the reader, female lead) and the ‘you‘ in the song be the other girls. Sad ending pleaseeeee!

I tried my best :) hope you like it. It was hard to think of a perfect sad ending, i hope this does.

I didn't want to rely on the song too much but instead just get the basic concept.

Not even the loud music playing or the bright lights flashing, some blue some red, could take jungkook's mind off you.

You're all he's been thinking about, he doesn't like to lose what's his. Even though you decided to leave on your own, he still took that as a loss cause he wasn't able to keep you by him.

You never liked jungkook's lifestyle and you told him this many times. He warned you though, he told you clearly before you got together what type of guy he was. But you thought he'd change because he loved you, atleast that's what he told you.

"You're the only one I like though." He'd tell you when you'd be angry after finding him with some other chick. Though they shouldn't have, those words always seemed to work on you. He knew all the right words to tell you to get you back in his arms and he'd always spit them out quickly like it was practiced. You didn't ponder on those situations for long just wanting to be in his arms again as soon as possible. You were a fool for jungkook.

This time it was different. You were sick and tired of living life like you were a teenager. You were both in your twenties almost nearing your thirties. You didn't want to live a life like this for long, if you were younger maybe you would stay, but you wanna get married, have children. You know that kind life and jungkook didn't look like he was ready for that.

And after figuring out he wouldn't be the one to give that to you, you left. He tried saying those sweet words of his, even though you almost gave in. You didn't, you stood your ground and left him. You were hurting but you had to, jungkook wasn't good for you.

But can you blame him he told you beforehand all that came with being with him, and you still said yes. Foolishly.

Jungkook grunts, not in pleasure but feeling uneasy by the girl bopping her head up and down his crotch. Maybe it's the club couches, he never liked them anyways. He always preferred the couches in the public area rather than the ones in the private rooms, where he spent most of his time when he was in the there.

But the couch has nothing to do with his uneasiness.

The girl continues to bop her head and he grows more frustrated. No one knew how to do it like you.

He takes a sip of his alcohol looking around the room at his high and drunk companions. Nothing seems to take his mind off you. Your thighs that he'd love to grip and kiss on, your lips that would be sealed with his or around his cock. His cock twitches thinking about you but the girl think its cause of her. She stares at jungkook feeling proud of herself but he simply pushes her off him, finally deciding she's not doing much for him.

She looks confused at him and he shoos her away with his hand. He can hear her cursing as she walks away but he couldn't care less. That's all those girls were good for, but ever since you left he couldn't seem to find pleasure in anything. Maybe the photos of you that he'd look at while in bed would help.

For the rest of the night he keeps up his drinking and intake of drugs thinking they'd blur the clear image of you in his mind but they never did only making you clearer and clearer.

He's had bad days but today's been the worst. He can barely sit still. He keeps shifting in his seat visibly uncomfortable. He grunts catching the attention of one of his companions.

"Daddy are you alright? Do you need me to help you." The lady in a tiny silver dress says running her hands across his chest.

"Can you?" He asks looking in her eyes emotionless and tired. He knows there's nothing anyone can do to help him unless they bring you back to him. But he entertains her cause he needs to distract his mind.

She nods but before she can do anything, jungkook hears a voice speak. A voice he's been hearing everyday before bed or in his dreams.

"I see you haven't changed" you say standing in front of him and jungkook takes in all your glory. The tight dress you're wearing showing him all he's been missing.

"Baby" he says standing up and towering over you.

You can smell the toxins on him making you scrunch your nose. He reads your face wondering what you're doing here the girl behind him long gone in his mind.

"I need you talk to you" you look around the room. "In private " you say whilst eyeing the drinks on the table and you shake your head.

"Okay" he says then tells all the people in the room to leave, to your surprise cause you thought you'd just go talk to him outside. When Everyone leaves you take a sit cautiously, worrying you might be sitting on who-knows-what substances. He also takes a seat looking at you.

You decided to sit far from him not wanting any temptations and just get this conversation over with.

"I've missed you" he tries to move closer to you but you stop him with your hand.

"I haven't come here to reconcile." You say bluntly avoiding his very tempting eyes.

"Okay then tell me what you want baby" your heart reacts to the pet name he liked to call you.

You don't know how to say what you want to tell him. It's been a month since you and him have been apart and you've kept this to yourself. You couldn't keep this to yourself for any longer, he deserves to know.

You were happy when you found out but then who realised who it was for. He wasn't the type for this things and you knew that, so his reaction is very crucial. You dont know what he's gonna say but you hope he'll be happy with it cause you've always wanted this with jungkook but he was always the reason why you never did.

"I'm pregnant" you spit out deciding not to overthink it anymore. You can't tell the emotion on his face, so you only wait for his words to tell you what he thinks.

"Huh?"

If you're looking for the next one. Here

[sunoorintarou]

Catharsis: Houseki no Kuni x JJK

Part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 (parts not in chronological order)

Christmas Special (plot divergent)

Gojo Satoru (platonic) x Phosphophyllite!Reader

Warnings: ooc Gojo, complex emotions, reader goes from happy to depressed to a monster, very angsty, there's an oc named Yuzuru Yukio who takes the place of Antarcticite because I couldn't bear to kill off anyone, death and depression, suicidal thoughts, gore

Notes: I haven't posted in a while and recently watched Houseki No Kuni and fell in love with Phos, so I decided to write a lil smth. This isn't very detailed and is more of a drabble than anything. I also really wanted to highlight Gojo's weaknesses and the inability to stop change in this, so he's very ooc, but yeah, hope y'all enjoy <3

They say history repeats itself, and once again, Gojo Satoru found himself unable to protect what really mattered to him. He was not the strongest. And never would be if he could never protect those closest to him.

It was like clockwork. He remembered when he first met you. You were a girl with a cursed technique never seen before. You had the ability to turn curses into gemstones. You could also absorb them (the beginnings of those together at the end are always similar), but not only that, your body was a storage unit for them, crystallising them and making them part of you, existing as precious gems that sprouted on and under your skin.

You were a precious commodity. Even though you had only molded with a singular curse, the one that had killed your parents. You had absorbed it into you on accident, materialising as the teal in your crystalline eyes and hair.

You were then taken to Jujutsu Tech. You had nowhere else to go. And now that you had absorbed your first curse, you became a beacon for others, your very existence attracting them.

It was fate when you were assigned to Gojo's team. The higher - ups choosing him on the basis that he had "experience" with cursed techniques similar to yours.

Gojo watched you from the beginning. Your bright eyes and clumsy personality something he hadn't seen in a while. You struggled in battle, tripping over your feet and freezing up. You weren't good at healing. You weren't good at admin. Any task you were assigned, you managed to royally mess up. You couldn't even use your cursed technique. You were borderline useless, good for only cheering up the team.

It had gotten to the point where you wouldn't even go on missions, sitting in your room and wondering what you had to do to become better. Gojo never let you be alone. He had learnt better.

Things took a turn for the worse during your first encounter with a cursed spirit that had eaten one of Sukuna's fingers. It was smart, and they figured it had been following you on your daily path from the school to the convenience store nearby. Waiting for the perfect chance to attack you.

Gojo blamed himself. He had been sent on a mission. By the time he arrived, everyone was in a panic, his team having long left to look for you after realising you were missing. By then, it was already too late.

When they found you, the curse had already shattered your legs. A scene no child deserved to see. An event no child deserved to experience. You were in a puddle of blood against the wall of an alley. Your legs had clean broken off, revealing teal crystal in place of bones and muscle, tinted purple from mixing with your blood. It was like breaking open a geode. Nothing flesh lied under your skin, only crystal. It was almost beautiful.

The curse was feasting on the shards of your legs, and by the time Gojo arrived with the group, he could only watch as you finally gained the strength to activate your cursed technique. You touched the curse, watching as its flesh crystallised into agate and quartz.

You then caught sight of your team and your teacher, a broken smile on your face.

"S- Sensei- look, I did it." You tilted your head. Gojo walked toward you wordlessly, his strong hand never so gentle, finding your head as he ruffled your hair.

"You did. I'm proud of you." Gojo's hands found your waist, picking you up as you went limp over his shoulder.

When you were brought back to Shouko, there was little she could do. They brought the crystallised curse with, now just a chunk of agate and quartz. To save your legs, they had to crack it open, having to use the pieces of your legs that were now mixed in with the agate and attach them to your body, hoping your body wouldn't reject them.

You slept for a long time. 3 weeks, to be exact. And when you finally woke up, Gojo couldn't help but begin to despise himself for not being able to protect you.

Where Gojo saw regret, you saw your legs as a positive, however. They were faster and stronger than your previous legs, allowing you to use them in combat, quickly excelling. You were beyond excited when you were deemed strong enough to go on patrol, and Gojo guided you the best he could.

He assigned a 3rd year, a strict, by the books, yet equally as lonely boy named Yuzuru Yukio. And he watched you. He watched as Yukio guided you, teaching you everything he knew. And as the days passed, he felt as if you were going to be OK.

Things were looking up for you. Everyone was praising your newfound talent in an attempt to cheer you up, but what Gojo hadn't realised was that the seed of doubt had already been planted far before he could stop it.

It had started in a casual conversation with Maki while she was attempting to help you train. You had explained your situation to her, eagerly listening to her advice, but one thing stuck. "Change." You knew she hadn't meant it the way you had taken it. She simply meant that you should change your thoughts and strengthen your resolve. But the words played on your long-held insecurities, and you began to feel like you yourself were the problem.

This feeling only increased when everyone complimented how strong your new legs were. Not cracking as easily as your old ones, much faster and more agile. And you only sunk deeper when you had dropped a crate of training swords, and Panda had jokingly claimed that it would be nice if your arms were as good as your legs.

Not even Gojo could sense the darkness that grew in your heart. The nights you spent despising your reflection, wondering if it would be better if every single part of you was replaced.

These insecurities manifested when you encountered a curse on patrol with Yukio. You watched as Yukio fought the gooey green mass of eyeballs, staying back as you still weren't all that skilled. In a moment of hesitance, Yukio had been caught off guard and was flung into a building, leaving you alone with the curse.

"I can eat them for you." The curse smiled, feeding off your insecurities.

"Your arms are so weak. Wouldn't you want a better pair?" The voice was deep and comforting, almost caring, almost worried. You found yourself reaching out to the curse.

When you found clarity not even a second later, it was too late. Your arms were gone.

It was repetition. The way you were rushed to Shouko, Yukio holding your limp form against him, the curse long gone.

This time wasn't as simple. They had nothing to replace it with and, no choice but to send you out to find a curse you could crstalise and use as a prosthetic.

Maki and Toge went with you and Yukio. Gojo once again being barrelled with missions.

What should have been a simple search for a weak curse turned sour. The curse they had found had turned into gold when you touched it.

The alloy was heavy, weighing you down and liquidising, trapping you in a prison of gold. Toge and Maki were forced to retreat by Yukio, forced to contact Gojo as you were being drowned in an ocean of gold.

Yukio tried to break through the prison the gold had formed. A large gold block with a few holes for air. He swore he would get you out, and as his focus remained on you, he failed to notice the curse behind him.

His guts were ripped clean out, body hitting the floor before either of you could react.

And you couldn't do anything. The gold refused to listen to you as you tried to do something, anything, to get revenge, to see if there was anything you could possibly do to somehow change the situation. But it was all in vein.

When Gojo found you, you were covered in blood, on your knees, Yukio's limp body in your arms as you cried. There were pieces of various precious gems and minerals everywhere. He rushed to you, dropping to his knees in front of you.

"Sensei- I- I wasn't strong enough- to- to protect me- he-" In place of tears, ichor ran down your cheeks.

It was then that Gojo watched the beginning of your downfall. You spiraled, cutting your hair, the light in your eyes dying as you committed yourself to fighting curses nonstop. Gojo watched you break yourself apart, skin cracking into pieces only to be filled with gold and repaired again and again.

Nothing anyone said could stop you, not even when your team returned from their mission and were met with you, the new you. You just weren't the same. No longer as happy and joyous, becoming more awkward, quieter. You rarely slept. Sleeping only when Shouko drugged you enough to keep you asleep.

You bathed yourself in the blood of curses, an act of revenge, and strength enabling you to speak to Yukio with a clean heart. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Yukio dying. Over and over again. It was excruciating. It suffocated you.

The life draining out of your bodies and eyes, but no matter what you did, you just wouldn't die.

Gojo stayed by your side as much as he could during those times. Avoiding missions and watching over you. The only time you were ever out of his site was when you went to the bathroom, and when you visited Yukio's grave.

No one left you alone. But perhaps that worked out for the worse. The comforting words only reminded you of your weakness.

It was like Deja Vu. When the light finally returned to your eyes, it was too late.

"Hey, Sensei." You greeted from across the road as if nothing ever happened. There was a barrier no one could cross between you. It was in the early morning, the bustle of the traffic and people almost sickening to Gojo.

"Y/n. What is this?" Gojo asked, at a loss for words. He had let you out of his site for 10 minutes, letting you sit at Yukio's grave in peace, and when he returned, you were gone. That was days ago. Yet by some miracle, he had caught sight of you in the crowd in passing.

"I want to thank you. For everything. You always said I'd find a purpose, something only I could do, and I think I found it. I'm sad things didn't work out with you guys at Jujutsu Tech, though. Tell everyone that I'm sorry, OK?" You said, thoughtfully, eyes widening as another thought came to mind.

"Ah, another thing, 'Sorry for stealing your student Satoru, I just don't think she's cut out to follow the path you're on', something like that, he said to tell you."

At those words, Gojo Satoru was 17 again, watching his best friend leave, unable to do anything about it.

"Y/n!" He screamed as you turned around, ready to rush after you, but the voices of his other students behind him stopped him.

"Bye, bye. See you in Shibuya." You smiled. One last time before you disappeared into the crowd.

History always repeated itself in the cruelest ways. And once again, it was proved to Gojo Satoru that he could never be the strongest.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

The Coronado Story - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Your marriage to Bradley was fraught with issues -- you married far too young to a man who was far too immature. Several years have passed, and now, you're engaged to the perfect gentleman. Everything is going wonderfully in the days leading up to your wedding - until Bradley reappears into your life.

A/N: this is an AU fic I've been wanting to write for a really long time, based loosely on the plot of one of my all-time favourite movies, The Philadelphia Story. I was really nervous about this one because it's the longest fic I've ever written, and it's completely self-indulgent, but I love it.

pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader / Bob Floyd x Reader / Bradley Bradshaw x Reader / Bob Floyd x OC (sort of?)

warnings/content: divorce, mentions of children, affairs/cheating (briefly mentioned), Bradley being a shitty husband, heartbreak, angst, fluff, love triangles, female reader but no description (I think?), named side OC side characters.

word count: 9.2k

The time to make up your mind about people is never.

As the morning sunlight poured in through the bay window of your bedroom, you squinted and groaned, covering your eyes with your comforter, refusing to get up and out of bed at this hour. Turning to face your alarm clock, you were dismayed to see that it was only just 7 AM, far too early for any normal person to be awake and functioning as of yet. You knew that your definition of normal was skewed - you were sheltered your whole life, the only controversy you’d ever faced was your divorce from your ex-husband, Bradley Bradshaw that took place eight years prior, and even then, it was only scandalous for the reasoning behind it. 

You and Bradley were simply young, dumb and in love - the biggest mistake anyone could make, in your mind. No sane person would get married under those circumstances, you were sure of it, and certainly not when they’ve only known their spouse for six months - but you and Bradley were anything but sane when it came to one another. 

Smitten and head over heels in love, unable to focus on anything outside of one another - you were crazy for him, and he was crazy for you. However, the romance was fleeting, and no sooner than it had burned strong and bright, did the fire fizzle out on you both. Your marriage lasted all of 12 months, no children produced as a result, and nothing to show for it other than a piece of paper and a simple surname change on your part. 

In fact, children were one of the sore spots in your relationship - while you wanted them, sooner rather than later, Bradley was unconvinced. Having been orphaned by his sixteenth birthday, and now serving as an aviator in the US Navy, Bradley wasn’t sure how to be a parent. He was barely sure about marriage for that matter. He wanted it - he wanted it with you more than anything, he thought - but when it came down to it, he got scared. Terrified of leaving behind a family the same way his dad had when he was a toddler. 

Bradley hadn’t even been toilet trained when his father died - his memories of him were whatever was relayed to him through stories from his mother and his father’s friends, news clippings from his time in the Navy and his medals and ribbons received during his service. Otherwise? The man was a stranger to him, and that was something that scared Bradley more than anything. However much you loved him, you couldn’t stay in a marriage that had no future, and Bradley felt the same. Bradley had enjoyed partying and having fun far more than being a husband, and it showed.

Your phone buzzed on your nightstand, and you held your breath, hoping and praying it was just a text message that you could easily ignore and respond to later. However, it continued to ring, spasming against the hard wooden top of the table, causing more noise than necessary. You sleepily extended your arm out to grab it, cursing under your breath at whoever in their right mind would call you this early in the morning. That was, until you saw the caller ID, and realized it was your new beau, Jake.

“Good mornin’ beautiful!” Jake drawled out, his Texan accent thick and velvety smooth as he spoke. 

“Good morning,” you hummed sleepily, rubbing your eye with one of your hands before letting out a yawn and sighing. 

“Sorry, honey, did I wake you?” 

“Mhmm? No, no, I was already getting up.”

“Listen, baby, I just wanted to call and say I can’t wait to marry you. You’re the love of my life, you know that?”

“I think you may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Good, I’m not gonna stop mentioning it to you.”

You shook your head and giggled softly, a happy sigh escaping your lips as you thought about your upcoming nuptials to Jake. You were going to be Mrs. Jake Seresin in a matter of days - hours in fact - and you were excited to finally move on from your time as Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw, a chapter of your life that you tried desperately to hide. 

You’d hoped that moving back to your family home in California would help you escape it - your family’s sprawling beachfront home in Coronado, dating back to the 1920s, complete with all the historic art deco era charms and graces, was welcoming and inviting when you returned from your failed marriage in Virginia. 

No sooner than you had moved home did Jake cross your path. Another aviator - a type you’d apparently developed without realizing it - but this time, confident and cocksure, not needing a reminder of your existence, or forgetting how to be in love, never wavering on his stance on your future, or the idea of having children - Jake was, well, perfect. Or as close to perfect as a person could be, anyways. 

With his broad shoulders, Southern charm, piercing green eyes and perfectly styled golden blonde hair, Jake was maybe the most handsome man you’d ever seen. Sure, Bradley was gorgeous - a stark contrast to Jake’s perfect appearance, with dark curly hair, sunkissed with honey coloured highlights scattered throughout, amber coloured eyes that changed depending on his mood, and a neatly trimmed mustache that looked fresh out of 1984 - but he was no Jake. No one was Jake. 

“I’ll be home from this mission soon enough, ok darlin’? Then I’ll come runnin’ right over there to marry your pretty little self.” “I expect nothing less, Lieutenant Seresin. In full dress whites, too, I hope.”

“Of course, nothing but the best for my girl.”

My girl. The way he said it felt so melodic, so beautiful. Bradley had called you that once in a while, and at first when Jake did, it stung. You’d almost convinced yourself not to let him use it as his term of affection for you because of it, yet, the way he said it was so different. You felt compelled to let him continue using it. Now, it only made you think of Bradley occasionally, a slight twinge of melancholy when you heard it, but nothing enough to trigger an unwanted memory or feeling of longing for your ex- husband. 

After your conversation with Jake, you took your time getting dressed, paying special attention to your hair as you got ready for the day. You wanted everything to be perfect - your wedding wasn’t for another two days, but you couldn’t help but stress over every minute detail. If you didn’t take care of preserving your hair’s silky smooth feeling today, you’d run the risk of compromising it’s styling ability in two days - a risk you couldn’t afford to take. Not when your wedding had become somewhat of a mild celebration in the San Diego Bay area. 

Your family was wealthy, to put it incredibly mildly. Your father had started his own investment firm back in the 1980s, just before meeting your mother, and his success had grown exponentially over the years. He now stood as one of the richest men in the country, and since you were one of only two children - you’d become quite the celebrity as soon as you turned 16. Your sweet sixteen party rivaled those seen on MTV - you’d declined any prodding from your friends to televise your party, your father had assured you that only families who were insecure about their financial situation felt the need to flaunt it so tastelessly on television. 

When you’d met Bradley, he had no idea. You’d moved out to Virginia to get away from your life in California, having been accepted into Old Dominon University, entering into their Journalism studies program. You were looking for something, anything to give you some semblance of normalcy in your early twenties, desperate to feel the same way your friends from high school did about going off to start their higher education and studies. You didn’t like being left out, and college life was no exception. 

It was your second year when Bradley wandered into your life. You opted to hit the beach with a couple of friends, making the half-hour drive out to Virginia Beach to sunbathe and enjoy the seasonably warm spring that had descended upon you. There, he caught your eye. 

He was tall and lean, broad shouldered and wearing tight-fitting denim shorts that sat low on his hips, showing off his sleek, toned abdomen. His skin was olive-toned, you could tell he spent a lot of time at the beach, and without a shirt. He looked to be a few years older than you, but it was almost impossible to tell, he looked like an adonis of sorts. Aviator sunglasses perched just slightly askew on a slightly crooked nose - the signature bump to his nose a tell-tale sign of a previous break, yet somehow, you found it made him even more attractive. A rogue volleyball sent him your way - and his charming smile and sense of humour had you ready to exchange your phone number with him within a matter of seconds. 

Bradley had been stationed at NAS Norfolk, and, like most people, wanted to enjoy his day off away from work. He and a couple of his naval buddies had headed to the beach for the day, similarly to you, and the rest was history. To a 21 year old, the prospect of dating a 32 year old seemed so appealing - so rebellious and thrilling. Bradley was immature for his age, a side effect of growing up way too quickly as a young teenager, needing to care for his mother when she became sick, and doing so until her unfortunate passing four years later. He was only fifteen at the time, and suddenly was left relatively on his own - moving in with his grandmother while he finished high school, but venturing out on his own by the time he reached his eighteenth birthday. 

Your thoughts of your time with Bradley would come and go, especially now as your wedding to Jake approached. It made sense to you, the reminders of a failed marriage encroaching in on you as you prepared for another marriage to begin. You just continued to push them aside, reminding yourself that Jake was not Bradley, and Bradley would never be Jake. They were two completely opposite people - Jake was better at treating you like a princess, the way you were always accustomed to growing up, while Bradley was better at the silly little things, the affectionate kisses stolen whenever no one was around to see, a protective hand on your hip at all times. Jake excelled where Bradley had lacked, but the same could be said the other way around too. Not that you wanted to even think about that. Bradley was the last thing you wanted to think about. 

You bounded down the winding staircase to find your parents seated at the breakfast table, your younger sister, Kylie tucking into a bowl of cereal as she sat next to your empty seat. Your father’s stern expression as he read the paper, something you tried to tell him that no one did anymore since the advent of tablets and e-readers, was a sign to you that he too was stressed. You knew he worried about your marriage to Jake being another waste of money and resources, but this time you were sure, you told yourself. You assured him that history wouldn’t repeat itself. 

“Good morning, darling,” your mother’s voice rang out in a sing-song fashion, “have a good conversation with Jake this morning?”

“We heard you gushing to him over the phone up there,” Kylie quipped, grinning as she spooned some more cereal into her mouth.

“I wasn’t gushing. I was simply returning the affection he was giving.”

“You and Jake make me sick,” Kylie scoffed, shaking her head, “I don’t remember Bradley being this nauseating.”

“Bradley,” you snapped, “wasn’t good at anything when it came to matters of the heart. All he cared about was flying planes and having a good time. What kind of a husband is that?”

“A fun one,” Kylie muttered as she avoided your mother’s death glare. 

“Jake’s wonderful to your sister, Kylie. You know that. He’s just wonderful.”

“Yeah, yeah, the sun shines out of his ass and everything,” your fifteen year old sister piped up, grinning. 

“Mom, please tell me why you decided to give me a sibling when I was 15. I didn’t need it. I was fine being an only child.”

“Will you two just cut it out? You both sound like incessant children,” Your father grumbled as he finished the last dregs of coffee from his cup.

“I gotta go,” Kylie said before standing abruptly and dropping her bowl into the sink with a thud, “Meeting my friends at the ferry port. We’re going shopping for the day.”

Your father nodded his head in approval, an incoherent mumble coming from his direction as he continued to read the paper. Your mother waved Kylie off, smiling as she sent her on her way, as if she’d just dropped her off at school for her first day of kindergarten. The attention then turned back to you, something you were dreading, because it felt like all anyone in your family wanted to talk about anymore to you was…

“I want to talk about Bradley, darling.”

Shit.

“What about him?”

“You should know, we saw him the other day.”

“Oh? How lovely for you.”

“He’s grown into quite the responsible young man.”

“That’s fantastic, mother. Is that why Kylie’s so in love? Tell her to wait three years, I’m sure he’d be open to dating her when she turns eighteen.”

Your mother scolded you almost immediately for your comment, and you had to admit, as soon as it left your mouth, you regretted saying it. In fact, Bradley had been so nervous about the eleven year gap that you and him had shared, that you were almost positive he’d never date someone under thirty now. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just on edge.”

“Well, Jake’ll be home soon enough.”

“On our wedding day, yeah. I’ll see him then.”

“Exactly! Bradley wished you well. He said he’s glad you’re happy now.”

“I’m sure he is, Mom.”

You shook your head in disbelief before getting up, setting your unused plate and cup in the sink out of habit. You sighed and grabbed your purse from the hook where it sat by the door, slipping into your shoes.

“I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back.”

“Alright, when you come home we’ll finalize your seating arrangements and the minor details for Saturday!”

You hurried out the door and sighed, taking in a deep breath of the salty ocean breeze as you tried to find some clarity. You hated knowing that Bradley was this close to you, but you knew the odds of seeing him again were close to zero. San Diego was a huge city, and he could be stationed at any number of bases in the area, or none at all. He could be visiting for all you knew. You resolved to not worry about it - whatever Bradley did hadn’t been your business for nearly a decade. He might have been remarried with children by now for all you knew. 

As you headed down the street towards Orange Ave. to check out the shopping district for some retail therapy, you furrowed your brow. Something just didn’t feel right. You couldn’t describe what it was, but something was definitely off. 

Now settled into a booth at the coffee shop in the heart of Coronado, you flipped through your Instagram feed, scrolling past selfie after selfie, accomplishments of your high school and college peers on display with no discretion as to what was shared. So-and-so’s son took their first bowel movement on the potty? It was posted as vital information for anyone interested in her life to know. Your college roommate’s brother’s dog died? Documented for everyone who followed her to see. 

You looked up from your phone when you heard a familiar voice. The voice of someone from your past. You knew that voice anywhere. 

“I’m telling you, she still lives here. I know she does. I checked her social media. If they want me to document her wedding to this poor bastard, I’m going to do it. I’m just going to hate every second of it when I do.”

Bob Floyd, in the flesh. 

Bob had been a classmate of yours at Old Dominion - he was one of the few who entered into the realm of Journalism. His drive and passion for telling the truth was admirable, a quality he always strove to make his best-known trait throughout the four years you’d spent at school together. Bob was sweet towards you, understanding and sympathetic towards your craving for normalcy in a life that was, by most people’s standards, anything but normal. He’d supported your need for an escape from your life in California at the time, which was something you were always grateful to him for. 

“Who lives here?” You piped up, your interest piqued as you overheard Bob’s conversation with his female companion. 

“Hey! Just the gal I was looking for. How have you been?”

“Fine,” you responded bitterly as you sipped your drink, the ice in the plastic cup rattling as your hand moved. 

“I s’pose you overheard all that?”

“I did indeed. I didn’t realize my wedding to Jake was worthy of your attention.”

“It’s not that - I write for a magazine, they sent me here to cover it.”

“They sent you? Despite the fact I’ve requested no media coverage?”

“Your request for no coverage just made a target for you - now everyone wants to cover it. They’re fighting left right and center out there for a chance to even get near the venue. I only got out here because I know the area from when I came to visit that time. And because I follow you on your Instagram. Did you know your posts aren’t all privated?”

“Forgive me for assuming that there was some human decency to be had out there.”

“You studied Journalism. You know better than anyone else that it’s a dying art form.”

“What do you want, Bob?”

“An exclusive story centering on you and your new husband to be, and the luxury of being the only one to cover your wedding. Trust me, I’m the reporter you’d want covering it. I know you already and know how exactly to portray you. And how to avoid a lawsuit for slander or libel, which just becomes messy later down the line.”

You sighed, looking at your cup for a moment before meeting his gaze once again.

“Fine. But only if your little friend here keeps her mouth shut about it outside of a professional scope.”

“Deal,” the brunette standing beside him replied, smiling politely as she nodded her head. You couldn’t help but get the sense that there was more to it than just wanting to advance his career, but you didn’t have time to think about that, or even to care, really.

An hour later, Bob and his female friend, whose name you’d already forgotten, were following you up the marble steps of your family home. You had every intention of living with Jake, as soon as he returned from his deployment. You technically did live with him, but with this most recent shipment out and the memories of your previous marriage flooding back to you, you knew it was in your best interest to stay with your parents for a while, at least until Jake returned home. 

As you headed inside, you heard Kylie babbling from the other room. You could just barely make out the sound of the person she was talking to, the distinct baritone sounds and unique lilt something you know you’ve heard before. Something you’d hoped you’d never have to hear again. 

Bradley.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You spat out angrily, your eyes darting between Kylie and Bradley for some sort of explanation. 

“Your sister invited me,” Bradley shrugged, as if the invitation extended to him by his teenage ex-sister in law was enough of a reason to intrude. 

“Kylie, why the fuck did you invite him?”

“He’s your ex-husband. I thought he should see who you’re marrying now.”

“That’s not how this works, Ky.”

“Listen, I’m just saying, maybe he’d like to meet Jake. Besides, are we really gonna ignore the random guy standing behind you looking like some kind of Clark Kent knockoff?” Kylie quipped, making a vague gesture in Bob’s direction.

“This is Robert Floyd, we went to college together. He’s here to cover the wedding. And…,” you began, once again blanking on the name of his colleague who awkwardly stood in your kitchen, observing the impromptu, uncomfortable reunion.

“Meghan.” She nodded, offering a polite wave, the only non-hostile look currently being exchanged in the room. 

“Right, sorry. Meghan is his colleague. She does the video and photography component to his writing.” 

Kylie raised a skeptic eyebrow as she looked Bob up and down, the lack of trust towards him evident on her face. To Meghan, she gave a sidewards glance, almost as if she was challenging her to ruin the wedding in some way, while also delivering it in the form of an unspoken threat. Bradley cleared his throat as he glanced at you, his amber coloured eyes widened with shock and surprise as he realized what was unfolding in front of him.

“Can I talk to you? In private?” His voice was sheepish and shy as he spoke, a far cry from the Bradley you’d once been married to.

“If you must.”

Bradley excused himself from the group circle that had now formed in your kitchen before politely escorting you into the backyard of your family home. It wasn’t exactly away from prying eyes and eavesdropping friends and sisters, but it offered enough of a shield that Kylie couldn’t interject her own opinions and thoughts into the conversation, as she so often liked to do. 

“What’s his name?”

“Jake.” 

“Last name?”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Just answer.”

“No?”

“Is it Seresin?”

“Why, Bradley? So what if it is?”

Bradley lets out an exhausted sigh, a hint of something that you’d swear was disappointment if you didn’t know any better was evident on his face as he shook his head.

“I know him.”

“Ok, and?”

“You don’t understand. I’m his commanding.”

“Ok…and?”

“So, every time he gets sent off somewhere, you’re going to have one more reason to hate me.”

“I don’t need any more reasons, Bradley. Believe me, our one year of marriage provided me with plenty.”

Bradley rolled his eyes, shaking his head with another sigh before looking up towards the sky. The southern Californian sunshine cascading down on him, creating a halo-like glow over his sun-kissed face. His hair had the slightest hint of age to it, the odd whitish-grey hair scattered throughout his curls, which were considerably less noticeable than they once were. A handful of scars dotted his face, a couple of varying slashes across his chin, neck and cheek, as well as one on his nose, just below the characteristic bump that you’d noticed that first day you met him. He’d aged remarkably well for someone that was fast approaching his fortieth birthday at the end of the month. 

“I never wanted you to hate me, ok?”

“Oh? You did it without even trying then, congratulations.”

“Look, can’t I just be supportive of you and happy for you without an ulterior motive?”

“No. I don’t believe you can.” 

You shook your head furiously before laughing in pure disbelief at what was taking place. Your wedding was in approximately thirty-six hours now, and you felt as though with the return of both Bob and Bradley into your life, everything was beginning to unravel around you, coming undone with every passing second.

“Honey! I’m home!” 

Jake’s cheerful Texas drawl echoed throughout the house. You rounded the staircase, running so fast down the stairs that you were sure you’d fall and land on your ass on your way down if you weren’t careful. You practically leapt into his arms, enveloping him in a hug as he held you tightly, hugging you close. You smiled as you breathed in his scent, using Jake’s presence to drown out any memory or feeling you may have felt for Bradley come creeping back on you.

“You’re early!” 

“I managed to get home a little sooner than anticipated. I still expect you to stay put right here though. Bad luck to see my bride on the wedding day, you know.”

“Please, no one believes in that anymore.” 

“I sure do! I’m not taking any chances, darlin’,” Jake said as he gently pressed his lips to your cheek, his kiss soft and sweet as his lips lingered on your skin.

Bob emerged from the living room, a broad smile on his face as he pushed his glasses up further on his nose, a pen tucked behind his ear neatly. His baby blue polo shirt was perfectly pressed, paired with a neat pair of khaki coloured pants, a look that screamed professional, but also golf course appropriate. He essentially fit in perfect with the other non-military men on Coronado - the wealthy, put-together, business men who spent Fridays out of the home office and out on the golf course, forwarding their calls to an answering machine or their secretary.

“You must be the infamous Lieutenant Seresin, I’m Bob, I’ve been sent by StarGaze to cover the wedding. It’s basically all anyone on social media is talking about,” Bob extended his hand to Jake, offering a firm handshake as he introduced himself.

“Please, call me Jake. I’m only Lieutenant Seresin if I’m in trouble for somethin’, I’m Jacob even less often, my mama only calls me that if I’ve well and truly fucked up. I’ve been Jake my entire life.”

“Right, Jake. Got it.” 

“You two know one another already?” Jake quizzed, raising an eyebrow at how at ease you were around Bob, and at the fact Bob was already in your parents’ house, getting to know your wedding and it’s surrounding background information.

“We went to Old Dominon together.”

“Oh, classmates! Got it. Listen, you don’t mind if I steal her for a sec, do ya? You see, Bob, I haven’t seen my girl here in close to three months. I missed her.”

“Of course not,” Bob offered his hands up in reassurance, “I completely understand. I have some more questions for the bride’s family anyways. Nice meeting you.”

“Nice to meet ya too!” Jake nodded as Bob walked off, gesturing behind him towards Bob with his thumb, “He seems nice, babe.”

“I don’t trust his motives.”

“Now, how come? Not everyone’s out to ruin the big day, darlin’. Maybe just Kylie, but I think her heart’s in the right place. She just doesn’t think I’m good enough for her big sister. And I don’t blame her. I don’t think I’m good enough for her big sister either. But thank the good Lord, Kylie and I are wrong, right?”

“Right,” you agreed with a half-hearted chuckle.

“That’s my girl.”

This time, when Jake called you his girl, you didn’t get the butterflies in your stomach like you usually did. You felt a sting of sadness come over you, as if you were disappointed that you were his girl. Or at least, that part of you was. You tried your best to shove those thoughts aside, chalking it up to the trauma response of seeing Bradley again for the first time in eight years, the whole event sending you into some kind of mental tailspin that you were struggling to pull yourself out of. 

The morning carried on as usual - breakfast at the table as a family, now joined by Jake, Bob and Meghan, with awkward, uncomfortable shifting glances whenever Bradley was mentioned by name. You noticed that Meghan continued to gaze at Bob, long after he’d finished a thought, as if she hung on every syllable of each word that came out of him. You observed how she stole glances at him every few seconds, a look of loving, longingness in her eyes. You could tell that to her, Bob was the only thing that mattered. 

In the garden, after breakfast, you took it upon yourself to head to the venue of your wedding - Hotel Del Coronado, one of the most historic, iconic landmarks in the area, and arguably, in the Southern half of the state. Your entourage of sorts - your mother, Kylie, Bob, Meghan and Jake, followed along with you, each planning to take on a different role when you arrived there. You and Jake planned to oversee the layout of the chairs for the seating plan, ensuring everything was in the correct place, while your mother followed behinded with placecards, neatly folded with each guest’s name embossed in golden script on off-white cardstock. 

Bob made a few notes on his phone, typing furiously whenever he saw something that piqued his interest, while Meghan snapped photos of varying aspects of the day - photos of you and Jake, photos of the placecards, the decorations, the seating plan - anything and everything that could be of use. At this point you almost wondered why your parents were paying for a photographer at all, when Meghan was clearly going to fit the bill without payment from your parents - all for a magazine spread that would go on for a maximum of six pages.

You furrowed your brow as you noticed Kylie approaching Bob, speaking in hushed tones as she looked in your direction, as if she wanted to make you nervous. You didn’t trust your younger sister to stop meddling in your relationships - you were happy with Jake. You were comfortable with Jake. You didn’t want to even entertain the idea of someone else at this point. Jake was it. He was your end game. You were sure of it.

That was, until, Bradley had wandered back into your life yesterday. As much as you hated him, loathed him, in fact, something kept nagging at you. Almost as if it was some part of you trying to reel you back into him. Demanding you to leave Jake before you married him, telling you to give Bradley another chance. You scoffed at the notion - there was no way in hell you’d give Bradley Bradshaw a second chance. He didn’t deserve it. 

Taking a deep breath, you turned to refocus your attention back to the wedding plans that were underway. Jake gave you a soft smile of reassurance, as if he sensed some sort of apprehension on your face as he watched you. Giving your hand a gentle squeeze - God, his hands were able to practically swallow yours whole, making you feel an overwhelming sense of protection - Jake led you towards the head table. He turned you to face the rest of the room, the way you’ll be seated in just 24 hours.

“Well, Darlin’, does this look alright to you?” He pondered, his accent thick as honey as he spoke.

“Yeah, looks good to me,” you started, before something at the back corner of the room caught your eye.

Jake approached Bradley, his eyebrows raised in a mixture of surprise and delight, almost honored that his commanding officer had come to wish him well the day before his impending nuptials. Jake’s grin broadened as he approached, his arms spread wide in a gesture of pleased disbelief as he saw him. 

“Captain Bradshaw? What are you doing here, sir?”

Captain? 

“Oh, I just wanted to come by and wish you all well,” Bradley started, a hint of anxiety in his normally calm, cool and collected composure.

“Well, thank you, sir, we appreciate it!” Jake said as a smile broader than the San Diego Bay appeared on his face, “Where are my manners? This is my beautiful fiancée, and darlin’, this is Captain Bradley Bradshaw, callsign,”

“Rooster,” you interrupted, finishing Jake’s sentence.

“Y’all know each other already?”

“Sort of, yeah. Only met briefly a few times. We lived near one another in Virginia, partied in similar circles, that kinda thing.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Bradley said, trying not to appear crestfallen as you brushed your history together off so easily. 

Jake, ever the crowd-pleaser, but not always the most perceptive of men, smiled, seemingly unaware of the awkward tension that now brewed between you and Bradley. Bob, noticing Bradley’s presence, approached, offering a polite smile, as if he was certain there was no way your ex would possibly remember him, trying to provide gentle distraction from the uncomfortable atmosphere that was now brewing.

“Lieutenant Seresin, could I steal you for a minute? I have a few questions for you about the wedding and would like to get them out of the way now before things become too…chaotic, so to speak.”

“Of course, you alright with that, honey?” Jake said, looking to you for approval.

“Mhmm, go ahead, I’ll be here.”

“I’ll keep her company,” Bradley nodded simply, trying to mask any excitement he might have at the prospect of spending time alone with you. 

Once Jake and Bob had disappeared from earshot, you noticed that your mother and Kylie had gone outside for a coffee break, while Meghan was preoccupied with finding the perfect lighting to capture the romance of the room, fiddling with the drapery and curtains just so to find the balance of sunlight she wanted. You let out a sharp exhale before grabbing Bradley by the collar of his khaki coloured uniform, dragging him off to a secluded corner. Bradley’s eyebrows raised as he smirked at you, giving an uncomfortable chuckle as he watched your cheeks burn red in frustration.

“You’re still cute when you’re frustrated, you know.”

“Shut up. Why the hell are you here, Bradshaw?”

“I wanted to wish Jake good luck on being married to you. Believe me, he’ll need it,” Bradley fired back, a wicked grin forming from his plump lips, “Although, clearly he has no idea.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way, Lieutenant.”

“It’s Captain, actually. I got two promotions while we were apart. I actually could be aiming for Rear Admiral by the end of the year the way I’m going.”

“Congratu-fucking-lations. Should I be dropping my panties for you now?”

“Actually, I-”

“I was being sarcastic. You can get fucked, Bradley. Get lost.”

“If you’d let me finish-”

“Funny, I seem to remember you doing that in about three seconds before. Surprised you haven’t finished yet.”

“You’re such a stubborn bitch, you know that?” Bradley quipped, shaking his head as he threw his hands up in exasperation at you.

“Fuck you.”

“Listen, I came to say I was sorry.”

“You’re what?”

“Sorry. I owe you an apology for how I was as a husband. I hope Jake treats you better than I did.”

“He does, thank you.”

“Kylie told me he wasn’t right for you, I was worried you were going to get yourself hurt again. I’m glad I was wrong.”

“Why the fuck are you listening to anything my fifteen year old sister has to say?”

“Because, like it or not, she was sort of the little sister I never had. You seem to forget I was an only child who was orphaned by the time I was her age. You and your family were the only thing closest to a family I’ve ever had, and I fucked it up.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Well, at least we have that we can agree on.”

Bradley shook his head in frustration and heaved a heavy sigh, looking down at his feet. In this moment, you didn’t see the asshole of an ex-husband that you hated for treating you like an afterthought at every moment. Instead in his place stood the vulnerable aviator you’d fallen in love with - sweet and sensitive, trying to find humour in an otherwise awful situation. His  caramel toned eyes looked to you as if asking for forgiveness, but there was something else about the way he looked at you. 

It was the same way Jake did. Full of love and adoration, admiring everything he saw before him in you. You held your hand up against Bradley’s chest to create space between you both. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t break Jake’s heart like this, and you couldn’t let anything grow between you and Bradley - there was no way. Bradley’s heartbroken stare was all it took for you to leave the room in a hurry, fighting off the tears that now threatened to fall from your eyes.

You ran out of the hotel, making it to the solace and serenity of the beach. You sat on the sand, hugging your knees to your chest as you sobbed, unable to hold up the front you’d created anymore. You couldn’t bear it any longer. Jake was perfect. He was everything you’d ever wanted Bradley to be. But Bradley was Bradley.

Bradley was that perfectly imperfect, impossible to live with because he drove you crazy, asshole. You hated that you still loved him, but you knew part of why you hated him was because you never stopped. Part of you always hoped he’d come after you when you filed for divorce, trying to win you over and get you to call it off. It never happened, but you could only hope that it didn’t happen because you’d made it clear to him that you didn’t want him - a lie that you told yourself to feel better about your world coming crashing down when you were still so young. 

“Are you ok? You ran out of there like your ass was on fire.”

You quickly wiped your eyes with the back of your hand and looked up to see Bob standing beside you. He sat down next to you, gently placing a hand on your shoulder as he sighed softly. His sapphire-blue eyes looked at you, full of concern and worry for the person he once considered his close friend. 

“Bradley left just about as fast as you did. Thankfully I’m the only one who saw. Other than maybe Meghan.”

“God, I just, I’m so, stupid. What am I doing?”

“You mean why are you marrying Jake when Bradley’s clearly still in love with you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“On Bradley’s part? Absolutely. Jake’s not too smart if he hasn’t figured that one out yet.”

“He won’t say anything even if he has. He’s too nice. He’s…he’s perfect.”

“You’re saying that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“It might be? I mean, I think he expects me to be perfect. I think he thinks I’m some angel who’s been Heaven sent to him. I don’t think he knows anything about me.”

“Is that his fault though?”

“No. I haven’t been entirely…honest?”

“You mean he doesn’t know you were married before?”

“Well, he thinks it was an engagement. Doesn’t know it was Bradley.”

“Right,” Bob sighed, shaking his head, “And you think Jake would be upset if he found out?”

“I think he’d pretend he was fine and just let it go but it would always eat away at him.”

“And you think he wouldn’t love you anymore if you told him the truth?”

“I think…I think he would struggle through it.”

“Can I be honest?”

“Please,” you nodded slowly, sniffling as you hoped Bob could provide you with the sense of clarity you so desperately needed right now.

“If you’re that worried about it, Jake isn’t right for you. He’d love you anyways. Unconditionally. Isn’t that what this whole marriage thing is about anyway?”

You sat silently as your mind raced, going over what Bob had just shared with you. You shook your head adamantly and sighed. 

“I can’t break his heart.”

“Then you need to break Bradley’s. You can’t let Bradley keep coming back in.”

“It really has to be one or the other, doesn’t it?”

“‘Fraid so, unless you want the unexpected third option.”

“The what?”, you blinked slowly at Bob, the confusion evident on your face as you slowly raised your eyebrows, “Oh God, not you too, Bob.”

Bob sheepishly laughed, raising his hand in a wave of surrender towards you.

“Seriously?”

“Since college, yeah. I was over it, but then when I saw you again yesterday, it all came flooding back, and…I mean, I know all there is to know about you, and it didn’t scare me off. That counts for something, right?”

“Bobby, I can’t.”

Bob shook his head and sighed softly, He looked behind him, ensuring no one was around to see before placing his hand on your cheek. He gently brushed your hair back off your shoulder, stroking your soft skin as he spoke, his voice just above a whisper. 

“You’re wonderful. You know that? You might be a stubborn pain in the ass who can’t make up her mind about what she wants in life, and you might be in the perfect position to break three men’s hearts tomorrow morning, but I think you’re wonderful anyway.”

Bob’s words were enough to make your head spin, trying to wrap itself around the idea of Bob being unconditionally in love with you. You weren’t sure what you were going to do at this point. That was, until you felt Bob’s lips press against yours in the gentlest, most tender kiss you’d ever received. Your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed him, returning the sweet gentleness he’d given to you. As he pulled away, you bit your bottom lip and shook your head, tears welling in your eyes, threatening to cascade over your cheeks.

“Bobby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” he shook his head, laughing slightly to himself as he looked up at you, his deep blue eyes now wet with his own tears. “It was worth a shot, right?”

“You know, I know someone who’d probably be over the moon if you kissed her the way you just kissed me. I can tell by the way she looks at you, it’s…it’s as if you’re the only person in the world who matters.”

“Who?”

“Meghan. She hasn’t been able to take her eyes off you since I met her yesterday. Every time I see her, she’s stealing glances at you and looking to you, hanging on your every word as if you’re the most important person in the world. I think you’d make her really happy. And, I think she’d make you really happy too.”

Bob nodded slowly, looking back towards the hotel. He let out another sigh and raised his eyebrow, chuckling to himself.

“How do we end up in situations like this?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Bob rose to his feet, offering you his hand as he helped you stand up again. He smiled at you again - a genuine, caring smile.

“For what it’s worth, I think Bradley really does still love you. I don’t think he’s dumb enough to make the same mistake twice, if that’s your only reason. On the other hand though, anyone with eyes can tell Jake’s crazy about you. I don’t think he’d turn his back on you if you told him the truth about you and Bradley, but he might put in for a transfer to another base. I know I’d want to if my wife’s ex-husband was my supervisor, you know?”

“Fuck, I wish there was an easy solution to this.”

“There is, isn’t there?”

“What? No matter what I do, someone gets hurt.”

“What solution makes you happiest though? That’s your answer.”

Bob headed back up the sandy beach towards the hotel, leaving you to sit alone with your thoughts, stewing over them as you watched the waves crashing onto the shoreline. You hated this. You hated that you let yourself fall into a position where someone would be devastated by a choice you made, and you hated yourself for still feeling something for Bradley, when you so desperately wanted to feel nothing. You hated how despite how passionately Jake loved you, how deeply and madly infatuated he was with you, you couldn’t help but think that he didn’t love you. He simply loved the idea of you. He loved what he saw you as, what he wanted you to be in his heart of hearts, but not the real person behind it all. You couldn’t help but feel torn as you agonized over the right thing to do.

On one hand, if you choose Jake, life would run smoothly for your family and friends, you and Jake would own a beautiful house somewhere, funded almost entirely by the generous wedding gift from your parents, and you’d raise an army of kids, likely all with Jake’s golden blonde hair and bright, piercing green eyes. Jake would be happy. He’d be ecstatic. You’d be happy too, you were sure of it, even if it didn’t come right away to you.

On the other hand, there was Bradley. Bradley was complicated. He was wild and fun, and he made you feel things you never felt before. He was careless and reckless at times, immature and unable to act the part of the adult he was supposed to be, but you could tell he’d grown into the man you wanted him to be over the last eight years. He’d become the man you needed, whether intentionally or not. You could see yourself giving Bradley another chance, trying this marriage thing all over again with him, despite any fears of history repeating itself. Bradley may not want a family, but you could see yourself being happy even without that now. You knew Bradley had the ability to make you happy, and to love you in a way that no one else could, despite all your fears about being with him again.

You checked your phone, chewing your bottom lip nervously as you noticed the time. In eighteen hours, you were expected to walk down the aisle and marry somebody. And until today, you were so sure of who that somebody was. Now, you were sure of just one thing. You needed to talk. 

Inside, you found Jake, who was throwing his jacket on, a harried expression on his face vanishing when he saw you again. He breathed a sigh of relief, as he pulled you in for a hug. 

“I was worried about you, Meghan said you ran out? Is everything alright?”

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah. I, uh, I just need to talk to you about something.”

Jake’s smile fell as he quietly guided you over to the side of the room, his touch gentle as he grasped at your arm, still gently holding on to your elbow as he waited for you to begin explaining everything. 

“Jake,” you started, trying to avoid eye contact with him, knowing for sure that one look into those sea green eyes of his would be enough to make you go back on everything you’d decided.

“You don’t want to marry me anymore, do you?” He said defeatedly, looking at you for a moment, “God, if you’re going to call it off, please have the decency to look me in the eye when you do it.”

“Jake, it’s not like that, I swear.”

“What’s it like then? Because all I’m seeing is my fiancée calling off our wedding hours before it happens.”

“Look, I’m not the girl you think I am, ok?”

“Is this about Bradley?”

“What?”

“I know about Bradley.”

“You do?”

“He told me everything. Why didn’t you tell me he was your ex? And why did you tell me that nothing happened with you two? You told me you and your ex never made it down the aisle - you were married to Bradley for a full year.”

“I know, I know. I got scared, ok?” You snapped back, shaking your head as hot tears rolled down your face.

“Scared of what?!”

“I was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore if you found out! I was scared you’d leave me and that I’d get my heart broken twice because of Bradley.”

“You seriously thought I wouldn’t love you? Do you hear yourself? Do you even know me at all?”

“Jake, please!” You pleaded, knowing it was no use. You couldn’t blame him for being hurt. He knew all too well what was coming, and he had every right to be upset by it all.

“Jake, I am not the perfect woman you thought I am. I can’t be her. You and I can have the dream house, and adorable children and the perfect wedding, but we’ll never be truly happy. You deserve to be happy. I can’t be the one to do it for you though.”

“So this is it, huh?” Jake sighed, shaking his head as he looked away, wiping his eye with his finger to try and hide his tears.

“I’m so sorry,” was all you could get out of you. 

“Me too,” Jake said as he nodded his head sadly. “I’ll put in for a transfer in the morning. I can’t be here. Not under him anyways.”

As Jake headed for the door, he turned back to you, tears in his now bloodshot eyes.

“I hope he makes you happy. I really do. You deserve it. I’m sorry I couldn’t be it for you.”

With that, the door shut behind Jake. You slumped down into a chair in the empty reception hall, crying heavily as you put your head in your hands, shaking it as you admonished yourself for ruining everything, potentially for a man who might not even love you still after all. As you sat there and cursed yourself for your shortcomings as a prospective wife and human being, you heard the voice of someone behind you.

“Now I hope you don’t mean all that. You and I both know, it wasn’t your fault our marriage fell apart.”

You lifted your head up to see Bradley pulling up a seat beside you. He reached out and swiped a couple of teardrops off of your cheek, stroking your face gently with his thumb in an effort to comfort you. He pulled you in tightly for a hug, holding you close as you fell apart in his arms. You felt Bradley’s hand caressing your hair, his fingers tangling themselves in it with a level of care you never expected to feel from him again. He held you as you cried into his uniform, shaking your head against the fabric of his shirt, a mixture of tears and snot now dampening his shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s ok. I’m here,” Bradley soothed, nodding his head as he pressed his lips to your forehead, “I’m right here.”

“Bradley, I ruined my life.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. You just refused to settle in an unhappy marriage. It’s admirable really. You know what you want out of life, and you don’t settle for less. It’s why you left me, wasn’t it?”

“I wasn’t unhappy.”

“You were, but that’s ok. I was a shitty husband. I didn’t know how to be a good one. I didn’t have much to go off of.” 

“I expected too much of you.”

“No,” Bradley asserted, shaking his head. “I didn’t give you what you deserved. I wasn’t man enough to be a good husband to you, and even worse, I wasn’t man enough to admit when I fucked it up. I made you feel like you were less than perfect, and it wasn’t true.”

“I’m not perfect though, Bradley.”

“You’re perfect for me. You always have been.”

Bradley’s hand guided your face upwards to look at him. His warm caramel coloured eyes met your gaze, and for the first time in the last couple of days, you felt home. You felt at peace for the first time in a long time, because you knew it wasn’t forced. You weren’t forcing yourself to be happy and comfortable and relaxed because you were with someone everyone told you was perfect. You were happy and comfortable and relaxed because you knew you were with someone who was perfect, in his own imperfect little way. 

Bradley’s lips crashed into yours, locking you into a passionate kiss, the kind that sweeps you off your feet, tingles in your toes and sends butterflies fluttering through your stomach. It was electrifying as he held you close, his hand resting on the back of your head as he continued to kiss you with a fervor and passion you hadn’t felt in a long time. When you finally broke apart, coming up for air after what felt like a blissful eternity, your eyes met once again, and Bradley couldn’t help but laugh.

“I swear to you, if you let me remarry you tomorrow, I will do everything I can, I’ll move fucking mountains and Heaven and Earth and all that shit just to prove to you that I can be the husband you need me to be. You want kids? Honey, I’ll give you as many of my babies as you want. You want me to retire from the Navy? I’ll give my notice in immediately after the wedding. Name it and it’s yours, baby girl. Just tell me what I gotta do.”

Your heart swelled at the sound of Bradley’s voice, hearing him offer everything he had and then some in order to make you happy was all you needed. You threw your arms around his neck, smiling to yourself through your tear stained cheeks as you felt Bradley’s hands firmly grip your waist.

“Nothing. I don’t need anything. I’d give all that up if it meant I could have you.”

“Really? All of it, huh? Listen, I just really want you to know how serious I am about this. I’m not about to make the same dumbass mistake twice. I’m not going to let you go again. I’ll do whatever it takes for you to be happy. I promise.”

“I know you will. That’s all I need.”

“I, Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw, take thee, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part. This is my solemn vow.”

“Now, by the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

As Bradley's lips pressed against yours, every doubt and worry seemed to melt away. His embrace felt like home, a place where you belonged completely. In his arms, you found comfort and peace from the tumultuous journey that led you both back to each other. The years of separation and heartache faded into insignificance as you surrendered to the overwhelming love that now enveloped you both. You knew this time would be different, that together you could conquer any obstacle that came your way, that Bradley adored you and loved you with all of his heart, and that he planned on never letting a second go by where you thought otherwise. With renewed faith in your love, you were ready to embrace the future, hand in hand with Bradley, knowing that this time, nothing could tear you apart.

[obislittleone]

The Winner Takes It All

Episode 6

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Tribute(OC)!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Again, reader has terrible anxiety, and Finnick is sweet about it. Mentions of bullying, and thoughts of death. Mentions of sexual harassment and trafficking.

Chapter Summary: The Caesar Flickerman show is a requirement of all tributes, and talking in front of thousands of people has never been your forte.

Word Count: 5.3k

Damnit the angst in this part is so dramatic and juicy and UGH i live for it (expect more dramatic angsty parts like this in season two)

How could he have been caught like this? The great Finnick Odair didn’t go soft, especially for the yearly tributes that filtered in and out. It was foolish to think something like that. But it was true, because he has. He’s gone soft, and he’s standing out here, thinking about his female tribute, instead of inside telling stories and charming all of the other victors that were present. 

Dalton worked tirelessly, his hands resting at his side once he’d placed the final shell. You looked like the ocean incarnate, a beautiful creature of the waters and the sands. 

“Remember the strategy. Play it sweet, keep your head up, and don’t let anyone know-”

“About the s-swimming. I r-remember,” you finished for him, nodding in understanding of his small informative. 

“Lie if you have to, just don’t let it come up.”

You huffed out a breath, trying to keep calm. While in the dressing room, you have no access to the TVs or the soundstage or anything that gives you a preview of what is about to happen, but all of that changes as soon as you stand up, leaving the makeup chair and going out to the backstage greenroom. 

The dress was becoming uncomfortable, and made you feel exposed yet again. It was lovely, and you hoped the people responsible for your possible future would think so. It was sick, but you wanted them to like you. All the tributes did. 

Your hands were shaking as you watched Lukas walk out from the wings, appearing on the stage with a wave to everyone. The cheers were loud, he’s definitely one of the favorites this year. Every second that passed was just one closer to the arena, but if you were being honest, you’d rather be there than here. Talking was already your biggest challenge, but now being broadcasted to everyone in Panem, especially to those who could determine whether you win or lose, it was amplified by a million. You could barely breathe, and the nerves were making your head spin. 

Your eyes got cloudy with fog, and you reached out to the wall beside you to try and grasp something of substance. You tried to calm down, to be strong and brave in the face of uncertainty. 

“Hey, you alright?” 

You jumped in surprise, your elevated heart rate soaring through the roof for only a second before you turned to see your mentor, concern woven in his features.

“N-n-no. I c-can’t do t-t-this,” your lips were trembling as you spoke, and Finnick knew that of all the preparations and requirements for the tributes, this one was probably the worst of all for you. When he saw your eyes watering to the brink of spilling over, he had to think fast. 

“C’mere,” he didn’t give any room for negotiation before wrapping two strong arms around your form, making an impenetrable safe space, however little it may last. “Breathe with me.”

You nodded, knowing that until you could calm down, words would absolutely fail you. It was inevitable, your interview. You couldn’t just back out. It was required of all the tributes. 

You breathed in through your nose in time with him, and let him count to three before exhaling through your mouth. This process was repeated about three or four more times before you felt even a semblance of control over yourself again. Even when you were steady again, he did not let you go. He just stood there quietly, letting you feel secure. He watched the screen across from you both over your shoulder, hearing the words of his other tribute. Lukas was doing phenomenal. He could win it all, the crown, the glory, the title. Finnick would finally have a victor… but at the cost of your life. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to make that trade anymore. He didn’t want a victor if it couldn’t be you. 

Caesar finished off the interview, standing to his feet and raising Lukas’ hand in the air. The crowd adored him, his charming smile and his admiration of his district's culture. He’d even thrown in a very complimentary word to the Capitol, which of course, was always a sure way to invoke their support.

Finnick knew that after a short commercial break, the show must continue. You had to go out there.

“It’s almost time,” he backed away slowly, and not too far. He didn’t want to run the risk of you becoming that anxious again. 

“T-time to sell a s-stutter to the Capitol,” you murmured, echoing the words he had at once not meant to say. You understood now, the meaning wasn’t malicious, or cruel. He genuinely wanted to help you, and he was just struggling to do so with such unwalked territory. The last tribute to ever have a speech impediment was Mags, and at the time, the games were presented a lot differently. Hell, she was the first to ever embark on a victory tour. 

The stakes were higher, now. With more chances to be seen as the unfavorable one, you had to focus hard. Try to remember all the things that Finnick and Arbin have said, and what will make you seem more likable to the pompous Capitol citizens.

“Just get through this, and you don’t have to speak to anyone the rest of the night. I’ll make sure of it,” he promised. You did not know if he was the type to keep his promises, but he was the only person in this game of manipulation and tragedy that you felt you could trust… so you believed him. 

-

Walking out onto the shiny black stagetop, the lights were immediately your greatest friend, blocking you from being able to see the crowd clearly, and how they looked at you. There were sounds of applause and cheers of your names, which you didn’t expect to hear after only being presented to them once. 

“There she is! Our newest mermaid!” Caesar said excitedly, his hand beckoning you to sit across from him. You wore a smile, though it was more nervous than genuine. 

Once the crowd died down a little, he looked at you with a browsing eye, clearly taking in your appearance and trying to pinpoint anything he can say about it. It was his job after all, and he was very good at it.

“The shells are a nice touch, I must say. I was loving them during the parade,” he began, and you smiled quickly, trying your best to come up with a response in a reasonable amount of time. 

“T-thank you. I c-collected shells in f-four,” you sighed out the rest of your breath when you finished, and all at once you could hear the collective gasp from several audience members. You weren’t sure if you should take it as a good thing or a bad thing.

“My dear, you seem nervous,” he leaned in closer with his microphone, as if it somehow made it more personal. 

An embarrassed blush spread over your face, and you didn’t know if you should play along or just confess. There was a fifty-fifty chance that it could land in your favor… but you didn’t want to stammer through your interview and leave people wondering why. They might dislike you even more for that. 

“I’m a little n-nervous, but I a-al-also have a stutter.” It came out worse than how you thought it might. You almost sounded unsure of yourself, as if you haven’t struggled with it since you were a kid. “I’m so-sorry if it makes it hard t-to unders-stand me.”

“How sweet. Well, my dear, I will tell you, we can read you loud and clear,” he paused, coming closer again and trying to make it seem to the crowd like a more intimate moment. “And I’ll say on behalf of everyone in this room, we find it very endearing… don’t we folks?!”

Again the crowd erupted into a fit of cheers and clapping, and you felt some semblance of relief that it hadn’t been to your detriment, for the first time in your life. How sick and twisted was the world, that you had to be exposed to a possible gruesome death in order for your speech to be appreciated?

You felt a more genuine and relaxed smile fall on your lips, and you turned to the crowd for the first time in the interview, seeing them clearer from where you sat. There were women, hands over their chests as if in admiration of you, which you could definitely say was a first. There were others who looked to you with pity, but you didn’t so much mind it now for what it meant. Pity could also mean sponsors, so you didn’t feel badly about it now.

“Alright, alright. So,” he sat back and looked at you narrowly. “You are being considered the most beautiful tribute of this year's games. I imagine you’ve heard some of the talk…” 

You furrowed your brow for a moment. You were surprised to hear this, especially from someone in the Capitol. You hadn’t been paying as much attention to the other tributes in the parade, and certainly not in the interviews considering your panic attack, but you were almost certain you could not be the most beautiful tribute this year. And even if you were, you’d much rather be known for something else. Beauty was an asset in the games, but skill usually was more favorable by the rich elite who spent their money on tributes. 

“I h-haven’t heard an-anything, no.”

“I can say confidently, you will certainly be setting the beauty trends should you return as the victor. Panem is wishing to be as desirable as you.”

You smiled and ducked your head, the spotlight on your outer appearance made you feel exposed yet again, and you tried to hide the embarrassment as much as you could. You need them to like you.

“I’ve n-never cons-sidered myself that w-way,” you wanted to try and divert the conversation, but you weren’t sure if that was even allowed, or if the entire interview had to be steered by Caesar. 

“And she’s humble, too. My dear, you are quite wonderful I must say. It seems you have it all, the heart, the stunning good looks… but what about skills? We all were very impressed with your score, and I know we’re all wondering what got you there? Can we talk about that?” 

Though you lacked many, you were happy to change the topic to your skillset. You just wanted to stop being seen as an object… you want them to like you, you want them to like y-

“Y-yes. I’m very st-strong. I w-was a loader down b-by the docks.”

“Amazing! And of course we can all assume you are indeed a real life mermaid, can we not?” 

It felt grimy to pretend, but Finnick and Dalton said not to let anyone know, any means necessary. So you’d put on a smile and lie straight to Caesar’s face and everyone else's. 

“Of c-course. The w-water is my h-home,” you smiled, and you could imagine how proud your mentors were backstage right now. It was said so convincingly that you even believed it yourself for a moment. 

“It’s been wonderful to have you here with me tonight. I’ll be very excited to watch you in the games, and I know that everyone here will be rooting for you,” he said, although it wasn’t true, and you knew it. Everyone in the Capitol was picking and choosing their favorites tonight, and sad as it was to say, you were not the better of two district four tributes. You both stood up, and just like with all the others, he raised your hand in the air while the onlookers cheered. You smiled and faced them once before preparing to take your leave from the stage. “Our lovely female tribute from district four, everyone!”

And the first person you saw when you came off the stage was Lukas, who was clapping for you. 

You knew he’d done infinitely better than you had, but seeing him clap for you felt nice. Someone of high importance it seemed, gave you the praise you were due. 

“You did great,” he complimented, giving a pat to your shoulder as you started walking alongside him. 

“T-thanks. I t-tried real hard.”

The next one to give you a smile in congratulations was Mags, who fully embraced you once you were before her. She gave a silent thumbs up and you smiled back at her, warm and full of adoration. She truly was the role model you looked up to. The only other person who could have possibly understood what you were going through, and still handled everything with grace. 

At last you saw Finnick, and though he was happy with your performance, he seemed sullen since last you saw him. It was only ten minutes, maybe even less. What has changed?

“You put on a good show, they like you,” he said to you, first, a bitter taste in his mouth at the last words. Still, he couldn’t yet voice his concern, so he broadened his gaze to the two tributes, forcing a thin smile onto his lips. “I’m proud of you both.”

Though you were happy he’d been pleased, you couldn’t help but find distraction in the way he was acting, now. He promised you wouldn’t have to talk to anyone for the remainder of the night, but you wondered if perhaps he would do the talking if you were to ask. 

He seemed, for lack of a better word, stiff. Like he was uncomfortable suddenly and all at once. He nodded towards the doorway, as if to signal the group’s leave to everyone, and walked until he found Arbin by the exit, still watching a screen of the interview with one of district five’s tributes. 

-

He knows he has to talk to you. 

He has to warn you about what you don’t know is coming. You have better chances of winning now than maybe anyone in that arena because of the circumstances, but you have no idea about what it will cost you afterwards if you survive.

He knows you’re tired, and he knows that he’s been the one avoiding you all night, skipping dinner and leaving the group at a moment’s notice after the Flickerman show. It doesn’t stop him from marching up to your door and rapping his knuckles against it three times. 

You were slow to get up, but eventually, the door cracked open, and you stood there, white night gown on and peeking through the space. 

“I thought y-you were Mags,” you whispered, not realizing that these halls didn’t echo that badly. You didn’t want to wake up Lukas, who was right down the hall. 

“Yeah,” he shuffled on his feet awkwardly, his form balancing on one foot then the other in his state of nerves. “I know I told you that you wouldn’t have to talk anymore tonight, but I was hoping I could… share some things with you.”

You opened the door further, allowing him in. He hesitated, seeing how pretty you looked in the Capitol’s silken pajamas. You haven’t utilized the interchangeable settings of your window screen, so the moonlight from outside casts you in a silvery glow. You look, for lack of a better word, angelic. He shuffles in after realizing he’s waited too long, trying to gather his brain back together before sitting on the edge of your bed. You join him, scooting back against the pillows and tucking your feet beneath the comforter. 

You don’t say a word, because he promised you wouldn’t have to, but suddenly he doesn’t know where to begin. He has to think back to his first initial thoughts from your interview. The words beautiful and endearing came to mind. The same words used for him and several other tributes who’d been dealt the same hand as he was. The same hand you would be dealt if things had progressed the way they were now. 

“The Capitol is a strange place, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he was building up to it, far too afraid to cut to the chase. “They obviously love the games. The tributes, the shows, the arena, all of it.”

He can’t seem to look you in the eye anymore, staring down at your fresh white linen that lines your bed perfectly. 

“The richer ones, they like to pick favorites, send sponsors and all that…” he didn’t want to say it, but he had to. He didn’t want you to feel the same unexpected terror he once did as a young boy, far too young for what he had to do. “But after the games, if their tribute wins, President Snow has made it possible for them to have a certain… access to that tribute.”

It was only now that he looked up to see your expression. You were confused, your brows strewn together and a slight tilt in your head. It was obvious you didn’t understand. 

“If you’re seen as beautiful, or desirable, Snow will sell you to the highest bidder… your body, at least.” 

You could grasp it now. It snapped in your head and you had to take a moment, recounting the interview and the phrasing used. You were unsure what to do or how to feel. You’d never felt desired in your whole life, but you were certain it should not feel as sorrowful as this. You don’t want to feel desired, you don’t want to feel beautiful or anything else that would put you in that position. 

Your eyes welled up with tears, but you didn’t let them fall, you just let it all sink in. 

“After the i-interview,” you began, clearing your throat. “You s-said you were proud of m-me, but you looked upset.”

“I’m still proud of you… I just don’t want you to go through it like I did,” he dropped his head again, his face turning red at the admission. He’d spoken on it before, sometimes with the other tributes. Among several of them, it wasn’t exactly a secret… but you hadn’t been in that arena yet. You’d barely witnessed the craze of the Capitol, and didn’t understand the full weight of it all… but he had to warn you. Wanted you to know what could happen if you win. 

He only looked up when he felt a shift on the bed, your body moving to sit beside him as your hand took up his and squeezed it tight. 

“I’m sorry,” it was whispered very quietly, but he heard it and was thankful. 

“Yeah, me too.”

He sat there in silence, not saying another word, but just being beside you and enjoying the warmth you brought him. You were always so warm, untouched by the cool waves of the ocean, but instead infused with the heat of the sun's rays, forever shining down on the sand you loved to reside on. Where you walked along the shore and collected shells, never once dipping a toe in the water for fears it would carry you out into its depths. You were strong, and you were persistent, but something about the water, the crashing waves and the line that separated the sky from the seas, had scared you endlessly. 

“Do you still h-have to?” your voice squeaked into the air, soft and delicate, but the question held weight. “You don’t have to t-tell me if you d-don’t want to.”

He shook his head, turning to you with a gentle smile. “It’s okay. I’ve been out for about a year now. That’s the thing about the Capitol, it’s always looking for the newer and better thing.”

You gave him a skeptical look.

“And they t-think that’s me?” 

“You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” he said, taking you in for a moment. Obviously, the people in the Capitol were right. “You are beautiful. I just wish you could feel that way without all the extra baggage.”

Your head bowed forwards to hide the blush creeping over your cheeks. You felt far more beautiful under his stare than under the Capitol’s. His eyes, mimicking the greens of the sea, the waves that usually intimidated you, but now you felt calmed by them, letting them ravish every inch they glazed over. 

“Thanks.” 

He raised your joined hands to his lips, pressing a simple kiss to them before letting them fall back by your side. He stood to his feet, letting go of you completely, and walked towards the door. 

“Goodnight, Mercy.”

-

The mentors never slept the night before the games, as much as they would like to say that they did. Even against their own advice, ‘get a good night's rest before tomorrow, it’s very important.’

Finnick had visited the winner’s circle, home of all the former tributes now victors who also couldn’t sleep on a night like this. They tried to distract themselves, by sitting amongst one another, catching up and talking as if tomorrow was just another day. It helped to a degree, but they would all inevitably go back to their tribute floors, and would lay awake until it was time to send off their new batch of unwilling recruits. 

He was standing by the edge of an outdoor balcony talking to Johanna Mason, the winner from last year. She was nice enough, although a bit bitter towards everyone she met. He knew it was misplaced, and rightfully so. It’s not like she can go around shouting threats at the Capitol. Even though nobody here would hate her for trying. 

She was dealt the same cards as he was, except she was the victim of what happens when you refuse. Her father was taken away, likely killed within the walls of a peacekeeper’s interrogation room, reasoning be damned. He didn’t want his tributes to face any of that, but most of all his Mercy, the one who had warmed him up to finally connecting with a tribute again. That nickname was bad news if it was used in the arena, but outside… it was sweet, and it was gentle, and it described the female tribute of district four almost perfectly. 

By the time Johanna had gotten to the bottom of her drink, she excused herself to get another, saying something about ‘getting drunk enough to crash.’

He smiled and waved her off, but felt worse when she left, now having a whole new array of things to think about and without anyone to intercede on his mental turmoil. 

He leaned over the balcony, overlooking the city. The buildings are tall and beautiful, built as if the districts never existed, and the world was full of only life and prosperity. Knowing that those buildings cost the resources and lifeblood of many people made them less intriguing. Knowing who lived within them made him feel sick to his stomach, even. His old customers, clientele of different ages, genders, and social status. Once thing they all had in common? Power over him. Power that Snow gave them to have whatever they wanted and without remorse. Finnick hated thinking about the things he was forced to do, hated the things that others get to do freely and enjoy them, without feeling disgusting or worthless after.

All his life he can’t remember a moment when he enjoyed intimacy. He can’t remember even one point in his years when he was satisfied by it. Worse, he can’t remember a time when he didn’t resent his own body for it. 

Seeing how brave others like Johanna were, saying no and simply reaping the consequences made him feel weak, like he was too scared of the big guys to say anything. Truth be told, he just had too much at stake. 

Now that he was out of it, he’d been thinking that maybe it was time to try and explore that part of himself again. Without pressure, without resentment, and without the threats looming over his head, that someone might die or be harmed if he doesn’t comply. 

Maybe you are the start of that. He isn’t sure what it is exactly that he feels for you, but he knows that it’s different than what he feels for Lukas, or for any of the other tributes he’s met in his time as a mentor. Not only did he connect with you, but you latched back onto him, clinging and hoping that he was your way out. Even if you didn’t feel like you could win, he knew he was a comfort to you, and his heart was lighter for the fact. 

He thinks that he could see himself growing to know you better, growing to be close. He thinks that he can sit one day in the future and listen to you ramble on about all the little things that bring you joy, all the things that no one else would care to hear, much less with a stutter… but he’ll listen, and he’ll smile at how excited you get, even if you can’t get the words out correctly. 

“Here he is, the life of the party,” came a familiar voice behind him. Haymitch Abernathy, the district 12 winner of the second quarter quell, a feat of incredible proportions given the strength required for that year. He’d been drinking nonstop ever since that year, and even now, he waltzed up to the ledge with two glasses in his hand. “Thought you could use one of these.”

“Thanks,” Finnick gratefully took one of the glasses, filled with some sort of string liquor that he didn’t even care to hear the name of. If it could help settle him down, he was thankful for it either way. “How are things going this year?” 

“Oh you know, same old story. Girl is thirteen and hadn’t eaten for three days before the reaping. Boy is sixteen but skinny as a pole and no experience in anything but stocking trucks.”

Finnick smiles sadly. This man has gone through far more tributes than Finnick ever has, and the sad thing is that he will go through far more than Finnick ever will. Four is a career district, it will again produce winners, but twelve hasn’t had a shot since Haymitch, and it seems they never will. 

“I’d offer my tributes as allies, but I’m not sure how fond of twelve the other careers would be…” Finnick says it to be kind, but he knows better, and so does Hyamitch. There’s no point because they will either die in the bloodbath or by sunset of the first night. The longest Haymitch’s tributes have lasted was two days, and that was purely because of luck and a single sponsor that felt bad enough to send a piece of bread. 

“Won’t make a difference, but I appreciate it,” 

There was silence between the two as they sipped their drinks for a moment, looking into the small gathering of mentors on the inside of the building. It was strange to see all his friends interacting on the inside, while out here, he was just trying to pass the time. He was always the center of attention at gatherings like these. Completely and totally the focal point, with all his interesting stories and charming notions, easy conversations forming at the drop of a hat, and he was always happy to indulge. 

“You’ve got a winner this year, y’know.” 

Haymitch turned to him, and Finnick was sure he knew of whom the man spoke. It was obvious that his tributes were the favorites, but furthermore, Lukas was the top dog. He had the perfect score, the adoring fans, the charm and the talent. He was smart and willful, and unlike you, he had confidence that he had a shot. Even after you’d proven yourself, you still felt unworthy to the task. 

“So I’ve heard,” Finnick bowed his head, unsure if he wanted to further this conversation. He didn’t want to hear about how the male tribute was going to emerge victorious while he would have to grieve the loss of the other. “Lukas is…”

“I’m not talking about him,” Haymitch interjected. It seemed he had an eye to see things that no one else could. “That girl of yours, she has something that the others don’t.”

Finnick couldn’t say he wasn’t shocked to hear it. Haymitch had to have been the only person that only favored you, but would bet on you as well. Even over the top tribute. Lukas was a shining star, but everyone was expecting him to be exactly what he was.

“Really? And what’s that?” 

“The element of surprise.”

It seemed stupid at first, but the longer he thought about it, letting the words process and make sense. 

You have a sweetness about you, it’s something found in the more docile tributes, the ones who are seen as weak. It makes you seem as though you’re not a threat, hence why the nickname would have been a bad thing to spread around… except maybe it’s not. You had a perfect score. You are strong, skillful and smart. You have the trio of things needed to survive and thrive… but it isn’t expected of you. You are expected to be kind, to be gentle, and to be merciful. 

That’s the kicker. You are not expected to behave a certain way in the arena, so therefore, when you do… it will catch other tributes off guard. They won’t see you coming. 

“That’s uh… I hadn’t really thought about it,” Finnick lied. Of course he had thought about it. You were the one he was rooting for the most, so obviously he pictured you as the victor throughout the last several days. 

Haymitch is smart, too. He can call out a lie when he sees one. 

“I think you have. You want her to win, don’t you?”

How could he have been caught like this? The great Finnick Odair didn’t go soft, especially for the yearly tributes that filtered in and out. It was foolish to think something like that. But it was true, because he has. He’s gone soft, and he’s standing out here, thinking about his female tribute, instead of inside telling stories and charming all of the other victors that were present. 

“I just want a victor.” 

Haymitch found his reply so amusing, he genuinely laughed in return. Who does he think he’s fooling? 

“Yeah, me too…”

And Finnick knows that no matter how much he doesn’t want it to show, and no matter how badly he wants to keep his expressions and to himself, Haymitch knows that there’s something more. Something different. 

He thinks to himself, and finds that no one else needs to know of this until the games are over. If You emerge as the victor, it makes Finnick’s life infinitely better, but should you fall, he’ll fall back into the slump he was in before. Even if he produces a victor, he won’t be satisfied until it’s you.

“I think she might be the best tribute going into that arena… but I can’t prove it.” 

Haymitch smiled at his confession. And so the truth is revealed. 

“And why is that? What’s so special about her?” 

“You said it yourself, she has the element of-”

“No, no… I mean, why do you think she’s special?” Haymitch sipped his drink, finding himself near the bottom. The conversation would come to a close soon whether he liked it or not, because if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was having an empty liquor glass. 

Finnick didn’t even have an answer. Intuition, Instinct, Divination, a Sixth Sense even. Whatever you want to call it, that’s how he knows. He knows you are the best and he hopes that it’s enough… But then again, he is standing outside, and he is thinking about someone other than himself, and you are most definitely the cause. How could that possibly be?

“She humbled me.”

And there it is. 

Haymitch has a smirk drawn across his mouth, the edges coated with whatever whiskey he’d poured himself and Finnick only minutes ago. He chuckled and stepped away from the balcony, ready to leave the discussion where it was.

“A massive accomplishment indeed.”

-

tags(open): @thepassionatereader @i-voluntears @secretsicanthideanymore @mystargirl-interlude @c4ttheart @lilibrn

[bonefall]

Is there anything you wish that you could add into BB but can’t? Whether it’s just that it doesn’t work the BB’s themes or plot or that it deviates too far from canon?

Lots, honestly. If I ever did "sand off the serial numbers" I would do a ton of things.

Hollyleaf's Century would have waaaay bigger and more devastating consequences for the entire island. Not just the lake society. All of Albion would have been badly affected.

I've always been really fond of the idea that you first come into this world, assume it's pretty straightforward "oh! Cats in the woods! Simple enough!" And then slowly the lore reveals itself to be like "ARCHIMEDES' CAT SUCCESSFULLY INVENTED LAZER BEAMS ERGO THE ROMANS NEVER STARTED A CONQUEST OF NORTHERN EUROPE"

Im just incredibly fond of lore that looks basic when you're first introduced to it, slowly drops wilder and wilder shit, and refuses to ever engage with it lmaooo

Lots more name changes, more honor titles, etc

I would start tossing in OCs. I like the limitation I work with right now, it's a fun challenge, but I would be padding out allegiances significantly

Populations would get bigger, with more emphasis on Family rather than Individual. I would begin to give major bloodlines their own insignias.

Identifying with these insignias would be something cats grapple with. Everyone in Tigerstar's family, for example, would consider if they want to jump into their mate's families and modify their insignias or wear them with pride

A lot more would go into "aesthetic" production. Flax, leather, the fashion styles between the different Clans.

I'd mess around with more altars and hidden places where various cats go to worship.

For example I would LOVE to have a "dark library" which contains a lot of Ripplestar's strategies and battle plans, buried in the bog, that Runningnose uncovers through his channeling and Brokenstar goes to learn from

More magic stuff in general, a lot of it going back to Hollyleaf's Century. More types of curses and monsters, some of them just kinda showing up at times.

The ecology of Albion would be a bit wilder. Feral cattle, wild dogs, and horses, nothing too drastic.

Researchers would remain I love those guys. Might make some special "field guides" which are humorous journal entries and such. Occasionally they drop hints at the iceberg lore like, "this reminds me of the Great Egg Scramble of '24."

They'd mention some of the magic stuff and explain that humans have had a hard time researching it scientifically. Like Quantum Physics it doesn't like to work the same way when you observe it directly.

One of their specialists has a PHD in Alchemy or something like that

SkyClan would do a LOT more in the suburbs. Like, I would explicitly start working suburban foraging into their culture instead of just the occasional stealing they do.

Been thinking a lot about the boundaries between natural and urban spaces and how maybe it works best to challenge that "boundary" completely. SkyClan seeing itself in the dandelions that sprout between cracks in the pavement. Do you understand

I'd start adding in more spaces for people to break off from "canon." Like saying that sometimes the researchers capture "breakaway" groups to introduce them to other areas, sometimes they hop on trains and spread around Albion. Fanwork Gaps.

[lanterns-and-daydreams]

Forbidden Fruit

A Grayson Hawthorne x oc fic

Warnings/notes (regarding the whole fic) : slight cursing, sexual innuendos, no smut, MLM, friends to enemies to lovers, might be a lil ooc (forgive me first fic ever if you dont count 'Wine and Woes'), i also changed Cassian to a human instead of a faerie, also, it's gonna be a little slow, please bear with me.

(please heed that this only a work of fiction, so do not be influenced by it, and for the love of God don't do anything that's happening in this fic.)

(trespassing is not a light matter, especially when you're breaking into a multi-billionaire's house. Doing this will have its consequences 🙏💀)

Word count: Idk man, lots of words here 💀

Summary: Grayson Hawthorne had always wanted to be like his grandfather. He had never been in the business of making friends, until he meets someone who is going to turn his life upside down, and possibly make his brain short circuit

Prologue

Part 1

"your ego is bigger than Jupiter itself. Your IQ on the other hand, is the complete opposite"

"i know you ain't talking like that when you don't know what basic slang is, blondie"

"i prefer doing more productive things than spending all my time on such uselessly mind-consuming pieces of media"

"........ This is why you have no friends and no bitches"

"i have you." Grayson smiled, something he rarely did "maybe that's all I need."

Pre-Timeskip

Grayson Hawthorne was not in the business of making friends, much like his grandfather, Tobias Hawthorne. Even though he was only 13 years old, he relied on himself, he did not ask for help. Grayson knew he was extraordinary, his grandfather had made sure he knew.

He was prepared for every possible outcome in every possible situation. Or so he thought, until he was face to face with a rather unusual looking boy

Unusual in the sense that the boy was wearing muddy overalls, his fluffy brown hair had leaves and twigs stuck in it. His smile is too big, too bright, much like the sun shining overhead. Grayson's eyes trail down the short boy's appearance, hes holding his hands out to Grayson, holding two red geraniums in them. The geraniums are muddy too. Grayson's face scrunches up looking at the filth.

"Who are you?" Grayson glares at the boy "And how did you get in here?"

For anyone else, Grayson's glare would have been terrifying. His silver eyes making them uncomfortable in their own skin. But this boy? He kept grinning, and holding out his flowers. The audacity he had to ruin Grayson's peaceful garden time agitated Grayson.

"My name is Cassian!" Cassian smiles brightly "Whats yours?"

Grayson did not want to answer, this boy's innocence was.....annoying, but he did so out of politeness, and perhaps the hope that maybe this boy would leave if he knew who he was talking to was far superior.

"Grayson" Grayson introduced himself "My name is Grayson Hawthorne."

Grayson did not see any flash of recognition in the boy's midnight blue eyes. That agitated him more. First, this boy had the audacity to interrupt his peaceful garden time, Now, he didn't even know who Grayson was?!

"Woah! You have a cool name! Grayson. Gray, like your eyes" he says in awe, as if he had never seen gray eyes before

What was Grayson even supposed to say to that? Grayson frowns at Cassian. Hoping that maybe he'll see the obvious annoyance and leave. But Grayson's hopes were nothing if not futile, because Cassian just smiles at him.

Instead, he just tells him something Grayson does not want to know

"My last name is Moonbeam!" he smiles

Cassian Moonbeam? What a ridiculous name..... Grayson thought

It was also not a name Grayson recognised, so one, this boy was not from a prominent family, and two, he was not a worker's son. Since those children never approached Grayson, knowing who he is.

"You do realize that you're trespassing, right?" Grayson raises an eyebrow, looking down his nose at the boy

Cassian cocks his head to the side a little "Trespassing?" he says, expression neutral "but there's only one of me, wouldnt that make it unopassing?" he grins

This boy..... Grayson's mind comes up with a few rude words, but he decides to keep them to himself.

Instead, he calmly says "That wasn't funny"

"it wasn't meant to be."

"How did you get in here?"

"i slid through the tall border thingy" Cassian points at the tall border that separated the woods from the estate. Grayson's eyes slid from the metal border back to Cassian

"And no one saw you? Not even one of the guards? And how in the world did you manage to slip through the gap?!"

"oh. Um. Well, i kinda watched the guards routine a lot, so I slipped in when they were away." Cassian grins "And it's not that small of a gap. Plus, I'm small and lean"

Grayson was so done with this kid and this whole conversation. He wanted this boy gone

He sighs and states "Trespassing, especially onto the Hawthorne estate, is a crime"

Cassian's grin disappears and he cocks his head to the side "Crime? Are you saying the police are gonna arrest me?"

"im saying they can if they are notified"

"Then let's not tell them." Cassian slightly juts out his lower lip

Grayson was appalled. Things like this should be notified. So no one else creeps onto the territory. Tobias Hawthorne was a man whose head multiple people wanted. Grayson didnt know who those people were or why, but he knew that with power, came risk.

"Are you seriously telling me I shouldn't tell someone that someone trespassed onto the territory?!"

Cassian shrugs and Grayson wants to strangle him, instead, he sighs exasperatedly

"How old are you?"

"11. Why?"

"Doesn't that explain so many things" Grayson says sarcastically and rolls his eyes

"What does that mean!?"

"Nothing you should be concerned about considering the situation you're in. How do you even plan to get out of here?"

Cassian looks a little confused "Huh? What do you mean? I'll just go back out the same way I came in"

Grayson scoffs "Thats not what I meant. Now, hypothetically, I don't tell on you, but do you really expect to just leave without a scratch? One of the guards could see you as you're trying to get out. Fate isn't in your hands"

Cassian pauses "But I already have scratches"

Grayson grits his teeth "Those are not the kind of scratches I'm talking about, Cassian"

"Doesn't matter." Cassian frowns slightly "What about you? How old are you?"

"I have no reason to tell you" Grayson replies dismissively, pauses, and then says "13"

The smirk on Cassian's face is smug "oh, so you're a baby. Like me"

"Baby?!" Grayson looks offended "I am not a baby!"

"You are" Cassian leans forward, and with one muddy finger, boops Grayson's nose "Boop!"

That's it. How dare this....this commoner touch him?! It was bad enough not knowing who he is, now this?!

"Do that again-" Grayson starts to threaten, but is cut off with another boop to the nose "Wha-"

"You said 'do it again' " Cassian smirks cheekily

"I swear to God-" Grayson takes a deep breath, composing himself. It was not like him to lose his temper over something like this "Do not do that again. Now, state your business for bothering me"

"Flowers." Cassian holds up the geraniums "For you."

Grayson paused, processing this information "......"

"you trespassed onto Hawthorne property to give me flowers?!"

Cassian nodded excitably

"You are either exceptionally smart or extremely stupid" Grayson sighs "i do not want your flowers"

"ill forgive you for calling me stupid, since I want to be your friend."

"i do not want you as a friend. Why would you even want to be friends with me?"

"Because you're a loner with no friends to bring you flowers" Cassian shrugs

Grayson had to admit, that stung. He did have so-called "friends", but he never was close with them, so they were more like strangers that he knew. But was he going to admit he didn't have friends to Cassian? Absolutely not.

"i have friends" Grayson grits through his teeth, fists clenching at his sides. He was getting impatient.

"No, you don't. I would've seen them if you did" Cassian says smugly

Grayson pauses, inhaling a sharp breath "you were stalking me?"

"i wouldnt say that," Cassian takes a step closer as Grayson takes one back "More like, saw you sitting here alone everyday as I passed by."

"And if i dont believe you?" Grayson says, internally prepared for a fight

"Well, I'm already here and giving you flowers. Red, right? Your favourite color?" he holds up the flowers again

"Youre a wierdo," Grayson slaps his hand away "i dont want your flowers."

Cassian frowns a little "oh. That's okay, maybe you hate these ones. I'll bring you some more tomorrow"

"Do not come back" Grayson grits

"im gonna" Cassian places the flowers at Grayson's feet, stands back up, looks at Grayson, shoots him a mischievous grin, and boops his nose again, making Grayson's nose officially the most booped part of his body.

Grayson opens his mouth to finally curse but Cassian starts running away "Oh, no, you don't." Grayson runs after him

But Cassian is surprisingly fast, and dodges Grayson multiple times

"We're playing tag, now?" Cassian snorts a laugh

Grayson realizes what's happening and stops dead in his tracks and frowns, glaring at Cassian.

"Leave." he says, barely holding on to his anger

"Why-" Cassian begins, but Grayson interrupts

"Leave before I tell on you. I'm giving you a free card once, don't expect it again" Grayson takes a breath through his teeth

Cassian slowly blinks at him, but then smiles softly and says "Okay! I'll figure out how to get out by myself next time"

Grayson watches as the boy sneakily watches out for the guards, and then darts into the woods without being seen, and eventually vanishes out of sight.

Grayson lets out a huff of irritation, and begins to walk back to the House, when he notices the muddy geraniums on the grass in front of him.

He hesitates for a second before picking them up.

I'll just throw them away, it doesn't matter. He thought

But a small part of Grayson, that he desperately tried to push away, wants to keep them. He doesn't want to admit it, but he really did not have any friends to bring him flowers. He was still suspicious of the boy, but he decided to see where all of this would end.

But for now, all he had to focus on was getting inside, taking a much needed shower, because of that pesky boy, and then attend lunch with his brothers and Grandfather.

Prologue part2

Tagging:

@never-enough-novels @pink-mask-06

@x-liv25-jamieswife

[tofics]

The Pact - Part 1

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x fem!Reader

A The Walking Dead - The Originals Crossover This story is set in the TWD universe but mainly features TO characters. While characters from TWD do appear in upcoming chapters, the focus will mainly be on Elijah and the reader, as well as the reader's missing father, none of which are OC TWD characters.

Summary: It's always been you and your dad. A tough duo, tackling life's challenges together. Not even an outbreak can change that. It's you and your dad against the world, doing whatever it takes to survive. But one day, tragedy strikes. You get separated from your father on a supplies run. By now it's been months, and you're losing hope. That is, until a strange man appears, looking weirdly put together for someone who's years into an apocalypse. There's something off about him. The weirdest part though? He seems to know your father...

Word count: 2168 words

Warnings: swearing, hints of violence, losing a loved one

A/N: This is a rewrite of my unfinished series, 'The Pact'. The contents of the rewritten chapters will differ to the original ones, however, the main plot of the story will remain the same. I hope you enjoy! :) Feedback is greatly appreciated!

It was hot. Which wasn't news, it had been incredibly warm for weeks, but on this particular day, the temperatures seemed to reach a new, even more torturous high. To make matters worse, there was no wind to provide any temporary relief, not even so much as a soft breeze. Dust was settling on everything and was turning the world into a beige version of its once colorful self.

You sat on the small porch of the hut you had taken shelter in for the past couple of weeks, slowly rocking back and forth in the creaky rocking chair that you'd positioned outside, just slightly off to the right of the hut's door. From this spot, you had a perfect view of the sandy road that led up to the cabin. This way, anyone - or anything - making their way to you could be spotted easily, and most importantly, early enough to take precautions.

One of those precautions was your rifle, positioned right next to you for easy access. It leaned against the crumbling railing, ready to be grabbed at the sign of any visitors, dead or alive. It was more of a warning gesture rather than an actual instrument of defense. Sure, you'd use your rifle if it came down to it, but you preferred your hunting knife or axe, depending on the situation. For one, ammo was hard to come by these days, and if you were dealing with a walker, a gunshot would only draw more of them in. You were smart enough not to risk that unless absolutely necessary.

Between the three weapons, your hunting knife was the one that never left your side. It stayed tucked in its shaft on your belt at all times, day and night. It was there when you woke up and when you went to sleep. It had been given to you by your father way before the world had gone to shit. Despite being sold as a weapon, it had never been meant to be used as one. All you'd used it for was to carve letters into a tree or to hack some smaller branches apart for a bonfire on one of your many camping trips together. That had changed quickly when the dead didn't stay dead anymore.

For as long as you could remember, it had always been just you and your dad. It had never bothered you, though. It had never felt like anything was missing from your life. Even when the world got turned upside down and you had to flee from your home, it had been okay, because he was there. Your father was your steady source of comfort and strength. The new world came with an entirely new set of challenges, but you never worried, because you knew he'd find a solution. He always did. He was your rock, the one you could always count on, the one who was always there. Until he wasn't.

You leaned back in your rocking chair as the memories of that fateful day came back to you. You could almost see it play out like a movie in front of your eyes, the pictures dancing in the blurry fields of hot air over the street.

It had been roughly two years since everything had gone to hell. You and your dad were doing considerably well for yourselves: You'd found an abandoned house, about half an hour outside of a small town that, due to some small miracle, had relatively little walkers and plenty of canned goods to loot. But, even though you were careful with your new resources, eventually, your supplies eventually began to run low and you and your father were forced to go out scavenging again.

These supply runs were always carefully planned in advance. The places you'd already ransacked were crossed off on the map you kept in the kitchen and new places were picked based on their approximate distance, the resources it would take you to get there and the likelihood of the place having anything left to loot at all. More often than not now, the towns you visited had already been ransacked and picked clean to its bones. Once you guys had picked a destination, you'd prepare for the upcoming trip by boarding up the house as best as you could, getting your food and water ready and making sure your camping gear and weapons were in good shape. It was a tough balance of what to bring and how much space to leave empty in your packs. What you ended up bringing was usually something between a calculated amount of resources to get you where you wanted to go (which would be used up by the time you got there, providing you with new space for your future finds) and a guess about how much you would end up finding. Basically, it was a mix of precise planning and a risky gamble. Up until that day, you had always managed to make it work. Your father had repaired an old trolley you'd once come across for extra space, but you never brought it into the cities you visited. It stayed tucked away at your campsite outside of town, mostly for safety reasons. If you ran into trouble, it was more likely to make a quick exit with just a backpack weighing you down, rather than having to pull an entire trolley out of a risky situation. On the rare occasion that you found more than you could carry, you'd take multiple trips to get everything back to your temporary camp. Better safe than sorry.

You'd done well with this strategy. Of course you occasionally ran into trouble, but it had never had lasting consequences. Despite a dry stretch of roughly three months, where every single town you hit had close to nothing to offer, your little duo had been able to survive. Sometimes it even remotely felt like a life.

But that 'life' ended when you lost your dad.

Figuratively speaking, that is. You never saw him die. But you were sure he was dead. After all, what besides death could be keeping him from you? What other reason could he have had for not having met back up with you at your campsite after you two got separated? The father you knew would have done everything in his power to get back to you. But he hadn't, not in the time you'd waited. And you had waited a long time, for as long as you could.

Something snapped you out of your thoughts. It took you a second to register, but then you realized it had been the sound of a branch breaking. Nothing unusual per se, considering that the grounds of the cabin were largely surrounded by a dry forest, save for the clearing and the street in front of you. It had sounded deliberate, though. Like a foot snapping a branch in half. You'd learned the difference over the years when hunting became an essential life skill. No, it definitely hadn't been a falling branch. Which meant that someone - or something - was out there.

Crack.

There it was again. You rose to your feet and picked up the rifle. It was more for show, really, just so whoever was treading through the trees wouldn't get any ideas. You weren't gonna be mistaken for an easy target. But even so, you didn't love the rifle in your hands. You were not the best shooter and you'd had more walkers in your area lately than you liked. No reason to draw more of them in.

Crack.

Another branch snapped, this time a lot closer to you than before. That made it clear, then. Human. And definitely headed your way too, judging from where the first few cracks had come from. You were sure it was a human. Walkers made more sounds. Their lack of coordination and less-than-fit bodies made a lot of dragging and shuffling sounds. There was none of that to be heard now.

You hoisted the rifle up as if getting ready to shoot and used the scope to check the line of trees to either side of you. "Come on out and show yourself," you yelled out. You made a point of sounding more relaxed than you were. Show no fear, and you appear stronger. That's how it was now. Put on a show. If you were this chill about strangers approaching, it had to happen to you all the time, right? Which meant that you had experience. That you could hold your ground.

And you could, but you were anything but relaxed about it. Your blood was rushing through your body, your pulse thumping in your ears. It made it hard to hear for you and you strained to listen for more evidence of strangers in the silence. Your eyes flicked around, repeatedly drawing half-circles from left to right over the line of trees, watching for signs of anyone approaching you.

Then, just as if he had appeared out of thin air, a figure appeared between the trees.

At some point, if you train enough, your motions become muscle memory. So you didn't have to think about releasing the safety or placing your finger on the trigger while you zeroed in on the person approaching you. Still, a breath of surprise left you when he came into focus.

"What the fuck," you whispered to yourself. The man who had stepped out of the woods held his hands high and walked carefully towards you, obviously intending not to be shot. But you almost shot him anyway. What you were seeing was so bizarre that for a second, you considered if you were having a heat-stroke and just imagining the whole thing.

Coming towards you was a guy dressed in a dark suit and tie, complete with a handkerchief, the whole deal. It was as if he'd been in an office building when the world ended and hadn't changed since. And as if that wasn't bizarre enough, not only did he not appear to have any kind of gear on him, he looked incredibly clean. Fresh out of the store kind of clean. There wasn't a speck of dirt on his suit anywhere. What's more, the entire thing looked brand-new. It was absolutely fascinating and extremely alarming at once. What kind of a psycho would dress this way when survival was at the top of everyone's list? Suit-and-tie wasn't exactly survival-friendly. If anything, it was the opposite. And for the ensemble to be this clean...

"You might wanna stop right where you are," you called out when he got too close for your liking. Nothing about this guy's appearance made any sense and it gave you a bad feeling. To your surprise, the man obliged and stopped in his tracks. It gave you time to check him out once more, and a chill ran down your spine when you saw that he had a smile on his face. It seemed cautious, but what made the hair in the back of your neck stand up was that it had a sense of smugness to it. Definitely a psycho.

"Good. Now do a 180 and go right back to where you came from. You're not welcome here."

He looked at you as if he was seizing you up for a moment. You put the slightest amount of pressure on the trigger in response. Any more weirdness from this guy, and you'd pull the trigger.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, ma'am." His voice was both soft and strong at the same time. It was irritating, but not more than his refusal to leave.

"Listen, buddy, I'm not in the mood for this. Get the fuck outta here, alright? Don't make me shoot you." You made a 'shoo" movement with your gun. Annoyingly, he didn't budge.

"I understand your incentive for defense, but I can assure you, there is no need for that. I do not mean to harm you."

You snorted in response. "You? Harm me? Who's got a rifle pointed at who right now, buddy? Last warning. Get." Your voice had grown ice-cold.

"Please, there is no need for such hostility. I can assure you, I can explain myself, if you'd only let me."

You considered this for a moment. He still had his arms raised and hadn't moved any closer, but his refusal to leave was truly irking you. Something was up with this guy. Still, firing off your gun would have its consequences...

"Fine. You got thirty seconds. Talk."

There was a brief look of triumph on his face that passed so quickly, you weren't sure it had been there to begin with.

"If I may introduce myself, my name is Elijah Mikaelson. Am I correct in assuming that you are Y/N L/N?"

If anything, you should have shot him right then and there. It would have been the smart thing to do. But instincts and smart-things-to-do don't always go hand in hand. Instead of shooting him, you lowered your rifle as you stared at him in bewilderment.

"Now how the fuck do you know my name?"

[flamigoat]

Phoebe (OC) - My Raypeach (Rayman x Rabbid Peach) Fankid 💖🧡

Character Lore under the cut!! :D

Toddler/Child:

Created by Mr. Dark as an apology gift to Rayman and the Glade as a whole. He hoped to promote peace between them with her.

Her parents were not married before they adopted her, but later on they do! Phoebe serves as their flower girl at their wedding. 🌸

She was one of those little kids that were scared of everything. A timid child that you could barely get a word out of. Very quiet. Alarmingly so.

Gravitated more towards her mother than her father, since he was away mostly on missions in the Glade. Grew up in the city of the Space Opera Network. She found it quite overwhelming, but Peaches’s company helped a bunch.

Phoebe had a normal, happy childhood, until one fateful day where everything would change.

Phoebe woke up one night to find her appearance had changed. She had narrowed pupils. Her hands and teeth hurt really badly. Scared, she ran to her parents’s bedroom and woke them up, tears in her eyes. As Peaches comforted her, Rayman awoke to glowing eyes like Mr. Dark’s staring at him, his face was pale with fear. She’d never forget that face.

Quickly, they carried their child through the portal to the Glade, rushing off to Mr. Dark’s house in the dead of night. They begged for his help, asking what was wrong with her and pleading for him to fix it. He assessed her and after some time declared that nothing was wrong.

She was okay, but her appearance was just changing, apologizing that he must’ve messed up her creation in some way. She’s developing some of Mr. Dark’s traits, but he promises the couple that he’d be there for Phoebe if she develops his magic. This worries Rayman (he doesn’t fully trust Mr. Dark), but after a talk with Beep-O he says okay to it.

Only time will tell where this development goes…

Teen:

Surprisingly, this event causes her to grow out of her shell. In this stage of her life, Phoebe grows to be a rebellious, wild, loud, overwhelmingly confident kid. She is easily excitable, but is prone to getting in to fights with people who do wrong things. She has a sense of justice about her, but is still troublesome. She throws herself into anything she finds interesting, inheriting her mother’s strong curiosity.

With Phoebe increasingly developing even more of Mr. Dark’s traits, Rayman becomes a bit distant from her, scared of what she’ll become one day. If…she’ll become blind with power, much like Mr. Dark did. He tries to cover up his fear of her, but Phoebe can see right through it and hates it. This drives a very noticeable wedge between them.

Later on, after some contemplation, Rayman attempts many times to fix his relationship with his daughter, but to no avail. The damage had already been done in Phoebe’s eyes. Still, he tries his best to be supportive, even if his daughter doesn’t believe he means it.

As for her relationship with her mother, Rabbid Peach, it flourishes. Since she never had to deal with Mr. Dark she sees nothing wrong with her daughter’s changes. She’s her daughter and she loves and supports her as much as she can. Peaches even moves to the Glade after she finds Phoebe is happier there, quitting her acting job and ghosting the business.

Phoebe is 100% a momma’s girl and it shows. She showers her with ‘gifts’ she finds and is always excited to show what cool new spells her mentor, Mr. Dark taught her.

“Mum! Mum!! Check this out!! Isn’t it cool!?!?!”

Peaches, barely awake, “Mhm. It sure is sweetie. Now, maybe let your mother sleep in to at least 3:00 am next time before you wake her up. Okay?”

“Okay!!!”

“Mum!! Look at this awesome monster I found!! You think you could make some clothes out of it? I think it’s resistant to fire. Don’t worry, I checked this time!!”

Peaches, holding the skinned beast with a paw, trying to hide her disgust. “Of….course, sweetheart. I suppose I could try? Your birthday is coming up soon… what if I make you an outfit out of this? Would you like that?”

Phoebe, practically vibrating with excitement. “YEAHHH!! That would be so cool!! Could you make it like Auntie Edge’s outfit?”

Peaches giggles, “Sure thing sweetie.”

To Rayman’s probable horror, Mr. Dark fills the void of a father figure to Phoebe. He is her mentor, and teaches her not to be scared of her new powers and development. What she looks like does not make her a monster, it’s her actions that do. He teaches her lessons he wishes someone taught him during his childhood, it’s very fulfilling for the both of them.

“Like this?”

He ruffles her hair, “Perfect…I knew you could do it, my best pupil.”

“Pfft. I’m your only pupil, dummy.”

His brow creases, the view of his eyes being lost in the shadow of his hat, he sighs, “Hmph. Still.”

Adult:

Phoebe grows to become an imposing figure in the Glade, known for her intimidating glare and sharp witted tongue. On the inside, however, she’s quite reserved and calm, preferring to keep little company with her. She sometimes gets a little embarrassed when people bring up how she acted as a teen, since she’s trying to keep a professional front.

In Mr. Dark’s and Betilla’s retirement, she takes their place as a protector and miracle worker of the Glade. Sometimes, she’ll visit descendants of her Mother’s friends in the Mushroom Kingdom dimension. Unfortunately, she’s becoming somewhat of a cryptic figure in that dimension.

After Peaches’s passing she wears her mother’s earrings in her hair, tying them to her hair tie. Her mother had a short lifespan, but she died a hero in the end. She misses her deeply, but always carries her in her heart. If she has a kid in the future, particularly a daughter, she’d name her after her mother.

Currently trying to mend her relationship with her father, they are both immortal, so they’ll be in each other’s lives for a forever. It takes a long time, but eventually they heal and grow close. Especially after Rabbid Peach’s passing, they need each other’s support.

Bonus Facts:

Phoebe has 3 Rabbid Ears to mimic Rayman’s hairstyle in his first game. Mr. Dark believed these would be a cute, practical touch to her design, thinking she could fly easier with them. He was wrong, and they quickly became useless for flight as she got older.

Raymesis likes to make jokes that Phoebe looks like his kid more than Rayman’s. He hates it.

Phoebe’s brooch in her adult design belonged to Rabbid Peach, she stitched it into her magician outfit to carry another piece of her mother with her. Next to her heart… 😔

[peachymilkandcream]

Movie!William Afton x Evelyn -> Night Terrors

(A/N: No request was given for this one BUT the prompt is: What if WIlliam used the animatronics to keep her scared that they were coming for the family if she left so she lays awake at night terrified and seeing things and he helps comfort her? ;) This one spoke to me as someone who's afraid of the dark as an adult XD Hope y'all enjoy, after this one I'm going to bed I've been writing a lot today XD As always this is not canon to Break Me Slowly, Evelyn is just my go to OC and I like seeing her get railed what can I say.)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, power imbalance, age difference, etc.

===========================================

Evelyn stared at the ceiling, that was all she could do, stare and listen for the sounds in the halls, terror gripping her as her mind filled in the blanks and she could almost hear the haunting clank of metal. It was all in her head, she knew it, she knew it deep down, but the small part of her wondered just how much was her mind or reality. Sweet, sweet William was a brilliant man, but she couldn't deny how much his creations terrified her. Her life had become nothing but terror in the wake of the accidents that claimed the lives of her two children.

Of course he was sound asleep, in dreamland thinking of some other brilliant scheme to regain their previous financial standing. Her heart her because she wanted to tell him that she didn't care about that, she'd give it all up to have him and their children back. However she knew she could never say anything, he was her husband after all, she couldn't just question him. He had given her the future that she had, she couldn't just bother him with her stupid opinions.

Evelyn knew better than to wake him, but the shadows in the dark room started to look like they came alive. Pulsating and moving closer to her, horrifying amalgamations of those cute creatures that brought so many children joy back in the day. William was usually such a sound sleeper, he probably wouldn't even wake up as she slid closer and cuddled into his back.

She felt slightly better, the fear wasn't as prominent with the warmth that he radiated. He was all that she had in this world, William had told her this often, especially since her two living children has selfishly abandoned them because they couldn't give their father the respect he deserved.

A small smile crept onto her face as she cuddled in closer, her movements just a little too much which made him stir and wake up, rolling over to her. His smile matching hers as am arm snaked around her waist, feeling her curves and giving her ass a little squeeze that he made sure she didn't miss.

"Sleep troubles my love?" His hand squeezed harder, and at this close proximity she could feel his intentions through his pants. "I can help you with that." He starts to climb on top of her until he notices her discomfort. "What's the matter?"

"It's fine William I really just don't, want to-"

His smile vanishes, a look of warning coming into his eyes. "Excuse me?" He always gave her one chance to change her tune, and she knew what would happen if she refused.

"Nevermind, that sounds great."

His smile returns, leaning over her and kissing her neck. His beard was uncomfortable on her skin, but with the way his tongue soothed the spots his teeth bit it was worth it. William's happiness was all that was important, and having time like this was rare, she should be appreciative that he was even willing to sleep with her. Therefore she made sure to arch her back and moan extra loud, it was fake, it was all fake, but neither of them cared. The way he gripped her thighs with such desperation made her feel more alive and younger than she had in years, even if she still wasn't that old compared to him.

William took his time worshipping every inch of her, in the past he would have never done this, but with how well she had made things for him how could he not spoil her every once and a while? She put up with his narcissistic and erratic personality and at least claimed to love him in return, sucking on her breasts until she pulled his head down for more was the least he could do.

She was so wet as he pumped one finger and then two inside her, the slight winces of pain from the extra stitch he made her get with each of the pregnancies not slowing him down in the slightest. It wasn't like she had a choice anyway, she never had a choice. Even now she was still tight, fitting him perfectly as he slid in, he truly believed she was built for him, built to be used by him and to stay by his side through all of the horrors he subjected everyone he encountered to.

With each thrust the fear surrounding her seemed to fade a little more, the shadows moved less and less as the passion built more and more. She wasn't sure what it was about William, but the way he was set her on fire like never before, he was like a drug, if he wasn't giving her some kind of drug already.

It took no time for her to spasm and climax around him, holding onto his arms desperately and whimpering out his name as she rode out her high, his hot cum filling her not long after as they held each other in their arms. Whether it was his presence or the liquid dripping out from between her legs Evelyn wasn't sure, she just knew that for once the world was still. And as he held her firmly against his chest she could finally drift into a peaceful sleep.

[blindmagdalena]

Eat Your Ego, Honey (Ch7)

homelander x oc 18+  escort services, sex work, voyeurism, stalking, Homelander in general. see ao3 link for detailed tags. chapter index. check out the playlist!

chapter summary: Following Homelander and Layla's disastrous morning after, she bumps into another hero at Vought Tower. Upon seeing the state of her, Starlight offers solace and the opportunity for Layla to put herself back together before she faces the world. Shortly thereafter, Homelander erupts on live television, changing public perception of him forever.

additional tags: unhealthy/codependent dynamics, panic attacks, references to sexual assault, excessive drinking. this is where all major canon deviations begin! 🖤

Halfway down the hall, Layla hears something crash and shatter in the penthouse behind her. She nearly loses her footing, but by some kind of miracle, she maintains her composure through the walk to the elevator.

She swallows back the taste of her own blood, wipes the tears from her cheeks, and viscerally feels the looks she garners from the handful of bewildered Vought employees she passes. The building isn’t nearly as empty as she would have hoped it would be on a Saturday. Such as it is when the heroes all live in-house.

She presses the button and waits, bitterly musing all the while how utterly ridiculous it is to have two elevators for a building with one hundred floors.

It’s been years since Layla has faced a walk of shame like this. She’s been so careful to curate her experiences–her entire life–in order to avoid this dreadful humiliation. She knows the picture she paints: a skewed and wrinkled dress, her jacket draped haphazardly on her shoulders, bruises scattered on her body, mascara tracks down her cheeks. It’s an ugly, empty feeling.

However, it’s easier to focus on that ugliness than it is to process everything that just happened. She isn’t ready to replay the events in her mind just yet, to backtrack the descent from a blissful morning-after to the bloody mess she stumbled out of.

She touches her tongue to the stinging slice on the inside of her mouth, closing her eyes.

You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.

Looking up, she sees a mural above the elevator depicting the heroes of the Seven. Never in her life has she wished more for Transluscent’s power of invisibility. She stares at the painting of Homelander. It doesn’t really look like him, the jaw too wide and too square. His hair is too blonde, lacking his darker undercut. It’s like some kind of caricature of him.

Then again, she’s hardly the expert on the man. This morning taught her as much.

Unfortunately, she isn’t invisible. That much is clear when she physically feels someone stop near her, senses the tentativeness in the air as she hears them take a breath before addressing her.

“Uhm, I’m so sorry, excuse me,” comes a gentle, feminine voice. Layla screws her eyes shut, and forces herself to remember how to be a person. “I’m not trying to be rude, but you… Is there anything I can do for you?”

Opening her eyes, Layla prepares her best placating smile, but she comes short of it when she actually looks and sees who’s talking to her.

Starlight is beautiful. Flaxen locks tumble over her shoulders in loose curls, and she stares with such warm, big brown eyes–so overwhelmingly full of empathy and concern–that Layla is temporarily stunned. She’s thoroughly embarrassed to be seen in such a state by someone so lovely, so widely adored, so much younger, that she flushes.

“You’re so sweet, no, I’m okay,” she says, self-consciously adjusting her coat. She lowers her voice when she says, “It’s worse than it looks, I’m…” She hesitates, trailing off. Starlight has taken a small step closer since she started talking.

She looks wholly unconvinced, and if Layla were in her position, she knows she would feel the same. She pushes out a strained smile, and gives a small shrug, fighting desperately against another bout of tears the longer she’s stared at by those mournful, painfully understanding eyes. The connection is so immediate. It’s raw and human in a way Layla realizes she desperately needs.

“Listen, I’m not trying to overstep, it’s just that I’ve been where you are,” she says gently. Layla recalls the Deep, and Starlight’s very public campaign against him. It’s no wonder she’s responding so urgently. “And if you want, you can come to my apartment,” she offers, standing right next to her now, her voice hushed. “You can get cleaned up, get changed. I have lots of clothes. You’re totally safe, okay? I promise. I’ll be there the whole time.”

Layla wants to tell her that it’s a misunderstanding, but the words don’t come to her. She glances at the illuminated dot on the elevator. Still over forty floors down. The thought of withstanding the ride all the way back down, pretending not to notice the way people are staring at her, makes her nauseous. Fearing that if she opens her mouth, she’ll lose her poise completely, she only nods.

“Okay! Okay, come with me,” Starlight says, putting a hand on Layla’s elbow to help guide her. Starlight walks with impressive command, seeming tall despite her relatively diminutive stature. As they walk together, it isn’t Layla that catches their attention. It’s the shining star at her side. She’s grateful for the cover of her glow, feeling less and less like she wants to disappear into herself.

They don’t speak on the way to Starlight’s suite, but her hand does remain on Layla’s arm. She swaps sides with her when they pass a group of employees, offering them a friendly greeting, throwing in a wave. She makes for a radiant distraction, every move purposeful.

It’s the kindest thing Layla can ever remember a near perfect stranger doing for her.

They reach a distinguished door that perfectly suits Starlight’s ensemble, embellished with white paint and accents of gold. She inputs a passcode that she doesn’t seem concerned with obscuring from Layla–0163–and the door automatically swings open. She leads the way inside, and the door closes behind them.

Only then does Starlight leave her side, walking ahead of her. “Let’s grab you some things really quick, you can just pick whatever, I’ve got a ton of promotional stuff if you don’t mind looking like a walking advertisement for Vought, but really, take whatever you want,” she says, gesturing for her to follow.

Starlight’s apartment is stark and modernistic, full of sharp angles and sleek lines. The archway to her living room is made of thick speckled marble, and beyond that, an accent wall of pure gold. It’s intensely opulent, and while it may suit her hero colorscheme, it’s considerably colder than Starlight herself seems to be. It’s not unlike Homelander’s penthouse in that regard: it speaks only of the image Vought wishes to present.

Following along, Layla says, “Thank you, Starlight. I’m Layla, by the way.” That causes Starlight to stop dead in her tracks, turning around. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, right, hi. You don’t have to–you can just call me Annie,” she insists, laughing at herself. “Wow, I am so tunnel visioned sometimes.”

“Annie,” Layla repeats with a smile. The name suits her far more than this apartment does. “Thank you.”

Annie returns a warm smile before resuming the task at hand. Her room is just as luxurious and sleek as the rest of her apartment, but unlike the other rooms, it’s clear she’s made this space more her own. There’s a pinboard hanging above her dresser with over a dozen photos pinned to it. Below that, a framed photo of Annie in her younger years, donning her classic Starlight attire, standing next to a woman Layla assumes might be her mother.

Etched into the frame is:  “He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.” Psalms‬ ‭147:4

“Okay, so, for real, help yourself to anything,” Annie says, gesturing broadly to the closet. “It’s kind of funny that I even have all of this when they only ever want me in the Starlight get-up.”

Upon closer inspection, sure enough, Annie’s closet is largely of a variety of high-end brands, specifically in crossover with Vought’s brand. Ever prone to opulence herself, Layla can’t help but touch the sleeve of a cardigan that catches her eye. It’s white with a faintly shimmering metallic trim, and slightly bulbous gold buttons. It looks designed very specifically for Starlight, and by a renown French designer no less.

“Go for it,” Annie encourages.

“This is a Balmain,” Layla says, looking at her in earnest astonishment. “This is easily worth thousands of dollars.”

Annie turns a slight shade of pink, looking just as surprised. “Oh, uh… Well, it was–it was a gift, you know. Promotional stuff. A crossover thing, I think, I just… It’s not really me. It’s nice, though! And if you like it, you should take it. I don’t think I’ve ever paid more than fifty dollars for a sweater. I’d just get it dirty,” she says, the words tumbling from her lips like marbles rolling down a flight of stairs. “You seem like you’d make better use of it than me.”

“Have you worn it before?” Layla asks, easing the garment from the velvet hanger that it rests on. Annie shakes her head. “Have you even tried it on?” Another shake of her blonde tresses. Exhaling an amused little breath, she puts the cardigan into her hands. “You should. It was made for you.”

“It was made for Starlight,” she corrects, but there isn’t any trace of disdain in her voice. Instead, Layla recognizes a sense of melancholy in the way Annie stares at the garment.

Starlight–Annie–provides a stark and mystifying contrast to Homelander. There is an aura of disconnect between who she is, who she wants to be, and who the world has made of her. Layla had expected her to be something of a princess: sweet, but aware of her royalty. Not embarrassed by it.

Homelander desperately wants to be the king of his kingdom, but the crown has fallen around his throat, and he chokes violently against it.

“I’m sorry, that sounds ungrateful now that I’ve said it. I just mean that it was made for me to wear, but it wasn’t made for me. It’s–I don’t know, it’s strange being me, but… Not me,” she says, holding the cardigan between her hands, absently moving her thumbs along the smooth, exquisitely soft fabric.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Layla assures her, turning back to the closet. There are more Balmain pieces, as well as a handful of Cucinelli, and even a Burberry gown. There must be hundreds of thousands of dollars hanging in this closet. 

“You have a strong sense of yourself. That’s good. This world will eat you alive if you don’t,” she says, combing her fingers through the rows of clothing. Her hand stops on a simple white blouse–still costly, she knows from the feel of it that it’s made of viscose–and plucks it from the rack. She finds a long patterned skirt to match it. “For what it’s worth, I was happy to see this look of yours come back,” she says, gesturing to Starlight’s current ensemble, her signature cape and dress returned to her. The body suit with a plunging neckline and thigh high heels had looked ripped straight out of a playboy magazine, not a superhero lineup. “It suits you,” she continues, finally looking back at Annie, who’s smiling up at her with those big warm, shimmering brown eyes of hers. 

Annie nods, idly hugging the cardigan to her middle. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

Layla smiles, folding the clothes she’s selected over her forearm. “That said… it’s okay to enjoy your spoils a little bit,” she says, nodding her head towards the closet. “You’re not any lesser for indulgence. I know, I know–strong women don’t care about pretty clothes, the ones who do are vapid airheads, hell on earth because Eve ate the apple, yada yada. But I’ll tell you a little secret,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. She whispers, “Sometimes an apple is just an apple, and apples… are delicious.”

They both laugh, the undercurrent of unease that had been lingering since the moment they met finally abating.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're, like, dangerously easy to talk to?” Annie asks, hanging the cardigan back up in the closet. Layla notes that this time, she moves it amidst the clothes she regularly wears.

“Yes, people love to tell me things,” she muses, following when Annie beckons her towards yet another room. She’s made an entire career off of making people feel comfortable enough with her to divulge some of the darkest, most secret aspects of themselves. A little girl talk is a welcome reprieve.

 The bathroom is as lavish and impersonal as the rest of her apartment, feeling more like a hotel than a personal residence. There are tiny wrapped soaps and Vought branded bottles on every shelf. There are neatly folded stacks of pristine white towels, all of which are embroidered with a golden S. The level of detail to the place is almost unnerving, especially given how very unlike Annie it all is.

Much like with Homelander’s penthouse, it’s like walking through a meticulously crafted custom enclosure, not a home.

“Again, help yourself to whatever, I’ll be in the living room if you need anything,” Annie says from the doorway, offering a little wave.

Layla thanks her, and once the door shuts, she lets out a long, deep breath, her eyes falling shut. Her whole body feels heavy and aching, more exhausted than she can put into words. All she wants to do is lie down and never stand back up, but beneath her dress her skin feels tacky, and her muscles are yearning for the soothing caress of hot water.

She scrounges up the will power to undress and climb into the shower, taking her time to wash away the events of the last 12 hours from her body. The same can’t be said of her mind. Her fingers linger over bruises that have only grown darker, pressing lightly against her tender flesh. Homelander may as well have written his name, these marks ensuring she won’t forget their night any time soon.

It was so very nearly perfect.

She plays it over in her mind again and again, her body on autopilot through washing her hair. His son, the mother of his son, his relationship to them, his relationship to Layla herself, to his own name, it was all… “Complicated” was what he’d called things with his child. That seems to perfectly sum up just about everything in his life. She had tried to spare them the mess of an argument, falling back on familiar coping mechanisms–disconnecting and evacuating to find perspective–but the situation had escalated so rapidly from that point, she can barely track it even in hindsight. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he had begged, looking smaller than she'd ever seen him. ”It’s my birthday.”

She doesn’t know how true that is. She’s always assumed the yearly birthday bash Vought celebrates on July 4th was a corporate thing in line with his personification of America, not his actual birthdate. She doesn’t know if this is a further entanglement of John and Homelander, or if there’s something deeper–something more sinister–at play.

Perhaps Starlight can shed some illumination on the matter.

Finishing the shower leaves Layla refreshed, albeit still weary. She draws her hair into a sleek updo and applies her favorite red lipstick as both comfort and armor. She won’t let any more of the world see her in shambles.

Stepping out into the living room, she finds Annie waiting patiently at the circular dining table, pouring over what looks like a script, though she closes the binder when she sees Layla approaching. “Hey!” Annie greets brightly, looking equal parts relieved and delighted. “Hey, wow. You look amazing,” she says, standing.

“I have you to thank for that,” Layla shoots back, reaching to take her hand, which Annie readily offers. “Thank you, Annie. Really. This meant more to me than you’ll ever know,” she says, squeezing her hand between both of hers.

Annie flusters, making a handful of noncommittal, dismissive noises. “No, no, it was the least I could do–and I mean that, okay? Like, the least. I could do more. I’m technically co-captain of the Seven now, and if you… You know, you wanted to–” Layla squeezes her hand again, smiling. “I understand. Thank you, Annie.”

She smiles back, but it doesn’t entirely reach her eyes. Layla can tell that she desperately wants to do more. She’s a hero, after all: she’s looking for a villain to defeat. Unfortunately, there isn’t one in this story. There is no clear cut antagonist for Starlight to conquer.

There are just two people whose jagged edges failed to line up, cutting them both in the process.

“Okay. Okay!” She says, but it’s clear that she’s having trouble dropping it by the way she keeps hold of Layla’s hand. “Okay, but if you change your mind, you can call me. I’m kind of a big deal,” she says playfully, leaning in as if it were a secret. “And I can pretty much guarantee you I can kick their ass. It’s not like it’s Homelander.”

Layla’s expression falters, her smile falling from her lips. Annie recognizes it before she can recover, and the dawning look of horror that comes across her face is one that Layla will never forget.

“Oh my god,” Annie whispers. “It was Homelander? Homelander?”

God damn it.

“Please don’t say it like that,” Layla pleads, expression imploring. “It’s not what you think, it was consensual, it just… It ended poorly, and we fought,” she continues to explain, but Annie only looks more and more bewildered as she goes on. “Please don’t tell anyone. My–our relationship is complicated, and it’s better that no one else knows.”

“Relationship,” she echoes incredulously. “Your… relationship with Homelander,” she says, clearly processing the words as she says them. “Holy shit.”

“Yes, and you’re very sweet to want to help me, and you have, but there’s no villain for you to unmask here,” she says, pulling her hands away.

Annie barks a sharp laugh at that, but catches herself quickly. “Sorry, sorry, that, uhm… Okay. I’m sorry, I just… I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Please,” Layla says again, leveling her with an even stare. “I need you to promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. It’s not something I can afford to be embroiled in,” she says, hoping that Annie’s desire to protect her will extend into this plea for secrecy. 

Reluctantly, Annie nods. “I get it, I swear, but are you sure you’re safe? I don’t think you understand who he really is,” she says, her shock and incredulousness fading into a very urgent concern that makes something in Layla’s stomach twist up. “He’s not safe, Layla. Like, I mean really, really not safe. He’s freaking unhinged,” she whispers, as if he could be listening right this moment.

It occurs to Layla that he actually could be.

That twist in her gut sharpens, and her brows furrow. Instead of concern, however, she recognizes it as a sharp jut of defensiveness. Her lips part, but she takes a pause. “Is today his birthday?”

Annie’s expression smooths out in a wave of surprise. “What?”

“His birthday,” Layla repeats a touch impatiently. “Is today really his birthday?”

“Oh, uhm,” she frowns, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt switch in gears. “I don’t know. He certainly seems to think so.”

Huh. Does he truly not have anyone?

“I should go,” Layla says, reaching for her jacket where it hangs off of the back of one of the dining chairs.

“Wait, I’m sorry! I’m reacting badly, I know that, I’m just–I’m worried,” she says, an edge of panic audible in her tone.

“I know, I know, it’s okay. I’m not offended. I just have a lot to think about,” she says in turn, offering a slightly strained smile. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I really do, but I need time.”

She finds herself needing a lot of that lately.

Annie looks wounded and young at this, making her difficult to walk away from. After a beat, Layla moves closer and takes her into her arms, closing her eyes as she squeezes her tightly. “You’ve been a friend to me today, Annie. Thank you.”

The embrace is returned by strong arms that remind Layla this is no simple young woman. She has a similar gravity to her grip as Homelander, but her hold lacks his tangible desperation for touch. When they part, Annie doesn’t leave claw marks.

“I can still be your friend,” she says softly, pressing something into Layla’s hand. Opening her palm, Layla finds a folded posted, and unfurling that, a phone number. “The offer stands. If he… if… Just call me, okay?”

“Okay,” Layla relents, doubting she’ll get out of here if she doesn’t. She slips the paper securely into her purse. “I will. I promise.”

There’s a touch of relief in Annie’s expression at last. She manages a weak smile. “Thank you. Will you text me so I know you got home safe?” She asks, sounding every bit like a fretful mother hen.

“Sure, yes, of course,” she assures, mirroring Annie’s smile. The tension in the air is undeniable, an anxious thing that lives and breathes between them, but there is no fix for it. Layla does what she does best, and turns to flee from it, unprepared to face Annie’s ominous warning head on. The split behind her bottom lip stings when she touches her tongue to it.

All the while, Annie watches her go, her perfect brows pulled into a tight pinch. She has the ache in her gaze of someone who desperately wants to do more, but has been left at a loss for how to do it. Layla almost feels guilty for the distress in her eyes, but currently finds herself lacking the emotional bandwidth for it. She’s stretched so thin, she barely finds the strength to pull the door open.

That little piece of paper in her purse feels heavy, but not as heavy as Annie’s desperate words tumbling around in her head like bowling balls.

“He’s not safe… really, really not safe.”

Layla orders herself an Uber, and this time around garners significantly less attention walking the halls of Vought tower, glancing warily over her shoulder. She can’t shake the anxious–or in some small and twisted way, hopeful–feeling that she might see him looking back at her.

However, he remains a phantom possibility in her periphery. She slides into the car that pulls in to pick her up, and somehow manages to keep herself together on the drive back to her apartment.

It’s already 10am by the time she makes it inside, slipping out of her shoes and her jacket, dropping her purse on the floor, leaving them like a trail of breadcrumbs from her front door to her kitchen. Her head is throbbing, so she grabs a Tylenol from the shelf above her microwave and pours herself a modest glass of a rich dark merlot to wash it down. If she had any sense left in her she would serve herself a mimosa to at least pretend to herself she’s drinking responsibly this early in the morning, but the heavy tang of the red on her tongue makes her temples tingle and soothes the fray of her nerves.

Exhaling a rough breath, she pulls a container of semi-questionable leftovers from her fridge and sits down with it at her computer. Her empty stomach leaves her buzzed from the single glass, but she’s determined to put her mind anywhere else. She eats cold pasta with a spoon, and opens several emails with the intention of answering them, though after about an hour all she has is several half-hearted drafts and a perpetually churning stomach.

Certain that she won’t manage anything more productive, she pours herself another glass of wine and plants herself on the couch in front of her TV. Turning it on, she winces at the immediate flash of Homelander’s face, staring proud and determinedly down at her in an advert for his newest film. Quickly, she flips to another channel, letting out a long suffering breath before taking another swig of wine. She puts on something she’s seen before, something easy, and sinks back into the couch, pulling her blanket off of the back of the sofa and into her lap.

She doesn’t watch so much as she dissociates to the sound of her television, nursing the too-full glass she’d poured, taking the occasional sip as her mind circles the drain of the events of the morning over and over and over.

Homelander crashed into her life like a meteor. In such a short burst of time, he blew a hole in her life the size of a continent, and as she sits by herself day drinking to old episodes for comfort, she realizes how achingly empty the thought of his permanent absence leaves her.

By the time she finishes her glass of wine, she’s slumped almost completely horizontally. She sets the glass on the floor and completes the descent, curling up under her blanket. She passes out in the clothes Annie gave her and falls into a deep, troubled sleep.

Hours later, Layla wakes in a fugue state. Her apartment is silent, the television paused on a prompt that wonders if she’s still watching. The way that almost feels like the warmth of concern for her wellbeing is slightly alarming. With a groan, she pushes herself upright and digs both thumbs into her temples, looking around. 5:42pm.

“Fuck,” she sighs, swinging her legs off the couch. She knocks the wine glass she’d left there flying, and gives another emphatic fuck as she gets up to fetch it. She walks it to the sink, but upon seeing the mostly empty bottle of merlot still open on the counter, she decides she may as well finish it off, and pours the rest into her already wine-stained glass. She carries it to her fridge, where she digs around until she manages to assemble a plate of shredded mozzarella, a pepperoni sausage and a jar of pickled mussels.

She brings her assortment back to the couch and settles right back down in front of the television, taking a  sip of her wine before she finds something slightly more stimulating to watch while she piles cheese on the end of the pepperoni with each bite.

The process of eating feels entirely mechanical. She’s only half paying attention to anything, but when she hears her phone alarm suddenly going off, she startles. Untangling herself from the blanket, she goes to where she dropped her purse near the front door, and fishes her phone out of it. Her stomach drops. BIRTHDAY BASH her screen reads. She’d promised him that she’d be watching from home. She forgot that she’d set an alarm.

Layla chews her tongue indecisively on the walk back to the couch, settling down with an uneasy sigh. It’s starting now. She taps her nails incessantly on the back of her phone, stomach twisting. The wine glass is empty and there’s a slight spin to her vision. Sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, she picks up her remote and flips the channel. She’s met with the middle of a performance, a hero she doesn’t recognize singing some kind of boy band pop ballad.

Her stomach flips wildly. There are golden statues of Homelander on either side of the stage, and she finds she can focus on little else. It’s not hard to understand why he thinks himself a god when he is surrounded by golden effigies of himself and feverish, screaming worshippers. The world has created an impossible standard for all that he is. She absently touches her bruised lip, pressing on it until it stings.

The performance ends, and she recognizes the next hero–A-Train–who emerges on stage. He lends credit to Supersonic for his performance, answering her earlier quandary. She’s taken heroes for granted most of her life, considering herself removed from their fame and services. A part of her had even resented them for a long time. If the world was so full of heroism, why hadn’t any of them saved her parents?

Christ, the wine was really getting to her.

She snaps back to attention when A-Train announces the man of the hour, a severe looking portrait of Homelander flashing on the screen behind him. Her mouth feels dry, and she suddenly wishes she had another tall glass of wine in her hand, but she finds she can’t unglue herself from her seat. She sucks in a shallow breath, paying careful attention to his body language as he steps out onto stage.

Despite the celebration centering on Homelander, the camera favors Starlight as the two make their entrances. It’s surreal to remember that just this morning, she had shared space with each of them respectively. That she was wearing bruises from his hands and clothes from her closet. That feels like another lifetime entirely.

Homelander hasn’t stopped nodding since he stepped on stage. His smiles are tense and fleeting, flickering on and off like a sputtering flame fighting the winds around him. Starlight speaks, conducting herself well, but the look on her face when she’d realized who Layla had been with haunts her, coloring her perspective now. Annie looks like an entirely different person on that stage, voice tight and guarded. She’s not sure how much of that is an echo of He’s not safe. Really, really not safe, though.

Regardless, the announcement is going well right up until–

“Hey, Homelander! Your nazi died!”

Layla’s jaw drops. Anxiety hits like a chunk of ice falling into her gut. The camera remains painfully still, focused on Homelander’s frozen expression. His smile is too wide, full of teeth, and his eyes hollow. The silence left in the wake of that man is chilling.

Starlight intervenes, breaking the tension with an attempt at mediation. “Homelander, he’s just–he’s a human!”

“No,” Layla blurts aloud, standing from the couch. She pushes her hands into her hair. “Oh, Annie, no, no, stop.”

“He’s just like the rest of us. And we all make mistakes, right?”

It’s all wrong. She can see it in Homelander’s face, in the rapid way he’s blinking, in every twitch and spasm of his jaw. He looks like he’s about to explode.

To her mortification, he does.

“I’m not ‘just like the rest of you.’ I’m stronger, I’m smarter… I’m better. I am better!”

There’s so much fury and righteous vindication in him, but so too is there pain. His eyes are glassy, and she feels as if she can hear the wardrum pound of his heart even from here, see the vein throbbing in his neck. He looks like a caged animal lashing at the bars, roaring, demanding that the spectators see him for what he really is. See how tired he is of pacing for them, pretending he isn’t a wild creature that could rip them apart if he simply chose to.

Layla’s sick to her stomach. It feels like watching him rip himself apart in real time.

“You people should be thanking Christ that I am who and what I am because you need me!” He looks directly into the camera, and Layla feels it to her core when he says again, “You need me!”

The broadcast cuts abruptly into a glaringly loud ad, and Layla collapses back down onto her couch, breathing as if she’d just delivered the impassioned monologue. 

“Oh god…” she exhales, covering her face. She isn’t egotistical enough to think herself the sole cause of such a catastrophic meltdown–it’s clearly been a long time coming–but witnessing it, she can’t help but feel like she may have been one of several straws that broke his back. The desperation in his glassy eyes from this morning haunts her. His image is everything to him.

What happens to a man like that if he loses it? What happens to the world?

Her mind spirals on a series of progressively more dire theoretical scenarios, and whether or not she could have avoided all of this had she just stayed with him. Talked him down. Her lip doesn’t sting anymore, but the repercussions of this will echo a great deal further.

She winds up pacing for nearly an hour, unable to settle her mind. She tries calling Chris, but after two failed attempts, she remembers their conversation about his honeymoon in Italy with Jason, and she curses under her breath. The other bottles in her bar cabinet are looking progressively more tempting when a distinct thump outside catches her attention. It almost sounds like something landed on her balcony. She thinks it must have fallen from an above neighbor, or maybe a bird, until she gets close enough to realize there’s a person out there.

“Oh my god, Homelander,” she rasps, frozen still in her place. He perfectly silhouettes her own reflection, staring at her through the glass, his expression gnarled in terrible anguish. It’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but he looks as though he’s been crying.

After a beat of hesitation, she walks to the balcony door and twists it open just enough to stand in it, staring at him at a loss. “Can I come in?” He asks, voice reedy and thin. Pleading. It’s a shocking contrast to the anger she witnessed on the broadcast, but hardly surprising. She could see this torment lurking beneath it even then. It breaks her heart nonetheless.

She can already feel her own eyes beginning to prickle hotly in sympathy tears. “I don’t think that’s a good–” “Please,” he interjects, teeth locked in a tight grimace. “Please, Layla, I don’t… I don’t have anyone. Do you understand? I-I fucked up tonight, I fucked up bad, and I have nothing. If any of it was real, if you care just-just one fucking bit about me, then please. Please let me in,” he begs, bringing up his gloved hand to brace above her head on the doorframe, subtly rocking back and forth.

With every breath she takes, Layla feels the jagged edges of her aching heart pierce her lungs. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she takes a tentative step backwards, and then slowly opens her door to him, adrenaline pumping through her veins a mile a minute.

Of course she cares. She cares so much it makes her feel sick.

With a small nod, he steps inside, shaking out his hands. “Did you… Did you…?” He trails off, seemingly unable to bring himself to properly ask, but she knows what he’s trying to say.

“I saw,” she says gently, closing the balcony door.

“It’s over. It’s over, I’m fucking-I’m fucking finished,” he says with a wild gesture, running his hand through his already mussed hair.

She remains in place, keeping a subtle distance between them. “You’ve been under unfathomable stress. You were mocked on live television for something you’re still grieving, something that wasn’t your–” “It doesn’t fucking matter!” He snaps, both hands in the air. “No one cares about that, no one gives a fuck how I feel,” he hisses through his teeth, fresh tears welling in his eyes. He screws them shut, as if willing the tears to disappear. “I’m not their god, I’m not their hero, I’m-I’m nothing,” he says, starting to tug at the collar of his suit as if it’s choking him. He exhales a rough, mirthless laugh that sounds closer to a keen of pain.

He hooks the fingers of both hands in his collar, sucking in a strained breath, and Layla realizes with a start that he looks like he’s having a panic attack. She moves swiftly to him, gingerly taking hold of his wrists. “Shhhh, let go, let go,” she says kindly but firmly, knowing he responds best to a mix of the two. Thankfully, it works, his eyes meeting hers, his breaths a shallow frenzy. 

“I can’t breathe,” he tells her, his confusion obvious in his tone and the furrow of his brow. If this has happened to him before, it’s been a long time.

“You’re panicking. Let’s take this off you,” she says, unfastening his suit top. “Listen to me breathe, alright?” She takes a deep breath in, and then on the exhale, counts out, “One, two three…” Another inhale, then, “One two three…”

She’s seen this happen before. Sometimes her sessions get intense. They can unlock memories and triggers her clients didn’t even know they had. This is far from her first time talking someone down from a panic attack.

He still looks confused, but he lets her disrobe him to his undershirt, the padded suit sliding off of his shoulders. They fight with his gloves briefly, slipping those off first, and then the top falls to the ground with a particularly heavy thud. He keeps his focus on her, and after a few rounds, he’s breathing with her, lips very faintly following along to her repetitive countdowns. 

“That’s good, you’re doing so well,” she praises, cupping either side of his head. With her thumbs, she massages his temples. “Little longer now, breathe in, one two three four five…” She counts, holding a longer exhale, and then a deeper inhale. He follows her lead, leaning into her touch, and eventually his eyes fall shut, his breathing even.

Relieved, Layla tenderly pets down either side of his face, relaxing the muscles in his face, hoping to ease him back into himself. When he opens her eyes, they’re dreamy and tired. He looks more devastated than she ever could have imagined him. His eyes nearly close as he leans in towards her, but she turns her head away before he can kiss her. He lets out a strained little whimper, forehead coming to rest on her shoulder. He clutches desperately at the fabric of her shirt like he wants to pull her closer, agonizing for the reassurance of touch.

“What am I gonna do?” He asks morosely. She can hear the tightness in his throat like there’s a hand choking him.

“Sleep,” she tells him, taking his hand in hers.  “For right now, all you need to do is sleep.”

With that, she guides him to her bedroom. He’s perfectly malleable in this state, moving when and where she leads him without an ounce of resistance. She sits him on her bed and kneels down to unfasten his boots while he watches her, dazed. She never could have imagined their places swapped like this when she first had him before her, fastening the heels he’d bought her.

Tugging his boots off, she sets them aside. His belt comes next, much too clunky to sleep in. He stands back up for this part, helping her, but he pushes his pants off, too. She supposes the padding likely isn’t very comfortable to sleep in, either. She stops him when he moves to push off his undergarments as well, though.

“Leave those,” she says gently.

“I can’t,” he says tightly, paused with his thumbs hooked under his shirt. “I can’t sleep with… I can’t,” he says, struggling to articulate himself. She wonders if it’s a sensory issue. 

“Okay, alright. It’s okay,” she says, helping him to take off his shirt, too, followed by his underwear. Giving his hand a squeeze, she uses her opposite hand to pull back the covers, and gestures him into bed. He goes easily, but when she begins to pull the covers up over him, he stills her hand with his own.

“Aren’t you getting in, too?” He asks, brows furrowed over top of large, watery blue eyes.

She hesitates. “Homelander, I–” He flinches so hard that she stops. His gaze drops from hers, shame written clearly in the lines of his face.

“...John?” She attempts, but he shakes his head wordlessly.

He’s in shambles, and despite the little voice of reason demanding that she create distance, she aches too badly for him to leave him like this. Swallowing, she gives him a gentle pat. “Okay, darling. Move, move in. Roll over,” she says, which he does readily, sliding to the center of the bed. She slips in behind him, and after only a brief hesitation, slides her arm around his middle.

He greedily accepts her touch, laying his arm over hers and interlacing their fingers, letting out a shuddering breath that sounds like relief. He squeezes her hand, and she presses her forehead to the nape of his neck.

Their bodies slot together with such ease, it nearly feels like they were made to. Embracing him like this, she finds she better understands the story of Icarus and why he was so compelled to fly to the sun, even as it scorched him.

There is an inexplicable feeling that comes along with holding close something that burns so hot, that feels so much grander than yourself.

They lay like that for hours. Layla’s not sure how much of it he actually spends sleeping. She drifts in and out herself, rousing when his shoulders shake with silent sobs. She soothes him each time, hushing at his ear while she strokes his thumb with her own. He always settles. Eventually, she manages to drift into a deeper sleep, lulled into it by the heat of him in her arms, cradled preciously to her chest.

Unsurprisingly, he fits perfectly into the craterous void he left in her.

Chapter eight.