#it's just a working temporary title of course

[andie-cake]

fun fact, i've been calling the hatchetfield ybc au "the blue shit chronicles" in my head, bc my first idea for this au had paul in patrick's place instead of kale, and it was a story revolving around the starry children trying to use him to recreate the apotheosis. i much prefer kale in the role (it just Makes More Sense with the story of ybc, plus with paul as patrick i had no idea who was gonna take the rest of the band's roles), but i still think "the blue shit chronicles" is funny.

[euthymiya]

the delicate line between friends and lovers ft. alhaitham — in which the akademiya’s scribe and the bimarstan’s head nurse develop some serious feelings for each other in between hook ups. evidently, neither of them are very good at being able to communicate these feelings, though.

contains: 14.0k word count ; female reader ; explicit content—not suitable for minors ; fwb to lovers ; mutual pining ; banter and teasing ; angst with happy ending (this one goes out to all the girls who wonder if their fav would choose them: they would!) ; reader is the (very overworked) head nurse at the bimarstan ; mentions of blood and injuries (alhaitham) ; reader has insecurities ; jealousy ; dry humping—and kaveh being a major cockblock unfortunately ; alcohol drinking—4ggravate (minus alhaitham) appearance! ; clothed sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; no prep ; creampie

the akademiya is well connected in its networks. meaning one thing: gossip travels fast. against his will, alhaitham learns far more about people than he wants to, details upon details that travel even through his soundproof earpieces at times. 

today, for example, he learns without meaning to that the akademiya has decreased the previously approved funding for the bimarstan. this piece of information is able to irritate him enough that he almost itches to demand for the title of acting grand sage once more. sumeru, a nation of free healthcare, couldn’t possibly hope to underfund one of the pillars of the citizens and their well-being. not unless someone who’s as incapable and underdeveloped in critical thinking as the last grand sage himself (before alhaitham, of course) was in office. 

he walks to the bimarstan, footsteps heavy in the dead quiet of the night as he trudges through the door of the hospital. you’re already there to greet him, eyeing the way the arm under his cloak is tense and curled under the fabric. 

“another eremite attack?” you murmur, walking towards an empty room as you gaze at him over your shoulder to follow.

he does so wordlessly, eyeing the tired, overworked, and disarrayed nurses along the hospital as he walks past them. 

you’re no different, he studies, watching as you stifle a yawn, taking in the darkened circles under your eyes as he sits on an examination table while you bring out the necessary supplies to clean his wound. 

the akademiya—no, sumeru was blooming under his lead. that much he was aware of. you’d said it yourself, too, the first time he came. 

oh, it’s you! we’re most grateful for your changes, acting grand sage, you’d smiled at him, they’ve really helped improve things here at the bimarstan.

he wasn’t expecting that. the only reason why he’d stopped at the hospital for care instead of going home was because he’d run out of bandages, nothing more. one look at you had all but changed that, the tilt of your lips as they smile spinning his world on its axis in a completely new direction. you tend to his cuts that night, and even though he’d told himself he wouldn’t, he returns after the next expedition. 

and the next. and the next. and then it becomes routine. 

for a while, alhaitham told himself he only came to the hospital for his wounds instead of patching himself up after long expeditions in the desert because it was nice to see how the bimarstan ran. it’s important for him to be aware of necessary changes that must be made as acting grand sage—however temporary the job may be, he has every intention of doing it properly. so he studies and assesses the functionality of the hospital and makes decisions accordingly. those things can only happen if he visits frequently. 

but then he starts to notice that his feet truly only carry him here on the nights you work. though you work often and late into the night, too. being head nurse requires as much, of course, but he notices all too quickly that he’s begun to memorize your schedule. 

slowly but surely, he resigns himself to fate. he comes for you. 

“it’s just a light graze,” he mumbles after some time, revealing the small gash on his arm under his cloak. your eyebrows crinkle in concern for a moment before you set off to work, methodically and expertly cleaning away at the dried blood and disinfecting the wound. 

he doesn’t talk for a while before he finally says, “you’re short-staffed.”

it’s a question presented as an observation—he has a habit of doing that, of speaking his mind and waiting for an explanation to follow. 

you sigh, bandaging his arm as you murmur, “people are quitting. it’s been hectic in here—and the funding cut doesn’t exactly allow for a pay that seems worth the grueling hours.”

you love your job. it’s the first thing alhaitham knows about you. you take it very seriously, scolding anyone, even the acting grand sage, about proper care and healthy habits. 

did you stitch these yourself? you’d gasped when you first noticed the scars on his chest, that’s dangerous! do you know the infections you could contract from an improperly tended wound?”

it’s not as amusing now to watch the other nurses listen awkwardly as you scold him. he’s back to being the scribe, no longer tied to the title of sage. the nurses aren’t as alarmed anymore by your lack of formality—although, he’s sure by now, they’re a bit used to it too. 

“and i assume you’re not resting properly?” he gives you a knowing look, reaching forward with his free hand and brushing a callused but gentle thumb under your bruised eyebags. 

you close your eyes at the fleeting touch, humming before giving him a guilty smile. 

“i can’t let things get out of hand here.”

“you should take your own advice,” he snorts, “what was it again? something about proper rest and sleep to ensure a healthy lifestyle?”

“if you’re here to throw my words back in my face, i recall also mentioning getting into less trouble,” you huff, momentarily glaring at his arm before meeting his eyes. “what happened to being more careful?”

“like i said,” he shrugs, hissing slightly when you press on his wound to prove your point, “it’s just a graze.”

you and alhaitham are, no doubt, an unexpected match—if you can call yourselves that, even. it’s a complicated relationship you share, you and the former grand sage turned scribe. 

you patch him up late at night one day, and he so chivalrously accompanies you on your walk home after your shift. that’s all it was supposed to be…but, well, things are never as simple as sticking to the original plan. 

you invite him in for drinks, he accepts, you clumsily trip on your rug, he catches you swiftly, and somehow, in the mix, both of your lips end up meeting in the most heated kiss you’ve ever shared with someone. clothes are easy enough to shed, and stumbling to your bedroom is hardly complicated, and in a far from ideal turn of events, you sleep with the akademiya’s scribe. 

multiple times, in fact. 

by now, his visits to the bimarstan to see you are as frequent as your visits to his house to see him. the only difference is that his visits tend to be for medical reasons, and yours are…personal to say the least. it’s, of course, as these arrangements tend to go, one that’s strictly physical. 

being physically involved with a patient is scandalous enough, but romantic involvement would be nothing short of unethical. and he’s not a very romantically inclined individual anyway, so not toeing the line of something more is easy enough for the both of you. 

still, you’re quite fond of him—he’s funny when he wants to be and a gentleman underneath the blunt responses and straightforward remarks. you like to consider him as a good friend. one who knows your body a bit too well than most friends should, but a good friend nonetheless. 

you look at him unimpressed as you finish tending to his wound, scoffing and rolling your eyes as you point out, “you’d call it a graze even if your arm was dangling off the bone.”

that gets a chuckle out of him, his head tilting up as he looks at you. if you weren’t in a hospital with your work attire, this would feel oddly domestic: cleaning tenderly at his wounds as he looks at you softly. 

you and alhaitham never toe the line of something more, but you do take steps dangerously close sometimes. 

“when do you finish your shift?” he asks, voice a low rumble. 

“now,” you grin, giving him a mock glare as you add, “you have me working past the clock.”

“let me walk you home, then.” he’d do it anyway, regardless of whether or not you accept. still, you never turn him away. 

“how kind of you,” you say sarcastically—you know better than he does what he means, what he wants, and you can’t exactly say you don’t want it yourself. 

“i can be rather giving when i want,” he shrugs. 

“oh, yes,” you snort, “quite the giver.” the grin he sends you is nothing short of fond. 

the line blurs a little like it’s been drawn in the sand, grains carried away by the wind and leaving the faintest trace of the border you draw. somehow, even though you shouldn’t, you step closer to it, just at the edge. 

but it’s never enough to cross it. 

“am i?” he muses, “i’m glad you think so.”

“you know, most people would believe you talk too little. but i think you talk too much.”

his cloak falls back in place over his arm as he stands, lips curled in a rare smile—well, rare to anyone other than you, that is. he walks out, and you follow.

it almost feels like you're getting closer and closer to stumbling past the line against your will every day. 

——————————

alhaitham knows your home well. well enough that he knows to drop his cloak in the basket you keep for laundry so you can wash away the blood soaked into the fabric for him. 

is it normal to do the laundry of your fuck buddy? you’re not even sure. it’s not like you’d ask anyone, anyway. 

but it doesn’t matter—not when his lips find yours before you can think about it too much. it’s a slow kiss. he’s good with his mouth in more ways than one—good at kissing, good at pleasing, and he’s even good at talking. he’s a linguist, anyway, so it only makes sense. 

“eager,” you murmur in between kisses, nipping at his lips as he shivers. “did you miss me that badly in the desert?”

“of course,” he rasps, gently guiding you to fall back against your bed, his hand cupping the back of your head like you’re fragile as glass, “eremites don’t have as enticing of a touch as you do.”

“maybe if you ask nicely, they’ll be less rough with you,” you wiggle your brows, giggling.

he clicks his teeth, angling your jaw to trail kisses along the slant of it as his hands travel to your hips, gently rubbing the bare skin of your hips under your shirt. you hum appreciatively, closing your eyes and sighing at the soothing feeling of his warm palms seeping heat into your skin. your fingers thread into his hair, tangling into the locks for some sort of means to hold on and ground yourself. 

it’s like warm drizzles of syrup, his touch sinking into you as you absorb his sweetness. 

“and why would i need that when this is far better?”

every word alhaitham alhaitham says is punctuated with the warmth of his lips pressed into your skin. it’s almost soothing—he feels calming. it doesn’t feel heated, not the passionate kind that kindles something carnal in you. 

it feels warm, the soft and gentle kind that makes everything feel a bit lighter. a bit cozier. something more homely in this house of yours. 

“mhm,” you hum, your fingers slowly slipping from his hair as they fall to his shoulders, barely holding him in place as your eyes remain shut. it’s soothing, everything about him. enough that you don’t even realize you’re dozing off until he chuckles. 

“did i bore you into sleep?” he pecks your cheek. 

“no,” you tug your eyelids apart, giving him a sheepish grin, “sorry, you’re just warm.”

“oh yeah?” he grins, amused. he’s climbing off of you, much to your dismay, making a soft whine run past your lips as your hands chase him. 

he’s quick to replace the lack of him, though, planting himself beside you as he pulls you into his chest. 

cuddling isn’t new for the two of you. usually, it’s a post-coital activity, though—you start to think alhaitham is just as bad at drawing a clear line in the sand as you. he’s gentle as he pulls your covers over you, pressing one more kiss to your head before he sighs and relaxes. 

“i’m not tired,” you protest weakly. 

“no, you’re not,” he agrees to satisfy you, eyeing your drooping eyes knowingly. “i am, though. it’s been a long trip.”

“right,” you nod, humming. “weak.”

he rolls his eyes, though fondly—you barely make out the action through your half lidded eyes as you glance at him one last look before your eyes force themselves shut. he’s warm, smells like that spicy hint of harra fruit in his cologne, and feels painfully safe when he lets you curl into his strong arm as it wraps around you. 

normal people don’t cuddle when they’re just fucking like this—you and alhaitham are anything but normal. it’s a mutual sort of agreement, though. you allow the small domestic tendencies to slip past the line, only to let the shore wash it away from the sand. 

it never stays for long, this feeling of intimacy. real intimacy, the kind that’s far more personal than seeing each other nude and feeling each other at your rawest. the kind where you both fall asleep beside each other, tangled, safe, warm, trusted. 

but you’re just friends. you think. you can’t afford to be anything more—alhaitham isn’t the sort of man to grant you something like that. you’re sure of that. he’s kind, good natured, even. but there’s not one romantically inclined bone in his body—you’ve seen it yourself. 

he’s rejected one too many brave women with her heart on her sleeve. never cruelly, but always definitively. 

sleep doesn’t let you think about it all for too long. you resign yourself to a peaceful slumber beside him, breath slowly evening out as he rubs the small of your back. 

and, when morning comes and you awaken, you don’t think about it for too long then, either. because he’s gone. because, of course, he wouldn’t stay—not when this is physical and nothing more.

you’re not disappointed, you think. you’re aware of the nature of things. and he’s a gentleman, as always, leaving you a note on your bedside. 

i had to file some reports from my expedition. i believe i’ll be needing my cloak back. 

you chuckle, shaking your head. it’s an invitation—bring me my cloak, and we’ll finish what we started. 

it’s how things are with you and alhaitham. you do his laundry with yours, he walks you home and forces you to rest, and sometimes, you happen to partake in some debauchery in the process. there’s nothing wrong with it. 

and even if your toes dance along the edge of the line, they always drag along to draw it sharper in the sand. 

——————————

coming to alhaitham’s house seems like second nature these days. he comes to you at night, and you come to him in the afternoon of your day off—luck would have it that yours happens to coincide with his. you knock three times and he opens as soon as your knuckles pull away from the cool surface of his door. it’s like he expects you, maybe even waits for you. 

you step in and let the door close behind you, grinning when he steps closer and cages you against the tight corner that is his front entrance. 

“i brought over your cloak,” you hold up the cloth, gesturing for him to move so you can put it on him. he looks at you incredulously, like you’re out of your mind. 

“why would i put it on now?” he asks in confusion. 

you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow, “you always wear one?”

“and why would i dress when we’ll only be undressing in a short moment?” he quirks his own brow like it’s obvious—which, to be fair, alhaitham is not exactly wrong. but it doesn’t make you any less flustered when he says it. 

“you’re shameless,” you huff, looking away in embarrassment. he chuckles lowly, leaning down and trailing his nose along your collarbone, breathing in your perfume. 

“i think i’m more practical, is all,” he murmurs into your skin. you sigh, goosebumps traveling across your body at the fan of his breath against you. 

“if only people knew how unstiff the akademiya’s scribe can truly be,” you grin, finger tracing the sliver of skin showing from his chest window. “did you know i overheard a few patients discuss how bad you are at conversing?”

“i don’t get paid to partake in small talk,” he says, voice a low vibration as he shivers at your touch. “i have things to finish when i’m on the clock apart from socializing.”

“what, you’re that concerned when you have your lovely pay raise? i’m sure you could afford a few minutes,” you tease, making him roll his eyes. 

alhaitham certainly won’t admit it, but he finds a good amount of amusement from your quips—the small grin on his usually downturned lips tells you as much. 

“if you want me to spend my earnings on you, there are better ways to ask,” he shoots light-heartedly. 

“you’d accuse me of such shallow schemes?” you pout. “do you think me to be after your mora?”

his answer is instantaneous, coming in the form of a delicate kiss pressed to your lips as his hands grab your hips. your arms have a habit of their own, always wrapping around his neck before you can even comprehend the action, and just like always, you both end up a tangled pile of limbs that can’t even make it past the doorway, let alone the rest of the house. 

you like it this way, perhaps even love it. something about him being unable to wait the time it takes to walk to his room fills you up with a sense of glee. 

“being the scribe is a much simpler job than sage,” he mumbles between kisses, “there happens to be much more time for other things.”

“things like taking the head nurse against the door of your home?” 

“perhaps,” he smiles with a chuckle. 

who would’ve thought alhaitham could smile so painfully charming? just a few weeks ago, you had never seen him smile before at all, willing to bet that he’d never smiled a day after stepping into adulthood with that seriousness he holds so dearly. 

“i don’t have much time,” you hum in between kisses, fingers fiddling with the short hair at the nape of his neck. 

“we’ll make do, i’m sure,” he says through a breathy groan, already semi-hard as your thigh slots between his legs, rubbing against the forming tent in his pants. 

your head tilts up as his head buries into your neck, lips branding searing kisses into your skin. you wonder if this is what it feels like to be his, to be stamped with his affections one kiss at a time until no one else could hope to have you. your eyes flutter shut, sighing as he sucks attentively to your sweet spot. 

“don’t leave marks,” you scold, “i can’t show up to the bimarstan looking so scandalous.”

you’ve felt his lips against your skin enough times that you can tell them by heart. you don’t have to look to know they’re pouting against your neck—you can feel it against your skin. you giggle, cupping the back of his head as your fingers delicately thread through his hair. 

“i’m meant to hold back then?” he grumbles. it’s almost petulant, but he still softens the nipping against your skin, careful to leave no evidence of his existence against you, however disgruntled he might be. 

“don’t be so whiny,” you laugh. archons must have it out for you, though, because as soon as you say that, his hardened cock brushes against your crotch, making you whine at the friction. it’s something, but it’s hardly anything at all—the separation from the fabric makes everything not nearly enough. 

he seems to know it, too, because he pulls away, eyeing you with a certain gleam in his eyes that looks like a cross between smug and amused. 

“i’ll try,” he says smugly. you glare, but you’re cut off by the brush of his cock against that sensitive spot between your thighs once more, his hips grinding against you as you fall slack against the door. you can feel him rub against your clit, sending shockwaves along your spine as your back arches and you breathlessly moan his name. 

at first, he only does it to tease you, but after the first few rolls of his hips, it’s evident he can’t bring himself to stop. it’s not enough, not for either of you. the ache settling between your legs can’t be quelled with a few simple rolls of his hips with fabric separating you both from each other. but alhaitham’s sense of control seems to wash away with the tidal waves of pleasure, each thrust of his hips brushing his cock against your heat and leaving him panting into your shoulder. 

“m-more,” you plead, grabbing at his cape and fisting the material as you hold onto him tightly, “i need more—please.”

alhaitham, for all his composure and self-preservation, is simple to take apart when his throbbing cock is pressed against your cunt, rubbing against the length and building the pressure he so desperately needs. 

he doesn’t even seem to hear you, hot breath fanning against the crook of your neck as he buries his head and groans, hips sloppy and rough as they rut into you. you can feel the outline of his cock clearly even through his pants and yours, hot and undoubtedly hard. the bulge in his pants brushes against your clit through yours—and even if it’s nowhere close to feeling him inside of you, you can feel yourself just about to break. 

“sorry,” he gasps, “sorry—c-can’t stop. i-i’m c-close. so close.”

the last part comes out like a plead. it’s like he’s begging you to free him of this torment, like he needs you to make him fall over the edge because he can’t bring himself there. you think that might be the case, so you wrap your fingers around his hair and tug. 

he moans—maybe if you were feeling teasing, you’d call it a whine and watch his cheeks flush as he scowls. but there’s no chance for that. not when you’re both so close, so achingly close that you can just make out the twitch of his cock in his pants. 

and then the doorknob twists. 

a series of muffled curses can be heard through the other side of the door, and you both pause—rigid, tense, stiffly alert as your eyes widen. his head perks up from its place in your neck, staring at the doorknob in equal parts rage and equal parts confusion, like he blames it for cutting you both short of a much-needed, much-wanted orgasm. 

“oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” you hear a voice groan exasperatedly through the door, “again?”

you’re completely lost. who could be trying to enter alhaitham’s house at this hour? 

the only hope you have for answers is, of course, alhaitham—one look at the recognition and irritation on his face, and you can piece together that it’s certainly no stranger. alhaitham, if his cold glare could freeze anything where it stands, could potentially risk turning sumeru into the next snezhnaya. his eyes are hardened, and his jaw is clenched as he breathes out a heavy sigh through his nose. 

“and you’re kidding me,” he mutters bitterly. “now?” 

“hey! i know you’re home! open this door and stop pretending like you can’t hear me,” the voice demands, tapping on the door with more conviction than the last time. 

you furrow your eyebrows and look at him expectantly; an explanation demanded through the crinkles of your forehead as you look at him in confusion. he pulls away, jaw still tight as he adjusts himself in his pants, trying his best to hide the still painful erection he sports. 

“my roommate,” he says quietly. deadly. 

you almost feel bad for the poor soul that must be waiting on the other side of the door, unaware of the pure wrath he must be about to face judging by the look on alhaitham’s face. 

you hear the voice again, “ugh! you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? you—”

“calm down,” alhaitham calls, unimpressed and unamused as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. he seems to hold it for a moment like he’s fighting the tension in his body, before he slumps and lets out another sigh. this time, it’s much more defeated as he gives you an apologetic look when his eyes open. 

you both adjust your appearances, erasing any trace of debauchery before you step aside and let him approach the door. 

the swing of the door opening is a rather aggressive one, and alhaitham stands taller and straighter than you’ve ever seen him, like he’s trying to tower over the figure that enters the house. 

you recognize him immediately. 

“oh!” you gasp in awe, “you’re that architect! the one who designed the palace of alcazarzaray!”

both men look equally as haunted by your statement. alhaitham’s eye all but twitches as he takes in the breathless admiration in your voice—you’re no doubt praising kaveh’s work. as for the latter…well, he looks like he might just about launch himself into the blade of an eremite willingly the first chance he gets. 

“wh-who are you?” kaveh demands, “and what are you doing here?”

“she’s obviously a guest of mine,” alhaitham shoots coolly, tone as condescending as ever. “have you lost all manners? that’s no way to greet a guest.”

“what did you say to me? i want to hear nothing of the sort from you—god knows your temper isn’t one to speak on my manners.” 

kaveh turns to you, taking one better look at you, squinting as he thinks for a moment before realization flashes across his features. he seems to recognize you—though most people in sumeru do know you quite well. the nurses at the bimarstan are limited, these days. 

“ah! you’re the head nurse from the bimarstan! you looked at my wrist,” he recalls. 

you smile, nodding as you gesture at his hand and ask kindly, “is it better now? i do hope it’s not as sore anymore. did you apply heat as i suggested? and i hope you’re taking ample rest in between sketches—architects are very prone to sore wrists as is, you know.”

alhaitham rolls his eyes at your lecture, grumbling, “as if he would follow anyone’s advice. he’s far too stubborn.”

“i’ll have you know that i followed her advice quite closely,” kaveh says pointedly. he turns to you, voice much softer as he smiles and adds, “and my wrist is much better, thank you.”

“of course,” you nod. and then you pause, staring between the two unsurely as you falter and ask, “but…i wasn’t aware you two were friends. alhaitham tells me you’re his roommate—he’s never mentioned you before today, though.”

they both glare at each other through the corners of their eyes. something tells you maybe friends was a bit of an exaggerated term. alhaitham makes no moves to speak, crossing his arms and staring expectantly at kaveh—the blonde scoffs, shaking his head with a scowl. 

“friends…is a generous word. we’re roommates,” he nods in confirmation, “i’ve…ran into some trouble for the time being, so i’m staying here for a bit. won’t be much long, however. i need a space less…suffocating.”

“and how well is that plan faring for you?” alhaitham’s words seem to poke at kaveh, riling the blonde up further as you watch the scene before you awkwardly. 

“you—” but before kaveh can finish whatever retaliation was on the cusp of his tongue, he pauses. it’s like all at once, the situation hits him before he’s staring between the two of you, instead. “hang on a moment. how do the both of you know each other? i didn’t know alhaitham was acquainted enough with the head nurse for her to pay a visit.”

“well,” you start, trailing off as you cough lightly, tensing as the question throws you off guard. “umm…alhaitham visits the bimarstan sometimes after his trips to the desert. so…”

so what? how would that explain your visit to his home? it’s not as though you become friendly with all your patients and drop them a visit—in fact, alhaitham is the only one you’ve ever done that for. and of course, it’s not just a visit that you’re doing here. but kaveh doesn’t need to know that. 

that would be quite the scandal—getting so intimate with a regular patient. and apart from that, you and alhaitham aren’t exactly in an ideal situation. what would you tell kaveh? that you come over just to hook up? it’s not exactly a rare occurrence to have a beneficial relationship with someone like this, but still…admitting it like that is a bit too shameless for your liking. 

and then there’s a much more complicated, much less easy-to-tackle problem, too. you’re not even sure if you can confidently say you don’t have feelings for the scribe. that’s not something you were counting on, ever. saying you only partake in intimate activities with no strings attached might just hit you too hard in the gut, even if it’s not exactly a lie. but admitting the words out loud isn’t something you’re prepared to do. 

almost like he senses your turmoil, alhaitham steps in, bless his soul. he almost looks a bit conflicted, studying you carefully. you don’t have time to dwell on it, though, before he speaks. 

“so she came to check on a wound she patched up,” he finishes for you, quick and easy and confident enough in his words that it makes up for your nerves. he quicks a fleeting glance at you before raising an eyebrow to kaveh. “i left in a hurry and didn’t really let her properly tend to it last time. not that it’s your business, of course. i’m perfectly within my rights to bring guests over to my house.”

“be careful,” kaveh glowers, “anymore attitude, and you’ll risk showing your guests your true colors if you’re not cautious. you wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on the same person who tends to your wounds, do you? that would be fatal.”

“you two are quite the duo,” you chuckle, shaking your head, “it seems alhaitham has finally met his match verbally. you truly don’t let him have the last say.”

alhaitham almost looks offended, looking at you in disbelief. “i am not outmatched by his—”

“if it’s not too much trouble,” kaveh laughs nervously, cutting alhaitham off with a sharp look, “could you keep this…uh arrangement of ours a secret? i don’t really want this getting around and such.”

“my lips are sealed,” you promise. kaveh perks up, relief sagging into his shoulders at that before he nods, giving you a friendly smile as he waves at you. 

“i’ll be off to finish a project, then. nice seeing you.”

as soon as he walks away and you’re certain the door to his room shuts, you let out a soft breath of relief. 

“that was close,” you whisper, “he could’ve figured it out.”

“right,” alhaitham says vaguely. he doesn’t say much else, arms still crossed as he stands there and looks at you—something about the way alhaitham stares at you is too uncomfortable for your liking. 

not because he looks at you weirdly or even inappropriately, but because it almost feels like he can pick apart every thought in your head just by his gaze alone. 

you shuffle on your feet before you give him a tight smile. 

“i should go—the patients are never-ending these days,” you chuckle nervously. 

“make sure you don’t overwork yourself,” he nods. 

you linger for a moment. you’re not sure why. it’s not as though you can expect him to give you a goodbye kiss—that would be preposterous. and far too wishful. 

so instead, you give him a small wave before turning towards the door—but he stops you before you can reach for the door handle, pulling you flush against him, your back to his chest. 

“will you come back tonight?” he whispers, voice low and husky as he presses his still-hard crotch against you. you shiver as he nips at your skin to get his point across. 

“what about kaveh?” you ask softly, biting your lip, unsure. the little voice in your head screams, who cares about kaveh?

“he’ll be dead asleep,” he snorts, “last night was the third all-nighter he pulled. there’s no chance he’ll make it past seven pm today.”

“you’re insatiable,” you tease, shaking your head as you snort. “do you know that?”

“i’ve never had a decline on your end,” he shoots back. 

“i have a shift later tonight,” you say apologetically, sighing as you think about the extra hours you’ll have to put in soon, “there aren’t enough people tonight without me.”

“you should really speak to someone about this funding cut,” he frowns, slumping against you, “it’s getting out of hand.” 

“no one listens.” your voice is so defeated, so uncharacteristically tired. you’re sure he notices it in a heartbeat—you notice it yourself. “but i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“sure,” is all he says. 

hesitantly, you pull away. his hands leave your hips reluctantly, too, like they’re most comfortable when they have you to house them. but neither of you say anything, simply nodding at each other as you look at him over your shoulder and exit through the door. 

the footsteps down his steps and away from his home are the heaviest ones you’ve taken all week. 

you decide you hate the sand. and that stupid line you both seem to have drawn.

——————————

it takes two failed attempts at fucking alhaitham to realize you’re not strictly only after the physical pleasure he brings. 

the first time, you weren’t even disappointed you didn’t get that far. it was only a disappointment that he was gone when you woke, and you realize it’s because the absence of him is why you’re even let down in the first place. the second time, you’re unhappy because you have to keep the nature of your relationship a secret—that’s a more complex problem. 

it’s secret because it has to be, because of how lewd it is by nature and how partially unprofessional it is. but you decide you also hate it to be a secret. no one knows that you see alhaitham bare and at his most vulnerable, and you can’t handle that anymore. especially when you watch a nurse flirt so poorly with him right before your eyes. 

“oh, it’s you, acting grand sage,” she giggles, “what can i do for you today?”

“i’ve actually returned to my previous position as scribe,” he corrects, entirely unaffected. 

“oh, is that so?” she gasps—you know it’s all for show. everyone is aware of his stepping down. “well, i, for one, think it’s a shame. you were so capable as a leader.”

alhaitham doesn’t like leading. for all he claims it’s because it’s too much trouble and far more work than he appreciates, you know that it’s also because the easiest way to never be swayed by power is to stay far away from it. he keeps himself grounded this way. he uses his smarts for only what’s necessary and only enough to quell his thirst for knowledge and never anything more. his principles are admirable.

and should the next grand sage also abuse such power like the last, he’ll step up from his humble position as scribe and fix the problem again—because that’s what he knows to do best. use his genius to solve issues as they arise, not control the situation entirely. 

of course, she wouldn’t know that. she doesn’t know anything about him. 

you fight back the roll of your eyes with the last shreds of self-preservation you have left. 

“the position wasn’t really for me,” he says plainly. “any idea where the head nurse might be? i have some business to discuss with her.”

it shouldn’t satisfy you as much as it does when she deflates at at his dismissal. but does—enough that you saunter up with a grin on your lips as you greet the two. 

“why hello. what business does the scribe have with little old me?” you hum. the nurse becomes background noise when your eyes meet his teal ones, staring at the small fleck of amber in his pupils while his piercing gaze rakes over your face as if to study you. 

you feel oddly seen under his stare—he’s seen you stripped and bare, at your most vulnerable under him. but somehow, you’ve never thought about it much in the moment like now. right now, he sees you with a clear mind, without the clouding haze of lust to fog his mind. right now, he can see you for every flaw and every imperfection, so up close. he can notice the way your fingers fiddle with themselves to calm your nerves. he can catch every nervous shuffle on your heels as you fight the urge to lean into him from the proximity. 

finally, you break out of your trance when the nurse clears her throat and mumbles, “i’ll uh..i’ll be off, then.”

he blinks at the same time as you, shaking his head slightly to bring himself back to the present as he clears his throat.

“can we speak somewhere more private?” he asks quietly. you don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad. but you nod nonetheless, leading him to an empty room as he follows. 

it’s a long, painstakingly dreadful walk. your mind is filled with too many possible scenarios that it’s a miracle your brain is even functioning properly. it should short circuit. what if he wants to end your arrangement? what if he’s aware of your slowly shifting feelings (if you can even call them that)? what if he’s found someone he’s interested in? what if his roommate has pieced together something, and now he needs to come up with a cover? 

the possibilities are endless, and they plague your mind so heavily that your lip is chewed raw by the time you enter the room and shut it behind him as he follows you in. 

“you wanted to talk?” you ask hesitantly. 

he doesn’t say anything—the only thing he does is press a folded piece of paper in your hands as you stare at him, confused. 

“open it,” he insists.

so you do. and reading over it makes you pause as you glance up at him in disbelief. the bimarstan funding—more than doubled. 

“what?” you breathe, in absolute awe, “how…how is this possible?”

“i’ve pulled a few strings,” he says plainly, shrugging. as always, he brushes off his actions as though he hasn’t just changed your entire job for the better. “it’s a nice perk of being an ex-sage.”

“you’ve used corruption just to help me?” your words are a playful jab—but there’s still an underlying question that you really do mean to ask. why go to such lengths for me? 

“it’s hardly corruption,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. the dust of red over the tips of his ears is the only thing that gives away the slightly flustered part of him, “i had a few favors owed to me, and the conditions here play an important role to everyone in sumeru. it was a simple correction to their terrible decision-making skills.”

“oh, haitham,” you chuckle. this time, the nickname really does make him flush more obviously, his eyes darting away to look off to the side as he clears his throat again. 

“well, that’s all,” he says stiffly, “i have to go home and…and make dinner. kaveh is of no help.”

“sure,” you beam, looking at him knowingly. you pause for a moment, contemplating before you cave and add, “and thank you. really.”

“it’s really nothing to look into,” he says awkwardly, “hopefully, now you can work fewer hours.” 

“the other nurses will also really appreciate it,” you say softly, “i’ll be sure to let them know—they’ll really have the hots for you this time,” you snort, making an indirect reference to earlier. he shivers, like the thought leaves him unnerved. 

“that one nurse of yours hasn’t left me alone since i stepped up as grand sage for that short while,” he grumbles, making you snort at the troubled look on his face. it shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does to see him so disgusted by the affections of someone else, but you’re only human. “doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.”

“oh c’mon, she’s sweet,” you tease. now that you know he’s uninterested, it’s fun to mess with him and get under his skin, giggling as you reach over and poke at his arm. 

“perhaps,” he shrugs, “but not very good at keeping her emotions in check. i’ve known her since my student days—i don’t think i could last one day with her lack of…composure.”

“what, you’re too above emotions?” you ask amused, “i would disagree. you’re a rather grumpy man, you know.”

“am i?” he fights back a grin, “i hardly noticed.”

“without your morning coffee, yes,” you quip. 

he laughs, shaking his head as he stares at you with something that looks oddly close to fondness in his eyes before he murmurs, “i do really need to make dinner. kaveh will truly whine my ear off if i don’t tonight.”

“have fun,” you pinch his cheek. he rolls his eyes, and with that, he nods to you and leaves, swiftly walking away and leaving you to yourself in the empty room with the slip of paper in your hands, a lovesick smile still on your face. 

you don’t even know where the line starts or where it ends anymore. all you know is that you’ve undoubtedly crossed it all on your own—and it might be the end of you, truly.

——————————

it takes one nice gesture from alhaitham to make you realize you’ve fallen hopelessly hard for him. before, every small action of intimacy was always just the two of you being friends, amicable and good-natured in between sex. 

now, you’re not sure you could spend a single minute next to him without wondering what it would feel like to do those things as a couple. 

sometimes, after sex, alhaitham likes to read. because it’s hard for him to sleep, and he doesn’t want to disturb you from your much-needed rest after a long day at the hospital. you don’t realize how reliant you’ve become on the sound of his pages flipping until you lay in bed alone, tossing and turning under your sheets as you try your hardest to sleep.

you can’t. not when all you think about is him. him, him, him. he’s all your mind drifts to nowadays. 

but you know alhaitham—better than a lot of people, in fact, seeing as you get to see parts of him that are otherwise… off-limits. being in a relationship is the last thing he wants, especially with you. otherwise, he’d have told you by now. you’re scared of a lot of things, scared to speak your mind, and tend to overthink too much for your own good. 

but alhaitham? he’s blunt and to the point. if he’d wanted something more with you, if the line had blurred and blurred for him until it risked being nonexistent like it did for you, he’d have said something. but he hasn’t—and neither can you. 

because you know as soon as you do, it’ll be over. the kind gestures, the gentle touches, the heated kisses, the nightly visits, all of it. gone with the wind as it blows the line in the sand away for good—not because he wants to cross it, but because it simply doesn’t need to exist anymore if he never speaks to you again. 

 alhaitham is not a romantically inclined guy. he’s good-looking enough that not just a handful of girls have tried their hand at confessing to him, and he’s always turned them down instantly. you’ve seen it, heard about it, know it to be true. and apart from that, are you both even that compatible?

sure, you get along great as is, but a relationship is much deeper than that. you’ve always appreciated how honest he was, how straightforward he put things. but relationships come with a lot more vulnerability and emotions than you’ve ever shown him. his bluntness will be too easy to mistake for casual cruelty when you’re in over your head. he’s quiet; he doesn’t appreciate too much interaction—would he even enjoy going on dates? what if you insisted on an evening out, and all he wanted to do was stay in and read? would he want to do all that stuff? everything you want seems like it would be something of a chore for him, something that makes him see you as a chore. 

he even said it himself the other day, calling that nurse too emotional for his liking. sure, it was an off-handed comment, but you’re one emotional day away from potentially being too much for him too. you couldn’t handle that. not when you like him so, so much. not when you want him so bad, you couldn’t handle him not wanting you just as badly. 

would he even want you that badly? logic tells you no—and logic is at the forefront of his mind at all times. your emotionally charged outlook on life would be a bleeding mess of color in his neutral, logically categorized approach. 

you’d be dooming yourself to loving a man who would hardly know what to do with your affections. 

so you do the only sound solution to this predicament of yours—you end things before he can do it himself. it’s inevitable, of course. whether it’s in a few weeks or months, eventually, alhaitham will grow bored of your casual fling. and he’ll end things, completely fine and normal while you fall apart at the seams. the best thing you can do for yourself is let things end on your own terms, and early on, too, before the feelings fester into something all too serious. 

it’s not as though you love him yet—things are still early on enough to make sense of them. 

or is it? some part of your mind asks viciously, are you sure you don’t love him? 

you push away the thought as quickly as it pops into your head. rolling your shoulders back, you straighten your posture, taking a deep breath before you knock on his door. 

he opens it instantly, smiling that small, ghost of a smile of his. you falter immediately. 

“hey,” he hums, swinging his door wider, “come in.”

“no, that’s okay,” you say stiffly, not meeting his eyes, “i…can’t today.”

“oh.” you hate that you can hear the frown in his voice and practically see the confused crinkle of his eyebrows. “did you want to talk about something, then?”

yes, you want to say. there’s a lot i want to talk about. 

there’s a lot you should talk about—and if you were keen on discussing this like an adult, you would lay it all out on the table. 

instead, you blurt out, “i think we should stop.”

he eyes you carefully, raising a questioning brow as he asks, “stop what?”

“this,” you point between the two of you, “whatever…whatever this is we’re doing.”

and just as you expected, his face is blank, so neutral and so hard to read you want to scream at him. yell at him for making you want him so bad when you can’t even tell if he’s even a fraction as crazy as you. does he want you? he certainly treats you well sometimes, but maybe that’s just because you get his dick wet and stitch up a few wounds here and there for him. does he actually even toss and turn and stay up thinking about you the way you think about him? 

the answer is probably no. you don’t even want to find out if you’re right or not. but he’s never made you believe he has, so you don’t entirely think you’re wrong in your assumptions. 

“and what are we doing?” he must be playing dumb, you think. 

“hooking up,” you hiss, “having sex. fucking. whatever you want to call it, alhaitham. we have to end it. now.”

“and what brought this on?” he crosses his arms. 

you want to ask him why he’s being so cruel, so intent on keeping you when you clearly can’t stay, when there are so many women who would throw themselves at him for a chance to get in bed with him if a physical partner is what he’s so hellbent on keeping. but you can’t be that for him any longer, not when your emotions are tired of being a jumbled mess that slowly but surely eat away at your decaying soul. 

“we…we’re just…it’s not—we just have to, okay? i don’t appreciate you treating me like i’m easy.”

“wha—when have i ever treated you as such?” he looks at you bewildered, getting defensive. 

“that’s not what i meant,” you pinch your nose, groaning as you try to process the words you want to say in your spinning head. everything is too much—the way he’s close, the way your body feels aflame from just standing near him, the way your eyes are involuntarily misting over. “this…this is just an easy arrangement, that’s all. for both of us. but i don’t want to be someone’s quick and easy hook-up for the sake of convenience. i need…i need something more from someone, so we should stop while we can so i can find myself that.”

there’s a minimal twitch of his jaw as he clenches and unclenches it, nodding slowly.

“you want something more, is that it?”

“w-well, yes—but that’s not what i entirely meant, so don’t read into it—”

“so how would ending this get you that, then?” he challenges. you hate that he makes you feel stupid, that he looks at you like you’re not thinking when that’s all you’ve been doing these last few…archons know how long. he’s plagued your mind for so much time you can’t even pinpoint for how long. 

“i want something more, but not from you,” you spit, slamming your hands to slap against your thighs in frustration, “that’s obviously why i’m ending it! must you always make everything difficult?”

he doesn’t speak, silently stunned a bit at your outburst. so you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down before you collect your thoughts better. 

“i just…i’m sorry, okay? i didn’t mean to yell at you like this is your fault. i…i can’t say i can get into bed with you anymore without wanting us to actually mean something to each other, and i know that’s not what you want—”

“who said that’s not what i want?” he interrupts, looking at you with the first hints of emotions all day. there’s a small etch of frustration building in the twitch of his brows as he continues, “you’ve just decided for me how i feel, and that’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

“you’ve never said anything about how you feel,” you shoot back.

“well, neither have you, but that doesn’t mean—”

“i may not have said it, but you’re telling me you never noticed? i do your laundry for you, for crying out loud, alhaitham! and you’ve never so much as dropped a hint!”

“i see,” he nods slowly, going back to the blank slate that is his face. still so infuriatingly neutral and unbothered by it all that you can’t help but lose it a little. 

how can he be so unbothered? how can he be so calm and collected when you feel like you might need to check yourself into the bimarstan yourself from the stress of it all? you’ve spent weeks, months in each other’s beds. familiarized yourselves with every part of each other’s bodies. he knows about that birthmark no one else sees, and you trace that mole on his left pec every night before you sleep. you’ve slowly but surely been dying to cross the threshold of just friends (with a few perks, of course), and here he is, nodding along as you tell him you want him, want more of him.

and he’s got nothing to say. because, for some reason, after months of feeling you, spending nights and days tucked away against you, he doesn’t seem to feel the same, so he doesn’t have much to offer you. how can he be so unbothered by your presence after months with you? is it really that easy not to be affected by you? 

some part of you lets go of the hold on your control as you snap, “and this is why we can’t have anything more.”

“why’s that?” he tilts his head, voice an uncharacteristic edge to it, “enlighten me.”

“because…because…because you’re you!”

finally, a flash of hurt crosses his face, making itself home in his eyes and forehead as it crinkles at your words. he studies you, quiet. unnervingly quiet that you almost wonder if you’re just deaf.

“are you trying to say there’s something wrong with me?” he presses, looking so lost that you almost feel guilty. 

not as much as you feel like you’re about to cry, though.

“yes,” you say without thinking—and the way hurt settles into his eyes more makes you scramble to reword things so you don’t sound like a total jerk, “i mean no! i mean…i mean you’re just you, and you and i won’t mix.”

“we won’t mix,” he repeats, blinking. “interesting—”

you can’t stop yourself from going on the tangent now that you’ve begun, spilling your every thought one by one as you cut him off, “you’re so quiet, and it’s unnerving, you know? you never speak a single thought on your mind, you’d rather just read than talk about your day. and everything you say is so painfully to the point—would it kill you to soften the blow sometimes? people don’t always need the cold, hard truth, okay? sometimes, saying what someone wants to hear can make all the difference. and…and…i don’t know, okay? i need someone who can work with my emotions without applying logic to everything, and that’s not you so…so we have to end things because it’s not fair to either of us. i want it to actually mean something with someone when i’m with them, and you don’t want someone to taint everything with their fragile feelings, so we need to go our separate ways. okay?”

you’re practically panting when you’re done speaking, and alhaitham is just standing, thinking, processing everything you’ve said in that painfully complex head of his. 

finally, he breaks the silence and says, “i didn’t know so many things about me bothered you.”

“they didn’t,” you sigh, “not until recently. i guess…i guess it just hit me how difficult it would be to get along in a proper relationship.”

“you know that because what? you think it?”

“i know it because i’m actually looking at things realistically,” you say exasperatedly, “just because we had sex for a few months doesn’t automatically mean we’re a compatible pair.”

“we haven’t really gotten to know much outside of sex to decide that,” he shakes his head, “i’m not understanding how you can so easily dismiss these feelings by deciding it won’t work—”

“look, alhaitham,” you cut him off, voice so uncharacteristically small, he pauses to look at you in shock, “i’ve been slowly losing it for weeks, okay? the last thing i need is for you to make things difficult for me. you’re a good guy, and i really, really wish things were different, but i just need more than what you can give me without completely changing yourself. neither of us should have to compromise anything about ourselves for things to work.”

“you don’t know if i’d be willing to give you what you need or not,” he says quietly, “maybe i wouldn’t be changing a thing.”

“then what about that girl?” you scoff, “the one you said was too emotional for you to handle? you think i’m just being crazy? you said it yourself, so what else should i believe?”

“her? she’s different—”

“why? because she’s not me? because she doesn’t let you in her bed? you’ll find my emotions just as burdensome as hers one day, and then what? we fall back on sex to keep the spark alive?”

something about him is defeated. shoulders slumped, eyes dim, and arms uncrossing to lay limply at his sides. he takes a deep breath before nodding, looking at you so intensely you almost feel frozen in place. 

“okay,” he whispers, “if this is what you want. that’s fine.”

his door closes, and your first tear slips. 

——————————

nine days. that’s how long it’s been without alhaitham. your mind tells you this is for the best, but your heart is practically on its knees, begging you to reconsider. 

a part of you wonders if you were being unfair like he said, judging him before you could properly give him a chance. the other part of you thinks it’s important not to let attachment cloud your better judgment. alhaitham is a good man; there’s no doubt about it. 

but is he a man good for you? that part is a difficult question to answer. protecting your heart seems like the safest option. still, you can’t help but miss him horrifically often. it doesn’t hit you how badly you’ve fallen for him until you don’t see him anymore. no more late nights at your place, no more afternoons at his, and no more routine bimarstan visits. 

your life has at least gotten a bit easier, though—more funding means more people to hire, and more people to hire means fewer grueling hours for you. though, when you really think about it, you owe this small win to the exact man who’s been plaguing your thoughts. 

you intend to drink your woes away, but it seems even in the tavern, you can’t escape him—well, not exactly him, but his roommate. but kaveh still reminds you of alhaitham, so the cleared head you hoped for is out of the question for the night.

the thing about kaveh, though, is that he’s loud. painfully so, and especially when he’s drunk. you could hear him from the other end of teyvat, you think—it’s hard to ignore him even if you want to. 

“he’s been insufferable lately,” kaveh huffs, “worse than usual. that awful temper of his needs to really get a check because i’m not sure how much more i can take.”

you didn’t know kaveh was friends with the general mahamatra—seeing cyno loosened up with a deck of tcg cards was not on your list of expectations for the night, but you can’t help but listen in when he adds, “his last few reports to me from his investigations were not up to his…usual work ethic, either. i’m not sure what’s up with him.”

“maybe he’s overworked,” tighnari suggests—you know him as a fellow amurta scholar, recognizing him from your student days. you hadn’t realized alhaitham was friends with such an interesting assortment of people—well, you don’t know if kaveh fits as a friend, but the other two seem like safe bets. 

“i don’t think so,” kaveh grumbles, “he’s hardly been sleeping. it’s not like he takes work home with him, you think he’d be the type? but he’s been drinking all the coffee—i actually work into the night. shouldn’t he at least leave some for me?”

“i wonder what’s up with him,” cyno hums thoughtfully, “he must really be brewing in his emotions.”

you snort at the poor pun, watching as the other two around him wince and groan. 

finally, kaveh sighs, rubbing his temple as he mumbles, “i don’t know. i’ve never seen him like this. i think it’s serious.”

that makes guilt pool in your gut, making you feel so full that even one sip of your drink feels like too much. you’ve lost all desire to drink your sorrows away—you couldn’t have possibly dampened someone like alhaitham so deeply, could you? he’s always been unaffected by things more than others, and you’d never imagined him to care that deeply about your relationship. if you could call it that, even. 

“what do you suppose has brought this on then?” tighnari’s ears twitch in worry, “he’s…not exactly the most emotionally available.”

well, at least you’re not alone in your beliefs. 

“i don’t know,” kaveh says quietly—and even if they claim not to be friends, you don’t think they hate each other a fraction as much as they let on because his voice seems to be twinged with clear worry himself as he adds, “his eyes have been red in the mornings. it can’t be something small.”

that’s all you can stomach to hear before you slam your glass down and swiftly make a beeline for the tavern’s exit. some part of you, weak and bound to alhaitham, is unable to listen any longer about his misery. the misery you caused. the misery you brought yourselves both because insecurities ebbed and flowed into the deepest crevices of your mind and rotted away at the reasonable parts. 

of course, you’re different. of course, there’s a chance things will go sour. of course, it won’t be easy. but isn’t that the case for every relationship? love was never meant to be a simple feat—otherwise, it would never be half as scary to take the fall. 

but you’ve been careful, too careful. so careful that you forgot to let yourself try and be happy, and so careful that you’ve stomped on someone’s feelings enough that his friends exchange their worries over drinks instead of having a good time with him. 

so you decide that enough is enough. if alhaitham isn’t meant to be yours, then celestia themselves will have to take him from you—because you’re not risking losing him a second time. 

not again.

——————————

contrary to popular belief, alhaitham has never been difficult to track down if you simply know where to look. he might be good at making himself scarce, but there’s only a handful of places he could be. the light of his home shining through the window tells you that your first guess is not very off.

you knock, silently staring at the tips of your shoes as he slowly opens the door.

“hey,” you murmur as soon as the door swings open. you haven’t even looked up yet, but you’re certain he has the same neutral expression on his face. but kaveh is right about one thing—his eyes are definitely a little red.

“hey,” he says quietly. 

it’s awkward for a moment. you don’t know what to say, and he doesn’t have any intentions to fill the silence. some time ago, that worried you. his quietness came across as an inability to keep up healthy communication. but now, you miss it—the quiet flip of his pages as he sat beside you, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. the way he let out a soft little breath when you lay on his chest, rubbing his palm slowly in circles against the small of your back. the soft, peaceful silence of his presence. 

you never appreciated it enough, the comfort of knowing you’re valued without having to say anything at all. 

“listen, i—”

“you don’t have to—”

you both stop, pausing when you speak at the same time. 

“go ahead,” you say instantly. 

he clears his throat, shaking his head as he swallows. “no,” he mumbles, ever the gentleman, “no, that’s okay. you go first.”

you think your nerves might just explode one by one if you have to wait any longer, so you don’t bother putting up much more of a fight, nodding before fiddling with your fingers as you take a deep breath. 

the words spill faster than you can process what you’re saying. a long, jumbled string of thoughts that rattle off your tongue like a dam finally breaking at the leaking crack. 

“i was wrong. for all the things i said, i mean. there’s nothing wrong with you, you know? you’re really kind, and you remember the little things, and you always keep your promises, and those are really nice things. and i don’t hate when you’re quiet, by the way. i used to think it bothered me, but i miss it, you know? just having you sit next to me and read and stuff. i guess…i guess i just never bothered trying to think about how to love you the way you needed because i was so busy worrying if you could love me the way i needed and…and i just fucked a lot of things up. i got in my head and made a lot of assumptions that weren’t fair and just…i got cold feet. and i’m sorry. and i love you—really, really love you. all of you. you don’t have to believe me or even say anything at all. i just needed you to know all that because you deserve to.”

he’s silent. you can’t tell whether from being stunned or from disinterest. both are fair, regardless—you think alhaitham could slam the door shut in your face, and you’d deserve it. but he doesn’t. because just as always, he’s your same, kind, gentle alhaitham underneath all of the blunt stoicism. 

“i lied,” you whisper, “i do want you to say something. anything.”

“i don’t know what you want me to say,” he stares at his feet, still looking as hurt as the day you left him. “you…you just assumed i wouldn’t be able to love you, is what i’m gathering.”

“i just thought…” you swallow thickly, tongue like sandpaper against your dry mouth, “i just thought we were too different.”

“i thought we got along well,” he shrugs, trying to pretend there isn’t as much hurt on his features as there is, “maybe i misread things.”

“no,” you shake your head desperately, “no, i overthought them, that’s all.”

“why did you leave me?” he asks hoarsely, “why couldn’t we have talked about things?”

you want to say because you were a coward, maybe even a hypocrite. you insisted he’d be too constipated emotionally to communicate properly with you, but all you’ve done was decide things for him and avoid the hard, heart-to-heart talk.

really, it’s because you were never brave enough to try and love alhaitham the way he would have loved you. the way he loves you. you were blind to see it—weren’t even willing to believe that he ever would. not until after you let him go and realized what you had. he’d walked you home, made sure you got proper rest, pulled strings, and used up favors just to make things better for you. and you missed all the signs, all because it was so easy to walk away, to label his blunt nature as causal cruelty, to confuse his quietness as disinterest, to assume his logic was the absence of emotion. you never gave him a chance because you were never brave enough to take the fall. 

but alhaitham was always ready to catch you, arms aching to wrap around your form and hold you. not because he wanted you to love him, but because all he’s ever wanted was to love you. 

you think that’s the difference between the two of you. you’ve always wanted to be loved, and he’s always wanted to love. you’ve always wanted to take and he’s always wanted to give. you’ve always wanted him to be enough, and he’s always wanted you to know you’re enough and more. 

it’s too much to tell him though, so you settle on cupping his cheeks and whispering, “because you scare me. the way you make me feel.”

“how do i make you feel?”

not too long ago, you’d think he was asking just to confirm what he already knows. now, you know he’s asking because he needs to hear the words for his own sake. just to be sure. just to ease the uncertainty in his own head. 

“you make me feel a lot of things, haitham,” you murmur, “you make me feel happy. appreciated. very pretty. capable. important. sometimes a little dumb,” you giggle as he frowns, squeezing his cheeks as you add, “but only because you’re so smart. i could list a few other things you make me feel, but…they’re not as proper.”

“i thought…just…d-did i do something?” he asks, voice hesitant. there’s a painful, awful squeeze in your heart at his words. but your heart is the last of your worries right now—it’s the least you can do, putting your feelings aside for his own, seeing as you’ve stomped all over his.

so, in an effort to show him that everything is okay, you smile—you’re sure it’s a pathetic, wobbly little thing, but you don’t have time to care. not when he’s right here, under your fingertips, and one possible moment away from slipping away. 

a watery chuckle escapes you as you whisper, “no. you didn’t do anything—it was me. but i’m not running away anymore…if you still want me, that is.” 

“you’re all i want,” he says instantly. “the only thing.”

“i know,” you breathe, “and you are all i want too.”

you kiss him. because he deserves to feel you choose him, to feel you close the gap and show him you’re here. your lips press gently against his, molding into them like two pieces of a puzzle—except you don’t think neither of you fit anywhere else but each other. incomplete without each other and unable to fit anywhere else. your thumb traces the soft, warm skin of his cheek, soothingly caressing it as if to let him know i’m here, and i’m not going anywhere. 

he stumbles back, and you follow him in, pressing against the door of his home just like those days ago before an unwelcomed interruption. this time, though, you think kaveh could freeze outside all you care—you’re not letting anything interrupt this moment. 

“i’ve been losing my mind for weeks too,” he mumbles in between gasps for air as you kiss, “just so you know. it wasn’t you alone.”

“that’s good to know,” you hum, grinning against his mouth. 

“and i thought i was giving signs,” he adds, “that’s why i went through the trouble to fix your schedule. so i could spend more time with you—i…i apologize if i wasn’t obvious with my intentions.”

“don’t be,” you say softly, “i’m the one who missed them. you did everything right.”

“did i?” he asks, unsure. 

you press your lips firmly against his when you hear the crack in his voice, as if sheer touch alone will express the way you feel. maybe it does, though—because he melts against you, letting out a soft moan as your hands travel to his broad chest, feeling the muscled and toned body he hardly hides under that skin-tight shirt. 

“i get scared easily,” you whisper, “will you be patient with me?”

“i’m not good at expressing my emotions,” he whispers back, “will you be patient with me too?”

“we can be patient together,” you hum, pecking his lips a few times as he chuckles softly. 

“good plan,” he nods, “sounds like it should work.”

“oh, thank you,” you wink playfully, pulling away to wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead to his as you look at him cheekily, “i’m a bit of a genius.”

“that you are,” he nods, smiling in amusement. and he means it. you’re every bit smart and capable as he makes you feel—inadequacy was never something alhaitham made you feel; it was always something you brought onto yourself. you’re used to shifting the blame, you realize. it’s so easy to blame everything and everyone but yourself for the intrusive thoughts in your head. 

but they melt away tonight, one feathered kiss at a time, pressed to your jaw delicately by warm, familiar lips you’d know blind. 

“your friends are worried about you, you know. kaveh—”

“please do not mention kaveh’s name right now,” he groans, “i’ll hear all about your alarming story of my friends at the tavern, but right now, i only want to hear you say one name.”

“yours?” you wiggle your brows. 

“glad to know we’re on the same page,” he confirms, humming as your hands trail under his shirt, feeling the ridges of his built muscles. 

“i don’t want anymore casual sex,” you murmur, pouting, “it’s driving me mad.”

“okay,” he nods, shivering as your palms glide over his nipples as you pull his shirt up, exposing his chiseled abdomen for you to admire, “will girlfriend suffice?”

“girlfriend would be great,” you nod, beaming. 

“just so you’re aware, i am very concerned with the emotions of my girlfriend, however heavy they might be. i do still think, however, that nurse was on a…unique realm of her own, though,” he adds the last part with a pointed look.

“don’t mention other women when you just asked me to be your girlfriend,” you huff, “don’t forget who stitches you up. don’t get on my bad side.”

“my apologies,” he laughs. 

and then you’re back to kissing him, fervently and so desperately, you think this might be your last day on earth, making the most of it before you’ve breathed your last breath. alhaitham groans into your mouth, lets your hands wander all over him as you feel the tautness of his physique. 

it’s not the first time you’ve felt him, but it is the first time you can take all the time you want, memorizing him because he’s yours to keep locked away in your memory. 

“i love you,” you pant against his mouth, wet, hot kisses interrupting your sweet confession. 

“i,” he kisses your cheek, “love,” a kiss to your other cheek, “you,” a kiss to your nose, “too.”

this time, he leans down and kisses you right over your pulse point, right where your racing heart rate is beating erratically. you gasp when he bites and sucks at the flesh, making you whimper as your knees buckle. 

“how much?” you ask, pleading to know.

“enough to lose sleep,” he murmurs, “because my dreams were plagued with you. i couldn’t escape you in waking hours or in slumber. that’s how much you torment me. take over my body and mind. is that what you needed to hear?”

he’s a linguist—sometimes you forget that. perhaps he’s not so bad at saying what you need to hear, after all.

“maybe,” you hum, kissing his cheek, nibbling affectionately at the soft flesh, “you like me that much? how cute.”

“i’ll like you a lot more if you stop teasing,” he grunts, pressing his hot, searing erection against your thigh as your thumbs toy away at his nipples. you gasp when you feel him prod at you, feeling the heat even through the fabric that separates you. 

neither of you are patient enough to do this properly right now—but you have plenty of time for that. plenty of time to take it slow, explore each other, and map your bodies in ways you never dared to before. scared to cross that stupid, useless imaginary line you drew for no reason at all. you decide from here on out there are no more lines—just endless sand, your footprints next to his as you trek the path of lovers. 

you rub at his hardened cock through his pants, making him grunt before he grabs your hands and pins them over your head. 

“i said love you,” he says intensely, eyeing you with a carnal hunger you’ve never seen in him before, “but i didn’t say i’d be patient tonight.”

with that, his free hand tugs down both of your pants—his just enough to free his aching cock, and yours enough to expose your leaking cunt as he teases your clit with the blunt tip of his length. you whimper, bucking your hips into him, feeling the beads of precum spread along your heat as he shudders. 

“put it in,” you whine, clutching his shirt with tight fists. 

“you’re…not ready yet,” he insists, teeth grit as he gives his all to hold himself back from taking you just like you plead. 

but you’re stubborn—and alhaitham? he’s too weak to you to fight you when you are, doomed to give into any and every whim of yours.

“don’t care,” you shake your head, “don’t care, don’t care, don’t care. i just want you—please, please, please haitham.”

that’s all it takes for him to crack—slowly, so, so carefully, he nudges past your wet folds, inching his throbbing cock into you as you gasp at the stretch. this isn’t the first time he’s split you open—but it’s never something you get used to. the burning stretch still feels as new as the first time. he groans, low and breathless, as your walls clamp down on him as he slowly but surely intrudes into your cunt. 

“so tight,” he murmurs, voice filled with wonder—like this is the first time he’s ever felt you so raw. maybe it is. he’s never felt you as his, as yours. “does that feel good? do you feel me? what you do to me? and you thought i didn’t feel the same? like i didn’t purposely let blades slice my skin just for an excuse to come find you? feel your touch, watch you worry? just for a moment of your attention? surely, you can’t be so blind.”

his words make your head spin, making you throw it back as a soft escapes you when the last bit of his length slips in, filling you full and to the brim as he nudges at the most sensitive spots inside of you. he’s so deep; you think your lungs are filled with him, like every breath you take is filled with him, him, him. 

“yes,” you say through a shaky voice, “yes—so good, you feel so good. i want you, haitham. all of you.”

“you have all of me,” he kisses the words into your neck, “that’s not enough? you want more?”

“yes,” you plead, “more!”

he chuckles, smooth and low and so pretty, you feel an ache in your clit from the sound alone. “well, alright then. more it is—i could never dream of denying such a sweet wish.”

finally, he rolls his hips, all but pulling out completely before pressing back into you, dragging along every ridge of you, nudging his thick tip against the spongey, sensitive at the back of your walls. you’re slack against his door, held up by him and him alone as your body betrays you, unable to keep balance as he fucks into you the way he does. 

it’s been nine days without you. the way his hips snap so desperately into you, you’d think he’s a man thirsty, gone a year without rain in the deepest, more treacherous ruins in the desert. all you can do is cling to him, repeat the same mantra of haitham, haitham, haitham—more, please haitham.

he knows your body well. so, so well, he knows exactly how to toy with your clit, thumb finding the sensitive nub, enough pressure to make you whine with a jolt, but not enough to let you fall over the edge just yet—not until he allows it.

“i love you,” he punctuates with a roll of his hips, “repeat that. so i know you believe it. so i know you believe me.”

“p-please,” you gasp, tugging at his hair, “i…i need to c-cum—”

“say it,” he demands. 

“you love me—oh,” you cut yourself off with a sharp breath, his thumb abusing your clit in faster circles. 

“again,” he says firmly.

“you love me,” you whimper, “you…you love me. only me.”

“good,” he nods, groaning as you squeeze around him at the praise, “and don’t forget it. not for a second.”

“l-love you too,” you stutter, voice cracking as he rolls his hips unforgivingly, the friction making your mind fog with pure lust. “love you so, so much.”

that makes him inhale sharply, breath catching in his throat. his head falls to your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin as he moans lowly, hips sloppy and ungraceful in their pace but never failing in precision to angle right into your sweet spot. his thumb rolls circles into your clit, fast and desperate to send you over the edge so he can follow. 

and you do—you fall off the edge so fast, so hard, your nails dig blunt, raw crescent moons into his skin as you arch your back off the door and cry his name. luckily for alhaitham, his house is built conveniently enough that he has no close neighbors. no one to hear such filthy sounds right against the door for them to witness just by passing by. no one should be at this hour—but even if they were, you hardly could bring yourself to care. 

“c-cumming,” you wail, “cumming, haitham.”

“so beautiful,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, voice strained as he chases his own orgasm, “can’t…can’t believe you’re mine. mine.”

it’s like the realization that you’re his is what pushes him past the edge, his cock twitching with hot, thick ropes of cum into your abused cunt and painting the walls white as soon as he repeats the word mine. 

mine, mine, mine—he doesn’t stop repeating it even as he fucks himself into you and works himself through his high. you can feel the wet, messy trail of his cum and your slick leaking down your thighs, so filthy, so lewd, so devastatingly raw. 

“yours,” you confirm tiredly, kissing his head as he pants into your neck, muffled moans pressed against your skin as you soothe him while he falls apart against you. “all yours. not going anywhere, i promise. i promise.”

finally, he slumps against you, panting as he tries to catch his breath, sweaty and tired but never unsatisfied. 

“if you leave me again,” he quietly admits, “i think i’ll go mad.”

“then i won’t,” you say gently, stroking his sweaty locks. 

“i love you,” he reminds you once more, “do you believe me?”

“i do,” you nod, smiling like he’s handed you the sun, “and i love you too. do you believe me?”

“i do,” he hums, wrapping himself around you tighter. 

there’s a jiggle of the doorknob behind you, followed by an incoherent, slurred string of curses. alhaitham deflates against you, looking up at you tiredly. you throw your head back and laugh, gleeful, and so, so in love. 

“i’m tired of him,” he grumbles.

“let him off easy this once,” you brush back his hair, “it’s thanks to him that i came to see you tonight.”

“then i suppose just this once, i won’t leave him out to freeze,” he relents. 

you realize for a moment, alhaitham had never drawn the line in the first place. perhaps it was always just you, making rules in your head when all he ever did was want you from the start. he waited so patiently for you, so you cup his cheeks and pull him closer, giving him one more firm kiss as a reward for all you put him through. he pulls away, dazed as he stares at you with unfocused eyes. 

“i’ll give you another like that if you run me a warm bath,” you say cheekily. 

“do i get to join this bath,” he raises a brow, eyeing you in amusement as his hands rub soothingly into your hips. 

you pretend to think for a moment, mockingly tapping your chin in deep thought before you murmur, “okay, fine. but no funny business.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it—”

“hello?” kaveh’s slurred call interrupts, followed by rough knocking. 

“he can freeze,” alhaitham says bitterly.

“don’t you dare!” you gasp, fighting back a laugh as he looks at you miserably.

well…….what was supposed to be maybe 4-5k words at best has…..gotten quite out of hand LOL. 14k words later i present to you my official love letter to alhaitham. anyway i suppose this fic stems from sometimes wondering if i would be compatible with the characters i enjoy. but the question is not whether or not you’re compatible, but whether or not you’re willing to put in the work to make compatibility. and alhaitham would certainly do that. anyway!!! i hope you enjoyed. i’m not sure if many peiple will read this, but if you do, reblogs and comments are really appreciated! giving you all a hug and reminding you that your favs would 100% want you <3

[princessbrunette]

you remembered the first time you laid eyes on jj maybank.

a shitty admin job was the best you could score from your father, the sheriff — something light you could add to your resumé, whilst doing minimal work. you didn’t anticipate working in the local jail to be as boring as it was, despite knowing you were going into a job that consisted solely of checking people in and out and punching names into a computer. you tried to make it as fun as possible, showing up in your cutest miniskirts, fluffiest jackets, daintiest mary-jane heels, but there was never anyone interesting coming in and out the cells, only drunks being thrown into the tank after one too many.

that was until jj came along.

it was like everything moved in slow motion the first time he got brought in. your father had the blondes wrists clipped behind his back, shoving him along the hallways. it was the first young person you’d gotten in weeks, your shoulder finding the door frame as you stare, watching in intrigue. whatever jj had done to get himself wound up in a cell, he didn’t seem remotely sorry about it. the smirk on his face was worn proudly as a medal, even whilst being shoved along by the sheriff he had this swagger to each step. you didn’t even realise you were staring, dressed in all your girly glory until he locked eyes with you.

his smirk spread on his face. jj knew who you were, but that was to no surprise — everyone did. the sheriffs daughter. a title you wore not so proudly, as all it did was get you labelled as a narc by association in high school and barred from any party where drinking or smoking could potentially be occurring. jj’s eyes drag down you, and then back to your eyes, even turning his head to hold the eye contact as he got shoved into a cell.

your father followed his gaze before grabbing a fistful of his white tshirt to hold him straight. “and quit eye balling my daughter, would you?”

he holds your gaze with that amused grin for a moment longer before blinking down at the shorter man. “thats my bad, sheriff.” he drawls in that lazy southern accent of his. you had to have him.

it was over from that point on. you’d seek him out, tired of being associated with your fathers profession and wanting to have some fun for once. jj was more than happy to oblige, infact he couldn’t believe his luck. there was a thrill to the two of you being out in the open together, something in the two of you wanting to be caught — just to see what would happen. you’d even go as far as to makeout against your car right outside the station after you’d finished a shift, jj all but shoving his tongue down your open mouth as his hands grope you all over for other officers to see and relay to shoupe.

jj frequently returned to his temporary cell with all the trouble he’d get in — your glossed lips turning upwards elatedly at the sight of his cuffed form trudging its way through the hall like routine. you’d even gotten to the point of ignoring your father and running to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “oh jayj what’d you get yourself into this time?” you whine, only for him to chuckle it off with the same joke he made each time.

“maybe i just wanted to see you, babydoll.”

by which at this point, your father had yanked you off the boy, sending you away. “go do your work, don’t lemme tell you again.”

of course it drove a wedge between you and your father. but he deserved it! he ruined your social life growing up by shutting down parties and arresting your peers, the least you could do was date one of his hottest cell-regulars. every gaze across the waiting room as maybank checks out was met with your father appearing seemingly from nowhere to ask “you really think it’s gonna work out with a kid like that? don’t come cryin’ to me when you get hurt. i warned ‘ya.” to which you’d roll your eyes and walk away. jj would never hurt you, not unless you asked him to.

he was always desperate to get his hands on you in other ways during your alone time, crowding you from behind at the sketchy bar he’d brought you to and wrapping his arms round your waist.

“your daddy’s gon’ be real mad at me for bringing his sweet little daughter to a joint like this.” he jokes, pressing kisses to the sweet spot behind your ear as you lose interest in attempting to attract the bartenders attention.

“he’s not the boss of me.” you sigh, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his hands and mouth on you. you hear him chuckle, craning round to look at you from the side.

“nah? all grown up now, huh.” he comments, making a weak giggle leave you as you press your ass further into his crotch. “guess someone’s gotta step up then, right? maybe next time i’ll be the one puttin’ you in cuffs. bet you’d like that.” his coarse hands slide down your arms to your wrists before binding them with his hands behind your back, continuing to attack your jaw and neck with little kisses.

“you can do whatever you like to me, jj.” you admit sweetly, and he responds with a kiss to your cheek.

“i know. it’s my favourite thing about ‘ya.”

[confused-pyramid]

Coming Up For Air | s1

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, slow slow slow burn, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 1x01, 1x06, 1x07, 1x08, 1x15, 1x16, and 1x22

a/n: I started rewatching Criminal Minds from the beginning, and this is what came out of it heh. This is the first part in a little series I'm starting that follows Hotch and his childhood best friend in the BAU, beginning with the pilot. If all goes well, this will continue through the rest of the show, with ~1 part per season :) Title is from Coming up for air by Signals in Smoke

series masterlist

You haven't used your oven in over a year. It's not that you don't like cooking - because you do - you just haven't had the time. If you could, you would blame it on the extra hours you have had to put in after starting at the BAU, but that wouldn't be fair. Your transfer to the unit was the only thing that got you through his death at all.

After your husband was shot and killed in action while tailing a kingpin of one of the New York mobs, you couldn't bear to be in this house at all. You had gone back home to stay with your father for a couple of months, but eventually you had to get back to your real life. With a month remaining on your bureau-mandated leave, you returned to the home you had shared, before one of the lower-level mob soldiers misfired -

You didn't let yourself think about it for almost a year, but time heals all wounds. The poets were right. At least you hope they are.

Even back at home, you still couldn't bear to be there alone, other than when you were sleeping. That's why your peloton was gathering dust and your kitchen went untouched, until just now.

So, of course, the call from the office comes when you're making dinner. It takes five minutes to change into slacks and a button-up, and two more to toss your half-cooked vegetables in the trash, before driving down to headquarters.

A fourth girl has been taken in Seattle, and the local PD only now decided to invite your team. You know the BAU isn't well-liked by the other departments, but that doesn't mean you aren't effective.

When you enter the building, you rush through the I.D. check and jog over to the lecture hall, where Morgan and Reid are standing outside of a neighboring office like children waiting for their father to come and get them.

Shooting them both a thin-lipped smile, you step inside just as they finish discussing the unsub's pattern.

"They want you back in the saddle," Hotch says to the man beside him after greeting you with a nod.

Your eyes are so immediately drawn to Hotch that it takes you a moment to realize that you recognize the man standing next to him. You haven't seen him since the day you were assigned to the BAU, mostly because you were technically transferred to this unit because of his extended leave.

What was supposed to be one month became six, before Hotch informed you that your temporary placement would be permanent, if you were willing to stay in Virginia.

It was a no-brainer.

You turn your gaze to Jason Gideon as everyone in the room stares at him expectantly. He looks self-assured, but you're sure the confidence is a front. "They sure they want me?"

"The order came from the director," Hotch says simply.

"Well," Gideon states, "we'd better get started, then."

Hotch glances over at you as everyone files out of the room and you raise your eyebrows momentarily, a quick check-in between the two of you. He nods imperceptibly and it's enough for now. He didn't tell you Gideon was coming back today, but now isn't the time to give him hell for that.

***

Hotch is the last to board the plane, and he takes his usual seat beside you, this time in the aisle, a few rows away from the rest of the team.

"I was going to tell you," he says as soon as you close the case file in your hands. "The section chief wants me to evaluate him to see if he's ready to return to the team."

"That's a lot of pressure." They have to know that Gideon will be able to smell him out within the day. "You sure it won't get in the way?"

Hotch makes that face you hate, the one that says he knows you're deflecting. "I was going to tell you."

It doesn't take much for you to forgive him. It helps that you trust him completely, especially after everything he has done for you.

"Still," you smile, bumping his shoulder with yours, "it would have been nice to know about the sudden change to my job security."

You're mostly joking, but his frown is genuine. "Don't be silly. You'll always have a place on this team."

He takes everything so seriously these days. You suppose it's only fair, given the files he has to sort through on a daily basis. Picking which case deserves the team's attention the most.

But he wasn't always like this. You're the newest member of the team, but you've known Hotch longer than any of them.

You still remember the first time you met him, at eight years old. He was your first real friend at school, and you became inseparable easily. Your shared love for The Beatles and Law and Order made you fast friends, and as you grew older, your interests shifted in tandem.

Sometimes when you look at him, you still see that little boy who knew too much, but still managed to always make you laugh.

***

The team disperses soon after you land in Seattle. You've never had to come up with a profile in one afternoon, but it's also been a long time since your ticking clock to find the victim was just over a day.

When Gideon and Morgan head to the latest crime scene, you join Hotch and Reid to interview the victim's brother. The moment the three of you step into his house, his dog, Sandy, starts barking up a storm.

"It's what we call the Reid effect," Hotch smiles, walking over to pet her. "Happens with children, too."

You can't help but smile as well, peering over at Spencer, who looks about as uncomfortable as he usually does.

It doesn't escape your notice that the brother looks looser now. Hotch has a way with people that traces back to his childhood self. He was always wiser than his years, something you chalk up to his need to grow up faster than he should have, but his paternal instinct comes from practically raising his brother, Sean, after his dad's untimely death.

The casual interview reveals enough about the victimology that when you head back to the station, Gideon calls the officers in to explain the profile.

You can feel Morgan's agitation wafting off of him as he watches Gideon state his assumptions with startling clarity and confidence. Hotch, on the other hand, looks contemplative, which reminds you that he's been tasked with the returning agent's evaluation.

He can see your furtive glances in his direction, even as you try to remain secretive about your interest in his demeanor. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling as he thinks about how lucky you are that you went into profiling and not covert operations.

You have never been especially good at keeping your own thoughts or intentions to yourself around him. While some would call that a weakness in this field, he sees it as your greatest strength, because it clearly shows how much he can trust you.

As a kid, you were outspoken about every idea you had, and you used your strength and willpower to look out for him when he needed it. It took him a long time to admit how much he used to need you (maybe too long), but you always knew.

***

Gideon's profile leads to the arrest of Richard Slessman and Tim Vogel, and Elle manages to save the last girl while she's still alive. You catch your breath for the first time in 36 hours as you stand with Hotch in the shipyard, watching the paramedics and local police clear the scene.

"What are you going to tell them?" you ask under your breath as his gaze turns to Gideon, who is getting patched up in the back of an ambulance.

He had goaded the unsub into shooting him instead of the girl, but your mind can't seem to focus on the silver lining.

Hotch sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, as though to hold his coat closed against the breeze. "They want to know if he's fit to be a field agent again."

Normally, you would give him shit for using that tactic. Avoiding a question by providing more information. This time, you know he's just thinking out loud.

"What would you say?" Hotch asks as Morgan walks over and sits on a barrel next to you.

"Gideon saved her life," Derek shrugs, his eyes flashing to you for a moment. "That's good enough for me."

Hotch seems to ponder this for a second. "Do you know what Gideon means in Hebrew?"

"Mighty warrior," Reid interjects, popping in to the conversation with the subtlety of a tiger.

You're confused at first, but then you remember the baby names book that was sitting in Hotch's living room the last time you visited him. "You cannot let Haley name your child Gideon."

Hotch laughs suddenly, and you can tell you surprised it out of him. Your chest warms comfortably as he smiles, his cheeks flushing softly in the chill air.

He looks over at Gideon again, deciding in real time that he's going to recommend him to come back to the team. He would never admit it to you or anyone, but he knows that if your position on the team was in jeopardy from Gideon's return, he wouldn't have been able to complete his evaluation fairly.

It was Hotch who recommended you for the open position after he was promoted into Gideon's role as unit chief. You deserved the spot, of course, but Jeff's death had still been fresh and he knew better than most how much the job can take one's mind off of the other aspects of their life.

While Hotch watches Gideon, you watch him. You can tell from the look on his face that it's a done deal. Jason's coming back to the team. It will be a change of pace for everyone, but that doesn't mean it won't be good.

Having joined the team right after the bombing, you saw exactly how Gideon changed after getting the profile wrong, but so did everyone else. What people didn't talk about was how Aaron changed too. Rising into the rank. Growing to fill the hole that Gideon left in the unit, but somehow also shrinking into himself at the same time, because that's what this job does to you...it takes and it takes and it takes until you have nothing left to give.

But sometimes that's what you need: to give something up so you know you aren't losing everything.

***

Gideon settles into the team faster than you anticipated, and soon it's almost like he never left. Even though you can see the vein on Morgan's neck pulsate every time he hijacks a profile, you can't help but appreciate the support he gives to Spencer and Elle, both of whom are becoming incredible profilers before your very eyes.

That's also why you find yourself a little worried when Hotch tells you that Reid failed his weapons recertification.

"I thought you said you were helping him practice," you say as the two of you walk past security and toward the bullpen.

"I was," he emphasizes, before correcting himself, "I did. I'm sure he was just nervous."

You nod, pushing open the doors and spotting Reid sitting quietly at his desk. "He can test again in two weeks. He'll be fine."

When Morgan hands him a whistle with a quippy joke, you sigh into your coffee tumbler, but don't bother stepping in. He's being childish, but if you try to intervene, it'll just embarrass Spencer more.

"Okay," JJ starts, "Franklin Park, Des Plaines. Yesterday afternoon."

She dives into the case, but you have already read the file (and you know Reid has too) so you scoot your chair over to his desk and lean forward so only he can hear you. "I failed my first weapons certification at the bureau too."

Spencer looks up immediately, his face colored with surprise. "Really? You're one of the best shots I know."

You smile with a shrug. "The tests aren't real life. When it comes down to it, I get the job done. Just like you will."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, but then his lips curve up into a small smile. You both turn your attention back to the front just as JJ finishes explaining the case details.

"Wheels up in 30."

The flight to Illinois is filled with heated discussions about the bureau's fruitless history of trying to profile long distance serial killers.

"L. D. S. K.s are so rare, we haven't been able to build a standard profile," Hotch explains as the jet reaches cruising altitude.

Gideon chimes in immediately. "Here's what we do know: they're always male, and they frequently have law enforcement or military experience, and they always contact the police or the media."

Elle looks confused and you echo her sentiment as you lean your hip against her armrest. "To take credit or relive the experience?"

"Both," he says simply. "All serial killers attempt to relive the ecstasy they get from their killings. Some use souvenirs taken from the victims, and others return to the dump site to interact with the body. Both modes require contact with the victim, contact which, by definition, long distance serial killers don't have."

"Our unsub hasn't contacted anybody," you point out. "What do we do until then?"

"Sometimes it's not what the unsub does that reveals the profile. Sometimes it is what they do not do."

Reid glances up from the file in his lap, and you notice that he looks at Gideon first. "He doesn't kill his victims."

"Underkill's a unique signature," Hotch ponders, standing up and walking along the cabin. He only paces when he's deep in thought. "The question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target?"

The team is silent as you take in this new analysis. You're not surprised when Gideon is the first to speak up. "Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot, or simply the will to take it?"

When the plane lands, you check out the last crime scene before spending the day talking to the local police and the victims' surgeons at the nearby hospital.

That night, when you check into your hotel room, the click of the door lock closing behind you is a welcome relief from the tension of the day. Many of the Des Plaines police officers were unhappy with the team's initial assessment, because it heavily implied that the unsub may have been a law enforcement official himself.

You wash your face and change into a tee shirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, before climbing into bed and opening the case file back up again. The rest of the team has also gone to their own rooms, but you can't help but wish you had another set of eyes looking at this with you.

As though reading your mind, a knock thuds on your door and you stand up quickly, in case it's an emergency. When you check the peephole, you see Hotch standing way too close to the door.

Unlocking it slowly so you don't startle him, you open the door to find him in still in a full suit.

"Is there a problem?" you ask immediately. "Do I need to get dressed?"

He shakes his head, glancing around the hallway so quickly that you almost miss it. "I was just looking over the profile and I wanted your opinion on some thoughts I had."

The corner of your mouth twitches and you open the door further to let him in. He doesn't miss a beat as he takes a seat on the armchair in front of your bed and flips open his notepad.

"I was thinking about the bullet we recovered on the scene," he says slowly, like he's thinking through every word he's saying.

You nod, sitting on top of the bed covers and crossing your legs under you. "Garcia called after you left the station. The bullet was a .223 fired from the M-4 variant of the M-16."

"That means he's military," Hotch says, reaching his hand out without taking his eyes off his notepad. You close the case file you had laid out and hand it to him. "M-4 is a shorter barrel than the M-16, so it's less accurate and a lot harder to fire, especially at these distances."

"This level of skill indicates specialized training. That means..."

"It means the underkill was on purpose," Hotch says, finishing your thought. "What is he trying to prove?"

You purse your lips as he sits up in the chair to give himself room to remove his jacket. His pinstriped button-down is slightly crinkled under his arms, but you can tell it was freshly ironed this morning.

"Maybe he's in a fast-paced occupation," you suggest, "which would fit with the profile that he has a big ego."

"Then we're back to law enforcement."

You lean forward, your eyes following his hands as they fidget with his cuffs and undo the buttons, one at a time. You've always been attune to every one of his movements, but maybe it's just because you've spent so much time around him.

"Hotch," you whisper-yell, snagging his attention from your case file, which he tosses back to you.

He hums and you take that as an invitation to continue speaking. "Be careful tomorrow, when you're giving the profile."

One of his eyebrows lifts and you can tell he's holding back a smile. "It's just in front of the Des Planes PD. You'll be there too."

"It's not that," you sigh, shaking your head. "Everything about this profile points to the shooter being either current or former law enforcement. I'd be surprised if they didn't take it personally."

His eyes flit up to yours, his brow furrowing. "I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can, Hotch," you say with a breathy laugh. "Doesn't mean I don't still look out for you."

He pauses and it's like his whole body takes a beat. "I know."

***

You're talking to Dr. Landman with Derek, Elle, and Jason the next day when a gunshot rings out through the hospital. Last you checked, Hotch and Reid were in the E.R., but you haven't heard from them since you arrived.

"It's Phillip Dowd," a nurse informs you when you meet with local police outside the closed E.R. door.

After a quick call to Penelope, the profile becomes clear.

"He joined the army at 18," Gideon recites, pacing around the room in a vaguely reminiscent manner, "went to ranger school, did 6 years before being dishonorably discharged in '95 for conduct unbecoming. Obviously lied about it, joined the Arlington P. D."

"You were right," the police captain sighs. "He was a cop."

His hopeless tone is disheartening, and you find yourself upset for not the first time that your team was correct in their assessment.

After the initial commotion, the E.R. is silent except for a few muffled voices. You can't hear what's being said, but the lack of gunshots or loud noises is all that's keeping you from falling apart.

"It'll be okay," you hear whispered from next to you. You turn to see Derek, who presses his shoulder to yours briefly. "Hotch will know what to do."

You know there's nothing you can do from out here, especially with how precarious the situation inside is, but doing nothing has never been your strong suit.

"I know," you tell him, echoing your thoughts. "I just wish we could help."

Derek cocks his head at the S.W.A.T. team readying themselves to break the door down. "We can help. We need to give Hotch and the kid time to wear Dowd down."

His tone is light and you feel yourself laugh, ignoring the thickness that swells in your throat. "That shouldn't take long."

Derek bumps your arm again in a silent extension of comfort, and you mouth a silent thank you.

You can feel Gideon losing patience as he reasons with the captain, but he eventually buys them three minutes to do what they can. When the final five second countdown starts, you unconsciously hold your breath, only to be released when Hotch's voice calls through the door.

"Hold your fire!"

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you squeeze Derek's arm before rushing forward. Hotch stumbles past you with a murmur that sounds obscurely like "help Reid", so you push your way through the throng of civilians moving to escape until you see him.

"Spencer," you gasp, crouching down to help him into a standing position. You would never admit it to him, but ever since he joined the team, he's been something of a little brother to you. "What happened in here? Are you okay?"

"You were right," he says with a surprising steadiness to his voice. "I got the job done."

You don't ask what he means, knowing that Hotch will fill you in when the time is right. Instead, you decide not to fight the vaguely maternal urge rising within you and you pull him into a tight hug. It's more of a quick squeeze, because you don't want to push past his physical boundaries, but he doesn't complain, instead looking over at you with a small smile that's more than enough for now.

***

You find Hotch where the departed ambulance that patched Reid up was parked. All of the hustle and bustle of the paramedics and local police officers and bureau agents comes to a standstill as you walk over to where he's sitting on the edge of the curb.

"I heard what happened," you say as a way to announce your presence. "Can I sit?"

He nods without looking up, and you crouch down next to him, settling on the curb with your shoulder pressed to his. You can feel the tension in his muscles as he grips the sidewalk, his palms digging into the concrete like he could break through if he pressed hard enough. "Reid.."

"..is fine," you whisper, nudging him so he looks up to where Spencer and Jason are chattering excitedly. "He's more proud than anything."

He doesn't say anything, so you bump your knee against his. "I guess all of the physical training classes you made him take at the academy paid off."

He knows you know exactly what is running through his mind, so he doesn't bother trying to articulate it. Instead, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and looks over at you. "Do you remember that self-defense class we took before law school?"

You're not expecting this question, and you almost laugh. "You mean the singular self-defense class you dragged me to before dawn in the summer before we started at Georgetown?"

He levels you with a look that you would think is serious if you didn't know him so well. "You don't regret it, though."

"No," you smile, your eyes blurring with emotion. That's where you met Jeff. "I don't."

He was your instructor that day. He only taught that class twice a week, between lectures at Georgetown Law, and it doesn't escape your mind that you so easily could've missed him. One day earlier or later and you never would've met him, never would've been his girlfriend, or his wife, or his widow.

Hotch remembers meeting him that day too. He had to literally come to your apartment and drag you out of bed to make the seven AM class that he had signed you both up for, and you had been grumpy the whole drive over.

There wasn't much, other than coffee, that could get you alert before eight in the morning, but the moment you walked into that gym, it was like you were wide awake. He spent the rest of the class trying not to look as the man he would later come to know as Agent Adler kept coming over to give you extra pointers, and he pretended that the coil of ice slithering up his spine was there just because he was watching out for you.

When he found out the two of you had started dating, he continued to pretend the nausea rising in his stomach was from the day-old sandwich he had had for lunch, because it wasn't fair. Especially since he was with Haley, and he was happier than he had ever been, even if the new law school course load was making it harder to see her as often as he wanted to.

But eventually, your happiness with him overpowered every protective urge he felt, and he realized that even if there was a feeling in his gut that he didn't recognize when he saw you two together, Jeff was perfectly suited for you.

***

"He's so gorgeous!" JJ coos, her hands twitching at her sides like she's trying not to reach forward and take the baby out of Haley's hands.

She brought Jack, their newborn son, in to work today to show the team, and Hotch looks prouder than you've ever seen him. "Thank you."

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive."

"Reid!" you chastise, swatting at him. He dodges your hands without even looking.

"Look at his widdy biddy nose," Garcia squeals, before turning to Morgan with an inquisitive look. "Don't you want one of these?"

He just laughs as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "Mm, I'll stick to practicing."

"Congratulations," Elle chimes in before returning to Gideon's side to continue discussing the new case that came in. She's always on top of things, and it's something you respect greatly about her.

"Thanks," Hotch smiles, his gaze returning to Jack after looking away for only a moment. Jack is like a siren, the way each of his little sounds or movements holds Hotch's attention so steadily. He's the most focused of all of you, but you've still never seen him this enamored. "She's amazing. I'm a little terrified."

"You're glowing," you tell Haley as the rest of the team heads to the briefing room. "How is it that you had a baby just a few weeks ago?"

"You're sweet," she smiles, before tilting her head forward. "Do you want to hold him? You're practically his aunt."

You gasp quietly, so as not to wake little Jack. "That is a title I will carry proudly. And yes, I would love to hold him."

Haley hands him to you slowly, and you make sure to support his head carefully as you cup your arms around him. He looks so much like Haley that you almost make a joke about Hotch's genes not even putting up a fight, but that nose...that nose has Hotch written all over it.

When you glance back to where the team left from, you see him turn back at the same moment and offer you an encouraging smile.

"How are you holding up?" you ask Haley, barely able to focus on your surroundings with a newborn in your arms. Maybe there is something to the siren thing.

"Jack's been incredible. He barely cries, it's kind of a godsend...but I do wish Aaron could take time off with me."

You give her what you hope is your most comforting smile. "We've been super swamped with cases here, but in all my years working with him, I have never seen him so eager to leave every night."

She laughs, a pretty sound you remember from your youth. "I know. I feel so unfair when I complain about these things, but I appreciate you humoring me."

"Not at all," you assure her, glancing back down at Jack, who is mid-yawn. "I understand completely. If I had one of these little guys, I wouldn't be able to think about anything else."

You hear her breath catch and you open your mouth to reassure her that it's fine, but she is already reaching forward to squeeze your arm. "You and Jeff would have made amazing parents."

When you both joined the bureau, you were so busy with work that kids weren't on your mind at all. It wasn't until you got settled at the BAU, and Jeff found his place with organized crime, that you even started talking about it.

You want kids, don't you?

Only a few. Maybe four or five. Yeah, five's a good number.

"I should get back to the team," you say softly, blinking away the memories.

Haley sees your face and she smiles sadly as she takes Jack back from your arms. "I'll see you soon. Tell him I'm heading home, will you?"

You nod and watch the elevator doors close in front of her, before joining the team.

***

"I can't believe you went bar hopping without me," Derek shakes his head, feigning offense as he leans so far back in his chair you're afraid it may tip over.

"I think hopping is kind of a strong word," you say, glancing over at Elle, who is perched on the edge of your desk. "We only had one bar in mind, but it closed earlier than we thought, so we went somewhere else after."

"This was a much needed girl's night," Elle grins, patting Morgan on the shoulder as he continues to pout. "We'll invite you next time."

"How was your weekend, Dr. Reid?" you ask, turning around to face him.

Spencer doesn't look up from his crossword.

You say his name again, recalling the attention of Derek and Elle, who had started talking about some trip they've been planning for what feels like months.

When he still doesn't look up, you pick up one of the BAU-provided pens on your desk and chuck it at him, just hard enough to bridge the gap between your desks, but not so hard that it hurts on impact.

"Ow!" Spencer yelps anyway, glancing up with a look that's somewhere between confusion and indignation. He picks the pen up off the ground and turns it over to see the tiny insignia on the cap. "This is FBI property."

"How was your weekend, Spencer?" you ask again, ignoring him. "Didn't you say you had some fun stuff planned?"

"I did," he lights up, instantly forgetting about the pen incident. "My local movie theater was showing reruns of the first season of the original Star Trek, so I got to experience it on the big screen."

Derek laughs and walks back over to his desk next to yours. "We have very different definitions of fun weekend plans, kid."

You're about to tell Derek that no one wants to hear what his idea of fun is when the office door upstairs flies open and Hotch and Gideon walk out.

Reid hands you back your pen, and Derek sits up in his chair so fast it's almost comical.

"We have another case," Hotch announces before coming to a stop.

Gideon takes it away. "Our unsub is male, intelligent, organized and methodical. He has the confidence of a man who's been killing for a long time."

"Only victim removed from the scene is Freddy Condore indicating some tie to him."

Hotch turns to you. "You, Elle, and Reid stay on Condore's background with Garcia. The rest of us will head to the crime scene."

You nod before standing up. "Let's go, kids."

Penelope's lair is just as eccentric as you remember it.

"Take a seat," she instructs before logging into her computer and opening up her criminal history database. "Just don't get too comfortable."

Your lips quirk up as Elle flashes her eyes at you, and you nod your head at the empty chair on Garcia's opposite side. Reid is already sitting on a desk chair by the back, spinning in aimless circles as he rattles off a list of markers to search for.

After a minute, Penelope stops typing. "Credit card receipts show Freddy loved crab cakes, preferred light beer and used to spend his Thursday nights with a woman in Fells Point."

You pick up a stress toy shaped like a tomato from one of her shelves and bounce it in your palm, just for something to occupy your hands.

"What about his associates?" Elle asks, grabbing a pen with a pom-pom on the end and poking it at Spencer's knee.

"Most of them have criminal records."

Elle glances up. "That much I guessed."

Penelope frowns, and looks pointedly at the pen in her hand.

"She's holding the tomato!" Elle complains, throwing a finger at you.

You lift up your hands in surrender, dropping the stress toy. "Thanks a lot, Greenaway."

"Anyway," Reid interrupts, to everyone's surprise, "One of these guys is particularly interesting. Pull up James Baker's rap sheet."

Penelope turns back to her computer as Spencer reads over her shoulder. "He spent time in juvenile detention for attempted murder, was released at age 21, and then subsequently arrested for, and this is in order, armed robbery, petty theft, burglary, narcotics sales, and rapе."

"What's so interesting about that?"

"When it comes to psychological behavior, anything is possible but this criminal history? It just isn't probable."

Elle nods in agreement. "I mean, as a minor, he began with attempted murder and then devolved into pettier crimes?"

"It's the criminal history of a fractured schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder," you sigh. "It just does not make sense."

***

Hotch calls you into his office when he and Morgan return from Baker's address. You can tell something is off before you even step through the door, so you shut it behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.

"What's going on?" you ask, your eyes glancing over his face to see if his micro-expressions can give you a hint. "What's wrong?"

He looks up with a sigh, his hands clasped on his desk. "Baker's place was an artificial dwelling, and the weapon we recovered on the scene was standard law enforcement issue."

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend what he's trying to say - a few seconds longer than usual - and your breath stutters in your throat. "He was undercover?"

"That's what it looks like," Hotch agrees. "I wanted to inform you before telling the rest of the team."

You nod, pressing your eyes closed for a beat.

He missed his pick-up, Mrs. Adler.

We'll call you as soon as we know more.

The memories start to flood back in and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter before opening them. Hotch looks blurry for a moment until your eyes adjust to the light again.

"Does organized crime know where he is?" you ask, desperately needing to fill the silence.

He looks down at the case file. "We assume so, but it's not like they would tell us. They weren't too happy that we were taking on this case at all, and now we know why."

"Maybe they'll talk to me," you suggest, even though the idea of talking to Josh Cramer makes you taste bile. You haven't seen him since a month after the funeral. It's not for his lack of trying, you just couldn't stomach looking at any of them after what happened. One missed call turned to ten and eventually they stopped trying.

There's a piercing pain behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut for a momentary relief. "It was only supposed to be three months."

Hotch's brow furrows and you don't look up at him just yet. You can already picture his expression, the anguish you know he feels for you whenever you bring up Jeff.

"It was a three month operation," you continue, knowing you won't be able to discuss it later if you stop talking now. "That's all we signed up for. Three months away from me and then he was on leave for the rest of the year, so that we could focus on us again. Maybe even start a family."

Your voice cracks on the last word and you tilt your head down to hide your face. He hates it when you cry, but that's not fair. He knows how important it is to get your emotions out, so they don't pile up inside of you, but if he had his way, you would never have had a reason to cry in the first place.

"I hadn't seen him in over a month when he was..."

He can hear the tightness in your voice and he resists the overwhelming urge to reach his hand out and take yours. You're sitting a foot back from the desk, and it's not he could reach you from here anyway, but his fingers still ache.

"I don't want to blame them, Aaron," you sigh. Your words sound watery, and he pulls a handkerchief out of his inside jacket pocket and hands it to you. He's almost surprised when you accept the gesture, pressing the cloth square under your eyes to catch the tears leaking out. You were so self-reliant as a kid, never wanting or needing anyone else's help. "I don't want to blame them, but I do. I can't help it, I just do."

Someone else would have consoled you. They would have assured you that feeling this way was natural, and that no one could blame you for feeling what you do, but that isn't who you two are. "Jeff wouldn't."

His name is like a dagger to your heart. You practically wince as Hotch digs further. "That team was his family, just like we are yours. He wouldn't blame them, not for this. Not for something he chose."

Something he chose. This is why you don't let yourself remember that day. This is why you kept that day - the day you got that horrible call - locked up inside your brain, where not even you could reach it. Because if you let yourself think about it and remember, then you will remember that it wasn't really Cramer or his unit or the bureau that you blamed. It was him.

For choosing to miss his pick-up. For choosing to go undercover. For choosing to join organized crime.

You take a deep breath and re-adjust yourself in the uncomfortable chair Hotch refuses to replace, even though it's literally splitting at the seams. Something about your tax dollars hard at work. "What are you going to do about Baker?"

He lets you change the subject. "We have to contact Agent Cramer before-

"What the hell is wrong with you people?"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Sorry?" Hotch frowns, both of you standing up immediately.

Cramer doesn't take his eyes off Hotch as he seethes with anger. "I told you, this is my case! You ran my agent through IBIS?"

"Because I wanted to know who he worked for and now that I do, I'd like to talk to him."

"You don't have him?"

You can hear your heartbeat in your skull.

Hotch looks at you then, and finally Cramer notices your presence. "Y/N...it's been a while."

Your lips press into a thin line. "Almost two years." The anger you've been trying to avoid seeps into your voice against your will and you sigh, returning to the investigation. "How long has Baker been missing?"

"About 12 hours."

"You think he ran?" you ask, watching Cramer closely as his jaw ticks.

"No, Jimmy's too experienced to run without contact."

He realizes his misstep immediately and his shoulders fall. To his credit, he doesn't break eye contact, even as his expression softens. "That's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that I think someone's keeping Jimmy from calling in."

You can feel Aaron looking at you, but you avoid his line of sight. If you're going to have to interact with organized crime, you might as well make yourself useful. "We all want the same thing, Cramer: to get Baker back to his family."

You wait outside as he explains the situation in more detail to Hotch and Gideon, and you're surprised when he's the first to leave. "Can we talk?"

Hotch comes out behind him and raises his eyebrow for a fraction of a second, a check-in. Swallowing thickly, you nod your head and follow him down the hall to the top of the stairs.

"I'm sorry I haven't reached out recently," he says as soon as you're out of earshot of the others. "You know Jeff was one of our top guys."

Your eyes shut at his name, as though someone clapped their hands too close to your face. It's almost laughable how sure you were that you were past your grief. You passed the bureau's psych evaluation after your six month leave with flying colors (because your team practically wrote the answers yourselves), and as each new day passed and you weren't so debilitated by just the thought of him, you thought it meant you were fine. Because time heals all wounds. At least it's supposed to.

"I know," you whisper scratchily, before clearing your throat. "I know that. And it's okay. We've all been busy." You look down at the bustling bullpen where his agents are interacting with your team. "Clearly."

Then you remember you're job here in the first place. "We really are just trying to help. It wouldn't hurt to keep us involved."

Cramer sighs and you know he won't refuse. "We'll loop you in."

***

James Baker is found and Vincent Perotta gets taken into custody, but you can still hear the end of the interrogation ringing in your ears.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent.

When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers.

And some people grow up to catch them."

You can't pinpoint exactly what you're feeling, but if you had to guess, it would be sorrow. Sorrow for that little boy who got dealt the worst hand you can imagine, and still turned into the best version of who he could've been.

Hotch can't get the interrogation out of his mind either. He had grabbed his briefcase and headed out to the elevators as soon as Perotta was taken away, in the hopes of avoiding everybody. He's about to let out his breath when a hand reaches between the doors and sends them flying open again.

Normally your appearance is a welcome sight, but tonight, he's had enough talking. Perotta took everything he had to give, and then some, and he doesn't know if he has the strength to go through the proceedings again with you.

"I just want to get home," he says as you stand next to him without a word and face the doors. To my family.

You don't say anything as the little fluorescent floor number ticks down - has it always been this slow - and he feels his nerves tighten with agitation. You're never silent, especially not about something like this.

Just before the elevator reaches the second floor, you reach forward and pull the emergency stop button. He whispers your name, half irritated half relieved, and you step in front of him, focusing your eyes on his. It's a classic profiler technique, both to mentally establish trust and to physically block him from the keypad.

"You're a great father, Aaron."

His mind flashes back 25 years, but he squeezes the hand in his pocket into a fist to keep himself from succumbing to the memories. "I'm trying."

He knows what you're doing, and he would normally be open to a healthy exchange between two adults, but tonight he just can't. It's too fresh.

You seem to understand at least a fraction of what he's trying to convey. Your next words are gentle. "That already makes you a thousand times better than him."

That almost makes him smile. "You can say his name, you know."

You shrug, looking at him with a glint in your eye. "Honestly, I don't think I can. I'm afraid I'll turn into a pile of ash, with the fury your father instills in me."

That's what gets him. He coughs out a laugh that echoes around the elevator, and you return to his side, giving him a moment to breathe on his own.

This time, when his mind spirals back to his childhood, he's not as equipped to block it. The memories come in flashes, a blackening bruise on his abdomen, a split lip explained away through roughhousing in the backyard, the thin scars on his hands and elbows as he finally started to fight back. He would've taken it all forever if he had to, if it meant that he could keep the horrors away from the people he loved. "I really should go."

"Yeah." You push the emergency stop back into place and the elevator hits the ground floor in no time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hotch."

He steps out, half expecting you to follow him. Instead, the doors close and he's by himself again, and he suddenly can't remember why he wanted to be alone in the first place.

***

When the Keystone Killer is finally caught after 18 years of inactivity, he finds himself expecting for there to be some sort of celebration, either in the form of a commendation, or a much-needed break. Instead, what he gets is a mountain of paperwork.

He usually doesn't mind the paperwork that comes after a long case. It's a helpful way for him to sort through his thoughts on what went down, and to learn from mistakes that were made along the way, whether in the profile or in the capture of the unsub.

Lately, paperwork has felt like an added torture to the long hours he already spends at work. It's not that he wasn't excited about going home before, but ever since Jack was born, he hasn't been able to get out of the office fast enough. But being the unit chief of the BAU has its responsibilities, and this is one of them.

He's drowning in consultation files and case reports when you knock on his door, two coffees in hand.

"Thought that was you," he says, finishing the sentence he was writing.

You frown, setting one steaming cup down on his desk. He hasn't even looked up yet. "How'd you know? Or do you just say that to everyone who walks in here?"

His lip twitches and he puts his pen down. "I could smell the coffee. It always smells the same when you make it."

"Oh?" You weren't aware you had a method. "And how's that?"

"Burnt."

You take the lid off your cup and chuck it at him with surprising accuracy. It would have thwacked him in the forehead if he hadn't swatted it aside with his stupid catlike reflexes.

"What are you working on?" you ask after taking a scalding sip of perfectly brewed coffee.

He looks up for a beat before diving back into the file he was skimming. "Paperwork for the Keystone Killer case."

"But we just finished that," you point out before reaching forward and taking the file out from under his nose.

He huffs. "I was...looking at that."

"This is a report on what happened a couple of hours ago," you say, ignoring his remark. "You can easily do this tomorrow, or later this week."

"It's fresh in my mind now. I don't want to forget any details."

You shrug in a motion that says 'fair enough'. "Or, you could actually go home before midnight for once."

You slide another file off the top of his pile and flip it open, reading over the notes Hotch has scribbled in the margins. He's so meticulous about his job that you almost forget he was promoted just a little over a year ago. He became unit chief at the same time that you joined the team, so you didn't get to see him in his early days, but looking at him now, you almost can't imagine it. It's like he's built for this, for taking responsibility and leading people with kindness and respect.

"Elle said something on the plane today," he says suddenly, jerking you from your thoughts.

You close the file and look up as he runs a hand over his head, pushing his thick hair back just for it to bounce forward again. "She said that she's scared she's going to look up and see that her life has passed her by while she was chasing monsters."

Something cold runs through your veins and you sit up straighter in your chair. "And what did you say?"

"I told her the truth."

You smile in an effort to keep your eyes from shining. "What, that we're all doomed?"

He looks at you candidly. "That this job will eat you up if you let it." Your smile falls and he continues. "You just can't let it."

"I'm sure Elle loved hearing that."

He shrugs. "She was surprisingly receptive."

That gets a laugh out of you, even if the good humor doesn't last long. "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"This job, while also being a husband, and a father." You sigh, and you can almost feel the weight of the air as it leaves your body. "When I go home, I don't have to be anything to anyone. Most of the time it feels awful, but sometimes, after an especially bad case, I'm almost relieved when I can go home and just check out."

You aren't talking about him anymore, and he can tell. He doesn't mind, if this is what it will take for you to work through your emotions.

"We were gonna start trying for a baby."

That surprises him. Not that you wanted to be a mother - he knows that - but that he didn't know you were already thinking about it, especially because of how you grew up. You don't talk about it often, but after losing your mother to a drunk driver when you were ten, you almost transformed into her, becoming the emotional support for your family when there was no one else to fill that role.

You press your lips into a thin line and take a deep breath, your coffee cold and forgotten on the desk in front of you. "We had been talking about it for years, but with the paths our careers were taking, there just wasn't enough time before then." Your eyes look far away, and you don't seem to notice that your lips have unconsciously curved up into a reminiscent smile. "Jeff wanted five kids. Five. God, can you imagine?"

He can, but he doesn't say anything, because he knows you aren't looking for a response. Just for someone to listen.

"I'm an only child," you say with a laugh. "I don't even know what it's like to have one sibling, let alone four." But Jeff had come from a huge family, and he had wanted you to experience that. He loved how full his home always felt growing up, never without someone to talk to. Now you won't ever get to experience that. "I guess I just wish sometimes that we had tried earlier."

"You'll have it someday," Hotch says simply, practically reading your mind. "If that's what you want, you'll have it."

"I waited so long," you whisper, closing your eyes for a long moment. "I was just so afraid that I wouldn't do it right, because I didn't have my mother anymore to help me."

"You would've been a great mother," he assures you, his voice confident. "One day, you will be."

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you clear your throat to keep the tears at bay. "How do you know?"

"I just know."

***

When you push through the doors to the bullpen the next morning, you are greeted by a familiar head of blonde hair.

"Sean?"

He turns around slowly, clearly recognizing your voice, and pulls his lips up into a smile that you return. "Hey, Y/N, how's it going?"

You weren't close to him as a kid, mostly because of the age gap between him and Hotch. You had tried to make more of an effort after graduating college, but Sean was fierce in his convictions, and there were a lot of things he didn't understand about his childhood that you certainly weren't going to explain to him now.

"Good, good," you say, leading him away from the throng of staring women. You shoot them a look that makes them disperse. "You here for your brother? He's upstairs."

He nods, glancing up at the closed office door. You start to lead him to the stairwell when he stops in his tracks and turns to you. "What mood's he in?"

"Why?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "You got bad news? Nothing I need to worry about, I hope."

Sean shakes his head, glancing up at the closed door again. "Nothing like that. I'll just go up."

You let him walk up on his own, knowing he doesn't want you getting involved in whatever he's thinking about. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, the three women return to your side.

"That's Hotch's brother?" Penelope asks, standing so close you can feel her breath on your ear.

"Maybe Hotch is adopted."

"What do you mean?" you ask, unconsciously glancing up the stairs. "They're honestly pretty similar." You're only half joking. They don't look anything alike, but that Hotchner brand of righteousness runs deep.

JJ frowns. "I don't see it."

"Yeah, he looks...like that," Penelope murmurs, before looking at you. "Did you know him when you were younger? Was he hot then too?"

You choke on your own spit. "He was nine years old when I left for college, so...no."

Her eyes widen and she lifts her hands in surrender.

"Ooh, here he comes."

You look up to see Sean storming down the stairs, Hotch hot on his heels.

"Sean, listen to me."

He turns so fast, you're afraid they're going to crash into each other. "Don't profile me, Aaron."

Sean stomps out of the bullpen while Hotch watches him leave, and you can't get the striking feeling of deja vu out of your head. Two boys, 15 years younger than they are now, standing in the same positions, with the same looks on their faces.

You imagine that you and Hotch probably act the same way around each other as when you first met, at eight years old.

The memory comes easily, even with more than two decades of time standing in the way. The little boy with dark hair who had sat next to you on the school bus, just because there were no other empty seats available that day.

You hadn't said anything for the first few stops, just watched him out of the corner of your eye as he nodded his head unconsciously to the music coming out of his large headphones. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you tapped on his shoulder. "What are you listening to?"

He had taken his headphones off quickly, as though caught in the act. "What?"

You repeated your question before leveling him with a pointed stare that meant 'there is a correct answer'. You were a feisty kid, and you weren't always the best at making first impressions, so his steady response impressed you. "Beatles. Revolver album."

"I love that one!" you had gushed, leaning in closer without a warning to press your ear to one of the speakers on his headphones. "Is this Yellow Submarine?"

He had nodded, the confusion in his eyes slowly transforming into delight. "You know their stuff?"

"Of course. My favorite's Eleanor Rigby."

He had frowned then. "That one's too sad."

You weren't surprised by his opinion. You had yet to find a boy your age who could appreciate serious music, but liking The Beatles was a start, at least.

"I'm Y/N," you had said, extending your hand like you were starting a business meeting.

He shook your hand furtively. "Aaron."

"Maybe I'll see you around."

The school bus had stopped at your street then, and you had gotten up without another word to this boy, who would one day become your best friend in the world.

Luckily, the next day, Aaron chose to sit next to you again, this time with a second pair of headphones to attach to his compact cassette deck. Two days turned to three, and before long, you had a new friend.

***

"I can't imagine what two weeks away from this place is gonna feel like," you sigh, packing some essentials into your bag and snapping it shut. "I might actually miss you guys."

"Not me," Morgan grins, before pressing a kiss to your cheek as he zips around you. "Two weeks of pure heaven with nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories."

"Your friend's resort better be as nice as you say it is," Elle says sternly as she wiggles her finger at Derek, who is busy inviting Reid to join their vacation.

"Thanks, but I'm going home," he says quickly, without looking at any of you. "Have a good one, guys."

"I'll head out too," you announce, grabbing your things and following him to the elevators. "Wait up, Spence."

He doesn't seem to hear you, but you slip through the doors just before they close. "You okay?"

"Huh?" he says, finally looking up. "Oh, yeah. I'm just not looking forward to the Nevada heat."

You can tell he's lying, but you don't want to press him right before the long break. "You can always call me if you need anything. Seriously."

"Yeah," he nods. "I know."

You wave goodbye to him in the parking lot, and you're back in the silence of your home by the end of the hour.

The rest of your day is spent lazing around the house, and you're asleep when you hear a knock at your door. After Jeff's death, you started keeping your gun in your nightstand, more out of a general sense of security than any specific acute fear, but its proximity during late night calls has given you the peace of mind you needed to finally sleep through the night.

Lifting it from the drawer, you hold it behind your back as you tiptoe to your front door and look through the peephole. When you don't see anyone, you carefully pull the door open, only to find a small packet sitting on your welcome mat with your name scrawled on the top.

After bringing it inside the house and locking the door again, you pry open the seal and extract a large piece of paper covered in a series of numbers and dots.

That's when the phone rings.

***

"How's it going?" you ask Reid and Morgan as you enter the conference room where all of the Fisher King's clues have been laid out. Neither of them have taken their eyes off the paper you brought in since you tacked it up on the board.

As expected, Reid doesn't look up. "The answer to what book we need has to be in here."

"Yeah," Derek sighs, glancing over at you, "but we sure as hell can't see it."

"Yet."

You look at the numbers again, hoping that your short walk to the coffee station and back would have been enough to unlock something new in your brain. Nothing. "The answer has to be based on specific details of each person's clue." A small sound turns your attention to the couch, where Elle is lying on her side. "Is Elle asleep?"

"I'm awake!" she starts, sitting up lethargically.

At the outburst, Hotch walks into the room and points at her bags. "I'm sending you home. You need to get some rest."

"No-"

"We won't do anything without you, I promise."

"Elle, seriously, we're not any closer than we were."

She nods, her lack of sleep seeming to dawn on her as she yawns again.

"Anderson," Hotch calls out, before you stop him. "What is it?"

"I can take her home," you suggest, looking over your shoulder as she lugs her bags down the hall with bleary eyes. He looks like he wants to protest, so you speak up before he has the chance. "She barely knows Anderson. I'll make sure she's settled, and then you can send him to watch her house, so I can come back here."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he sighs, his eyes still trained on Elle's silhouette lingering by the elevator. "We may need you here."

You cock your head at Reid and Morgan, who have been sitting in the same positions for so long, you're surprised their necks haven't locked. "It's like they said. We haven't made any progress in over an hour. I'm not helping here."

He still looks unsure, but you know it's just worry. He'll always worry about you. "Okay, go. Call me in an hour to check-in."

You dip your head in a nod and jog through the bullpen to catch Elle as she's heading out.

"So you're my bodyguard, huh?"

You laugh, pressing the button for the ground floor. "Something like that."

"Good," Elle says, trying and failing to stifle a yawn, "you're much more fun than Anderson."

"Prettier, too."

The car ride to her house starts off silent, but eventually you break your internal promise to let her come to you. "How are you feeling after last night?"

She just shrugs. "It was more annoying than anything. I'm just glad I got to enjoy at least some of my vacation."

"I heard there was blood all over your room," you point out lightly, trying to broach the subject in a delicate manner. "That can't have been fun to wake up to."

"It was all on the outside. That's part of why they weren't able to hold me. That, and Hotch's lawyer chops."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her as you pull over to the sidewalk. "His lawyer chops?" You know he used to be a prosecutor before joining the bureau, but you never got to see his skills in action.

"Yeah," Elle gushes, her face brightening considerably, "you should have seen the way he walked in there. Those beat cops had no idea what hit 'em. He was in full prosecutor mode, went all rainmaker on them until they released me."

You can imagine it. If any of you were in trouble, he wouldn't let anything get between him and your safety. "I wish I could've seen that."

When you put the car in park, you help Elle with her bags and walk her up to her door, where she insists that she'll be fine on her own.

"I promised I would wait with you until another agent could come and relieve me," you emphasize, instinctively scanning the vicinity around her home as she walks inside and drops her things on the floor.

"In about thirty seconds, I'll be passed out on this couch right here," she points at the window seat behind her, "so you'll just be watching me sleep for an hour."

You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off. "Y/N, I'll be fine."

If there's one word to describe Elle, it's stubborn, so you let her shut the door behind her and you walk back to your car. Even if she won't let you sit with her inside, you still can't bring yourself to start the ignition, so you lean your seat back halfway and close your eyes, just for a few moments.

You haven't gotten much sleep either, and you're about to doze off when you hear a loud thud from outside the car. Jerking up, you undo the clasp of your holster and push open the car door. The world is silent, except for the rustling of leaves in the wind, but you start making your way up the drive, just to be sure. There's another thud, quieter this time, and you reach for your sidearm as you ascend her porch steps. Then comes a gunshot.

You start running.

[mysaintkitten]

idek what to title this, i’ve been procrastinating and i’ve been thinking about capa so now we’re here.

prompt: needy reader and needy capa get it on (18+, MINORS DNI !!)

WARNINGS: kind of subby!capa ?? (he’s just so horny), oral (f receiving), veryyyyy temporary mutual masturbation, unprotected sex (p in v)

*not proofread*

it had been months, no, years, since you’d been intimate with anyone. prior to joining icarus II, you weren’t exactly getting too much action. but now that you’re out in space with limited people and a very stressful job at hand? you had essentially become celibate, whether you liked it or not.

it was easy to manage at first. no one on board really peaked your interest— besides capa. he’s handsome, smart, funny if he’s in the right mood, overall not too shabby. and since you had very few others to gawk at, it made capa stand out a lot more.

the harder you started to crush on capa, the more difficult things became. not only could you not have sex, you could barely get off. the only true privacy you get is in the shower and even then you can only be in there for a limited time, so there’s no point in wasting water.

then when you were assigned to work with capa full time, you reached your tipping point. you’d spend hours alone with him, working, sometimes talking, but working for the most part.

but, during an unusually slow and boring day, you and him talked for what felt like hours. you even got comfortable enough to open up about your desire for intimacy, although you hoped that it wouldn’t come off as to desperate or “slutty” (as if being a slut really matters at this point in time).

capa opened up too, he wasn’t as open as you were willing to be, but he was vulnerable enough. he’d been struggling too. really, everyone was probably struggling in that sense, but it felt nice to be validated by capa in a way.

things started to get a bit ‘playful’ between you and capa, you kept it hidden as best you could, but when you were alone together you were sweet and a bit affectionate. of course, nothing wild, but little things like playing footsie, hand holding, even hugs. that’s all you allowed yourself to indulge in for the first little while.

but one night, when everyone was asleep, you and capa snuck into a vacant observation room. initially, you had intentions of only talking, but that was shut down almost immediately.

you and capa giggled like children as you locked the door behind you, feeling a rush of adrenaline despite not doing anything explicitly wrong. as you place your back against the wall while smiling kindly at capa, you notice his demeanour has changed. he isn’t giggling, and he’s still smiling, but for a different reason.

“you know, i’ve been thinking ..” capa murmurs as he slinks his body closer, leaning on his shoulder directly beside you. “if we’re smart about this, i think we can both get something that we want. and no one would have to know.”

“what do you mean?” you question with a confused face, although you already have an inkling as to what he’s hinting at.

capa smirks and caresses your palm with the pads of his fingers “you know ..”

your eyes go wide at his confirmation. you want to feel him so badly, but it’s too risky. a moment of pleasure doesn’t outweigh a lifetime of regret.

“capa, i don’t know if we should ..” you whisper, fighting your urge to push him down and fuck him right then and there.

“we can be good about this!” he pleads, inching himself closer and turning his body to where his chest is nearly touching yours. “we’ll be fine, you’re a smart girl, aren’t you?”

you feel yourself becoming flustered, you struggle to look capa in the eyes. they’ve become darker, slowly but surely filling with lust.

“i am.” you reply with a swallow,

“yes, you are.” he agrees, brushing stray hairs from out of your face. “so come on. and we’ll probably work better without all this pent up energy, huh?”

your heart starts to race and a heat between your legs begins to form, “yeah .. that makes sense ..”

“mhm.” he purrs, his body now flush against yours, you can feel his bulge straining through the fabric. “can i kiss you?”

you nod, lips slightly agape. he brings his lips to yours, moaning quietly at the sensation of your soft lips against his. the kiss quickly becomes heated with capa trailing his hands down your body. his touches are sexual, but they have a hint of curiosity to them. it’s been so long since he’s been this close to a woman.

how they feel, how they taste, how they smell, he’d almost started to forget it. but with you here, it’s all flooding back to him now, and he can tell his body is slipping into a primal-like overdrive. he feels your pheromones are nearly intoxicating to him.

“feel like a teenager again ..” capa giggles breathlessly between kisses. you decide to get handsy as well and place your hands on his back, feeling up his shoulder blades and spine.

“fuck ..” he mewls, “need more ..”

he dropped to his knees and began to pull your shorts and underwear down, promptly revealing yourself to him. you hadn’t been anticipating any sort of sexual contact, so you weren’t exactly groomed to your liking. if you had known this was going to happen you would’ve shaved for him, but alas.

“i’m sorry i’m not exactly .. bald ..” your voice trails off as you blush, dancing around what you actually wanted to say. you were afraid the faint hair may put him off, but it didn’t, not in the slightest.

“i don’t care .. fuck, i don’t care ..” he groaned, nearly whining at the simple sight of you being bare right in front of his eyes. he runs his dry hands up your thighs, gripping the soft skin gently. while panting from pure arousal, he begins to kiss your thighs, occasionally looking up at you with an infatuated glare in his eye. like you were some sort of god to him at that moment.

“you’re a woman.” he breathed, it rolled off his tongue like a praise. he continued to kiss along your thighs, inching closer and closer to your aching core. it had been so long since you’d been touched, let alone ate out. your knees nearly gave out from anticipation.

you card your fingers through his hair as you watch him, his breath getting heavier and heavier with each passing moment. while making eye contact with you, he begins to kiss your needy cunt. slowly switching from wet pecks to desperate licks. he moaned at your taste, gripping your ass as he pushed your hips against his face harder.

“c-capa-“ you whimper at his eagerness and the sudden wave of pleasure. with a hum, he brought his tongue to your hole to lap up any and all of your spilling arousal, using his nose to stimulate your clit.

“tastes fuckin’ incredible ..” he admitted, quickly resuming his licks and sucks. what he lacked in skill he made up for in passion and eagerness, he wanted to make you feel so good, and it was clear by the way he whined and huffed against you.

“i missed having good pussy on my tongue.” he chuckled, smacking your ass playfully. you yelp at the slight sting, but it quickly shifts into a moan as he nips at your sensitive inner thighs. “i could eat you all goddamn night, but i need a little relief of my own, baby.”

you feel yourself becoming slicker as capa begins to tug off his pants, his flushed member standing to attention. as soon as his cock is freed, he begins to weakly pump it for you. his eyes scanning up and down your body as he basks in your feminine presence.

copying his behaviour, you slowly begin to play with your clit, watching how he sighs and slouches at the gesture, clearly enjoying the show.

“could i ride you?” you blurt out, almost embarrassingly fast, your arousal clouding your thought process. no point in pretending anymore, you want to fuck him and you want to do it now.

“fuck, please.” he begs, he sounds pathetic, but that only further enables your arousal, knowing you have a man on his knees begging for you.

you push his shoulders back gently so he’s laying against the cold floor, as he lays back you straddle his lap and begin to roll your hips against his member. you and capa both moan at the sensation, capa balls his fists up and begins to rut against you as well. at this point, you’re just grinding against each other raw.

“baby ..” he pants, dipping his head back for a moment. your stomach tingles at the pet name. “if we keep doing this ‘m gonna come.”

while biting your lip, you raise your hips and align his tip with your opening, teasing him slightly before lowering yourself down into him. you gasp at the fullness, while capa groans at your warmth.

“could i-i, fuck, could i see your tits?” he whines as he involuntarily thrusts up into you, he feels like he can’t control himself at this point. every ounce of his being is burning with arousal.

you lift your hips up and ride him, meeting his thrusts. while you ride him, you shakily lift up your top. you leave the shirt on but bundle up the fabric above your tits, for some reason it feels hotter that way.

capa groans and plants his feet on the floor, holding your hips in place as he fucks up into you harshly.

“o-oh fu-uck!” you sob as capa pounds into that sensitive spot from within you, hastily you bring your hand between your legs to rub your clit. both of you knew this wouldn’t last long, so you just want to enjoy it while you can.

capa feels like his brain is melting, he doesn’t know where to look. he can either watch your tits bounce with each thrust, he can watch your pretty little face contort with pleasure, or he can watch his cock slide in and out of your heavenly cunt. he can’t settle on one, so he eagerly switches between each of them.

“you’re so fuckin’ wet ..” he choked as he watched his member glisten with your arousal. since being on icarus II, capa began to dream of situations like this. it was normally faceless women, but he was absolutely feigning for some tight wet pussy, despite how much he tried to hide it.

“don’t stop— please ..” you huff. you know capa won’t stop, he’s too far gone to quit now, yet the words still fell from your mouth. you haven’t felt so good in so long, you don’t want it to end.

“won’t stop.” capa slurs as his thighs shake from exhaustion, “fuck. can’t stop stop, baby, feels too fucking good.”

your orgasm begins to build up from within you. both you and capa are shaky, sweaty, desperate, and close. you place a hand behind you for stability and dig your nails into capa’s knee as he thrusts into you, your other hand still stimulating your clit as best you can.

capas cheeks are flushed, his pupils are blown, and plush lips hang agape. you want to tell him he looks gorgeous, but you can’t seem to find the words to at the moment.

“‘m getting close.” he hissed as his grip on your hips got tighter, “come on my cock. please, baby. i need to feel it. please.” capa rambles mindlessly, you’ve felt like an absolute dream the entire time but the sight and sensation of you coming undone on his cock would be the cherry on top.

“yes, yes, yes-“ you gasp as your orgasm finally breaks through you, the stimulation on your clit comes to a stop but capa continues to fuck into you as you come for him. you release a loud, guttural moan at the pleasure. mere seconds after, capas whining beneath you about how close he is and how pretty you look when you come.

after pulling out, capa feverishly pumps himself and quickly spills his load onto your ass and his thighs while groaning and whimpering.

you shakily slide off his lap and sit on the cold floor beside him. while attempting to fix your appearance, you both giggle at what you had just done. since it had been so long, it felt almost innocent. just two desperate people who wanted to feel each others bodies.

“can we do this again tomorrow?” capa asks while attempting to catch his breath

“tomorrow?” you raise your brows, “you want to make this a routine?”

capa laughs, “you shouldn’t have given me a taste, baby, now i’m going to keep crawling back for more.”

—

sorry, had horny capa thoughts, can you really blame me tho.

[namfinessed]

come closer, come closer - k.nj.

genre: fluff, angst (8.7k) (slowburn! sliceoflife!)

summary: nothing in your life is permanent, you would never let anything be permanent, but namjoon nestles his way in and refuses to leave, will you let him stay or would he remain something temporary? or a fic in which a friends-with-benefits situation with namjoon gets twisted out of control. (colors!universe)

note: all of the stories in the series can be read individually <3

masterpost series masterlist

-

fate used to amuse you, the concept of people, the many people, their many stories, their many love stories, some that made sense to you, some that seemed like absolute madness, but all of them stories you sat and listened to, you sat and read about because stories to you, were a window to what life could be.

and your life changed when namjoon entered it. it seemed like too much of the world aligned so that you would fall for him, it seemed like madness, and it made perfect sense.

everything that happened after meeting him, was truly out of your hands.

-

it was an off day at work. you hummed as you breezed past the shelves of books surrounding you, nothing brought you more peace than this.

today, your mission was to find a particular book.

at the end of the matinee by keiichiro hirano.

the book was about two people, close to their forties in age, who fall in love, but with the caution, wariness, and desperation that comes with that age. one of them was a world-renowned ‘genius’ guitarist whereas the other was a trauma journalist, their universes couldn’t be more different but seemed to align just for them. when you had heard about it, you knew immediately you had to read it, it was this concept of love that you had never explored before.

your eyes darted to every title as quickly as they could, but you could feel yourself getting impatient as you passed by more shelves, none of them had the book you wanted.

the front desk lady lied when she reassured you that it was in row 3, you were in row 15 now and it was nowhere to be found.

a deep irritation settled under your skin as you cursed the skies and stars for doing this to you, you continued your grumbling as you sat down with a huff at a table. of course, two good things, a day off and the book you so desperately wanted, wouldn’t happen all at once to you. rarely, one good thing happened to you in a day so, this was nothing new.

but still, you were so invested in the world of that book, that you wanted to dive into that world and never float back up because a love so tender, at an age where everything feels the same and your skin sheds its youth, fascinated you.

and today, you won’t get to dive in, you won’t get to be lost in a world that didn’t belong to you.

“excuse me, that’s my seat.” a hush of a voice filled your ears. you immediately removed yourself from the seat and moved a seat up, scrolling on your phone aimlessly.

maybe you will find another book.

maybe there is another world that you could live in, for now.

then, it hits you.

the scent of something soft, a cloud, a pillow. the scent wraps around you, taking you with its softness. you know that scent.

you peek up to see a man next to you. he was wearing a baby blue sweatshirt, matching sweatpants, a baseball cap, and a mask.

the softness that distracted you.

and in his hands, he held the book that you were wishing the gods above and below for.

you know those hands.

he was the one who took your precious book before you did?

you didn’t own it by any means but that didn’t mean you weren’t highly frustrated that it ended up in his hands, of everyone else.

“you.” you said, as calmly as you could.

namjoon bites back a grin at the frustration in your voice. “yes?”

“you know i’ve been looking for this namjoon, this isn’t fair.” you bark out, leaning forward to grab the book from him but he just holds it above himself, knowing you won’t be able to reach it. you sink back into your seat with a frown on your face and namjoon sighs.

he’s never had a problem telling someone no, in fact, he’s enjoyed turning down some overly excited people but when it came to you, denying you of something just wasn’t possible for him, even if it was as a joke.

the book plopped in front of you and your frown immediately melted, and you grabbed it into your arms, namjoon rolled his eyes with a fond smile growing on his face.

“give it to me when you come over someday.”

your relationship with namjoon was hard to describe, you were sort-of friends, sort-of friends who had read books together, sort-of friends who hung out without saying a word, and sort-of friends who occasionally had sex.

it all started when a mutual friend introduced you to him at a horrid party that you hated being at, namjoon hated it too and he made that clear, so you decided to spend your time doing something else.

and soon, it became a regular occurrence and it was working well, you two understood what the other wanted and had no qualms about giving it to them.

namjoon pulled out his book as well and you peeked at it curiously.

lovers in the night by mieko kawakami.

strange.

you added that book to your to-read list yesterday.

“you can just ask to see it if you want, you know?” he tuts at you teasingly, watching your eyes dart towards his book, you scoff at him and sink into your seat.

then, there was silence, only the sound of pages turning and both of your breaths coming out in the space. you liked that, you never had to talk to namjoon to be present with him and so far, this arrangement worked perfectly for you.

but you caught yourself peeking in his direction again, this time, it wasn’t his book, it was him, the way he sat, the way he turned the pages sharply, the way his breath came out slow and you had no excuse for your curiosity.

“tonight, your place?” his question came casually and you nodded as soon as the words left him.

you couldn’t help but think that you had agreed too quickly.

-

“i don’t understand the point of this movie” you say to namjoon, lying across his chest and your body shakes with his as a low laugh tumbles out of him. he has come to be extremely fond of your quick irritation to things.

“you read so much romance, i thought you would’ve gotten it by now” he sips his wine and you feel the urge to tip it over his white sweatshirt, just for his sarcastic tone. namjoon sees the glare on your face and feels the strangest satisfaction wash over him.  

“don’t make me pour the bottle on you.” you eye the bottle that was near your feet and he promptly reaches out to put it near him with a tut which makes you giggle.

chungking express wasn’t your usual movie.

there was no rosy romance filled with confessions and promises.

there were just stolen glances, just hoping that someone else wouldn’t take them, just the characters in a world that changed too quickly, just memories that never faded.

it both fascinated and confused you.

why did love have to be so confusing?

if two people liked each other, was it so hard to just say the words and be together?

why did anything else matter?

he notices your confusion, the deep frown on your face is a dead giveaway, and namjoon, shamefully admits to himself, that he finds it cute.

“i can hear your mind all the way here” namjoon taps your temple and you shift to sit with a groan. “i just don’t understand what’s so hard.”

he already wanted to pull you back on his chest but he clears his throat instead.

“please fill me in.”

“if she likes him, why didn’t she just tell him?” you point to the character who was now staring adoringly at her lover, this was just one out of the many times that they’d met and she was yet to make a move.

namjoon stares at the character, all of the words she wants to say die inside of her but her eyes stay alive with the love she holds for her object of admiration.

“i guess it’s not so easy.”

“what is not easy about just saying the words?” you rolled your eyes.

namjoon’s answer is quick, maybe too quick, “i don’t know, giving someone a piece of your most vulnerable form is scary, there is always fear in affection.”

he leaned back uncomfortably after saying it, not knowing if he should’ve said anything at all.

but to you, something about the way namjoon spoke, always put you in a daze. you never heard someone talk the way he did and you weren’t supposed to like the way he talked. “you sound like the wise tortoise from kung fu panda.” you snicker at him instead of blurting out that his words warmed your heart.

in a world where affection and love were dying, namjoon gave a more comforting reason as to why it was dying, maybe it wasn’t the factual reason, but it helped you feel better anyway.

he scrunches his eyebrows and scoffs at you, “he’s my favorite character so, fuck you.” you laugh at his annoyed face and throw your legs over his feet, he adjusts himself and you sink into the side of his arm. namjoon could feel his body wanting you closer but he resisted, he held his arm above you and over the sofa and shoved his desires in deep.

the movie was long, you didn’t particularly like it, and you never understood why people had such a hard time figuring out their feelings but namjoon didn’t have to know. and as soon as the movie ended, he got up to leave.

“you can pick the movie next time,” he says as he puts on his shoes, looking up at you with a knowing grin. “i liked it!” you tried to save your face, following him to the main door.

well, he liked that you were at least pretending to not completely hate it, for his sake.

namjoon turns to you with a quirked eyebrow, finding it all so amusing, and before he can stop himself, he steps closer and places a single kiss on your forehead and just as quickly, steps away.

that wasn’t supposed to happen.

he doesn’t know what came over him.

“i saw you yawn five times in ten minutes, we’ll watch kung fu panda next time.” he snickered with an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach and rushed out the door, to make sure he didn’t do anything again.

and you stand, shell-shocked.

that was not a big deal.

a kiss on the forehead.

not a big deal at all.

it was not a big deal that your hands were clenched by your sides.

it was not a big deal that your cheeks stayed burning hot.

it was not a big deal that your feet refused to move away from where he left.

this shouldn’t be happening.

you guys never just watched a movie, it always led to something more but it wasn’t even in your minds today and that wasn’t okay.

you needed to remind him that your hangouts were for sex only and it can’t be anything else. you needed to remind namjoon that you were getting off track, which was unacceptable.

that night, namjoon dreamt of you in his arms, just you in his arms, that was unacceptable.

but that night, your hands reached to caress the spot where you still felt his lips. and that was also unacceptable.

-

you didn’t text him after that, it wasn’t intentional or anything, you just felt that things shifted that night and you didn’t like it, a little distance would set things right back to the way they were.

casual and easy.

because that’s why you two worked, it was always casual and easy with namjoon.

and you hated to admit this to yourself, but you missed him.

which wasn’t so casual and easy.

you checked every post he made on instagram, every story that he uploaded, every song he recommended, and you still answered when he texted you but you let the message hover in your notification board for a few hours and gave every excuse possible to not meet him.

and this was supposed to be easy, you never felt the need to hang out or be with namjoon before, but that feeling was growing as the days passed, without a feel of his skin, without his gaze on you, without his slow laughter flowing through your room.

you wondered how it was for namjoon, maybe he was okay, maybe he didn’t care at all, maybe he was with someone else already and that was all fine, it was how things should be.

“people do fall in love. people do belong to each other because that's the only chance that anyone's got for true happiness.”

paul from breakfast at tiffany’s spoke on the screen, he looked angry but his words plead with his lover to agree with him, to let him sweep her off her feet, he needs her to understand that they are meant to be, even if she tried to deny it, even if she believes in a world where love didn’t exist.

you watched with teary eyes as they both ended up kissing in the rain with all their love pouring into each other.

it made you feel bitter.

it made you feel…empty.

you ignore it.

with an uneasy feeling crawling down your chest, you pull out your phone and your finger immediately reaches for the instagram icon. you waste no time clicking the circle around namjoon’s profile.

god bless him for being so active.

he was at a bar, not too far away from here and he was smiling, surrounded by a large group of friends.

the uneasiness in your chest let up a bit as your lips tugged into a smile too, namjoon’s always had a nice smile.

you really wanted to see him.

as much as it killed you to come to terms with that, every inch of you was trying to run away and find him, melt in him, let him talk through the night about things you never quite understood but enjoyed listening to.

or maybe your forehead just wanted another kiss, maybe your body just wanted company for tonight, maybe you just needed him for the exact benefits your situation rewarded you with.

maybe meeting him wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all, you two had an arrangement for a reason, to give your bodies to each other.

but he was with his friends, it would be quite rude and obnoxious of you to just ask him to get out of it and meet you, just because you feel more needy than usual.

there were other ways though.

you didn’t have to go for him at all.

it was dinnertime, you were too lazy to cook, it could just be that you were hungry and decided to pick up some food. isn’t it so convenient that the place so close to you with food also has namjoon in it? but it wasn’t about him at all, the last thing on your mind.

a solid plan, if you could say so yourself.

-

a gush of wind pushed past you as you stood before the door to the restaurant that held namjoon on the other side. the stars were hard to see as you looked up and took a few deep breaths, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, so long since you’ve heard his voice, so long since you’ve touched him.

(it’s been two weeks, actually.)

did you want to do this?

is this how you wanted to see him again, with some elaborate ruse?

the answer was yes.

yes, you wanted to do this and yes, this was how you wanted to see him again because you quite literally couldn’t figure out another way to see him.

texting and asking to meet was so old-fashioned.

the loud ring of the bell above your head, made you flinch as you pushed in and a string of greetings from the waiters came toward you, you politely greeted them back but your fingers twitched as you started looking for the person you had come all dolled up for.

you mean, the dish you couldn’t wait to take home and scarf down.

you quickly stepped to the counter where the menu lay and started flipping through it, not caring or seeing anything.

then you heard it.

his laughter.

which through all the noise, somehow made it to your ears.

maybe you had been paying extra attention to hear him somewhere but for now, you will just say that his laughter was too loud because why would you want to hear him when you were here for something else?

nevertheless, a look wouldn’t hurt anyone. you could just see him, satisfy this urge in you, and go back home with warm food.

if you remember the story right (you did, you rewatched it fifty times), namjoon was sitting towards the left side with a group of around six people so, you slyly scanned the left side with eagle eyes.

one quick look.

and nothing else.

and.

nothing.

else.

you told yourself that, ordered yourself that you would not be talking to namjoon.

and there he was.

your breath paused.

he didn’t look anything different from the ordinary.

he was wearing his beige trousers and t-shirt, he was wearing his worn-out beanie, he was laughing with the people around him and it was so simple, so ordinary, a scene that you would see anywhere in any restaurant.

but you wanted to run to him and hold him close, let him warm you, let him run his fingers through your hair, let him never let you go.

and you knew how dangerous it was to feel this way and how this would end for you.

that’s when you saw it.

the fear in affection, that namjoon had so gently explained to you the other day.

your “quick look” lasted more than a few minutes but you were having trouble peeling your eyes away from him.

that was until, you saw his body sit straighter and start looking around, as if he could sense someone’s gaze on him (that was on you, you were probably burning holes into him with your eyes) and you turned your body completely to the other side.

you were just overthinking it, there’s no way namjoon would sense someone casually glancing at him.

“i’ll take this to go, please” you whispered to the person at the counter while hurriedly pointing to some random dish on the menu. they looked at you with an uneasy smile and nodded slowly, you must look crazy to them.

but that didn’t matter, as long as you got your food and you got the hell out of here before namjoon noticed you, you were good with whatever they thought of you.

you scrolled through your phone, still facing fully away from him, and waited for your order to come, your foot tapping restlessly against the floor.

you kept waiting.

and waiting.

and waiting.

why were they taking so long?

the pace at which your foot tapped against the floor increased as you started to grow anxious.

you couldn’t stay forever, namjoon might finish his dinner, he might walk out, passing right by you and you would have to talk then and that was just-

“what are you doing, standing here?”

the tapping of your foot stopped.

exactly what you were dreading.

or exactly what you were hoping for.

you are not sure which one it is anymore.

“oh hey.” you turn around with a lame wave of your hand at the man that you don’t know what you feel for. he was looking at you with crinkled eyes and a teasing smile that picked his cheeks up and made them round.

get a grip.

“you know, the chairs at a restaurant are for sitting.” you follow his gaze to the chairs lined up near the counter.

……

you had nothing to say to that.

“i came to pick up dinner, what are you doing here?” you asked, as if you didn’t know already and he pointed towards the table that you were staring at earlier. “just with a couple of friends, do you want to join us?”

it was your rule, one that you had established wordlessly, stating clearly that you were not meant to hang out with each other’s friends but you always had wondered what namjoon was like around his friends.

was he just as snarky?

was he just as wise?

did he have an answer to everything for them as well?

you let him take your hand and walk you to the loud table, the food that you hadn’t noticed, grew cold on the counter.

-

“namjoon used to be so uptight then, he didn’t even help us on the test, he told us, ‘ey, i won’t be there in the future to help you out, so figure your shit out’, and he said this for one math problem, for one stupid test!” his friend, yoongi, barked out with a deepened voice to imitate namjoon and you loved every minute of it, as your head fell back in laughter.

namjoon smiled sheepishly, though his eyes threw daggers at yoongi and hid his face behind his huge hands, turning away from you.

you found that especially adorable.

“what a narc” you shoved his shoulder and, everyone erupted into loud laughter around the table. namjoon squinted his eyes and tried to give you an intimidating glare, which soon melted into a smile when you raised your eyebrows at him.

it felt so good.

he had his arm around your shoulder, you were almost buried into his side, the soft scent of his perfume enveloped around you and his friends seemed to love you. and the best of all, his eyes gazed over you constantly, to check on you or look at you, you had no idea but you enjoyed the attention nonetheless.

only if what you had was real, only if you knew namjoon as much as they seemed to, only if you could grab his neck and kiss him.

you shook your head at those thoughts, whatever this comfort zone was, it was only for tonight, you would never hang out with his friends again or be around him in this way again. you were only allowing this for tonight.

but.

you liked this so much.

“you good?” namjoon pulled you in closer to whisper to you, his eyes assessing the frown growing on your face.

no, i suddenly want to know everything about you, after ages of being fine with knowing nothing.

“yeah, all good” you smiled at him, tipping back your glass to hide the building tension in your throat. everyone around the table started standing up and namjoon pulled you up as well, but his hand stayed around you, holding you gently yet in a way that wouldn’t make it too easy for you to let go.

“it was so nice meeting you.” another friend of his, seokjin, wrapped you in a hug as namjoon’s arm stayed around your back, you smiled and hugged everyone else, as much as you could with his arm on you and they started waving their goodbyes, leaving you and namjoon.

you didn’t want to say ‘well, good to see you, let’s go back to fucking next week’, you didn’t want to wave goodbye and leave the warmth that radiated off namjoon, you didn’t want to go home, and think too much about his hand on your waist.

and namjoon surprised you.

“your place?” he asked, leading you out into the cold night as well and you felt the weight of all your doubts levitate off you, you tried to not agree too quickly but you couldn’t help but nod eagerly which made him smile in response, pulling you in tighter.

you two walked leisurely, with all the time in the world in your hands, and the night got darker, colder, and namjoon’s grip on you got tighter, warmer.

you didn’t speak a word, only stole glances at his side profile every once in a while, to make sure that somehow you hadn’t conjured this from your dreams, that this was reality and namjoon was here.

“what’s on your mind?” he catches your eyes, which were admiring his jaw and you look away, wanting to disappear into the night. he tugs on your hand, to urge you to answer him and you do, “your friends are hilarious, i had a very good time so thank you for inviting me.” the ‘thank you’ came out more awkwardly than you had thought.

but thankfully, namjoon found you endearing so he laughs at your scrunched-up face.

“i mean you were right there, i wasn’t going to let you go and eat alone in your apartment. but what a coincidence, right? us turning up at the same place. besides, i was going to ask you to meet them soon anyway.” he had a lovely smile on his face, he seemed to find the idea very charming, that you had somehow stumbled on each other and a pang of guilt shot through you for orchestrating the whole thing.

and the guilt worsened as the television played mindlessly in the background, as your body tangled around his, as his breath came too close, too loud, and his hands gripped onto your hair. you felt him everywhere and nowhere around you, it unnerved you.

you pulled apart hastily, the simple, harmless lie you told was enough to put some invisible wall between you and him. it felt wrong that he thought it was some sweet moment but it wasn’t.

namjoon immediately retracted, pulling his hands to himself but remaining close as he watched your reaction carefully, “do you want me to leave? because it’s okay if you’re not in the mood or don’t want me around right now, i get it.” the sound of his even breaths, his soothing tone, forced you to look at him.

“i lied,” you expected it to be harder to tell him but it wasn’t, namjoon sat up with an eyebrow quirked up as you explained to him that your turning up at the pub was no coincidence, that you had come there after seeing his instagram story.

“that’s it?” you nodded, skin burning with embarrassment, only looking up when you heard his low, amused laughter. namjoon shook his head at you, “but why? you can always call me, you know, i loved that you met them and had a good time.” he reached over to shut off the television and pull your legs from under you and onto his lap, his fingers tapped your thighs as you fell back on the sofa, covering your face with your hands.

“i felt like i couldn’t,” maybe it was because your voice sounded so small, maybe because he finally saw how truly upset you were about this but namjoon pulled you back and rested your head on his shoulder, “you always can, it doesn’t matter how or what or where we are, just call me and i’ll be here to finish all of your wine,” though you laughed at his words and buried yourself further into his collarbone, you knew you weren’t telling him the simple truth.

that night, once again, you didn’t do anything, you absentmindedly watched some movie, you crawled into bed next to him, he kissed your forehead, and fell asleep.

“namjoon?” you whispered against his snores, he stirred ever so slightly, hands reaching up to pat where you were sleeping, hands relaxing when they touched you.

“yeah?” he groaned into the pillow, “i came because,” you started, words swallowing down your throat, words flying out of your mouth.

“yeah?” this time, he looked up with squinted, sleepy eyes, and your heart drowned in adoration at the sight.

because i missed you.

it was simple words but how awful would it be, if you uttered them, and your heart that was drowning with adoration now, would have nothing to drown for?

“i just wanted to see you,” because you missed him so desperately, and a text or call wouldn’t have fed the hunger your longing left you with.

“i’m glad, because i missed you,” he kissed your shoulder and turned away to continue his slumber.

and left you with the same simple words you had been too scared to utter.

somehow, namjoon always voiced the simple words, even if they were naked, he voiced them as if it was nothing to put your bleeding heart out on your sleeve because missing someone was intimate, it was dangerous.

and that’s when your heart drowns again, you finally realize that namjoon has gotten closer to you.

a little too close.

-

what does it take for a person to be close?

is it the physical distance that lessens with every breath?

is it the emotional distance that connects you with an invisible string from miles away?

being close to someone is a fickle thing.

a person who knows everything about you, may not feel close.

but a person who tries to know you, may feel close.

namjoon feels close.

nights pass where the line between what you and namjoon were and what you were supposed to be, blurred to oblivion. you stopped questioning what it was, you stopped counting the beats your heart skipped every time he showed up at your door.

this night, both physically and emotionally, namjoon is close.

“why do you always read romantic books?” he hums, casually, as things have always been between you two as his hand lazily runs across your hair. he isn’t prying, it’s just a mild curiosity.

but it’s a question no one’s ever asked you.

you read romance to feel the love you yearn for.

that is your answer, there is a yearning in you that isn’t quenched by anything else except books that put your longing in words. it’s an answer you can’t give to namjoon.

“they’re just fun” you shrug, looking up and hoping he would buy your lie. he does not, he doesn’t try to hide that he doesn’t believe you but with a small smile and shake of his head, he lets you live with the lie.

“the real thing’s more fun.”

you remained silent.

you hugged him closer.

you didn’t sleep that night.

-

“have you got everything?” namjoon said, as he loaded your bags into the back of his car, “you helped me pack yesterday, namjoon, and you drilled my head for hours after to make sure of it,” you rolled your eyes at him, and he chuckled, patting your head, “just checking.”

you ignored the rush of warmth that filled your fingertips and your toes, you and namjoon were heading out of the city, into a tiny, charming town with his friends where you would spend about four days in a cabin there.

and yes, you know what it sounds like but when you received a call from namjoon, his excited, hopeful voice, you could imagine his face reflecting all of that, and you couldn’t say no.

the drive up is short, you sleep through it and namjoon plays soothing songs to avoid waking you up. the cabin is beautiful but you already know that from pictures and upon arrival, you are greeted with loud shouts and long hugs from his friends, you almost melt from all the affection they shower you with.

“this is for you,” yoongi hums as he drops a keycard into the palm of your hands before disappearing into his room and you trudge up the stairs to reach yours.

of course, you aren’t surprised when you see namjoon unpacking his clothes into drawers once you open the door, you know you had to share a room with him, considering that you are a guest on this trip.

it did make you reluctant at first but now, you were just waiting for your feelings to set you ablaze to make themselves known.

“hey, you” namjoon sings as he walks past you, but not without dropping a kiss on your temple that has your shoulders stiffening and your face tingling. “we’re going out in a bit to start a barbeque, see you there?”

you nod, your stomach reeling from the subtle touch of his hands that brush your arms before walking out the door.

you fall on the bed with your head in your hands, on days like these, you wish you could walk up to namjoon and ask him, what did you mean to him? did he think of you in the darkness of the night? did he want you around always?

because you did.

but you couldn’t ask.

-

drinks were passed, fairy lights descended on you, and soft singing filled the air.

“and our wise namjoon was just telling us what love is,” yoongi dramatically gestured to his red-faced, swaying friends and your ears picked up, hoseok groaned, “what did he say though?”

“that love is wanting to know someone more every day,” hoots and cheers and teases filled the air as namjoon buried his face into the side of your arm and complained endlessly under his breath.

you tried to laugh but you wanted to know everything about namjoon, what did that say about you?

and he asked you about yourself all the time, what did that say about him?

the question left you uneasy and annoyed.

“there’s a lake just around here,” jungkook looked at everyone around him with a suspicious glint shining in his eyes, then he got up, “race you there!” he yelled and took off, heavy feet thudding on the soft ground and everyone squealed in delight as they followed him.

namjoon pulled your hand with his as the cold air rushed over your face, a smile was frozen on your face and you ran until your lungs burned. it was out of a movie, the way your hair flowed, the way your laughs blended into the night, the way namjoon couldn’t stop looking at you.

then, as you expected, jungkook got pushed into the lake, he surfaced to yell at jimin only to break into giggles, and soon, everyone was trying to push everyone.

but namjoon only wanted to push you.

you ran around, escaping his touch in mere seconds, looking back breathlessly to see if he was near, and when he did catch you, he didn’t just throw you in, he threw both of you together.

you fell into the water, a laughing, bumbling mess but as cold as the night was, namjoon was warm so you snuggled into his neck and he held you with strong arms that wouldn’t let you drown.

close.

namjoon was so close.

“oh god, the couple’s at it again,” jin groaned and splashed water on the two of you and namjoon laughed out loud, pushing more water onto jin’s face.

but jin was wrong.

“we’re not a couple,” you nervously laughed, hands instinctively loosening around namjoon’s neck and he froze under you, his hands loosening around you as well as he cleared his throat.

jin swam away before he had to deal with the tension between you two.

namjoon’s arms left your body and you felt something break inside you as he pulled himself out of the water and wordlessly offered you, his hand. you grabbed it unsurely, not looking at him either.

you both didn’t speak at all until you reached your room.

-

“why did you say that?”

“say what?” you sat on the bed, picking on the lint that gathered on the sheets, unwilling to look at him.

“don’t act like you don’t know what i’m talking about, you’re smarter than that and i know it,” namjoon pinned you with serious eyes, making your heart burn in your chest, “but we’re not a couple.” you whisper, hands tightening on the sheets.

namjoon sighed, a heavy sigh, a sigh that conveyed irritation, disappointment, and restrained anger.

“i don’t understand why you’re upset, we are not a couple,” your irritation reared its head and namjoon shook his head, sitting beside you.

“are we not?” his question is breathless, lifeless, it’s waiting for you to revive it, pour life into it, and your eyes water without any command from you.

you think of the nights you spent together, the laughs you laughed together, the meals you’ve eaten together, the words that grow into a tower between you two and you think, yes, perhaps you are a couple without ever knowing it.

but it wasn’t supposed to be this.

“we had an arrangement,” you fight on, “which went to shit the second you met my friends,” he counters and you bite your lip, annoyed.

“i didn’t plan for that to happen.”

“but it happened.”

“do you really not know?” he asks again, and you know what he’s going to say, you turn away, legs coming to close around your chest.

his eyes widened and with a smile filled that held gentle surprise, he spoke as if his own words shocked him, as if he couldn’t believe he brought them to life.

“i like you. no actually, i love you.”

“don’t.”

namjoon moves away, physically his body flinches from you.

you silently crawl up on the bed and lay your head on the pillow, you gather your courage which crumbles when he comes up too and his hands find yours, he squeezes in question, what do you mean?

why did it have to be him, of all people?

“don't like me cause i don't know how to like you back, not in the way you want and not in the way that will ever be enough for you,” you say quickly, wanting this torture inside you to give up and go home, so you can finally be at peace with yourself.

it took all of two minutes for namjoon to remove himself from you.

and he left you in the bed, you clutched the pillowcase as you heard his footsteps recede from the room and you flinched when the door shut.

you cried, you put your arms around yourself and cradled your face to sleep, maybe it would be nice to feel someone else hold you but you couldn't let that be namjoon, it had to be someone that you could hurt and be okay with it.

-

namjoon was ignoring you, he didn’t come back to the room that night and now, he was sitting a few feet away from you and you couldn’t ignore the way everyone glanced between you two.

“the fireworks will start at 8, everyone be back by then,” jin announced, receding from the gathering and going back into the home.

“come, okay? we’ve got drinks and food,” jungkook squeezed your shoulder as he walked past, of course, he noticed you and namjoon not talking and he was sweet for making sure you were coming. you gave him a weak smile and nod.

when you reach the place where fireworks are supposed to light up the sky, there’s only namjoon on the bench that was too long for just one person.

there was so much space.

there was so much place.

but you didn’t fit in there, not next to him.

your hands wrung the cardigan dangling on your arms as a sharp exhale tried to stabilize you.

you turn around to leave but stop in your tracks when his eyes fall on the back of your head. even without looking back, you know he’s seen you and if you left, you would feel even more pathetic.

“don’t go,” he whispers, it’s hard to hear him over the crickets chirping but his voice finds its way to you and you want to cry again, “even if we’re not talking, don’t go.”

so, you stay.

you look at the lake in front of namjoon and he looks at the empty bench next to him, he knows who should be there and you know who shouldn’t be there.

even far away, his presence suffocates you, not in a dangerous way, but in a way that you would forever want to be suffocated.

everyone else arrives loudly, carrying cans of beer and packets of food and some of them sit down, jungkook and jimin are kind enough to stand next to you and keep you company but even they know where you should’ve been instead.

the rest of the night, you remember in gaps.

you remember looking at his hand when everyone looked at the fireworks, you remember the way his face lit up with a thousand colors, you remember the way his voice cheered at the sight in the sky, you remember the way his skin traveled and embraced his body.

how was something as ordinary as skin, so extraordinary when it came to him?

you wanted to become one, to melt into him and never come back to your true self. your hand itched to touch, to reach out but instead, it tightens on your cardigan and you force yourself to look away.

-

when you got back home from the cabin, namjoon had dropped you at your room, carried your bags in, and left immediately after as if being in your presence was unbearable for him, which made you cry as soon as the door shut behind him.

now, you were in bed, it was tuesday and you had no one in your life again.

you watched your phone like a hawk, jumping at every ting! it made but it was never namjoon and you always found yourself wishing it was.

your arm dangled off the sofa as you watched kung fu panda play on the tv.

"your story might not have a happy beginning, but that does not make you who you are." soothsayer spoke on the screen and you watched with your lips between your teeth, ignoring the way your heart skipped over when the scene cut to the wise turtle, oogway.

you didn’t want to think of namjoon, you didn’t want to think of his laugh when you called him a wise turtle nor did you want to think of how you could be watching this with him right now.

but he was out of your life now.

and you didn’t know how to live it anymore.

you suddenly were too aware of how lonely you were and too aware of how no one could soothe the loneliness nor cure it.

you saw the book he had given you that was on your coffee table still, you saw his wine glass that was tucked away in a corner of your kitchen, you saw his sweater that you never bothered giving back and you felt yourself crumble from within.

when someone leaves your life, the life you had before them seems alien, not yours.

and your life, right now, was just not yours.

-

“but he wasn’t even that good-looking, so it wasn’t too sad,” your friends laughed around the table as one of them spoke, you raised your glass to your lips and sipped to kill the words inside you.

but my man was beautiful, my man was everything, so it is sad for me.

when your friends called you to meet up, it seemed like a beacon of light shoved into your life and you immediately accepted, you had to go back to your life before namjoon.

“i don’t think i’ve ever liked anyone enough to be sad after we break up,” one of them sighed and the rest followed.

but i’m so sad.

“but how do we know if we like someone that much?”  you asked silently, not really meaning to and all their heads snapped to you.

“i’ve only loved that much once, and it was…strange, none of me felt like me anymore, i guess you without them stops making sense,” your friend said, her eyes shimmered with memories of her past love. the ball in your throat grew tighter and it wound itself around your entire being.

you without namjoon, didn’t make sense.

and you were close to letting him out of your life forever.

you pushed against the table, hands shaking but you were so determined, it was suddenly too clear that you needed him.

“guys, i have to go.” they all smiled and giggled as they watched you run out of the restaurant.

-

you ran into the pouring rain, water splashed on your sneakers and your jeans but you kept pushing forward.

if you lose namjoon now, you will never forgive yourself, if you lose him after finally realizing that you need him in your life, you will never recover from the pain.

your hands hurriedly stuffed into your bag, pulling out your phone and checking his instragram, you were blessed with a view of his home and book in his stories so you wasted no time in dialing his number, pressing it to your ear and praying to every raindrop falling on you that he would pick up.

he picked up.

you stopped in your tracks.

there was only his breathing on the other side, some static noises too, and still just the simple act of him picking up the call had you sighing out in relief.

“namjoon, please come out,” you whispered, eyes lining with tears that would join the rain on your face and he sighed, you held your breath until he spoke.

then, after a pregnant silence, he sighed again, “okay.”

you cut the call and started running again, renewed energy slammed on the ground as you ran for your life, for your love.

as you finally reached his apartment, your heart raced with anticipation. the running left you breathless, the rain was merciless but the thought of seeing him filled you with an energy that surpassed any physical exhaustion.

and you bent over, catching your breath, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. your mind raced with thoughts of what to say, how to express the feelings swirling within you. with each cough, you felt the intensity of your emotions grow, this moment, this night, this rain could change everything for you.

but you knew that whatever you said, whatever you decided to reveal, it would come from ages of knowing but denying your heart.

when someone you love leaves your life, the life you had before them stops making sense, that’s when the hollowness comes in, that’s when you realize you need them.

and you were done, you were done hiding and you were pretending that you didn’t want him under your very skin.

then, the rain stops.

to correct it, the rain stops falling on your head.

you see his shoes in front of you and muffle the cry that erupts in your throat.

you look up impatiently, so quickly that namjoon jerks back and you curse yourself with every word possible, how did you ever deny yourself of him?

“why are you here?” namjoon tries to stay stoic, and cool, even as his hands scream at him to pull you to him, to let his skin become yours and instead, his hands tighten on the umbrella he’s holding over you.

“i was wrong that day,” you gasped out, and his heart lurched even as he tried not to hope for too much, “which day?”

“when i tried to act like we weren’t anything, i was wrong, namjoon, so terribly wrong,” you shook your head at yourself, pushing your hair away from your face, your chin trembled as you tried to talk to the one person who made your heart run like a racehorse.

“and i was so scared, but i should have never lied to you or myself just because i was scared,” he listened, patient as ever, but you saw his eyes go red and the way his nose twitched with a sniff.

“but why were you scared? it’s just me,” he laughed, as if he wasn’t the most extraordinary person ever, as if everything he spoke didn’t carry a bit of magic, as if he wasn’t magic himself.

“i was scared because,” you swallowed, can you say it out loud?

something about the rain made everything look so beautiful, so pure, so vulnerable but it made your heart feel so heavy, feel so filled with dread that it might burst, because if he didn’t believe you, if he laughed and walked away, you wouldn’t know how to live with yourself.

his hand snaked up your arm and something tender floated in the air around you, something that made you feel so close to namjoon, something that felt so right. but you weren't speaking a word, nor were you touching him, but you were in front of him and he was in front of you, and just like this, you felt as if someone had laid you bare.

“when i hold me, it's imperfect, i don't touch all of me and that's fine, it's just me, but if i don't hold you perfectly, the way you deserve, i might just die from guilt,” you breathed out, chin trembling again and namjoon held your jaw, and your eyes fell close.

“if i hurt you, i can never come back from it because you’re a good person, you don’t hesitate to say things like, ‘i miss you’ or ‘i saw this and i thought of you’, but those things scare me, i’ve never said them before.”

“but?” he mused, pushing your hair behind your ear and you curled into his palm, leaning your entire face on it.

you laughed, it wasn’t happy, it wasn’t sad, it was just a sound, “but i don’t know to live without you, i need you, i miss you even when you’re away for a second, i think of you in every movie i watch and i see you in some or the other character in every book i read, i see you everywhere in my life and i need you in it.”

“my life isn’t mine without you, i love you.” you pleaded.

and everything was silent for a second, he looked at you, you looked at him, you felt his skin become yours again, you felt the relief flooding in you but you also felt desperate to hear his voice.

“at some point, you’re going to need someone to hold you, the right way i mean” namjoon spoke finally, and you nodded, grabbing onto his shirt, “it needs to be you.”

namjoon’s never been able to deny you of anything at all so he says, “it will be me. now, come here,” he pulled on your arm until you fell on his chest and the rest of the world fell into place for you, you gripped onto him as if someone was going to take him away and namjoon laughed, kissing your forehead, which sent a numbing tingle all over your body.

“i love you too.” it felt right, you didn’t want to run away and take back everything you said, you wanted to hear him say it again and again, you wanted to say it again and again.

being close to someone is a fickle thing.

a person who knows everything about you, may not feel close.

but a person who tries to know you, may feel close.

and namjoon was so close that it didn’t make sense, like many stories you’ve read in your life, but it didn’t have to.

because from now on, he was you, and you were him.

and from now on, you and him, are the magical story that you would tell to everyone else.

[lollytea]

Today's huntlow post is Darius centered, specifically on whatever the fuck he believed was going on.

I think that post-ASIAS his relationship with Hunter was steering in a tentatively positive direction and Darius was plenty capable of giving him some praise and brisk affection. But he still didn't entirely know how to get involved with Hunter's newfound teenage problems.

Hunter started texting Willow regularly during the time when he was getting along with Darius. And Darius, who thinks of most teenagers with disdain, does NOT like where this is going. He's developing a bit of a protective streak towards the Golden Guard and doesn't like how he is clearly getting rather obsessed with some girl that Darius can barely get a read on. All he knows about her personality from his brief interaction with her is that she's impressively gutsy. But that doesn't matter much in this situation.

Darius keeps asking, casually of course, if he can read Hunter's text threads with her, only for him to get all red and defensive and stress that his messages are private. It's endlessly frustrating. Like, how else is Darius supposed to get a temperature on this girl's intentions? Hunter? Hunter is not a reliable source in the slightest. Titan bless his stupid heart, he's not the best judge of character.

Though he's noticeably cagey about the messages, Hunter still ends up yapping about Willow frequently and Darius doesn't know if he believes a word coming out of that boy's mouth.

Darius was a high schooler once. Darius knows what high schoolers are like. Darius even knew a boy who was so uniquely eccentric and socially awkward that their peers found him entertaining. They strung him along for his unintentional comedic appeal rather than valuing him as a person.

There was a time when the idea of the Golden Guard marching into Hexside and subsequently getting humbled by his ruthless peers who do not give a Titandamn fuck about his title would have been hilarious to Darius. But not anymore.

Now Darius is beginning to see that the brat he's known all these years is a lot more vulnerable than he seems. Sensitive even. And though he's beginning to get attached to his peculiar disposition, Darius can still point out every mannerism that a conventionally socialized teenager could bully him for.

He does not like the thought that Hunter is exhausting all of his clumsy affection towards some girl who, as far as Darius is aware, does not care about him NEARLY as much as he cares about her.

Darius is self aware enough to know he might have a bias. The boy he knew ALSO got himself tangled up with a girl with a big frame and an even bigger personality and the consequences of THAT whole mess were literally apocalyptic. It's probably not the same, but it makes him uneasy nonetheless.

What if she's baiting him for interaction only to screenshot his messages and mock him to her friends? What if she's working him up to execute a prank? Or maybe she simply pities him. Somehow Darius finds that just as distressing as the other possibilities because it will probably shatter Hunter just the same.

If Darius is watching a catastrophe in slow motion there is nothing he can do about it. He has his hands tied with more pressing matters, such as preventing armaggedon. And every time he TRIES to subtly discourage Hunter from putting Willow on a pedestal (*scoffs* "She's just a teenage girl, little prince. There's hundreds just like her") he gets huffy and storms away for some reason.

ANYWAY

Timeskip. A few months later. The morning after their whole realm was Collector detoxed. Some people are still complaining that they feel phantom strings but the weird sensation is beginning to fade away.

There's no solid plans for where Hunter will take up permanent residence, so Darius has offered him a temporary place in his home until they can find a more suitable guardian. (Spoiler: not as temporary as they thought)

Hunter sleeps. Hunter sleeps a LOT. He has a lot of troubling experiences to recharge from, so Darius just leaves him to it.

That's when the girl appears at his doorstep, wringing her dishevelled braids. She doesn't look like she's slept soundly. "Can I see Hunter?" She asks.

(I imagine that the kids, specifically Hunter, Willow and Gus develop a bit of fire forged seperation anxiety after the events of season 3. They want to be in each others pockets for a few weeks to months afterwards.)

"Well," Says Darius. "If you hadn't arrived unannounced and actually given us some notice, I could have told you that he's dead to the world right now."

Her eyes widen.

"Asleep." He quickly corrects himself. "You'll have to come back later."

Willow is no longer the enigmatic high school girl who may or may not pose a threat to Hunter's confidence from Darius' perspective. He knows that she's the person who rescued him during the scout attack on Hexside. He knows she kept him company during that time and the Day of Unity. He knows he spent months with her in the Human Realm. He knows their bond had become far more serious than vapid high school friendships. He saw them in the hall of the Collector's Palace, standing close together for comfort, Hunter holding her as they searched for her parents.

Darius decided that even if he had no idea how their relationship began, it hardly mattered. The last few months had aged them considerably. There was no way Willow had the capacity to be a petty mean girl after all she had been through.

And now she wanted to visit Hunter, presumably because he mattered to her. Darius still didn't know the angle of this relationship. He simply knew that it was important to both of them.

And Willow does not give up. She frowns, dejected, before her brow scrunches up in determination. She asks to visit him anyway. She would just like to look at him, just to know that he's there. It doesn't matter if he's sleeping, she just wants to see him.

There is a lengthy pause.

"Not in a weird way," Willow clarifies.

"Right," Nods Darius. "You want to watch him sleep in a normal way."

Somehow, Darius allows it and lets Willow venture up to the room. Mostly because he knows he'll get an earful from Hunter if he finds out that he turned his special girl away.

Even if he still doesn't know how to feel about her, he knows she's harmless. To Hunter anyway. Maybe not to Darius. Once she realized that the man standing in the doorway was the barrier between her and Hunter, her eyes had flashed menacingly for a second. Titan only knows what she had considered doing before she caught herself.

It's about five minutes later when Darius wanders up to the doorway of Hunter's room himself. He leans in the threshold and observes.

The girl has perched herself on the side edge of Hunter's bed, her fingers dancing across his forehead as she delicately wipes back stray strands of ashy blond hair. She's watching his sleeping face with such unreserved tenderness that Darius wonders if they've been building teenagers different these days. They weren't this kind when he was young.

Darius clears his throat, sending Willow springing to her feet. She throws up her hands, as though to prove her innocence.

"I was just..." She mumbles, rose cheeked. "Leaving."

"Mmhmm."

Well. Darius knows one thing for certain now. This relationship is clearly not as pathetically one-sided as he initially feared. But....the reality of the situation is sure to prove very annoying. He's not looking forward to this.

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER TWO | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

THE MATCHMAKER MEETS HIS MATCH

“Ruin me, please.”

«PREVIOUS CHAPTER» · «SERIES MASTERLIST»

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader Genre: Non idol au, fluff, smut, romcom, drama, opposites attract Chapter Warnings: explicit sexual content, mentions of emotionally abusive ex, mutual fantasizing, brief mentions of virginity loss, heavy drinking, Hyunjin is delulu, heavy dom/sub dynamics: dom!reader, sub!Han Jisung (yes, there's Jisung smut in a Hyunjin story SUE ME), degradation, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, drunk sex (both are consenting parties), semi-public sex (?) Word Count: 15.1k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

“And now, here’s what we really want to ask you, Dr. Hwang: are you single?” 

The interviewer swivels her head to look at Hyunjin, her Botox-enhanced mouth spreading into a wide, magenta-lipsticked smile. Hyunjin barely registers her question, distracted by her disturbing resemblance to a vulture, with her beady eyes, hooked nose, and razor-sharp nails clutching a microphone like talons grasping prey. Her garish pea-green pantsuit and cat-eye glasses, combined with a frizzy blonde perm, remind him of that creepy reporter from Harry Potter, absolutely not helping his currently depleted Zen levels. 

He can already feel a sweat breaking out on his neck, permeating his satin button-down and threatening to ruin the outfit he had chosen this morning. Usually, picking out what to wear is one of Hyunjin’s favorite parts of the entire day; breathing in the Coco Noir scent of his walk-in closet is like Hyunjin’s own expensive version of aromatherapy. Today, however, it felt like a chore; It took him forever to find the perfect accessories to tie everything together, before he finally settled on his new gold Cartier earrings and the matching Juste un Clou bracelet. Hyunjin knows he looks amazing in his tastefully vintage yet sleek ensemble. He looks every bit the title of a sexy savant, one that he so rightfully carries. He looks ready to slay an interview on California’s most popular talk-show, The L.A. View. But for the first time ever, he doesn’t feel it. 

It could have been the coffee that he had hand-pressed for himself this morning, his usual brew of arabica beans imported from the misty slopes of Guatemala. But then again, the coffee brought a much-needed buzz that Hyunjin needed to drag himself out of bed, no matter how temporary. More likely, it was the margarita that he’d downed in the car that was sent to pick him up and bring him to the studio to tape the interview. Tequila always makes Hyunjin’s stomach turn. Or maybe—

“Dr. Hwang?”

Hyunjin snaps out of his reverie, plastering a charmingly mysterious smile onto his face. One, two, three… work that charm. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Sharon?”

The audience oohs beneath the dimmed stage lighting, and Sharon turns red, a shade visible even under the lurid bronzer that’s caked onto her face. Hyunjin would really love to book Sharon an appointment at HWASA Skincare and Cosmetics, his go-to beauty consultant whenever he’s visiting Seoul. The founder and CEO, his old friend Hye-Jin, would personally host her just so that Hyunjin could be relieved of the horrible bout of trypophobia he’s getting right now, staring into Sharon’s cavernous pores.

“Oh, stop it!” Sharon giggles, clapping her hands together. “There definitely must be a lucky lady in your life. You’re the Love Doctor. And not to mention, but very handsome.”

Sharon winks over exaggeratedly at the camera, and Hyunjin has to hold himself back from cringing away when she palms his shoulder, eyeing him hungrily. He can’t blame her, of course; the sleeves of his shirt squeeze his arms in such a way that his toned biceps are shown off— thank you very much, Better Body Pilates. But he needs his personal space. Out of everything, he hates when people treat him like some sort of an animal at the zoo, petting and prodding at him. He sees himself as more of the Mona Lisa, a masterpiece to be marveled at, not touched. His Zen is important, after all. 

Still, Hyunjin just shoots her a disarming smirk, crossing one Valentino-clad leg over the other. “The only lady in my life is Princess Diana. But I’d say I’m the lucky one.”

Both Sharon and the audience members aww, utterly captivated by Hyunjin when he pulls out a small Polaroid of his puppy from his breast pocket, holding it out so that the cameras can zoom in on it. As expected, his answer seems to have satisfied Sharon’s invasiveness, but beneath his beaming expression hides the building tension in his chest. 

What Hyunjin said is the partial truth; he may not currently have a significant other, but did he have someone in mind, when romance is in question? Yes. Is said person completely off-limits? Also yes. And would his reputation be completely tarnished if that very classified information got out? Yes, yes, and yes.

“Thank you so much for sitting down with us, Dr. Hwang,” Sharon says, thrusting out her hand for Hyunjin to shake it. Ever the professional, he accepts it like a champ. “And that’s all for now, folks! Stay tuned to watch my little chat with Meghan Markle about her ex-royal lifestyle. The teapot is boiling!”

The cameras cut and Hyunjin quickly excuses himself, waving to all of the people wistfully gazing after him. He enters the little hallway behind the filming room and breaks into a run very unlike himself, practically having to swerve around crew members and stage equipment. As soon as he’s locked away inside his dressing room, Hyunjin slides off his patent leather loafers and falls back onto the couch.

It’s been exactly three months since he first set eyes on you, kickstarting his unsavory fantasies and therein, digging himself into an early grave. And maybe it would have been okay, because as a male, sometimes he’s inclined to think with his dick. It’s a biological reaction that he can’t control. But it’s not, though, because the constant image of you printed like a tattoo on his mind has been interfering with his life and sense of normalcy. It’s a feeling that’s only grown in magnitude, especially now that with your weekly sessions, you’ve rapidly blossomed into the strong, confident woman that he always knew you were. So it’s not the fact that he’s horny— well, not the only fact— it’s that he might have feelings for you. Feelings that could get him into trouble, bigtime.

And the list that you wrote for him a while back definitely didn’t help. Hyunjin sits up, reaching for his notepad that he left on the little coffee table in front of the couch. He leafs through the pages, before pulling out the small slip of paper that he saved. Reading over the words for what feels like the umpteenth time, Hyunjin involuntarily smiles to himself. This time, it’s genuine.

The first thing that I don’t absolutely hate about myself is my imagination. I’ve been restricting myself a lot, lately, because I hated the thought of coming up with new ideas just to never bring them to life. It’s probably my post-Jisung and ITEM Tech trauma. But I felt kind of inspired by our first meeting today. I have a lot of great ideas, and I think that one day, I have the potential to beat Jisung’s ass and make a better company than his.

My fucking patience. You know, you might think otherwise, because it may seem like I have the patience of a single mom at a birthday party. But today proved differently. My friend/coworker Minho and his wife invited me over for dinner, which would have been fine, except they’re one of the most disgustingly perfect couples ever. They can’t go two minutes without giving each other a sappy ass look or holding hands or singing a song or something. And then Minho’s wife asked me if I wanted some ice cream, like she and her man weren’t just all over each other a millisecond ago. I just smiled and nodded. You can say I have the patience of the saint, now.

I like how I’m perseverant. For example: this. I could have given up after the first two days and ditched this piece of paper. But I didn’t. I want to be better. I’m very perseverent. Okay, my hand hurts. I’m putting down the pen for today.

My resilience. For the billionth time in my life, my boss made me want to drive out of work and jump into a lake. Long story short, Mark Lee is the worst motherfucker to ever exist (well, after his bestie Park Jisung. My boss and ex-boyfriend are friends. FML). But after one of his daily rants about how I’m not up to mark for some random reason, I walked out of his office and into the office kitchen. I got a Sprite from the fridge, crushed the full can with my bare hands, and then proceeded to calmly clean up the spilled soda before going back to work. I deserve a medal for my healthy anger management technique of smashing things and then bouncing back like a friggin’ spring.

The only home cooked meals I can really stomach are the ones that Minho shares with me at work. You know, he’s really such a menace. When I moved into my current apartment, he got me a cutting board as a gift, knowing damn well I don’t cook. But nowadays, I’ve been slowly getting more comfortable in the kitchen. I still don’t think I trust myself in cooking, but I’m kind of a really good baker, I’m realizing. Today, I made brownies. I’m eating one right now, and I guess I don’t hate that.

I am very patient, Part 2. My dumbass cousin, Yeonjun, called me up to hang out. Knowing him, that means me buying him a crap ton of expensive food. And he’s pretty loaded, too. I think he just loves pissing me off. First, he wanted pizza. That would have been fine, if we hit Domino’s or something, but he made me take him to this ridiculously upscale restaurant downtown. Their damn pizzas had caviar and truffles on them! Like, what the fuck happened to good old pepperoni? And as if that wasn’t enough, he then started complaining that he wanted fucking dessert too. So he ordered this fruit charcuterie board that cost another fortune. On the way home, I had to get him an $8 boba because “the cheese made him thirsty.” His metabolism is amazing. I’m kind of jealous. But anyway, I’m practically Mother Teresa at this point, because dealing with Yeonjun is no easy task. He’s lucky I love him.

Fundamentally, I think I’m a good person. And I think I deserve to be happy. There. Seven things, seven days. I’m done now. See you tomorrow.

Hyunjin sighs, sliding the paper back into his book and setting it inside his little Prada bag. This tiny scrap of paper had him seeing stars, when he first read it in the office, in front of you. There’s just something about you that he couldn’t and still can’t put his finger on. Maybe it’s how delightfully pugnacious you are, or that comically angry tone you approach the world with, no matter what. And he had to bite his tongue too, because there’s no way you came up with just seven things, not when Hyunjin felt like he could give a whole recitation on your very attractive qualities, just after meeting with you once. You’re unintentionally hilarious. Real. Tough. Inquisitive. Also, you’re simply the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

You’re like an impossible puzzle to him; all the pieces are there, and yet, he can’t seem to put you together. Or rather, he can’t seem to figure out how to get his own shit together and finish the damn puzzle. Because he’s oh-so down bad, and he knows it. 

“Dr. Hwang? Are you in there?”

Hyunjin stands up immediately, locking away his daydreams about you and brushing off his trousers. He quickly smooths back his artfully slicked wolf cut and opens the door for Wonyoung to step inside with her trusty tablet. Momentarily, Hyunjin is sidetracked by her outfit, a stylish mini paired with a silky lilac bomber jacket— because where the fuck are those heels from— before he remembers himself.

“What’s up?” Hyunjin nonchalantly flicks a strand of hair out of his eyes, trying not to seem like he wasn’t just having a panic attack on that stupid couch just five seconds ago.

Wonyoung taps on the screen of the tablet for a few seconds, before looking up. “You have an appointment with your personal trainer in twenty minutes. You’re running late. And then at four, you need to get back to SeoulSpark for a meeting with a client. Here’s your change of clothes. I’ve already called a car for you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Hyunjin accepts the gym bag, before jerking back in dreadful realization. “Wait. Which client do I have to meet with today?”

Wonyoung gives him a strange look. “Miss Y/L/N. Hey, are you alright, Dr. Hwang? You always stay on top of all of your engagements, but you haven’t been yourself lately.”

At the mere mention of your name, Hyunjin literally wishes he could melt into a puddle right then and there. Of course he hasn’t been himself, not when you waltzed into the office and wreaked havoc on his very humble life— for example, yesterday, he forgot to wear his Versace pajamas to sleep, and not his Fendi ones. Hyunjin knows that Saturdays are strictly for Versace; he promised Donatella years ago at the Met Gala. This is all your fault— how can it be poor Hyunjin’s, when he’s just a mere mortal cowering in your goddess-like presence? 

“I- I’m okay, Wonyoung. I, uh, just ate some bad sushi.”

“You ate bad sushi every day for the past three months?” Wonyoung suspiciously raises an eyebrow at Hyunjin. She isn’t buying it, unfortunately. 

“Uh-huh. It’s a terrible addiction that I’m trying to break. My raw seafood intake is off the charts. Guess I’m not perfect after all,” Hyunjin babbles, adding onto his already horrendous lie. 

Wonyoung still doesn’t look convinced, but Hyunjin flounces out of the room before she can say anything else and uncover his deep, dark secret: you. Besides, his ride is waiting outside and his quads really need working.

“See you later, Changbin.” Hyunjin waves to his trainer as he grabs his belongings and exits the gym after a grueling workout. Usually, he prefers more low-impact routines, like aerial yoga or cycling around Marina del Rey. But because he’s been skimping out so much these days, Changbin made him do an endless round of jump squats before beating his ass in boxing. 

Hyunjin presses his fingers to his aching back muscles, sore with both exhaustion and worry. The slim hands of his Rolex alert him to the fact that there is only one more hour before he must face you, and he is nowhere near ready. He’ll just have to skip the sauna today. Quickly, he gets into the car standing for him by the curb, slipping on his Gucci shades and sliding down below the window in the backseat, like a celebrity escaping a paparazzi cloud.

As soon as he gets back to Oasis, the opulent complex that houses his beloved penthouse, Hyunjin practically flies into his bathroom and locks the door. Without even bothering to set his eucalyptus shower steamer, Hyunjin cleans himself up as much as he can, scrubbing off the sweat and grit of the gym from his skin. 

Once he’s finished, he gets dressed and sits down in front of his bedroom mirror that’s designed to look like a Hollywood-style vanity. Taking a deep breath, he inspects his face for any signs of something off. Nope. He looks as dewy and fresh as a pink rose petal, minus the slight red rings under his eyes, which are the courtesy of many, many sleepless nights over you.

Hyunjin, however, is incredibly proud of himself for getting to the office with fifteen minutes to spare, therein being able to fit in a little solo pep talk in the car. His third outfit of the day is a show-stopping black Celine suit, practically designed to make heads turn. It definitely isn’t to impress you with his impeccable style— no, he did it for himself, obviously. That’s the only reason. And it’s a little extravagant, even for Hyunjin, but then again, he’s never been known for his subtlety. 

His post-workout clarity gives him hope that everything will go back to normal, before you. All he needs to do is focus on himself. Everything else will pass, eventually. At least, that’s what Hyunjin keeps telling himself to believe, right before he crashes headfirst into you in the hallway outside of his office.

“Hey, Hyunjin!” Grinning, you hold out a small gift box tied with a sunny bow, which is coincidentally the exact same yellow as the dress you wore when Hyunjin first met you. Today, you’re sporting salmon-colored shorts and a cream blouse with an adorable sailor collar, and Hyunjin immediately has to tamp down the urge to whisk you away to go on a private boating vacation on a yacht in St. Barts. God, you really have amazing style.

Hyunjin swallows roughly and takes the box, trying to look more excited about it than how utterly taken with you he is. “Afternoon, darling. What’s this?”

You reach your hand over to where the box rests in Hyunjin’s hands, toying with the bow. Hyunjin automatically feels himself internally hyperventilate at your proximity that’s too close for comfort. 

“Mango cheesecake. I’ve been trying to perfect the recipe for a while now, and I think it finally turned out really well.” You break into a bright smile that makes Hyunjin’s brain short circuit. “I want to thank you for all of your help, besides me being less-than-cooperative sometimes. Coming here has really changed my perspective on things, and for the better.”

Hyunjin clutches the box to his chest. He had always suspected that you are the sweetest, under your stormy exterior, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to get a taste and confirm the truth for himself. Nevertheless, he’s both touched and now even more delusional, because you spent time on him, making something to give him. “Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

You pout in response, and Hyunjin grasps the box even tighter, nearly crushing the contents in an effort to get a grip on himself. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Hyunjin grins, feeling himself relax a little. That’s one more thing about you— you have this contradicting ability to induce both calmness and anxiety into him, another kind of black magic that you definitely harbor in your bewitching eyes. “Well, thank you. I can’t wait to try it.”

You look away shyly and gesture towards Hyunjin’s office. “Should we head in?”

Smiling to himself, Hyunjin steps ahead to open the door for you as you duck your head and scramble in, folding yourself onto the sofa that you both are now well-acquainted enough to often share. After setting his velvet tote bag onto his desk, Hyunjin sits down beside you, holding out a glass of mango juice to you, a drink that you now frequent whenever you meet. Plus the cheesecake? You really must love mangoes.

As you sip on your juice, Hyunjin decides to take the reasonable course of action available: ask you about your day, not if you’re available next Friday night at six. “How have you been? I’m sorry I couldn’t see you last week.”

You shrug, waving off Hyunjin’s apology like it’s nothing. It isn’t, though; he would rather have spent time with you than having to fly to Shanghai for some brand endorsement deal that his agent made him take. “Don’t worry about it. And I’ve been good. Evidently, in a much more agreeable mood these days. It’s certainly a step-up from the grumpier me, isn’t it?”

“I like you however you are,” Hyunjin blurts out without thinking, before freezing in realization. In a better world, he would have had the sense to at least clamp his hand over his mouth before he could say something stupid, but unfortunately, he’s stuck here. He wills the stammering, bumbling idiot that he turns into when you’re around to disappear, to be replaced by his usual, suave self. It doesn’t quite work, because he feels a furious blush building on his neck.

You’ve also turned a light shade of pink, and Hyunjin prays to God that you can’t see through his bullshit. “Because I’m your client. You accept me however I am.”

Hyunjin has to mentally stab himself with a fork as a reminder that he cannot, under any circumstances, disagree, although he really, really wants to. You could never be just a client to him. You’re too precious to him for that title. Yet, he keeps a straight face as he nods, disgusted with what he’s about to say. “Exactly. You’re my client.”

You down the rest of your drink, setting the glass down on the coffee table. “Anyway, you emailed me that you had something special planned for today. What is it?”

“Right.” Hyunjin clears his throat, getting up from the sofa to make his way over to his desk. He opens one of the drawers and pulls out the thick binder he’s been dreading using with you for a while now. It weighs his hands down like an unpleasant secret as he sits back down next to you. 

“What’s this?” You inquire, leaning in closer to Hyunjin. The movement allows the sugary scent of your vanilla perfume become even more prominent to Hyunjin, which is definitely not helpful right now. Hyunjin stares down at the binder, adopting a robotic tone that won’t betray his thoughts.

“We’ve worked on just you for the past few months, and now it’s time. You’re finally ready to explore dating.” Hyunjin opens the binder, trying to ignore the sour taste of the words on his tongue. “And as I’ve told you before, SeoulSpark has an incredible matchmaking service that caters to everything you desire in a potential partner.”

“Cool! How does it work?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices your shorts ride up slightly, further exposing the soft skin of your upper thigh. Think of the fork, Hyunjin. Think of the damn fork.

“Well, I’ve already compiled a number of candidates in our database whose profiles complement yours. We’re going to be setting up a time when you can speed date them.” 

You quirk your eyebrow in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is to Hyunjin. “Speed dating? That’s…”

“I know, I know. It might seem weird at first, but that’s why we’re doing it the SeoulSpark way, to reduce awkwardness and make it really worth your time. We’ll go over the candidates briefly, and weed out the ones you really don’t want to see.” Hyunjin opens the binder, going to the profiles. “But I won’t tell you their names, so we can maintain at least a small element of surprise.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the first candidate’s picture, and Hyunjin has to fight the burning jealousy in his chest. “Wow. He’s handsome.”

“Swipe left or right?”

“Right.”

“Okay.” Hyunjin turns to the next page. “What about him?”

“Uh, left. He reminds me of my uncle. No thank you.”

Hyunjin stifles his smile as he continues flipping through the profiles, noting down your answers. He tries to enjoy your unfiltered reactions and not think about the fact that one of these lucky bastards could be your future husband. Finally, he gets to the last candidate.

You frown. “He looks kind of like a chipmunk. A quokka, maybe.”

“So is that a left?”

“I’ll say right. He seems like he’d be interesting.” You shrug, your eyes glittering with mischief. “Actually, I’m kind of excited now. Some of these guys are lookers.”

Hyunjin laughs in spite of himself, shutting the binder and standing up. “I’ll email you the details of the event by next week, when we’ll be holding it. ”

You nod, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear— oh, how Hyunjin wishes he could just casually do that for you. “Got it. I’ll make sure to look dazzling.”

“Darling, you always look dazzling.” Hyunjin smirks in self-satisfaction when you flush at his quip. It’s not exactly a reaction that’s foreign to him, but seeing you like this, all cute and bashful, is new. And it’s a look that’s very attractive on you. Hopefully, you attribute the flirting to Hyunjin’s naturally charming personality, not the fact that he’s impossibly gone for you. Not that the truth would make a difference, however. You’ll never be his.

“Thanks, Hyunjin.” You get up from your seat, letting Hyunjin walk you out, like he always does. “I feel like you have a vision going on for this matchmaking event.”

“Oh, I always have a vision.” Hyunjin chuckles, opening the door for you. “We’re considering a tropical theme, or a garden party, maybe. Or something glamorous. Kind of like prom, but without the bad music and horny teenagers, you know?”

You shrug. “Actually, I never went to my high school senior prom. But all of these ideas sound incredible.”

He pauses, his eyes widening. “You never went to prom?”

“There was this guy.” You look uncomfortable, but before Hyunjin can assure you that you don’t have to tell him about it, you decide to continue. “I wanted to go with him, but long story short, he rejected me. And I didn’t really have any friends I could go with either. I could have gone on my own, but I wasn’t brave enough. It’s one of the things that I did when I was younger that I regret now. I guess it just speaks volumes about how I hold myself back a lot.”

Hyunjin frowns. “Who in their right mind would reject you?”

“My first love, apparently. And a bunch of others.” You sigh, fiddling with the little bow on your sleeve. “But whatever. I’m going to find a real man.”

“They’re idiots. And prom isn’t even all that.”

You snort. “Says you. I’ll bet you were the kind of guy who got invited by all of the girls to be their date to prom, even if you weren’t even a senior yet.”

“Exactly. I would know precisely that prom is overrated as fuck.” Hyunjin gives you a smile. “Maybe we’ll just go with the garden party.”

You stay quiet for a moment, as if thinking something over, before looking directly into Hyunjin’s eyes. “Shame. I think I would’ve liked to see you in a tux.”

And with that, you turn around and leave, as Hyunjin just stays rooted on the spot, dumbfounded. Because how can you just so easily shoot an arrow straight into his heart and walk away? You’re a threat to society. You’re a wicked enchantress. You’re the bane of Hyunjin’s existence, and yet, he wants you to come back and string him along like a fucking bow. The dilemma is clear: Hyunjin absolutely cannot just move on from you. This is an extremely deafening cry for help.

“Wonyoung?” Hyunjin croaks, as he steps back inside and collapses onto his chair.

Hyunjin’s loyal secretary sticks her head into the room, her glossy locks tumbling over her shoulders like a Pantene commercial. Hyunjin makes a mental note to ask her later about her hair care routine. “Yes, boss?”

“Call Dr. Kim for me, please. I don’t feel so good.”

“Of course. I guess the bad sushi really got you this time.”

“Strep throat? Negative. Flu swab test? Negative. Every single other test you made me administer for you? Ditto.” 

Hyunjin aggressively rubs his palms over his face. “Is there anything else, Seungmin? Are you sure there is absolutely nothing wrong with me? Should we do anything again?”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, setting his clipboard down on the bench space next to him. “It’s Dr. Kim. And I did a Barium Swallow test for you, Hyunjin. You don’t just do those for any idiot who walks in begging to be examined for no apparent ailment. Took thirty minutes and nothing at all. Chief resident would be on my ass if she knew.”

“You’d think we haven’t been best friends since our Stanford days,” Hyunjin says. “There is something wrong with me.”

Hyunjin stares down at the upper right leg of his pants, picking at a small loose thread. He’s never seen one appear in his clothing ever since he was eighteen and quiet being so fashionably challenged, but instead of disgust, he feels a strange sense of solidarity. Just like the thread, he feels out of place; confused and lost, even though he’s standing right in the middle of half of the world’s dream. But wanting someone who he can never have isn’t a dream, surely, and neither is the phantom pain in his abdomen, the one that Dr. Kim claims doesn't exist.

“‘Our Stanford days’ were literally only three years ago. And I was in med school while you were getting a PhD in the study of crazies. I knew there were a couple screws loose up there,” Seungmin scoffs, tapping his temple in flourish punctuated with impudence. “I should have known better than to befriend your ass.”

“Seung-min, you’re lying,” Hyunjin retorts, emphasizing the syllables of his friend’s name. “I swear, I’m sick.”

Seungmin groans, fed up with Hyunjin’s stubborn mindset. “You’re twenty-eight years old and have your own booming practice. Hell, you wear head-to-toe designer, even underwear— yes, I saw the Gucci briefs in your bag, that one time you made me go shopping with you. Meanwhile, I’m a stressed, overworked, and underpaid surgery resident who has to listen to his rich and famous best friend complain that he’s not feeling well. Oh, poor baby. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m trying! I’m trying, okay?” Hyunjin finally explodes, throwing his hands up in the air. Usually, he maintains that peaceful temperament that puts up with Seungmin’s attitude. Not today, however. “Honestly, Seungmin, you want to know what’s wrong with me? Her. She’s all over me, inside and out! Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of her. Everywhere I go— her. And you know what? It’s not all in my head. It’s not a fucking crazy case. I physically feel myself wanting to throw up every five fucking minutes. I have a horrible headache that won’t go away, no matter how long I rot in my bed. I’m sore all over and I just want to go home!”

Hyunjin’s best friend just glares at him in shock for a good few seconds, watching as he pants from the ferocity of his words. And then he recovers, smoothing his face over into that signature judgemental expression, because he’s Kim Seungmin. “I should’ve known this was about a girl.”

Hyunjin sighs. Thankfully, no one overheard his rant, because this is Seungmin’s lunch break and whenever Hyunjin insists on an emergency meeting, Seungmin brings him over to this empty corridor tucked behind the equipment storage rooms, where no prying eyes wander. 

“It’s not just any girl, Seungmin. It’s the girl. She’s… all I do know is that she’s my client who walked into my life three months ago and proceeded to destroy it. She came in like a tropical storm and now she smiles at me like the fucking sun. She confuses me and makes me forget random shit and she doesn’t even know about any of it. And all I want to be is hers, even though I can’t be.”

Seungmin doesn’t say anything, before he bursts into uncontrollable laughter, the kind that makes his body shake with impact. “You… are… acting… so stupid.”

And this only makes Hyunjin even more frustrated. “Well, that’s the whole damn point! I’m not stupid, but I’m obviously acting it! I don’t know what to do, Seungmin! Help a brother out!”

After he calms himself down, Seungmin sighs loudly and wipes the traces of any tears caused by amusement of Hyunjin’s plight. “I’m not an expert in this, Hyunjin. But to be honest, it seems to me that you’re falling for her, and you’re just in denial.”

Hyunjin feels nothing short of horrified. “But… I can’t be. Are you sure?”

“Aren’t you the friggin’ Love Doctor or some shit? How the fuck am I supposed to be sure?”

But Hyunjin barely hears Seungmin, getting off the bench to pace back and forth in the little hallway. He can’t be falling for you, because— he just can’t! The plethora of problems that would arise from him falling in love with you are fucking endless, the worst being that you could end up negatively impacted. And all because your stupid, idiotic dating coach couldn’t keep his stupid, idiotic feelings in check. He would rather give up his beloved Versace brand deal than ever see you hurt, and that’s really saying something.

Seungmin tries to get to Hyunjin again. “Or maybe you’re not falling for her. Maybe you’re just horny.”

Hyunjin whirls around, side-eyeing Seungmin with disgust. “The hell you mean?”

“When’s the last time you, you know? Got some?”

“You put it so eloquently.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “And it’s been ten months.”

“See? That’s definitely it. You need to get laid, and you’re taking your sexual frustration out like this. You’re always the one lecturing everyone else on having healthy sex and love lives and shit, but really you’re a hypocrite. Tell me, why are you such a hypocrite, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin crosses his arms, irritated yet able to see Seungmin’s point. He had his share of relationships, enough to augment his experience and research in the whole field. It’s not like they all ended badly, though— quite the opposite, really. The majority of them were amicable splits, or awkward conversations, at the very most. The only notably sour memory is Hyunjin’s ex-girlfriend from ninth grade, the one who broke up with him in a fit of jealousy when another girl confessed her love for Hyunjin. But then again, all high school relationships are basically doomed to crash and burn.

Hyunjin was careful to never get into anything too serious anyway, because his only love would be his job; he broke up with his last girlfriend— which might be a strong word for someone who merely considered him a wine-and-dine booty call— because he just didn’t feel that same spark with her that he felt when running his business. And he didn’t think he had that capacity to feel it anywhere else, but that was all before you.

“I don’t know, Seungmin.” Hyunjin looks down glumly at the concrete flooring, his body completely exhausted of all of the fight in him

The look in Seungmin’s eyes softens as Hyunjin slumps back into his seat. “Don’t you think that you’ve been so busy thinking about helping other people with their loves that you’ve completely neglected yours? When are you going to stop being so goddamn perfect and care for yourself?”

“But I do care for myself! Why else would I have a fourteen-step skincare routine and Gucci boxers?” Hyunjin protests, stalling more than really arguing. He just doesn’t want to admit to what’s really bothering him.

Seungmin rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. He should get back to rounds; lunch will be over soon. “That’s not self-care, that’s called being fucking weird. And I’m talking about your head. You have this illusion up there that in order to help others, you need to be flawless. Get out of it, man. Whether you want someone to have a one-night stand with or have your freaking children, you need to be open and pursue it. Life is messy and unpredictable, even for neurotic perfectionists like you. It’s okay to be horny. It’s okay to be in love. It’s okay to be you.”

Hyunjin ponders over Seungmin’s advice, before looking up. “I hate when you’re right.”

“I know.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t you ‘fine’ me, dumbass. Go put on your Armani shit and get going, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t Mission Impossible. I can’t believe I have to tell you this.” Seungmin shakes his head, dusting off his scrubs. He leans forward to tighten the laces on his special work sneakers; the clock is really ticking down now.

Hyunjin gives Seungmin a withering look. “I wear Versace on my missions.”

“Welcome to SeoulSpark’s third biannual company-wide Matchmaking Event!”

The small crowd of hopeful singles crammed into the gazebo politely claps as the speaker looks down at all of you from his perch on the little elevated platform, like some kind of an all-knowing benefactor. 

“Thank you everyone. You can call me Jin, and I’ll be your emcee and operations director on this fine afternoon.” He beams. “And can I just say, you people look so good today? Obviously not as much as me, but still.’”

A scattered collection of horribly faked laughter ripples throughout the gathering, and you have to resist rolling your eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jin does actually serve as great eye candy, you would’ve already been putting on your sunglasses and trying to fake being awake. 

“Dr. Hwang will be here in a few moments to intro, and then we’ll get on with it!” Jin states, continuing his unnecessary theatrics. “But while we wait, can someone answer this question: what do you call an ice cream that parties too hard?”

Before the inevitable awkward silence can ensue, some bored-looking man who stands a little further away from everyone else pipes up. You recognize him as the very first candidate whose picture Hyunjin had presented to you— the hot one— except now, his short, preppy haircut has grown out into a wavy mullet. “Just say it.”

Jin looks temporarily taken aback by the man’s unfiltered attitude, before correcting his expression back into a winning smile. “It is out of CONE-trol! Get it? Because of the ice cream cone? Isn’t that funny?”

There isn’t a single person in the crowd who looks impressed, least of all mullet-guy. “No. And it still wouldn’t be funny even if I was seven years old and actually liked horrible dad jokes.”

There’s a bite to his tone, and Jin seems to have taken it personally. Jin clears his throat, stuck while clearly trying to think of something to say, when relief comes over his face as he looks directly at you. “There he is! Dr. Hwang: the man of the hour.”

You turn around so fast that you nearly get whiplash, and of course Hyunjin is right there, towering over you like some sort of gorgeous sunflower. Fuck— you knew you smelled that stormy jasmine in the air, but you passed it off as just your imagination. And because there are so many people packed into this tiny pavilion, your bodies are practically pressed together as everyone else cranes their necks to get a load of the Love Doctor. 

“It’s so good to see you, darling. You look stunning,” Hyunjin says to you, in a way that seems so genuine that your baby blue gingham sundress from Target doesn’t feel so childish anymore, like you thought after seeing all of the other ladies’ stylish getups.

“Thanks.” You blush, averting your eyes. The last time you met up with him, your bolder alter-ego possessed you for a second and threw a flirty one-liner at Hyunjin, when you realized yourself and walked the hell away, before you could gauge his reaction. “You look very stunning yourself as well.”

And he truly is, as always, dressed in another quirky yet stylish look: a high-neck jacket and camel cargos, complete with a chain link shoulder leather bag. The thick gold crosses dangling from his ears don’t look gaudy, instead bringing out a youthful glow in Hyunjin’s skin. God, you really love a man who can dress.

“Everything alright, Dr. Hwang?” Jin calls out, breaking you out of your trance.

“Yes, Jin. I’ll be up in a second.” Hyunjin doesn’t take his eyes off of you, just serenely blinking like he has all the time in the world. “I absolutely adored your mango cheesecake, darling. You have to tell me about the recipe later.”

He shoots you one last disarming smile, before heading up to the platform, and you’re left to longingly stare after him like a dessert enthusiast on a sugar-free diet. You watch him take the mic from Jin, who dramatically holds out his hands towards Hyunjin when backing off of the platform. 

“Hello!” Hyunjin chirps, and really, the wind is a paid actor here, breezing in and perfectly tousling his midnight mane. 

This time, the audience’s response is more authentic, everyone responds in their own greetings out loud. You can’t help but feel your heart swell at the sight; your crush really is so charismatic.

“So, we’ve already explained how today’s going to work in the emails that were sent out to all of you a couple days ago. But to debrief: we will be having fifteen six-minute speed dating rounds today, each held at one of the designated tables,” Hyunjin explains, gesturing to the space surrounding the gazebo.

For the matchmaking event, SeoulSpark booked out Cafe Fiorella, a posh little eatery nestled in the heart of Vista Hermosa Natural Park’s dusty garden trails and meadows. Hyunjin and his planners did an outstanding job of organizing everything, and even you can’t help but note how impossibly romantic it is— for a speed-dating gig, at least. There are dainty bistro tables set up in the grassy outdoor dining area and nestled on top of them, multiple tiered platters loaded with hors d'oeuvres and decorative blossoms. You don’t even want to think about how much this would have cost.

“Before each round, you will all get a text providing you with the number of your table, where you will be able to chat with your partner, one of the candidates that corresponded with your profile.” Hyunjin catches your eye, and you feel yourself heat up. Focus. “After every round, take note of who you want to see again, and at the end, we’ll give you a form to fill out and submit. When you have your next appointment with us, we’ll let you know who you’ve matched with. Any questions?”

No one raises any, probably because they’re too self-conscious to ask in front of their potential partners, which leaves Hyunjin to just nod. “My team and I will be present as chaperones, just making sure everything is going smoothly. And I’d also like to thank our Dr. Jeon’s brother, Mr. Kim Seokjin, for volunteering to time and emcee the event!”

“Oh, Hyun. Always so formal. Call me Mr. Worldwide Handsome instead!” Jin calls out from the back. He does an exaggerated little bow and you— along with many other attendees— have to stifle a laugh. What a cheeseball. 

Hyunjin just smiles graciously, eyes crinkling with mischief. “Let’s get the party going!”

The up-tempo, raunchy sound of girl rap blasts out of speakers that you didn’t even know existed, scaring the shit out of you momentarily. You have no doubt at all that the afternoon’s garden party beats were compiled by your eccentric Love Doctor, before you start to subconsciously sway— and mentally twerk— to “Body.”

“Ladies and gents, this is just in with Jin! Make sure to find your seats in the next five minutes, and we’ll start the clock!”

Your phone chimes with your first table assignment of the day, and you make your way over there, dodging the throngs of men and women antsy to discover their matches. You sit down at your table, trying to ignore the nervousness building in your chest. With the presence of Hyunjin, his beautiful self lingering somewhere barely a few feet away from you, you’re not sure you can give today your best. And for the first time— it’s not you. It’s the fact that you have feelings for your unsuspecting charmer, and deep inside, you can’t fight the thought of not being able to get over him. 

But a lively ambiance courtesy of Megan Thee Stallion doesn’t fit the deep, contemplative mood, so you resort to pushing away your qualms and blankly gazing out at the high rise views while waiting for your partner. If this doesn’t work out, at least you can say you had a nice time humming to lovably NSFW music and raiding the appetizers. 

“Beefing with you bitches really getting kinda boring—”

“You know, I kind of vibe with this shit.” Mullet-guy from earlier plops down into the chair across from you. “Don’t tell Mr. Worldwide Handsome that, though. I’ll never give him the satisfaction.”

You giggle at the comically blank expression on mullet-guy’s face. “Don’t worry. I don’t think Jin would’ve added the EDM remix of “Savage” to the playlist.”

Mullet-guy doesn’t smile, but you catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Fair enough. I’m Yoongi.”

“Y/N.” You carefully take a mini slice of flaky herbed pastry off of the stand and place it on the china plate in front of you. Now that everyone has settled down, the music has been turned down to enable better conversation. “Maybe I’m being blunt here, but you don’t exactly strike me as the type of guy to go to a speed-dating event.”

“Well, what kind of guy do I strike you as?” Yoongi asks, settling back comfortably into his chair. If it was anyone else talking, you would have thought they were flirting with you. But not with Yoongi— you can’t quite put your finger on it, but he feels incredibly familiar to you. This could be just another regular talk with a good friend.

You make a show of taking in his beat-up leather jacket and the silver stud in his left ear, all add-ons to his roguishly handsome aesthetic. “Wannabe SoundCloud rapper meets Fuji Kaze, except with an even worse fashion sense.”

Most people would have already shrank away from your sarcastic sense of humor, but Yoongi claps back. “I could say the same for you. Don’t tell me you’re actually going for The Stepford Wives with that dress. You even have the Mary-Jane shoes.”

“These are discounted flats from Old Navy, don’t even. And I’ll bet your emo ass was stuck in Hot Topic since grade school.”

Yoongi bursts out laughing. “Okay, you win. But you’re not wrong though— I am a rapper, of sorts.”

You lean forward. “Really?”

“Of sorts— I haven't had much time to really get into it and improve myself, ever since I started my own record label last year, D-2 Music,” Yoongi says, picking at his peach scone. “Managing other artists is my focus these days. Been writing my whole life, though.”

“What do you like to write about?” You take a bite of your pastry, savoring how it nearly melts in your mouth. Maybe this thing isn’t that bad; good food and good conversation. Besides, this Yoongi is totally intriguing to you.

“Dreams, depression, obsession.” Yoongi steadily holds your gaze, and you don’t look away.

“Refreshing.”

“I get that a lot.” Yoongi takes a sip of his mimosa, before making a face and putting it back down. 

“No, but seriously. I hate pretending, most of all. Perfection doesn’t exist, and a lot of people can’t get a grip on that.” You shrug, wiping your mouth with one of the provided lavender napkins. “It is refreshing that you don’t seem to give a crap about others.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi smiles, and you think it’s a good look on him. It doesn’t fade even after what he says next. “We’re not going to be a match, are we?”

In that moment, you can confidently say that you are both the same exact person, and while it feels so good to finally speak with someone who might remotely understand exactly what you are, you know it can never be a sustainable relationship. The two strong-minded pessimists that you both are would only clash or just further bring each other down, in the end. So you return his smile, not a hint of sorrow in it. 

“Probably not.” Both of you clink your champagne classes together and drink on it, before collectively gagging at the taste.

“Time’s up, people! Please bid your partners adieu and get on to your next table!” Jin’s voice breaks out through his microphone, and immediately, the music resumes as the frenzy starts all over again.

You stand up, smoothing out your skirt and looking over at Yoongi, who stays seated, taking his own time finishing his scone. “Catch you later, Hot Topic.”

“Likewise, Mary-Jane.” Yoongi snickers, tilting his head up in a casual goodbye. 

You make your way to your new assignment, and as you approach, you remember him. The next person sitting there is the final candidate that Hyunjin had shown you, the one with the rather squirrely look to him. You have to admit, however, that he isn’t bad-looking, with wavy brown bangs falling into his eyes and a soft smile painting his features. He looks simple, a pretty boy waiting for a girl. You feel like you’re reading a picture book with a happy ending, because there are no puzzles to stay sleepless over. You see the bistro table becoming a kitchen counter, frequented for coffee talk and family dinners— there is no smoke-cracked glass desk that costs more than your entire salary. And you’re not Pygmalion sculpting Galatea, the gender bended Grecian rendition of the Hyunjin who plagues your thoughts; instead, you can see the elementary construction paper dotted with finger-painted sunny skies.

“Hi,” you greet, dragging out your chair and locking eyes with the stranger. Strangely, you don’t feel that telltale thump of your heartbeat in your panting chest— you sense a steady rhythm, and perhaps you could get used to it. Think: the picture book over the puzzle. You like staying in check and control— Hyunjin doesn’t allow you that power, no matter how unknowingly he keeps it for himself. 

“Hi,” he responds. “I, uh, thought you had a nice smile in your picture. It’s even better in real life.”

You stay unfazed; compliments don’t affect you much— when they come from anyone but Hyunjin. Still, it’s a cute try, and you decide to dig in deeper. To you, directness is key— again, when dealing with anyone but Hyunjin. 

You slide your finger down the damp side of your champagne flute, tracing a haphazard shape in the water drops. The man falls quiet again, and you don’t bother saying anything else, just taking him in. You don’t have much experience with conversation loaded with romantic intent, and this holds true even with your infamous ex-boyfriend.

Park Jisung had spied you at a holiday festival on your college campus, and then proceeded to ask you out. It was pretty unceremonious, to say the least, and thinking in hindsight, you can’t remember a time when he actually tried to get to know you. You were so enamored with him that you didn’t bat an eye, not even when he insisted on having sex with you on your very first date. And it was also your very first time, actually— but you didn’t question it. And the sex? It was over in less than five minutes and he left right after he finished, but it just felt nice to be wanted, for once. 

In the following months, you realized that when he wasn’t sleeping with you, Jisung was in his own world. You barely existed to him, while you memorized his Chipotle order and silently bought new soap for him when it ran out. It wasn’t hard to figure out that he just wanted a warm body in his bed to replace the other ones he’d fucked with all day. 

“You should know that I have asthma, just in case you intend on taking my breath away on a regular basis,” the man blurts out, snapping you out of your depressing Jisung-reverie.

You bite back a snort— looks like Mr. Worldwide Handsome has new competition for the corniest person at this place. “Thank you.” 

He coughs, no doubt embarrassed by his poorly executed pick-up line. “Sorry. I can’t help it. Pretty people make me nervous.”

“You’re pretty too.” You shrug nonchalantly as the man blushes. “What’s your name?”

“Han Jisung.”

You nearly throw the champagne in his face. “Come again?”

“Jisung. My name is Jisung.”

You clench your fists under the table, trying not to break something. Of all the people in this world— of all the fucking names in this world— you just had to get set-up with a guy who shares the same name as a monster who did nothing but hurt you. What the fuck, universe? You glance at your phone screen peeking out of your purse— there are still four minutes left in this stupid round. 

“Hey, is everything good?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You look up, giving him a venomous smile. Screw the picture book. “What do you like to do in your free time, Han Jisung? Don’t tell me you like to day-drink and play beer pong.”

“I’m not really a drinker. And you can just call me Ji-”

“Tell me, Han Jisung, is your zodiac sign Aquarius? And do you work in tech? Do you work for SM Tech? Do you?” You inquire without a break, gulping down your glass before refilling it with more of that horrendous champagne. The angel on your shoulder implores you not to project your ex-boyfriend’s personality onto the poor sucker sitting in front of you, but the devil whispers a different tune. You decide to follow the latter’s advice; raging hellfire is always more fun.

Han Jisung looks bewildered, but answers your question anyway. “Um, I'm a Virgo. I do work in tech, but with JYP Electronics.”

“Wonderful.” 

“Anyway… I never got your name,” Han Jisung tries, visibly shaken by your suddenly aggressive line of questioning. 

You scowl at him. “That’s because I already made the mistake of trusting someone like you, Han Jisung.”

There’s still a few seconds left in the round timer, but you don’t pay any mind to it. Your social battery has been exhausted, and all of the progress you’ve made in a long time has gone to dust in a mere five-minute parameter. You grab your bag and stalk away from the table, leaving Han Jisung staring after you, openmouthed and utterly perplexed by the unmerited hostility. But screw him— you can’t even live for a day without being reminded by your douchebag ex who traumatized the fuck out of you.

In your fury, you barely notice the rolling cart of lunch items that accidentally rams into your side. Bowls of pesto pasta fly off the cart, the roasted cherry tomatoes arching in the air in perfect semi-circles before splattering onto the pristine grass. The restaurant staff immediately attends to the mess, while the other guests just glance carelessly at the mess before continuing onto the next round. You rub your hip as Hyunjin rushes over to you.

“Darling, are you alright?” Hyunjin drapes his arm around your shoulders, gazing at you with concern. You melt into his touch for a moment, the frustration simmering with the longing inside of you. “Where were you going?”

You back away from him. “This was a bad idea. Maybe I’m not ready for this. I need more time.”

He frowns, stepping closer to you. “But—”

“Han Jisung?” You interrupt, more animosity in your tone than you intend for there to be. “You knew his name when showing me his profile.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen in both remembrance and regret. “Oh my god. I didn’t realize— I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Even taking into account how you feel right now, you don’t want to take it out on Hyunjin. Never. “It’s not your fault. But I’ll be on my way.”

Ducking your head, you turn and walk away, furiously blinking the tears away. A small part of you wishes Hyunjin would call you back, hug you close to him and ask you to stay. But he doesn’t, because he knows his boundaries. It’s you who doesn’t know their place, because regardless of the smarting pain inside of you, you want Hyunjin to bandaid your emotional damage. 

And as you pick up your pace, you realize that maybe you really are doomed to be Pygmalion, yearning for someone who no one else can even compare to, someone who’ll never be yours. No matter what sorts of grotesque demons haunt you, the most sinister of them all is the off-limits adonis who disturbs your heart even when you’re still reeling from the previous break. Han Jisung’s sunny skies woke you up from your dreams— Galatea is a fucking statue, art that will never come alive. 

“Well, that was a colossal disaster.” Hyunjin covers his face with his palms and shrinks into the buttery leather upholstery of his seat. 

Wonyoung glances over at him as the car starts up. “What do you mean? I think it went great. I saw a sickening amount of flirting going on. Pretty soon, you’ll be officiating a bunch of weddings.”

Hyunjin groans, shaking his head. “But did you see the way Y/N left, Wonyoung? The whole Jisung thing? God, I screwed things up colossally.”

“It’s not your job to remember the names of all of your clients’ ex-boyfriends. It was an honest mistake that we both overlooked.”

“Still.”

“Dr. Hwang, I feel like there’s more to this than you’re letting on.” Wonyoung crosses her arms. “Since when did you get so worked up over a client— over anything?”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes like a petulant child. “I’m not getting worked up.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not.”

“Sure.” Wonyoung looks back down at her tablet, tapping away at the screen. “I’m already seeing so many matches.”

“Nice.” Hyunjin looks out the window pointedly. “It’s always fucking raining these days.”

“Dr. Hwang.”

Hyunjin ignores Wonyoung, just leaning forward to instruct the cab driver. “Actually, can you drop me off at The North End? Thanks.”

“Seriously. What is going on?” Wonyoung presses once more. “You can’t just go drinking now, not like this.”

“I’ll be fine, Ms. Jang.” Hyunjin doesn’t meet her eyes as he gets out of the car, placing a few bills covering the whole cab fare into her hands. “Get home safe.”

Before she can protest, Hyunjin closes the door and lets the drizzle envelop him, effectively ruining his new logo-motif jacquard set. But he doesn’t give a fuck as he steps into the bar like a shivering stray cat, because the stench of liquor and greasy peanuts is strong enough to incapacitate his inner fashion police. 

“Bourbon, on the rocks,” Hyunjin orders glumly, looking down at his phone screen, a shot of Princess Diana on her birthday last year. She looks absolutely precious in that fluffy pink tutu that he dressed her in, a sight that never fails to make Hyunjin melt. Today, however, not even his adorably stylish puppy can cure him. He downs the whiskey the bartender sets in front of him, wincing at the burn he so rightfully deserved.

When you stormed out of the party just barely two hours ago, it took every fiber of Hyunjin’s being to not run after you. He’d wanted to ditch everyone and just kiss it better for you. He’d take you back to his apartment, run you a bath, cook you a comfort meal, and massage all of your sore spots. And then he’d cuddle with you on the couch, holding you while you fall asleep in his arms. But his stupid common sense held him back, rooting him to the spot like a big, dumb boulder. 

After speaking with Seungmin, he realized how precisely he’s gone for you. And it obviously wouldn’t end well, so he decided that distance— complete professionalism— would be the way to go. Last night, he’d tried a crapload of healthy methods to try and fix himself, from watching porn to reading porn to even listening to porn on some sketchy podcast— anything to distract him from the thought of you. But nothing worked, because he wasn’t horny. No, he had an emotional boner— the worst kind of boners. In the end, he’d realized that the only way to move on from you would be get his ass out there and find someone else,a rebound— which is what he’d been dreading all along.

Therefore, he’d turned around like a fucking moron and went back to the party, listlessly floating around like a trash bag discarded on the highway. And now, he’s at some bar with high end cocktails that are just a pretentious way of saying “fuck me” to strangers.

“Hey there handsome, need company?”

Hyunjin looks to his left, where the sultry voice has originated from: a young woman— a pretty one, too. She’s wearing the kind of tight, black dress and matching coy smile that can only mean she wants one thing. Luckily, Hyunjin’s on the same page as her.

“What’s your name, darling?” Hyunjin asks her, ignoring the guilt inside his chest. That term of endearment was once reserved for you, and only you. He’d have to get over the sting of that too.

She sits down next to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder and exposing the smooth skin of her neck. “Lisa.”

“Lisa,” Hyunjin repeats, signaling to the bartender for another round. “Tell me, what do you do?”

“I’m hoping it’ll be you tonight.” Lisa smirks at him, raising an eyebrow seductively.

Well. That was fast.

Hyunjin chuckles, trying not to think of the nausea rising in his stomach. He accepts the drink from the bartender, clinking his glass against Lisa’s, meeting her darkened eyes over the rim.

“I’m Hyunjin. It’s nice to meet you.”

You haven’t watched trashy Youtube videos in months, thinking you’d left that disgusting habit behind, and yet, here you are, watching said trashy Youtube videos. Today, it’s a shotgun wedding getting upstaged by one of the bridesmaids proclaiming her love for the groom. You feel an old chips packet somewhere inside the bedsheet hollow you’ve burrowed yourself into, the crumbs poking into your back like unwanted intruders. However, you just try to ignore the nasty feeling and slump into the mattress, pulling the bedcovers up so they cover your chin. 

It’s been almost a full week since the matchmaking debacle that you absolutely made a spectacle of yourself at. You’ve spent the entire time drifting off to work, getting yelled at by Mark for no reason at all, and then coming home and lazing around. At this point, your gym membership must be a mere accessory, and the nearby 7-Eleven that you frequent for junk food is practically your second home. Fuck— you’re disgusted with yourself.

Resorting to self-destructive yet containable activities has always been your go-to for whenever you’ve been down— you’ll let yourself be fine with the world falling apart as long as it’s inside the confines of your humble abode. For months, however, you’d truly believed that you were past it. Hyunjin’s presence in your life inserted a certain desire inside of you— not to be better for him, but to be better because of him. Hyunjin opened your eyes to the real beauty of living, of having passion for any trade and a lust for happiness. That kind of positive outlook kept you climbing up that hill, no matter how arduous it was to maintain good spirits for the majority of the time. But as soon as a crisis hit, you bailed on your trek and fell back down the cliff.

You feel truly guilty as well, an emotion that usually got lost in the web of pity and hatred that you spun yourself into whenever you know you’ve done something wrong. Han Jisung didn’t deserve to be subjected to your outburst, you know that— that should have been reserved for the person who actually wronged you. You never actually got the chance to confront Park Jisung, not after he walked out like he didn’t just fucking break you. Deep inside, you know that you take out that inky mixture of unresolved frustration and regret on every single person who dares trigger you, even if it’s unintentional. Han Jisung was one such unfortunate target today.

A small chime alerts you to a new message, and you tear your eyes away from your laptop, reaching for your phone on your nightstand. In the notifications on your home screen, you see that it is not an email from Hyunjin like you’d unrealistically hoped for— instead, it’s a text from Yeonjun, your cousin who’s a constant thorn in your fucking side.

Yeonjun: hmm i’m thirsty :P

You: no yeonjun, i will not take you out for drinks.

Yeonjun: pretty pls w a cherry on top

You: fuck off

Yeonjun: u seem upset :(((

You: i’m having adult problems, yeonjun. leave me alone.

Yeonjun: well then i will help you with ur adult problems

Yeonjun: u know, i’m an adult too OMG

Yeonjun: come on, when have i ever not given u great advice?

Yeonjun: i missed my fucking calling in therapy. i woulda been an excellent shrink.

Yeonjun: i’m an amazing cousin who always is there for u. y/n i lysm, u know that?

Yeonjun: u know what else i love? Vodka. 

Yeonjun: but i love u too <3

You: Yeonjun, stop fucking spamming me or I’m not coming.

Yeonjun: YAYY!

With a defeated sigh, you shove the blankets to the side, the cold air conditioning gripping your body like a vice. But begrudgingly, you have to admit that it feels refreshing to get out of your sweaty hideout and step into the shower, cleaning yourself up as much as you can on the outside— the inside issue can be attended to with the drinks.

A half hour later, you find yourself in a skeevy dive bar on the Westside, doing shots with your cousin, because even though he irritates you to the core, he’s all you have. You really could use that drink, anyway. But no amount of alcohol seems to mask the way your heart hangs heavier than the full moon outside. In fact, the liquid courage just manifests your sadness even more, leaving you a sniveling mess on the bar counter.

“And, he was actually really cute, you know? But I could never date him,” you sniffle, after downing your fifth drink. “It’s just, I just can’t deal with any reminders of Jisung.”

Yeonjun knocks back his vodka. “I take it back. If therapy means dealing with saps like you, I’d rather die.”

You frown at him. “It’s better than being a failing TikTok influencer. When’s the last time any of your thirst traps got views?”

Yeonjun shrugs, unbothered by your jab; he’s as used to you as you are to him. “You could’ve at least hooked up with him, if he was that cute.”

You swirl your straw in the melting ice as you get on your phone, pulling up the follow-up email in which Hyunjin had sent you online scans of the candidate profiles. Yeonjun looks over your shoulder and whistles as you zoom-in on Han Jisung’s picture. “But I’ve only ever slept with Jisung before. I may be a scary bitch, but I’m not bold enough for that.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Yeonjun cackles. “Well, it’s only a better reason to have a one-night stand. Do you really want to give your trash ex-boyfriend the power of being the only person to have had sex with you? That’s kind of sad.” 

Yeonjun makes a face, shivering in disgust, and you sock him in the elbow in retaliation. “For someone so bitchless, you really have such strong opinions about me and my love life.”

“Who says I’m bitchless?” Yeonjun grins deviously. “Besides, you’re the one who told me all this crap in the first place.”

You glance up at the ceiling, feeling an indescribable sense of loss. “Perhaps I wouldn’t mind a one-night stand, though. I guess getting laid is something I kind of need right now. I need to stop letting Jisung control every aspect of my life.”

“Well, if you’re not averted to the idea, a person of interest just walked in.”

You whip around to look at the door, and of all people, Han Jisung from the matchmaking event walks in. He doesn’t notice you at the counter, just making his way over to one of the booths near the entrance and sitting down in solitude. The waiter takes his order and walks away, leaving him to put on his headphones in wait.

“I think I must be living in a social experiment.” You groan and look over at Yeonjun. “Hell if I’m sleeping with him.”

“Did you or did you not just say that you don’t want to let your ex control your life?”

You stare at Yeonjun. “I can sleep with someone else. He’s probably too scared of me anyway. I kind of verbally-knifed him the other day.”

“Please. Everything about that guy screams ‘degrade me.’ He probably liked that shit. You might as well use him as a punching bag again— this time, more productively.” Yeonjun waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, and you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“The fuck do you know about productivity?”

“Nada. But I do know a lot about getting a fix when needed.” Your cousin winks at you, producing a packet of condoms out of nowhere and slapping it into your palm. Before you can react, Yeonjun is already slinking off to go and flirt with a pretty girl sitting by herself on the other end of the counter. And alas, you’re left alone again. With a packet of XL condoms— Yeonjun sure is optimistic.

You glance over at said person of interest, who is currently immersed in whatever song that’s got him bopping his head to the beat, eyes closed as if in a dreamy trance. He’s not your type, for sure. But the thing is, you don’t even know what your damn type is at this point— if it wasn’t for Hyunjin’s ability to make you feel inappropriate things so vividly, you’d have thought you had fucking cobwebs down there. Speaking with Yeonjun really was a reminder that you’re still young, after years of both an emotional and physical dry spell. Emotionally, you might not be ready. Physically, however, there’s an opening, and you know it.

When you were dating Park Jisung, sex was always initiated by him. It was always for himself too, because he never cared about making you feel good. But you didn’t see it as a red flag, since you were so in love with him. You just followed him around like an innocent, lovesick puppy that was eager to please. And in the end, even that wasn’t enough.

Your first orgasm— and first experience with a deeper kind of desire— was alone, some time after your relationship ended. It was a quiet night, and you’d just fallen back onto the couch after another long, uneventful day at work. You flipped through the TV channels before settling on a network that was playing The Notebook, and despite its fame and reach, you’d never watched the movie before. Everything was normal until the main characters started kissing each other in the rain, a scene that would remain something you’d download and revisit many, many times when you were locked away in your room.

You’d never seen that level of lust before. You’d never felt it directed towards you or ever even experienced it when you discovered porn in your teenage years. Yet, these two people seemed to want each other on a whole other level, risking everything— their home, their reputation, their love— for something you’d always thought would be over in two minutes. And as your hand undid the button of your jeans and slipped down even lower, you realized just how wrong you were.

In the years that followed, you learned to become so much more comfortable with your sexuality. Hell, you have a drawer dedicated to storing your sex toys and on nights that you’d had too many glasses of wine, you wind up writing filthy erotica just for fun. However, you’d never actually considered having sex outside of a committed relationship, not until now. And in complete honesty, you really are curious about if Han Jisung is as subby as Yeonjun insinuated— if that proves to be true, you wouldn’t mind taking your pent-up Jisung-frustrations out on him. Productivity, and all. 

You slap your payment down on the wooden counter, shaking it slightly, before marching towards Han Jisung’s table. 

“Hey,” you start, but Han Jisung doesn’t notice you. “HEY!”

Han Jisung’s eyes fly open as he jerks in his seat and pulls off his headphones. At the sight of you approaching him so determinedly, he eyes you with both wariness and renewed interest, and you have to keep yourself from sighing exasperatedly at his hesitant desperation. You’re here for a reason, after all.

“Oh, hello. Y/N, right? I asked Hyunjin for your name after you left.” He gives you a nervous smile, brushing the bangs off of his forehead. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I just wanted to say—”

“I’ll get to the point, Han Jisung.” You cut him off, ignoring the surprised expression on his face. It’s like he’s never in his life encountered a woman who knows what the hell she wants. “I want to have sex with you. What do you say?”

For a good minute, he says nothing, just gaping at you, shocked. And then he does a double-take, looking you up and down as if checking to see if you’re real. 

“Is this a ploy to kidnap me and steal my organs, or something? Because when I last saw you, I got the impression that you severely disliked me.”

“No, I’m not going to steal your organs. The truth is complicated,” you scoff. “But you’re hot, and I’m over everything else, at least for tonight. Are you up for it?” 

You stare Han Jisung down, making him shift in his seat. He scratches his nose and blinks at you like a trembling mouse. “I… wait. You think I’m hot?”

What an idiot. Good thing he’s pretty.

“Is that a yes?”

“Fuck yes.”

With no warning at all, you grasp his hand, pulling him out of the booth while he scrambles to grab his belongings and shove them into his pockets. You feel his gaze on the back of your neck as you drag him through the bar, walking with your chin pointed up with purpose. You wind your way between the tables expertly, but this Jisung stumbles, making you glare at him over your shoulder.

“Watch your step,” you snap.

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking down at the floor as you barge into the bathroom in the back of the building, tugging him inside with you. “Wait, are we not going to your place, or—”

“Stop asking so many fucking questions, Han Jisung.” You slam the door behind you both and click the metal latch in place, leaving you both locked in the tiny room. It isn’t so cramped that there isn’t any space for movement, but it’s small enough to force you both into facing each other in a charged silence.

You eye Jisung from head to toe, taking in his baggy t-shirt and ripped jeans. He clears his throat, making you raise an eyebrow at him. “So, um, do you really have to call me by full name? Don’t you think that’s a little formal, considering what’s about to happen?”

You roll your eyes, your mind going back to the other Jisung you know. Never— there must be something to differentiate the two. You take an intimidatingly emphasized step towards him, backing him up against the wall. “No. I don’t think that’s too formal, Han Jisung.”

“But—”

“Shut the fuck up.” You trace your eyes down his body once more, gaze landing on the noticeable bulge in his pants. Bless Yeonjun— how right he was, for once. You look up, giving Jisung a mean smile. “Are you actually getting turned on right now?”

“Uh, wow—” He squeaks, as you reach your hand out and place it on his warm thigh, tracing it up his limb at a painful pace both dedicated to your desire to tease and be cautious.

“I asked you a fucking question.” You retract your hand right before it reaches its destination, glowering at him. “Answer me.”

“Just, um. I…” Jisung stammers, closing his eyes before opening them again, as if preparing himself. The honeyed tone of his skin exposes a light blush and therefore, his answer. “Ruin me, please.”

That’s all the permission you need before you’re placing your hands on Jisung’s surprisingly toned shoulders, roughly turning him around and swapping places with him, so that now you’re the one with their back to the wall. 

“Han Jisung…” You speak slowly, punctuating your words with the kind of loathing that has Jisung panting like a dog waiting for a treat, eyes wide with anticipation tinged with delicious fear. “If you’re a good boy and do as you’re told, I’ll see about giving you a reward.”

“Oh my god.”

“Take off your clothes.” 

Jisung nearly trips over his own two feet trying to wrestle the suddenly irksome swaths of fabric off of his body, tossing the garments onto the gross bathroom floor like he doesn’t give a fuck about getting a staph infection later. When he’s fully stripped, you trace your eyes over him in your own leisure, reveling in the way he shivers when you do. Your gaze washes over his defined abs, dipping even lower until you reach his hardened cock, flushed a pretty pink and glazed with pre-come— the condoms would come in very handy, after all.

Seeing him bared to you and your mercy rouses you up like you never thought it would; you never thought that feeling wanted yet being in control would work you up so much, but it does, and you love it beyond reason. 

“You’re really something else. Getting off on me being so mean to you.” With a sadistic smirk, you cross your arms. “I bet you thought about me even after I ditched your ass at the party, didn’t you?”

“I— I did,” he admits, with a nervous giggle. “You’re so fucking hot, I just couldn’t help it. Seriously. I’m sorry if— mmph.”

You interrupt his rambling by winding your hand into his soft hair and forcing him closer to you, meeting his soft lips in a harsh kiss, one that has him moaning shamelessly into your mouth. You kiss him deeply, like you want to punish him for it, like you want to both hurt him and make him beg for more. Jisung’s lips are small but full, moving against yours in a sloppy yet heated exchange, fighting for more in an unwinnable battle; he tastes like brandy, strawberries, and the promises of a good time, and you’re drunk on it.

“You’re disgusting, Han Jisung,” you spit out, prompting a whimper from Jisung. “Get on your fucking knees.”

He wastes no time dropping to his knees and letting you lead the way, fully submitting to your tantric commands. Quickly, you clutch at his hands and direct them to where they should be, tilting your head back against the wall as Jisung satisfies your wishes. With an eagerness that doesn’t even compare to your own, Jisung loosens the knot on the elastic band of your skirt, not bothering to untie it fully before he’s tugging the skirt up so that it’s bunched around your waist. 

And without you even demanding him to move faster, he’s pushing your panties aside and attaching his greedy mouth to your cunt. You nearly jerk away at the overwhelming sensation of pleasure; your ex-boyfriend never went down on you, and oh, how profoundly you’ve missed out. But you’ve researched enough to know exactly what you want.

Jisung’s eyes flick up to where you’re looking down and showering him with breathy sighs, spurring on his performance. When you shoot him a warning glare, he goes back to completely making-out with your cunt, easily spreading you apart with two of his fingers so he can focus on your throbbing clit. Jisung uses his other hand to squeeze your thigh gently, rubbing circles into the smooth skin as he works.

He delves deeper into your pussy when you run your hands through his silky hair, lapping at your arousal like it’s honey and he’s been starving for days. “You taste so good…”

Immediately, you yank back his hair and hold him in place as you start to grind onto his pretty face. “I don’t remember saying you could fucking talk.”

Jisung groans, taking every insult you hurl at him in such a measured but unbridled way. He makes up for his lack in precision with his enthusiasm, suctioning his mouth around your tender clit and swirling his tongue in patterns that have gotten you seeing the fucking stars. He lets you use him entirely, body going slack as he helps you ride out your high. The obscene sounds of Jisung slurping at your cunt fill the room as you come, gripping his head between your thighs as you feel that beautiful wave of euphoria fall over you. You pat Jisung’s shoulder in silent instruction, and he rises, cupping the sides of your arms and running his hands down them gently, soothing the way you quiver at any touch. 

“Are you okay?” Jisung whispers, making you open your eyes in surprise. Your ex-boyfriend never once checked up on you, not even when you were clearly in discomfort that first time he made you his own. This complete stranger however, one that you have been anything but gracious with, inspects your face with concern. A strange feeling of warmth spreads throughout your body as you nod your head.

“I’m good. You did well.” You grasp the bottom of your top, pulling it over your head so that all you’re standing in now are your skirt and basically ruined panties. You didn’t bother with putting on a bra before you left the house, and now, you’re thankful for the decision that was ultimately a byproduct of your laziness; Jisung gazes at your body with utter reverence, like just the sight of your tits has blessed his entire life.

“Please…”

“Please what, Han Jisung?” You bite your lip, both amused and flattered by how desperate he is for your pussy. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me. Please, fuck me. I’ve been good, haven’t I?” Jisung whines sadly, clearly on the verge of tears. His cock is now rock-hard, flush against his stomach, and it turns you on so much to know that eating you out has reduced him to such a pathetic mess. 

“Yes, you have…” you murmur, before jutting out your hand to hold his chin tightly. “Spit.”

Without a single protest, he obeys, a single string of saliva connecting his lips to your hand, before you’re reaching down and palming his cock. He lets out a gasp as you wrap your fingers around the base, spreading the dampness and pumping a few times for good measure, as if the mixture of his spit and your own arousal coating your pussy isn’t lubrication enough. 

You take the condoms out and help Jisung slide one onto his cock, chuckling when he places his hand over yours to help quicken the process. And then you’re finally guiding him into your entrance, circling one leg around his body and caging him into your fantasies. 

“Fuck—”

Jisung enters you as you both collectively moan out loud, him at how tightly your cunt clenches around him and you at how wonderfully his dick curves into you, hitting your sweet spot inside each time. Jisung cups your face as he kisses you again, but this time, it’s slower and more drawn-out, a vast juxtaposition to how rigorously he thrusts into you. You drag your nails down his back in a way that’s sure to leave marks for days to come, but he just increases his pace on your aching pussy, lost in pleasure. 

You grip Jisung’s ass and squeeze at the flesh, eliciting a throaty groan from him as your sweat combined creates a sticky layer between your bodies. Your breasts are pressed against Jisung’s chest, and he ducks his head to attend to them, licking and sucking at your sensitive nipples. The heightened attention goes straight to your sweet pussy, making you buck your hips as you hold him even tighter. 

“Oh god— I’m fucking— I’m gonna come—” Jisung chokes out, his movements now erratic and even more rushed, if possible.

“Not yet.” You just laugh cruelly, shaking your head. “You’re going to wait. I’m first.”

“I— I don’t think I can—”

“Suck it up like the little bitch you are, and make me come again,” you snarl, digging your nails into the arch of his ass.

He cries out, and for a brief lapse in time, you think he will not be able to outlast you, but then he slides his hand down, rubbing frantic circles onto your clit. The attempt to get you off a second time works, and the orgasm washes over you like a cool breeze in the summertime. You can’t help what escapes you next.

“HYUNJIN!”

“Did you just—”

You clench your jaw and give Jisung a menacing look, warning him of a topic that should not be broached under any circumstances. Luckily, your harsh expression just seems to spur Jisung on even more, and he follows you into ecstasy not long after, squirming in your hold. When he finally finishes, hot spurts of him coat your pussy and trembling thighs.

For a moment, Jisung slumps against you limply, and you let him, enjoying that blanket of heat and protection against your exposed skin, another gift you’ve never been given before. But then you remember that’s all he is to you— a body that has warmed you up for one night. You don’t feel guilty though, because you never did offer more than you could actually give. 

You pat Jisung’s back, prompting him to draw back and give you a fucked-smile. His bangs are plastered against his forehead in a sweaty mess, and his skin is tinged pink from his great efforts to please you. It’s a sight that you’ll be tucking away in your memories for any future lonely nights. 

After putting your blouse back on, you walk over to the sink as Jisung just stays leaning against the wall. Wetting a paper towel with some water, you run it between your thighs and clean up the remnants of Jisung’s come smeared there. And then you pull your skirt down and help Jisung, because no matter how you don’t see him as more than a fling, he is still significant to you. He’s the first person to make you come and show you that physical care that you’ve been craving for so long, and that amounts to something. Besides, you’d never just toss someone aside after using them so intimately, not like your ex did with you.

You get a fresh towel for Jisung, placing it against his forehead to cool his heated skin while assisting him in putting his clothes back on. When you both are completely dressed, you place a chaste kiss on Jisung’s lips and give him a small smile, before turning for the door.

“I’ll be on my way now, Han Jisung.”

Jisung leaps forward quickly, grabbing your head before it can reach the doorknob. “Hey, I know you said this was just a one-night, but can’t we maybe get dinner or something?”

“Jisung.” The plain name is still sour on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “We aren’t going to work. This isn’t going to happen again.”

“Wait. Are you just, like, crazy edging me right now?”

Shaking your head, you let out a tired laugh. “No, I’m not. Look, I think you’re a really nice guy. I’m sorry for how I treated you at the party last week. You definitely didn’t deserve that, and I definitely still need to resolve my own issues. I’m sure there’s some other sexy lady out there just waiting to dom your pretty face off. You deserve better than me.”

You leave Jisung speechless, finally getting out of the bathroom. You have a very important meeting tomorrow, one that you absolutely cannot miss. Besides, he really does deserve better than you, someone who definitely doesn’t make his whole life an enigma. Someone who doesn’t have the same impact on him as Hyunjin does on you. 

And in your post-coital clarity, you also finally accept that there will be no compromising with your feelings for Hyunjin. You’re falling in love with him, so much that even when another man is balls-deep in you, he’s all you can think of. It’s so profound that it hurts, the thought of never being able to fuck him into oblivion like you just did with Han Jisung. You can never have those nights with him in dirty bathrooms, or the ones tangled up in bedsheets for hours at an end. Late night conversations about the banalities of life and playful interviews about where he buys his amazing clothing will never be yours. You’re playing a dangerous game, ignoring your feelings like they’re a hazy insect that will eventually buzz away. Because you know they won’t. They’ll come back to sting you.

As you beeline for the bar exit, you run straight into Yeonjun, who seems to have been waiting for you all along. And by the looks of the Cheshire grin on his face, he knows exactly what you’ve been up to.

“I knew his dick was big.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“So… want to talk about last week?”

“There’s not much to talk about.” You shrug, toying with the hem of your dress. It’s green, a new look from the various shades of pinks that you donned whenever visiting Hyunjin. The change doesn’t feel refreshing— really, it’s restricting and strange, somehow. Like it doesn’t belong on you.

Hyunjin sighs, getting up from his fancy chair to sit down next to you. So understanding, so caring, so gentle. Everything you don’t deserve and that you will never have. “Darling, please. Open up to me.”

You snap, looking at him directly. “I had sex with Han Jisung.”

Closing your eyes, you lift your up palm, effectively silencing whatever you know that Hyunjin was about to say. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself. You have to mend the cracks before you break completely. Again. It’s now or never, no matter how much it will hurt you to do so.

“And I think we should stop seeing each other.”

«NEXT CHAPTER» · «GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

AUTHOR'S NOTE Here she is!! We're 2/5 of the way there 💪 Thank you for all of the love for this series! And again, I apologize for the atrocious wait-time. Please leave your thoughts, I don’t really mind if you leave a whole essay ;) -Dreamy

TAGLIST @skzfelixlove @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi @hyunjinswifeee @geneziesm @sherryblossom @yeetfellx @bennetbutton @chillseo @hyuneyeon @seosalad @nhyunn @hyunjinnie2000 @ajxreads @n2tl4na @yeahhspider @8makes1scream @jetblackbelle @143hyunes @raginghellfire @sinforsuccubus @lixiesw1fe @chartrucewhore @freckleboilix @ultimatestayandminoronce @cheesytangerine @leyknowsbin @stay278 @strawberry-dreamland @lvrgrl-xo @moasworld @hyunnielix @httphans @chaotic-world-of-the-j @nyasstars @beautifulmusicaddict-blog @imasimplol @1clickawayfrominsane @xsw-void @queen-klarissa @hyunjinsamdl @heavenhannie @moasworld @kykeu @sxlxna ***The users that I could not tag are written in pink***

If you'd like to join the taglist, click here!

NETWORKS @kflixnet @k-films

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Writeblr intro post

So yeah when I first came here I didn't know this was a thing so I've been working on this in the background. Now that it won the poll, I'm making it now!

I'm going to edit this post as I go so it has more links as I make posts about my WIPs!

About Me

Hi. Call me Kaylin. It's a pen name but I like it. (Some people are just finding out this isn't my real name and y'all should've read the bio)

I'm an education major and do writing on the side and it's a huge passion of mine (hence why I want to teach literacy)

Asexual demiromantic sapphic (she/her) currently in a relationship - (I am comfortable within reason to talk about my experiences)

Love ask games and tag games and generally interacting with others

Love reblogging mutuals' writing talking about WIPs!

21+ but my WIPs are YA - I don't usually reblog anything with a mature community label (sorry in advance for mutuals who do), but when I do I mark it 18+ and I try to label content warnings (LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED SOMETHING)

I'm an educator by heart so I love giving feedback, know a lot about kids, and of course education psychology and theory

I have minor scoliosis, early start of arthritis in my hands, and chronic headaches and migraines attacks in control with medication if anyone needs to ask me about these experiences for writing purposes. I also occasionally use a cane due to knee pain from an injury.

I have an ultimate get to know me game if you want to check that out

My asks are always open! Feel free to stop in whenever you want!

My WIPs

The Secret Portal

See linked intro post for more detail!

YA sci-fi/fantasy

Planned to be a five book series

Quick version: A bunch of adolescents discover a portal to a dimension populated by people with powers. There's also a war. Yayyy.

The first installment is currently in the process of being read by beta readers. Apply to be one here!

One to five game

Q&A (open at any time!)

Tagged as #the secret portal, #tsp, or #teaspoon if you want to give it a nickname. #tsp updates and #tsp excerpt are used as well. All characters get their own tag and #alium will be used when talking about my world building

Ask to be added to or removed from the tag list! @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet

School of the Legends

See linked intro post for more detail!

YA urban fantasy fairy tale retelling

International school for people with gifts (born with), majicks (learn), and curses (given).

Currently in planning stage but five chapters have been written.

One to five game

Tagged as #school of the legends and #sotl. Also use #sotl updates and #sotl excerpt, though not as often as TSP

Ask to be added to or removed from the tag list! @illarian-rambling @katwritesshit @wyked-ao3

I have a WIP questionnaire I have gone for BOTH TSP and SOTL!

Other Ideas

It Was All Just a Dream - (linked WIP questionnaire) high school senior gets an entire redemption arc via vivid dream

The Emerald of Secrets - temporary title for vague fairy fantasy idea

Perspectives - we watch the same event five times in a row from different perspectives

Eternity - temporary title for a supernatural detective story

The Others - temporary title for a sci-fi apocalypse story

There are more but these are the main ones

What I Post or Reblog

Updates on my writing

Tag games and ask games! I love them dearly but it may take a bit to reply! I have a lot piled up and not all of them are simple. But I will get to them!!

Writing from others

Writing advice

Beta requests, book announcements, and intro posts to help boost!

I try to keep things positive! If I see a negative post about writing I'll usually reblog it with some positive spin. Sorry if that's annoying but it makes me sad that people aren't happy about writing.

I always try to include image IDs to make my blog accessible - if something is incorrect or you have any suggestions for making IDs better let me know!

[moonbaby26]

Title: Abduction

(Chapter 9 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Doflamingo x Sir Crocodile

Chapter Warnings: language, violence, blood, murder (not main characters), toxic/controlling relationships, reader’s implied past abuse

Chapter Synopsis: You chose to interfere and save the life of someone who had nothing to do with you. But like plucking one strand of a spider’s web to call the predator to its prey, an irreversible chain reaction has now started. Doflamingo is goaded by his own past as well, forcing him to refuse even your temporary release from him this time.

Chapters: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9, 10

——————————

—————————— 

At least you hadn’t had to wonder long on if you’d misjudged the strangers’ intentions with the girl. Though if you hadn’t been so sure, your own body wouldn’t have reacted near as strongly as it had. 

The look in that girl’s eyes was the same fear you’d seen on the faces of girls and boys just like yourself so many times. That last glance before they’d be pulled away into rooms with strange men, or onto ships with chains then around their wrists and ankles.

You’d been a rare survivor of that kind of childhood. And just like in Sabaody with the little merboy, you could never walk away once that realization of another child’s fear hit you.

And of course, all your intent was so clear in your own body language as well. Even in a sleek and beautiful dress you never would have chosen. Even in the mask, the heels, and the expensive jewelry you now wore, you were right back to being a fighter.

So the very moment you’d slid in front of that group to block their path and announced yourself as a marine captain with questions for them, they had also not hesitated in the slightest to deal with you.

But the flash of gunmetal and blades all at once from beneath so many equally expensive clothes also unlocked your last restraints.

Because they weren’t World Government contractors then. Even Cipher Pol agents would have just told you to stand down and mind your own business once knowing you were a marine.

These strangers willingness to kill a marine officer without you so much as laying a hand on them first made the situation more than clear. 

They were either pirates or some kind of mercenaries then, and everything was completely fair game as the ballroom erupted into the echoes of gunfire and screams.

It actually helped you by the way they aimed only for your chest as well. You didn’t have to worry about bystanders being grazed then and could focus your armament as strong as able in that one place to catch those first shots.

Not that it didn’t hurt immensely though. The force from the bullets spread out like miniature shockwaves through your rib cage and organs regardless.

You missed the freedom of movement of your normal skirt and the weight of your usual boots too. But you had to improvise, working as fast as you could with no weapon but your hands and feet as you tried for one or two hit KO’s against them.

The sooner you could down each opponent, the less chance of additional hostages being taken or a stray bullet burying itself into one of those rich socialites.

Tables were crashing over, glassware shattering, and floors cracking as you all chased one another around. Six of them versus one of you.

But you felt like a dog on a short chain, moving in a tight circle to still keep yourself between them and the girl all the while.

Besides their weapons, you were just lucky at how weak they really were. But it did take so much haki to fully stop those bullets every time. A resource that was absolutely not limitless to you, as you still counted the enemies down as they fell one after another to your hardest hits.

By the time only one of the attackers was still standing, it wasn’t a coincidence that he’d been the last one up. He was stronger than the others you realized, and he hadn’t been hiding behind a gun. He had a sword that’d come from within his long coat. 

This entire battle had transpired in just moments though. From the time the first shot rang out to the time it was just you and him as you understood that his mission had changed.

He was going to strike the girl down, call this transport botched, and that be the end of it you were sure. And he would absolutely cut you down to get to her.

You’d been an idiot to leave your rope dart behind with your things at the villa. Weapons had been checked for at the doors here as they weren’t allowed. But obviously those rules could be skirted as he came for you with that long blade.

The first strike you did block anyway. His sword contacting your forearm as the girl trembled in shock behind you. But with the way it still did sting just barely through your armament coating, you already knew how in trouble you really were. That hit had actually kissed your real flesh.

Your coating was quickly thinning. You’d used too much, too fast in the speed of this incident.

And this man actually knew how to use a sword. Or maybe he was a fruit user. Something already felt off in your arm then as you still had no choice but to let the next swing of the weapon come. If you had truly dodged it, the girl would have been struck instead.

As it was, the blade missed your torso by only the thickness of your dress’s fabric that time. Not breaking your skin, but tearing a large swipe into the material as you’d backed into the girl as her shield. 

On the remaining downswing, that falling sword did not miss your leg however.

But that was also the one chance you’d seen for your opening for a counter strike. Even as you felt the searing pain as he did break through your armament over your thigh, you’d still punched as hard as you could while his sword was down. The last bits of your haki diverted into your fist to make it count.

You felt your attacker’s nose break as he went flying backwards. The bloody sword along with him as you immediately fell to one knee while your leg went completely numb.

“No!” The girl was sobbing aloud at last then. You felt her pulling at your dress as if to catch you. But she’d fallen down too of course, and was then crawling to come around you.

She must have thought he’d fully succeeded in amputating your leg. But that leg was still there as you were already trying to put pressure on the massive gash atop your thigh. The blood was flowing out readily, so warm against your hands.

But she would have been killed if you hadn’t done exactly this.

You realized she knew that too as she desperately started to try and tear pieces from her own dress. “Please…I can make a tourniquet. I’m so…I’m so sorry.” Her face was absolutely contorted in fear, grief, and guilt as you watched her in a bit of surprise.

For her age, that girl now doing anything other than just sitting there in continued tears and shock was unusual. She was actually trying to help.

But your heart was racing yourself. You realized you couldn’t feel your arm any longer either even though it had only been nicked. Everywhere that sword had broken the skin had gone fully unresponsive now. It wasn’t normal. But you needed to concentrate on the blood loss first. You didn’t think it’d gotten into any artery, but if you couldn’t close the wound… 

As you were thinking all of this, still trying to slow the bleeding with both your hands and the makeshift bindings from both your dress and the girl’s, you saw her eyes widen again as she looked back up from your wound.

The sound of footsteps crunching over broken glass behind you had you immediately trying to stand and turn in defense. Who had you missed? As if you could even fight one on one now though.

You couldn’t even stand to your own surprise, body so uncooperative as the girl got between you and those footfalls instead.

“Leave her alone! Please! Just take me! Don’t hurt anyone else! I won’t run again!” She was begging as she tried to hold her arms out as if that alone could shield you.

You would have used your still working arm to grab and throw her honestly. She was thin and light enough. You would have yelled at her to go for one of the exits. But as you looked over your shoulder to see what was coming, your resolve wavered.

Every other bystander had fled in the chaos. Doflamingo alone now stalked across that field of broken glass, looming with his hands in his pockets as you first saw the deep scowl across his face.

Your own mind did not react with any relief to that aura which preceded him. You understood the girl’s fear innately. Everything in that man’s body language now spoke of danger, not rescue.

So much so in fact, that you nearly threw her anyway. 

But there wasn’t enough time. You grabbed the girl and pulled her back behind you instead as she yelped. Still at least keeping yourself between her and the warlord before that man’s long legs brought him to stand easily before you again.

The sheer contempt in his expression only felt like the pirate from years before though. The same one you’d once watched from binoculars on Tsuru’s ship as he’d slit the throats of rival pirates with one swipe of his strings before you could reach them. 

You were absolutely at his mercy.

“And what was your plan after all of this?” His cold voice finally asked as you still shielded the girl.

“Doffy…” The word left your mouth before you had even bid it. As if he had physically drawn it out of you while your heart still pounded.

The feeling was indescribable. Fear, but something else too. You knowing full well what the sight of blood did to him, but trying to call him in to you all the same, to wake him up. You had no one else that could help you now. The only one who could save you from him…was him.

You saw that resulting twitch of his mouth at the sound of your plea too. His involuntary response to your own voice.

And suddenly he was crouched down right in front of you even with a then emerging sneer.

The girl gripped to you harder in her surprise, still behind you as Doflamingo roughly pulled the scraps of fabric away that you and she had tried unsuccessfully to put over your wound.

Your blood smeared thick across his hand as his fingers moved across the deep gash. But you could feel none of it, just watching as his strings emerged. 

His movements were so precise, fingers edging in a criss cross pattern to pull the wound slowly back together with those same strings. 

And once it was closed, he used both hands to surprisingly gently reposition your leg. Making the limb extend and raise, circling his hand above and below your thigh as more strings laid down around it. In the same texture as the softest cotton bandaging actually as your good arm moved to touch it lightly with your hand in curiosity once he was done. 

He stared at you afterward and you could still feel that tension radiating from him. But it was gradually changing.

“You’ll really throw your body away for any brat in need won’t you?” He asked, with his face so close to yours again. 

And you felt like he was either going to bite you or kiss you in that next moment as he remained so conflicted, confused even.

But with the way his mouth still shifted as he tried to choose between the two, you saw even one more emotion. Something you hadn’t noticed before.

And you were sure you must be misreading him. 

Because he couldn’t. He didn’t. Not for you at least. Warlords didn’t show weakness that way. Pirates didn’t even care. And a true monster would never feel fear or panic. Not just for watching a nothing like you be cut down right in front of them anyway.  

Was he actually shaken? Even the slightest afraid?

His hand was still so protectively grasped to your leg after making that bandage. Even as you did close that last gap for him on your own instinct, kissing him quickly before that complicated feeling he was trying to understand could be buried with further violence.

And that poor little girl must be so confused herself. Maybe she’d even regret being rescued by such a mess of a human being like you. 

Doflamingo didn’t break the kiss once started either, even as you all heard more people coming. He actually only leaned in further, capturing you by the back of the head to press you in tighter to his mouth as the new voices finally came.

“Princess Vivi!” They shouted. “Oh thank fate, she’s here! Tell the king! She’s alive! Princess!”

Royal guards were running in one after another as you and the pirate finally ended that intimacy to look towards the commotion. But he didn’t let you go fully, with his hand still on your thigh. Nor did he stand.

He was absolutely still looking defensive, staying close as the guards surrounded you all.

But the girl did walk forward, quick to yell back to them. All those fresh tears were still wet on her face, even if they were now those of relief. “Stand down! This marine saved me! It’s alright. Everything is all right!”

And you did see the guards lowering their weapons immediately at her words. But in that distraction, apparently your most recent victim had been playing possum all the while.

You heard the additional sound as a few guards fell, the swordsman that had nearly taken your leg then up and muscling past them. But only with the intent to flee, quickly disappearing through the doors to the outside before any other could stop him.

At that, Doflamingo did growl and immediately stood to follow. Which you were still surprised by that intense of a response from him. They hadn’t done anything to him directly after all. And he certainly didn’t care about any random princess.

But again, you saw that strange moment of hesitation in him. The reflex to chase new prey so strong for him. Yet he glanced back at you, still seated there on the floor with those stains of blood around you. And you visibly saw as he changed his mind, tension shifting in his shoulders as he raised his hand instead.

It was the bloody hand that had tended to your wound.

Strings flew out from those red fingertips as the guards looked to him in renewed concern. But those strings only coiled tightly, falling to the ground. They formed feet, then legs, a torso, and quickly an entire copy of the warlord himself as he unleashed it with an all new scowl and the hiss of the words, “Black knight.”

You had never seen the creation of one of his string clones. Amazed how truly you could not tell the visual difference as the clone took on Doflamingo’s same current expression, leaping right over the stunned guards and disappearing out of the ballroom on the same path as the escaping stranger.

——————————

The agent had hidden themselves in a nondescript alleyway. Pleading in the dark to the one on the other end of that transponder snail as blood still ran from his broken nose.

“You were supposed to kill the girl immediately if she could not be transferred to the harbor. But I needed her dead by the end of all of this regardless.” That heartless voice responded coldly once more.

Followed by the sheer desperation from the subordinate, tone both nasally and muffled by his still bleeding face. “We tried, boss! I don’t even understand. The princess wasn’t supposed to have any other bodyguards. It was some bitch, I don’t know. She said she was a marine. But we had the girl. We took out the princess’s attendants just like you said to and took her. I paralyzed them with my power. It was all six of us. That should have been plenty, but-“

“You all couldn’t shoot or cut down even one marine after that?”

“I only got two hits on her with my paralyze cut. She fell, but she wasn’t alone either. Some tall ass guy showed up.”

“Then you should have finished the job. You said your devil fruit never fails.”

“But boss, really…I mean, They shot her so many times. It did nothing! It was like haki or some shit. What was I supposed to do?”

“You keep shooting and cutting, you fool! No marine short of an admiral can keep up armament forever. It would have broken, and she would have died. But now the princess will be under much heavier guard going forward. Your incompetence has cost me dearly today. It won’t be happening again.”

“No! Boss, please!”

“I’ll be sending other agents to clean this up. Run if you wish like those before you. It will be pointless. Consider your contract terminated.”

But a new voice had joined in just as suddenly before the call could disconnect. “Oh, I’ll save you both the time and effort.”

“Boss! It’s the tall guy, the one from-”

The sound of a person being sliced into pieces in mid sentence was certainly a distinct one. Followed by the briefest silence as Sir Crocodile’s contemptuous expression hardly changed.

He merely stared down at his snail, cigar smoke wafting up from his place at his desk within the basement of the Rain Dinners casino in Alabasta.

For a single moment, he’d hoped he hadn’t actually recognized that new voice. But that hope immediately died on the vine like all else in the next words from the uninvited.

“You picked the wrong night, you greasy prick. Take your cheap ass agents elsewhere. I’m working this island right now.” The string clone grumbled, now standing over its handiwork of the fresh kill.

“Doflamingo.” Crocodile bit further into his cigar. Body bristling with that physical abhorrence to just the confirmed sound of the other’s vile tone and everything it still represented to him. “Why are you even there? You goddamned freak. And helping marines no less…”

“Why are you trying to pick up little girls for quick cash? Are you that destitute again already? Do you need another loan from a real businessman, Croc?”

“I owe you nothing anymore. And I won’t ever again.”

The resulting dark laugh at that indignation reverberated low and menacing from the string clone. “Oh, like you didn’t enjoy paying it back to me…and with interest. You miss it don’t you? No one can fill you like I did.”

“You never get any less disgusting.” Came the hateful reply. “And you aren’t half as good as you think you are. But do stay delusional, Heavenly Demon.”

There was no quicker way to get under Doflamingo’s own skin of course. Even through proxy as the clone sneered, that ego prodded as he straightened up immediately. “Your moans for me said different, you sandy bitch. But here’s the thing. You do owe me something again now.”

“For goddamn what?” Crocodile growled. “I haven’t taken a single beri from you in years.”

“Your stooges shot the woman I was there with. You drew blood from something that belongs to me. How are you going to make that up to me?”

And Crocodile scoffed immediately. “Sounds like a mercy killing if some poor woman only had your company to endure. Just go buy another like you always do. Enjoy the complimentary syphilis or chlamydia to go along with it.”

The string clone hissed, even the forehead veins bulging in a realistic way. “You dumb motherfucker…you’re still not understanding. I wasn’t there with some call girl. I’m not talking about a worthless bystander. Your dead idiot already told you. They shot and cut that marine. It didn’t kill her because your men are trash. But you’re on my claim now. And you know I don’t let anyone take what’s mine. If you want me to fix this how I see fit, then that’s fine. Vice Admiral Momonga’s nearby. I can have a nice chat with him tonight about that dance powder you’ve been looking for can’t I? As if you could really buy it from outside of my network. And that Nefertari bitch you thought you could ransom and kill? I’m sure they’d love to know that too. Or were you going to ‘discover’ and defeat her killers yourself to get more on her daddy’s good side? I swear you might as well be fucking him too. You kiss ass, traitor.”

And Crocodile sat there for a moment. Truly awestruck at this mix of idiocy and true madness that had just graced his ears. “…Do you even goddamn hear your own words anymore? If only you’d drown yourself one day like the original Narcissus story.” He grumbled, the sheer audacity of it all seeming overwhelming as well. “So you’re now bedding marines too? As if that won’t blow up right in your face, you pathetic nymphomaniac.”

Crocodile kept on though, just getting louder in his responding anger, “You still think your cock alone can turn anyone into another of your sycophants? Please. You’re no gift from the gods, I assure you. You’re just another pirate who got lucky one too many times. And that over confidence will bite you in the ass someday. You’re going to fall like a house of cards then. And I hope we’re all still alive to see you hit every rung of that ladder on your way back down it.”

“Keep dreaming. Everything you do is only an imitation of what I’ve already accomplished!” Doflamingo spat back. “You should have given in and just become my subordinate ages ago. You’re going to bite off more than you can chew and choke on it without me to bail you out anymore.”

Crocodile was truly furious then. That implication of still not being responsible for his own success pushing him over that final edge of his composure. “Do not think for one fucking second that I owe anything I’ve achieved to you!”

“You tried to sleep your way to the top with me, Croc. Fucking own it! You got paid well for it, didn’t you!? But you stopped too soon. I could have taken you even higher.”

“I’d sooner gut myself on my own hook than ever come back to you, you degenerate bird!”

“Well, mess with that marine again and I’ll do it for you! I never minded rearranging your guts. But I can tear them out to show them to you just as fucking easily!”

“Go back to hell! If she has a functioning brain at all, that marine will escape you at first opportunity. You’ll be in Impel Down when she inevitably betrays you. In fact, I’ll be rooting for her now. I may even send her sympathy flowers, despite what she’s cost me here! There’s nothing wrong with sharing a common enemy. Because I’m sure she’ll see it my way soon. Your charms are all too fleeting. You’re just a disgusting, clawing, parasite! And once that mask falls for good, no one would even be caught dead with you!”

And the string clone was trembling in its own resulting rage of course. Because it would always come to this. They could never keep from each other’s throats for long. So very different in their personalities, but all too similar as well in that competing pride which had bled into full blown hatred after this long. Neither would ever forgive the other. “You’re wrong as always. And I’m going to prove it. Watch for the news! She’s mine, like you could have been. You ungrateful shit!”

And the connection was broken as the string clone crushed the receiver from off of that snail before the doppelgänger unravelled back to nothing in the alleyway.

All that raw emotion went straight back to the original who’d been aware of every word the entire time. Like the ultimate ventriloquy act through the power of his devil fruit.

Doflamingo’s real hands were still trembling in anger as he dug his fingers into the top of his pants over his thighs, sitting beside you in the ballroom still.

He wasn’t walking away this time, regardless of when the other marines would finally come. You could be as pissed as you wanted to be. He’d had enough of hiding and being told what he could or couldn’t have…and being judged as the kind of man he was or was not.

This was his life, his choices. He’d been pushed too far tonight.

——————————— 

“Sir…I mean your highness, it’s perfectly alright. Really. I’m just waiting for my commanding officer and then we’ll get all these creeps put in his brig for you and be on our way.” You tried again, attempting to fend off King Cobra’s continued insistence on having you checked out by their royal doctor. 

Even after Doflamingo had said cryptically that the last assailant was ‘taken care of’, that dark implication still hadn’t dampened the new mood in the ballroom.

King Cobra couldn’t stop thanking you, and everyone seemed to be worrying over you like some kind of selfless hero in return now that things had settled while waiting for the marines. 

And honestly, it was kind of refreshing to realize that there was a king that could act this grateful in public. He did seem to truly love his daughter and be beside himself with relief that she had nothing more than a few scuffs and scrapes after the whole ordeal.

It’d definitely been a targeted and brazen attack as she hadn’t even been alone when she’d been taken either. Her father had been at a meeting elsewhere on the island when their villa had been raided and her attendants and guards all overcome. 

Apparently the kidnappers had run into more guards responding to those initial distress calls though, and their group had had to detour through the crowded ballroom to try and escape detection. As oblivious as the average noble was, it absolutely would have worked. Only you, as unsophisticated as you were, had noticed the trouble for what it was.

And you had no regrets at all for what you’d done. Vivi too had remained close afterward, fussing over you as well and asking question after question about how you’d learned to do these things. Princess or not, she was still eager and curious now that the danger had finally passed.

“Do you think I could kick like that one day?” She asked with that kind of sincerity that could only come from youth.

“I don’t see why not.” You smiled, picking on her about that blue and green feathered masquerade mask of her own. “Call it the peacock slice or something. I’m terrible with move names though.”

“Ah, hmm. The peacock kick maybe?” And she did raise her leg a little, just laughing as the two of you continued to joke.

Of course you hoped this devil fruit nonsense you’d been hit with would wear off soon so that you’d be kicking again too. After waking in the guards’ restraints, one of the other attackers had confessed how the power set of the one who had cut you worked.

That fruit user had cut you twice, which apparently numbed and paralyzed whatever they cut for at least hours at a time. So you had one useless leg and one useless arm for now. If he’d cut you in the chest though you may have stopped being able to breathe all together.

So it could have definitely been worse. But you still worried about one other thing entirely now.

Even after dealing with that one escapee, Doflamingo had chosen to remain here beside you. And you’d already used one of the guards’ snails to call Momonga who was on his way. 

Of course Vivi, her guards, and even King Cobra had already seen Doflamingo here. Vivi and the first guards to arrive had even seen that kiss you’d given him that he’d also returned. But you weren’t sure they realized who he actually was.

Yet even in the mask instead of his sunglasses, and the dark suit instead of all the hot pink feathers, you had no doubt that the marines would know him when seeing him up close.

Because no one looked like Donquixote Doflamingo…but Donquixote Doflamingo.

And then what were you to say? You didn’t understand what his plan was. He just seemed agitated. Brooding over something still, but tolerating everything in silence as you played with Vivi and repeatedly politely declined Cobra’s offers of assistance.

You felt like you were still being guarded by the warlord right now in front of these others. Which wasn’t fully insulting considering your current state. You wouldn’t even be able to walk on your own right now.

But this current silence from him just left you hoping that that trademark smooth talking bullshit of his would emerge whenever the marines did arrive.

Couldn’t he just say he’d been here on his own and that any sudden fight or violence was always going to pique his interest? That wouldn’t be so far fetched would it? He was already a king in a place for royalty. One who loved fighting so much that he personally oversaw brutal colosseum matches in his home country. So that story might work.

You wished he would have at least said something more to you though after that short word of him taking care of the escaped assailant. When he didn’t, you had just kept on with Vivi.

But kids weren’t stupid. Especially her you were finding as she did lean in and finally whisper in your ear. “I think your boyfriend is still really mad you got hurt maybe? My friend Pell says boys are bad at feelings.”

You felt the heat in your face immediately. But you still laughed at the surprise and innocence of it, making Doflamingo’s head at last turn at the rare sound of your laugh as he looked at you both.

“Your friend Pell sounds smart.” You responded at normal volume, knowing the warlord had not heard what the girl said.

“He is. He didn’t come to Scylla with us. I bet he comes next time after this though! He’s a good fighter too.” Vivi smiled back.

She was helping you relax. But for all your worrying about what to say or do when Momonga and the others would at last walk in, that didn’t end up being what you had to contend with first anyway.

Not at all as new voices erupted as you’d all been awaiting only the marines. 

You were finding that these supposed royal guards weren’t really worth a damn as several more people slipped right past them. Not with guns or swords this time. But in a way, almost something far worse as you saw that first flash bulb go off.

“King Cobra! Princess Vivi! We’re with the World Economic Journal!” The reporters clamored.

Cobra wasn’t far away at that moment, just with his guards again, confirming that all the remaining attackers were remaining properly restrained.

Vivi was right beside you however. Doflamingo on your other side, all three of you sitting on chairs in a row now as the press swarmed in to first get pictures of the scuffed up princess.

Fuck. You thought, albeit straightening up in your own seat immediately. You could see Vivi doing the same, but she grabbed your hand just as fast. And you realized she was helping you hide the fact that your arm was so limp for the cameras. Making it look better just that simply with her quick thinking to reposition it and hold your hand in clear solidarity.

She’d been trained as a princess, and you as a marine to both give a certain appearance to the public. Two completely different ends of the spectrum, but evidently complimentary here at least.

And their hunger for a story was as bad as anytime you’d ever been at the mercy of these vultures. Though normally never with such a direct role. After noteworthy or controversial deployments, the press would sometimes be found hounding for a picture or an official marine quote as you’d all be trying to reload Tsuru’s ship in port. The reporters hanging around the gangplank like scavengers, making the crew have to chase them off in order to actually depart.

You’d never spoken to them directly. 

“They said you’re a marine! Was this a planned undercover operation then? Did you rescue the princess alone!? Did a kidnapper escape!?”

And you were about to open your mouth only to say that they could direct all questions to Vice Admiral Momonga once a full investigation had been completed…the standard canned answer you’d been taught when not sanctioned to speak to them.

But the man at your other side finally came back to himself in that moment. At least on the outside as he had shifted in his chair. One of his legs subtly touching against yours when he did so. Against your paralyzed leg that you couldn’t move away from him as his arm then stretched out over the back of your chair as well.

His body language said everything of possession and your one working hand absolutely clenched against your knee in your shocked reaction. Your mind was beginning to panic even if your expression didn’t yet change.

He still wasn’t smiling though. But his voice was easily that charismatic, strong tone you’d hoped for again. The one that made everyone stop and listen as the camera lenses turned to him immediately.

But you hadn’t wanted it like this. He was feeding into them instead of helping to play this down. What was he trying to do?

“Her name is Captain (Y/N).” Doflamingo spoke. “She defeated them all unassisted. One was not properly detained by these guards. I handled him after his escape.”

And you were hearing the camera shutters clicking all the while as he spoke for you. 

You could even see the focused looks in the reporters faces. They were trying to place him. They all knew by now that he was someone important. With that aura again forming, this sway he had over the room as soon as he’d chosen to be present and back outside of his own head again. 

“Your name, sir!?” One reporter finally asked.

And even Vivi was looking past you in curiosity then as you took a breath.

That smug smirk did cut across his face in response. He was letting the drama build.

You felt his fingers grace across your bare shoulder with the style of your dress too, from his arm that was over the back of your chair as it actually moved down. And there wasn’t a goddamn thing you could do about it in that moment.

“Donquixote Doflamingo.” The warlord announced himself.

The gasps went around the room as the camera flashes absolutely went wild again. The reporters were writing furiously in their little notebooks as well.

“King Donquixote!” “Are you here with the marines!?” “Was this a warlord assignment!?” “Has Dressrosa allied with Alabasta Kingdom!?” They all asked in competing shouts for his attention.

And as you stared across the room, you saw Vice Admiral Momonga now standing with his stunned officers beside an equally surprised looking King Cobra. 

Doflamingo’s hand only tightened even further on your bare shoulder at Momonga’s arrival however. That bit of your dried blood still coloring those long fingers.

The pirate was giving you no option, no warning as the fear grew further in your chest. How far was he going to go? You couldn’t stand from the chair, you couldn’t even walk away from him.

He knew that.

“I was here on pleasure, not business.” And he was beginning to smile truly then, fully understanding everything that he was doing to you now. “Dressrosa needs no alliances to prosper. We’re already wealthier and thriving more than we ever have been. But-“

His head turned to look down at you with renewed emphasis.

“This particular marine has impressed me as of late. Saving Princess Nefertari here is just the tip of the iceberg I assure you in what (Y/N) is capable of. So in recognition of this, I’m formally inviting her to Dressrosa. That’s the only alliance I’m interested in right now.”

He hadn’t even called you a captain there. He’d just said your goddamn name like it was already so informal. Which of course it was to him…but not in front of everyone. Not in a fucking press conference as you felt how uneven your breath was becoming. Momonga and his officers were still outright staring now, completely taken aback.

Was this what the beginnings of a panic attack felt like?

And Doflamingo must think that even then his intentions weren’t obvious enough here.

He wanted everyone to know.

Because with that quick dexterity that so few could have managed, his other hand had already grabbed yours. Specifically your paralyzed one, slipping it right from Vivi’s grip as if the girl had never had it at all. 

He was that entirely smooth in that quick movement. You couldn’t pull your arm back away from him if you’d tried.

“Doflamingo.” You finally hissed.

And you saw that dark smile in response. “Too late.” He whispered back.

And the King of Dressrosa brought your hand to his lips as he kissed the top of it in front of the flashes of those cameras. “Dressrosa would be lucky to have you.” He said louder for them to hear again. “What do you say, Captain?” 

You heard Vivi make a noise to your other side. Not a negative one either. It was almost an excited squeak. But the girl was too young to understand. This was not a romantic gesture on his part at all. This was not a fairytale or any proposal of lifelong happiness. 

You could lose everything you had fought for just from this abrupt power play. 

But if you humiliated Doflamingo in such a public forum by fighting back or even verbally rejecting him at all, the outcome would have been as certain as signing your own death certificate and likely those of your friends as well.

You knew that every single click of those cameras could be an image that Big News Morgans might print for the entire world by morning. Anything you did now would be eternal on the printed page. You wouldn’t be able to take it back. 

But for all your own fear and anger for being singled out this way…you still didn’t hate him.

And you couldn’t hurt him.

“Warlord Doflamingo…King Donquixote.” You said so very carefully. Somehow finding your own voice by adrenaline alone, as he still held your hand in that illusion of the interested gentleman suitor before the world.

“You are already my ally by the balance of powers that the marines have made and maintain with the warlords. And as the leader of the World Government nation of Dressrosa as well…of course it is also my duty to support you and your people however requested.”

Your heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of your chest. You were waiting for him to still be angry. You knew the neutrality and almost cowardice you were choosing in your words here. But you were still trying to save yourself without sacrificing his pride.

But that false warmth in his response did not hesitate. Not for even a moment. “Then I’m asking you to head a new marine post that we’re going to establish in Dressrosa, Captain. Actually…I’m asking you to return to Dressrosa with me when my ship leaves port tomorrow. We can scout locations for this new post immediately once we reach my home country.”

He was going to take you anyway. 

And he was telling everyone here in real time, daring a soul to do a thing to stop it.

Vivi’s attempted kidnapping had been accompanied with all the dramatics of fighting and gunfire, and still been thwarted by you alone.

Yet your own abduction was now happening with only hollow words and camera flashes in front of an entire crowd who had every eye on you and this pirate. And no one moved to help you at all. No one even tried.

———————————

    T⨂  BE 

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

[sheepiemc]

your touch (a craving)

part 2: arm (first)

You were on Diavolo’s mind again. 

This seemed to be happening more often than not these days, especially after that infamous bus ride a few weeks before. The warmth of your thigh on his still made him crazy whenever he thought about it. The strength of his willpower was astounding; how he didn’t end up just pulling you onto his lap because of that touch was beyond mortal comprehension. Such were dangerous thoughts for the future King of the Devildom.

Something you had said that day kept bringing him back to that conversation. Somehow, you got on the topic of Devildom flora and he mentioned the Flowers of the Abyss in the school garden would soon be in bloom. You said you hadn’t gotten to explore the gardens much, as it wasn’t a part of the very brief tour you got from Mammon that very first day. 

“We’ll need to rectify that immediately,” he remembered himself saying, leaning ever so closer - just as you did to him earlier on the bus. 

You tilted your head as if you were surprised by the prince's sudden boldness. “I would really appreciate that, Diavolo. Thank you.” 

The way your eyes brightened with your genuine smile made his heart soar; he'd been riding that high ever since. And he definitely clocked you dropping the honorific in his name. He had never been so excited to be disrespected (something to unpack at a later time). 

And so, it was time to fulfill his promise. 

He had finally cleared up his schedule and worked some magic behind the scenes to make sure you had the same time off. He texted you as soon as he was done to ask if you were available for the tour (even though he already knew the answer). You texted back almost immediately that yes, you were free and you would like to cash that rain check now. 

Diavolo looked out the window. It wasn't raining. 

You texted back, “I'll meet you at the garden gate.” 

He tried to control his excited gait as he made his way to the garden from the student council office, but if anyone saw how fast he was hustling through the halls, they would know something was up. 

Approaching the garden gate, he stopped when he saw you - close enough to observe but far enough away for you not to notice him yet. You were looking away from him, leaning against the fence that surrounded the perimeter of the garden. 

He admired the way your hair looked in the eternal Devildom starlight, though it made him wonder what it looked like in your natural environment. What did it look like in the sun? Did it feel as soft as it looked? 

You looked down at your phone and he could see your face in profile. He leaned against the fence now too, gently enough so as to not alert you to his presence. He wanted to memorize that profile, to become so familiar with it that he would be able to recognize you by its shadow. You smiled so fondly at whatever you found on your phone, and it made Diavolo's chest tighten. It was a stunning sight, to be sure - but he felt a sting of envy that he wasn't the reason for that smile.

“MC!” He waved and you looked at him, only a little bit startled.

“Hello, Lord Diavolo.” You put your phone away and turned to him, smiling wider.

He stopped short at the formality, leaving a respectable distance between you. Of course you would use his title here, in the hallowed halls of his very own institution, but that didn't make the blow land any softer. 

He schooled his features into his “jovial prince indulging another of his whims” mask and asked, “Are you ready for your first official tour of our gardens? I can't believe it took this long for you to get to see them. We'll have to fix that for the next group of exchange students we bring in.” 

“Yes, well,” your smile faltered infinitesimally, so minutely, anyone else might not have seen a difference. But Diavolo did. Demon that he was, he felt slightly vindicated but it didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it only reminded him that your stay here was temporary. “I'm glad you're the one that gets to show me, My Lord .” 

He was startled by the emphasis on his title. Could you really see right through him? He almost shuddered at the thought before fully turning away from you to open the gate, allowing you to walk inside. “It's a huge garden and we have much to see so let's get on then, shall we?” 

You walked past him, your smile ever so slightly morphing into a smirk. Diavolo released a breath he didn't realize he was holding and closed the gate behind him. 

You wound the serpentine trails of the garden at a decidedly uncomfortable distance. Diavolo kept you at more than arm's length, a distance he maintained every time you stepped a little bit closer. He named every interesting plant you pointed out because what else is a prince to do for millennia if not memorize every plant name in his domain? 

When you arrived at the section affectionately called “the flower fields”, you couldn't hold in your enthusiasm for all the strange, beautiful, and entirely unfamiliar flowers that populated this part of the garden. Your glittering expression softened Diavolo’s heart, reminding him why he chose to bring you here in the first place. 

“Those would be the Flowers of the Abyss.” He gestured to some flowers with dark purple petals with a black gradient and blood-red stamens, a combination you had certainly never seen on any flower on earth. 

“Can I touch them?” you asked. 

“Smart of you to ask,” he smiled. “If you wish.” 

He watched you, standing on the other side of the trail, as you tentatively reached out for the plant, rubbing its petal between your fingers. Your lips parted in a near-silent gasp. Diavolo gasped too, albeit involuntarily, his attention oscillating between your fingers and your face. 

“It's so soft,” you whispered reverently as you gently cupped the flower in both hands. You leaned in, bringing your face closer to the bloom. Diavolo swallowed hard. Was he really getting jealous of a flower? In trying to feel the petals against your cheek, you managed to get some pollen on the corner of your mouth. “And they smell delightful,” you sighed, standing up straight, and releasing the flower from your grasp. 

“MC, you have-” he couldn't finish the sentence, so he only vaguely gestured to his mouth, wishing he could get it off you himself. 

“Oh,” you wiped it off with your thumb and looked at it quickly before sticking your thumb in your mouth. “Mmm, sweet, too.” 

At that, Diavolo had to look away or else he might end up doing something he would certainly regret. That's when he noticed all the Hell Jasmine growing on his side of the trail. Stepping away from them, Diavolo cleared his throat, saying, “Yes, well, there is still more garden to get to so let's-” 

“Of course,” you interrupted, “I know you're very busy, you must have something more important to attend to today.” 

Anyone else listening to you might have taken that statement at face value, as someone being considerate of a prince’s schedule. But if you could read him, then he could read you just as well. 

He heard the subtle hurt. 

And it crushed him. 

“That's not-” he started. 

That's when time slowed down. As Diavolo approached you to try to assure you that you had his full attention, you stepped toward him as well. What you didn't see was the creeping vine that caught your foot as you stepped away. 

You were falling. 

You reached out for something - anything - to steady yourself, to catch yourself before you hit the ground. That something just happened to be Diavolo. His arm to be exact. The desperate grip short-circuited his brain and all he could think was please, don't let go. Long dormant synapses were firing in his brain and his eyes were only focused on where you two were touching. When you looked up at him, you realized just how close your faces were. You could've been standing there for an eternity, or only a few seconds - the Prince was absolutely transfixed.

You could've been standing there for an eternity, or only a few seconds. “You saved me, Diavolo. Thank you. I almost got your uniform dirty,” you joked in an attempt to snap him back to reality. 

He looked at you. 

You looked back at him. 

“Yes, well,” he said, his voice a little strained, “we couldn't have that now, could we?”

You nodded and straightened out, releasing his arm at the same time. He mirrored your posture and placed his hands behind his back, out of sight, so you could not see the vice grip he had on the arm you were just holding. “Shall we continue the tour? We haven't even seen the restricted part of the garden yet.” 

You smiled at him again, “I would love nothing more.” 

And you walked side by side with only a few inches between you.

(next)

A/N: Hell Jasmine is a pale blue, glowing flower with a sweet aroma. Breathing in its fumes makes demons extremely needy and affection-craving. (Obey Me Wiki)

[stressfulsloth]

In regards to your post “and now I'm. Just thinking about the loneliness that is SO pervasive through Elysium.”…

I have one thing to offer, or perhaps nitpick if you’d prefer it that way.

I don’t think it’s entirely fair to say the Sunday Friend isn’t a real friend. The Smoker On The Balcony believes him to be a real friend, even if he isn’t going to be there come Monday morn. But isn’t that enough? A friend on Sunday is still a friend, even if it makes waking up Monday all the worse.

Perhaps I’m biased though! Now that I think about it, most of my friends would fit the description. “Fair weather friend” feels to cold, but “sunday friend” is good enough.

And of course none of this is to say your post is at all wrong. It’s lovely and true. I just felt the need to quarrel publicly with that little detail.

To conclude, since I really just did not make myself very clear here; you are utterly correct to include the Sunday Friend in a post about loneliness but I take slight issue with saying he’s not a real friend. And so I wrote you a very long ask. And now as I reach it’s end I’m realising this was a very silly undertaking. But I’ve come this far so I’m going to grow a pair and hit “ask”.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, I hope it isn’t too desperately obnoxious.

Peace out ✌️

Ahh man I'm sorry anon but I'm going to have to disagree with you pretty strongly here 😅 tbh I was a little too easy on him in the original post. It's not necessarily the temporary nature of their acquaintance that makes the Sunday Friend's friendship questionable on its own, although it doesn't help.

The Sunday Friend is quite literally not a friend. "Friend" in his title is a euphemism; he's not coming to visit the Smoker because he's his friend. He's coming to visit the smoker to do a bit of poverty tourism, to admire the crumbling place that his beliefs have helped to destroy, and a bit of heavily implied sex tourism too. A "first world" tourist, a bureaucrat from the international government, visiting one of the most impoverished districts of Revachol to spend his nights with a student. He's not the Smoker's friend, he's a client. They're using 'friend' as a stand-in for his actual role, which is a) as a part of the moralist bureaucratic system repressing the revolution and keeping the city as a whole trapped in a laissez faire purgatory easily exploited by foreign capitalists and ultraliberals, while still maintaining a friendly respectable face, and b) as the Smoker's customer, exploiting the poverty of Martinaise's residents to get what he wants for cheap and using the easy mobility that his money and status give him. Imo he's intended narratively as a parallel for the moralist coalition government; he views from a distance, focused on money and *ze price stabilité* but entirely divorced from the poverty and consequence of his work. Happy to dip his toe in and make use of exploitable populations in Revachol, but always ready to leave too. When asked how he became 'friends' with the smoker, his response is literally to describe the coalition occupying Revachol.

He knows so little about the Smoker beyond him being there to study art, but what kind? "Perhaps graphic design? Printmaking? Who knows?" As to your point about the Smoker thinking he's a real friend, the Smoker is under no illusions about who the Sunday Friend is. An injection of money. Someone with power, someone with the mobility afforded to him by ownership of a non-Revacholian passport, someone content to watch the place decay and do nothing but indulge himself in pet projects and worry about bureaucracy. Someone with the freedom to leave when things get bad; a freedom that is narratively only assigned to a rare few extremely bourgeois characters. Dora, on her flight to Mirova, Joyce and her boat, Trant and his academic travels, and the Sunday Friend who will be out of Martinaise like a shot the moment things start to kick off despite being a part of the overarching structure that is responsible for Revachol's subjugation and rising political tensions. The Sunday Friend will use the Smoker's labour, use the vulnerability of Revachol's precarious situation to his advantage, then once it becomes too precarious or he gets bored, he'll withdraw. In answer to your question, no, I don't think that's enough. Again I probably oversimplified in my last post but the loneliness all throughout DE is not just an emotional state but a political one. Alienation is a major theme. As is the impossibility of building community in the face of capitalism relentlessly subsuming anything in its path, in the face of shallow relationships dictated by the need for survival. The Sunday Friend embodies that concept perfectly. He is exquisitely shallow in conversation, a perfect moralist who at all times strives to remain impartial and distant.

Anyway. Tldr; my point is that the relationship between the Smoker and the Sunday Friend is far more transactional, and far more exploitative, than you seem to believe. "Friend" is not being used literally but euphemistically. A 'fairweather friend' is better than none, sure, but that's entirely inapplicable to this situation. Sorry for the long post and I hope it's not too rambling- I'm surviving on very little sleep right now but I hope it clears up for you a bit why I referred to the Sunday friend in that way initially.

[grandlinedreams]

hi hi i really love your writing!! if you don't mind a request i was thinking about reader having devil fruit powers, specifically the nagi nagi no mi, and law's reaction to it. he and the reader were apart for some time and in that time she acquired the fruit! thank you!

hiya! aah, that's such a good request, of course I can!! I hope that i've done it justice for you!!

[heads up!: brief mention of Law's light novel, Dressrosa arc spoilers]

“Silent.” 

Despite the low thrum of energy that the murky purple aura emits, you still tense as you slip into the room from the open window, glancing towards the door. Outside, it’s dark and still ㅡ perfect. Turning, you refocus on the task at hand, knowing that you have to be quick. 

Approaching the mahogany desk in the center of the room, your gaze sweeps over the stacks of paper, the neatly lined pens and carefully angled photograph. At first glance, it suggests the presence of a man who’s dedicated to his work, using his family as a motivation. 

Your eyes narrow. What a joke. You’re tempted to swipe the photo and dispose of it, but you also know that it’ll cause more problems than it solves as you crouch behind the desk. The bottom drawer is locked, though it’s a temporary problem solved by the quick work of a hairpin before you slide it open.

The contents at the top are carefully innocent, manila folders with titles scrawled across them, but it’s not what you’re after. It takes a minute of prying around the edges with your fingernails but the false bottom finally pops free, and you stare at the stack of envelopes, the names on them ㅡ and you smirk.

Paydirt. 

The stack of letters are carefully inserted into the satchel slung across your body, false bottom pressed carefully back into place before everything is put back and the lock re-done. You take a couple minutes to make sure absolutely everything is as it was before you entered the room before you approach the window, slipping out of it and making sure to shut it.

It’s a short drop to the ground below, and you glance up at the window, then to the satchel before you turn and slip away like a thief into the night. 

ㅡ

The man before him is an idiot. An influential one, but an idiot nevertheless ㅡ and as Law watches him fluster and attempt to cater to the warlord despite not having said a word yet beyond a greeting, he makes a mental addition of kiss-ass to his assessment. 

“It’s not every day we have one of the warlords here, what an honor!” Shorter than Law by almost a foot and sweating profusely, the man has to take two steps to every one of Law’s in order to keep ahead of him. “You’ll have the finest accommodations here in my estate!”

“Generous of you.” Law glances out one of the many ornate windows, the disparage between the lush, sprawling green of this idiot’s estate and the dull, dusty spider web of town roads beyond it making his eyes narrow. “Especially given that your people seem to be struggling to make ends meet.” 

“It’s nothing to worry about, I assure you.” The mayor blots his face with a handkerchief before stuffing it back into his sleeve. “We’ve been having issues with the locals, but I’m sure we’ll come to an agreement soon.”

Law is far from the biggest fan of the navy even though he now technically “works” for them ㅡ a concession that still makes his mood sour every time he thinks about it ㅡ, but he’ll have no qualms in reporting the blatant corruption when he gets a chance. If they’d even listen, that is. For the difference to be as vast as it is, he wonders if they know and simply don’t care. 

“Ah, just who I was looking for.” The mayor ㅡ whose name Law hasn’t bothered to remember ㅡ comes to a halt, and Law doesn’t look away from his silent observation of the view outside the windows. “Show our guest to his quarters, will you please?”

“Of course, Mayor Tamago.” The newcomer’s voice is vaguely familiar, and it prompts Law to look over, eyes widening a fraction as he realizes he   recognizes the speaker. You stare back, the only sign that you share his surprise being the brief flicker in your eyes, there and gone as you smile at the mayor, who turns to Law.

“This is my assistant, [Name]. They’ll make sure you have what you need.” 

“Right this way,” you say, gesturing for him to follow you down the hall.Once you’re around the corner, you snatch Law’s arm and yank him into the closest room in one fluid movement. Letting go of him, you make sure that the door is locked before rounding on him. “What are you doing here?”

Law raises an eyebrow, arms folded across his chest. “I could ask you the same. You work for that man?"

Your eyes narrow. "No, Iㅡ" You still, turning to eye the door warily. You can't talk here, too risky to use your ability where others can see. "Give me a second."

Law watches as you fish a piece of paper from your pocket as well as a pen, scribbling something down before you hand it to him. "Here. Meet me here tonight." Your eyes flick over him, assessing how he's changed since you last saw him. "We both have explaining to do."

ㅡ 

You've changed a lot since Law last saw you. Leaning against a wall, your arms are folded across your chest, expression contemplative as you stare up at the moon, seemingly unaware of his approach. 

Gone is the gangly teenager who'd glared at him from behind Wolf's back, loud with their fists when sparring and even louder with their words ㅡ but you're still you, just far from what he remembers. 

"Thought you got lost," you say as he approaches, pushing off from where you'd been resting. You've changed out of the outfit from before, wide bands of dark leather braced at your elbows and your knees, along with gloves and boots a shade or two lighter. 

It's in his silent observation that Law becomes abruptly aware that you aren't alone, tensing as someone steps from the shadows. Your expression doesn't change, however, even as you pivot to gesture to your companion. "Law, this is Sabo."

Law isn't dumb. The news coo and word of mouth keep him well informed, and the man standing next to you is familiar only in name and face, printed on the occasional page. 

Sabo is second in command within the Revolutionary Army. His expression is friendly if not a little guarded, placing a gloved hand on your shoulder. "[Name] told me they ran into an old friend, but I wasn't expecting it to be a warlord." 

"It's still a new development," Law replies, then glances at you. "I wasn't aware you'd joined the rebels. Is that why you're here?"

You nod. He waits for you to say more, but you're looking around before you glance at Sabo, who debates for a moment before he nods. You lift a hand and snap your fingers before uttering a phrase that Law never thought he'd ever hear again. "Silent."

And suddenly he's ten again, watching that murky purple aura encompass him. But this time he's not standing in an alley, and you're not Corazon. 

"We're taking a big risk telling you all of this," Sabo says, pulling Law's attention from you. "But [Name] trusts you, so I'll trust their judgment." 

ㅡ 

"That devil fruit…" Law trails off as he walks in step with you. He's tried to think of how to broach the subject with you over the last ten minutes in any way that doesn't involve grabbing you and demanding you tell him how and where you came across that particular devil fruit. 

"Surprised, huh?" Your tone is softer now. "I stumbled upon it by accident. I had every intention of letting you know somehow, but…” Your right hand comes up, pressing against the front of your left shoulder. “I landed myself in something of a desperate situation right after, so I…”

“It’s fine.” It’s not, it really isn’t ㅡ but Law tells himself that it is, because there’s nothing he can do about it now. And somehow, he has the feeling that if Corazon knew that it’s you who has his power now, he’d approve. “So you’re done here?”

“Mm. Sabo’s going to turn in that information I stole to the appropriate people, and things should fall into place after. I’ll stay here to make sure, but it shouldn’t take long.” You glance at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Why, that eager to get rid of me?”

He smirks. “You’re more tolerable than you used to be. I was going to ask if you’d want to come with me instead. I could use someone with your talents.”

“Yeah, yeah, just admit you missed me already.” Your tone is teasing, though your expression sobers. “As tempting as that offer is, I can’t just abandon the rebels.” You reach for his hand, ignoring the way he tenses as your gloved fingers brush over the stamped letters on his knuckles. “You’ll see me again, Law. Sooner than you think.” It’s a rejection at worst and cryptic at best, and you temper your words with a grin that’s entirely the you of his memories. “Try not to miss me too much until then, okay?”

ㅡ

The next time that Law sees you, it’s after everything that’s unfolded in Dressrosa. It’s far from somewhere that he wants to see you, but when he catches wind from Luffy that Sabo (who’s his brother, of all things) is here, he suspects (read: hopes) that you’re lurking around somewhere as well. 

And he ends up being right, because you accompany Sabo in visiting while they’re tending to various injuries in Kyros’ old house. “Glad you didn’t lose your arm,” you remark when you settle next to him, studying the neat bandaging that covers the healing stitches. “But you did what you set out to do, didn’t you? So congratulations are in order.” 

“It wasn’t how I planned,” Law says flatly and all you do is laugh. You’d gotten the impression from your brief interactions with the Strawhat crew that they weren’t fond of following plans ㅡ and Law’s frustrated expression only hammers that home. He tries not to let himself enjoy your presence, knowing that it’s fleeting ㅡ you’ve been set on a different path than him, ever since you parted ways the first time. 

When Sabo moves to leave after handing Zoro the vivre card he’s had made for Luffy, he expects you to get up and join him ㅡ and when you don’t, Law nudges you. “Aren’t you leaving?”

“Do you want me to? And here I thought you said I was tolerable now.” There’s more than amusement gleaming in your eyes and when he frowns, you roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Sabo and I are parting ways for now. He has business regarding the summit and I’m being sent to deal with the fallout of this fiasco, however it pans out.” You get to your feet, stretching. “And as I recall, a friend of mine made an offer to me a while ago.” You pause. “Does that offer still stand?”

Shooting star that you are, you’ve seen fit to linger for him ㅡ how long, Law isn’t sure. But you’re smiling at him, and it means more to him than he cares to admit.

“Of course it does.”

[phoenixyfriend]

Thinking about Kryze titles... juggling thoughts... multiple duchies across the system, and civilian/administrative rulers are generally elected from among them (something something those leaders have a proven track record of leadership so they have an easier time showing qualifications and/or gathering allies and support; privileged as heck, but not impossible to surpass in polls).

But since even a single county can be half a planet (e.g. Krownest has a Countess), heirs and heiresses to the duchies are still referred to as prince/princess since their role is equivalent in terms of population and area of rule to the monarchs of other, independent planets.

They still get called duchies, though, because they aren't the actual head of state, just head of This Large Section; the Mando equivalent of the actual monarch is, of course, Mand'alor. Tradition then states that nobility that ascends to the civilian head of state position keep their previous title (Duchess, Countess, etc) as a reminder that their ascension by vote to civilian head of state is a temporary one, and that they will eventually have to go back to their inherited position.

The child of the Mand'alor isn't technically a prince or princess since that ISN'T an inherited title, but they get called one around outsiders anyway since it's not great optics to have it look like the child of the monarch-by-combat (or monarch by clan consensus) is of lesser rank than the children of the dukes and duchesses.

Not sure how the internal politics of the various duchies and counties go yet... might vary by planet. Pre was a governor, so maybe the individual planets have their own form of "one inherited-and-trained, one voted" or something? Or the dukes and duchesses are TECHNICALLY only responsible for their own Houses and lands, but those make up a large enough portion of the populations that their functionally a cabinet member of their own planet's administration... and the Dukes and Duchesses ARE voted in, unless there's an emergency with a backup, but it's a lifetime appointment and the voting pool is just among different branches of that clan?

I'm working on it.

[melancholy-of-nadia]

love u lately (m) #7 | myg/knj/pjm

title: love u lately​ chapter title: #7 - People (Pt. 2)​ pairing: yoongi x f. reader, namjoon x f. reader, jimin x f. reader (yoonminjoon x f. reader) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; college/university au , pseudo frat! bts; best friends! yoonminjoon friends to lovers; summary: a camping trip in the middle of January does not prove to be ideal at all. for many reasons. and you'll blame taehyung for suggesting this! with high tensions and emotions simmering beneath the surface as you, the beta tau sigma boys, and your girly besties go on a weekend getaway, someone unexpected decides to confess to you, leaving you to wonder what your heart even wants? warnings:  camping, reader being obviously jealous, AND STRESSED, smut, deep talks, shower sex, consensual groping, v in p penetration, unprotected sex (well she's on BC), swearing, kissing...A LOT, fingering, yoongi smoking cigarettes, hwasa the drama pot stirrer, ANGST, INJURY, eventual CONFESSION, yoonminjoon on high tension, jungkook carrying reader = jealousy, ft. Hwasa, IU, Adora, and Soyoon note: as always thank you to @daegudrama for editing this chapter and giving me smut ideas!!! total word count: 12.6k drop date: February 9th, 2024 3:00PM PST cross posted on AO3 here ← #6 | Series Masterlist | #8 →

January 19 [Saturday]

The rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft purr of the tires on the pavement accompany your focus as you sit shotgun in Yoongi's car, en route to the campgrounds. Winter break ended earlier that month, and reality is setting in as you find yourself juggling the remnants of relaxation with the impending demands of university life.

Yoongi decided to bring his car to campus this semester, knowing that he would need it for the camping trip to be able to fit everyone. Each car housed a portion of your close-knit group:

Jin's car: Hoseok, Hwasa, Soohyun Jimin's car: Namjoon, Soyoon, Jungkook Yoongi's car: You, Taehyung, Jieun

Seated beside Yoongi, you diligently work on a writing assignment, your laptop open on your lap. Yoongi cast a sidelong glance, noting your dedication despite his concern for your motion sickness.

"Are you seriously working on your homework in the car? You get bad motion sickness, Honey." He sighs, worry lacing his words as he continues looking at the road.

You finally lift your gaze, meeting his eyes after a focused 25 minutes. "I took a dramamine before this, so it’s not too bad. I just need to get this assignment done before Tuesday. I know I’m going to fuck around and not work on it much this whole trip, so I’m doing all I can to get it done within the next 3 hours."

Yoongi hums, understanding the struggle. "Damn, that business comm class has you hustling hard this semester, huh?"

You groan in agreement, "Yes! I was so close to dropping it because the professor is so stingy, but I need to take it now so I can graduate on time." This spring semester is going to be a lot harder so you have to stay focused. Though, this camping trip offers a temporary escape with your friends before you start calling the library your new home for the rest of the school year.

As the car rolls along the highway, your mind wanders back to a few weeks before the semester started. The course load is much more formidable than Fall, now taking some upper division courses like psychology, business communication, international economics, and market analysis. That business comm class is going to kill you though. You sigh at yet another twist of fate of Jaebeom's presence in a class, which somehow leaves you feeling uneasy.

He struck up a conversation after the first class, asking for your phone number to discuss homework and projects. While you agreed, sensing something off, Yoongi appeared behind you as if summoned from thin air. His dark expression and the firm grip on your wrist conveyed a silent warning to Jaebeom.

Before leaving, Jaebeom couldn't resist a sudden sarcastic remark, "Wasting time? You better finish that mixtape if you want to get signed before me, Agust."

At the time, you didn't fully grasp the implications. However, his words linger, and you wonder if Yoongi has recently been struggling with his music and if that somehow was connected to you. The mixtape project, once a seamless process for him, now seemed to be hitting roadblocks.

You decide to try to pry into Yoongi’s mind and see if your suspicions are correct by continuing the conversation. "What about you, Yoongi? I know you’re taking that Recording Production Process class this semester to release a mixtape by the end of it."

"Yeah, yeah, it's going well,” Yoongi nods shyly, offering a few affirmations.

"Right, hyung is working on an album!" Taehyung chimes in from the back seat where he sits with Jieun, your upperclassman friend you'd invited on the trip.

"Oh really? That’s really cool, Yoongi!" Jieun compliments, her eyes sparkling at the mention of Yoongi producing music.

"And if you need a vocalist feature, you should ask Jieun. She’s in the university’s acapella group." you suggest, thinking it could add a unique dynamic to Yoongi's music. Yoongi has asked you to sing a couple parts in the past for his songs, though you always try to gently refuse. You don’t think you’re much of a singer and don’t want to ruin his works. However, Yoongi always thinks differently.

"Really? Jieun, if you don’t mind helping me out with some of my projects, I would greatly appreciate it." Yoongi proposed.

"Sure! I sing as a hobby, so I don’t know how great I would be, but I’ll do my best." Jieun responds, her willingness evident in her tone.

You met Jieun last year when she was a 2nd year TA in your Psych Statistics Analysis class. After several office hour sessions of trying to understand how Tukey’s Honestly Significant Difference worked (which you don’t want to explain how it works), you ended up befriending her and becoming good friends. You found out she’s an amazing singer outside of her pursuing a psychology degree and even a theater major. You think Yoongi would get along really well with her (cue Yoongi’s obscure interest in broadway musicals).

The car continues its journey through picturesque landscapes, and after two hours, you finally arrive at the campsite. Nestled in the embrace of nature, the site sprawls out with a serene lake nearby, and scattered cabin lodgings surround the area. You note the promise of a hot spring spa somewhere around here, creating a mental checklist for exploration later on.

As you step out of the car, the crisp January air hit you, carrying remnants of moisture from the previous days' rain. It is undeniably cold, and you question the wisdom of camping in the middle of winter. Everyone starts unloading the supplies from the cars for the next 2-3 days. Jin, Yoongi, Soyoon, and Jungkook take charge of building the tents, their collective efforts combating the chilly breeze.

After everyone settles down, you all decide to have a group meeting to discuss what you guys are going to eat for lunch.

Taehyung, who is always down for something random, proposes a cooking challenge that divides everyone into two teams: Team Red and Team Blue. The plan involves creatively preparing lunch and dinner using the BBQ grills and sinks at the picnic area, as well as utilizing the supplies Jin and Namjoon bought the night before. Everyone will decide on the best meal after dinner.

Team Red, consisting of Jin, Hoseok, Namjoon, Soyoon, Soohyun, and Jimin, strategize their approach.

Jin, surveying the available ingredients, rubs his hands together, ready for the challenge. "Alright, team! We have premade dough, broth, veggies, meat, fruit, side dishes, bread…ideas, anyone?"

Hoseok, ever the enthusiast, suggests, "I’m tempted to say we should make the barbecue feast for lunch. I’m craving BBQ so bad. Please, Jin."

“No! We’re doing that tomorrow night!” Jin lightly argues, earning a groan from Hoseok which makes everyone else laugh.

Namjoon, exchanging glances with Soyoon, feels a spark of inspiration. "What if we do something a bit different? Pizza. We can make pizza outdoors. It's a bit unconventional, but we do have the premade dough. I think the result will be worth it."

Soyoon giggles and nods in agreement, adding, "Yeah, I actually brought the dough because I thought we could use it to make something cool out here. Pizza would actually be fucking cool." Namjoon smile widdens knowing she understands him so well.

"I'm down for pizza!" Jimin, excited by the idea, chimes in.

"Let's make a giant combo pizza. That way, we can feed everyone." Soohyun, examining the ingredients, suggests.

Jin, impressed with his team brainstorming thoughts, declares, "Fantastic! Let's get to work. Hoseok, start the fire. Namjoon, you and Soyoon work on rolling the dough. Soohyun, you and Jimin can handle cutting the ingredients for the toppings. We've got this!"

The team disperses to their designated tasks, banter and laughter fills the air as they toss around more ideas. Amidst the cheerful chaos, your attention involuntarily drifts to Soyoon and Namjoon.

You steal glances at them, observing how they playfully engage with each other while improvising rolling pins from random cylindrical objects. The rhythmic motion of rolling dough becomes a backdrop to their shared laughter, and you can't help but feel somewhat uncomfortable.

It's different. In the past, Namjoon would get close with girls you didn’t even know, like Jihyo. This time, it hits a bit closer to home—Soyoon is your friend, and Namjoon is your childhood best friend. You remember the first time they met is when Namjoon came by to pick you up after a late night library shift during finals season last year. But you’re not even sure when they started talking to each other more without you knowing. Could it have been through one of their art history classes?

Lost in your thoughts, you're snapped back to reality when Yoongi playfully flicks your forehead, jolting you back to reality.

“Get your head in the game, Y/N.” He grumbles and you wince slightly in pain. Jerk.

“I am!” You retort as you go back to facing him and looking at the ingredients in front of you. “I was just trying to see what they were plotting for lunch.”

Yoongi can’t help but shoot you a questioning expression. You wonder if he knows that you were looking at them. It wouldn’t be the first time he catches you staring at Namjoon being with another girl. Whether he knows or not, he doesn’t decide to pry and instead looks back at the ingredients on your table.

“You can do that later, we need to start making something so we can have more time to not do shit later.”

“Just make some of your good old kimchi jjigae and have some rice on the side. It’ll keep us feeling warmed up for the night.” You see some packaged pork belly and hand it to Yoongi, “Add a little protein too.”

You’ve helped Yoongi cook in the past, so you have a sense of his cooking process when he decides to make stuff, specifically stew. This won’t take too long to prepare.

“I hate that this is such a good idea.” He groans, grabbing the meat as you smirk right back at him cheekily. “Everyone else on board? I just need the onion and green onions cut, then the pork belly stir fried before I put it all in the big pot for the stew.”

Everyone nods, followed by a “Yes Chef!” from Taehyung. As you get straight to chopping onions, you notice Yoongi looking at you with admiration. You want to know the thoughts that blossom behind his cat-like eyes, but you decide not to ponder it right now.

Taehyung takes a suspicious glance at you two, seemingly wondering about something. Though he remains silent, and instead goes to assist Jungkook and Jieun in preparing ingredients.

++++++++++++

The sky paints hues of orange and pink as the sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow over the campsite. You, Jimin, and Hoseok venture towards a pile of firewood behind the shower houses to build a cozy campfire for the night.

Jimin, ever perceptive, notices the contemplative look on your face. "Hey, Y/N, everything okay?" he asks, concern etched on his face.

You hesitate for a moment before replying. Did he notice you looking at Namjoon and Soyoon earlier? Shit, this is embarrassing. He must be thinking about how ridiculous I’m being.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just stuff on my mind, you know?"

Jimin shoots you a curious glance, silently questioning if you were ready to share what was bothering you.

Before he could delve deeper into your thoughts, Hoseok, his eyes darting around nervously, chimes in, "Guys, let's pick up the pace. It's getting dark, and I'm not really a fan of the dark in the woods. Gives me the creeps!"

You take this interruption as a chance to avoid answering him and focus on the task on hand. Jimin doesn’t push you to continue and you all walk back to the campsite.

+++++

The campfire casts dancing shadows on the faces of your friends as laughter and chatter fills the night. The aroma of the delicious kimchi jjigae lingers in the air. Yoongi and Jungkook busied themselves with slicing fruits and getting out the ingredients to make some s'mores.

Jimin goes to his trunk to take out several boxes of soju bottles, sparking a cheer among the group. The soft strains of music emanate from Hoseok's compact speaker, adding a melodic backdrop to the festivities. Crackling fire, music and the clinking of soju bottles set the perfect ambiance for the end of the B.T.S. member trip day one.

"Alright, why don’t we share some confessions around the campfire to bond with one another. Jin, you wanna kick it off?" Hwasa settles down on the picnic blanket around the fire and grins.

Jin nods, a mischievous glint in his eye, "Huh?! Me? Why don’t you start it off since you want to do this.”

“Give me like three minutes to think of something. So please go for it, Seokjin?”

“Agh, fine. Just don't judge me too hard,” Jin looks around and clears his throat before he continues. “Back in middle school, I tried to impress my crush with a card trick. It didn't go as planned, and I ended up looking like a dumbass magician. Needless to say, she wasn't impressed."

“That was kinda a lame confession.” Hwasa tells him and you try to stifle your laughter next to her.

“I said don’t judge me!” A bit of laughter ripples through the group. “You also didn’t add any rules!”

"If Hwasa wants to hear about embarrassing shit, let me share.” Hoseok eagerly volunteers, “I accidentally liked my crush's old Instagram photo while stalking their profile. It was from two years ago, and there was no way to undo it. I hoped they wouldn't notice, but they did."

“Oh see! That’s what I want to hear!” Your girl bestie yells in excitement.

Soyoon follows after, "Something to confess…I have this quirky habit of talking in my sleep. One time, my roommate caught me in the act and recorded. I talked about kissing girls for a good five minutes."

Namjoon chuckles a little too hard at that. "Funny you mention sleep-talking. I've been told I do the same thing. Apparently, I give motivational speeches about pursuing dreams in my sleep."

“No, you just ramble about shit that sounds like it makes sense when it doesn’t!” Jimin opposes. Namjoon tsks, narrowing his eyes at the younger man.

The round table of confessions continues with Jieun, "Alright, brace yourselves. I had a massive crush on my neighbor when I was in high school. Turns out, he's now a famous actor in every Netflix show imaginable. I had no idea back then."

“Wait who?!” Everyone exclaims.

“I can’t kiss and tell.” She pretends to seal her lips, leaving everyone sighing and groaning.

The stories lighten the mood, but as Hwasa shifts the rules to be only dating confessions, a tension hangs in the air. You decide to tread carefully as your turn, "Well, I had this experience just once… you know, with someone. It was interesting, but things didn't exactly pan out."

“Come on, give us more juicy details! I haven’t heard you talk about this much.” Hwasa presses.

The gazes of Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon linger a bit longer, as you navigate through your words, leaving certain details in the shadows.

“Me and that guy were basically academic rivals. Always trying to one-up each other. I beat him and got the Salutatorian honor when I graduated. Jimin was Valedictorian. We never thought we’d date until I asked him to be my fake date to a wedding–”

A collective gasp and “oohs” escapes the group, and Hwasa clasps her hands together, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“It was my brother’s wedding.” Jin adds matter of factly.

“Yes, your brother’s wedding. Then one thing led to another and we dated for about 3 months until we broke up right when I moved for college.”

And now there was suddenly a bit of silence. Did I make the mood awkward? Oh god, maybe I should’ve made something up. You look around and see a bit of disappointment after a short rom-com summary of your first dating experience.

“Why did you need a fake date?” Namjoon was the first of your three best friends to speak up and ask. This catches you off guard.

“I…Er…”

Your hesitant response left an air of curiosity hanging around them. Namjoon's question touches on a chapter of your life you haven’t shared with anyone at all, and now, with the flickering firelight revealing the subtle expressions on everyone's faces, you feel a mix of vulnerability and uncertainty.

Why were you insistent to get a fake date back then? Even thinking about it now, it seems so silly of an idea. What were you trying to prove by having arms linked with a man, who you didn’t originally like, in front of your male best friends?

"It was to spite us. She didn't want to show up alone and have us think she couldn't find a date." Jimin interjects. He must’ve sensed you struggling to answer.

"Spiting us at a wedding? We could’ve just all gone as friends like we did for prom." Namjoon teases, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Was it really spite? Aimed at Namjoon, Jimin and Yoongi for taking other girls instead just going with you? What does that really say about you? Why do you feel unhappy when they don’t have you at the center of their attention? This isn’t a good time to spiral into this.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't the best idea." you chuckle nervously, glancing quickly at Yoongi and Jimin. Their expressions are unreadable, and the silence that follows your story lingers a bit too long.

Hwasa, not one to let awkward moments fester, leans in with a playful smile, "Okay, spill. Was he a good kisser?"

"I…uh, I think this is getting a bit too personal, isn't it?"

The group erupts into laughter, dispersing the tension that momentarily settled. As the night continues, the stories shift to lighter topics, the crackling fire providing a comforting backdrop.

+++++++

The campfire's warmth lingers on your skin as you gather your things from your shared tent, preparing to head to the shower building. The night is settling in, and the laughter of your friends still echoes in the cold air. As you pass by the dwindling group still gathered around the fire, you catch Jimin's eyes for what feels like a minute. There is a depth in his gaze that leaves you wondering if he, too, is navigating through a maze of emotions from earlier today.

It’s been two months, when will you finally make up your mind instead of leaving them hanging?

Your attention is momentarily diverted by a scene that tugs at your heart. Namjoon and Soyoon are sat close, giggling animatedly about an unknown topic in the glow of the firelight. The sight of Namjoon's deepened dimples and the warmth in his smile captivates you, the flames casting shadows on them.

And there it is again. A twinge of an unknown, yet familiar feeling sparks within you. It is a feeling you couldn't entirely shake off, even though you tried to bury it beneath layers of rationality. A mix of emotions swirls as you continue on your way to the shower building.

The path to the shower building is dimly lit along the way, and the sound of laughter at the campsite slowly fades behind you.

Upon reaching the shower building, you notice Yoongi sitting by a picnic table, a dim glow from his cigarette and phone lighting up the darkness around him. It is a sight you haven’t seen in a long time, and concern creeps into your mind. You thought he stopped smoking a while back. Without hesitation, you call out to him and take a seat.

"Hey Yoongs," you begin, studying his expression, "Are you good?"

Yoongi looks up at you, caught off guard by the sudden question. He hesitates to speak, opting instead to take a drag from his cigarette. The smoke curls into the night air, carrying with it a sweet yet bitter scent, reminiscent of cherries.

“Why do you say that?” He finally responds, with a question, however.

“I haven’t seen you smoke since that time.” You refer to the month right before college when Yoongi got word that his father had fallen ill and was admitted to the hospital. Yoongi doesn’t smoke unless he feels like he needs something to keep him afloat while his mind is conflicted in chaos.

“Just felt like I needed it right now.” He explains shortly.

You sense his reluctance to provide context. While you normally don’t like to pry too much when it comes to him, you feel like you should right now. Aside from whatever transparency or honesty rules you have as fuck buddies, you are his best friend at the end of the day.

You sigh softly, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Yoongi. But, you know, I'm here to listen to any of your worries. Anything. That's what best friends are for."

Yoongi's eyes widen a little from your reassuring words. It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the darkness as he begins to speak. "You truly are an angel that comforts me when the world has gone to shit."

You feel your cheeks heating up a bit before following it up with another question, “What’s been troubling you this bad?”

Yoongi scratches his temple anxiously before putting his phone down. “It's just…the mixtape project is weighing on me more than I thought.”

"But you always come up with something amazing when it comes to music. We literally call you the hands of Midas."

He exhales a sigh, the smoke dispersing in the air. "Yeah, but this time it's different. Professor Kang is pushing us hard, and he's been emphasizing how crucial this project is if we want him to recommend us to work for Mr. Bang."

The gravity of his words sinks in. "The Mr. Bang from that one major record label in LA you told me about?"

Yoongi nods, and you can see the anxiety in his eyes. "Exactly. But he’s only recommending two mixtapes out of our 10-person class.” He takes a minute to assemble his next thoughts, finding it hard to speak out the potential outcomes. “This could be a game-changer for my career, but it feels like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff. One wrong move, and everything could just crumble."

You remain silent, absorbing the weight of his concerns. Yoongi told you awhile back that Professor Kang is actually another big producer named Pdogg. The man is incredibly close with Mr. Shihyuk Bang, who is a part of a major record label that Yoongi has been dreaming of joining since high school. You know Yoongi doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, and that carries even more magnitude and pressure to his creative process.

"I've been working day and night, trying to create something that stands out. But with every passing day, doubt creeps in. What if it's not good enough? What if I disappoint everyone who believes in me?" Yoongi admits, his vulnerability laid bare. “Jaebeom really hit a nerve when I saw him a few weeks ago. He’s been working on good stuff too, especially with the help of some upperclassmen. I have Yijeong and Sammy giving me some feedback from time to time, but this is all done by me.”

He extinguishes the cigarette with a firm stomp, the embers scattering in the night air. Discarding the remains into the trashcan next to the table, he releases a heavy sigh, the weight of his thoughts etched on his features.

You recognize the heavy burden he carries. The expectations, the fear of failure, and the desire to prove himself in an industry that can be unforgiving – it's a lot for anyone to handle.

"I get it, Yoongi," you begin, your voice adopting a soothing cadence that seems to meld with the ambient night sounds of the forest around you. "It's a big opportunity, and it's okay to feel overwhelmed. The music industry can be relentless, and there is a lot on the line for your future.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes at you, “Thanks for confirming my fears.” He chuckles.

“Wait! But here's the thing—you're not alone in this. We're all here for you, supporting you every step of the way."

You pause, letting the words linger in the crisp night air. Yoongi looks at you, his gaze a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

"You've got an incredible talent, Yoongi," you continue, your expression earnest. "I've seen you pour your heart and soul into your music since we were in high school. Your dedication is inspiring, and it's about time the world recognizes it. The journey you’ll take will be tough, but remember, you're not just carrying your dreams. You're carrying the dreams of everyone who believes in you, and that's a powerful force."

Yoongi takes in your words, a subtle nod acknowledging the truth in them. The flickering light from the light post dances in his eyes, reflecting a renewed sense of determination.

"And, hey," you add with a soft smile, "even in the face of challenges, don't forget to savor the process. This journey is as much about the growth and experiences along the way as it is about the destination. Embrace it, and you'll find strength even in the toughest moments." You hold Yoongi’s large hand against your face, comforting him. He always likes his hands being held.

He exhales slowly, as if releasing a burden he didn't realize he was carrying. "Thanks, Y/N," he says, his voice genuine. "I needed to hear that."

Yoongi looks at you, gratitude and a touch of relief in his eyes.

As the heaviness of Yoongi's concerns lifts with your words of support, a more casual conversation takes its place. Yoongi turns to you, his gaze softening, and asks, "What have you been dreaming of lately, Y/N?

You ponder the question. As a second year in college, you haven’t spent much time thinking about it. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure yet. Maybe a corporate job somewhere nice, stable. I don’t really have much of a dream.” Yoongi looks at you, wanting to dive deeper on that, but you chose to divert the question. “But, no matter what, I hope to be close to you and everyone else until the end of time!"

His eyes widen, filled with admiration and awe at your sincerity. It's a sentiment that seems to touch him, and you feel a sense of warmth between you two. Emotions linger in the air, as if inching closer to understanding something profound.

Suddenly, as if propelled by an internal decision, Yoongi gets up. He extends his hand towards you, his touch gentle as he grabs your wrist. He looks at you with a hint of anticipation and eagerness in his eyes.

You don’t know what he has in mind, but if you’re with Yoongi, you have nothing to fear.

Intrigued, you follow him to the shower building which was empty at this hour in the night. Without a word, he pulls you into one of the shower stalls, closing the curtain behind you both. He starts kissing you, making you gasp into his mouth. As you close your eyes, you feel yourself slipping away, and in the process, accidentally turning on the shower. The water begins to flow, causing your clothes to get wet. In response, Yoongi starts undressing you, peeling off your clothes and tossing them to the side to keep them from getting too soaked. You didn’t mind though. You were going to shower anyway.

The soft sound of running water creates a soothing ambiance. The air fills with a mix of steam and electricity as your lips keep meeting each other again and again, while the world outside the shower stall fades away.

The sounds of water droplets hitting the tiled floor mixes with the soft hum of your shared breaths. There's a delicate dance between you and Yoongi, a silent exchange of emotions that words can never capture.

As the kiss deepens, you find a certain comfort in the connection, a reassurance that goes beyond the worries and pressures of daily life. Yoongi's hands, tender and deliberate, trace a soothing path across the expanse of your back.

He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "Y/N," he breathes, his voice a soft murmur that's almost lost in the sound of running water. "Do you want me to keep going?"

All thoughts in your brain are clouded by the horny brain rot brought about by Min Yoongi. This man is probably the most dangerous out of your three best friends.

“Please.”

This is the cue Yoongi needs to suddenly unchain his desires. His hands continue to explore, tracing patterns on your skin, and the heightened awareness of where you are adds a layer of excitement. The sound of the shower and the muffled noises from outside create a cloak of privacy, but at any moment, an impending intrusion could get you both caught. You don’t want to know what consequences await that.

The pure thrill of the situation and the delicate touch of Yoongi’s hands gets you wet with little effort. He breaks away from the kiss, leaning down to swirl his tongue around one of your nipples before turning you around. He kneads your ass in his hands then slips one hand between your thighs. Without warning he pushes one finger inside you with ease.

“So wet for me already?” He whispers into your ear sending a shiver down your spine. He uses his other hand to cup your soft breast.

The sound you choke out is not intelligible which brings a low chuckle to Yoongi’s throat. He slides the finger in and out of you slowly like he’s trying to drive you insane.

When he adds another finger you can’t help the sound that espaces your lips. He moves more quickly building the pleasure inside of you. Yoongi rests his head against your shoulder putting his hands on your waist.

“I don’t have a condom with me.” He groans, mentally beating himself. You turn around to see a pout gracing his lips.

“It’s okay, I’m on birth control now.” You pause looking into his eyes.

“Really?” He says excitement lighting up his face before you can continue.

"Yup," you confirm with a playful wink. "I had been thinking about going on it when we made the deal to include Jimin, and I finally did it over winter break."

Yoongi chuckles, reaching to hold your chin gently with his fingertips, ensuring your eyes stay locked on his. "Such a little minx. You planning to do something scandalous with that?"

You eye him mischievously. "Maybe… but no risks tonight. Let's take it steady for now."

He turns you back around and gently guides your shoulder until you are bent over. He unzips his pants, revealing his hardened cock and holds it in his hand. With no resistance, he glides inside you and groans at the feeling.

You’ve never done this before. Not with Wonwoo. Not with Yeonjun. Yoongi is the first to go raw in you, and it feels so damn good. Every vein and curve of his dick is felt in your pussy, molding itself as the perfect fit. You don’t know if you could ever go back to the feeling of a condom-covered dick, but you’d have to. Though you’d hope that you’d get to be safely creampied at least once before going back to double coverage of condom and BC protection. That’s one of your ultimate goals, though you won’t let them know.

Yoongi traces his fingers up your side as he thrusts into you with long slow strokes. He is enjoying the thrill of being this close to you in such a risky environment and savoring every moment.

You find yourself lost in the intense pleasure he brings, each thrust a wave of delicious sensation that floods your entire body. You arch your back, allowing him deeper access. The slight pain from his movements intertwines with the pleasure, making this experience all the more unforgettable.

Yoongi's gaze never leaves your face, his eyes locked on you as he pushes deeper into your warmth. Your own eyes are wide with passion, the fear of getting caught replaced by the thrill of the moment. His fingers dig into your hip, his expression a mix of raw lust and pure adoration.

"Look at you," he growls, "You're so wet, and so tight just milking me.” He whispers against your ear, driving you slow to become viscerally animalistic. You’re so close.

Suddenly, as if the world wanted to manifest your worst fears, the door swings open. The voices of Hwasa and Soohyun echo through the shower building. Panic sets in, and you tense, trying to stifle any telltale sounds of your current sexcapade. Yoongi, ever the master of composure, holds back a laugh at your panic without halting his movements. How is he not worried?!

"Steam? Oh, someone’s already in here? Is it you, Honey?" Hwasa's voice calls out.

You struggle to respond, caught between pleasure and the risk of exposure. Yoongi's movements pause briefly, awaiting your cue. "Y-Yes," you manage to stutter out despite feeling how good his dick feels stuck inside of you.

Hwasa, seemingly oblivious, starts a conversation with you about the night as the two girls do their nightly skincare at the sinks behind your showers. She begins touching on the earlier confessions and how it was a fun activity. You struggle to act like you're paying attention, but all you can muster in response are muffled "Mhms." Each of them start to sound like moans, which scares you even more. Yoongi looks like he wants to laugh so bad. This won’t end well. Can the girls tell something is off?

The proximity to getting caught adds a thrilling layer to the encounter. Yoongi decides to continue several strokes mid conversation, “A-Ah..”

Hwasa's concern grows. "Are you okay, Honey?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine," you manage through gritted teeth, looking back at Yoongi looking smug. You desperately hope they won't linger. Another noise escapes, and you quickly try to cover it up, pretending it was you dropping your shampoo bottle on your toe.

The girls, unsuspecting, leave not too long after, and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The tension lifts, and a soft, shared laugh between you and Yoongi echoes in the confined space.

Without warning, this is Yoongi’s cue to go faster. He grips your hips tightly holding you into place as he thrusts into you harder and faster leaving you.

"Y-Yoongi!" He grips your hips tightly holding you into place as he thrusts into you harder and faster leaving you.

Your eyes flutter, a lustful grin pulling at your lips lost in ecstasy. Gripping the shower wall for support, you meet Yoongi's thrusts with equal intensity, your hips bucking back against him in perfect rhythm. The pleasure is overwhelming, the tension and fear of being caught only adding fuel to the fire.

His name from your lips was music to his ears, and that was all he needed. He moves deeper, relishing the tightness of your body around his member. You feel the pleasure coursing through your own body, your orgasm nearing.

Yoongi's eyes never leave your face, his expression showing that he's drinking in each detail of this moment.

"Come for me, baby," he growls, his tone changing from a mix of lust and adoration to something more possessive. "Let me feel you come around my dick."

His words are the spark that lights the fire, and you feel your body reacting to his touch. The waves of pleasure crash over you, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. Your nails hold onto dear life, and you cry out his name, your voice echoing in the shower stall.

“F-Fuck.” Yoongi soon falls to his own pleasure, pulling out quickling and cumming on your ass. Drops of his cream drip down your thighs and soon washed away by the shower downpouring on you two.

You both try to control your breathing as Yoongi holds you close in an embrace.

“T-That was…oh my God.” You can’t find the words to explain the whole experience, added with the adrenaline rush of getting caught.

“Good to know my cock feels better without the condom.” He smiles in a goofy way, still high on the orgasm. You smack him in the hip with your hand.

When your orgasms subsides, you send Yoongi to go retrieve your toiletries, towel, and pajamas that you left outside by the picnic table you two sat. You two bid goodbye to each for the night, and he leaves. You don’t know how he’s going to explain why he’s soaked from head to toe, but you pray he’s slick enough to avoid any eyes.

+++++++++

As Yoongi walks back from the shower house, water droplets cling to his tousled hair and drip down onto his damp clothes. His steps are sluggish as he wearily tries to wring out the water. In this moment, Namjoon suddenly strides up, his curiosity piqued, eyes narrowing at the unusual sight.

"Yoongi, why the hell are you all wet?" Namjoon questions, checking out the shorter man up and down.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just checking out the shower building, man. One of them was broken and here I am." He cheekily points to his wet attire. He feels a euphoric confidence after his rendezvous with you. So much so that if anyone tries to challenge him right now, he will not back down.

Namjoon narrows his eyes, finding it a little hard to believe. "Really? I thought I saw you go smoke alone back at the picnic area."

Oddly, this observation pisses him off.

"Didn’t know you liked stalking my whereabouts too." Yoongi is quick to rebuttal, bitterness lacing in his voice. Namjoon is taken aback by his best friend’s response.

"What are you even talking about? Aren’t you the one hiding—" Just as Namjoon is about to press further, Jimin appears, interrupting the conversation.

“What are you guys up to?” Jimin puts his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders, which makes him relax slightly. He knows Jimin can manage to get Namjoon off his ass. He might even say that Jimin is his second angel tonight.

Namjoon glances between both of them, the tension palpable in the air. Yoongi's demeanor seems a tad defensive, and Namjoon feels there might be more to the story than he thought before.

“Just trying to figure out why Yoongi here looks like he went for a swim."

Yoongi rolls his eyes, dismissing Namjoon's inquiry. "Shower issues, Jimin. Nothing to worry about."

"Come on Joon, let's not make a big deal out of this. It's cold, and we're out in the middle of nowhere. Let’s just get him a towel and help him get a change of clothes." Jimin says casually, diverting Namjoon's attention away from Yoongi.

As Yoongi gives Jimin a subtle nod of gratitude, Namjoon reluctantly lets the matter go, deciding to drop the interrogation for now to help. Jimin seems to have an idea about Yoongi's whereabouts in the last 30 minutes, and he's not spilling the beans to Namjoon.

“If you think I haven’t caught on to you guys getting closer to Y/N in the last few months, you’re wrong.” The taller man says, warning heeding his voice.

The shorter men glance at him, not saying anything and enter Yoongi’s tent. They do share one thought at that moment though. You have to give them an answer once they come back to campus.

+++++++++

January 20 [Sunday]

The second day of the camping trip unfolds, and the group embarks on a hike through the scenic surroundings early in the morning after breakfast. The weather, though chilly, is pleasant, and the crisp air invigorates everyone. Conversations ebb and flow as the trail winds its way through the tree-filled landscape.

Jieun, a few steps ahead, animatedly shares memories of visiting this place during her childhood. "I remember catching fireflies by the lake in the summer." she reminisces, her eyes reflecting the nostalgia. Seokjin, walking beside her, chimes in with a grin, "I used to come here a lot too when I was a boy scout.”

Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook snicker in response to this.

“You guys can laugh all you want, but these boy scout skills come in handy."

"I don't know about them, but for sure Jungkook can fight a bear barehanded." Yoongi playfully remarks, the group erupting into even more laughter. Jungkook, sporting a lighthearted grin, flexes his muscles jokingly.

As you walk, you notice Namjoon and Soyoon strolling together. Soyoon, despite the chilly weather, wears a form-fitting pine green turtleneck that lacks the expected thermal warmth. Namjoon, ever the gentleman, notices her discomfort from the cold and offers his jacket. She initially refuses, probably mindful of the potential interpretations of their exchange. But after Namjoon continues insisting, he finally accepts with a gracious smile.

Behind Namjoon, you see Hoseok also catches the scene and shoots him a disapproving look.

Further back, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin seize the opportunity to tease Namjoon about his chivalrous gesture. "Look at Mr. Romantic over there." Jimin smirks, nudging Taehyung and Jungkook.

"I bet he practices that move in front of a mirror." Taehyung chuckles with them.

Namjoon, momentarily caught off guard by their reactions, glances at them and then immediately at you. He seems to be searching for a reaction. You know you struggle at being fake. It’s not in your nature to hide your feelings. Though, you feel like he does sense a subtle frustration from you. He wonders if you have been feeling like this for some time. Why is he starting to see it only now?

Before he even has the chance to go over to you and question it, the sky suddenly transforms, heavy raindrops plummet from the clouds and onto the earth. Great. It's as if the weather gods have decided to test you and see what you would do. However, panic sets in when you realize you left your laptop in the tent, vulnerable to the impending downpour.

“Holy fuck! My laptop!”

“Wait, Y/N!”

Hastily, you dash back down the path toward the campgrounds, your footsteps echoing in the mud leaving behind a voice that calls out to you.

You worked on your assignment last night in the tent before going to sleep. Once you finished for the night, you left your laptop next to you and that was where you last saw it this morning before you left on the hike as well. There are no signs it was going to rain this weekend. Yeah, the soil seems moist from rainy days from the prior week, but everyone should’ve been safe now. How could the weather change so suddenly like this?

You recklessly sprint, fueled by worries of your irreplaceable laptop and paper, amongst other things. Like reality. And the irritation you feel seeing Namjoon keep giving his attention to— Your thought process cuts as you notice the uneven terrain beneath your feet become treacherous. The realization of the potential catastrophe awaiting you propels you forward, a surge of adrenaline pushing you beyond reason.

In your haste, disaster strikes. A misstep, a slippery surface, and you find yourself sprawled on the ground.

No sound from you, but pain radiating from your scraped knee and throbbing ankle. The once jubilant group following behind is now consumed by concern seeing you on the ground, injured and covered in mud.

Jungkook and Jieun are the first to reach you, genuine worry etched across their faces. "Are you okay?" Jungkook's voice carries a note of genuine concern. Wincing in pain, you shake your head, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "I left my laptop in the tent, and I can't let anything happen to it, so I rushed off." you explain, your words rushed and pained. You feel yourself about to sob as you try to get yourself to stand and your legs are not cooperating.

“Hey, hey, be careful.” The younger man advises. However, the pain makes walking nearly impossible. Before anyone can offer help, Jungkook immediately leans down and decides,“You know what, just get on. I’ll take you somewhere safe.” Jungkook offers, gesturing you to get on his back.

The unexpected gesture catches you off guard.

“O-Okay…thank you Jungkook.”

“I’ll help retrieve your laptop as well. You’ll be okay” Jieun says, and you thank her.

However, as Jungkook carries you through the rain-soaked trail, glances are exchanged among the group. Jimin and Yoongi share a look laden with unsaid sentiments, a subtle pang of jealousy lingering in the air. It should’ve been them to help you, they think to themselves. They are the ones that like you after all. Though for some reason, they froze in that moment.

Namjoon, still grappling with the aftermath of his earlier actions, feels a tinge of disappointment in his own inability to respond swiftly too.

You, Jungkook, and Jieun are the first to make it back to witness the mess. The campsite now lies in disarray. Flooded and muddy soil squelches beneath Jungkook’s feet, and the aftermath of strong winds has left tents in tatters. Items that were once neatly arranged outside the tents now scatter across the ground, casualties of nature's sudden fury.

Amidst the chaos, Jieun takes charge, her quick eyes scanning the wreckage. Miraculously, your laptop emerges unscathed, protected by the cocoon of your sleeping bag. With a relieved smile, she carefully places it in its bag next to it and hands it to Jungkook, who holds it securely.

"We can't stay out here like this," Jin remarks, his practicality cutting through the disappointment that hangs in the air. "It could rain again and we could also get sick."

A collective sigh ripples through the group. The abrupt turn of events forces them to confront the reality of their situation. Plans of an idyllic hike and spending a weekend outdoors have been derailed by the unpredictability of nature.

"I can go check the cabin lodging next to the campsite to see if they have any available," Soyoon suggests, her willingness to take charge evident. Namjoon quickly volunteers to accompany her, the two of them lightly jog toward the lodging office.

In the meantime, everyone takes shelter under the picnic area until the downpour turns into light showers. Once it does, everyone starts packing up and cleaning the campsite in the meantime.

++++++++++++++++++

Luckily, Soyoon and Namjoon manage to book a large cabin by the lakefront.

“It was the only largest one available that could fit all of us. It’s also a little expensive…” Namjoon stated earlier. Seokjin shrugs, saying he’ll cover majority of the cost as long as everyone is able to chip in a little. We all agree. You thank god that Seokjin is the rich friend in the friend group during times like this.

The cabin charms with its cozy allure. A fully stocked kitchen was just what everyone needed right now. The gas BBQ included will definitely be useful to the meats that survived the storm. The upstairs living room invites relaxation with comfy seating and a Smart TV. Everyone immediately takes advantage of this and sits around.

Outdoors, the upper deck beckons with stunning views. Downstairs, the master bedroom offers luxury, a California King bed, and a sliding door to the lower deck overlooking the lake.

Four rooms in total provide ample sleeping space, including a bunk room with two sets of twin bunk beds. Practicality meets convenience with a fully equipped laundry room and an upstairs half bath.

Jungkook carries you into the master bedroom and lays you down on the bed, elevating your head with the pillows. Seokjin grabs a first aid kit he found in the kitchen and takes out bandages, disinfectant and other supplies to tend to your scraped knee and sprained ankle.

“See, told you my boy scout skills will come in handy!” You giggle at Jin’s attempt to cheer you up. As he works, Namjoon hovers nearby, his concern evident.

"You should’ve been careful." Namjoon murmurs, a gentle scolding in his tone.

You manage a sheepish smile, acknowledging his warning. Seokjin finishes the impromptu first aid session, making sure you're comfortable before stepping back.

"Thank you, Jin," you express your gratitude, relieved that the injuries aren't as severe as they could have been.

Seokjin waves it off, "No problem. Just take it easy for a while."

Jin and Jungkook disperse to join the others upstairs. Jimin and Yoongi, lingering at the doorway, exchange a glance.

Jimin steps forward, concern etched on his face. "How are you feeling, Honey?” he asks, sincerity in his eyes.

You nod, offering a reassuring smile. "Alright now, thanks to Jinnie. Thanks for worrying, Jimin."

Yoongi, standing a bit more reserved, adds, "Do you need anything? I can whip up some food."

"That would sound really good right about now."

"Give me about 20 minutes, and I'll come back with some sweet rice porridge. Sounds good?"

"Yes!"

Namjoon remains standing there watching your interaction with them. He feels somehow intimidated by how they're so much closer to you despite you all having the same title of "best friends".

He glances at your laptop on the nearby table trying to find a reason to remain here. While part of him wants to join the others upstairs, he lingers. Maybe he needs to let you know about his feelings soon before his relationship with you strains any further.

He sighs loudly, making you all look at him, “I’ll come back to talk to you later.” He excuses himself and follows Yoongi upstairs, leaving Jimin alone with you.

Aside from the fact that he’s upset that you got hurt, you’re not sure what else could be fueling an unknown frustration behind his eyes. You guess you’ll find out later.

Jimin has some thoughts about Namjoon’s behavior, but decides not to voice them right now and gives his attention back to you.

“You need to get out of these clothes, love. They’re really muddy and gross.” He comments, looking at you with a disgusted expression, making you laugh.

“I would try, but I literally can’t move much.”

“I’ll help you.”

Huh? Did Jimin just say he’ll help you undress yourself? You find yourself feeling very flustered suddenly. What if someone walks in? Locking the door seems suspicious but what else can you do?

“I-It’s fine! I’ll just try removing my clothes slowly one piece at a time!” You wave your hands frantically, creating a makeshift barricade against Jimin's helpful hands.

“Why are you being so shy right now? I’ve seen you naked at least 15 times by now.” he remarks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

“H-Hey! Shut up! What if someone hears you?”

“Everyone’s upstairs, probably playing board games in the living room. Yoongi won’t be back for another 10 minutes or so. Plus he’s seen you naked too.” He checks his phone. “And he just texted the Sanctuary chat to say that he’ll come in whenever I’m done.” He flashes the text messages Yoongi sent.

You can’t continue arguing with a concerned Jimin, so you decide to surrender.

“Fine, just be quick.”

Jimin's eyes turn into crescents, satisfied he won this battle. He carefully removes your lilac puffer jacket, followed by your black converse sneakers and then your medium washed jeans covered in mostly dried mud and blood from your knee scrape. When he finishes gently unbuttoning your cropped long-sleeve polo shirt and removing it, he starts giggling. Perplexed, you shoot him a puzzled look, unsure what’s so funny to him. I mean, sitting here half naked is humiliating, so maybe you deserve it. You’ve been acting reckless.

“You’re just so pretty, Y/N. Never thought I’d be in a situation to even see you like this before the deal we made.”

Heat fills your face and you can’t even find words to rebuttal his claims. Why have those two men been saying things that make you feel like you’re going insane?

Jimin knows you feel embarrassment, but pays no mind as he unclasps your black bra, removing it and leaving your breasts bare. He decides to tease you a bit more and softly grasps your breasts, squishing them with his hands. Your eyes widen, suddenly feeling a surge of heat radiating elsewhere due to your chests’ sensitivity.

“I really never realized how beautiful you look naked before.” he admits with a playful tone. He continues with his massage until you finally fight back the horny demon that he awakens in you. Not today, Satan.

You playfully smack his arm, urging him to stop. “O-Okay, Jimin! I get it! Just give me that oversized t-shirt from my duffle and leave before I go crazy.”

He chuckles, relinquishing his playful antics and retrieving the desired t-shirt from your bag. “Glad I was able to cheer you up a bit, darling. We’ll have fun another time.”

Once he ensures you're comfortably tucked in, he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead before exiting the room.

Oddly, that felt a lot more intimate than all the sex you two had before. It feels like you two are inching closer to a new territory beyond whatever fuck buddy and best friend relationship you have. You feel a little scared, but somewhat excited.

Before you can dwell on it further, you feel your body become heavier and you gradually drift into a peaceful slumber. You make just a small mental note to apologize to Yoongi for falling asleep before he can feed you some of his porridge.

+++++++++++

Several hours have passed and it is 2:30PM by the time you wake up from your nap. You were hoping to sleep for the rest of the day to avoid whatever confrontation Namjoon wants to have. You are still feeling tingles from the interaction you had with Jimin, but it proved too difficult with your sprained ankle getting in the way. There is also a group of your friends upstairs that will get suspicious at his sudden disappearance if that did happen.

Hwasa has sent you text updates regarding what everyone else is doing upstairs.

Hyejinnie [12:00PM]: I’m going to send you updates so you don’t feel FOMO Hyejinnie [12:01PM]: Wait you might.. I’m sorry bestie. ;( Welp, we are playing board games and eating snacks! Hyejinnie [1:22PM]: I’m helping ur boyfie make lunch with jieun eonnie. Oh and we’re all going to eat kbbq for dinner. Don’t miss out Hyejinnie [1:25PM]: wait not your boyfie i forget he’s just your fwb right now oops. pls ignore. Hyejinnie [2:07PM]: also you need to catch me up on whatever is going on with you and your.. friends. Don’t think i haven’t caught on ;p Hyejinnie [2:14PM]: I think we’re going to watch a movie now. Jieun said she’s going to show us a movie her old crush was in and we have to guess who it is lol Hyejinnie [2:25PM]: idk if you’re up from your nap, but let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in the living room watching the movie with everyone else. Some of the guys are on their phones though haha

You appreciate her consistent updates while you remain MIA from the trip festivities. Maybe you should take this quiet time as a chance to get back to working on your paper. You just need a few more paragraphs and a final revision before submitting it on Canvas.

Just as you plop your laptop on your lap, a strong knock is heard at the door. You yell to whoever is on the other side of the door that it's okay to enter. It turns out to be Namjoon.

You don’t feel mentally ready to talk to him yet. You’re honestly not sure if you can come up with any cohesive thoughts as you remember that you haven’t eaten since this morning. You glance around and see the bowl of porridge Yoongi must’ve left on the bedside table while you slept.

“I wanted to come in sooner, but Yoongi told me you fell asleep.”

You nod. “I felt really exhausted after that hike, the run and injury, so I knocked out once I felt safe enough to do so.”

“So is now a good time to talk?”

You feel hesitant to say yes, knowing another lecture from your tall, beefy best friend awaits you. You’re so over this trip. Despite all these feelings, you decide just to do it and get it out the way so you can eat.

You nod. “Okay, what did you want to ask me?”

“Why have you been acting really weird lately?”

He doesn’t hesitate to get straight to the point, which doesn’t surprise you much. Okay, so you’ve been caught. But what about you has been weird to him though? Does that mean the others have caught on to your behavior too?

You feign ignorance. “Can you elaborate by what you mean, Namjoon?” Your voice sounds deadpan, with a hint of coldness.

“Can you stop acting like you don’t know what you’re doing when you’ve been staring at me and Soyoon throughout this whole trip?”

Oh.

You shrug. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He ignores your remark and continues, “I already told you before. There is nothing going on between me and her, so you can just stop feeling jealous or whatever.”

Jealous? What?! How dare he make that accusation. You’re not jealous. You’re just worried for the sake of your friendship. There’s no other feelings tied to that…is there? Memories from the party in October where you saw Namjoon and Jihyo flash in your mind.

“No the fuck I’m not!” you immediately deny, a little too quick at that.

“Yes, you fucking are.” he smiles, knowing how right he is based on your defensive response.

“You’re sorely mistaken, Joon.”

“No, I’m not, Y/N. I noticed this even when I was seeing Jihyo and the girl before that. For some reason, you’re always acting off when another girl is involved with me.” He explains further.

Fuck. He really caught on to that a little too well. You know what, maybe he is right. Maybe you’re not jealous out of concern that these girls that keep showing up in Namjoon’s life will take him away from you. It’s really because you wish you were in their place. Being so intimately closer to him than you have ever been. Another flying thought of Yoongi’s questions that caused you to spiral comes to mind.

“You literally do that to me! I couldn’t even go somewhere without you acting weird and accusing me of hanging out with other men who do not live in our house.”

“That’s different.” He rubs the crease between his brows, you press your lips even tighter in frustration. “Plus, I don’t even think I trust some of the ones that do live in our house.”

Namjoon’s comment has you puzzled. What is he trying to imply?

“Why do you think that?”

“I’ve just had a feeling that something weird is going on, and everyone seems to know except for me.”

Shit, everyone? You’ve been cautious this whole time except when you first slept with Yoongi, leading Jungkook to find out. But Jin, Hoseok and Taehyung? Have they somehow realized and have been quiet about it. There’s no way to address something you don’t even know. You have to redirect the conversation.

“You say that, but you’re the one being so vague about why you've been so buddy buddy with Soyoon lately.” You mutter with an attitude, crossing your arms. “You don’t have to hide it and lie to me if you’re interested in her. Just go date her already.”

Namjoon scoffs. He walks closer to you, outstretching his arms on both of your sides, caging you. He’s so close, smelling like the fresh wood sage cologne he sprays on after a shower. For some reason, this smell is more intoxicating right now than ever before. Your heartbeat feels like it’s increasing from the close proximity. This isn’t even the first time you’ve been this close to him, but there’s some kind of energy making you feel anxious than before.

“Because I don’t fucking want to.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“You.” Namjoon mouths out, words so quiet feeling like only you two are meant to hear.

“Huh? Me?” You scrunch your eyebrows while whispering at him. “Is my jealousy really getting in the way of you being happy?”

“You’re one of the smartest people I know and you still want me to spell it out for you?” He chuckles bitterly, seemingly feeling like he’s going to regret the next sentence that’s going to come out of his mouth.

You nod, “Yes, because I’m still confused about your actions and I’m tired of the constant misunderstandings and fights— ”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

The world suddenly goes silent for what feels like a thousand minutes.

Your mouth is left agape, unable to find any reason to continue speaking. Whatever thought bubbles filled your head with anger and anxiety are now gone. You find it hard to gather the next words you say from looking right into Namjoon’s dragon eyes, mesmerizing you.

“Y-You’re in l-love with me.” The realization escapes your lips, rather shaky, The words hanging in the air, charged with an unexpected gravity.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, his eyes holding a mix of determination and vulnerability. "Yes, I've been in love with you for a long time. Soyoon was in the process of helping me confess to you on Valentine's Day, but with you acting jealous and making up scenarios in your head, I couldn't keep it a secret any longer."

Your mind races, processing his confession. Namjoon, your best friend, has just declared his love for you. The first one out of your friends… but is he? You vaguely remember Yoongi saying something similar during that one party, but you brushed it off. There’s also Hwasa’s observations… Jimin’s kiss on his birthday…

Oh no.

The gravity of the situation sinks in, and your internal conflict intensifies. You're entangled in a complicated fuck buddies deal with Yoongi and Jimin, who potentially may be in love with you too. And now a lot of these things are starting to make sense,

Then there’s Namjoon's words adding a new layer of concern. How will this confession affect your shit with Yoongi and Jimin? You like all of them but do you love them? You also do not live in a perfect universe to be dating all of them. Would they even want that?

Namjoon must sense your anxiety skyrocketing, because he leans in and kisses your forehead. And for just a bit, you go back to feeling floaty. You want to feel like this all the time, but it’s not going to happen anytime soon. You have things to resolve.

“You probably have a lot on your mind. I do too.” He cups your cheeks, sincerely staring into your eyes. “You don’t have to answer me right now. I just wanted to ease your mind before anything else happens.”

You nod back slowly, waiting for him to continue.

“I might be gone for the fall semester.” He starts, moving over to sit on your bed.

Oh.

“I applied for a study abroad law program in New Zealand and Korea. I’ll be in my last year and my parents told me over winter break that they want me to go abroad and gain some new experience. I see Yoongi working so hard and I feel like I haven’t been doing much at all.”

This new information comes as a shock to you, and you feel excited for him, yet sad for several reasons

Namjoon had fought with his parents last summer about wanting to pursue a career as an archivist or art conservator. They said it wasn’t ideal and that he should focus on being a civil servant and then become a politician. He came over to your house once and stayed the night in your room, shedding tears about how his parents didn’t understand him.

The second reason is more selfish: You’ve never been apart from Namjoon for a long time since you first met him. Sure, since you guys have a one year age difference, there were times that you weren’t at the same school together. Though, it’s not like you never saw each other at least some point in the week. You’re neighbors after all. This would be different. Maybe there will be an occasional facetime call or texts sent during different time zones from him retelling his adventures. Though it won’t be the same as having him with you. You’re not going to admit that right now though.

“So you’re not going to pursue art and become an archivist or art conservator anymore?”

“I…I am. I’ll find a way to prove to my parents that I can do this and be successful. I’ll network, find a way to get into that space more. Studying abroad would be a great way to do that.” He explains softly.

You remember the question Yoongi had asked yesterday about your dreams. You still feel like you don’t have a concrete answer, but seeing the way your older best friends try so hard makes you think you should start focusing on that as well. You wonder if Jimin has any thoughts of his own regarding the future too.

Namjoon continues to converse with you about his future plans and why he had to confess to you now, as he didn’t want it to be “too late” and regret it later on. While you don’t ask him what he meant by that, you kind of had an idea.

++++++++

Once Namjoon leaves your room to rejoin everyone upstairs, the floaty and relaxed feeling inside you fades away and you immediately start to feel like shit.

The truth begins to bear down on you: Yoongi and Jimin's friends-with-benefits arrangement might not be just a casual fling. They probably like you too — well, more than a best friend. The deal was probably to act as a trial period, a way for them to express their feelings without the complexity of a formal confession and for you to realize some repressed feelings. Although now, with Namjoon's direct and sincere confession, you just simply don’t know what to do anymore.

Things were easier when you didn’t have to think about this much originally with Yoongi. Just have sex from time to time and still remain best friends. When Jimin managed to seduce you, awakening something within you, and get added as fuck buddy #2, you had stepped into a dangerous zone. Now the thought of Namjoon getting added to that…

No! He’d never do it. He’s not as open-minded and insane to become your third fuck buddy. If he found out, you don’t think he’d be happy. He’d probably murder Yoongi and Jimin for hiding and doing such an insane thing. Then you’d be next. And even if you’d add Namjoon to this fuck buddies trial deal, you don’t think anyone would be happy in the end.

You love them all. No favoritism for one over the others. They all have something that makes you feel butterflies, whether you realized it before or not.

Is this the perfect time to talk to Hwasa about your dilemma? You don’t even think you’ve told her about you and Jimin, but she’s perceptive. She probably saw some signs, but hadn’t commented on them.

You [4:03PM]: Hey Hwasa, we need to have a girl talk time. Hyejinnie [4:04PM]: Say no more! I’m telling Jungkook to come carry you up so we can talk in my room.

And just when you received that message, Jungkook shows up at the door and bows to you.

“I have been requested to bring up the Honey Princess to Hwasa’s room.”

You laugh. He’s adorable, you think. “Yes? Please take me up, Sir Jungkook.”

Jungkook carries you on his back once again, up the stairs. You take a glance of Yoongi, Jieun, Jin and Namjoon in the kitchen, preparing dinner before you are in Hwasa and Soohyun’s shared room at the end of the hall. Jungkook comments that he’s getting you ice to make your ankle’s swelling go down, leaving the room. You faintly hear him scolding your guy besties for not doing that earlier, making you guys laugh. He comes back with a bag of ice and then exits the room, closing the door in the process.

Hwasa greets you with a warm smile as you settle onto the bed, propping yourself up against the pillows. This bedroom is adorned with fairy lights, creating a cozy atmosphere that contrasts the turmoil in your mind. Hwasa, perceptive as always, senses that something serious is on your mind.

"So spill, what's going on?" she asks, her eyes filled with concern.

You take a deep breath, contemplating where to begin. "Remember my thing with Yoongi…” You whisper, hoping no one outside could hear. The TV is pretty loud playing someone’s Spotify playlist though.

“Yes, of course! Are y’all still…”

“We are.” Hwasa nods in response. “I’ve been keeping things lowkey so I haven’t told you much advancements, but I also started doing that with Jimin."

Her eyes widen, not in surprise, but more in confirmation of her past observations. “I figured that might’ve been the case when I kept seeing you be a little more touchier than usual in class last semester."

Your face reddens as you remark. “Nothing really passes by you, does it?” Hwasa can’t help but laugh at your reaction.

“You’re literally living the dream!” She holds both of your hands, intrigued at your ‘love life’. “They’re two of the finest frat boys on this campus. I don’t see how there can be a problem.”

"Except there is…" you admit, unraveling your overall deal with Jimin and Yoongi, your thoughts about them probably liking you and the argument you had with Namjoon earlier. As you share the details, Hwasa listens attentively, offering occasional nods and empathetic expressions.

"Wow, that's…a lot," she remarks when you finish. "And now Namjoon dropped the bomb? He’s equally as hot too."

You nod, feeling the weight of the situation. "Exactly. I never expected him to confess. I didn’t think he felt that way about me. Now, I'm stuck in this mess, and I don't know what to do!" You fall back onto the pillows, looking at the ceiling in frustration.

Hwasa places a comforting hand on yours. "First things first, take a deep breath.” You do. “It's a lot to process, but you'll figure it out. Now, tell me how you feel about each of them. Let’s start with Jimin"

“Jimin is someone who I feel comfortable with to try new things. He’s always managed to get me out of my shell and without him, I don’t think I’d be the person I am today. He’s also really kinky in bed so…Soft dom vibes?”

“Okay, spicy, I see! And Yoongi?”

“Yoongi feels like my soulmate…even Jimin pointed it out. We’re so in tune with one another that I don’t feel so on edge around him. I feel more relaxed. But I’m so emotionally driven and sometimes he doesn’t get that. Though he does try. Always does.”

Hwasa coughs repeatedly, “How’s the sex?”

“I… It’s really fucking good. Getting fingered by a man who plays the guitar is another worldly experience. Ten out of ten.” Hwasa squeals hearing this, but quickly covers her mouth to avoid anyone coming in concerned.

“Well holy shit. I guess that leaves Namjoon?”

“Namjoon, right.” You haven’t thought about it much before, but it was mainly because you’ve tried not to see him like that. He was obviously attractive with his muscles and tall height. His brains are another thing. “Aside from how obviously hot he’s always been, his mind is just so eloquent. He’s such a big brother at times and while I get annoyed at his lecturing, he makes me feel grounded and keeps challenging me to work harder. I don’t know what else to say?”

You find that articulating your emotions brings a sense of clarity. Hwasa provides thoughtful insights and asks probing questions, guiding you through the maze of your own emotions.

Once you've laid out your feelings, Hwasa leans back, pondering. "Alright, here's what I think. You need to have an honest conversation with all of them. Start off with Yoongi and Jimin, then somehow get Namjoon in that conversation. Lay your cards on the table, and let them know where you stand. It's the only way to avoid misunderstandings and hurt feelings."

You sigh, realizing the truth in her words. "But what if I can't choose between them? What if I ruin everything?"

Hwasa smirks, "Then, my dear, you need to consider a different kind of arrangement—one that works for all parties involved. But that's a discussion for another day. For now, focus on being open and honest with them. You owe it to yourself and to them."

“You’re right. Thank you Hwasa for hearing me out on my crazy dramatic life. I appreciate you so much.” You gesture her to get closer so you can give her a hug, and she does.

+++++++++++

After your heart-to-heart with Hwasa, Jungkook comes in to let you know that dinner is ready and that he’ll be taking you over there. You appreciate his kindness.

The delicious aroma of the meat wafts through the air as you enter the kitchen, where the group is gathered around the table, engaged in lively conversation.

Jin, always the culinary maestro, tells everyone to take their seats. As you settle in, you can't help but glance at your three best friends at different points during the meal.

Yoongi is focused on grilling meat, his brows furrowed in concentration. The subtle scent of his cooking skills fills the air, momentarily distracting you from your internal conflict. You catch his eye, and there's a silent understanding between you two.

Jimin, sitting across from you, steals occasional glances your way. His gaze is warm and comforting, reassuring you that no matter the complications, he's there for you. A small smile passes between you that speaks volumes.

Namjoon, busy discussing something with Hoseok, occasionally looks in your direction. There's a mix of emotions in his eyes—longing, and perhaps a touch of hope.

The dinner is filled with laughter and camaraderie as the trip ends tonight. You try to savor the meal and the company, but the weight of the unspoken hangs in the air.

As the night progresses, you find yourself more restless. The uncertainty of your situation gnaws at you. Once dinner concludes, you and the other girls go to the living room to watch some youtube videos on the smart TV. As they busy themselves talking about stuff, you grab your phone and open the group chat with Yoongi and Jimin.

You [8:45PM]: Valentine’s Day. I’ll give you my decision.

Sending the message, you brace yourself for the conversations that lie ahead. Whatever happens, you face it headstrong.

–

–

tbc :O a/n: uh-oh we're getting to the conflicting part hehehehe !!! i apologize for the delay getting this chapter out. i am currently working on some big things and doing some interviews so the fic had been neglected for a month or so, but i am back for a bit and already working on CH 8 as well! Anyone have any thoughts or theories on what Y/N will decide to say? i'd love to hear about them so lmk hehehe thank you all for reading!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist! ➸ love u lately series masterlist

[skullsemi]

ok hear me out

I kind of had this idea for a Mickey Mouse movie, so I sketched a poster: "The Backup Detectives" (kind of a temporary title or not)

So for the plot:

The story would start with some detectives that are too lazy to solve up a new case that just dropped by the office. The case itself looks too silly, the type to be a lot of work for nothing, with only one very sketchy clue to start. So, as a joke, they decided to call up "The Backup Detectives", a tasteless nickname that the office choose to name the four detectives that they've reduced to just some assistants. And these four who always wanted to really work on a case to help others and prove their worthy, clumsily start on this one. And what at first appears to be just a simple case, is definitely much more than it seems.

The film would take place somewhere between the 30s and 60s, with a few modern things here and there because disney magic. It would have some drama, mystery, and of course, comedy. With Mickey, Donald, Goofy and Oswald as the protagonists.