#next chapter up! woo

[mullermilkshake]

Settle in with me

Part 1 <- Part 2 -> Part 3

After the results of the programme in hopes of producing future hunters, Jinwoo takes the lead.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - mentions of breeding,Dirty thoughts,Jealousy,kissing,Jinwoo really wants to fuck you,Forced pairing for breeding,Kinda role playing,Little mentions of squirting and other sexual acts,Mentions of pregnancy and impregnation

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

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EDIT - I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

The results of the pairings had been delayed due to a tragedy.

“We apologise for the delay, due to the loss of one of our association members, we had to wait until we could access the sensitive information. A formal enquiry is being made in the meantime and it’s being treated as suspicious.”

“To think we had such bad news right on our doorstep. At a time like this too.” Hunter Choi took off his glasses and cleaned them with dismay and pursed lips.

Jinwoo walked right through without issue for that information. Stealth made it way too easy. Still, he feigned surprise. “Why would someone do that? It doesn’t make sense.”

You remained silent, spacing out at the table, sitting next to Jinwoo this time. Baek slammed his fist on the table and it never even made you flinch. “Of course it makes no sense, it’s just information on who’s sleeping with who essentially-”

“Please, don’t be so crude.” Hunter Cha snapped, wiping away the invisible smell with her handkerchief. “We’re all affected by this, a man is dead. And… we’re all affected.” Her voice trailed off, she realised her outburst was seen by everyone, including the Chairman.

Jinwoo sat back and watched, awaiting the news with the excitement of carrying out his year-long quest. He’d have you soon enough, he only hoped you would do so willingly.

“Can we… Can we just get this over with now while the investigation is underway? I’d really like to go now.” You said, finally participating, fiddling with your fingers under the table because you just didn’t know what to do with yourself.

“I think so too.” Jinwoo interjected the tension and flashed you a sympathetic look. “There’s nothing we can do right now and I think we’d all like to get on with things so we can settle in, right?”

“Exactly, Hunter Sung, while we can grieve those who make the Hunters association smooth like a machine, we must carry on.” Chairman Go pulled out a sheet of paper, a small one at that, practically insignificant. “I have here the latest results for the trial period of S-Ranked Hunters set to participate in the programme, I’ll read it out as follows.”

Jinwoo picked up on your heightened breathing immediately, trembling fingers knotted together and holding on for dear life. Anticipating the future of the Hunter’s association.

“Hunter Cha will be paired with Hunter Choi. Which leaves…” When your name graced the Chairman’s lips, you watched the man’s soft facade with anticipation. “You will be paired with Hunter Sung.”

There was nothing to be said about the elephant in the room, well, the entire room was the elephant. Jinwoo sat with a wash of relief though stifled it for now. A matter of hours and he’d potentially be balls deep inside you ready to blow his first load inside you… for the good of the association, the country, his fellow Hunters and guild members.

“This will be effective immediately, so you should gather your things and return to headquarters later tonight for your keys and accommodation. I am appreciative of all the hard work you do and what more you’ll be sacrificing for this country and the association.”

Jinwoo liked the ring to that, effective immediately.

After the Chairman left, Baek slouched back into his chair and whistled. “I wasn’t sure which one of us it was going to be, but I didn’t think it would be both of you. Ugh, things are going to get weird around here.”

Choi was naturally flustered, but his rivalry with Baek pushed past the initial shock. “I think it’s a valiant effort, maybe that’s why you weren’t asked to do it. Nevermind.”

Baek growled. “Watch it buddy-”

“Ugh, was there any point in us even being here? I came all this way for nothing.” Hunter Lim had not said one word the entire meeting, shrugging off whatever words and consternation entered the room. He and Hunter Ma were not present the last time the S-Rank hunters were together.

Hunter Ma sat watching the two boil over in their feud. “I guess we just gotta do it then, no point in fightin’ amongst ourselves.”

You and Cha were silent, unmoving and weighted down in the boardroom chairs, the gravity of it all getting more heavy with each ragged breath amongst the inhouse fighting. 

Jinwoo never took your silence as an insult, in honesty, he never wanted it to be this way between you and him. He hoped with time you’d take to him as much as he understood Cha was with him. The bonus being that it would just accelerate things and give him a head start on his quest.

“You think you’re the shit now because you might have an S-Rank baby? Heh, we’ll see about that.”

“Guys, stop it!” Banging your fist on the table got Choi and Baek to stop their squabbling temporarily, everyone looked right at you in pin drop silence. “This is hard enough as it is without you two fighting. Things are going to change around here and we have to just… get used to it. Please don’t make this any more complicated than it has to be.”

Then, you walked out, taking Hunter Cha with you.

Now, the men pouted or sat around in the swivel chairs waiting for someone to speak and break the silence.

“I bet you’re happy, huh, Jinwoo?” Lim rested his chin on his balled fist over the table. “She’s pretty, but doesn’t Jong-In have a crush on her?”

“Uh… hold on a second.” Choi adjusted his glasses and cleared the truth from him throat awkwardly. “Firstly, a crush? We’re adults. Secondly, I admit to no such thing, we’re quite good friends, actually. It’s quite that simple and while I think I would have suited her well, the computer chose Hunter Sung, so I won’t protest. Thirdly, although not lastly, Hunter Cha is also a good candidate, gentlemen.”

Jinwoo noticed the mild resentment behind his mask, it slipped ever so slightly before regaining its control of his face again. Jong-In Choi was a kind man, everybody knew that, the goodness in his soul was something Jinwoo admired from time to time. A trait he wouldn’t ever fully grasp again after slipping between the line of right and wrong. 

But man, was he easy to read.

The association member Jinwoo killed wasn’t the first man, he also wasn’t remorseful in the slightest at the sight of his dead body on the ground. Although he hoped it wasn’t necessary, it was to secure your name. So all in all, not a wasted journey.

Murder… A trait he gained in which he hoped to work on, but recently, Jinwoo found himself wanting to leave it fester. That’s where all of his sudden intrusive thoughts showed themselves. Although right now, seeing Choi so flustered over you should make him want to do something to the man, even if it was just harsh words for the time being, what saved him was having you paired with him and not Choi. The saving grace in this scenario. Something he could inaudibly shove in his face and no one be none the wiser.

But he knew if push came to shove, he could kill Choi easy.

Jinwoo smiled sweetly to the room. “Well, while it’s unorthodox they want us to do this, I know me and her will make a good team, just like Hunter Cha and Choi will.”

“A true political answer, good job, Jinwoo.” Lim patted him in the back and threw his hands in his pockets. “But I’m out of here now so enjoy doing whatever in the bedroom.”

“You’re leaving already?” Baek stopped any annoyance and rolled his chair away from Choi a fraction and studied Hunter Lim’s relaxed trudge towards the door.

“Yeah, There was no point us being here if they weren’t going to pair us off with any of the A-Ranks at least or something, they really only needed Jong-In and Jinwoo for the announcement. No one wants to know what sort of kinky stuff they’ll be getting up to, we just continue life as normal. And I have a guild to run, see ya.”

“What’s up with that guy today?”

“He’s right, I gotta guild to run too, see ya!” Ma strolled out of the room without putting his two pence in and closed the door behind him with an untenable pressure pulsing with uncertainty.

“I guess I’ll go too then. I have to go and pack.” Jinwoo stood up without much resistance from the other two.

“I’ll see you later then, Hunter Sung.” Choi smoothed down his suit and left it at that.

Jinwoo walked through headquarters with elation, holding back his smile as soon as he heard you talking with Cha in the hallway. He stopped and listened in the shadows with stealth, not that you would be fooled by that at all. Your perception was far too high.

“It’ll be alright, because we’ll do this together. Shit… okay, okay. We’ll do this, one kid and we’ll bow out. That’s what the chairman said.”

Cha was panicked, trying to control her breathing from behind the stairwell. “Is this really the right thing, though? I can’t help but feel used. How could I look at a baby and just give it away?”

You however, were much calmer, like you had accepted your future path. “You’re right, I feel the same way. At least you’ll be with Jong-In, he’s a real sweet guy. I’m… I’m sorry you weren’t put with Jinwoo. I know you like him.”

Hae-In Cha made her obvious feelings subtle to everyone else, but Jinwoo saw right through them given enough time. He kept it secret, chasing you instead and giving Cha no reason to extend that olive branch. Jinwoo just wasn’t interested. She was a skilled S-Rank hunter for sure, impressive and beautiful, but you… you were something else. And still exploring your abilities to this day.

A point Jinwoo rarely brought up in his mind, that you were incredibly useful to him.

Cha’s breath stuck in her throat, Jinwoo stepped closer to see her expression. “Uh… n-no! I don’t- I mean… well, yeah, I kind of do. But there’s nothing to be done about it. It’s just sex, right?”

Wrong . It wasn’t just sex, not for Jinwoo.

You went in to speak but hesitated, turning your head in Jinwoo’s direction with a scowl, you just missed him.

“What is it?” Cha questioned, her tone softer than before.

“Uh… I-I’m not sure, I thought I saw- listen, just think of it that way. It’s just sex, and hopefully we can do this as quickly as possible. No growing pains, just our jobs. Together, alright?”

It wasn’t just sex. Jinwoo would make that clear every time he fucked you, made you come and forced his name on your lips so loud Jong-In Choi would hear down the hall.

And by that night, when Jinwoo heard the requirements for the programme, ‘At least three times a week, but most nights if you can, depending on your schedules. We’ll try to make them less conflicting as possible’. 

Yeah, life looked pretty interesting from here on out.

He’d fuck you every night, no problem, to train you to see just how much you needed him despite your independence.

When the door of the little apartment on top of headquarters closed for the first time behind you, Jinwoo’s web had started weaving. You were so beautiful in the moonlight of the darkened apartment, saying goodbye to Jong-In and Hae-In as they disappeared into their own space. It was more intimate now among the S-Ranks, using first names wholeheartedly like neighbours and friends instead of hunters.

It was all very domesticated.

“So…” You said, clearly ruminating on the path that brought you here.

Jinwoo could see it in your eyes, that doe eyed little stare anxiously darting about the room and everywhere but him.

“So… Uh, you can look at me, y’know?” Jinwo wanted you to look at him the way Jong-In looked at you.

He made it his personal quest, and seeing the system's quest progress unmoved bothered him. Not the best start to an evening, he wondered how to bring you more at ease. Jinwoo waited this long to be in this type of situation and he wasn’t giving up with the opportunity of fucking you senseless and having you all to himself.

“S-sorry, I just don’t really know where to go from here without making it weird.”

Awkward, pressured, even artificial? Maybe. Weird? Never.

“Is this your first time, or?”

You struggled to stifle your gasp in the dark room and shuffled about a bit. “What? N-no I’ve had sex before, Jinwoo.”

He rubbed his neck and feigned embarrassment. “Sorry- bad start. I just wanted to gauge your boundaries. I don’t want to cross any unintentionally.” 

More than I already have. That’ll come with time, then she'll be thanking me for doing it.

“Ah crap… what the fuck, Jinwoo. I never thought we’d be in this position.” Hearing your sweet huff of that bratty frustration he knew you were capable of turned him on. “Hae-In really likes you- but you can’t say anything because she made me promise not to tell you, but this feels wrong… it feels…”

What words would you utter? Jinwoo would use perfect, or extraordinary. Nothing negative like you wanted to use.

“She likes you. It’s like I’m betraying her.”

“Look.” Jinwoo changed the subject immediately, thinking of ways to change your mind without his influence. “Why don’t we forget about everything outside, and just focus on what’s going on in here? We could pretend that we just had a really awesome date, I asked you back to my place and you said yes.”

“Like roleplaying?” Exactly.

He nodded like you could see him properly. “It might ease your nerves.”

“A-alright… but can we leave the lights off? I’m not sure I want that right now.”

“Of course. Anything you want.”

Jinwoo heard your steps draw nearer, closer until you were near enough to take you right then and there if you let him. He’d pick you up and carry you over to the open planned kitchen counter and fuck you with your knees close to your chest.

Fuck. I have to try that sometime.

“So…” You said again, tugging on his jacket to get his role played attention. “Thanks for this. I mean it…”

Jinwoo sensed you were trying to get in character, he took the lead like most things in this relationship were going to develop. “Thanks for tonight, I had a great time, I wasn’t sure you were going to come up here. I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“I did want to. It’s just… I haven’t done this with many people so I’m a little nervous.”

He took our chin with his thumb and forefinger, trying not to smile at your quick inhale. “It’s alright. I can lead you through it, how does that sound?”

“Yes. Yes please.”

“I think it’ll be better if we kiss a little first, do you want to?” 

When you nodded and allowed yourself to get close, your lips were everything Jinwoo had wondered about. So supple, warm and plump enough to suck on, to bite and pull. He could tell you were reluctant, wooden with your position with your hands still enough to pass for a marble statue. So Jinwoo took your hands between his fingers, small enough for one hand whilst the other ran through your hair and brought you closer than before.

Your tongue drowned him in his lust he was so desperately holding back, to not let his urges spoil you before he had a chance to earn your trust completely. Jinwoo wanted to ruin you until you couldn’t speak coherently and only communicated in murmurs and babbling because of a multiple orgasm streak that got you squirting all over his face.

And then you pulled away from him. For a second there, he thought you were backing out of it. But then you said, “Will you look after me, Jinwoo? I’m scared.”

Jinwoo took an educated guess and assumed it was the tough stuff, the pregnancy to come and all that other stuff. Well, of course it was, having mind bending sex wasn’t something to be frightened of. But getting you pregnant was something Jinwoo couldn’t join you with fear because it excited him, it turned him on something chronic.

And pregnancy sex? Sign him up.

He took your hand and walked off without consulting you, straight towards the bedroom. “Let’s get comfortable.”

“Jinwoo-”

“I’m going to look after you, I promise.”

His impromptu plan worked, he might have had innocent blood on his hands doing it, but he couldn’t wait to have something more precious in his hands for years to come and now that he had it, he wouldn’t let it go.

And that was you.

Part 1 <- Part 2 -> Part 3

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks so much for all the support on this likes, reblog and comments appreciated! ❤️

Tag list - @bubera974,@snowy-violet,@sky2lar,@starrynights23x,@minh907

@yessirr7,@aussie-boys-wife,@yihona-san06

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[iobartach]

@perditos // liked for a short thing

He wasn't in the habit of making the same mistake twice, especially not when the blunder he committed backfired in a way that he'd rather not repeat, if given a choice. With this memory fresh in mind, and body sufficiently healed from the effects of a loosened current, he trials a new approach, abandoning stealth-- and armour --for navy blue hard light.

Discernible as a shimmering smear atop a rain drenched rooftop, actions are paused until the portal that had delivered him back to this reality had closed completely, sealing off the way home from prying eyes... or so he hopes, for a tilt of masked head examines a larger building to his right, gaze skimming each window for the hurried flick of curtains drawn too quickly. Was he being too cautious? Maybe, but Miguel didn't intend to take any chances.

Not this time.

And not when he had the once-thief to find, as well as a convincing argument, disguised as a request, to pitch. But above all else, the question remained, where was he to begin looking? Unable to provide an answer, he starts with what he knows best, which happened to involve stepping off the rooftop's edge and latching onto its side, before starting to crawl along it, rain droplets buffeting his face as he moved along, several stories above the heads of most bystanders pacing the street below.

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <333

[orcelito]

i finished re-editing ITNL chapter 9 and. ouch. ouch ouch ouch ouch. lmao me writing angst then rereading it like "i cant believe you done this" IT'S SO GOOD THO

anyways i posted the re-edits. nothing dramatic, just a few touch ups here and there. im too tired to do any more reading tonight i think, but i am making progress

[transkingcobra]

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Halsin/Original Male Characters Additional Tags: Polyamory, two main characters, (MCs are brothers and dating the same man), No Incest, full game fic, Multiple Tavs Exist (Baldur's Gate), (side characters pair off as well), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Pining, Mutual Pining, Canon-Typical Violence, (canon-typical everything really), (I will add/edit tags as I go idk specifics for everything yet), Full Game Spoilers, (chapters will individually have content warnings too)

  Summary:

Two run-away changeling brothers stumble across a group of tieflings in need of help, not knowing it will be the thing to change their lives forever.

Oh hey look I started the thing

[proxycrit]

Decided to write some oneshots! Less focus on Zelda and Link, and more on FAMILIAR FAMILIAR’s building blocks.

(Mineru and Naborus’s slow dance are interrupted by the horrors of war.)

(Fic under cut)

——— The First Act (Naborus)

Mineru seems to be actively trying to woo Naborus, and to her disgust, it works.

The zonai woman seems to haunt her steps, with a sly smile and cheeky wink. She slips next to Naborus during morning drills with foods meant to entice, and into evening bouts of paperwork with her little machines, fiddling and tinkering and always ready to help. Even her haughty hat she faffs around with is all but seared into the back of Naborus’s eyelids every time she closes them.

“You do understand,” she tried once, and only once, “that I am a gerudo chief and you are the last of the zonai, serving under the hylian empire.” She enunciates these hylian words as clear as she can, careful with this new language she forced herself to learn within four grueling months.

“Of course,” Mineru responded back in a heavily accented Gerudo. “But I still want to try.”

Naborus has always had a soft spot for fools. She doesn’t bring up their allegiances again, but Mineru redoubles her efforts. Naborus doesn’t explicitly accept them, but she doesn’t refute them either. She even finds herself automatically bringing two mugs of heavily steeped tea to her study one night. Mineru was waiting for her, eyes bright and ears perked.

It’s Ganondorf that ultimately cuts through the stalemate.

“You like her,” he accuses.

“I tolerate her,” Naborus grumbles. “She’s at most a desert lizard I water from time to time, so she doesn’t die.”

Ganondorf gives her a truly bombastic side eye. Naborus doesn’t mention his strange dance around Rauru, even though she’s tempted to point out his hypocrisy. Her soft spot for fools is a weakness.

“She’s working for the princess,” he warns. “We need time to ratify the treaty, and she’s a distraction.”

“She’s a guest,” Naborus responds, temper flaring. “And I don’t see you crunching the paper recently, little brother.”

They glare at each other, bristling like desert cats, before ganondorf’s shoulders slump. He’s been sleeping less and less lately. The dark circles under his eyes have been becoming more and more difficult to hide.

“It’s not safe,” he repeats helplessly. “There’s always a cost, with the hylians. You know this.”

“I know this,” Naborus responds wearily. “But Princess Sonia is different from her mother. Not because of any legends,” she adds, before her brother can protest, “but because she’s reaching out first. The zora and rito are perfectly happy. We have to trust the same amnesty will be given to us.”

“It’s different,” Ganondorf spits, “when their legends don’t constantly paint us as thieves and war mongers.” And Sonia, despite her stature, is part of that legend. That damned sword speaks to it.

The hylians want the great gerudo burial site. They want it for the precious minerals crystallizing deep under the sands, that glow green from the dead. They need it, for the war against the rising tide of undead monsters that threaten them all— gerudo, hylian, all the races of hyrule really. It already took most the zonai.

Naborus knows, deep down, she can not let the gerudo be the next.

But it hurts, to see their culture be trodden underfoot for this. And it hurts more, to hear Ganondorf’s urgent whispers that the Hylians will not stop.

Mineru and Rauru are the last of their kind. Surely there must be other zonai, hidden in pockets deep below or up in the sky, but the zonai (the only zonai) Naborus knows are her two guests. They don’t remember their mother tongue. They were raised by the Goron and Zora and eat hylian food and wear hylian clothes and practice hylian alchemy.

For all intents and purposes, they are hylian. They are what will lay in store for the gerudo, either it be through ganondorf’s terror of a slow cultural death, or naborus’s terror of a steady massacre.

And then Ganondorf finds those ruins, and it all goes to shit.

And then he tries to kill Sonia. Tries to infect Rauru with that malice. Becomes unknowable to her, and calls her traitor, as if he didn’t throw everything away for their shared dream.

Five days later, she arranges for a meeting.

Six days later, Sonia and Rauru show up at her doorstep.

“You can have the burial grounds,” Naborus says, and finds the dull ember of delight in Rauru’s flinch. Good. See him remember his own damned past, and let him know of his crime. Mockingly, she inclines her head to Princess Sonia. “At your behest, your highness.”

Sonia looks back. Implacable. Stone. She’s four heads shorter than Naborus, and yet her presence is crushing. Is this who you love, Naborus wanted to ask Mineru. Is this who you serve?

The rest of the negotiations is a blur. Rito will come help gerudo civilians escape the bombed remains of her city. Her people will find shelter along the coast, if they so wish. All Sonia needs is the Zonaite, and willing hands to take up arms and fight.

Fight who, she does not specify. But judging from her gaze flickering to the empty spot next to Naborus, it’s not difficult to infer.

When Mineru hesitates in front of Naborus’s door later that night, Naborus finally snaps. That dull apathy and shock suddenly becomes a monsoon of rage and betrayal, and she grabs the mug and throws it as hard as she can at the wall, an animal scream rising in her chest.

Mineru flinches back, ears pressed against her head. Naborus sinks, gasping for air, and curls into a wretched ball on the floor. Thin hands carefully encircle against her, and she leans into mineru’s chest, and weeps for her stupid baby brother, for her foolish naive self, for hoping for a beautiful future.

Tomorrow, the gerudo will have the war Ganondorf predicted. Tomorrow, Naborus will bow in front of the Hylian regency.

Mineru mumbles something into her hair, that she is unable to catch. But the zonai’s grip is tight, and she hums a song slow and low.

“What is that?” Naborus croaks, head still pillowed in Mineru’s arms.

There’s a shift of muscle under Naborus as Mineru readjusts herself into a more comfortable position, and then— “my mother taught me this.”

“Ah? I thought gorons are all men?”

Mineru laughs. “In hylian, yes they are called men. But no, I’m talking about my birth mother.”

“Oh,” and because Naborus has little filter, “what’s her name?”

Mineru went silent at that. Naborus feels a rush of self hatred. She shouldn’t have asked. She presumes much from somebody who isn’t even her citizen.

“I don’t remember,” Mineru says. She smiles at Naborus, eyes half squinted. “I just called her Mah. Zonai baby teeth give us terrible lisps, and young children don’t really know their parents as people, per say. Just protectors.”

“I’m sorry,” Naborus says. She wants Mineru to hum that song again, but doesn’t know how to ask.

“It’s okay,” Mineru says. “I don’t remember her. Its hard to miss what you don’t really know.”

“No,” Naborus protests. “It’s not okay at all. You shouldn’t have to-“ she back pedals, looks for anything to say at all, and settles on squeezing Mineru’s waist. “You deserve more than just a song.”

Mineru starts to hum again. Seeing Naborus unwilling to continue, the zonai sighs, cutting into the wound if the situation.

“You did the right thing.”

“Did I?”

“You want to save lives. There is no shame in that.”

“And what of the children who won’t remember their mother’s names?” Naborus asks, hurting. What of her people’s history?

“They’ll be alive to wonder, won’t they?”

Mineru’s voice sounded flat and far away.

And Naborus has nothing to say to that.

(Mineru tells herself this is for the best, and that she and Rauru turned out perfectly fine.

It’s a lie she’s grown comfortable with.)

———— The Second Act (Mineru)

When Ganondorf cuts her throat, she can’t bring herself to be surprised.

Scared? Yeah. But surprised? Not really.

She took his sister from him. She represents hylian royalty. She’s collateral to Rauru. A sort of message, if you will.

You took my sister. I will take yours.

Fucking idiot. Naborus will never forgive him now, and neither would Rauru. He has single handedly severed any remaining goodwill, any chance of recollection, with this stunt, and the worst part is he probably did it on purpose.

Ganondorf looks different. His eyes are tired. The infection from his arm has spread to under his jaw. Baby Dragneel’s been practicing magic, she sees. He reaches down and gently plucks the secret stone from Mineru’s neck, and suddenly it’s worse.

She’s never going to be able to tell Naborus her secret. She’s never going to be able to give that stone to her beloved. She-

A scream splits the night air. It can’t be from her, because all her air is being stolen from her throat before it can reach her tongue, which tastes like iron. It can’t be from Ganondorf, who’s mouth is clenched shut, secret stone (alchemist’s stone) shining in his hand.

Ganondorf is blasted back by a wave of light.

The world is greying. Mineru feels the burn of Sonia’s time magic entrap her, freeze her. It hurts. It hurts more then her throat. Everything is tinged yellow and Mineru can’t move, and this must be what death is— caught between a peaceful slumber and agonizing living. She’s suffocating slowly. She’s scared.

Rauru’s face comes in focus. His hands are shaking. She can feel him pressing desperately against her as in the distance, Sonia, still clad in her white dress, chases the shadows away.

Mineru’s eyes slip close.

When she wakes up, she is surprised she’s not dead. She tries to say something, but the searing pain stops her, and her muffled jerk causes the lump at her feet to quiver. Rauru looks up, eyes bloodshot.

“Mimi?” He asks, voice hoarse. Mineru tries to say something, but the pain flares and she settles for a thumbs up. Rauru’s eyes start watering, and he presses his face into her hands.

“Mimi,” he whispers, and mineru pets his ears, like they were children again. She didn’t mean to scare him. She waits for him to collect himself, and takes the chance to look around the room.

It’s a nice room. The architecture is distinctly zoran, with luminous stones embedded into the walls for light and kelp thread curtains for privacy. It smells like fragrant lotus root and medicinal herbs. There’s a small study in the corner, filled with papers and a single potted specimen of a sundelion.

Rauru’s study, she realizes with a rush of fondness. This must be his room, when he was apprenticing under that Zoran healer.

“I…”

Her attention snaps back to her brother. At her attentive look, he quails. It’s not right. Rauru rarely quails, and mostly preens, like a peacock. At her impatient look, he closes his eyes, and Mineru’s stomach sinks.

“Ruta’s afraid there might be complications,” Rauru continues in a rush. “You’ll be on observation for possible lung clots and brain damage and infection.”

Mineru breathes.

“We couldn’t save your throat,” Rauru confesses, looking small. “Ruta cleared up your lungs and I managed to stabilize you, but. We couldn’t, your.”

That’s okay, she wants to say. I’m alive. That’s more than I expected.

But she can’t say that.

With her nonanswer, Rauru bows his head. Mineru grabs on to his hand before he can flee, and squeezes.

After a moment’s hesitation, he squeezes back.

Mineru doesn’t take her new found muteness well. She struggles with hylian sign, and finds a near apoplectic rage in being unable to quickly explain her thoughts.

Writing isn’t the same, she wrote in harsh angry scratches with her chalkboard she’s taken to carrying around.

Naborus, bless her, has fashioned a straw for her with glass when they meet up for tea. Mineru used to haunt Naborus, enraptured by this woman and her no nonsense attitude and her unexplainable kindness. Now Naborus haunts her with bedding and sustenance.

They should be on the battlefield. The malice has overtaken another settlement, Mineru heard. But when she dug, she was sent away.

“More pillows?” Naborus asks, and Mineru holds up two thumbs for an aggressive agreement.

Can you get me construct f12, she writes when Naborus comes back wielding two cream pillows. Twinges, can fix, she slashes quickly at Naborus’s frown.

“You’re working?”

No time, Mineru scribbles. And at Naborus’s hesitant glance, she adds: bored.

“You should be resting.”

Can’t.

She will have nightmares again. Rauru promises the sundelion specimens he’s working on will stop the malice from taking hold, but she still dreams of that red pulsating mass, infecting her, burrowing into her.

She underlines Can’t twice, and hopes Naborus will get it.

Naborus drags a hand down her face, and exhales roughly. “Shit. Okay. I’ll go get your construct, but if you need any help at all you tell me, alright?”

At Mineru’s flat glare, she grimaces. “Sorry. I’ll get you a bell.”

The two sit in companionable silence after that. The construct mineru chose is a small, light weight thing. She is considering adding some sort of projectile weapon when she hears the low rhythmic hum of a song.

Oh, Mineru thinks. This is the song my mother taught me, and I taught you. Oh, Mineru thinks after suddenly overwhelmed with the realization— she will never sing her mother’s song again. She will never be able to join the chorus that was her last, remaining link. She will never-

Mineru wipes her eyes angrily. She can learn how to play a harmonica. Or a flute. The option isn't actually gone, just changed. She should just be glad she’s alive.

Doesn’t stop the tears, though.

When Naborus quietly holds her arms out, Mineru doesn’t fight the pull and slumps into her friend’s arms, and tries not to think of how Ganondorf stole not only her project’s notes, but her history from her too.

He’s Naborus’s brother.

She hates him more, for it.

[iamhereforfunnzies]

CHAPTER 3 :Woo's& Tears

Strange. Damian feels strange, like he's missing something. He looks around the couch and sees that everyone is here. Tim and Steph are fighting for the popcorn, Jason is trying not to cry as Dick makes fun of him, Father is sighing but smiling nonetheless, and Cass and Damian are deciding on the next movie. He must be overthinking things—everyone that matters is here. Maybe he’s just psyching himself out; Mother always said he had a tendency to do that during missions.

As the credits roll and everyone heads to their respective rooms for the night, a ponytail sways past the halls, a skirt flowing with each step, humming softly. (Name)’s face is adorned with a huge, plastered smile as she holds a My Melody plushie tightly.

Oh.

You weren’t there.

Standing behind you, Damian feels a shiver run down his spine, and it seems he isn’t the only one.

“I didn’t realize (Name) was out,” Tim chimes in from behind him.

“It slipped my mind,” Damian replies.

“Family movie night is required. We never really get to spend time with each other.” Tim eyes the plushie as you begin to fade away down the hall.

“(Name) broke the rules.”

The two stumble through doors and hallways until they reach your room. You jump slightly from your seat while applying your skincare.

“Is there something you need?” you ask, confused.

“Why weren’t you at movie night?”

You freeze.

"Everyone was there," Tim adds, looking between you and Damian.

“Yup! Even Jason showed up,” Dick grins.

“I didn’t think it would matter whether I was there or not.”

Damian’s eyes narrow. “How selfish and uncaring of you to assume the family wouldn’t notice.”

You look down, facing the floor. “Did you?”

Tim hesitates as Damian crosses his arms, holding his nose as if in irritation.

“Even still, you should come,” Tim insists. “It’s not often the family gets to be together.”

Your voice turns hoarse. “Answer the question. Did you or did you not notice?” Your fingers scratch anxiously at your arm.

“That’s besides the point—”

“We didn’t,” Damian cuts in. “Maybe you should actually contribute something to this family instead of just standing around waiting to be noticed.”

His words cut like a knife.

Your head lifts, expression blank. The boys tense under your stare.

“I’ve been trying so fucking hard,” you whisper. Then louder— “LOOK AROUND YOU, DAMN IT! I WANTED TO BE A PART OF THIS MANOR, BUT YOU NEVER LET ME IN!”

Your hands tremble as you motion to the awards decorating your walls.

“I NOTICED ALL OF YOU—going out at night, the bruises, the scratches, the injuries, the sleepless eyes, the bandages—but you never tell me anything.”

Your voice cracks.

“I didn’t do all this just to win some cheap medal, some stupid trophy, or a goddamn piece of paper.”

What you thought was a fit of rage—wild, explosive—is different in their eyes.

To them, you look more like a pitiful, hissing cat.

Damian’s expression darkens. “Maybe it’s because you’re not good enough. Do something actually worthwhile for once in your life.”

Silence.

Tim looks horrified. “Why the hell would you say that?!” He clamps a hand over Damian’s mouth.

“(Name), he didn’t mean it—”

Tim’s voice wavers as he takes in your disheveled form.

Your hands are still scratching—harder, harder—until blood beads along the raw skin of your arm.

You don’t say anything, but your eyes scream at them.

The door swings open.

“Why is there so much screaming? It’s late,” Dick mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

He stops.

Tim is restraining Damian, who looks like he’s about to throw more venom at you. Dick sighs.

You were always so understanding.

He remembers how you smiled even after Damian first tried to harm you.

"He’ll warm up to me!"

Your voice echoes in his mind.

Dick steps forward, voice soft. “(Name), you know Damian is… emotional. Let’s not take it to heart, okay?” He gives you his signature charming smile.

But something is different.

You’re not looking at him.

"Rubbish," you whisper. Your voice is hoarse, deep, almost unrecognizable.

Dick flinches.

“(Name), let’s not get ahead of ourselves—”

You glare at him.

Why are you glaring at him?

"GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!"

You scream at the top of your lungs, waking the whole manor.

Your scratching becomes more frantic, each scrape drawing more blood.

Dick reaches out to hug you, but you scream and shove him away.

That’s when Damian snaps, breaking free from Tim’s grasp.

Before anyone can react—

Rip.

Damian tears Melody’s head from its body.

“QUIET DOWN. YOU’RE ACTING LIKE A CHILD.”

Silence.

Your voice disappears.

Your eyes—wide, unblinking—move between Melody’s head and Damian.

Tim and Dick exchange frantic glances, silently begging Damian to apologize, but he stands firm.

“Act like a child, get treated like one,” he mutters, dropping the plushie’s head onto the floor.

Your eyes follow the trail of stuffing.

Tim and Dick yank Damian out of the room, leaving you frozen in place, staring at Melody’s remains.

“WHAT POSSESSED YOU TO DO THAT?!”

Dick smacks the back of Damian’s head as Tim recounts the events.

“Did you not see her reaction?” Tim snaps. “SHE WAS BEING A CHILD! IT’S JUST A TOY,” Damian protests, rubbing the sore spot where Dick hit him.

Dick exhales sharply, trying to calm himself. “You are going to apologize.”

Damian glares. “WHY SHOULD I?!”

Tim buries his face in his hands.

“(Name) is sensitive,” Tim says, voice quieter now. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t be so harsh.”

Damian scoffs, but Tim’s next words shake him.

“Did you see how her eyes dropped when you ripped that plushie? You went too far.”

Dick nods. “Apologize first thing in the morning. (Name) looked exhausted, and you need to reflect.”

Damian opens his mouth to argue—

Then he remembers your expression.

Your eyes—wide, hollow, filled with an agony he could almost hear.

Fine. He’ll apologize.

He’ll get you another plushie.

Though, the thought of you winning it at a fair—on a date, perhaps—irks him more than it should.

“Fine.”

Bruce hears about what happened.

Why must two of his children be such complete opposites?

One, so hard-headed and cruel.

The other, so fragile and emotional.

Yet, his stomach twists uncomfortably the longer he goes without seeing you.

He walks into your room.

You’re curled up on the floor, cradling the plushie’s head, dried tears staining your cheeks.

His heart tightens.

Your arms are scratched raw, streaked with dried blood.

Even in such a pitiful state, he can’t help but think you look… small.

So childlike.

So innocent.

Crying over a broken toy.

It’s okay. He’ll fix it.

No matter how tall you get, you will always be his baby.

Bruce gently lifts you, tucking you into bed. He makes a mental note—he needs to switch your room.

His eyes drift toward the awards on your walls.

Oh. How talented you are.

When did you achieve all this?

Wait.

They aren’t recent.

They’ve been there for years.

Bruce’s breath hitches.

No. No, no, no.

He never came to any of these.

His hands tremble as he rushes around the room, searching.

No.

Slowly, his head turns back to you.

Tossing.

Turning.

His vision blurs.

A tear drips onto his face.

Fact: (Name) doesn’t know about the Family being vigilantes ; if your wondering what about Jason? She came after Tim and they explained that he was just in hiding because bad people were after him; she was young and impresional so she believed it. Cause why would an adult lie to her?

Tags: @asillysimp @leeiasure @strwberryglass @prorpy @simannss

@1abi @knuiui @justafrixie @uu-uuu @ryuushou @tsxukikami

[yungistiny]

Heaven And Back ═ chapter one

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter one: first time

╚═════════

summary: mingi is trouble wrapped in bleached hair and piercings and maybe that’s exactly what y/n needs

warning: emo mingi, stoner/dealer mingi, virgin reader, use of drugs, eventual smut

pairing: mingi x afab reader

genre: romance, drama, smut

word count: 2.7k

chapter two

masterlist

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The afternoon sun was too bright when y/n cracked open one bleary eye. Her laptop still hummed faintly on the desk across the room, a reminder of the all nighter she’d pulled to finish the ancient history essay that had been eating her alive for a week. She shifted under the covers, limbs heavy and slow, the ache of exhaustion buried deep in her bones.

Ningning’s bed was empty, again. No surprise there. Her roommate had practically moved into her girlfriend’s apartment two months ago, leaving y/n alone in their tiny dorm more often than not. She didn’t blame her. Honestly, she envied her a little.

Y/N groaned softly, pulling the blanket over her head just as someone knocked, loudly, on the door.

“Open up, zombie!” came her best friend, Wooyoung’s unmistakable voice, bright and mischievous as always.

“Go away,” she mumbled into her pillow.

The door creaked open anyway, Wooyoung barging in like he owned the place. He wore ripped jeans, a too big hoodie, hair dyed a fading red and a grin that could probably get him out of murder charges if he ever needed to.

“Come on,” he said, flopping down at the foot of her bed. “You’ve been hiding like a gremlin all week. I’m taking you out.”

“I’m tired,” Y/N whined, shoving the blanket down enough to glare at him. “I just finished the worst essay of my life. I think my brain is broken. My body’s next.”

“You sound so dramatic,” Wooyoung teased, poking her ankle. “You just need some good food and like… a good joint or something.”

She blinked at him. “I’ve never even smoked before.”

“Exactly!” he said, eyes lighting up mischievously. “It’s time you live a little. C’mon, get dressed. We’ll grab lunch, and then…” he wiggled his eyebrows. “you’re coming with me to pick up.”

“Pick up…?” she repeated slowly, still too sleep drunk to follow.

“My dealer,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Cool guy. You’ll like him. He’ll probably corrupt you faster than I can.”

Y/N groaned again, but there was already a little tug deep inside her chest, a stupid, restless curiosity that made her sit up.

Maybe a little corruption wasn’t the worst thing right now.

Maybe it would even make her feel something again other than absolute exhaustion.

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By the time they made it to the tiny Korean BBQ spot Wooyoung loved, y/n was a little more awake, but not by much. She sat slumped in the booth, poking listlessly at her bowl of rice while Wooyoung inhaled an embarrassing amount of meat across from her.

“You look like you’re about to pass out into your food,” he said around a mouthful, grinning.

“I feel like I’m about to pass out,” Y/N muttered. She picked up a piece of bulgogi, stared at it for a second, then put it back down with a sigh. “I don’t know, Woo. I thought college would be different. Like, fun or exciting or… at least bearable.”

He set his chopsticks down, suddenly a little more serious. “Burnout’s a bitch,” he said, shrugging like he knew the feeling too well. “No one tells you that the dream gets heavy real fast.”

She leaned her head against the cool window beside their booth, closing her eyes. “It’s like I’m either exhausted or guilty that I’m not doing more. Even when I’m doing everything.”

“You’re doing fine,” Wooyoung said firmly, kicking her gently under the table. “You just need to chill out for a bit. Reset your brain.”

She cracked one eye open. “With a joint, apparently?”

“Damn right,” he said, flashing her a shit eating grin. “I’m telling you, one hit and you’ll forget all about ancient history and essays and existential dread.”

“I doubt that,” she said, but she smiled weakly, the first real smile she’d managed in days.

They finished eating, and after Wooyoung paid , because “this one’s on me, stress girl” they headed out into the chilly afternoon. The sun was already starting to dip low, painting the sky in muted golds and blues.

“You sure it’s okay for me to come?” Y/N asked as they turned down a quieter street, tucked between a row of low, grungy apartment buildings.

“He won’t care,” Wooyoung said, jamming his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Mingi’s chill. Honestly, he’ll probably offer you something the second you walk through the door.”

“Mingi,” Y/N repeated under her breath, tasting the name. It already sounded like trouble.

Wooyoung led her up a narrow set of stairs to the second floor of a rundown building. He knocked twice, then opened the door without waiting for a response.

“Mingi!” he called out.

Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of smoke and something sweet, like vanilla and musk mixed together. It was cluttered but cozy, low lighting, worn in furniture, a beat up guitar leaning against the couch.

And then he appeared.

Mingi.

Tall, broad shouldered, moving with a lazy kind of confidence as he padded out from the kitchen, a blunt tucked between his fingers. His hair was short and bleached almost white, messy like he’d just rolled out of bed. His black painted nails tapped rhythmically against the lighter in his other hand. A glint of silver flashed when he licked his lips, a tongue piercing, and when he stretched, his thin black tank top pulled tight against his chest, revealing the faint outlines of piercings underneath.

Y/N mouth went dry.

Wooyoung clapped Mingi on the shoulder casually. “This is Y/N,” he said. “Freshman, never smoked before, tired of life.”

Mingi’s eyes, sharp, dark, unreadable, flicked over her slowly. Not in a creepy way, but like he was reading her, cataloguing her.

“First time, huh?” he said, voice low and rough around the edges.

Y/N swallowed thickly and nodded.

Mingi smirked, slow and easy. “Lucky me.”

And in that moment, as he passed her the freshly rolled blunt with two fingers and a wicked glint in his eye, y/n knew deep in her gut she was standing at the edge of something she wasn’t going to be able to walk away from.

Maybe she didn’t even want to.

Mingi dropped onto the couch like he had all the time in the world, legs spread wide, head tipped back lazily against the cushions. He patted the empty spot beside him without a word.

Y/N hesitated for half a second before Wooyoung nudged her forward with a grin. “Don’t be shy. He only bites if you ask nicely.”

She shot Wooyoung a look, but her legs moved on their own, carrying her to the couch. She sat gingerly beside Mingi, leaving a careful few inches of space between them. He smelled like smoke and something darker underneath, leather and salt and skin warmed by the sun.

Mingi lit the blunt with a flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face, his heavy lidded eyes, the silver glint on his tongue when he tucked it against his cheek, the piercings beneath his tank top catching just enough light to hint at more hidden things.

He took a slow drag, holding it in before exhaling in a thick ribbon of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. Then he turned to her, blunt pinched between two black painted fingers, the polish chipping slightly.

“Here,” he said, voice dipping a little lower. “Nice and easy.”

Y/N heart hammered painfully in her chest. Her fingers brushed his when she took it, his skin was warm, calloused. She raised it to her mouth like she’d seen people do in movies, feeling Mingi’s gaze heavy on her face, and inhaled.

Bad idea.

The smoke burned her throat instantly, her lungs seizing in protest. She coughed, hard, covering her mouth as her eyes watered. Wooyoung barked out a laugh from where he was perched in a chair nearby.

Mingi just chuckled low in his chest, the sound sinking into her skin like heat. He plucked the blunt back from her fingers, tapping it out against the edge of an ashtray.

“Not bad for a first timer,” he said, flashing her a grin full of teeth.

Y/N wiped at her watering eyes, already feeling the faintest buzz starting to prickle at the edges of her brain. Everything felt just a little softer, a little slower. Her body didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

“You good?” Wooyoung asked, still laughing.

She nodded, a breathless laugh escaping her. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

Mingi leaned in a little closer, close enough that she could see the silver stud glinting against his tongue when he spoke.

“You wanna try again?” he asked, voice a slow drawl. “I’ll help you.”

There was something in the way he said it, low and thick, curling at the edges of her spine, that made her pulse spike.

Before she could second guess herself, y/n nodded.

Mingi brought the blunt back to his lips, took a slow, deep drag, and then leaned toward her, closer, closer, until there was barely an inch between them. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up gently.

“Open,” he murmured.

And y/n, without even thinking, parted her lips.

Mingi exhaled the smoke into her mouth, warm and sweet and dizzying, and y/n inhaled it like a prayer, like a sin she already knew she’d beg forgiveness for later. His thumb stroked a lazy line across her jaw as he pulled back, watching her through heavy lidded eyes.

The world tilted a little on its axis.

Everything inside her, the stress, the exhaustion, the constant weight she carried, faded for a second under the heavy rush of heat pooling low in her belly.

Wooyoung whistled low under his breath. “Damn. Should I leave you two alone?”

Mingi just smirked, slow and dangerous.

Y/N didn’t even know what to say. All she could do was sit there, lungs burning, heart hammering, feeling like she was slipping, falling straight into the kind of trouble she didn’t think she wanted to be saved from.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

They hung around for a little while longer, the conversation lazy and looping. Mingi had this easy way about him, he didn’t say much, but when he did, it was sharp, funny, a little wicked. Y/N found herself smiling more than she had in days, even if half the time she couldn’t tell if it was from the weed or the way he looked at her like he already knew exactly how much she was unraveling inside.

Wooyoung eventually slapped his hands against his thighs and stood up. “Alright, you know why I’m really here,” he said grinning.

Mingi snorted, pushing up from the couch and disappearing into the other room for a second. He came back with a small purple colored ziplock bag, tossing it lazily to Wooyoung, who caught it one handed.

“Same as usual,” Mingi said, settling back down with a grunt.

Wooyoung fished some crumpled bills out of his pocket and dropped them onto the cluttered coffee table. “Pleasure doing business as always, my good sir.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Mingi said without heat.

Then, as Wooyoung tucked the bag away and moved to grab his jacket, Mingi leaned forward, snagging another rolling paper from a small tin on the table. His ringed fingers made quick work of it, the movements practiced and slow, like he had nothing but time.

Without being asked, without even really looking at her, Mingi rolled another blunt. This one he licked closed, sealing it with a flick of his tongue that had y/n stomach tightening sharply.

“For you,” he said, voice low and rough, that half smirk curling at the edges of his mouth again. “Your own.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Wooyoung, but he just shrugged, grinning like he knew exactly what was happening here.

“Consider it a welcome gift,” Mingi added, his fingers brushing hers deliberately as she took it.

The weight of it felt heavier than it should in her hand. She tucked it carefully into the inside pocket of her hoodie, heart thudding stupidly in her chest.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice a little too soft, a little too shaky.

Mingi just leaned back, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“See you around. ” he said, like a promise.

Wooyoung whistled low under his breath as they stepped back out into the cold hallway. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, laughing as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re so fucked.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

She just kept walking, the little weight of the blunt in her pocket like a brand against her side, Mingi’s rough voice still echoing in her head.

Maybe she was fucked.

And maybe, deep down, she didn’t even mind.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The cafe was its usual mid afternoon slow shift, a few students hunched over laptops, a couple regulars nursing cold coffees they’d been nursing for hours. The hum of soft indie music filled the air, blending with the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter.

Y/N leaned against the counter, chin resting in her hand, fighting to keep her eyes open. She hadn’t been sleeping well, every time she closed her eyes, her mind spun with deadlines and half finished thoughts… and the lingering memory of rough fingers brushing hers, a deep voice rumbling….

see you around

The blunt still sat hidden in her desk drawer, untouched. She didn’t know why she hadn’t smoked it yet, maybe because part of her knew it wasn’t just a blunt. It was a line, and once she crossed it, she wasn’t sure she’d come back the same.

Wooyoung dropped a dirty rag on the counter in front of her with a grin. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. I’m not getting stuck on closing shift because you faceplanted into the pastry case.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, flipping him off half heartedly.

He laughed, tossing the rag into the back sink, and then straightened suddenly, eyes flicking toward the door.

Y/N turned and her stomach flipped violently.

Mingi stood just inside the entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black jacket, bleached hair spiked and messy. He looked a little out of place in the soft, pastel washed cafe, all sharp edges and dark energy but he didn’t seem to care.

He met her eyes across the room, and that slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.

“Uh oh,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, grinning like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week. “Your little crush is here.” He teased.

Y/N glared at him, cheeks burning, and shoved off the counter, smoothing her apron down nervously.

Mingi sauntered up to the register, stopping just close enough that she had to tilt her head back a little to meet his gaze. “Told you I would see you around.” He said, low and easy.

Y/N tried to roll her eyes, tried to pretend her pulse didn’t trip over itself. “Hey,” she managed, voice only slightly breathless. “What can I get for you?”

Mingi leaned in, bracing his elbows casually on the counter. His eyes dragged over her face, lingering just a beat too long on her mouth before he spoke. “Coffee,” he said finally. “Black. Whatever’s strongest.”

“Coming right up,” she mumbled, turning quickly to pour it. She could feel his gaze heavy on her back the whole time.

When she slid the cup across the counter to him, their fingers brushed again, deliberate this time. A little spark zipped up her arm, sharp enough to make her breath hitch.

Mingi didn’t pull away. He held the cup steady, eyes dark and unreadable. “You smoke that yet?” he asked, voice pitched low so only she could hear.

Y/N mouth went dry. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly.

Mingi’s smile deepened, slow and wicked, like he knew exactly why. Like he knew exactly what she was afraid of.

“Good,” he murmured. “Wait until you got someone around who knows how to take care of you.”

He tapped two fingers lightly against the side of his cup, like a secret, like a warning and then turned, sauntering back out into the cold afternoon without a glance back.

Y/N stood frozen behind the counter, heart thudding painfully against her ribs.

Wooyoung let out a long, low whistle from behind her. “Yeah,” he said, laughing. “You are so fucked.”

She couldn’t even argue.

Not when every part of her was already aching for more.

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permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990

[muzansfangs]

Il nome mio nessun saprà (no one will know my name).

Starring: The Salesman x f!reader; Seong Gi-hun x f!reader (platonic relationship); mention to Cho Sang-woo and Hwang Jun-ho;

Format: multi-chapters story;

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, angst, harrassment, the reader is European (italian to be specific), use of cigarettes, alcohol consumption, death, grieving, violence, blood, stalking, slight manipulation, age gap (reader is twenty-one);

Plot: enrolling in Law School in a foreign country was decidely a risky choice to make. Still, you had no one holding you back, but a wholesome reason to leave. Your late mother had eventually decided to disclose the truth about your biological father and now you were coping with the primordial yearning of finding him. You only had his name, a photograph and the rumor he probably still lived in South Korea. You spent months searching for him in Seoul, focusing on your studies until the night veiled the sky. And it was exactly during a rather uneventful saturday night that you luckily bumped in a stranger with a tailored suit and a everlasting eerie smile on his face. Brazenly, your eyes pleaded him to save you, to give you an alibi, and he did. Something blossomed between you two. But you did not know that the very man who had pulled the strings of your heart was soon going to screw up your entire life.

masterlist | to the next chapter

[𝟎𝟎𝟏] 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞.

You had not inherited any physical trait of him. The more you intently scrutinized the old photo of that stranger, your father, the harder it was believing you were his biological daughter. Born from a wild one- night stand of your late mother and that smiling korean man, who apparently had played his cards well enough to make that sweet tourist agree to spend the night in his company, you were now wondering why your mother even decided to give birth to you, raise you alone and, above all, why she did not bother contacting him to let him know he had a daughter in Europe. Tormenting yourself with a bunch of ‘what ifs’ was pointless. It was too late to ask such questions and no one could provide you logical answers anyway. You did not feel like pressing your mother, during the last days of her life, and your grandparents had died long before she confessed the identity of your father.

All you had to do was dealing with the empiric evidence of her shenanigans: your very existence and the picture of that man.

You had grieved her death alone, keeping your promise to look out for yourself and chase your dreams. It was the least you could do to show your gratitude to her for having sacrificed her own projects and aspirations to give you a decent life, a better future. The funeral was the hardest part. No relatives were around. To keep you company and deposit flowers by her grave there were just a couple of her friends and some of your old classmates: people who you had to say goodbye to, on your way out of the cemetery. Cutting ties was the best thing to do. You left the same night for starting a new life. The last thing you remembered before falling asleep on the plane were the droplets of rain streaming over the cold glass of the window.

The first chapter of your story was chaotic. Your mother was gone, you had enrolled in the Seoul Law School and were busy searching the city for your father. You had wisely started your hunt from the area your mother had told you she had met him at. You struggled communicating with the locals at first. Most of the people did not seem to understand you, or did not give a damn iota about you. However, you were fluent in English and some of the Korean students at the Campus were helping you out. They had taught you the basic sentences to use to survive, made sure you learned which trains to take to travel around, when you were alone, and some tactics to defend yourself from the native creeps. You gradually adapted to your new life-style. Summarizing the first months of your adventure, you could proudly say it was not going as bad as you had figured on the plane to Seoul. Whilst you were making new friends and growing familiar with some areas of the city, you began to cross off from the map the parks and streets you had looked for him throughout days and nights.

Your map was painted red.

Alas, though, you also soon began to lose hope on the chance to meet your father. When you successfully engaged in a seemingly good conversation with the owners of a restaurant, or pub, you were unable to provide them more informations about the man you were looking for. His name was Seong Gi-hun, he had hooked up with your mother when he was a rampant twenty-six-years-old man with a radiant smile and he bragged about a brilliant friend of his: Cho Sang-woo.

Too bad no one seem to know nor your father, neither the smartass he had befriended long ago.

Defeated, after another uneventful night, you were dragging your feet along the sidewalk, hoping to reach the right underground line to go back to your dorm. It was two in the morning, drunk people swayed around you in the cramped streets, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol permeated the air and you scrunched up your nose in disgust, careful not to step on the sharp, glimmering splinters of the umpteenth smashed bottle on your way. Despite that, it was not like you were not used to see the same scanario back in Europe as well. What probably left you uncomfortable was most likely the fact you could still hardly comprehend the language, let alone the slang, and you were wary of your surroundings. You felt like a mouse fallen in a pit of vipers.

You had almost made it to your destination, when you turned the corner and, unfortunately, were face to face with a group of snickering guys, beers in hands, leering at any woman passing by.

Well, crap. Odds were not in your favor.

Frantically, you whipped your head around, narrowing your eyes in search for an alternative road to take. Venturing further into the unknown was just as bad as proceeding that way. You could already sense the sickening feeling of their smoldering gazes on your frame and you were one hundred percent sure some of them had already noticed you standing a few feet away from them. You usually had a good sense of self-preservation, confiding both in your knowledge and your conscience. You were already doomed that night. Why had you even declined your new friend’s invitation to a party to explore a huge city you barely knew by night and, to cap it all, alone? That was the first mistake of the night. Waves of insults to your inexplicable stupidity began to pester your mind, the moment you took a sharp intake of breath and sped up to leave that group of men at your back.

The wolf-whistles piercing your ears did not make you falter. You kept your head high, eyes directed to the sign indicating entrace to the underground. Naively, you thought those folks were merely scaring off lonely women, you hoped they had no further purpose but that. Your stomach churned, upon hearing heavy footsteps approaching you from behind. How many of them were stalking you down? One, maybe two people at best. Regardless, you refused to glance above your shoulder.

“Hey! Do you speak English?” a voice asked you, the amused undertone making the hair on the back of your neck stand in fright. One. It was just one out of five, you tried to reassure yourself. If you just kept on marching to the platform and the train made it in time, you had a good chance to give the felon the slip.

Your lack of response and reaction made him chuckle darkly and you swore your heart was desperately attempting to break your ribcage and jump out of your chest. Like Hell you wanted to die like that. All you had to do was pretending he was not there.

You had begun to tear down the stairs, when you felt his hand enclosing your elbow and his large body glueing to your hip. Invading your personal space with no regards of limits made you see red. You scoffed, finally shooting an annoyed glance at the grinning stranger, who had abruptly forced you to stop in your tracks.

“Let me go” you quipped, ungraciously wriggling your arm to get free. His grip on you only tightened and you bit the insides of your cheeks not to wince in pain.

The guy beamed, tugging you closer to him once again, ecstatic about your determination and combative spirit “Oh, so you do speak English! — he began, wiggling his eyebrows up annoyingly, the stench of tobacco in his breath causing a scowl to cross your face — Where are you from, darling? France? Germany? England?”.

You snorted, jaw clenching, as you uncomfortably let your eyes flit downstairs to spot a potential source of help from someone on the platform. Much to your dismay, there was only a sleeping, battered old man, hand clutching some money in his hands for dear life. He did not look like he even had a home. How curious was it that you were busying yourself wondering how did he even own such a conspicuous amount of money, if his clothes were dirty and tattered? He had probably robbed someone.

Or so you supposed.

“My boyfriend is waiting for me downstairs! I do not think he will be happy to see what you are doing to me” you blurted out firmly, flashing a warning gaze at your aggressor, hoping he was going to desist from pesting you further. For a split second, you swore his eyes widened, contemplating whether you were bluffing, or actually giving him a possibility to escape a beating from your mysterious boyfriend.

You truly did your best in showcasing a confident attitude. Too bad he did not believe a word you had said and nudged you to walk down to the platform, rudely spitting on your shoes “Yeah? Where’s the lucky bastard? Let’s go meet him, okay?” he taunted you, pushing you down the remaining steps without thinking twice.

You squeaked out in fear, miraculously landing on your feet and quickly straightening your jacket, as you found back your balance. You hesitantly raised your face, glossy eyes inspecting the length of the platform to look for help. A cop, maybe. But no officer wandered down the underground at that time. It was late. No one was there.

No one, but a tall man in a fancy tailored suit and a suitcase in his hand. After all, odds were in your favor. You did not have much time ponder your decision. Briefly, you studied him. He was clearly older than you, there was a chance he actually spoke English and could connect the dots at your senseless words. You had no other choice, in the end. You gave it your best shot. A shuddery breath left your lips, as you pointed at the tall man and made sure that thug followed your gaze. Lying was not in your style. However, you knew that the basic animal instinct of striving to survive was kicking in.

You smiled, genuinely even, feeling the muscles of your cheeks stretching in a loving, enthusiastic smile directed to the stranger. He had caught a glimpse of you in his peripheral. How could he not, when you had practically been shoved downstairs and had landed in such an unladylike fall? Something was off. And he knew it, he could see it in the shimmering tears prickling your eyes, when you opened your arms and snuggled against his chest, as if you two were meant to meet.

His masculine cologne ungulfed you, one calloused hand threading through your hair, surprisingly not to yank you off of him. And in that instant, you knew you were safe. A stranger had harassed you and a stranger was saving your life. You closed your eyes, reluctantly pulling away from the tall man to meet his eyes. Two dark pools of ink met your eyes, swallowing you whole as he smiled back down at you. Dear God, he was handsome. Unbelievably good-looking. Probably too handsome to be real and you foolishly asked yourself if you had been shot dead by the felon and had just landed in Heaven.

“He’s my boyfriend” you finally stated, though, bashfully pulling your gaze off of your savior’s face to meet the other guy’s gaze. The nightmare was not over yet.

Hands tucked in the pockets of his ripped jeans, he snorted, eyeing you two suspiciously. Unexpectedly, before any of you could say another word, the old man who was napping on the platform groggily stood up and stared at you in total shock.

His face was horrified, unsteady steps leading him next to the arrogant guy who had hollered at you a few moments ago. The man tried to usher him out of the station, all the while slurring indistinct korean words you failed to both catch and understand. The younger one clearly did not appreciate whatever the tramp had told him and knocked him down with a punch straight on his nose. You shrieked, hand clasped over your mouth, as the thug dashed away and stared at the bleeding man on the floor.

He was still alive, thankfully, and you began to fumble in your bag for a tissue to hand him. The man in a suit, however, anticipated you and walked towards the drunk man grumbling on the floor. Once again, the two of them cut you out of the conversation by speaking korean. This time around, though, you were able to understand something along the lines of ‘change the station, he will come back for you’.

“Can I help you somehow?” you shyly asked, intruppting them, as you watched the man wipe the blood off of his face and the tall guy turn his attention back on you.

He smiled, again. Actually, you did not seem to recall a moment he had stopped smiling. You shivered, eyes darting away from him not to expose yourself and your evident attraction towards him. He really had no reason to be that attractive.

“I should be the one asking you that. Are you alright, miss?” he inquired, keeping a comfortable distance between you two. How considerate of him sparing you the embarrassment of more unsolicited physical contact with him, after you had literally buried your face in his chest like an ostrich would with the sand. You thought he probably must have felt a great amount of discomfort at holding you in his arms protectively.

You nodded your head, glad to see he could speak English as well “I am good, thanks for asking… And for your help too. I did not mean to be a burden” you apologized, bowing your head to excuse yourself once again.

“It’s nothing. I did not have to get rid of that man, did I? — he replied casually, straighening his tie absentmindedly with his free hand — I can not help, though, but wonder why a foreign girl is down the streets, all by herself, in the dead of the night. It’s dangerous” he reasoned, his tight smile pinning you on the spot once again. Well, he was right.

Also, it was only natural for an older man to question a girl that could have probably been his daughter about her disputable choices.

“I know! I’ve been reckless… But I think young and desperate people make such mistakes, once in a while” you vaguely said, shrugging, and transfixing your gaze on the rails to avoid his cold eyes.

You did not expect the conversation to continue. You blinked skeptically, when he fed the flame.

“Desperate, you say? What troubles might gnaw at a young girl’s stomach, besides graduation and dating?” he queried your assertion, seemingly interested in your story. A late night talk with a stranger in a desolate underground was not exectly how you expected your exploration to end. He did not seem to have ill intentions. He was probably just a tired man working in a bank, or a CEO of some important company, waiting for his train to go and get some well-deserved rest. At least, that is what you thought judging from his sophisticated way to carry himself and the cocky aura he radiated.

You exhaled softly through your nose, a melancholic smile curving your lips “Well, it’s… It’s complicated. I’ve just moved to Korea. I remember wanting to study aboard since I was a kid. — you began, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, one of the habits you did not seem ready to get rid of — And I’m glad to be here, don’t get me wrong. The thing is I’ve chosen this Country because I was told my biological father lives here” you admitted, folding your arms against your chest protectively.

Honesty. A virtue to pursue, but a fatal flaw, when you meet a wolf in sheep clothing.

“I see. Let me guess, you found him and he is far from the man you expected him to be?”.

“Nothing like that. I can’t find him”.

A few seconds of silence blanketed the station. Opening up to a stranger you deemed to be a decent man was weird per se. You were aware of it. However, loneliness probably was starting to get the best of you. An adult figure to confide in was everything you needed but did not have. Maybe this was the main reason why you relentlessly searched for your father. Family was important to you.

The man hummed. The next thing you knew he was standing closer, head cocked to the side and a gentle expression on his face “You look discouraged. It is understable. — he began, the shadow of a smirk creasing his lips — How many informations you have about him?” he asked you then, causing you to shake your head and reach for his picture in your small bag.

You flipped it around, hopelessly wishing in a positive feedback, to show it to him “This picture, his name and that he had a smart friend: Cho Sang-woo”.

For a moment, you thought he actually had an answer to provide you, or a suggestion. Unfortunately, he lowered his gaze and shook his head. Obviously, you were back to the start. Pushing your luck was all you could do to solve the puzzle.

“This time around, I can’t really help you. You should probably hire a private detective” he suggested you flatly, locking eyes with you as you two heard the familiar toot of the train entering the station.

You let out a bitter laughter “Non tutti sono ricchi come te¹” you whispered under your breath, confiding your native language could somehow conceal your demotivation and financial issues. All you had was enough to simply take care of your carreer. You could not afford to pay a man to track down your father.

The sliding doors opened and you entered the train, slightly taken aback by the fact he did not. What the Hell was he even doing there? He stood right in front of you, back straight as a ramrod, hand raising to wave at you with his trademark smirk. You furrowed your eyebrows, lips parting to say your goodbye, when his reply left you speechless.

“Buona fortuna ² ”.

Colors drained from your face the moment he made it loud and clear he spoke italian. Your mortified expression might have spoken volumes, for he quirked his eyebrows up and nodded his head in your direction. When the doors closed, you slumped onto an empty seat, glad you were probably not going to meet that handsome man ever again in your life. What a disgraceful day it had been. Especially for that drunk man you had totally forgotten about, lost in your train of thoughts.

Nearly two weeks later, you were gawking at a letter in your mailbox. Someone knew your address, your name and the fact you were looking for your father. Your hands were shaking, fingertips running over the texture of the paper, nails scraping it in a comforting sound. You could not deny your head began to spin and you were forced to curl yourself up in a ball over your small bed. The black capital letters standing out on the white card in front of you were truly a manna from Heaven, but for all you knew it could have been also a letter from the haunts of Hell.

No one knew you were looking for Cho Sang-woo and Seong Gi-hun. No one, really. Not even your new friends from the courses you had signed up to were that well-informed. There was only one person who knew those name, but you highly doubted he even recalled them. And, additionally, he did not know yours. Merely thinking about that stud made a sense of uneasiness set in your stomach. You had hugged him out of no where, you had undirectly labeled him as a filthy, selfish rich man who had money to throw away. Gosh, you felt so miserable and humiliated when he had talked back to you effortlessly in your own language. He had left quite the impression on you. Then again, he did not give off the vibes of a delinquent.

Now, however, it was not the right time to daydream about him. To distract yourself from reminiscing about your mistakes, you focused on the dossier you had received.

“Cho Sang-woo, age fourty-six. Investment banker at the Joy Investments. He usually arrives at his workplace around eight o’clock in the morning”.

Well, this man was not your father. However, some informations about where to find his so-called best friend could help anyway. There was a high possibility Mr. Cho was still in touch with him and therefore he could give you his address. You wished you could thank whoever had sent you that letter, but the pacakge was unsigned. Your savior seemed to want to remain incognito. Savior. That word sound bittersweet, giving the circumstances. The mysterious person that had sent those informations had been, without the shadow of a doubt, watching you, eavesdropping your conversations, stalking you. The mere idea of someone sneaking in your dorm, when you were fast asleep, or when you were attending your classes sent frissons over your skin. You refused to even picture a hooded stranger following you around. Something did not quite make sense, though.

If you had a stalker, why was he helping you out?

You huffed, fingers running through your hair in distress, as you ultimately decided to both make good use of the informations you had received and protect yourself from any potential threat lurking in the shadows.

The following day, you were sipping on a coffee in your new friend’s car. Hwang Ju-ho, a young cop who had taken pity on you, when you had just landed in Seoul and had no idea of where to go, or how to reach your destination. He had been kind to you, even leaving you his number in case you needed something. And you did.

“Let me get this straight. You have been asking random people around Seoul if they knew your father, or this Cho Sang-woo for three months straight?” he asked you, pulling over in a still empty parking lot. The sky was grey, the drizzle was becoming a downpour and you had not bothered to take an umbrella with you. Bad decision, undoubtedly.

“Exactly” you shortly commented, head lolling against the headrest of the passenger seat. You were drained, as of late. Studying hard for learning the local language and keeping up with yours courses was consuming you to the bone. Your lack of sleep was the cherry on top. You wondered when your body was going to give up and you finally reached the infamous burn-out.

Ju-ho rested his forearms on the top of the steering wheel, dark eyes scanning the horizon “And yesterday you found an anonymous letter in your mailbox with your father’s friend data in it?” he pressed again, earning a soft hum of approval from you.

You had not revealed too many informations to him about Cho Sang-woo, except for the fact he worked in the modern building in a part of the city you had yet to visit and that you had reached out for him to help you out. You had improved your Korean, therefore you did not even need his assistance in communicating with the so-called genius of the Department of Economics of Seoul. The small picture of him, a polaroid, you had found in the package along the letter showed a distinguished man with square glasses, an impeccable suit and a cold look in his eyes. Hopefully, he was not an asshole.

You had already thought about what to ask him and how. Allegedly, you were more than ready, enthusiastic at the idea of finally having a chance to find your dad. You wondered if he was a good man and if he had his own new family. In that case, was he going to accept you in his life?

Your mind went back to that unglorious night, to the man in a suit and his question: “Let me guess, you found him and he is far from the man you expected him to be?”.

No. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Deep down, you hoped to have a heartwarming reunion with your father, one of those cliché, stereotypical scenes you had watched countless times in the movies. You had deeply craved a father figure in your life. Time passed, though, and, albeit you did not grow up with your dad, your dream to look at a man and call him ‘dad’ never diminished in you. At the end of the day, you were still the innocent little girl who asked Santa to let you meet your father. However he was, wherever he was.

To interrupt yout stream of consciousness was Ju-ho, clearing his throat “If you don’t want me to help you, why am I here? I could take care of this pretty easily, you know?” he said, leaning his back on the seat and glancing at you in curiosity.

“You are helping me. I needed a lift and someone to watch my back. You are here and this is more than enough for me to be grateful to you” you promptly said, right before you caught a glimpse of a man in a black suit and matching umbrella heading towards the entrance of the building. There he was: Cho Sang-woo, tall and confident, following the routine the snout had indicated in the letter.

You quickly exchanged a knowing look with Ju-ho, before opening the car door and jogging towards your father’s best friend. It was pouring and, in a matter of seconds, you were soaked. Your hair were stuck on your face, forehead, neck. Your clothes clinging to your body uncomfortably made it hard to speed up more.

Eventually, though, you caught up with him. His dark eyes met yours, so wide and full of hope. You were a panting mess, hands wiping away the droplets of water falling from your lashes, as he stared you down wearily. Who exactly were you? A foreigner, that much was pretty evident.

“Sir! Do you have a minute?” you started, hand already diving in your bag to retrive your father’s photo. He had no time to waste and you honestly wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

“Who are you? I have no money this month. I have already—”.

Money? You frowned, shaking your head, before showing him the picture of your father, tearful eyes boring into his ones, so unaffected and devoid of emotions. He seemed tense, you would have even dared to say agitated and you were blaming it on the fact he was being held back by a stranger before he could go to work.

“You’re Cho Sang-woo, right? — you asked, blinking quickly to clear your vision — Do you know this man? He’s my dad… I’m looking for him! You were friends, or so I’ve been told by my mother” you fretted to explain, perfectly knowing you were sounding like a maniac.

You did not resemble your dad in the slightest. Sang-woo gazed into your eyes, then at the photograph you were holding before him. Reading this man was impossible. He blankly stared at you, shutting you out of his head. The silence probably lasted a few seconds, before he degnified you with a dry answer.

“Go back home, kid” he dispassionately stated, resuming his walk without sparing you a glance.

But you had no home to go back to. You were looking for a place to call home, for a person to feel like home. You refused to accept such a refusal. This man could obviously help you, but he was downright choosing to ignore you. Were you so undeserving of a father?

“I don’t have a home anymore, sir! — you called after him, standing right where you were, gaze on the cobblestone — Please, I really need to find my father. He’s all I have now. He’s all that is left of… Of my family” you admitted, hating how your voice cracked upon realizing you indeed had nothing else besides the hope to be reunited with your biological dad.

Sang-woo halted, his back facing you as he seemed to elaborate what you had just said. Each second passing without an answer hurt you, so much that the droplets of water splashing on your face, on your clothes felt like boiling lava sizzling your skin.

Maybe, your life was about to change. Your destiny was all in this man’s hands.

“He already has a family. If you love your father, you should keep your distance. He lived perfectly fine without you until now. Would you really want to disrupt his peace and bear the burden of having ruined his life?” he deadpanned, before walking off with your shattered heart in his hand and leaving a desolation behind him.

The only audible sound was the rain pattering against the parked cars, over your skin, on the skyscrapers. It hurt. It hurt immensely. You wondered if, amidst the soothing sound of the water cascading steadily from the sky, Cho Sang-woo had heard a far way different sound. The horrible noise of a fragile heart exploding into splinters so tiny they could not be put together again.

Your first impulse was to chase after him, shout at his face you deserved to be happy too, that this was not his damn business. Your feet, though, did not move. They were glued to the ground, they were one thing with the asphalt. Your fingers twitched, your father’s photograph slipping through them, landing on a puddle.

The following days went on monotonously. You no longer bothered searching for him. Even if you knew Mr. Cho had no saying in your life, he had truly left you with so many doubts and, maybe, he had a point. If your father was happy, you had no right to destroy his life, his relationship with his wife and traumatize your step-siblings. All you did was studying, bonding with your classmates and, occasionally, joining them to some parties.

It was once again a Saturday night, when you found yourself in a discotheque. The famous Nb2 Club, located in Hongdae, was swarmed with people dancing. Most of them were drunk, out of their minds, fornicating with strangers. You, on the other hand, were not really in the good state of mind to drink your problems away. After a single shot to celebrate the birthday girl, you had incessantly tried to find an excuse to leave. Unfortunately, though, you had been dragged to the dance floor and you were now desperately trying to districate yourself out of that sea of tipsy people swaying around.

The neon lights in the dimly illuminated room made it hardly feasible to individuate the exit. You kept on pushing people around, elbowing your way to the stairs, until you whipped your head around and you froze solid.

This must have been an hallucination.

Or this is the lie you told yourself, when a flash of red lights flickered over a man in a suit. A man you knew. A man you did not expect to run into once again, especially in place like this. Your life was an entire circus.

You were petrified, more out of shock, than the embarrassment you had felt during your first encounter. You had thought about it for days, unable to get that stupid grin of his out of your head. You blinked, skeptically staring at that shadow, until the man was struck by the light again. You had even approached him, standing only a palm away from his towering figure, as you found out once again that he was already grinning down at you. Bloody Hell, he was really there.

Your fake boyfriend for a night. The man you had insulted, hoping he did not speak italian.

“Buonasera, signorina ³” he greeted you, cold sweat collecting in the back of your neck, as you stupidly looked up at him.

You did not even have an idea of how you had successfully heard him, but you did. Handsome as the last time you had met him, he did not have his briefcase with him, but he had opted for yet another set of suit and tie. You sighed, darting your eyes away in nervousness. You did not feel underdressed this time. Still, your choice of clothes was what your roommate had labeled as ‘dressed to kill any man’.

You were showing a lot of cleavage and your short black dress barely reached your upper thighs.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him then, careful to ignore his provocation.

“I could ask you the same question, ma’am. Hopefully, you are not chasing down your father alone again”.

You rolled your eyes, gesturing at your high heels “Fair enough. To answer your question, definitely not. I was actually trying to leave this place. My feet are stinging” you decided to say, noticing his dark eyes travelling down your form, before factually inspecting your feet.

He smiled again “By sheer coincidence, I was leaving too. I had a business meeting, but it’s concluded. Would you like for me to lead you out of here? I know about a secondary exit easy to reach” he suggested, chivalrously holding his hand out for you to grasp.

This was hazardous, but he seemed to be genuine. Just like that Saturday night. He had saved you, he had been polite. Only a little too cocky, but not mischivious. Once out, you could always call a taxi and go back to your dorm. You decided to trust him, your smaller hand gripping his delicately as you glanced at your group of friends one last time, before nodding at him.

“Please, lead the way” you agreed, a faint smile gracing your red-painted lips, as he glared at a couple of people occupying the access to a corridor and walked past them without any qualms of the possible consequences.

You just followed him, inhaling deeply as he opened a door and let you step outside first. The chilly air of the night bit your skin, goosebumps raising on your flesh as you folded your arms against your chest to warm yourself up out of reflex. You were suprisingly at the end of the line of people waiting to enter, fortunately already on the main street. You sighed, turning towards him with yet another small smile on your lips.

“Thanks. Apparently, you have a knack for saving me in different situations” you noted, bowing your head a little, as he closed the door behind himself.

The businessman straightened his back “Perhaps. — he replied, eyeing your shivering form in interest — What are you going to do now?”.

“Just calling a taxi and spending the rest of the night at my dorm”.

“A taxi? It’s pretty late. We’re at Hongdae. I don’t think there’s a driver available, miss. — he reasoned, hand slithering into the pocket of his slacks, a clinking sound catching your attention — My car’s parked nearby. I could easily drive you home” he offered, dark eyes devouring yours in a subtle dance of attraction. He was way too discreet and smooth, but you were not a fool.

He had not said anything compromising, yet he had piqued your interest and, definitely, your whole attention. The question was: did you want to play along? Probably, it was not a good idea. He was older, more than twenty years older than you. Still, he had been kind to you. He had offered you protection that night, he had helped you out of the disco. He was charming. And, admittedly, you were also touch-starved and, horribly, lonely.

But you knew he was not going to do anything for free.

You looked at your feet, nervously sinking your foreteeth in your bottom lip “Where’s the catch?”.

He tilted his head to the side, pulling his hand holding the keys out of his pocket “I wouldn’t call it a ‘catch’. But, actually, I was hoping to treat you with a glass of fine wine. Obviously, if you agree” he confessed, not batting an eye and awaiting patiently for you to make up your mind.

Wine. Alone with him.

“Where?” you asked him then, heart inexplicably skipping a beat the moment shrugged his jacket off of his shoulders and elegantly draped it over your naked ones. His cologne, just like that night, pierced your nostrils and you let out an imperceptible sigh at the comforting feeling of someone actually looking out for you.

“My apartment”.

Shit. Well, you knew the risks of following a man home. But you were young, free, with some experience at your back. Why not letting loose once ever in your life?

“And the brand of the wine?” you inquired, only for him to smile wider at you. He was effortlessly handsome.

“What about a Chianti? I’m sure you know this one”.

“Don’t make me regret it”.

You had not really paid attention to the road. He drove you safely to yet another part of the city you were not familiar with, charming you with his impeccable portamento behavior and a refined taste in music. He knew some italian words because he liked Opera.

You spent the time in the car listening to Rossini, Verdi and Puccini. Gradually, you relaxed in his presence and, before you knew it, you were sitting on the leather couch of his living room. A goblet of half-finished Chianti in your hand, you were conversing with him about your struggles to adapt to the Country.

Talking to him was easy. Too easy. Were you really that surprised you even told him about your progresses with your research for your father? Not really.

“The main issue was the language. Not everyone speaks English and… You are the only person I have met who understands some italian” you told him, watching him swirl the remaining wine in his goblet absent-mindedly.

He had loosened his necktie, the jacket he had lended to you now discarded on armrest of the sofa. His dark eyes glinted in something you failed to fully comprehend. He did not seem inhebriated, not yet. But rather passionate, as he took a sip from his glass before settling it down on the glass coffee table at his feet.

You mimicked his actions, tiredly accomodating yourself against the soft backrest. He hummed, shifting on his seat and deliberately sliding closer to you. Your head was reclined, the illumination casting enticing shadows over his face. You felt almost ashamed for the desire you felt for him, for a complete stranger.

“You have improved in Korean, though. Practice leads to progresses— he noted, his hot breath wafting over your face like a gloved stroke on your cheek — Aren’t you dying to go back to Mr. Cho and tell him in a perfect Korean that he is not in the position to judge you?”.

You chuckled this time, eyes closing “If I were to do that, I would not be that polite and formal”.

“But elegance suits you, ma’am. Foul language is not necessary to manifest your anger” he chided you, probably in paternalistic way you found odd, but not out of place.

“Homicide is illegal” you pointed out, your sarcasm and dark humor rolling out of your tongue like your second language.

He hesitated for a split second, his lips curving in a smirk at your remark. He glanced at his wristwatch briefly, before his eyes searched for yours again “It’s three in the morning. Would you like for me to take you back home?”.

He was giving you a choice. He had not touched you inappropriately, he had merely sat close to you, offered you wine, let you take some pent up frustration out by listening to your story silently. He had been an absolute gentleman. Maybe, this was the reason why you scooted even closer to him, hand gently resting over his to stop him.

Your noses brushed together, tentatively experimenting what it would have felt like to breathe him in. He reached his hand up, cupping your cheek and angling your head in a optimal position to let your lips lock. You held your breath, half-lidded eyes boring into his, dilated, lust filled.

“Is that a no?”.

You swallowed thickly “Affermative, sir”.

He hummed, tongue sweeping out of his mouth to lick your lips, tasting you, before finally opening his mouth and involving you in a slow, intimate kiss you had long forgotten could give butterflies to your stomach. He was a good kisser. His large free hand travelling down your curves, squeezing you hip to prompt you to straddle his lap.

You did not break the kiss, a soft moan leaving your mouth, when he bucked his hips up and pressed you down on his crotch.

“How far can I go?” he asked you huskily, your spine arching when he began to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck.

Oh, sweet God, you had lost your capacity of speaking.

Rolling your hips down to meet his movements, you whined and ran your fingers through his thick hair, pulling on the strands as he raised the hem of your skirt to expose your lower regions entirely.

“I don’t mind…” you mumbled, flicking your gaze down to meet his black-pitch orbs. You were screwed.

His hand slipped hastily beneath the fabric of your underwear, deft fingers seeking and finding your clitoris. He flicked it expertily, groaning softly at your wetness coating his digits. You were soaked, needy whimpers of pleasure escaping your parted lips as you felt your hole clenching around nothing, until he began to tease the entrance.

You cried out in bliss, his index sliding in without meeting resistance, soon followed by a second finger. The stretch was good, nothing compared to your own touch or the ones from your previous partners. He knew what pace drove you insane, what you liked, your body language was the equivalent of an opened book to him.

“Flawless” he whispered in your ear.

You wanted to moan out his name, but you realized you both had not introduced yourselves yet. He thrusted his fingers up in your core, thumb rubbing your throbbing clitoris as you panted above his head.

“W-What’s your name?” you breathed out, glossy eyes peering down at him.

He did not answer, instead biting the tender spot between your jawline and your neck. It was enough, your body had enough. Your inner walls clenched tightly around his fingers, body jerking, as your orgasm hit you like a violent wave crashing against the shore. You trembled, body slumping against his as he enclosed your waist in his arms. His lips grazed the shell of your ear, a feather-like kiss sending frissons over your body.

“I got you, Y/N”.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there and thank you for having read my work. This is the first chapter of a new series I have come up with for Squid Game. The main couple will be The Salesman x reader, but I don’t and can’t promise you won’t see a glimpse of another pair throughout the story. It won’t obviously last, because well… It’s a Salesman x reader story. The title “Il nome mio nessun saprà” translated as “No one will know my name” is taken from the song played by the Salesman during the Russian roulette game with the two former loan sharks. Comments and opinions are greatly appreciated!

Love,

Luce

VOCABULARY.

1. Non tutti sono ricchi come te: not everyone is as rich as you are;

2. Buona fortuna: good luck;

3. Buonasera, signorina: good evening, miss.

CREDITS FOR THE DIVIDERS: @cafekitsune

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part xiv)

THE FINAL INTEGRATION—All the fragments unify into something new.

a/n: Last chapter :) :( I'm so emotional, this is awful but so spectacular - it's all coming together and it's finally over! I was sobbing so hard, tearing up, choking up - I had this idea in my head for so long, now seeing it executed... I can't believe it. Epilogue left to wrap this baby up 🌻

word count: 18,000+ (woo, mama, she's a big one)

What is home?

See, it really depends on the person you ask. To a reader, it might be a stack of books, their broken spines and the soft hum of imagination. To a child, it might be the warmth of their parents’ voice at bedtime.

Now, if you asked Joel Miller what home is, he would tell you that it is the nicest word out there. You can build a house anywhere, but a home? He was too much of a pragmatist to be poignant, but he knows exactly what it feels like to lose it, and how rare it is to find it again. And when you have lived as long as him, you know: when you find it, you do everything you can to deserve that goddamn feeling. Even if you're not sure you ever will.

Home wasn’t where Joel laid his head. It wasn’t the decorated walls and soaring ceilings of the big, white house—not in any way that mattered. Home was the physical structure where Leela could shut her eyes and not flinch when he draped his arm across her waist. Home was a second mug set out beside his, even if he was the first one up. Home was where Maya’s laughter could rise—unburdened, unguarded—without the shadow of the world chasing it down.

Home wasn’t just where they were. It was where they lived.

And still—the non-allusive home list never stopped creeping in.

A squeaky hinge on the front gate. Chipped paint on the eaves. One of the rain barrels had a slow leak, a dark stain bleeding against the siding. The back steps needed resealing before the frost set in, or Leela would lose her footing come winter.

And Maya’s bed.

It would not have been an issue if not for his little troublemaker who had figured out how to climb out of her crib a few months ago—nearly gave him a heart attack when he found her downstairs in the kitchen at two in the morning, knuckle deep in a bottle of jam, no pants on. He kept telling Leela he’d replace the crib with a real bed soon, but every time he tried, he’d end up just standing in the doorway, watching her sleep from over the rails, unable to bring himself to take it down.

Her new bed was upstairs in his workshop, still raw in places, still missing the final polish on the edges. Pinewood. Sturdy as shit. He’d hand-picked the planks while running two towns over, carrying them back on his shoulders.

He’d started carving it a year ago, just after the thaw. A simple design—square legs, clean lines, not much ornament. But on the arch of the headboard, he’d carved her name. Each letter was in cursive, meticulous grooves. M-A-Y-A. He’d traced them with his thumb afterwards, wondering how many years it would take before she outgrew it. If she knew that he'd been there, right next to her mother, when they named her.

It sat in his space. Joel’s space.

The workshop on the third storey, tucked into the far end of the house, where the bare rafters angled low and the windows stretched wide across the back wall. This was his bastion—no one else’s—just as much a part of him as Leela was. And she had established it so.

Not a man cave or a den, as much as Tommy taunted. A room that didn’t ask for much or pretend to be anything other than what it was: wood, dust, light, and Joel.

Sunlight filtered through the high, slanted windows in shifting moods—at times too sharp, at others perfectly subdued. Mornings arrived in a flood of amber, gilding the furniture and suspending dust motes in a celestial dance. By evening, it softened into burnished streaks that stretched across the floorboards. Joel often found himself staring, transfixed on those fading lines longer than he meant to.

The walls were bare but for a few scattered tools and a calendar frozen decades ago. Beneath the windows, a long wooden workbench ran the length of the room—its surface worn smooth in places, splintered in others. It was always cluttered: wood shavings, clamps, loose nails, a steel square, and a dented tin of wood glue with its lid stuck askew. A tiny, abandoned, poorly-carved figurine that Maya had insisted was a three-eyed alien sat among the disarray like a forgotten thought.

No matter how often he swept, a fine layer of sawdust clung to everything. Along the back wall, shelves sagged under half-used varnish cans, loose screws, folded rags, and off to the side sat a chair he’d reupholstered himself—too stiff for most, but just right for him.

No one came up here unless he said so. And even then, they tread lightly. Leela called it his “thinking room,” and aptly so. Some days, Joel sat there just to let his mind run amok. Other days, he came up simply to fall apart—quiet, alone, unburdened by the need to explain himself.

And in one of the little drawers—right-hand side, third down—was the ring.

It hadn’t started out that way. He’d found it all the way back in Vegas, of all places. The thing had been broken straight through the band, warped like someone’d tried to twist it off in anger. No gem. Just the ghost of where one used to sit. It looked like the kind of ring that once meant everything to someone—and then didn’t.

He’d picked it up anyway. A part of him hoped it could still mean something, given the right hands.

It took him all of five straight months once he started working on the ring, in holes and corners.

He wasn’t a jeweller. Wasn’t even an artist, not unless bullheadedness counted as talent. But he had tools, he had time, and he had a piece of oak. From the big, old tree out front—the one that’d stood through too many winters and dropped leaves in slow gold spirals every fall. Maya’s favourite playground, Leela’s greatest shade.

He’d carved the wood into a thin inlay, cradled around the repaired band like a second spine, dark against the soft gleam of restored gold, the colour of desert dusk. Filled the rupture in the metal with painstaking heat, forged the shape again, slow and exact, hammered it soft where it had gone brittle. He’d even filed the edges smooth and dared a small flourish on the oak—enamelled, rose-shaped ridges, intricate wreaths. Elegant in its own rough way.

It wasn’t flashy. No lofty gems. Only a touch of a woodworker’s pride.

If he thought about it, the ring was them—Leela, the soft blush of gold once broken now cautiously welded, gleaming with grace; Joel, the deep-grained oak that held it in a reinforced circle, weathered and stubborn the way old trees are.

And it had been ready for months now. All polished. Finished, and just sitting there.

He’d rolled it between his fingers a dozen times since, thumb brushing over the seam he’d sanded down by hand, almost invisible now unless you knew where to look—at the workbench, on the porch, tucked in his coat pocket on those quiet walks back from patrol. Always waiting for the moment that felt like it mattered enough. The right breath, the right light, the right words.

He didn’t hear the stairs creak one afternoon—Leela moved like a ghost when she wanted to—but he heard her voice, breathless and distracted.

“Joel, I—”

He startled, just enough to curse himself for it, then push the ring under an oil-stained rag. She stepped into the doorway a second later, her silhouette backlit by afternoon sun.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him, head tilted, brow drawn.

“Sorry, did I interrupt you?” she asked, tone softened. “I should get a door fixed here soon.”

He nodded inanely, then shook his head. Swallowed. “Yeah. No. Nah, no need. Was just—workin’.”

She glanced at the bench, then back to him, a sceptical brow arching. “Alright, um. I need your hands for a sec. The tomato trellis is sagging, and baby girl swears there’s a spider the size of her face in there.”

Joel stood, brushing sawdust from his jeans. “Tell her that the spider’s paid the rent. It stays.”

Leela didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched. She turned to go.

He opened his mouth, reaching for the rag. “Honey—”

She stopped. Looked over her shoulder. Skin dewy from the heat, a little furrow between her eyes, and the light shimmered on her cheekbones and the line of her throat, where sweat had caught the sun, and she looked jewelled for a second.

And just like that—he had lost his nerve. He could’ve said it then. Could’ve pulled the ring from the shadows, could’ve made a joke about it being too stupid or too late or whatever the hell it was. He had nothing prepared. Mundane and marred by spider eviction.

So instead, Joel nudged the ring farther back beneath the rag.

“Be right there,” he muttered around his throat closing up, grabbing a pair of work gloves from the peg.

Alas, that right, light-bulb moment never quite came. Nothing ever felt big enough. Not after everything they’d already lived through. Not when the days already felt borrowed.

They had a daughter. A big house. Nights spent curled together like old trees grown toward the same sun. There wasn’t anything missing, and the people in Jackson already talked like it was done.

“Joel’s folks.”

“Joel’s girl.”

And his least favourite, “The Miller baby.”

Everyone saw them for what they were.

Still, it gnawed at him. He wanted something more than knowing. More than the comfort of habit. He wanted something in fact. Tactile. Seen. A thing that didn’t live only in gestures or glances or the way she said hi, Joel, after a long day.

He wanted to see that ring glint on her finger when she brushed the hair from Maya’s face. He wanted to feel its cool shape against his callused palm when she reached for him in the night.

On this hot afternoon—Joel sat back against the trunk of a sycamore tree just off the ridge trail, elbows on his knees, the ring between his fingers. Spinning it slow, like maybe—if he looked at it long enough—it would just tell him what to do. Like the answer might rise out of the metal, plain as daylight, if he just waited quiet and still.

The trail below was quiet, sun hammering down through the branches, the grass around them dry and crackling in the breeze. They’d cleared the area an hour ago, but Tommy had gone ahead to check the northern bend. Joel thought he had time.

He didn’t hear the bastard come back until boots crunched right behind him. Same little shit behaviour, couldn't give him a moment of peace.

Joel flinched a little—just in his eyes—then quickly pocketed the ring, like he was sixteen again and got caught smoking. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

Tommy let out a low whistle, stepping up beside him with a shit-eating grin. “Holy shit. Is that what I think it is?”

He shot him a sideways glance. “You people gotta stop sneakin’ up on me. I used to be foolproof at this shit.”

Tommy chuckled. “You’re slippin’, old man. Maybe it’s time you quit patrol.”

“I’ll show you slippin’ if you open that big hole again.”

That made him laugh harder. “You gettin’ jumped this easy? Can’t have Jackson’s best gunslinger losin’ his edge over a tiny ring.”

“Maybe I just got too much on my mind,” he mumbled.

“That ain’t a bad thing anymore, brother.”

Tommy crouched beside Joel with the easy, infuriating grace of someone who hadn’t just hiked ten miles in the heat. Pulled his canteen off his belt, took a long sip.

“So, how long have you been haulin’ that thing around?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. A while.”

Tommy sighed, shaking his head. “About goddamn time, is all.”

Joel didn’t say anything to that. Just stared forward at the empty hills. Chin resting in his hand now. Thumb stroking his lip like he could erase the expression off his own damn face.

Tommy, then said, quieter, more to the trees than to his brother, “I get it, y’know. I’m glad you want this for yourself.”

Joel didn’t respond, but it landed.

Of all the people left in the world, Tommy was the only one who could say that and mean it. Because Tommy had seen him through everything.

Before the fall. After it. In the thick of the fire and fury, when Joel had become someone hard and horrific and capable of things they didn’t talk about anymore. And now that he’d found a new purpose in the quiet hum of Jackson, in the child’s head resting on his shoulder, in the sound of her laugh.

His little brother had been there for all of it. He’d seen Joel break, and survive, and soften.

“What’d you—” Joel started, then stopped. Took a long breath, like the words weren’t shaped right in his mouth. “What’d you do for Maria?”

Tommy blinked, not expecting the question. “What d’you mean?”

Joel looked out across the clearing, squinting into the sun-glared trees like the answer might be hiding out there, just waiting to be found. “Just—when you asked her. To... marry you.”

Tommy took another sip, then leaned back beside him, stretching his legs out in the dust. Let out a low, thoughtful hum. “Not much. I just asked her.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “That it?”

“That’s it.”

“You didn’t—plan nothin’?”

Tommy gave a lazy shrug. “Figured she already knew I was an idiot. Didn’t need to prove it with the whole song and dance.”

Joel huffed a short laugh, but there wasn’t much humour in it. More like steam escaping. His thumb worked across the ridges of the ring again. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Tommy didn’t help one bit. It just made him feel like he was doing it wrong. Maybe other men just asked and it worked out, and he was the only fool who needed to rehearse a thousand different versions of a sentence he still couldn’t quite say.

Joel swallowed hard. “S’pose I don’t ask it right,” he muttered.

Tommy crossed his arms, exasperated. “There ain’t a right way, Joel.”

And he looked at Joel then—not as the little brother, not as the man who used to pull him out of bar fights, or drag him back from the edge, or talk him off a bad decision—but as the man who’d walked with him through hell and come out the other side.

“You’ve already done the hardest shit a man can do. You made it out,” Tommy said.

He clapped a hand once on Joel’s shoulder. “So if you’re waitin’ for a sign, maybe just… stop. 'Cause she’s right there. And you already know.”

Yet, Joel kept the ring close.

Tucked it into different pockets depending on the day—his coat, the small drawer by the bed, the inner lining of his backpack when he was out for patrol. Some nights, it lived beneath his pillow. Not because he thought she’d find it, but because he liked knowing it was near. A secret between him and the future he didn’t quite believe he deserved. Like it might vibrate or shine if the right moment came.

There’d been a handful of almosts. Moments where he’d come so close he could taste the words in the back of his throat. All the permutations of a few simple words.

Please marry me. Leela, marry me. I wanna marry you, Leela.

But he’d say it how he meant it.

I want you. All the way. Every day of the week. Even when you don’t talk for three of them. Even when your brain goes fuzzy and you make me feel like I’m missing a decimal point. I still want you until I'm a dead man.

Like that time he caught her humming to Maya in the bathtub—laughing, sleeves rolled, her knees on the tile, playfully creating a shark fin out of foam and Maya's curls. Joel had stood in the hallway, just out of sight, the scent of soap and warm water drifting through the air.

Or all those nights they’d danced, slow and off-beat in the living room, barefoot on warm floorboards, Leela swaying with him while Percy Sledge rasped on about love that wouldn’t let go. She’d never once asked what he was thinking during those dances, but sometimes—especially when her forehead rested just under his chin—he thought maybe she knew.

Look, the thing is, Joel Miller didn’t ask easy. He’d loved and lost and paid for both. And though time had softened the sharper edges of his grief, it hadn’t erased it. He was a man rebuilt from wreckage—stronger in some places, brittle in others—and he’d learned the hard way not to reach too fast for anything that felt too good.

What if she said no when he popped the question?

Or worse—what if she said yes, and somewhere down the line, looked at him with that distance he’d seen in too many eyes, that what did I do kind of sorrow?

Because one night, not long ago, they’d sat on the porch together—full of warmth, of breath, of small giggles, of a peace they didn’t speak of because naming it might break the spell. The sky had been that deep western blue, just shy of dusk, the kind of shade that made shadows stretch like sleepy children. Crickets were starting up in the brush. The wind wound through Leela’s hair like an old friend.

And she’d looked at him.

Not smiling or blinking. As if she saw right through the walls, he still hadn’t realised he kept. And then she said, while the silence waited for her—soft, certain:

“You make me feel like I survived on purpose, Joel.”

The words had struck something so deep in him he hadn’t known how to hold them. Like she’d laid a gift in his lap, tender, bone-deep, and all he could do was nod. His fingers had curled into the armrest until his knuckles went white, trying to ground himself in something. Because Christ, that was a thing to be told.

Not I love you. Not I need you. That would have been a letdown.

I lived—and now I know why.

He could’ve asked her then. The ring was sitting in that drawer by the bed, tucked inside a flannel shirt he never wore. It would’ve taken less than a minute. Less than a breath. Just a few words.

But he didn’t.

Not because he didn’t want to. He’d been carrying that want around like a second heart, beating hard every time she laughed, every time she leaned into his side, every time she held their baby girl.

No—he didn’t ask because he was still Joel.

Still, that man who had learned the hard way what it cost to love something more than the world could bear. Still a man who sometimes woke up half-expecting it to all be gone. Who held joy like it might break in his hands if he wasn’t careful.

Tommy cleared his throat, suckered him back to the trail ahead, like he was winding up for something. They rode single file through the narrow trail, the horses steady beneath them, and Jackson wasn’t far now—maybe another hour if they didn’t stop.

“Tell you what,” Tommy started, giving his reins a lazy flick. “This weekend—dinner with the whole family. I’ll get the grill goin’, and I will personally make sure Ellie shows. No bullshit excuses. You ask Leela then.”

Joel shot him a look. “In front of everyone?”

Tommy shrugged, unbothered. “Nah, we’ll be watchin’ from a respectful distance. You need your emotional support system, big guy. And you take Leela aside. Do the damn thing. Then you take her home and make sweet love to your new wife.”

Joel huffed through his nose. “Jesus, Tommy. The hell is wrong with you?”

“What? She’ll say yes, ya wuss. Everybody and their mother knows it. It ain’t that deep.”

“Don’t need an audience,” Joel said, shaking his head, but Tommy wasn’t done.

“You think I’m missin’ the moment my pain-in-the-ass brother tries to get down on one knee?” He chuckled. “Not a chance. That’s goin’ in the family vault. Right next to the time you fell off the roof fixin’ the antenna. Sixteen-year-old dumbfuck.”

Joel grunted. “That wasn’t my goddamn fault. Wind kicked up, and you were rushing me.”

“Uh-huh. Just like it’ll be the wind’s fault if you chicken out again.”

His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the storm of thoughts in his head.

He could see it too clearly—the glass slipping from his fingers, the moment crumbling like dust in his mouth. Maybe he said the wrong thing. Maybe he said too much. Maybe the look on her face turned uncertain, and the silence stretched too long. Maybe she didn’t say anything at all.

He gripped the saddle horn a little tighter. The ring was still in his coat pocket. Same place it’d been for a while now.

Tommy kept talking, not helping one goddamn bit. “You overthink everything, man. Always have.”

Joel muttered, “And you never think at all.”

Tommy just laughed, like he didn’t mind being told the truth.

Although lately... lately, something had shifted. Joel clocked it the minute it arrived.

Because he wasn’t just a man grieving anymore. He was something almost foreign to him. Something he hadn’t dared to be since before the world turned to ash and bone.

He was hopeful. Making rings, planning a proposal, a whole, nice family around him. Was that the difference this time around?

Because love, for a man like Joel Miller, was never gonna be fireworks or proposals in fields of flowers. He didn’t know how to make speeches. He didn’t trust perfect moments. The world had taught him too well how things fall apart.

To him, love didn’t promise safety. If anything, it made the fall steeper. And Joel had spent too long learning how to stand back up. Because needing meant breaking, needing meant pain.

They were about forty minutes out from the gate when the bend in the trail opened up near the creek, and Joel saw movement—two figures just off the path, half in shadow, half in gold-streaked midday screening through the trees. A man stood tall, blonde, broad-shouldered, one arm raised in a friendly wave that felt just a little too staged. The woman beside him leaned against the trunk of a skinny spruce, arms folded, gaze fixed in that way that wasn’t bored or wary—just watchful.

Tommy slowed first, fingers brushing his holster in that smooth, practised way. Not drawing, not just yet. Joel mirrored him a beat later, easing the reins back, quietly. First, he just took them in.

The man was definitely ex-military or something close to it; that kind of posture didn’t just come from ranch work. He looked fit, shoulders squared, like he knew how to take a punch and stay on his feet. The woman wasn’t slack either, built like an ox—tall, maybe five-ten, and there was tension in her arms and stance, like she could bolt or strike and hadn’t decided which she preferred.

Joel didn’t like it one bit. Too calm. Too tidy. Too alert for two stragglers lost in the woods.

“Afternoon,” the man called as they approached. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Tommy replied, his own tone casual but clipped. “You folks alright?”

“We’re fine,” the man said. “Just passing through. Got turned around near the pass.”

That instantly made Joel narrow his eyes. Nobody got turned around near that pass without being real damn unlucky—or real damn curious.

“Where you two headed?” Joel asked, making certain.

The man glanced sideways at the woman, then looked back. An obvious signal. Bunch of seedy pricks, that was for sure. “Nowhere in particular. Heard there’s a settlement not too far. Jackson City, right?”

There it was. Joel clocked it right then. Subtle, but unmistakable. They were looking for names.

Tommy nodded slowly. “That’s right.”

“You two from there?”

The air changed. Just a little. Just enough so Joel could feel Tommy hesitate—briefly, maybe half a second—but long enough for Joel to notice. Long enough for someone else to notice, too.

“Yeah,” Joel said, cutting in, voice even. “Been there a while.”

The woman spoke then. First time. She hadn’t moved a muscle. She was calm. Almost too even. “Have you had any Fireflies come through these parts?” A pause. “Anyone looking to settle down sometime ago?”

It was the way she said it—like it didn’t matter. Like she was asking about the weather. But her eyes were fixed, like she was listening for the snap of a tripwire in the grass.

Joel didn’t blink.

She hadn’t asked if either of them had come through. She was hunting for a breadcrumb, not the whole damn loaf.

He knew the shape of that question. He’d used it before—back when he was tracking people. Back when it was his job to find folks who didn’t want to be found. And that man beside her—he was quiet now, but his gaze was doing the same work. Sweeping over Joel and Tommy like he was looking for something to snag on. A familiar gait. A voice. A scar.

Joel kept his tone neutral. “Not for a long time, ma'am,” he said. “Pretty quiet around these parts. Nothin’ but raiders.”

But he felt the tension rise up the back of his neck, slow drips, like water rising in a well.

Then the man asked, just a touch too casually, “Place like Jackson—y’all must get travellers every now and then. Guess it’s good if someone’s lookin’ to start over.”

Start over. Joel heard it like a gun cocking under a table.

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t even suspicious—on paper. But it was the way it layered—soft probes, neutral phrases, no names. They were trying to walk backwards into a truth without triggering the alarm. No doubt coached themselves: Don’t ask about him. Not directly. Feel it out first.

And Joel felt it, a nail pressed into his back.

He didn’t show a damn thing. But in his head, the alarm bells had already started to ring.

“What about anyone coming through from Salt Lake City?” she asked, sounding frustrated now. “A couple of years back, maybe more. They settle down here?”

It was almost nothing. Just a question. Said easily. No lean on it. Yet, it was a wire snapping tight across his chest.

Salt Lake City.

He didn’t show it. Not in his shoulders, not in his eyes. But inside, something went still. Like the silence right before a storm tears the sky open.

Salt Lake was a name no one mentioned unless they were pulling at his thread.

And the way she said it? It wasn’t vague curiosity. It wasn’t nonchalant. It was placed—premeditated, rehearsed even. She was watching him, not for the answer, but for the reaction.

Joel kept his eyes level, gave a short shrug like he had to think about it. “No one comes to mind. Quite far from here, ain’t it?”

“Lookin' for someone in particular?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah.” Again, no names, nothing.

But his pulse had already picked up, pounding hot blood behind his ribs.

Tommy shifted slightly in his saddle. Joel could feel his brother’s confusion—he didn’t know what the hell Salt Lake City meant to them, but he sure as shit knew what it meant to Joel.

The man—whatever the fuck he went by—glanced at the woman, but didn’t press. Joel could see it now—the way they stood, the way they spoke. They weren’t wandering. They were hunting. Controlled. Like folks who’d trained themselves to look normal.

Verifying intel. About what happened out west. About Salt Lake.

And Joel knew. Right then, as clear as if they’d drawn on him. They didn’t come out here by chance. They came looking for a man who disappeared off the face of the earth. A man who walked out of a hospital in Salt Lake, left a trail of gunpowder and bullet smoke, with a young girl covered in blood and never looked back.

They were looking for Joel fucking Miller.

“You got names?” he asked.

Joel didn’t hesitate. Hesitation was a crack. And cracks split wide under pressure.

“James,” he said, tapping his chest. “That’s Steve.”

He didn’t look at Tommy—just heard the dry scoff behind him, the faint shift of saddle leather. That was Tommy’s protest. Wordless, but understood. But he didn’t correct or call him out. Good.

Joel kept his eyes on the two.

“You two got names?” he asked, playing the game, keeping the rhythm casual.

The man smiled, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth, as if he had passed some test. “Manny,” he said. Nodded to the woman. “That’s Nora.”

Manny. Nora. Manny. Nora. Fucking lies. There it was—another detail that settled wrong in his gut. The names came too quickly. No pause, no glance between them to coordinate.

Four names now, none real, sitting in the air, rounds chambered with unspent bullets.

Joel didn’t say anything, but in his head, the pieces were already falling into place. They weren't just passing through. They were hunting. They were scouts, and he was the goddamn map.

“You folks wanna head down to Jackson?” Tommy offered, leaning into his saddle, tone just a hair too smooth. “Restock, rest up? Diner’s got stew on most nights, and we can have rooms ready in no time.”

It was a test. Joel knew it. Tommy was trying to see what they’d do with an invitation. A wide, open front door.

Manny smiled again—polite, just the right amount. “Thank you, but we’ll keep moving. We don’t want to impose.”

Joel held his gaze a second longer, then gave a slow nod. “Suit yourselves.”

They stepped off the trail, just enough to let the horses through. Joel guided his mount past, hand close to the rifle slung by his leg, every muscle tense and humming. He didn’t look back, not until the trees had swallowed them up behind.

They were almost out of earshot when the call came again.

“Hey!”

Joel’s horse shifted under him, hooves scraping rock. He didn’t need to look—he already felt Tommy tense beside him.

They both turned.

Manny and Nora stood in the trail, maybe thirty paces back. Manny raised a hand, easy and nonthreatening. “Just a quick question.”

Tommy didn’t move much. Just unhooked the clasp over his sidearm, fingers resting lightly on the grip. “Go on.”

“You two know of any other settlements out here?” Manny asked. “West of here, maybe north? Somewhere people might’ve passed through?”

There it was again—smooth, specific. Not where they could go. Where others might’ve gone.

Joel didn’t say a word. Just stared ahead, a warning drum in his chest.

Tommy scratched at his jaw, then gave a half-smile. “Closest is a fishing camp up near Dubois. Might be one out near Tensleep. Little place tucked in the hills. Ain’t much—some cabins, old lodge, maybe a dozen folks running traps and brewing shine. They don’t take in newcomers unless someone vouches. Real closed off.”

Joel flicked a glance toward his brother. Tensleep was real—barely a dot on the map. He’d passed through it once, a long time ago. Nothing there but dead wood and wind through the hills. No lodge. No cabins. No community.

Smart. Close enough to sound real. Far enough from Jackson to send them the wrong way. Tiring enough to consider that their deadass lead has dried up.

Manny nodded like he was tucking the information into a mental drawer. “Good to know.”

Joel watched him just a second longer. Nora hadn’t said a word. Just stood there, watching Tommy, scrutinising Joel.

“Appreciate the help,” Manny added, with that same rehearsed smile.

Tommy only nodded. “Safe travels.”

Then they turned, Joel clicked his tongue once, and the horse moved.

This time, they didn’t stop them again.

They didn’t speak until the pines closed behind them and the sound of the other pair’s footsteps had faded into the brush.

Tommy blew out a breath. “Think they bought it?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He could feel the sweat down his spine, cold despite the sun.

“They didn’t call us on it,” he muttered. “That’s good enough.”

Tommy didn’t say a word after that—quite out of character for someone that mouthy—not until Jackson’s gates behind them clanked shut with a low metallic groan, sealing off the woods. The sound echoed for a moment, final and hollow, a lid being pressed down on something they weren’t meant to carry back in with them.

But they did. They always did.

By the time Joel made it back home, sleep had passed him over like he wasn’t even on the goddamn map. And he didn’t chase it. Just sat there for a while, elbows on his knees, the front door creaking behind him when the sky bruised into twilight. The house was waiting for him. Warm. Safe. That was the part he couldn’t get over—how safe it all felt every day.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d come to losing all of it.

He hadn’t meant to see Manny’s face again. Or Nora’s. Or that unmistakable Firefly snarl of purpose, coming at him through the woods like a storm he’d outrun for too long. Their shadows had clawed him back to Salt Lake, to Ellie, to the screaming silence of that hallway. The rifle. The red on the walls.

Tommy had found him after. Looked at Joel the way men do when they see the edge and know you’ve gone over it once already.

Just said, “You’re off rotation.”

That was it. No talk, no vote, no lecture on reliability or protocol. Just a quiet, unmovable order. It stung coming from his little brother.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Tommy added, after a long beat. “Don’t push it. Focus on your family.”

So now Joel had to step in and say it. To tell Leela that he was too known around the continent for his grim, bloody decisions with that reluctant honesty that made his skin crawl.

He didn’t know what she’d say. He didn’t know what he wanted her to say.

He thought about it, while killing time in the barn and fixing his gear. He imagined how he might tell her. Started the sentence in his head so many times he could feel the shape of it in his throat.

Leela, there’s somethin’ you oughta know. I need to tell you what really happened with Ellie, a long time ago.

But every time, the words stuck, died on the back of his tongue. How do you tell the person you love that you killed a good future for their daughter? That you made yourself the villain in someone else's story, just so you could keep hold of one small, precious thing? How would you justify being a murderer for the sake of love?

So he didn’t say it. Figured she didn’t need that truth. Figured she already carried enough.

Still, it had to start somewhere.

Leela was at the stove when he stepped in, as quietly as he could to not alert Maya, while the home was awash with the low sizzle of onions and a spice beneath it—cumin, maybe, or fenugreek. Her sleeves were rolled, her thick braid twisted into that lazy knot, and her back was to him. She didn’t look up when he came in, just stretched a cute little smile.

“You’re late,” she noticed. “Maya waited for you all evening.”

A breezy “sorry,” was all he could respond with.

“Just fed her some leftover porridge from breakfast and put her down to bed a while ago. She might still be up.”

He stood there for a long moment, watching the way her wrist moved as she stirred.

“Darlin’, I... gotta tell you somethin’,” he started, letting his pack idle by the foyer shelves. He took off his boots, letting the warmth of the floorboards seep right into his soles.

Leela's head tilted, the way it always did when she was listening closely. But she kept stirring. “Mhm?”

He cleared his throat. Looked at the floor. “Tommy’s takin’ me off patrol.”

That made her pause. Not startled—more like she’d seen it coming before he had. She turned the flame low, let the wooden spoon rest on the lip of the pan, and finally looked over her shoulder.

Not relief, exactly—understanding. Maybe even… agreement. He couldn’t stand it.

“This ain’t how I meant to tell you,” Joel went on. “Was gonna bring it up myself, but…” He trailed off. Couldn’t say their names. Couldn’t say why Tommy had made the call. “Might be time for the young blood to take over.”

In all truth, he was starting to think maybe it was time to hang it up for good. The rifle. The shifts. The long, bone-cold rides out past the gates. Let someone younger take the reins. Let them chase shadows and walk barricade lines. He’d done more than enough of that; survival hadn't allowed for subtlety back then, but it did now.

And lately, the idea of going back to contracting—roofs, plumbing, clean, quiet work that didn’t come with blood—had started to settle into him naturally. Not a fallback, but a choice.

Leela dried her hands on a dish towel and turned to face him fully. Her eyes didn’t press, but they saw him, and that was worse in a way.

“Okay,” she said softly. “You’re home. That’s what matters.”

He felt a slow sprout of hope inside his chest, not sudden like a jolt, but gradual—like thaw. The ice that splits over a moving lake underneath. He didn’t know what to do with that grace. He didn’t feel like he’d earned it.

“I’ll pull my weight here,” he muttered, turning to the sink, letting the cold water run over his arms, washing off trail dust and dried sweat. Then leaned forward, splashed some over his face, rubbed a hand through his hair, combed the damp back with his fingers until he felt a little less like a scarecrow. He exhaled. It felt good. Real good.

He shook his head, letting the cold droplets run into his shirt. “Look, I’ll find other ways. I just—I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m quittin’ ‘cause I’m soft, or not up to it. I can still take shifts whenever—”

“Joel,” she halted.

“Baby,” he triumphed, hands on his hips.

“You didn’t make a mistake coming home. And it’d be nice to have you around more.”

With that, she turned back to the stove. Joel stood there, fists clenched, heart hollowed out and full at the same time.

He scratched the back of his neck. “You sure you can handle me hovering over your shoulder all day?”

Then she looked over at him again, a feeble smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Doing it right now. Besides, I’ve survived worse.”

And Joel, for all his doubts, for all the old narratives his bones still apprised him—about battles, about failure, about who he used to be—felt valuable. Not because he could shoot straight or hold a line—but because he was him. Because Leela knew all of him, and still chose to make space. He didn't have to be a fighter anymore just to matter to his family.

He was allowed to want. Allowed to want his home, his girls. He wanted to hear Maya’s footsteps in the morning and not worry if he’d be there to tuck her in at night. With Sarah, he never had the chance. He was always working, too busy hauling drywall, always chasing another job, always just a little too late to recitals, always thinking there’d be time later.

There hadn’t been.

Now with Leela—he didn’t always know how to help her. Didn’t have the right words, but understood what was happening behind those quiet eyes of hers. He just wanted to be close. To make sure she ate. Slept. Smiled. That she knew she wasn’t alone.

And then there was goddamn Ellie. She acted like she didn’t need anybody, that she had plans, that she didn’t need Joel, but he knew better. She was still just a kid herself, scratching eighteen, discovering herself, growing up too fast. And he didn’t want her to feel like she was being shuffled off while he built his own little world alongside hers.

He’d hold space for all of it. For her. For Maya. For Leela. And maybe, finally, for himself.

Joel let out a soft huff of air—half a laugh, half disbelief. That crooked smile of hers had a way of taking the fight out of him. Or maybe it just reminded him there wasn’t anything to fight.

“You just want someone to lift the heavy gizmos for you, huh?” he joked.

“That too.” She tipped her shoulder. “But also—some of the tools need rewiring. You’re good with your hands.”

“You bet your sweet bippy.”

He reached for a dish towel, wiped the water from his face, and wandered closer. He rested his hip against the counter, eyes tracking her movements as she spooned something from the skillet into a bowl.

“Been workin’ all day?” he asked, nodding toward the food. It was really late for her to be cooking.

She pouted in chagrin. “Barely got through my chore chart. I was in the basement all afternoon after I sent Maya off with Ellie. Worked on restringing the washing line later. It... got away from me.”

This was the cost of loving a woman smarter than god and twice as stubborn, who carried the future of goddamn science on her shoulders. Who kept Jackson humming with electricity and heat, who might—if she could finish what she started—be the reason a new generation didn’t grow up thinking math was an ancient language. This was the fallout of her last meltdown, or the one before that—one of plenty.

But, especially then, was when his big white house started to feel lived-in again. That was the best part—how the space had changed, like the tide coming back. It was slow at first, but now he saw signs of her everywhere again. Her workspace was bleeding into the house.

Her notebooks started showing up again, sprawled across the arm of the couch. Inexplicably brewed, half-drunk mugs left behind, always lukewarm tea, some with faint lip prints near the rim. Grocery lists scribbled and torn off on the backs of old lecture notes. A growing pile of crumpled paper by the trash can, evidence she’d missed it more often than not. Tiny equations in the margins of Maya’s drawings. A chalkboard in the kitchen was covered in half-finished thoughts and flowery chore charts.

That was Leela, always halfway between burnout and brilliance. A human fault line. He loved every inch of that chaos. It made the house feel like her again.

But not everything came easily.

There were gaps in her knowledge—biology, for one. The molecular, microscopic stuff. Things that didn’t bend to logic the way numbers did. She’d grown up with numbers, not cell cultures. She could program a solar grid blindfolded, but had to reread the same medical journal six times before she could make sense of it or until the print blurred.

Sometimes he’d find her like that. On the floor, back against the wall. Legs folded under her like she’d meant to sit for a minute and never got up. Notebooks fanned around her like feathers, papers scattered. Eyes all red, hands fisted in her sleeves, breaths shallow. Holding too much. Trying not to break under the duress.

Joel had learned the drill by now: don’t interfere. Don’t prod or touch. Let it ride. Let her burn out on her own terms.

He never asked. He just sat down beside her. Shoulder to shoulder, but not touching. Letting her remember the world was still turning. Letting her breathe in the silence until she found her own way back.

And eventually she did. She always did. She’d have a bruised whisper for him, sometimes. “It’s too much.”

Too much pressure for one young woman. Too many pieces looking to be fixed. Too many people hoping she could save this town.

And he’d shrug. Look off, scratch his chin. “So?”

It wasn’t her responsibility. It never was. She’d done enough. Hell, more than enough. The rest was for others to carry. She just had to do what she could. Then stop.

But she never did. And he was done asking her to stop.

“You need to cool it. I told you I'd do the washing line for you,” Joel pointed out. But no, housework was Leela pacing herself. It wasn’t for him or for Maya, not entirely. She was trying to make sure she didn’t collapse before the real work was done.

She chuckled. “My hero. I've done this only my entire life.”

He made a noise of acknowledgement, but his eyes were on her hands—how precise she was, the small lift of her wrist when she plated, the way she pressed the back of a spoon to flatten the top like it mattered. Like, care still had a place in the world.

He didn’t realise he’d been staring until she turned and held out a spoonful for him to try.

Joel blinked. “What is it?”

“Just try it.”

He leaned in and let her feed it to him, lips brushing the edge of the spoon. Warm, sharp with lemon and sumac, soft from lentils cooked down until they barely held shape. He groaned low in his throat, more surprise than anything. “Daggum, girl.”

She gave a tiny nod, lips pursed in mock approval. “You’re still trainable.”

He swallowed. “Still don’t know shit about fuck, darlin’. Just know it tastes good.”

She set the spoon aside and moved to grab the second bowl, and that’s when her eyes caught on his stomach. She paused, just a beat. Let her fingers hover, then rest lightly above the line of his hipbone.

Joel stiffened—reflex, not rejection. He felt the rampant impulse to shift, to suck in, to grumble at her to get it over with, but he didn’t. Not when she was looking at him like that.

He'd put on some weight lately—nothing great, but enough to notice. Enough to feel the change when he bent to tie his boots, and his belt dug in more than it used to. It wasn’t muscle. It was a carefully crafted softness. Around his middle. In his face, in the lighter eyes. Just under the skin, the healthy colour there.

He hadn’t been gaunt per se, this outbreak had made him its robust, powerful mirror—and hell, he'd been starving more years than not—but Jackson, and her, changed that. Her cooking, especially. She fed him like he was worth feeding. Making sure he ate, he relaxed, went to bed with that deep, restful sigh from a full stomach. All those portions of spiced rice, those heavenly lamb koftas. Flatbreads brushed with oil, saffron and sumac. Warm lentil soup with lemon and garlic, pulled fresh from the garden. Things he’d never even heard of before her, let alone tasted. Now he craved them like he craved her.

“Guess I’ve been eatin’ good this year. Too much of your fattening love,” he muttered first, stroking the top of his abdomen.

Leela looked up at him then, eyes shining. “You’ve been healing,” she said simply, fingers smoothing over the soft curve at his core. “I like it. It looks good on you.”

Joel’s throat worked. She didn’t say it like it was a weakness. Like softness was something to hide, ageing into something better. He really was the luckiest son of a bitch in this damnable world, wasn't he?

“C'mere,” he murmured, a hand crowning her throat to bring her closer.

He leaned down, kissed her—with his lips first, then deeper when she didn’t pull away, one hand slipping behind her neck to draw her in. Her lips were warm, familiar, and tasted faintly of lemon and the rosemary steam curling from the pot behind her.

She was humming into his mouth, her fingers sliding up under the hem of his shirt, when he decided: fuck it all.

Joel pulled back just long enough to mutter, “Screw it.”

He dropped everything then, turned the stove off with a practised flick and dropped the dishtowel somewhere behind him. Food was already made—a late dinner would do just fine. Maya was napping like a log, world on pause.

He'd picked Leela up, right there in the kitchen—arms under her thighs, holding her up and close, chest to chest.

“Joel, shower first! You smell!” she giggled.

“Shh-ssh, shower later,” he whispered against her jaw, “gonna make my girl feel like a queen first.”

And with her still in his arms—bare skin pressed to bare skin, hearts pounding in sync—he laid her back over the cool, accommodating marble of the counter, somewhere between the herb bundles. It caught the curve of her spine perfectly. She gasped at the contact, at the contrast, and he just grinned. Shifted her gently, until she was right where he wanted her.

He hefted himself over the counter without ceremony, grunting, his flannel landing on the sink, jeans halfway down, knocking aside shit to the floor with a crashes neither of them cared about nor did dozy Maya upstairs. All he knew was her, laid out like a fever dream beneath him. Dark braid fanned out. Her warm skin. Her open mouth. Her legs parted for him like instinct.

She was familiarised with him already. She knew it all by now, welcomed him to her. It wasn’t graceful, but it was real. Raw. Desperate. Fucking ridiculous, but fun as hell.

Mouth brushing her ear, he muttered, “We really fuckin’ on the kitchen counter. Right between baby girl’s rosemary and the salt jar.”

She let out a startled laugh as she tried to bury her face in his shoulder. “Joel—no.”

“What, you shy?” he teased, grinding into her just enough to make her gasp. “Gotta say, mama… if this is how you season your food, Daddy’s been eatin’ way too polite.”

“Stop it,” she whispered, flustered and grinning, hiding her face now with both hands.

He kissed her temple, grinning like the bastard he was. “Nothin’ to be shy about. You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted in this kitchen.”

So when their bodies came together—sweaty, slick, trembling with restraint they no longer had—it wasn’t just about want. It was about possession. About claiming. About making each other feel real in a world that kept trying to strip that away.

“You with me, sweetheart?” Something he asked without fail until she gave him a fervent, eager nod.

She gasped when he slid two testing fingers inside her, already dripping, aching for a part of him. And right on schedule, “So fuckin’ ready for me,” he muttered, and it surprised him every time, never stopped being a miracle.

He lined himself up, ran the head of his cock through the slick heat of her, once, twice, slow, and her legs twitched around his hips.

Then he thrust in. Hard, deep, all the way, bottoming out with a groan that scraped right out of his chest.

“There’s my girl,” he hissed, staying buried inside her, forehead dropping to hers, both of them shaking, just for a moment, to feel her. To let her feel him. “How the hell do you keep gettin’ better every time?”

She couldn’t answer—just held him there, her fingers clawed at his back, dragging through sweat, through the grooves of muscle and old scar tissue, her walls fluttering around him like she was already close.

He pulled back slowly, savouring the drag, that acclimated part of her, then drove in again—hard enough to rock her against the countertop, make her moan. A prayer, a curse, a benediction.

Her legs locked around him. Her heels dug into his back, urging him deeper, faster. He caught her mouth. Licked into her like he was starved. One hand on her throat—not choking, just having, feeling her pulse thrash hard against his palm. The other slid down between them, thumb finding her clit, circling, rubbing, watching her come undone with every rough snap of his hips.

She was reclaiming something—piece by piece, touch by touch—and he was just lucky enough to witness it. To be the one she trusted with that fight.

And every time she took him—deliberately, slowly, selfishly—it damn near unmade him.

She could be shy about it, yes. Whisper soft little requests into the crook of his neck. Or she could be bold, back arched, and mouth falling open as she rode him like she meant to ruin him. Either way, she kept him guessing, kept him alive in ways he hadn’t known he’d gone numb.

Some nights, she touched him like she was trying to memorise him. Ran her hand down his chest, scratching at his scruff, in her own personal worship. Kissed the inside of his wrist. Bit the tendon in his neck, just because she liked the way he twitched.

Other mornings, half-asleep, arms slack on her, and soft with warmth, she pulled him close, guided him under her nightdress with nothing more than a sigh and a roll of her hips—just to let him come inside her slowly, just for the way it made her feel full throughout the day. Safe. His.

“More—please—more, Joel,” Leela huffed again when he pumped deep—but there was no laughter, no hesitation this time.

Joel lost it. His rhythm went savage, body slamming into hers with full weight, countertop rattling, her cries going high and sharp and needy as she clung to him.

“You ask so fuckin’ sweet,” he gritted out, driving into her again.

Look, people could say it was too much sex for a man like him. Too much hunger. Too much need. That he ought to slow down before his real age caught up with him.

But they didn’t know. Didn’t know what it meant to be dying for most of your goddamn life. To go decades without an ounce of softness. Without safety. Without something—or someone—you could lose yourself in without fear.

Here he was, only making up for the lost years. The dead years. The years when nothing felt like this.

And when grabbed her ass, pulled her in so he could thrust harder—when she wrapped her legs tighter him, dragged him close with that soft little whimper in her throat—they crashed together like it was the last time, like every second mattered.

When it hit—when he finally let go—it gutted him. Buried himself as deep as she’d take him, spilled with a roar that tore right from his chest, raw, guttural, desperate. Like every last decade he’d gone without this—without her—was pouring out of him all at once.

Like it was the only way he knew how to say I’m yours.

A vow. A promise made skin to skin, breath to breath. It was two people burning at the end of the world, holding on to each other like the flames hadn’t already taken everything else.

Time was always running out.

So they met it head-on—bodies breaking and blooming with every gasp, thrust, and whisper of each other’s name—repeatedly, again and again.

X

“Every shot you don’t take is a miss,” Maria had told him about tonight. Yeah, well. Plenty of shots aren’t worth taking either.

Joel adjusted the collar of the coudroy shirt he’d picked out—was wearing, really, because picking something out would’ve meant making a damn decision about his appearance, which had not—fancier than anything he’d worn in months, lifted from one of Dr. Reed’s abandoned closets as if it still had a mortgage on it. Stiff at the shoulders, rich at the cuffs. He couldn’t tell if it made him look handsome or like a fool playing dress-up in another man’s memories.

He eyed himself in the mirror like the man in there might blink first. Brushed his hand along the line of his jaw, then down to the traitorous little paunch he still wasn’t used to. The salt in his beard looked defiant tonight. That slicked-back hair, too. He tugged down the front of the shirt, opened another button. Still didn’t feel right. He looked like a cleaned-up version of a man who’d already done the worst thing in his life.

Proposal. Christ, this was torture.

He hadn’t had a whiskey in over a year. Not a drop. But standing here trying to figure out how to ask the biggest question of his whole damn life, relapse was starting to look more appealing than letting those few little words tumble out of his mouth.

Why was it so fucking hard? Leela was not expecting anything. He could leave the ring in his pocket and say it another time. He could practically hear Tommy’s voice needling him: What, you gonna keep waiting ‘til Maya’s thirty?

He swallowed, straightened again. Tonight was the night. No more stalling. No more waiting for a better moment. He was doing this. Now or never.

Tommy’s place. Backyard barbecue. Beer, burgers, laughter. Nothing dramatic, they had done this hundreds of times. Yet, the thought of doing it in front of his folks—Tommy, Maria, Ellie—made his stomach twist up like barbed wire.

And he still hadn’t found the words. He wasn’t good with those. Never had been.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Get it together,” he told himself. He's been through worse than this.

A voice broke up his spiralling thoughts—her voice, warm and strong from downstairs. Thank fuck. “Joel! I’m sending Maya upstairs—can you please get her dressed?”

He cleared his throat, found his voice. “Yeah, I got her.” Then, in a lazy drawl, trying to joke his way back into his skin: “Hey, you wearin’ them strappy things tonight?”

Her laugh was distant, teasing. “You mean the dress? Do you want me to?”

He scratched at his neck, already hot under the collar. “…Yes.”

She didn’t answer. Or maybe she did, but he couldn’t hear it—because at that moment, there was a thunder of small feet on the stairs.

Maya burst through the door like a firework, in nothing but her nappy. Nearly three years old, a goddamn menace nowadays, but a whole comet made of giggles and sharp elbows. Today, her tangled curls were up in a complicated, tidy, intricate braid—Leela’s handiwork. A little crown on her head.

Joel barely had time to brace himself before Maya launched into his legs like she shot out of a cannon.

“Whoa—there you are. Pretty girl,” he muttered, scooping her up. She curled into him instinctively, her head finding the crook of his shoulder. At some point—maybe the moment she realised her body could launch wherever her mind went—she’d stopped asking. Now, she treated him like part of the furniture. Just another chair in the house with a heartbeat.

He could still carry her easy, but she was getting heavier. Her legs dangled lower than they used to. Her arms didn’t quite reach around his neck anymore.

“Mama did your hair so nice,” he murmured, brushing a hand over the braid, dropping a kiss there.

“’S too tight,” she whined, digging a finger into the base of her skull.

He smiled. “Yeah, well. That’s the price of royalty.”

She shoved the dress at him—an old button-down of his, faded soft, its sleeves trimmed, buttons reinforced and stitched with a little patch of flowers near the hem. Leela had turned it into a dress a year ago, when Maya decided “twirling” was essential to her identity.

“This one, wed colour,” she told him, grinning.

It hit him sometimes—out of nowhere—that she wouldn’t always fit like this, curled up against him, smelling faintly of powder and sun-warmed cotton. That one day she’d stop climbing all over him like her own tree. One day, she’d want space. Secrets. Doors closed. But right now she still thought he hung the damn moon. And he wasn’t ready to let that go.

“Alright, let’s wrangle you into this thing,” he mumbled.

Joel knelt, helping her step into it, his big, calloused hands fumbling a little on the buttons.

But noticed her attention wasn’t on him. She was turning something over in her hands, eyes focused, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration. Probably a rock. Or a bottle cap. She was always collecting junk, fidgeting with things, just like her mother.

She launched into a half-babbled story about how she went to the park with Ellie today, and one of the kids had a big dog. And that his mama had caught him a fish from the creek.

“I wanna catch one, too,” Maya declared as he tightened the bow at her shoulders. “Can we go, Daddy? I want to keep my fish. And my turtles, my starfish... ah, my seahorse!”

“We’ll see,” Joel said, which was his favourite way to buy time when she got ideas.

What got him most wasn’t just what she said—but how she said it. Like it was nothing. Ordinary. Familiar. Not some big, scary thing she had to steel herself for.

But Joel remembered what it was like at the start—how she used to cling to Leela’s leg like ivy, her little body practically welded to her mother’s side. She’d hide her face in the fabric of Leela’s coat whenever someone new walked by. Wouldn’t set foot off the porch unless one of them was holding her hand the whole way. Wouldn’t even speak above a whisper if someone other than their folks were listening. Too quiet for a child.

And then Ellie showed up, with all the subtlety of a stampede and twice the stubbornness. Who didn’t care how shy Maya was, didn’t give up when she clammed up or bawled. Who dragged her into games of tag, taught her to throw rocks in the creek, and chased her down laughing until Maya forgot to be afraid. Ellie had a way of making the world feel like a place worth running around in.

And little by little, Maya started to believe it.

Now the park wasn’t just a place they passed on the way to the market. It was a real thing. Somewhere she looked forward to—asked for. Fit it into her days like brushing her teeth or untangling her curls.

Joel knew that kind of change didn’t just happen. It took time. It took patience. Weeks of gentle coaxing, trial runs, of walking beside her until she was ready to go a little further on her own. Of letting her come home early, face buried in Leela’s neck, when the noise or the crowd got too loud. Leela called it building the muscle. Joel figured that was just her way of saying it’s okay to start small.

Now here Maya was, chattering about creek fish and some boy with a dog like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He bent forward and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, rough hand cupping the back of it, just for a moment. “You’re gettin’ real brave, baby girl.”

Maya gave a toothy grin to the shiny thing in her palms. Joel didn’t think much of it until she tried to stick whatever was in her hand right into her mouth.

“Hey—hey. No.” He reached, pried it from her death grip. “C’mere. What’d I say about eatin’ crap off the floor—”

And then he stopped.

The ring. Shit.

He turned it over in his fingers, heart sinking straight through his boots. The damn thing must’ve fallen out of his pocket. He’d checked it this morning. Hell, he always checked it. Before breakfast, after lunch, after pissing—like some kind of nervous tic.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked, voice sharper than he meant.

Maya blinked up at him, unbothered. “Stairs.” Then, proudly, she chirped, “It’s mine now.”

Joel pressed a hand to his eyes. Of course. Of course, she’d find it. Three years old, couldn’t find her socks even if they were taped to her, but put one shiny object in her line of sight and she turned into goddamn Gollum.

“It’s not yours.” He sounded a little too sharp. When her lip started to tremble, he softened. “Hey. Listen to me. This is somethin’ real important, baby, okay?”

She gasped, appalled. “Gimme my ring!”

He was already regretting everything.

It was like every ounce of careful planning had crumbled with the shake of her little fist. Joel stared down at the ring, its band smudged now, Maya’s fingerprints across the enamel on the wood. He wiped it on his sleeve, heart hammering. Was that a sign? A warning? Or just toddler chaos in action?

Maya folded her arms and jutted her lip like she meant to put a hex on him. “Finders keepers.”

“Not with this one. It ain’t yours.” He sighed, trying to sound calm. “You can not tell Mama, alright?”

“Why not?” she asked, poking at his knee.

“’Cause it’s...” He hesitated—ambushed by her honesty, her curiosity. “Her big surprise tonight. Secret... surprise?” he offered at last.

“Ohh.” Her eyes lit up. She leaned forward and tapped a finger to her lips, “Shh-ssh. I won’t tell. Sec-wet.”

Joel’s laugh was small, startled. “Yeah, sec-wet.” He nodded, a hand brushing a few stray curls back from her face. “Thanks, baby girl.”

Then he did what any man in his position would—slid the ring deep into his front pocket to stop it from jumping out and start broadcasting itself. No damn chances. Not with a three-year-old wild card.

He decided, then and there, to keep Maya close through the rest of the night. The walk to Tommy’s place, the goddamn bathroom. No unnecessary interactions with Leela—not until the moment was right. Not until her attention was somewhere else.

Later on, Tommy made that easier than expected—plucking Maya into his arms and guiding her over to the spitting grill, holding her high like a little gymnast, her hand wrapped around the spatula with exaggerated seriousness as she helped him flip patties. She loved it. The flames licked too close, and when a gust of smoke blew toward her, she made a silly face and laughed like it was a game. Took it as a challenge. His girl, through and through.

Joel kept back, one boot on the deck rail, nursing a sweating beer he barely tasted, a thumb rubbing the label raw. He couldn’t stop watching her—Leela.

That wasn’t new. It had become muscle memory by now, the way his eyes found her across any room, any field, any porch. He watched for signs. All of it. Who she was talking to. If she was smiling because she meant it or because it was easier. If she was cold, if she needed a drink, if she looked away too long at nothing.

Tonight it wasn’t just instinct. It was that in a few short hours—hell, maybe less—she might say yes. She might become his wife.

Dr. Leela Miller. The words were absurd in his mouth.

He’d bagged a scientist, for Christ’s sake. Mind like an iron trap. Thinking in shapes and theories he didn’t have words for.

She solved things. He broke them. And yet—here they were.

He used to imagine himself ending up with someone… simpler. Maybe an older woman who let him take care of her, who liked country music and didn’t ask too many hard questions. A woman who liked the same things as him. Not someone who would outthink a room full of men in lab coats and look like that doing it.

But that was before he learned that love didn’t mean soft edges and easy silences. Sometimes it meant hard-earned peace.

And now, here he was. A battered old man, and this was the woman sharing her years with him—her best ones, if he was being honest. Years she could’ve spent anywhere, with anyone.

Just look at her. Look at his girl.

She wore that sundress tonight—the pale, crocheted fabric light against her bronze skin, clinging to her like water, delicate straps kissing her shoulders. The open back dipped low, exposing the twin ridges of her long spine and the elegant stretch of her neck in a way that should be outlawed. Her half-undone braid hung long and heavy, swaying like a dark pendulum with every movement—tick, tock, tick, tock—a countdown to the moment he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to reach.

He dragged his eyes away, tried to focus on anything else, then back again.

Those fucking legs of hers were endless. Bare to past mid-thigh, strong, and gleaming like summer itself, with whatever coconut oil she'd bartered from Maria for and insisted on using even when they were rationing rice.

The way her jaw angled when she tilted her head to listen to Maria—the gentle bow of her lips, parted in a small smile that didn’t always reach her eyes—Jesus. Jesus Christ. How the hell was she real?

How the hell did he come home to her? Some days, he still waited to wake up alone. One blink, and it was over. As if all this—her, Maya, this chance at a future—was some long con his own mind had pulled to survive.

No, this was real. And soon enough, people would see a ring on her hand and know. That woman? She was spoken for by a man like him.

And maybe they’d stare. Maybe they’d wonder what she was doing with him—what deal she’d made, what kindness she was repaying.

But he’d know better because she chose him. Had chosen him again and again, in a hundred small, quiet ways. Every worn, angry, aching part of him.

His throat went dry again when he thought of words. He still could not find a goddamn syllable, at least not until she was looking at him—not distracted, not tired, not halfway out of a conversation with someone else.

Then—

“Cheese, put the cheese, uncle!”

The spell shattered like glass underfoot. Joel blinked, pulled back to earth, and turned toward the grill. His little girl, sitting on Tommy’s hip, had latched onto his arm like a baby sloth, legs swinging, tiny fists tangled in his beard.

“Ow—Jesus, the paws on you, squirt,” Tommy grunted, trying to balance a spatula in one hand and fend her off with the other. “Ay, I gave you a bunch!”

“I want more!” she howled. “Put—put more!”

“You want more, ask your precious daddy to make you some,” Tommy shot back, far too smug for a grown man battling a toddler over shredded cheddar.

“Auntie, look!” Maya screeched, throwing a dramatic finger at his chest. “He’s bein’ mean again!”

Maria appeared with the timing of a saint—or a fed-up bartender—marching up the porch with a sloshy beer in one hand and a look of long-suffering amusement on her face. “Baby, why do you keep picking fights with her?”

Tommy raised both hands in surrender. “She starts it.”

Ellie barked out a laugh from the porch swing, legs kicked up, looking like summer mischief incarnate. “C’mere, you gremlin,” she called, arms outstretched.

Maya didn’t hesitate. She launched off Tommy’s side with alarming speed, limbs flailing, landing square on Ellie’s back with a triumphant giggle.

Joel winced. “Christ,” he muttered. “No fear, that one.”

“Ellie, cheese,” Maya stage-whispered to her.

Ellie gave a soft grunt as she straightened up, hands under Maya’s knees. “Yep. She’s gonna run this town by the time she’s six,” she said over her shoulder, carrying the kid like it was second nature.

As she passed Joel, she leaned in just enough to talk low, real casual-like, but he caught the glint in her eye.

“So,” she murmured, “I heard you’re breeding doves and shit for tonight.”

Joel didn’t have the breath to joke back. Just stiffened a little.

Ellie nudged his elbow with her shoulder. “Gonna propose, or you gonna wuss out and die of a heart attack before dessert?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh he could manage. “Got anything else against my ticker?”

Ellie glanced down at Maya, who was busy combing her fingers through Ellie's ponytail. “You’re probably out here thinkin’ you’re too busted up or whatever,” she said. “Just gotta ask, man.”

She turned to go, but not before tossing a last look over her shoulder. “Besides, the kid’s already calling you Dad. Might as well make it official.”

He stayed there a moment longer after Ellie disappeared inside, her words still hanging in the air like a bell just rung. You just gotta ask. Simple, as though anything about Leela ever had been.

He rubbed a thumb over the callus on his palm, eyes finding her the way they always did—unconsciously, inevitably.

She was alone now, standing at the edge of the porch where the string lights flickered like dying fireflies. Her gaze was caught—intent—by the glow that shimmered off the wires. Always watching. Always had to fix things, even if no one asked her to. Her fingers moved with quiet purpose, already unspooling one loose bulb like it had wronged her.

He knew that particular bulb had been out since the last storm. Had seen it a dozen times and let it be. But not her, she didn’t let broken things lie.

Low-hung string lights, the ones Maria had put up last winter when the dark came too early. Maya loved them—called them stars you could reach. They weren’t one bit of magic. But in Jackson, they were close enough. And in that moment, with Leela outlined in gold and dusk, they might as well have been divine.

The porch had emptied. The grill snuffed out, and the rest of them had moved inside. He watched Tommy amble past with a tray of half-charred patties, grin wide like he already knew what was about to happen. He caught Joel’s eye on the way past, gave him a wiseass grin, and a smug clap to the shoulder before disappearing through the screen door.

Joel stood for a beat longer. Then moved, no decision, only motion. How a lodestone drags metal, or the moon controls the tides.

He bent down beside the cooler, fished around till his knuckles hit glass, pulled a bottle free and popped the cap open with his canines—a barbaric, stupid little trick that always got a rise out of her.

“Can’t stay put for a second, can you?” he said as he offered her the bottle.

She glanced his way, half-distracted, fingers still curled around the base of a bulb. “Just a loose wire,” she murmured. “Ruins the whole thing.”

One last twist, and it sparked back to life, scattering warm shadows over her face. It caught in her eyes, lit the curve of her cheek. For a heartbeat, she seemed as if she were holding the blazing sun in her hands—and Joel felt, with a stiff certainty, that’s exactly what she was in his life. A bright, beautiful, terrifying thing that left everywhere else in the dusk.

“We oughta put some of these up at our place,” he said, like it was just a passing thought.

She hoisted herself onto the porch rail, all effortless and bare legs, taking a swig from the bottle before resting it on her thigh. He moved instinctively—his palm hovering behind her lower back as her safety net, just in case.

She looked at him then, that gaze that never missed a damn thing. A slantwise smile crept onto her lips, and she laughed softly, buzzing low against the rim of the bottle.

Joel’s brows ticked down. “What?”

“You look so much more human when you’re nervous. Less of a hardass,” she said, with a sweet fondness in her voice.

Joel gave a huff of a laugh and looked down at his boots. “Thought I was hidin’ that pretty well.”

“Not since you quit patrol.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, half a smile on his lips, and took a slow swig from his beer, the fizz settling behind his teeth. “’Mfine, baby. Couldn’t’ve come at a better time.”

She squinted at him, like she was weighing him against the truth—some private scale only she could read. She didn’t call him on it, only let it sit.

“Be honest. What do you want to do, Joel?” Her voice was gentle, not accusing. “I’m not asking you to get out of the house and kill those things, am I? You did enough of that for ten lives.”

Those words landed like a fist to the ribs, and he puffed out the discomfort. “I told you I’ll find somethin’. Not in a rush.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, matter-of-fact. “You could just… stay. Be here. Grow old. Get fat and lazy. Let me take care of everything else.”

Joel raised a brow, baring an amused smile. “Would you do that too?”

There was a pause. She didn’t smile this time. Her eyes tracked toward the window where the curtains billowed, letting a sliver of warm lamplight spill out onto the porch. Inside, he could hear Maya’s voice, high and bright like wind chimes.

“If L.A. didn’t happen,” she said slowly, “I might’ve. I would've let myself slow down.”

Joel caught the flicker in her voice. “But now,” she continued, eyes still on the window, “I have commitments. I have a future to protect.”

Joel followed her gaze. Maya’s silhouette spun behind the curtain, arms in the air like she was catching invisible snow.

That was the thing about Leela. She didn’t speak in dreams or wishes—she spoke in tethers. In roots. And he felt it again—that old ache, that rising tide of don’t fuck this up.

Joel watched the way her fingers fussed with the bottle. Spinning it. Wiping away condensation. Giving her hands something to do when her mouth wanted to say more than she could bear.

“Leela,” he muttered, leaning in just enough to study the shadows on her face. “What’s really on your mind?”

She rolled her lips inward, like she was biting back a smile—or a secret. Then she laid her hand flat across her forehead and gave a careless, little laugh.

“Oh, no, don’t ask me that. I’ll upset you,” she moaned.

“You could never, not ever,” he said without hesitation. And he truly meant it. If she opened her mouth and told him she was leaving him in the morning, it’d level him—but he’d still mean it.

She released her bitten lip, a scroll unravelling. And that’s when he saw it—that softening in her eyes, the complicacy that would eventually land between them.

“I know about the ring, Joel.”

His deaf ear must've definitely failed him then. Just to confirm—“What?”

She chuckled. “The ring. Was it not for me?”

Everything in him deflated: his nerves, his strength, his words. All in a slow exhale when that pinched valve inside him gave way. Like the last little bit of breath he’d been holding onto leaked right out of him.

He blinked once, then rubbed at the back of his neck like it might dislodge whatever came next. Then he sank down beside her on the porch rail, knees wide, boots scuffing the planks, elbows on thighs, eyes fixed on the space between his boots.

“How long’ve you known?” he mumbled.

The words came out unintentionally rough-edged. He wasn’t angry. It was all the thoughts in his head—Be gentle. Or don’t. But please, not this way.

Because what he wanted—what he feared—wasn’t just that she knew. It was how she knew, and why she hadn’t said anything 'til now. Because that was the part he couldn’t bear—if she'd seen the ring and walked past it. If she’d picked it up in her hand, held it, felt all his time and love, and thought no.

And still didn’t tell him. The ache of the answer already there—quiet, and kindly given, but still: no.

“A few hours,” she eventually confessed. “Found it on the stairs, then I left it there. Figured you’d come back for it.”

He let out a soft, pained sound—almost a laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Jesus. I really am slippin’.”

“It’s a beautiful ring. I know you made it, I could tell,” she offered gently, like it was something he could still be proud of.

He didn’t answer right away, only managed a quiet nod. He fished into his pocket and pulled the ring out, the wood warm from his body heat, cradling it in his palm, more than some whittled promise. It looked small there, the gold catching against his callused thumb. A simple circle of carved oak, ringed with gold. Made by hand, with time, for her.

Leela didn’t reach for it, but she was studying it—and him—from a place he couldn’t follow.

She smiled, half-lidded. “And after everything I said about marriage being obsolete. Symbolism that doesn’t serve us anymore.”

She wasn’t trying to hurt him. He knew that. That was just her—clear-eyed, clinical, stripped of sentiment when it got in the way of understanding. Like solving a math problem. Reduce it. Isolate the variable. Eliminate the excess.

The only thing was—this wasn’t excess. Not to him.

“Never said you didn’t want a ring,” he muttered, unconvinced.

She let out a soft breath of honest laughter. “No, I did not.”

He didn’t look at her. Just placed the ring carefully on the porch rail beside her thigh. His hands gripped the wood like he was bracing for the unexpected, maybe—impact, rejection, he didn’t know.

He frankly didn’t know if she’d pick it up, or walk away from it. Didn’t even know what her silence meant. All he knew was he’d laid it out now. Given it air. And it hurt like hell not to know if it’d be received.

He cleared his throat. “Baby…” His voice scratched at the edge of the words. “I ain’t got nothin’ prepared for you. No speech. No kneelin’, none of that.”

Her smile twitched again. “Joel—”

“No,” he said, quietly insistent. “Lemme get through it.”

She nodded once, solemn.

His gaze drifted past her, toward the window—lit amber from inside, the soft blur of voices and laughter filtering through the glass. Maya’s silhouette flitted across the frame, trailing something sparkly Ellie had tied around her wrist. Maria was leaning against the table, wine in hand, grinning at something Tommy was saying. Sometimes, he didn't know what to do with that kind of softness.

“I spent a long time thinkin’ I’d die alone,” Joel began. “Figured maybe that’s what I earned. For all the shit I’ve done to survive, everyone I let down. I made peace with it. Thought that was it.”

His fingers twitched where they curled around the railing.

“Then you came along,” he said, voice thickening. “And I didn’t know what to do with you. Still don’t, most days. You’re smart, and stubborn, and so damn strong it scares the hell outta me. I watch you with our baby girl, and I think… this is it. This is what the world was supposed to be. What it could have been if things had gone right, and... I saved her.”

He didn’t mean to say it. The words just dropped, like gravity had been holding them in and finally gave out. He blinked hard, the weight of it settling into his chest.

For a breath, he wasn’t on the porch anymore. He was somewhere else—long ago, yet too close. Sarah’s tinny laughter echoing down a hallway, that sunshine voice teasing him over scorched eggs or his taste in music. That drowsy, unfiltered way she used to mumble “You’re such a big softie, Dad” when she caught him watching her sleep after a late night.

He wondered, not for the first time, what she might have said if she could see him now. If she’d even see him past the anger, his bloodied hands, and consider him her father. If she’d appreciate Leela as much as him. If she’d love Maya and Ellie as her own.

He drew in a slow, uneven breath and turned his head, finally looking at Leela—she wasn’t smiling anymore. Just holding still, eyes glinting in the string lights, her hand suspended halfway between her knee and the porch rail like she didn’t trust herself to move.

And in that moment, Joel didn’t see two separate lives. Just one long, brutal road that had somehow led him here, across from a big, white house, and to this family, to her.

“I don’t have much left to offer,” he said. “Just myself. My hands. My time. Whatever years I’ve got left.”

He flicked his eyes down to the ring, then back to her.

“But they’re all yours, Leela, if you want ’em.”

Silence stretched—long, weighted, adoring—demanding nothing but holding everything inside it. The cicadas hummed low in the distance. Wind brushed against the porch screens.

And Joel waited; not like a man expecting yes or no, but like someone who’d finally unshouldered a burden he’d been carrying for miles.

And then—Leela reached for it. A decision she had made before her mind caught up, she picked up where he had left it, and nestled it in her palms, how a nest held a baby bird. Joel watched her thumb stroking over the smooth gold, the uneven grain of the oak, his own hands hanging useless by his sides.

And watched her fingers close around it, gentle as ever.

Then—quietly, with a voice that cracked and held at once—she spoke. “I never thought I’d have anyone to myself. Not where it was safe to want it.”

Her eyes lifted to search his—slow, cautious. And Joel let her look at all of it. The lines, the cracks, the history. The ugly things. The beautiful ones, too, even if he still didn’t know how to hold those proper. If she still wanted him afterwards.

Her gaze softened. “And if that’s what this ring means,” she murmured, barely more than breath, “then…”

She reached again—this time for him.

Her hand slid over his, careful not to drop the ring. She pressed her fingers to his, fitting them into the grooves of his knuckles, as though they were shaped for her.

“Then yes,” she said. “I want it all.”

Joel blinked once, slow, like maybe he’d misheard her. Like the years of grief and failure and blood had finally caught up and were playing tricks on his ears.

That word—yes—cracked him, like a floodgate giving way. Quiet, massive, unstoppable. She was saying yes to all of it.

All the worries he’d carried—how she'd flinch from the shadows of his past, how he’d never be clean enough, soft enough, good enough for her—all of it seemed ridiculous now. Foolish and small compared to the weight of her looking at him like that, like she knew him and still chose him.

He made a sound—half-gasp, half-sob—and his hand moved before he could stop it. Twitched under hers, then closed around it instinctively, like his body had been waiting for this—her—for decades.

His chest roared with nerves, but his fingers were gentle, almost trembling, as he eased the ring onto her ring finger where it would sit for another fifty years. It was nestled askew, a little too big.

“I’ll solder it later,” she said quickly, like it didn’t matter, like she was afraid he’d apologise for it.

How the hell did he get this lucky? He didn’t say a damn thing, didn’t trust his voice not to break.

Instead, Joel's hands went to her waist—and before she could say another word, he lifted her clean off the porch railing.

He laughed, a sound so old it almost startled him. It came from deep in his gut, hopeful and breathless, broken through with joy he didn’t recognise as his own at first.

Leela let out a startled little sound, her arms catching naturally around his neck. Her forehead bumped his as he spun her in a rough circle, boots scraping on the wood, the wind catching the stray wisps of hair around her cheeks.

“Put me down!” she whispered, half-laughing against his throat. “You’re gonna throw your back out.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, still laughing.

When he set her down again, his hands didn’t move far. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t ask for permission, just leaned in and kissed every piece of her he could find. Her warm cheek. Her closed eyes, lashes damp. The corner of her mouth. Her hairline. Her jaw. Her temple. The shell of her ear.

He didn’t have the words to tell her what this meant. That he hadn’t believed he’d ever get this again—not after everything, not after Sarah, not after all the ruin he carried around like second skin.

“Leela,” he murmured, his voice roughened with more than just emotion—like it hurt to speak and feel so much all at once. He cupped the back of her head, foreheads pressed, and he stayed there, breathing her in.

“Leela Miller,” she corrected.

His brow lifted, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward despite the lump still stuck in his throat. “That right?” he rasped, gravel and wonder all tangled up. “Ain’t too late to run, y’know.”

Leela didn’t budge. “I wouldn’t get too far.”

Joel snickered, mock-considering. “I’d give you a head start. Maybe five steps.”

She hummed, eyes half-lidded, still nestled close. “Ruined it.”

“Then c'mere and fix it,” he muttered, already leaning in; the only thing left in the world was the shape of her mouth and the promise of home in her breath.

But a sharp tap-tap-tap rattled the porch window before he could catch her mouth.

They both jerked, startled.

Four faces pressed against the glass like in a stage play, barely obscured by the parted curtain. Tommy was grinning like a lunatic, one arm flung around Maria’s shoulders. Maria had her hand to her heart, visibly misty-eyed. Ellie had both fists pumped in victory, mouthing something like “Holy shit!” through the pane. And dead centre, propped up in Maria’s arms, was Maya—head tilted, brows furrowed in that serious, confused little way of hers as she squinted at the adults with the kind of scrutiny only a toddler could manage.

Tommy whooped so loud that Joel was sure someone two streets down heard it. “Fina-fuckin’-ally!”

Leela giggled—a rare, bubbling sound—and clapped a hand over her mouth like she could catch it before it escaped. She held up her left hand, fingers splayed, flashing the ring like it might answer Maya’s question.

Her eyes widened, then came her muffled squeal, “Daddy sec-wet!”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, muttering something inaudible that might have been “Oh, Christ,” but he didn’t look away.

The door flew open, and the whole damn crew poured out.

Boots scuffed hard against wood, and then it was a mess of limbs and hollering. Joel barely had time to register the blur of motion before he was hit from both sides—Tommy barreling into him, and Ellie launching herself at Leela like a skinny linebacker.

“You fucking said yes!” Ellie hollered, clinging to Leela, nearly raising her off the floor. Joel caught a flash of her grinning face as she hooted again, and Leela staggered a little but didn’t stop laughing.

“Look at you,” Tommy barked, dragging Joel into a half-headlock, knuckles grinding affectionately into his scalp. “Didn’t think you had the stones, jackass.”

Joel grunted, wind knocked out of him, but he didn’t push him off. Couldn’t, not when his chest was a mess of noise and heartbeat and something terrifyingly close to joy. So he shook his head, still stunned.

Tommy finally let him go with a slap to his back, and he was still catching his breath when he looked up—

Leela stood a few feet away, partly circled by Maria and Ellie now, Maya cradled between them, his baby girl’s tiny face peeking out over her mother’s shoulder.

What Joel saw was his Leela, everything else out of focus. At the lines of the porch light carved into her cheekbones. At the worn braid that lay across her collarbone. At the place on her throat where her pulse ticked, constant as a metronome.

Someone—maybe Tommy—muttered something about champagne. Ellie snorted and called back, “You think we got champagne? Shit, we’ve got apple cider. Or my moonshine if you wanna blackout during the toast.”

Joel huffed a low breath of a laugh. That sounded more like home.

And what he truthfully felt wasn’t clarity or certainty. He didn’t believe in that shit anymore, not like he used to. This was...

Conviction.

This woman—this stunning woman—was the one who’d shown him there was a future left to want. Who didn’t fix him, because that was never hers to do.

And in a world where most things broke and stayed broken—she was the thing that held.

He stood there a long beat, surrounded by all the noise, the cider being passed around in mismatched mugs, Maya's delighted squeal of wanting some, Ellie already climbing up on the porch rail like she was gearing up for a ridiculous toast, one neither of them would forget—or forgive her for.

But all Joel could fucking do was stare at his wife.

Her dark eyes found his in the chaos, and she smiled, quiet and knowing, like she already understood every word he hadn’t said out loud.

He took a reflexive step toward her—then another—cutting through his folks, without a word, because words would’ve only cheapened it.

She didn’t flinch when he reached his place. She shifted Maya a little higher against her chest and tilted her face toward him, as if to say—Come home, Joel.

So touched her hand first—just a brush of fingers, his open door. Then his palm slid around her neck, callused thumb resting beneath her jaw. Maya blinked up at him, wide-eyed, her curls scattered against Leela’s collar like tiny question marks. Joel reached out again, this time to her back, a whisper of contact. Leela moved just enough, granting him space to hold his daughter.

And this was it.

This was the future now, and he was stepping through the doors—finally, entirely—with his eyes wide open.

X

That same night, Joel found himself dismantling Maya’s crib, the act itself deserving of his utmost reverence.

“What’s Daddy doing?” Leela whispered from the hallway.

“Fixin’,” Maya whispered back.

He didn’t rush. Each screw he loosened felt like the end of a chapter. His palms moved with care—thumb smoothing over the worn wood rail, the one Maya used to chew when she was teething. The teeth marks were still there. Tiny, crescent-shaped reminders. Part of him wanted to leave them. Another part knew he had to start the ball rolling.

The house was quiet—unnaturally so, after all those toasts to forever, the laughter, the clink of mugs—and Maya padded after him like a duckling, barefoot, two fingers picking at her lips in her nervous rut, and her eyes, big and brown like her mama’s, tracked his every move. If she blinked, she would miss something important.

And of course, Joel could see it plain as day, his baby girl was overwhelmed. Way past her bedtime, belly full of Tommy's generously cheese-ed burgers, everyone hugging her mama like they were old friends, slapping his back with words like “Congratulations!” as if she was supposed to know what that spell meant. And now, her room, her safe space, the one thing that never changed, was being taken apart right in front of her?

“She doesn’t get it,” he murmured under his breath as he passed her, ruffling her curls. “I got you, baby girl.”

Hell, Joel wasn’t sure he could wrap his head around it either. One minute, she was a newborn, featherlight, curled along his forearm, breathing those tiny sighs against his neck. Now she was watching him take apart her whole world.

But he kept working. Pulled on his gloves, toolbelt slung low on his hips, and still wearing the button-up he hadn’t changed out of since dinner, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sweat blooming at the collar. He could’ve waited until morning and let her sleep one more night in the old crib, surrounded by what she knew. But the accomplishment about it—about today—made him press on, and made him want her to have this now. Maybe it was pride, or guilt, or the quiet ache of her having called out to him many times tonight, meaning it like a promise.

Like giving Leela that ring. Or Ellie with that guitar.

Maya deserved her own piece of the day to call her own. A gesture that said: You’re growing up, sweetheart. I see it. I’m here with you.

He dragged the new bed down from his shop, careful not to wake the house. There was absolutely no room for mistakes once he laid out the parts, sorted the screws, set every board down with care. Checked angles twice. Rugged pinewood he’d shaped himself—soft edges, low frame, solid enough to last and hold all the dreams a little girl might grow into.

She stood at the doorway the whole time, little feet planted like she was standing guard, or maybe waiting for permission to step into the future.

“I help, Daddy. See, I do,” she chirped once, already tugging a scrap of sandpaper off the floor.

He let out a soft breath, smiling despite himself. “Not this time, busybee.” Scooped her up, set her gently by the door again. “Don’t want you hurtin’ your pretty fingers.”

Twice more she tried, wandered off, then circled back. Grunting, dragging a bed slat like it weighed a hundred pounds. Each time, Joel had to stop what he was doing and guide her back with a kiss to her temple, even though all he wanted was to let her stay near.

The third time, Leela’s arms wrapped around her from behind, lifting her up.

“C’mon, Maya,” she murmured, voice soft against the crown of Maya’s curls. “Let’s go take a bath.”

Maya whined in protest, feet kicking in midair.

Joel caught her eye and winked. “Go on now. Let Mama fuss over you.”

She pouted, but she went along with Leela.

And then it was just him again.

Alone in the soft hush of the nursery, tightening every last screw with the same hands that once knew only how to break things, pull triggers and crush windpipes. Now they smoothed edges, lined up joints flush, and held things together instead of tearing them apart.

Was that not the point of raising a daughter? To rewrite your story in the margins of hers, not by erasing the past, but by refusing to pass it on.

He sanded off the splinters, double-checked every bolt, all of it a punctuation mark in an unfinished story. Hauled in the mattress from one of the empty, unused guest rooms, a little too big, but she would grow into it. He laid the blankets, pink and green to match her walls, corners tucked, one pillow fluffed and centred. Her favourite starry blanket, spread just so—faded navy with constellations stitched in silver thread.

It wasn’t just a bed for his daughter.

It was a beginning. A place for burrowing, for burying your face after a hard day. For whispered secrets beneath the covers and flashlight adventures. For hiding under when the world felt too loud. For outgrowing, eventually—but not yet. A place where Maya's big dreams could sprawl.

He stood back when it was done, undid his toolbelt and wiped the sweat from his brow. Finally over.

Then came the gallop of footsteps. A shrill squeal that yanked a smile on Joel's face. That fast Maya rhythm of joy in motion.

She came soaring down the hall, freshly pajamaed, her whole little body warm from the bath, curls still dripping. She barreled into the doorway, saw it—and stopped cold.

For half a heartbeat, she just stood there, eyes wide, blinking like she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

Then she launched herself forward, airborne for a good second.

“So biiiig!” she shrieked, arms flung out like she was leaping into the stars themselves. Her little body landed belly-first on the bed, and she kicked her legs so hard the blanket wrinkled under her.

Joel crouched beside her, a grin pulled helplessly across his face. “Like it?”

She giggled—natural, full-bellied joy—rolled over till only her eyes peeked above the blanket, dark and gleaming.

Behind him, soft footsteps trudged forward. He felt Leela before she touched him, slid an arm across his back, and her palm found the place between his shoulder blades that always ached after a long day. Now he could feel the new depression of the ring.

They stood side by side in the doorframe, married now in name and blood and every hard-won mile between.

Joel cleared his throat to tell her, “I didn’t want her feelin’ left out. What with the ring, and the fuss, and all that attention on us.” He glanced at Leela, eyes crinkling. “She’s part of this, too.”

Leela smiled. “Such a good dad.”

Joel shook his head, his heart almost leaping ahead of his body. “Tryin’ every day.”

She turned his hand over and pressed a kiss to the scarred knuckles, and he let her.

“Are you happy?” she asked, eyes suddenly worlds deep.

He did not overthink a thing. He simply nodded and pulled her close by the waist, his hand curling around the dip of her hip.

“Yeah. Piece of cake.”

Not at the least. It wasn’t the building—that part came easy, muscle memory, comfort. No, the hard part was what it implied. The bed, the dreams woven on her blanket, the way her legs already stretched longer than he remembered.

She was growing up. And there’d come a day—not too far off, but someday—when she wouldn’t need him crouched beside her like this. She wouldn’t ask or even think to.

“Daddy.”

Maya, wrapped up tight, her blanket pulled to her nose, was peeking over the edge of the pillow. She beckoned him close with one small finger.

He knelt and leaned in, brows raised, the stiffness in his knees forgotten. “What?”

She cupped her hand to his ear like she was telling a secret meant only for him.

“Stay next to me.”

He hung his head, a laugh escaping his chest. Wrecked, helpless. Then laid a kiss against her forehead. “How’m I supposed to say no to that?”

Leela did not need any other words out there. She only breathed out a sigh, pushed one last kiss to the top of his head, whispering, “Honeymoon in your Maranello later?”

“Be right there, Mrs Miller.”

She smiled—soft, crooked—and twisted her fingers briefly through his, letting them linger just a second longer than needed before she slipped away, the door shunting close behind her.

Soon, Joel kicked off his boots with a grunt, untucking his shirt, one hand steadying himself against the bed frame like an old man—because that’s what he was now, wasn’t he?—and eased himself down onto the mattress with an exaggerated sigh.

Maya giggled immediately.

She climbed over him, a tangle of knees and elbows and warm limbs, and flopped herself down right on his chest. Her head landed just over his heart, curls still damp from her bath, smelling like soap and sleeptime.

“Oof,” Joel grunted, eyes squeezed shut. “Watch them knees, darlin’. Too sharp.”

“You’re loud,” she said, poking his chest once with a tiny finger.

Joel cracked one eye open. “Yeah? What’s loud?”

She poked him again, right over his heartbeat. “This. It’s tryna come out.”

He chuckled, his hand instinctively resting on her back, palm spanning nearly the whole width of her.

Joel blinked, amused. “Is it sayin’ your name?”

“No, sayin’ d-duh, d-duh, d-duh.”

She didn’t quite understand. But maybe she did, in her own way—some simple, three-year-old truth that needed no translation.

“I catch it, Daddy,” she whispered, a promise.

He snorted softly, overwhelmed. “You gonna catch my heart?”

She nodded, solemn. “Mhm. If it falls out. I’ll keep it in my pocket. Fix it for you.”

He smiled through it, blinking past the sting in his eyes. “Don’t think even you could fix that busted old thing.”

“I can!” she insisted, frowning, her brow furrowed in that stubborn, Leela-like way. She believed it—with all the might in her small body.

He swallowed. “If you say so.”

Undeterred, she snuggled in tighter. “An’ if it really won’t start,” she added, mumbling into his shirt, “I’ll just build a shiny new one.”

Mama’s girl—whichever way he looked at it. Joel's breath hitched in his throat; his little girl had no idea what she was doing to him. The way she said it—so certain, like love alone could will a heart back to life.

“Doesn’t work that way, baby,” he murmured, threaded with old grief or maybe it was just love. At this point, he wasn’t sure there was a difference. “Hearts… they don’t come back.”

“Aw, man,” she moaned, clearly displeased with the rules of the universe. But he could feel those fast, tiny gears in her head moving—the way her body stilled, how her breath slowed, how her fingers moved slowly over the fabric of his shirt, like she was tracing the beat beneath it.

Then, gently, he spoke into her hair, the words coming slowly, like they were carved in a place deep inside him.

“You listen to me now, baby girl.”

She was quiet a moment longer, as though something in her knew this wasn’t just a bedtime talk. “Mhm?”

“This world’s gonna ask a lot of you someday,” he went on, rough-edged. “More than it ought to. And I won’t always be here to help you or Mama through it.”

His words weren’t just for her. They were for himself, for Leela, for everything he couldn’t put back the way it was. He knew he wouldn’t always be around—not forever. The thought clawed at him with indelible talons, but it didn’t scare him like it used to. Not if Maya was the one left holding what mattered.

“And Mama…” His voice drifted, caught for a second. His hand cradled her head. “Mama’s got this big, loud heart that feels everything. She feels things real deep, even when she doesn’t say so. So I need you to help me, alright?”

She stirred, just a little, but kept her cheek pressed close to him. “Okay. I help you.”

He kissed her curls. “I need you to look after Mama’s heart. Help her stay soft.”

She blinked up at him, big eyes all confused. “But I’m little.”

“I know,” Joel smiled gently, brushing her hair back. “That’s what makes you special. You see things big people miss.”

Maya thought about that for a second, humming, her nose scrunching. “Like… when she hugs me ‘cause she’s sad?”

Joel let out a soft laugh. “Exactly like that.”

Maya’s little palm slid up his chest and curled into his shirt, right over his heart, like she was trying to hold it still.

He nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You guard it, baby. You be the one who sees her.”

He didn’t say the rest—not out loud. That death was inevitable. That the years would pass, fast and unkind. That he’d already wasted too many of them learning too late how to love this hard. But maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t missed his chance to leave behind what mattered.

Not if Maya remembered. Not if she held it—his heart, Leela’s, the thread between them all—with her fierce little hands.

Soft and sacred, his promise spoke one of her own.

“I will,” Maya murmured. “I see. I see you and Mama. I... take care.”

And it wasn’t just a bare sentence—it was unassailable. It was hers, his daughter's. The way she said it, Joel knew she meant it the way only a child can: with her whole self.

Joel closed his eyes, his arms wrapping fully around her now, one hand spread protectively over her back as though he could shield her from everything—even time. That instinct—the one that had been knotted for years, held in a fist so tight it forgot how to let go—finally eased.

Whatever else came next—whatever stretch he had left, however his story ended—this moment was the limit.

And before long, he let his heart rest.

X

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“”

[jaylaxies]

TEASER: YOURS (MAYBE?)

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader x jay

GENRE: enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, smut, fluff, humour, angst.

TEASER WC: 1988 words! (est. 33k words)

SYNOPSIs: Your best friend’s wedding was supposed to be the well-earned vacation you’d been dreaming of, the perfect escape and much needed breather. Instead, you’re stuck sharing a room with your ex-rival, and the previously quiet, enigmatic boy from university, both seemingly perfectly poised to turn this trip into a carefully orchestrated plan to woo you.  Alternatively: Challengers, but your playground isn’t a tennis court, it is the bedroom which you share with Jay and Jake.

WARNING: the fic will contain 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but the fic got way longer than intended! so i’ll just leave a little teaser as something to compensate while i finish editing. <3

taglist is open! comment/send an ask to be added <3 (make sure to have your age visible on your blog!)

Chapter 1: The boy I forgot Vs. The boy I can’t. 

Being late to your best friend’s wedding trip was the lowest you could have sunk down, and you did. 

Well, granted, it was courtesy of your work which never gave you holidays, but alas, you managed to get a week off, now rushing out of the airport with your two heavy luggage bags, not to mention the backpack and purse you managed to carry along, trying to spot the bride, Karina, who still proceeded to pick you up in the midst of all the wedding preparation chaos. 

She launches herself at you even before you had the time to react, engulfing you in a hug so tight as if you hadn’t met her over dinner just the week prior. 

“You’re so fucking late,” she screamed, shaking you as you finally elicited a laugh, waving back at her fiancé, Jeno, who was smiling like a puppy seeing his fiancée so joyous. 

“Blame my boss, he fucking made me work overtime to the point I had to cancel my flight and take the ticket for the next one,” you groaned, letting the couple help you with your luggage and share everything you’ve missed so far—which somehow didn’t include the room assortment, yet. 

Karina chats your ear off the entire ride to the Airbnb villa booked especially for the friends, other families and guests having different villas all to themselves, her voice practically vibrating with sheer excitement, but it’s not until the car takes a sharp turn into a winding hill that your stomach twists with something else—anticipation.

“You’ll love the place,” she says, “and the people—well, mostly.”

You shoot her a look. “Mostly? You let me take care of everything, from helping with your wedding dress to finalizing the flowers and arrangements, but didn’t let me take a single look at the guest list, should I be worried?” 

“Let’s just say, there are a few strong personalities. You’ll see.”

You narrow your eyes but let it slide, muttering, “yeah I’m worried.” She’s already looking smug, and you had a bad feeling about it now that your car neared the villa for the next few days, and you did have a slight hint about what was to come, to which you simply prayed for it to be wrong. 

It was something straight out of a pinterest board, cream coloured walls, string lights adorning it, the faint scent of gardenia drifting through the slight breeze, cooling down the otherwise warm atmosphere. You’re still staring at the view as you get another hug attack from Winter, who was more than excited to see you after the few weeks you spent away, because you still met up after subsequently completing the university. 

A small genuine smile graced your face as you started catching up, “god—wait. I need Karina to finalize the aisle placements, I’m sorry, Y/N, we’ll be back in a second.” She says, rushing away, seeming more bothered than the bride to be herself, who was enjoying every second of it. 

You weren’t sure what you expected when you stepped into the villa, but it definitely wasn’t this.

The place looked like something out of a design magazine—open plan with warm wooden floors, arched doorways, and morning light spilling across the ceilings. Plants dangled beautifully from the pots, and a soft ocean breeze danced through linen curtains like the house was exhaling out elegance.

It was like a perfect Pinterest wedding destination, almost like a spot where people would fall in love seamlessly. 

Unfortunately, you were not here for love.

You were here for Karina’s wedding, and most importantly, you were especially not here to run into—

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigy herself.”

That voice—you froze mid-step, every muscle in your spine stiffening like instinct. No. Absolutely not, that could not be him, could he? 

You turned slowly, already preparing your sigh, and found yourself face to face with none other than Park Jongseong. 

Great.

Same perfect posture, same cocky half-smile. Tall, annoyingly handsome, and dressed like the poster boy for a casual rich man at a coastal wedding—open shirt, silver chain, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes dark enough to drown someone, and his heart shaped birthmark on the neck still standing out. 

Jay.

Your academic nemesis, your eternal debate partner. The guy who turned every university presentation into a showdown and somehow made you want to win even harder, the guy you swore you hated all three years of your undergrad uni. 

You hadn’t seen him since graduation. You’d hoped that would be the end of it, but of fucking course, fate hated you.

“Well, I see you’re still as stiff as ever,” you said, looking bored, hoisting your backpack bag higher on your shoulder, “still studying like a madman, huh?”

Jay gave a lazy smile, eyes flicking over you with the practiced indifference of someone used to winning, his eyes still wandering around your figure before he clicked his tongue, “you’re late.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, already irritated, “I’m fashionably late, there’s a difference, you wouldn’t understand, of fucking course.” You said, pointing at your amazing airport fit. 

“I’m sure there’s a spreadsheet in your bag that proves that, you always came over prepared anyway.”

You opened your mouth to deliver a killer comeback—and were immediately interrupted by another voice.

“Woah—woah, I’ve only been here ten minutes and there’s already fights unleashing, huh?”

You turned again, this time finding yourself staring into a face you hadn’t expected at all.

Jake.

Sim Jaeyun, you recognized him immediately—your old batchmate, the quiet one from your year, you remembered him as soft spoken, always with a shy smile, never really one to speak unless called on, only if you omit out recalling that one night when he did talk to you, just one night. 

Except now—now he stood beside Jay, lean and sun-kissed, wearing a faded tee that clung just right and black sweatpants that made him look nothing like the awkward boy you remembered. There was a warmth in his eyes, sure—but also something new, a flicker of playfulness, of newfound confidence.

His hair fluffier than ever, lips still pouty but in a teasing manner, and his aura now strong and warm, as if he had a halo around his head. 

“Jake?” you said, unsure, but you did remember him, not just the newly transformed version of him.

His grin was unnaturally attractive as he replied, “you remember.”

Barely, you thought, but said instead, “wow, you were—uh quiet.”

Jake chuckled, and the sound was different than you remembered too, richer, more teasing, accent evident in his voice, “yeah. Not so much anymore, I guess.”

Jay scoffed from beside him, “he still is when he loses. Don’t let him fool you.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “ignore him. He gets cranky when he’s not the smartest in the room, Mr. Know it all.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Is that why he always sulked during academic week?”

Jay turned to you with a sarcastic smile. “You were the one who stole my thesis idea in senior year.”

“I didn’t steal it, I simply executed it better.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh my god,” Jake said with a laugh, looking between the two of you, “this is amazing. It’s like watching the academic war off, but, well, this is actually interesting.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, but you quickly caught yourself. No, absolutely no humanizing your rival, not when he was right in front of you. 

Jay leaned against the entryway wall, clearly amused, “didn’t expect to see you here, honestly.”

“I’m Karina’s best friend,” you replied with an eye roll as if he was dumb, “of course I’m here.”

Jay’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his gaze sharpened slightly. “Right. Makes sense.”

Jake tilted his head as if he didn’t know, “you and Karina were close in uni?”

“We roomed together all four years,” you said, lips curving, “she’s like my sister.”

Jay gave a half, sarcastic smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “hm, that does explain the pity invite.”

You scoffed as you stepped closer, gaze daring, “are you always this good at projecting?”

“I’m always this good at reading people.”

“Then read this and stay away,” you said sweetly, flipping him off.

Jake blinked, then burst out laughing, leaning forward like the moment was a personal win, genuinely amused, “I’m sorry, that was iconic, never gets old.”

Jay shrugged, shaking his head at you, “she always had a flair for the dramatics, I wonder why she didn’t join the drama society.”

“You’re one to talk,” you muttered, but before Jay could respond, the front door opened again and Isa rushed in, grinning.

“There you are!” She said, grabbing your arm. “Come on, Karina’s doing the room assignments!”

You let yourself be dragged back inside, throwing one last glance at the boys—Jay smirking like he’d already won something, and Jake watching you with a curiosity that sent a shiver up your spine.

Room assignments, right. You could handle that, or so you thought. 

The rest of the house was gathered in the living room, lounging on floor cushions and sipping iced drinks and vodka? Well, afternoon drinking is fun, meanwhile, Karina stood in the center, a clipboard in hand and a wicked glint in her eye, that was reserved for you, apparently.

“Okay,” she announced. “Here’s how it’s going to work. We’ve got three rooms for guests. Each one has its own fun layout.”

You narrowed your eyes. That tone was never good, not when she used it looking your way, and you simply hoped that your gut feeling wasn’t right this once. 

“Room One, Isa, Winter, Yunjin.”

The girls high-fived and squealed, already plotting aesthetic corners and matching pajamas, and you stood there, knowing what was to happen when you weren’t put up with the girls. 

“Room Two, Yeonjun, Heeseung, Beomgyu, Jaemin, and Hyuck.”

Someone groaned in the back, definitely Hyuck, “why do we get the bunk beds?”

Karina grinned, “because you snore, Hyuck.”

Then she paused, flipping the page. “Room three—hm, this one’s interesting.”

Your stomach dropped when it was finally the time to say it out loud. 

“No,” you said immediately, “whatever it is you’re about to say, no.”

Karina ignored you, “room three has one double bed and one single, and it goes to—Y/N, Jay, and Jake.”

Silence.

Then the crowd erupted into laughter, Beomgyu complaining about how it should be him with you instead, meanwhile, the girls wondering who’s gonna make it out of the room alive, because with that pairing, someone was bound to murder the other.

“You’re fucking kidding,” you whispered, horrified, already reaching out to Karina who was on the verge of running away, laughing hard at your expressions, “what? No. Are you serious?”

Jay looked up from his drink with mock surprise, as if Jeno had already told him what was to happen, “Huh? That’s unfortunate.”

Jake’s eyes went wide, almost comical, “wait—what? All three of us?” He asked, pointing at himself. 

Karina nodded, grinning too wide, still rushing around trying to not get caught by you, “unless someone wants to sleep on the couch?” She asked, chuckling as she hid behind Jeno for shield. 

“I’ll sleep in the ocean,” you said flatly, moving back now that you knew Karina was safe and hiding behind a tall, muscular man. 

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I don’t mind the single bed—unless you want to share.”

Jay choked, not expecting that kind of reaction from Jake, “she’d rather sleep with a thesis on stem cell regeneration.”

“Oh my god, this can’t be happening,” you muttered.

Karina clapped her hands. “Settled! Take your bags upstairs. Good luck.”

You stood frozen as the group dissolved into laughter and chatter, your fate sealed, this trip was going to kill you.

And it hadn’t even begun yet.

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[ktownshizzle]

Terms & Conditions | Chapter Eight

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range ✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: Suggestive, Angst, Y/N is not our girlypop in this chapter, invasion of privacy, timeskip kinda

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 2k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: May 23, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: It’s short and it’s not sweet. Do not come for me. 🙁 But going into hiding just in case… Thank you my lovely @glossdebut for betareading.

Series Masterlist | K’s Masterlist

Yoongi appears in the doorway in nothing but checkered boxers and bed head, holding two mismatched mugs, white steam swirling above it. He doesn’t say anything, not verbally at least. Eyes warm, grin lazy–that’s his good morning.

You push yourself up against the pillows, taking your mug with a gentle smile. “Morning,” you say, voice still coated in sleep. 

You take a small sip, place the cup on the nightstand beside his.

He slides in beside you, looping an arm around your waist, and you tuck yourself under his arm, cheek against the pillows of his chest.

“Sleep okay?” he asks, lips brushing your hairline.

“Yeah. You?”

His chest rumbles with a satisfied hum. “Best sleep I’ve had in years. Might be your fault.”

You breathe out a smile. The man who loves you is right here, looking like an angel, smelling like your cinnamon body wash. Nothing else matters. Right?

“Yoongi?”

He hums, drawing lazy circles on your back with the tips of his fingers. The question stays stuck in your throat. Instead, you hug him tighter. He doesn’t press you further.

Not long after, his breathing has become longer, more even, deeper. He’s so peaceful, so content, lying in your too-small bed, on your old-ass duvet. Again, he’s fallen asleep. Must have been really tired from all the socialization yesterday.

You stay with him for a few moments before you wiggle out of his embrace and drink your cold coffee.

The next few days felt strange. You were feeling a tug of war in your heart and your brain. The bitter pang from the party is still a splinter in your heart, not necessarily painful, but still there, just waiting to be infected.

You’re afraid that you’ve become a little selfish. Sometimes you wish he wasn’t an idol. Actually, that’s a lie. You often wish that these days. Especially when you open your closet and see that dress you wore to attend that fuckin’ event.

Dangerous thoughts come and go like wind through windows left ajar. You want to push it all away, flush it down the drain. 

Because you should feel complete. But why do you feel so inadequate?

Still there are good days. Great days, even.

When you don’t have dread swirling in the pits of your stomach. When you’re not waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.

Those are the days you want to remember forever. Yoongi hugging you from behind as you wash the dishes. Yoongi working on music with his headphones on and you’re across him reading a book and the peace of just coexisting in one place is just overwhelmingly comforting.

Since the whole audit thing, you try to be a bit more careful in your office. Hyun-woo has started his rounds more frequently, checking up on completion of tasks like a hawk. He said a certification is coming up so he just wants to make sure everything is running smoothly. Fair.

No more back office boinking then. But you still find ways to have fun. 

Yoongi likes to give you eyes. That’s always been his thing. Sometimes he glances too long like he’s daring you not to feel aroused even as his tongue skirts his pretty teeth. 

He does keep it PG more often than that. You sit across from each other pretending to work, but your foot nudges him under the table, and he hides a grin behind his monitor, raises his brow to get you to quit it.

At one point during a painfully dull Zoom call, you crumple a sticky note and lob it across the room. It hits his shoulder. He barely reacts.

“You missed,” he mouths.

You roll your eyes.

He picks it up, balls it tighter, and holds it up. “If I sink this,” he says, gesturing to the trash bin in the corner, “you owe me a prize.”

You shrug, cos ain’t no way…

He winks. Shoots.

Swish.

You look away, shaking your head. Just keep typing like nothing happened. But he sees the way your mouth twitches.

That night, when you slip into his car after hours, you ask him, “So what’s your prize?”

He smirks. “Lips on my tip, baby.” 

You roll your eyes, but you give him exactly what he won—and then some. He doesn’t stop smiling the entire drive.

Chae has not been around the house lately. She’s been overseeing the operations of another restaurant closer to Goyang and her company gave her lodging closer to the site. You’re so proud of her, gaining accolades after accolades. It was just like in college when she was that effortlessly cool chic that barely studied, did everything against the rulebook, but still graduated cum laude and scored her dream job even before she wore her toga.

Meanwhile, your by-the-book ways have earned you a spot in a dusty government building with no real prospects for further growth. Cool.

During your lunch break, you trade selfies. You with your clubhouse sandwich and her with her bowl of bibimbap. Hers look yummier by miles.

Chae: sandwich looks sad but ur glowing  You: lol idk about that. Been stressed. Chae: where’s loverboy?

You roll your eyes. She’s been teasing you about that like you were both still in high school. You fire off a picture of Yoongi across from you, a piece of lettuce hanging from the side of his mouth as he continues to chew like a goat.

Chae: tell yoongi I said hi Chae: actually don’t i’m shy You: tell jk i said hi Chae: k Chae: fuck You: knew it You: you better tell me everything

It hits you when you’re at your most defenseless.

You’ve just washed your face. Hair up, oversized shirt, no bra, no makeup. You’re in your kitchen with a tub of yogurt and a spoon in your mouth, scrolling TikTok mindlessly, when a Kakao notification comes through.

Unknown number. One attachment.

It’s a single still capture from a CCTV. Slightly blurry, but you recognize the scene instantly.

You and Yoongi, going inside the storage room at work last week. 

What happened was you’d gone in to grab extra supplies. He’d followed you just to sneak a kiss. The kiss isn’t in the shot, but your posture gives everything away when you emerge, his hand at your waist, your body curved toward him, before you both walk off to your separate chairs.

Fuck.

Shit.

FUCK.

You freeze. The yogurt slides off the counter and you don’t even notice.

You scroll up and down to see any other clues, but the screen is unmoving and there’s really nothing else there. 

Until a message comes in: 

How much is this worth to you?

No.

FUCK!

You try to calm down. Why would anyone send this? Who would send this? What does this fucking mean?

Your feet take you to your kitchen. Shaky fingers wrap around the neck of a wine bottle. You uncork it and pour it… straight down your esophagus.

Trembling, you put your phone down like it’s radioactive. You pace your kitchen, suddenly aware of how exposed your windows are. You check the locks. Double-check. Triple-check.

Your hands are shaking as you sit down, open the message again, and stare at it until your vision blurs.

You almost call him. Almost forward it with a panicked “what do we do?”

But then you imagine the look on his face. The worry. The disappointment. The quiet guilt you’d see in his eyes for dragging you into this. For making you a liability.

So instead, you delete it. You don’t know why, but you do.

You crawl into bed deep deep into your duvet like it didn’t happen. Maybe this is just a bad dream.

The sun rises and you have not caught a wink of sleep. You wake up to dried yogurt on the kitchen floor and a cockroach.

Since then, there are glances you can’t unsee.

You think Danbi lingers a beat too long by the copier when you think no one’s watching. You catch her whispering near the HR desk and the way her eyes flick to you makes your stomach twist. You hear laughter from down the hallway and can’t help but wonder if your name is being passed between mouths like a secret no one will say to your face.

You keep telling yourself it’s nothing.

A week passes, you’re at Yoongi’s apartment, helping him fold laundry because it turns out domesticity looks weirdly good on you both. You’re pairing his socks while he’s at the sink rinsing plates before they go into the dishwasher. He hums a little tune.

Your phone buzzes again.

Same unknown number.

Your hands go cold.

This time, it’s a shot of you leaving his car from one night, hoodie pulled over your head, but still clearly you. Taken from a distance, a little grainy, but unmistakable. The message underneath is short:

There’s a price for my silence.

You want to scream. You want to throw your phone into the sink and confess everything. But the words catch in your throat.

“Everything okay?” Yoongi asks, glancing over his shoulder, hands wet from the sink.

You smile too quickly. “Yeah. Just Chae. Meme dump.”

His eyes linger. You think about telling him. You even open your mouth to try, but then the doorbell rings.

Mina and Hoseok step into Yoongi’s apartment like it’s a feature spread in Vogue: long coats, perfect skin, inside jokes already mid-sentence. Mina’s makeup is flawless. Hoseok’s in LV like it’s his grocery run outfit. (It probably is.) They light up the room just by existing.

Yoongi grumbles at the noise but lets them in anyway, dishing out cups and pulling out extra snacks. He side-eyes Mina when she tries to “reorganize” his liquor shelf. He calls Hobi a piece of shit with zero heat when he pulls his vinyls a little carelessly. It’s all very “this is just how we are,” but you can feel the subtle shift.

You’re suddenly hyperaware of your socks not matching. The unfolded laundry still on the couch. The fact that you’re not part of this world—just someone orbiting around it.

Yoongi calls out your name casually, “You gonna join us?”

You shake your head, faking a yawn. “Think I’m coming down with something. I’ll just rest, if that’s okay.”

He eyes you, concerned, then eyes his guests, “Both of you—out.”

“No! Hoseok, Mina, please stay,” you insist.

Skeptical eyes are studying you. But then he nods. “Want me to check on you later?”

You shake your head again. “I’ll be fine.”

You slip into his room and close the door.The second it clicks shut, your lungs deflate.

You sit on the edge of his bed, still clutching your phone. The new message is still open. Your reflection stares back from the screen—dim, distorted, scared.

Your entire life is falling apart.

You lie back, eyes on the ceiling, and try to blink away the tears.

Yoongi used to call you trouble. And now you really are. You don’t want to burden him anymore. He doesn’t deserve this. 

You call him the following night.

It takes him a few rings to answer.

“Babe?” he says, soft and a little breathless. He probably left his phone in another room and ran to answer your call.

Your throat tightens.

“Yoongi,” you say. “We need to talk.”

The line goes quiet for half a second too long. “Okay,” he says slowly. “What’s up?”

You steel yourself.

“I think we should stop seeing each other.”

Silence. Then: “What?”

“It’s just,” you falter. “I don’t think it’s smart. With the NDA. It’s risky. It’s messy. And,your time’s almost up anyways. This was never going to last outside of, like everything, you know that.”

“Bullshit,” he says, instantly. His voice is low, clipped. “That’s not… Y/N, what the fuck?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I was wrong. I don’t want this.”

“Fuck,” he shouts. “What are you even saying right now?”

“Yoongi, please…”

There’s a pause. You hear something thrown in the background.

“Are you really breaking up with me over the phone?” he finally asks, almost laughing. “Is that really what this is?”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not a yes.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, softer this time. “It’s better this way.”

“No,” he says. “It’s not. You know it’s not.”

You don’t answer.

You hang up.

But still, you sit in the dark for a long time, holding your phone like it might ring again.

It doesn’t.

A/N: Okay shit. I guess I am ready for y’all to shout at me in the comments. 🙇🏼‍♀️ Thanks for reading you lovely beautiful human. xo

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[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 1 ] || [ Chapter 3 ]

Pairing: Soap x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1K~ cw: a bit of dirty talking/innuendos Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 2: Johnny

“Oh, hello…” You remarked to yourself as your eyes locked into a stunning pair of blue eyes on your screen, stopping your mindless right-swipping. “...Johnny.”

“You’re 29… A soldier… Scottish… Are you friends with Kyle?” You mused playfully. “Let me guess, you’re a gym bro, aren’t you?” You asked sarcastically as you tapped your finger on the right side, skipping through his pictures. The first one immediately after was him lifting while wearing a weightlifting belt. “Yup… Mandatory gym pic.”

Chuckling to yourself, you snap a screenshot of his profile to the girls as well, sending it quick.

leah: @/mia Whatever good energy you sent its working. second hot guy in the last 5 minutes! mia: i lit a CANDLE for this!!!!! leah: there weren’t any handsome guys like this when i was on tinder?! 😫 UNFAIR. 🙄 you: blow it out then cause this is the 3rd actually. leah: 3rd??? Where’s number 2??? you: didn’t think to snap a screenshot. hasn’t matched me back yet. mia: has he posted a shirtless pic? you: kyle did and this one idk but probably. need to check. leah: Don’t forget to send it over.🥴

Shaking your head and laughing in amusement, you went back to Tinder, checking on ‘Johnny’. The mandatory gym pic was there… a couple of them in fact! And then the mandatory shirtless selfie. Or rather… The mandatory shirtless SELFIES. Plural.

Three of them… The first one was him just straight up wearing just a towel… And the next was him in a kilt… And the next was him with a button-up very much so unbuttoned. 

“Oh, my, Johnny-John-John… You sure know how to woo a bird…” You joked to yourself.

You dragged your finger down to check his bio and immediately frowned. “Of course…” You trailed off with a disappointed frown as you snuck another spring roll into your mouth.

He might be stupidly attractive, but his personality… Gosh, he doesn’t know how to sell himself. Boring, boring, boring. “I work out and like video games!” You quipped mockingly and scoffed a bit.

“Artist.” You remarked when you reached the last of his profile’s tags, spotting that word in the hobby section. “An artist? You?” You asked your phone screen as if Johnny would come alive in it and answer you. 

You’d admit, him calling himself an artist was intriguing enough, but normally that wouldn’t be enough to make you Swipe Right on him… But you’re not under normal circumstances. You promised your friends you’d Swipe Right on everyone so…

Your phone almost dropped out of your hand as soon as the ‘It’s a Match’ screen showed. “Of course… He’s probably swiping right on everyone as well…” Rolling your eyes, you go to click off the screen but accidentally enter DMs.

Johnny: ye have any scottish in you? you: not that i know of. Johnny: would ye like to? 🫦 Johnny: wait. wdym not that ye know of??? Johnny: i was trying to be filthy and now got me curious bonnie

“Fuckin’ hell…” You said as you set down your phone and covered your face before breaking into a fit of giggles.

The fact you had accidentally ruined his pick-up line and succeeded in stumping him got you very, very amused. Okay, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as boring as you thought.

you: story for another time. you: i walked right into that one tho. good job. Johnny: no ye cant do that Johnny: gotta tell me all about it now you: i mean werent scottish people everywhere in the uk at one point? you: i might be 1/370232103484320th scottish. Johnny: would ye like some MORE scottish in ye then? 🫦 you: solid attempt again. you: if you keep trying you might just get there. Johnny: i intend to dont worry you: soooo… Johnny: so? you: were you wearing underwear under the kilt? Johnny: no Johnny: why want a peek? 😏 you: i’m good you: so ur an artist? Johnny: i am Johnny: ur fast at typing fuck you: what kind? you: keep up then! Johnny: drawing Johnny: im trying 🥴 you: can i see some? Johnny: hanging with my mates difficult to text fast 😤 Johnny: idk if ull be in the mood to see anything after im done with ye you: why? 🤨 Johnny: might be too tired and need to be cuddled to sleep 😏 you: oh fuck off. Johnny: u just cursed me out Johnny: i think m in love 😫 Johnny: gonna tell my mates i just met my spouse 🥴🥴 you: don’t give them any ideas. you: haven’t even agreed to meet up with you. you: haven’t been invited in the first place. Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏

Your eyes widened at his enthusiasm and persistence. Okay, he was definitely not boring… It was actually kind of endearing and funny!

you: jc r u copypasting that? Johnny: yes Johnny: are ye going to or not you: can i get back to you on that? Johnny: ill wait for ye you: sure you do that johnny Johnny: ow the sarcasm burns

Concealing a chuckle, you clicked off the DMs page for the second time tonight… but, this time, you closed the app and focused on eating dinner.

Sure, this whole dating app thing was stupid, but at least you were enjoying yourself. 

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

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taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

[mrs-hwangh]

a boxers heart.

chapter one

Kim Geonwoo x Fem!Reader

Summary: one day was enough to change your lifes forever. Geonwoo is your best friend, you help his mother with her coffee shop and became part of a legendary trio with Geonwoo and Woojin. However.. nothing will ever be the same again after the Smile Company entered your lifes.

wc: 2.1k

an: the story will follow the dramas events. Adjustments were made to include our character into the storyline.. other then that.. watch the two characters fall in love with each other ✨️

Enjoy

______________________________________________

He strikes again! Kim Geon-woo landed a fatal blow on Hong Woo-jins side! Sending him directly on the floor once more!

Will he stand up again just like he did earlier? It definetly does not look like this.

And three! two! one!

We have our winner! Kim Geon-woo won the tournament with an outstanding performance!

This year was truly something else. The pandemic hitting us out from the blue, causing for endless troubles.. These young men however proved us that the struggles we faced, still wanting to organize this grand show off, all of our hard work for making it work.. everything payed off!

We are proud to announce this years winner and to honor every other contestant who took part.

And let's not forget Hong Woo-jin! This finale was special because both of these young men went over their limits to decide the title of this years winner!

Now, have fun and enjoy your time!

Ladies and Gentleman, we'll hopefully meet again on the next years tournament!

The commentators praised the two while the cameraman focused on sharing close ups of the said fighters.

"He won! My Geonwoo won!"

His mothers melodic voice ringed through her small coffee shop, the small Samsung screen showing the broadcast.

"He's the best!"

You joined her cheering, engulfing her into a hug since she awaited you with open arms.

"I'm so proud of him!!"

His mother was the biggest sweetheart anyone could imagine. She truly loved her son and did everything in her power to ensure him a safer future.

You helped her once when she was cleaning up her store on her own.

Other then Geonwoo sometimes, she has no employees helping her to run the shop.. so you decided to offer your help.

It wasn't something you felt obliged to do, you just did it because you enjoyed helping others in general.

Ever since then, you decided to head over her shop to help her with everything, you didn't take money since you were payed well from another job you did sometimes.

With art.

Commissions payed you great.. this was more then enough for you to work for her for free.

"Do you want to head over? I can take over the shift until you return"

You offered but she was quick to decline.

"Thank you but I will stay here, what about you going to see him? I'm sure that it'd make him happy"

She offered you a warm smile.

... should I?

"Are you sure?"

His mother quikly nodded and pointed at the door.

"Enjoy his win together, make this day even more special as it already is!"

You were pushed out of the coffee shop with a gentle push.

She smiled at you as you waved her goodbye.

Now... where would he go after such a big win..

...

Time passed and you decided to just call him, finding him would be impossible otherwise.

'Hey y/n!'

"Congrats woo! You did it!!!"

'Thank you!'

You could hear his chuckle from the other side of the line, but there was another voice

'Hey who is that?'

The second voice was the one of a male, he had company..

"Am I interrupting right now...?"

'No, why? Did something happen?'

'Geonwoo who is this? Is this a girl??'

'Damnit Woojin!'

He whisper yelled that but you had to admit that it was funny.

"No, no don't worry everything is fine.. I just thought of meeting up with you to celebrate your win.. but I don't want to eh.."

'aaaa now I get why you asked me if you were interrupting earlier- No no, do not worry over this, I actually want to introduce you to someone! I'll send you our location, we'd be very happy to celebrate it together, with you!'

You could literally visually imagine his smile as he spoke. Your heart fluttered whenever he spoke..  whenever he smiled.. whenever he talked with you

He may be a boxer, but oh was he pure hearted. If politeness was a person, it'd be him. You need help? He's there. You need a shoulder to lean on? He'll stay by your side until the worst is over.

I'd love to meet him! I'll hurry over!!!

'Whoa whoa! That smil-'

Geonwoo hung up and you made your way to the location he had sent you.

They were eating. Perfect. You'd kill for a good meal now.

-

"Who was this?? Ohhh man you looked so happy!"

Geonwoo brought his hand to his forehead, resting it while he fought the urge of gifting him a second experience of their fight earlier today.

"A good friend of mine"

But Woojin didn't buy that.. not that easily.

"Yeah yeah.. let's believe that"

He smirked at him while taking the claw to turn the meat around.

Geonwoo was quick to snap it out of his hand.

"Not yet"

Woojin was left confused.

"... what? Hey I'm older, show me some respect"

"But they are not ready"

"I'm hungry."

"They need another minute. At least."

The hungry man wanted to say something but the doors bell interrupted his thoughts.

A girl entered the scene. She looked over the desks until her eyes met his.

"It's her.. from the call?"

Geonwoo nodded. He waved her over as he stood up to greet her and she sprinted towards him.

"Look who showed u-"

"Congrats to our champion!!!"

You jumped at him and hugged him real tight. He was taken aback but swung his arms around you immediately. He chuckled at your action and tightened his grip on you, spinning you around while thanking you. He put you on the ground again after the final spin and that was when you spotted the other man.

Wasn't he his opponent..?

"Let me introduce you to Woojin. Woojin, this is y/n and y/n this is Hong Woojin. We fought earlier at the arena"

You greeted him and complimented him on his fighting skills aswell.

"It's a pleasure to meet you y/n, and thank you"

Geonwoo and you sat down and looked at the meat.

"I think it's ready, you could turn it around no?"

Geonwoo took the claw again and turned the meat, leaving Woojin speechless.

"You disobeyed me when I asked you to do it!"

"It wasn't ready earlier"

"It was!"

"No"

"But-"

"It still needed some time, you see there is a me-"

"That's not fair!"

"It is"

"Okay, cut them now!"

"No"

"Why?!"

"They're not ready yet"

"They are!"

You sat there trying not to laugh, it was funny enough that that Woojin guy tried to make Geonwoo serve that meat while it was clearly not ready.

The trio sat there in silence until you spoke up.

"I think you can cut it now"

"Oh yes it's perfect"

Geonwoo took the scissor and cut the pieces.

Woojin.. well he let his head fall dramatically on the desk, whining that his marine comrad ignored him.

"The world has got to be kidding me"

".. is honesty really that bad?"

Woojin shot his head up and looked at Geonwoos eyes.

"You know what. Let's move on."

You and Geonwoo erupted into a heartfilled laughter and Woojin joined you soon enough.

"Let's raise a toast to the best boxers!!"

"Thank you!"

Said the two in unison as everyone prepared their bites to enjoy their meal after the great day.

"How did you actually meet? Was it after the tournament or during it?"

You were curious, Geonwoo never mentioned Woojin before after all.

"He waited at the hall asking each of his victims to go and eat with him."

Woojin said, side eyeing your friend.

"I thought that he was fooling me at first but he was serious about that" "Ahh yes that sounds like him"

You looked over and lightly hit Geonwoos shoulder.

"I'm glad you asked him, he seems like a fun guy"

Woojin felt a sense of pride as your words left your mouth, grinning widely.

"How did you actually meet Geonwoo?

"Well.. I came across his mother's coffee shop and I help her out ever since then. He happened to enter the shop while I was refilling something. Which was kinda funny because he thought that I was stealing something and oh did he get mad"

"He? Mad??"

Woojin may have only met him today but that.. that guy was more then honest and polite throughout the whole day.. him and mad didn't feel right in the same sentence.

"Oh yes."

You stood up, took a stable stance and mimicked Geonwoos face.

"Who the hell are you?"

Geonwoos eyes widened. Your voice was lower, you did something with your face that did not look like him at all.

"It wasn't that ba-"

"Answer now or I'll call the police"

Woojin nearly choked on his glass of water when you tried to copy his voice.

"Okay but be honest! How would you've reacted if a stranger was roaming freely in your mothers shop?!"

Geonwoo stood up for his defense, attacking your sides while he tickled the hell out of you.

"Wait wait w- sto-op!"

Your laughter filled the place as you tried to free yourself of his attack.

"No."

"Geonwoo!"

He continued his merciless attack until you were both gasping for air. He because he couldn't get over his laughter and you because of the tickling.

"I am feeling like a third wheeler right now"

Woojin put a fake pout and you literally became breathless.

"Woo please-"

"Okay, you shall be forgiven"

"Thank you for your mercy, your majesty"

This is how the whole afternoon went by, you three bonding with each other, exchanging stories and experiences while the restaurants owner regretted their life's choices.

What nobody of you all knew was the sudden visitor.. a man dressed in a suit.. visiting Geonwoos mothers coffee shop to offer her a deal.

It seemed too good to be good, a startup company offering to help the ones in need?

"Thank you so much sir"

"She signed the paper and gave it to the man."

"I have to thank you miss"

.

"Woojin.. are these original?"

Geonwoo pointed at Woojins shoes, your gaze followed his finger as you spotted the said shoe.

But.. it does look fake.. no?

"Yes. 1.2 Million won"

Geonwoos eyes widened at this.

"What?! That's the rent of our coffee shop!"

Woojin chuckled and shook his head. Your friend looked at you in disbelief.

"Did you hear that??"

You nodded but waited for Woojin to say something..

"Bro.. these are fake"

Thank god.

Geonwoo was relieved upon hearing that.

"It's obvious if you look at the cap, it's shinier. The true ones don't.."

Their voices blended with your surroundings as you took in the scene.

Late night walks weren't rare but this one.. this was somehow special.

The two continued their talk until they realized that you were walking behind them.

"Hey y/n!"

They took a few steps back and swung their arms around you, holding you in their middle.

"You're so small.. we nearly lost you"

Woojin said and you jokingly punched him.

"I'm sorry Mt. Everest"

The three of you continued the chatter as you walked through the streets.

Woojin went to his home at some point leaving you with Geonwoo alone, on your way to the shop.

"Today was quite a handful huh"

You joked, but you had a point.

He won the match, he found a new friend, your trio got created and the restaurant owner now knows about the marines divisions.

"Haha yes.. thank you"

He turned to you, locking your gazes.

"You coming over after the match. It meant alot to me"

"Well.. you're my best friend after all, I'll always be there to support you"

Geonwoo was speechless but his smile was priceless.

"Now let us surprise your mother, I bet she's thrilled to congratulate you on your big day champ"

He nodded and you two arrived at the shop where his mother was. "My Geonwoo! You did it!!"

She sprinted to him and hugged him, really proud of her son. Her eyes then shifted to yours and a warms smile appeared on her face.

"Did you celebrate the win?"

"Yes!! The other fighter.. Hong Woojin was also with us. It was real fun!!"

"I'm glad! Now let's go home everybody"

You three closed the shop and made you way to the apartments.

A black car drove past you as you walked further into the street.

Geonwoo and you looked back at it but the plate was unknown to the both of you.

You turned around again, joining the topic his mother was talking about.

But little did you know that this day would change your life's forever.

[yeostinys]

My Dear Darling

Chapter 1

Pairing: Frat OT8!ATEEZ x Female Reader

Genre: Eventual Smut 18+, Fluff, Angst, Polyamorous Relationship!

Notes: NonIdol!AU, CollegeAU. Alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking, Explicit language. Polyamorous Relationship, (if you are not into that just pls ignore).

Word Count: 3.4k

Synopsis: It’s your last year in university and everything seems normal until one night at a party you are approached by a fraternity that seems like they are up to no good.

Author’s note: This is pure imagination and in no way depicts any characters in real life. If you do not like this type of content please ignore :)

next chapter

———————————————————————

Jia: “Are you coming over later?”

Y/N: “I’m not sure. I’m kind of partied out”

Jia: “Oh please Y/N . you flaked on the last 2 parties i mentioned!”

Y/N: “You make me sound like a bore Jia.”

Jia: “That’s not what i’m trying to say!! You have been locked up in your apartment and the library forever! are you punishing yourself?”

Y/N: “It’s our last year in University Jia! I want to preform well on exams!”

Jia: “Y/N, you are literally one of the top students in our university. You’ve been doing well! Now, as my best friend it’s your duty to come to MY party, that IM hosting. Pleaseeee for meeeee”

Y/N: “ughhhh fine i’ll be there”

Jia: “YAYY! I’LL SEE YOU LATER!”

-

Arriving at Jia’s , you are greeted with hugs from familiar faces around campus.

“Y/N~! You’re hereeeee!” Jia exclaims as she hands you a hard seltzer, she already seems a few shots away from being drunk. You laugh at your friend and take the drink in your hands.

“Alright everyone! Three gulps! Thank you all for coming!!” Jia screams as everyone in the house cheers. You take three gulps with ease and feel the burning alcohol run down your throat. The night begins with loud music playing through the house, people cheering and screaming as they play various drinking games, couples making out, you name it.

Within an hour of you here, Jia has ran off with her situationship, she’s currently shoved into a corner making out. You however moved outside to sit by the fire pit along with the rest of your closest girl friends. You’re laughing with everyone talking about various topics, while sipping your alcohol infused drinks. Trying to embrace the positive atmosphere around you.

“Hey Y/N” a voice lingers in your ears.

You look up and meet eyes with a familiar handsome face.

“Hey Wooyoung, what’s up?��� you smile at him. Wooyoung is a very well known member of the fraternity ATZ with a reputation of being the biggest flirt ever.

“Nothing much. I however wanted to get your number” Wooyoung is direct. He’s now sitting next to you and slings his arm over your shoulders.

“And why is that?” you raise your eyebrow at him.

“Does there need to be a reason why? I just want to get to know you more” Wooyoung smirks as he brushes a hair strand out of your face. You roll your eyes unimpressed. You can hear giggles from the girls around you as they try to carry on their conversations, trying to not make it obvious that they’re eavesdropping.

“No thanks Woo. however, you can talk to one of your many girls on your line” you smile at him sarcastically.

“But what if I don’t want any of those girls?” Wooyoung pouts at you. You scoff and take a swig of the hard seltzer in your hand.

“Bye Woo” you say as you turn back to talk to your friends. Wooyoung smirks and drops his head down. He gets up swiftly and turns to you one last time

“Alright no worries. I’ll see you around pretty”. Wooyoung walks away and you make eye contact with your giggling friends around you.

“Y/N omg! he was totally into you!” Mina exclaims grabbing onto your shoulder.

“Oh please, Wooyoung is into everyone.” you say as you laugh with everyone.

A few moments later you feel another body plop down next to you.

“Hey there Y/N-ah~”

You turn to look person next to you and you release a sigh.

“Hi there Mingi” You smile politely at him, trying to hide your annoyance. Another.. boy from ATZ. It is a well known fact that Mingi is one of the hottest boys in school. You even agree to that statement. But why is he here? and Why was Wooyoung just here a few minutes before him?

“What can I do for you Mingi?” you ask in a sarcastic manner.

“Funny that you ask sweetheart. Wanna go over there for a smoke?” Mingi smirks, eying you up and down.

“I don’t smoke” you say firmly.

“Then i’ll stop smoking for you. How about a shot together?” He asks holding out a hand.

“I already have a drink right here thanks though Min” You giggle at his efforts.

“Why playing so hard to get Y/N-ah?” Mingi sighs as he rests his head on his fist propped up by his elbow.

“I’m not playing anything Mingi.”

“How about your number then?” Mingi tries you one last time. You look at Mingi in an amused but confused face. Why is he suddenly interested in you? Mingi has a pool of fan girls who are quite aggressive whenever he’s seen with a fellow female alone. Not wanting to get caught in his fire you reply to him,

“I don’t think so Min, but It was nice seeing you” you smile at him one last time before waving him off.

All Mingi can do is laugh and wink at you as he leaves you be with your friends.

“seriously what is going on with that frat?” Harin laughs. The girls around you continue to talk as some move in and out of the circle.

**30 minutes later**

“Miss Y/N~”

You turn your face to see a close classmate of yours.

“Mister Jongho~” you smile as he sits next to you.

“Y/N, I was wondering-“

“Cut the crap Jongho. What are you and ATZ planning” you cut him off.

Jongho laughs and throws his hands up as if he’s just been stopped by the cops.

“Woah woah, what do you mean Pretty?” Jongho chuckles at you.

“You and two other people from ATZ have been bothering me. You’re up to something” you raise an eyebrow at him.

You’re quite comfortable with Jongho. you’ve been seeing him everyday this past semester in a shared class. He’s a nice person, often gossips with you and shares all the recent news going around campus. A bonus, he’s ridiculously handsome.

“Alrrigghhhtt alright. Y/N i’ll tell you if… you give me your number”. Jongho smirks at you

“Jongho, we have one class together everyday. why are you barely asking for my number now?” You ask.

“What if i want your number to ask how you’re doing through out the weekend?” He asks with doe eyes.

“oh please Jongho . don’t make me hate you” you roll your eyes and sigh.

“fine fine~ . Just a warning this isn’t going to end Y/N” Jongho stands up and begins to walk away

“Wait! aren’t you going to tell me-“ Jongho shakes his head no and disappears.

You turn towards your friends in shock and get up from your seat.

“Alright.. well i’m going to go inside to get water” you say

“I’ll come with you Y/N!” “Me too!” Mina and Harin follow you as the rest of the girls wave you off.

Making your way to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water, Mina and Harin find a spot on the couch and catch up with some friends.

“Hey Y/N”

You turn and see a tall familiar man smiling at you.

“Hi Yunho” tilting your head looking up at him.

Yunho sighs and speaks, “I’ll just cut the chase. I’m not one to participate in these types of things, but will you give me your number? ATZ made a bet to see who can get your number first.”

You raise an eyebrow at him in shock.

“I know Pretty. I wasn’t for it either. you know i wouldn’t do stuff like this, especially to you. but help a friend out yeah?” Yunho explains.

He looks genuine confessing this to you. To be honest, you believe him. You and Yunho worked in the university library together every summer and built a mutual friendship. You can’t lie that you find Yunho very attractive, to be honest you were shocked when you first found out he was in a fraternity, he didn’t seem the as the stereotypical frat boy type. You take a few moments to reply, deeply appreciating that he has told you the truth behind ATZ’s scheme. so in return…

You sighed and rolled your eyes,

“If i give you my number what happens?”

“I won’t be embarrassed when i walk back to my friends.” Yunho give you a cheeky smiles

“Seriously? So this is just an ego thing?” You cross your arms uninterested.

“Y/N please. does there really need to be a motive. You are hot! lots of guys would kill for your number let alone your attention. The guys are buzzed right now and it just kind of happened.” Yunho explains.

“Fine.” you hold out your hand waiting for Yunho’s phone.

“Oh you’re a doll Y/N. thank you” Yunho says as he scrambles to take out his phone. You type in your number and shoo him off.

Walking out of the kitchen and making your way back to the couch you hear ATZ cheering and shouting at Yunho in shock and slight jealousy. You advert your attention back to your friends. “What took you so long?” Mina asked.

“I was talking with Yunho in the kitchen” you say casually.

“Mina! Harin! come here!!” One of the girls from outside are hollering them over . Mina and Harin scurry over with no questions leaving you on the couch with others watching people compete in beer pong. You feel a buzz in your pocket and you take out your phone to check a notification

Unknown: Yuyu’s #. You’re a life saver. I owe you!

You scoff at the nickname and save Yunho’s number to your cell.

“Is this seat taken?���

You turn your head to see yet another member from ATZ. A familiar face to you, but you’ve never really spoken to him. Just small encounters here and there at other parties.

“No it’s not.” you say shortly.

“I’m Seonghwa.” The man smiles at you softly. You can’t lie. This man is gorgeous. You smile back at him,

“I’m Y/N” You replied.

“I know” Seonghwa says with a smirk. You tilt your head in confusion.

“You know?” you say sarcastically, trying to play along.

“Well not technically. But I would like to get to know you though. How about your number?” Seonghwa asked tilting his head the same direction as yours. You scoff and laugh at his smooth come back.

“Why are you suddenly interested in my number Seonghwa?” you ask leaning into the couch.

“Well hot people should stay in touch together. Wouldn’t you agree Y/N?” Seonghwa says smirking.

“Not quite.” you roll your eyes and laugh.

“It was nice meeting you though, Seonghwa, I have to go check up on a friend now”. You get up from the couch and begin to search for Jia. You should actually check up on her, she’s been unseen for a while now.

Walking upstairs you move towards her room. Before twisting the door knob open, you hear moans. You stop your tracks and back up slowly.

(Welp, she seems fine) you say to yourself.

Walking back downstairs, you are stopped midway by a muscular figure. You look up and meet eyes with an angelic face.

“Oh Hey Y/N” the man smiles at you.

“Hi Yeosang” you smile back, mentally punching yourself for basically running into all of the ATZ members (more like they are running to you).

“What are you doing up here pretty?” Yeosang asks eying you up and down.

“Just checking up on Jia” you reply

“I saw her run off with Wonho a few hours ago. they looked like they were going to jump each other’s skins?” Yeosang chuckles.

“Yeah.. i’m sure they did” You confirm laughing with him.

“Y/N-ah, We should hang out sometime. We haven’t talked since last semester.” Yeosang is looking at you with a mesmerizing gaze that’s quite intoxicating.

“So suddenly?” you tease.

“Well why not, we had a great time studying for months in the library together don’t you agree?” Yeosang smirks.

“Can I have your number Please Y/N?” Yeosang pouts. You blush at his pretty face “Only because you’re pretty and you don’t annoy me like the others. i know what you and ATZ are up to” you say as you grab his phone from his hand.

“Who snitched!” Yeosang groans.

“Yuyu” You both laugh at the nickname as you dial your number in his phone and let it ring. Your phone begins to buzz and Yeosang’s number pops up on your phone. Yeosang smiles and ruffles your hair.

“You’re such an Angel Y/N” Yeosang doesn’t break his gaze off of you as you walk away from him.

You make your way back to Mina and Harin who are outside taking shots.

“Y/N!!! Let’s take a shot!” Mina catches your eyes and drag you towards the outside bar. “Mina! i can’t drink anymoreee~” you laughing at her drunk state. Mina whines and runs off to Harin who is trying to escape from taking another shot “Yah! Harin, come back!!” You laugh as you take a seat at the bar.

“Hey there”

You hear a voice near you. You turn and look at the person next to you. You mentally curse.

“Hi” you reply trying to be uninterested. Another fellow member from ATZ has approached you once again. However you’re shocked to see it’s the Frat president “My name’s Hongjoong. yours?” the man holds out his hand in a greeting. You smirk and take his hand.

“Hi Hongjoong. I’m Y/N”

“What a pretty name. wanna head back to my place? it’s getting crowded here don’t you think?” Hongjoong leans in closer to your face and smiles at you. Fuck, you say to yourself. His smiling is intoxicating and his facial features are so perfect. You try to snap yourself back into reality.

“I’m okay. I’d rather go back to my own home” You say as you begin to walk away.

Hongjoong follows next to you.

“oh to your place? I don’t mind that either. I was just trying to be polite” Hongjoong chuckles and stops in front of you to keep you from running off.

“You know that’s not what i meant Hongjoong” you say rolling your eyes.

“Then explain to me what you meant Y/N” Hongjoong teases.

“I’m not interested Hongjoong” you laugh. “But Here, i’ll save you the trouble” You take out your phone and hand it to Hongjoong. He cocks an eyebrow at you and smirks. He grabs your phone and inputs his number. He names his contact “Captain Hongjoong”. Hongjoong rings his number and shows you his phone screen as your number pops up. You scoff at him and retrieve your phone.

“I’ll see you around captain” you wave him off as you walk towards the house. Your social battery began to die with the consistent interactions, even though you can’t deny it was entertaining. However, you want to go home. You send a quick message to Jia that you’re heading out and begin to make your way towards the house exit. You take out your phone to call an uber as you sit on the front porch. You are slightly sobering up as you wait.

“Y/N. Leaving so soon?”

you turn your head and see a familiar face. Choi San. A person you quite despise.

“Yeah I called an uber” You say as you avoid eye contact with him.

You can’t quite remember why you and San hate each other. You two used to be friends, childhood friends actually. However once High school started you both drifted away into your own cliques and grew apart with a habit of hatred mixed with a teasing tension (mainly from San).

San sits next to you and looks at the night sky.

“How have you been Y/N?” San asks calmly

“Why do you care San.” you say a bit too snappy.

San looks unphased .

“What’s up with the attitude Y/N-ie” San teases. You turn to San and look at him with a stern face.

“San I know the bullshit you and ATZ are pulling.” You say.

“If you know, then why did you give into Yunho, Yeosang, and Hongjoong?” San raises an eyebrow at you.

“Because I know them and-“

“You’ve never spoken to Hongjoong.”

“You know what I don’t owe you an explanation to who I give my number to or who I show interest in. We haven’t spoke since high school, so don’t start acting interested in my life now” You bite back.

“Ouch You dont have to be like that Y/N-ie” . Having enough, you get up quickly and begin to walk away.

“My uber is here.”

Finally fleaing the party you make your way up to your apartment studio. You strip off your clothes and fall onto your bed. Your phone buzzes a few times. You glance at your phone and see a notification from Hongjoong.

Captain Hongjoong: “Hey pretty, let’s meet up tomorrow”

You don’t care to open the chat at the moment. So you toss your phone down and try to fall into a deep sleep, exhausted from the alcohol and various conversations from today.

~~

Yuyu: Hi Y/N-ie, wyd today? Let’s hang out!

You groan in annoyance as you stare at your notification bars. You haven’t opened any messages from last night or this morning. Mainly spams from Mina and Jia. Plus… the two messages from Hongjoong and now Yunho. You hesitate before responding to Yunho.

Y/N: What are you guys up to? I thought this was a one time ego boost thing. pls leave me alone.

Yuyu: Y/N if you want the full truth, you have to hang out with me today ;)

Y/N: what do you mean “the full truth”

Yuyu: I can explain if you agree to hang out with meeeeee

Y/N: Well your “Captain” messaged me about hanging out as well. Do I ditch him for you or are you going to get buried alive?

Yuyu: Lol, don’t worry about him. So yes or no?

Y/N: Fine. send the address.

Yuyu: Perfect, i’ll see you later Y/N!

You start to regret your life decisions as you walk out your apartment and head towards the address Yunho sent you. Looking at the address on Maps you realize , you are meeting Yunho at the ATZ Frat house. You sign in frustration and contemplate if you should cancel on him last minute with some shitty excuse. However, you’re curious as to why ATZ was so infatuated on you last night.

You arrive to the frat house and ring the door bell. You can hear running footsteps and mumbled voices behind the door as you wait. Finally, the door knob clicks, swings open, and you are met with happy faced Yunho.

“Y/N! YOURE HERE!” Yunho hugs and lifts you off the ground. You freeze in shock and try to hold in your laughter. Yunho puts you down and pulls you inside the frat house. “Welcome to the ATZ House!”

It’s cleaner than you expected. Especially knowing this is a house full of 8 men. Yunho guides you to the living room, where you are met with 6 of the ATZ members sitting on an L shaped couch. San is missing? You freeze your tracks and look towards Yunho.

“Jeong Yunho, you said you’d tell me the full truth” you cross your arms and stare at him intensely.

“Yes yes, WE, will tell you. now Miss Y/N please sit down” Yunho pulls out a chair for you and encourages you to sit down, as he makes his way to sit with the rest of the 6 men.

Hongjoong speaks up first “Y/N, i know you must be confused why we all took interest in you suddenly last night. Now, we’d like to explain ourselves.”

You cock your eyebrow in confusion as you look at all the members present,

“Where’s San? You said all of you guys took interest.” You asked.

“It took some convincing for Sannie, but he unfortunately had to sit out on today’s meeting because he has other…. Fraternity duties to fulfill. Don’t worry though honey he truly does have interest in you” Hongjoong explains.

You’re not convinced that San agreed to whatever this is. Regardless, you sit in silence waiting for further explanation.

“I’ll just get straight to the point. Y/N, we’d like you to be ours.” Hongjoong says blatantly.

You laugh. Out loud.

None of the boys are laughing. They all seem so serious.

“Wait you’re serious?” you ask arms still crossed.

“Yes we are serious.” Yunho chimes in.

“So… be yours as in become the ATZ Sweetheart?” You question.

“Well, yes but not really. Y/N we mean, we want you to be our girlfriend. All 8 of us.“

end of chapter 1….

next chapter

~

Ahhhh my first series! I hope you all enjoy! please leave comments and suggestions for any improvements, as i am still a new writer 🥹. Leave comments or message me to be part of my TagList for this series! I am hoping to have chapter 2 posted soon!

[kxsagi]

Welcome back kxsagi. In lights to the latest Blue Lock chapter, I'm here with an angst Reo request. May I request: Reader breaks off her arranged marriage with Reo because of his ambiguous relationship with Nagi and it didn't take long for her to accept the overseas scholarship to the US. After Nagi gets eliminated from Blue Lock, Reo begins to wonder if wooing Reader back is worth it.

“𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟”

a/n: who hurt you 💔

ngl i liked writing this one tho, i love a reader who knows her worth (title inspired by greedy by queen tate mcrae)

you don’t cry when you break off the engagement. maybe you should’ve. it would’ve felt more cinematic, more like a love story falling apart. but you don’t even raise your voice. you sit across from reo in his sleek black dining room, stare at him through the steam of untouched tea, and ask him plainly, “do you love me?” 

he doesn’t answer. not in the way that matters. instead, he says, “nagi’s important to me.” 

and that’s all you need. 

you don’t ask how important. you’ve heard it in his voice when he talks about nagi, seen it in the way his eyes trail after him, like he’s gravity. like everything in reo’s world orbits him. and you? you were the well-packaged life plan. the trophy girl he could fall in love with eventually. 

but love shouldn't feel like a delayed payment. 

you slip the ring off your finger and set it on the marble counter. you don’t look back when you walk out of the house, or when his mother calls the next day in a panic. you’ve already accepted the overseas scholarship by then – full ride, prestigious university in the U.S., a future that has nothing to do with boardrooms or arranged marriage portfolios. 

it surprises you how easy it is. you thought it would hurt more. but it’s like slipping out of a coat that never quite fit right. you feel lighter. untethered. 

reo doesn’t try to stop you. 

and that, in its own way, is the loudest answer of all. 

weeks pass. months. blue lock rages on like a firestorm back home, and you don’t keep up with it, at least not publicly. you pretend you’re too busy with midterms, frat parties, finding new favorite coffee shops and running late to everything. but in the quiet hours of the night, you still check the scores. you read the headlines. you don’t search for reo’s name. you search for nagi’s. because you want to know when it happens. 

and it does. 

eliminated. early. 

no fanfare. no post-match interviews. just a name in the footnotes of a sports article you have no business reading. and the moment you see it, you know – reo must’ve watched that game. must’ve felt something twist in his chest when the person he built his whole life around walked off the field, not with a bang, but a shrug. 

maybe reo expected to be there, waiting for him. maybe he thought nagi would find him again. 

but he never does. 

and reo… reo’s left standing in a stadium that suddenly feels too big, surrounded by ghosts. 

he starts seeing you in strange places. not really, you’re thousands of miles away, but in flickers. the way a girl holds her coffee, the exact pitch of laughter from behind a bookshop door, the scent of that perfume you wore only on weekends. he doesn’t realize it at first, but you start haunting him. 

he opens your old texts. never responds. scrolls through the pictures he never deleted. you smiling up at the camera, hair a mess, lips stained with strawberry gloss. you holding up a peace sign in front of the mikage family summer house, eyes crinkled, wearing his hoodie. 

he wonders what he’s supposed to do with all this regret. 

sometimes he thinks about messaging you. once, he even types it out. hey. are you happy there? he stares at it for a long time, thumb hovering over send, before deleting it and tossing the phone across the couch. 

because what would it change? 

he made his choice. chose something undefined over someone real. and now nagi’s gone, and so are you, and all that’s left is the echo of what could’ve been. 

he goes to your favorite bakery one morning without thinking. the owner recognizes him but says nothing. he buys the cinnamon bun you used to love and eats it alone in his car. it doesn’t taste the same. 

he wonders if he should try to win you back. wonders if the fantasy of redemption is better than the reality of rejection. 

across the ocean, you’re thriving. not because you’re trying to prove anything, but because you finally feel like yourself. no one’s fiancée. no one’s backup plan. just a girl who learned how to leave before someone forgot to ask her to stay. 

you think about reo sometimes. in the quietest moments. in that gentle, faraway way you think about a chapter that ended too early. 

if he ever reaches out, you don’t know what you’ll say. 

but you do know this: you won’t wait in the stands. not for him. not for anyone. 

you’ve got a new game to play. 

and this time, it’s yours alone. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢