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[fleurriee]

— the one ; neteyam sully

pairing ; neteyam sully x fem!reader

synopsis ; neteyam was beginning to court you, much to your elation. each time he showed you how much you meant to him, you only fell more in love with him.

word count ; 10.3k (we don’t talk about it)

themes ; fluff, soon-to-be mates

warnings ; tooth-rotting fluff, vv brief mentions of worrying over someone’s well-being, uses of y/n.

author’s note ; i can’t tell if this got slightly worse as it neared the end but we’re just gonna leave it bc i do like it. i mean, who doesn’t like the idea of neteyam courting them??? also, this is my longest fic yet & it wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this long but i just got carried away bc i love neteyam so much. sue me. 

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For a short while now, yourself and Neteyam were in the courting process of your relationship.

It wasn’t too long ago when the male Na’vi asked your permission to do so, along with your parents’, and the thought always caused butterflies to roam in your stomach, no matter how much time passed in between. Neteyam was the perfect Na’vi - a mighty warrior, a caring gentleman, someone who knew how to properly lead, something that would one day aid him when he took over as Olo’eyktan. 

So, in short, you simply couldn’t believe your luck when he asked you.

You could argue that you saw it coming with the way he always sought you out in a crowd, the gentle smiles he sent in your direction, but you’d be lying to yourself. Having Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan choose you to be his mate was something you never would have imagined possible in your wildest dreams. Of course, it was something you did imagine - you were pretty sure every other Na’vi your age did, too - but to have it play out in front of your very eyes was a whole different experience.

His family were welcoming, too, letting you safe in their warm embrace and treating you like one of their own - because you would be, someday soon. Neteyam’s family and your own got on well which was a huge relief to the both of you, making his progress just slightly easier. 

His aforementioned progress in courting you was something that caused a blush to rise on your cheeks, filling you to the brim with elation. Each time you saw him, you were sure you were close to combusting; each time he spoke, you were sure your heart was close to melting. Everything about Neteyam was godly, otherworldly... how in Ewya had you managed to get him to choose you as a mate?

You were forced out of your jumbled, overthinking thoughts when Tuk let out a loud gasp. The young girl was situated in front of you, comfortably placed on top of your crossed legs, twiddling away at the carved wooden toys her eldest brother had gifted her a while ago. She had come to you earlier, asking you to braid her hair with some of the beads she had recently collected with her sister, Kiri. Of course, you couldn’t say no to her - you were sure Tuk could ask anything of you, no matter the circumstance, and you’d still say yes. It was those big eyes looking up at you, all pure and innocent of the dangers surrounding them with the war brewing nearby. You’d do anything to shield her away from that.

When Tuk gasped, for a split second, you thought you’d hurt her. Your eyes were frantic as you looked over her figure, but then another sound pierced through the atmosphere - a horn. Following Tuk’s line of sight, that’s when you spotted the group of ikran’s beginning to descend back into camp, chants from the warriors filling the air with their victory. 

That meant Neteyam was back, too.

Lightly brushing back Tuk’s hair, the braids practically finished, you patted her back to ensure her she was okay to run over to her returning family. She doesn’t even pay you any mind and you laugh at her reaction, watching as she screams out in exclamation, her feet rushing over to where you watch her parents descend. 

Standing up from the ground, you jump down from where you were seated, landing softly and jogging over, following after Tuk. The idea of seeing Neteyam again - even though it hadn’t been that long since you last saw one another - had you full to the brim with excitement. He was your future mate - it was practically your job to feel like this at the prospect of seeing him, even if you had only been away for a short period of time.

But, when your eyes finally land on who you were looking for, the smile drops from your face and replaces itself with worried features. Just a couple of steps away, you watch as Jake stands in front of his two sons, his back clearly showing off his agitation. You don’t hear what they’re saying, but you can tell it’s nothing good - both Neteyam and Lo’ak have their heads hung low, ashamed at the obvious lecture they were receiving from their father.

At the sight, you can’t help the way your heart aches for the two boys. Since Neteyam had started to court you, you had spent a lot of time with his family, meaning you got to know each of them pretty well, including Lo’ak. You got on with him great, despite your stark differences in personality, but you could tell everything he did was just to live up to the shadow of both his father and older brother. He just wanted to be like them.

And, Neteyam - he was always the protector, whether it was for his parents, his siblings, for you. If Lo’ak had done something reckless and dangerous, you knew Neteyam wouldn’t have been too far behind him, watching his every move and ensuring his younger brother’s safety. It was both a strength and a weakness of his.

Your eyes scrape over your future mate, checking every inch of his body until you spot a cut at his side that he’s trying to hide from everyone else’s view. It’s clear no one else has spotted it, or else you were sure they would’ve sent him straight to a healer to get it treated. Thankfully, the wound didn’t look too bad, but you could tell it was hurting him - from the signs of him fidgeting from foot to foot, keeping his hand pressed firmly against his side in a weak attempt to dull the pain, his eyes frantically searching about the place to find an opening of escape.

You know him too well.

That’s when your eyes meet, and if it wasn’t for the worry currently eating away at your very being, it would’ve felt as though the whole of Pandora stopped around you, just the two of you in a world of your own. That’s how it always felt around Neteyam, and knowing you had more of this to look forward to for the rest of your lives was enchanting.

In a bid to reassure your future mate, you send him over a soft smile, one full of care and admittance. A small nod of your head accompanied it, too, ensuring him that you would be there for him when he was finished with his father. You understand the weight bearing down upon his shoulders after the several times he would open himself up to you, and you’d be damned if you let him drown. No matter the circumstance, no matter the cost, you’d make it your life’s mission to pull him out when he started to struggle.

A tense smile in return is your only response, another subtle nod of his head with it, too, but you can see the way his body moves stiffly, as if afraid of more reprimand, as if hurting. His eyes held all the love and adoration he had for you like they always did, and seeing such a sight made you feel a little calmer about the situation.

Neither yourself nor Neteyam were conspicuous in your looks towards one another, it seemed, for Jake immediately noticed the way his eldest son’s attention was snagged somewhere else. He watched as Neteyam’s ears twitched a little, tail perking up from its once ashamed downturn, a smidge of light coming back to his eyes. It was obvious what the cause of such a demeanour was, and when he turned his head to look behind himself and found you, standing your weight from one foot to the another, fingers mindlessly playing together in a bid to calm your nerves and tail swishing in anticipation, he was proved correct. 

He sighed deeply, turning back around and talking to Neteyam, words being shared that you couldn’t hear, but as he gestured over to you, you stood straighter as you realised he was dismissing his son. The young Na’vi in question doesn’t move quickly, something you can decipher from his wounded side he continued to clutch away from any possible prying eyes, but he does move eagerly, wanting to get over to you as soon as he can.

Not even ten steps between the two of you, and your feet are moving of their own accord, hurrying closer to his figure. You reach your arms out to him, hands grasping against his arms with care to help steer him in the direction of a healing tent. Your eyes wonder seamlessly back down to his wound, looking over every inch of it to ensure it’s not entirely life-threatening. In conclusion that it isn’t, a small breath of relief escapes your lips, shaking your head - still, it looks painful.

Looking back up at him, your eyes filter from one of his to the other in a bid to garner his full attention whilst the two of you continue walking. “Are you okay?” you question, your voice coming out breathy. 

“It is fine.” His words are short and sharp, and if it wasn’t for the piercing wound aching at his side, you’d assume he was mad at you. But, that obviously wasn’t the case - Neteyam rarely got angry, and if he did, he swore it’d never be at you.

You scoff before you can decipher your own response, eyes trailing back down. “It doesn’t look fine.” When he doesn’t say anything in return, you look back up at him, finding his gaze already trained on you, a small, graceful smile painting at his lips. It makes your heart flutter, knowing that such a rare beauty is entirely for you. Trying to bite back the reciprocating smile desperate to show itself, you shake your head at your future mate and his antics, wanting to stay annoyed at him for once again throwing himself in harm’s way for the sake of others. But, when he looks at you like that, you find it difficult to do anything.

The healing tent you had intended to take him into finally appeared in front of you, sounds of chatter and winces coming through to your ears from inside. You weren’t a fan of such places due to the pain and misery it brought the people of your clan, but as the mate of the future Olo’eyktan, you knew you’d eventually have to suck it up and put on a brave face for those around you. You’d be spending more time in there than you’d like to admit.

Bringing your arm up and leaving the other one clasped tightly around Neteyam’s bicep, you go move the tent flap away, but another beats you to it. Despite the obvious pain he’s in, Neteyam reaches out, opening the entrance up for you and gestures you in. You stop in your tracks, looking over at him pointedly, but he doesn’t acknowledge the way your eyes reprimand him - even when in agony, he’s still adamant to be a good future mate in courtship.

You sigh, almost a little agitated that he still felt the need to prove himself to you, even when your heart beats rapidly in your chest at such a domestic gesture, the determination of Neteyam Sully peaking through his pained actions. As you step inside, you feel him grab a hold of your hand from behind you, his warm and callous skin juxtaposing against one another, but have you shivering in affection all the same. He allows you to guide him through the tent, weaving around those moving hurriedly to others sitting and waiting for their treatment, before you finally find a somewhat-secluded area towards the back.

With his hand still firmly in your grip, you turn to him, moving your other one around his bicep again and begin helping the both of you steadily to the ground, each of you guiding the other with delicacy. You didn’t want Neteyam to be in more pain than he already was, and Neteyam always treated you like you were fragile glass - something that didn’t bother you, although you have had others say it would bother them, but you paid no mind to them.

Once the two of you were as comfortable as you could be in a tent crowded with other injured people, sat cross-legged and facing one another, you gently pried his hand that had continued to cover the wound in his side. You were slow with your movements, sending him a look of reassurance that you would be tender. He winced slightly when the cool breeze smacked so suddenly against the now-rough skin, his head hanging low and shaking from side to side to tell himself that the pain was nothing. Neteyam never did like to come across as weak - especially in front of you.

You can’t help the way your eyes narrow up at him, a frown on your lips. “I wish you were more careful...” your voice is barely a whisper, not wanting anyone else to hear in on your conversation. With thoughtful touches, you begin to clean away at the wound, wanting to make sure the blood is washed away and nothing made its way in that could make it worse. 

“I am always careful.” There’s another wince, another strain when he speaks, the sensation of your fingers against his skin both sending delightful shivers down his spine and causing his tail to stand on end from the pain.

Stopping in your movement, you sit up in front of him, watching as he slowly lifts his head once he realises you’ve paused. “This,” you say, pointing directly to his wound, “says otherwise.”

Neteyam doesn’t say anything as you immediately go back to your previous work of cleaning him, knowing that whatever he says will only be argued with a firm answer you no doubt have ready to fire at him. He understands you, though, because if the situation was switched and you were in his position, he knows his head wouldn’t be in the right frame of mind, either. Neteyam would be imagining different scenarios where you’d ended up worse, more injured, or even... If he didn’t like to think about it, he couldn’t imagine the feeling of going through it, and you did, every time he went out with the war party. You didn’t know what condition he was going to be coming back to you in... you didn’t know if he was going to be coming back.

Neteyam understood.

So, rather than biting back, the Na’vi instead smiled down at your working figure, pure love shining bright in his eyes as he watched your concentration prevail through your hurried movements, your gentle fingers, your narrowed eyes. Everything about you was so beautiful to Neteyam, even when you were surrounded in a crowded room by others who didn’t deserve to witness such a sight. He couldn’t believe his luck of getting to call you his own.

While you work, moving one of your hands back in the direction of his wound, you feel it get snatched away. You look up at Neteyam, about to tell him off for not letting you work, when you watch him place a firm, tender kiss against your knuckles, his eyes never once leaving your own. 

You can feel yourself blush profusely at his actions, tilting your head to the side subconsciously as he only smirks at your reaction - he always knew the best ways to get you right in the palm of his hands. Instead of previously wanting to reprimand him, your words are but a murmur when you speak, eyes continuously flickering from his eyes to somewhere behind him in order to distract yourself. “I’m trying to concentrate, ‘teyam.”

His heart is full, ready to burst, when he hears your nickname for him, something he loves from only a select few people, with you being right at the top. Keeping your hand in his own, his thumb beginning to run smoothly where he kissed you against your knuckles, he chuckles at your attempt to stay focused. “I know,” he nods lightly, eyes bright and fangs pointed in bliss. “That’s why I kissed you - you look adorable when you concentrate.” 

As soon as the words left his lips, your head sharply snapped back over to him, irises blown wide, ears high upon your head and tail curling in on itself from the compliment. No matter how many times he’d talk to you in such a way, or did certain things that made you feel all mushy inside, it’d always gain the same reaction from you. And, he loved it. 

You plaster on a playfully annoyed expression, trying to fight the smile dancing at your lips. Chuckling, you shake your head. “Do you want me to help you, or not?”

He laughs, breathless, tongue flicking out and running along his fangs as his eyes make a point of looking over every inch of your figure. It makes you cower in on yourself, and this time, you allow your lips to curve at the edges. Neteyam doesn’t say anything in return, just shrugs mindlessly like he hadn’t been internally torturing you beforehand, letting you get back on with healing your future mate. 

Not once does he move his gaze away from such a beautiful sight.

Your hands moved in a hurried motion, eagerness and anticipation beginning to eat away at you. You moved from one side of your tent to the other, the empty space allowing you to rush around without having to worry about bumping into or getting on your parent’s nerves. The both of them would be out all day - your mother spending the day with the younger Na’vi in your clan, and your father helping out with training the soon-to-be warriors. 

With the day ahead seeming so empty, you had decided to take it upon yourself to go out into the vast forests of Pandora and collect some fruit for your family. Foraging was something you always enjoyed, ever since your mother took you out for the first time. There was something about just carelessly exploring the lush greenery whilst stumbling upon something new - it brought you happiness and peacefulness. 

Of course, you couldn’t go out there unprotected, making sure to stop by your mat where you kept your bow and arrows and tying them around yourself. Going out into the forest alone wasn’t uncommon, but it was something the clan didn’t like to do often. However, you did - just for the tranquillity of being alone for a little while when you were constantly surrounded by the hustle and bustle of so many people at once. You knew there was always going to be a chance of you running into something dangerous whilst you were out there, so, to calm the nerves of your friends and family after finding out about your little lonesome adventures, you assured them you’d always take a weapon with you.

Sighing, you stood tall, looking around your tent then to your body, making sure you were definitely prepared before setting off for the day. You looped your mother’s empty basket through one arm, hoping to be full to the brim with an array of fruits by the time you returned in a few hours, your bow was tucked over your neck and hanging against your shoulders, and your arrows were placed firmly upon your back, ready for their use. You just hoped you wouldn’t have to resort to using them.

With a nod of your head, you turn around, beginning to walk out the entrance of your tent. You kept your eyes trained to the floor, hanging your head low so as not to bump it against anything and have an embarrassing story to talk about later on, when you ended up bumping your entire body into something anyway.

You gasped in surprise at the sudden sensation, the solid material in front of you hitting against you fairly harshly. Stumbling on your feet, you were sure you would’ve fallen down like a sack, but your saving grace came in the form of two hands, gentle yet rough in texture, catching onto your upper arms, wrapping their fingers against your biceps. 

Looking up, you spotted Neteyam. The morning sun hit against his back, painting him in an ethereal glow, and you swore you had never seen anything so glorious in all your life on Pandora. He had a cheeky smile on his lips, eyes roving over your features, his hands still holding tightly onto you - he knew you were steady on your feet now, but he simply didn’t want to let you go.

When you made eye contact with Neteyam, you were so entranced, you couldn’t look away. The way his eyes caught against the light began to suck you in until you were his entirely, no one and nothing else mattered in the world because Neteyam was right here, looking at you. The close proximity between the two of you made the heat rise against your cheeks, painting you in a darker blue, but your eyes never strayed from his. How could you, when he looked like this? You could feel his breath fan against your face, the feeling sending shivers to your skin.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and teasing, that stupid smile never once leaving his lips as he looked down at you like you were some sort of prey and he the predator. 

“Hi,” you whispered, voice sultry and soft, struggling to find the correct words to say to him due to your stuttering heart and how close you were, feeling every slight move he made against your own body. “What are you doing here?” You were happy to see him, but confused by his presence - you knew he had training with his father early that morning (part of the reason why you decided to go out), and if he was here with you now, you were sure he was going to end up being late, something Neteyam did once in a blue moon. 

He shrugged carelessly, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “I wanted to say good morning.”

You look up at him expectantly, waiting, but when he only continued to look at you adoringly, you narrow your eyes in confusion. “Are you going to say it...?” Your words are still a whisper, but this time, there’s a teasing lilt to them as you watch his smile grow wider when he realises his mistake.

Neteyam began to laugh at your sudden cheekiness, something you didn’t do often but he absolutely cherished, silently wishing to himself that you did it more. Maybe he’d just have to do things like this a little more. “Good morning, yawne (beloved).” As he spoke, he leant down towards you, giving your cheek a feather-light kiss, you had to run the sensation over in your mind again. When he pulled back, you couldn’t hold his eye contact, too flustered to look up at him, knowing that if you did, your cheeks would only continue to darken from their original colour. Neteyam found it endearing, smile so bright his fangs were pointing out, before eventually spotting your attire. “Going hunting?”

“Foraging,” you corrected him, lifting the basket higher on your arms to accentuate your point. Your heart finally finds the confidence to look up into his intense gaze, swelling with both care and devotion. “I need to get some more fruits.”

At your admittance, Neteyam’s entire demeanour lights up at an opportunity beginning to present itself right in front of his very eyes - his ears stand high upon his head, eyes shining and tail elevated, anticipation peeking through his system. “I can get them for you if you want.”

You swoon at his eagerness to help you, the domestic part of Neteyam showing itself off to you. If it were any other time, you would’ve gladly took him up on the offer, loving the idea of spending more time with him despite truly believing your heart would explode if he continued to look at you like you were Ewya herself. But, you knew Neteyam was important to your clan, even before he was to become Olo’eyktan - you couldn’t keep him from his duties, from his purpose. 

(Neteyam would strongly argue that you were his purpose.)

“‘Teyam,” you start gently, hate having to turn him down when his features slowly start to fall. A sympathetic smile lingers against your lips, head tilted to the side but your eyes spoke more than your words could convey. “You have training with your father...” you find your eyes trailing your surroundings at your reminder, instantly spotting Jake in the near distance behind your future mate. He stands tall, proud, but you can tell he’s only moments away from calling his son out as he eyes him up, impatient. “...who is right over there and definitely does not want you to be late.” 

In an instant, Neteyam’s head shoots around to follow your gaze, a grumble slipping past his parted lips when he spots his father. Like a child, he hangs his head low in defeat, allowing it to fall against your shoulder when he turns back around. He lets his weight bear down on you teasingly, chuckling through his chest at your struggled attempts to stay steady on your feet. 

You pat his chest in mock sympathy, giggling to yourself as he only continues to be his dramatic self, head nestling closer into the space between your shoulder and neck. But, when he begins to press kisses against your skin, you tense up, feeling your spine straighten out and eyes look around for anyone watching. 

His father continues to glower at his eldest son, hands on his hips and shaking his head, obviously disgruntled. “Neteyam,” you warn, patting his chest again, a little harsher this time, more so in warning. Neteyam doesn’t seem to care, however, only continuing on his journey as he travels his lips from your shoulder to the crevasse of your neck. “’Teyam, your father-”

“Neteyam!” Jake’s voice is loud and clear, piercing through the clan until it makes its way to the two of you. In an instant, Neteyam jumps up and detaches himself from your shoulder. You look over his broad shoulder, seeing his father beginning to storm his way over. A harsh, fast-paced kiss is placed roughly against the side of your face, before you watch Neteyam run sheepishly over to his father, not wanting him to make a big scene. When your future mate arrives at his father’s side, the older Na’vi grabs his son against the back of the neck, forcefully pulling him further away from you before the guides of Ewya could will him back to you.

You can’t help but chuckle at their antics - the more time you spent with the Sully family, the more excited you felt at the prospect of finally being a part of them. Of course, they’d argue that you were already an honorary Sully, just from being betrothed to one of them, but you knew it’d be entirely different when you finally mated with Neteyam. 

Shaking your head, you noticed a few stares sent your way from the scene Neteyam had previously created before leaving you to deal with it. The only response you could give them without wanting the ground to swallow you whole was a sheepish smile, before securing your basket tight against your chest and running off into the forest.

The rest of the day went by quicker than you had imagined - you were simply so emerged in the beauty of the forest around you that time seemed infinite, like it was laying in the palm of your hands for you to do whatever you pleased with it. And, you did - you spent majority of your time marvelling at the pure life around you, the way everything seemed to pulse like it had its own heartbeat, and you liked to imagine that it did. After all, this was all apart of Ewya, too.

You had managed to collect a good amount of fruits, filling your basket almost to the top with a variety of tastes and colours to show off to your parents. Walking back into the clan, your chest swelled with pride at the few gratifying looks you were receiving from your collection, but you were also feeling proud of yourself for not having to use your weapon, either. Whether it was just your good intuition, or Ewya herself guiding you in a direction to ensure your safety, you steered clear of any potential threats that could’ve been lurking around the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Either way, you were grateful you never ran into anything.

Arguably, you were a good hunter, someone who could hold their own if they needed to, but you weren’t entirely confident in your skills enough to fight off something bigger than you if its intentions were to kill you. You’d never had to fight against such a creature, thanks to adventuring out with others that knew what they were doing, or going to specific places you knew would be okay for you. Plus, there was something about killing the creatures of Pandora that didn’t sit right with you - after all, they were also children of Ewya. Of course, you understood the clan had to eat in order to survive, and if you were being attacked, no Na’vi would judge another if they needed to defend themselves or their family. That’s why you were always the one to volunteer to collect the fruits out of your family, enjoying that particular experience more. It also helped that you received offer’s from Neteyam’s family - and Neteyam, especially - to share the meat they had hunted. You could turn down the meats his family offered you, arguing that it was for them, but you couldn’t disagree with Neteyam - what’s mine is yours.

Nodding to another Na’vi who had done the same to you in a small gesture of congratulations, your cheeks hurting from the prideful smile against your lips, you hadn’t spotted the figure rushing to jog over to your moving figure until they stop at your side. You already know it’s Neteyam - not from the sight of him, but from the presence of him. His scent infiltrates your scenes immediately and his aura oozes itself around you, enshrouding you in a protective layer. 

How your knees haven’t buckled out from swooning will always be beyond you.

No words are able to leave your mouth before Neteyam takes the basket from your hands, relieving your lower back from the pressure it was previously feeling with the weight of the fruits. He holds it firmly in his grasp, matching your pace as he walks beside you, taking note of the amount you collected before his gaze lands on you. “How was it?” 

You don’t bother arguing against his wishes of holding the basket for you, knowing it would only be a losing battle if you tried. Instead, you allowed your heart to flutter wildly in your chest as it begged for release, wanting to cover Neteyam in all the love it had to offer. Your head tilts in affection as your features coo. “It was good - I managed to get quite a bit.”

He hums in acknowledgement, eyes hurriedly scanning over your figure from top to bottom. His gaze makes you feel warm, but you know he’s checking you over for any potential injuries. “You didn’t run into any trouble?”

“Nope,” you state proudly, beaming like a child would with a new accomplishment. “I’m too good at sneaking.”

A laugh tumbles from his stomach at your answer, embellishing in the way you proudly stand and tell him of your day’s achievements. This is what he’s always wanted - the two of you, talking about your day and everything in between, before finally coming back together to rest for the night. 

All he’s ever wanted was you.

With only one of his hands now holding onto your full basket, he brings his other up to grab hold of your arm, stopping you in your tracks. When you turn to face him, your smile slowly begins to fall from your lips at the seriousness in his gaze. Only when he cups your face in his larger palm do you soften, features lighting up once more. “You did well, my muntxa (mate).”

The nickname makes you bite your lips to stop you giving away your true feelings, but you know Neteyam, and you know he knows you inside and out, like you were his other half - because you were. Snuggling your face further into his palm, you stand higher on your toes, wanting to bring him closer despite the rapid beating of your heart. “Not yet...” you remind him.

He hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything more. Rather, he presses a light kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering there for a while longer, like he didn’t want to part from you in such an intimate way. As he stays there, his lips ghosting over your skin, he whispers an almost-inaudible soon. The implication makes you shudder in delight, feeling him separate away from you, now intertwining his hand in your own and gesturing his head for you to follow him. 

Soon.

Tonight was a normal night within the clan, although it somehow seemed more alive.

Every night, the people of the Omatikaya would come together to celebrate the day’s achievements, even if nothing too celebratory had happened. It brought a semblance of togetherness that you couldn’t get anywhere else - one you wouldn’t trade for the world. 

You could hear the hustle and bustle of many Na’vi even from the tent furthest away from the main area, your body filling with brimming excitement already at the prospect of everyone being there. You weren’t a huge fan of crowds, but growing older had taught you to appreciate such a feeling - these people were your family, after all, and with such an impending war knocking upon your doorstep too often than you were comfortable with, you learned to enjoy what you have already, before it was too late.

Training with the Tsahik had increased tenfold in the last couple of months - you were working from sunrise until sunset alongside Mo’at and Kiri, aiding them in their tasks and ensuring you were close to knowing everything off by heart. Eventually, you would be taking over, with Neteyam at your side as Olo’eyktan. It wasn’t long until the two of you would finally be mated before Ewya, and whilst it would still be a while until you stepped forward as leaders, there would always be more preparing to do. As a mated pair, the clan would slowly start looking to the two of you.

With such a pressure lingering upon your shoulders, you began to make your way through the main crowd, leaving behind your duties in their wake and allowing yourself a moment to breathe. There were Na’vi everywhere, no matter what direction your gaze trailed to; smiles adorning each face, tails high in elation and chatter loud in excitement. There was a large woven table to the side that held the hunting party’s food they had caught during that morning’s hunt, piles high of fruits and meats that had your stomach growling in anticipation. You hadn’t had time to eat much when training, your mind too focused on remembering every little detail shown before you.

But, you couldn’t help your own smile beginning to dawn upon your lips as you attempted to make your way past people at the sight of their happiness. For a moment, it almost felt like there wasn’t a raging war so close to home, ready to kill you all just to say they had won. 

You shook your head at such a thought, willing it away from your head and forcing yourself to enjoy the moment before you. There were several people you accidentally bumped into on the way past, your mind foggy as it searched for someone, but no one was too bothered, too caught up in the blissful atmosphere lingering within the air. 

Eyes trailing over every figure you came across, you struggled to spot a single Sully. You stepped higher onto the ends of your toes, head poking out over the tops of other’s heads in an attempt to locate them, but you kept coming up short. It was obvious they would be here, of course - they were the Sully family, the leaders of your clan, and if they didn’t make an appearance at just a regular gathering such at this one, you knew they’d be more panic around you.

Thankfully, before you could be swallowed by the crowd and lost to the world around you, a hand clasped itself securely within your own, fingers intertwining together. The feeling of his hand against yours caused your brain waves to kilter off edge, the rough but warm sensation of his palm meeting your own so similar to home. 

When you look up at him, Neteyam’s happiness is evident upon his features, grin broad and so unbelievably handsome-looking. Before you can get too caught up in him, him, him, he nods his head in the direction behind him, where you guess his family had set themselves up. He doesn’t take his hand away from your own, keeping a strong grip against you to ensure he doesn’t lose you, leading you through the crowd until you come up to his family.

They’re all already seated comfortably together, Lo’ak, Kiri and Tuk already eating away to their heart’s desires whilst Jake prepares the food for himself and his mate. Upon seeing your breathless figure, they greet you with smiles and nods in your direction, never surprised to see you with Neteyam anymore as they used to be. The bond between the two of you was only growing stronger as the days tilted by, the time dwindling down before you were mated and you truly became a Sully. His family were your family.

Neteyam’s arm is almost forcefully ripped away from your own when a much smaller body crashes into you. Tuk, in all her pure and giddy glory, has her arms wrapped strongly around the tops of your legs, her height not allowing her to go any higher. Her chin rests against your legs, looking up at you with her deer-like eyes and the biggest smile you have ever seen. The sight has you melting. 

“Hi, Tuk,” you greet her softly, bringing your hand up to gently caress the top of her head. She giggles at the sensation, lightly hopping up and down on her feet. Whilst you were definitely close with Neteyam’s family - more so Kiri, than anyone else, due to the amount of time you spend together - Tuk would always be your favourite. You looked to her like she was your little sister, and you hoped that one day she’d look at you like her older one. The idea of having someone as adorable as Tuk look up to you, feeling comfortable enough to come to you should she ever need to, was heart-warming. 

“Tuk!” Neytiri called, her tone harsh but understanding as she beckoned her youngest child back over to her, watching her bound away from you and back into her mother’s arms.  

You laugh quietly to yourself at the sight, finally making your way to the free seat next to Neteyam. When your comfortable enough, you go to reach over for the contents already splayed out before you, but a soft slap against the back of your hand has you recoiling away. Next to you, Neteyam reaches for everything you’d need, already beginning to do it for you.

He doesn’t look at you, although you know he can feel your gaze zoning in on his every movement - he’s too busy concentrating on making sure everything’s perfect for you, even if you are going to devour it just moments after receiving it. Your heart flutters like a swarming butterfly and you’re positive your cheeks are starting to redden as they blush. You don’t say anything to him, knowing it’s an argument you won’t be able to win - instead, you continue to watch with hearts evident within your eyes, a faint, loving smile present on your lips.  

It’s then you remember you’re not completely alone, too caught up in Neteyam. When you look up at the family surrounding you, you instantly spot his parents’ gazes already trained on the two of you - Neytiri’s expression is fond, whilst Jake’s is most definitely teasing.

Whether he can begin to sense your slight unease at being caught, you’re not sure, but Jake decides to speak up, hands moving subconsciously as he now starts to prepare his own food after giving the finished one to his mate. “So, y/n,” he starts, “how is Tsahik training going?”

You briefly look back over to Neteyam next to you, biting back a smile as you allow him to continue his work - his eyes are narrowed in on making everything flawless, making sure it’s exactly how you’d like it. Turning back to Jake, you offer him a nod, breathing out. “It is good - there are a few things I’m still struggling with, but the Tsahik believes I just need to continue with my training before I am able to do it with my eyes closed.”

Shrugging at the end of your admittance, you let out a sheepish laugh, almost a little embarrassed. Tsahik training is hard - no one ever said it was going to be easy, especially when you would be guiding the clan spiritually through Ewya, helping them heal and celebrate important ceremonies. But, you know you don’t have anything to be embarrassed by for several reasons - Neytiri understands from her brief time of training alongside her mother before mating with Jake, but this is also Neteyam’s family, your family, who have never once stopped to judge you for a single thing. In fact, you’re sure they’ve only ever supported you through the things you do, because now you’re as much they’re daughter as Kiri and Tuk.

“You will be an amazing Tsahik, y/n.” Neytiri speaks up, clearly noticing your hidden embarrassment and wanting to ease your worries. Tuk is still in her lap, happily chomping away at her food as her mother braids her hair. Her smile is doting, motherly. “The clan already loves you.”

The compliment from your mother-in-law only causes more embarrassment to flood through you, feeling yourself slowly begin to curl in on yourself. The love you were receiving not only from the family, but also from the rest of the clan, helped ease your tensions, but you never really took to taking such praise well. You appreciated it like any other Na’vi did, but sometimes you struggled to show a natural reaction, becoming slightly uncomfortable. That was something you would have to work on - the Tsahik couldn’t be embarrassed.

Your tail had previously nestled itself against your side when Neytiri complimented you, shying away from the attention, but it began to perk up suddenly when Neteyam lay a kind hand against your shoulder. His thumb was absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles against your skin - you didn’t know whether it was in his natural persona to do so, subconscious taking over, or whether he took notice of your change in demeanour, but either way, it calmed you. 

Looking at his other hand, you can see your prepared food, wrapped neatly together and gesturing for you to take it. With a grateful smile sent his way, you do so, speaking softly. “Thank you, ‘teyam.”

His grin is wide as he looks down at you. “You do not need to thank me, narlor (beautiful).” Heat passes over your cheeks when he calls you beautiful, the sincerity behind his eyes showing you how much he means it. You try your best to focus on your food when his attention doesn’t waver away from you, the warmth of his gaze piercing into your skin and making your entire being feel all tingly. Despite taking note of your attempt to shutter yourself away from him, taking a bite of the food and savouring every mouth-watering flavour it has to offer you, Neteyam is relentless - the same hand that was formerly rubbing against the top of your shoulder now snakes around the back of your neck, bringing you further into his side and pressing a tender kiss against the side of your temple. His lips linger hotly against your skin when he pulls away. “I would hunt down the most ravishing creatures and prepare the most delicious meals just for you, muntxate (wife).”

For a moment, you know nothing else but him - the way his eyes bore into yours completely, unseeing of anything else going on around you; the way his breaths steady with each one, like you bring a sense of calmness to his very being; the way his hand doesn’t move from its place against you, like doing so would cause him extreme pain. You’re sure you can feel your heart soar to the sky when he calls you his muntxate (wife), never wanting to hear him call you anything else ever again. You’ve been down the road before - Neteyam has been calling you his mate boldly as of late - but hearing him call you his wife, such domesticity has you feeling completely brand new, like you could conquer the world, face the most dangerous beast and win, just to come home and see him smiling at you like you hung the stars in the night sky. 

You’re scared it’s obvious that your tears are beginning to show against the line of your eyes, a nervous but oh-so adoring chuckle escaping your parted lips. Neteyam brings you foreheads together, the heat of his skin sending waves of the temperature into your own, his hand still clasped firmly against the back of your neck, and you notice his eyes never once falter from their stare into your own. There’s so much love, so much devotion and worship in his gaze, you can’t believe for just one brief moment in your past, you had thought Neteyam wouldn’t want you to call his own. It’s clear to you now that he’s only ever saw you.

So suddenly you’re brought out of your reverie when you hear a gagging sound coming from the direction of your other side. Reluctantly pulling away from Neteyam, you spot Lo’ak pretending to throw up the contents of his meal, no doubt having seen the intimate moment between his older brother and yourself. In any other instance, the embarrassment would be clawing away at you - and, you won’t deny the little semblance of it still making its way to the forefront - but the endearment you held for Neteyam in that moment, when you truly saw how much you meant to one another, overrides anything else. You laugh at your younger brother figure, looking up at Neteyam with nothing but comfort and passion in your eyes, watching as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head at such dramatics. But, he doesn’t pull away - no, he keeps you closer.

Another sound is brought forward to your senses - this time it’s Neytiri, smacking the back of her youngest son’s head, her words a hushed scolding. You faintly hear her tell him that someday soon, that will be him and his own mate, but the voices drown out when your attention is pulled back to Neteyam. He’s not looking at you this time, rather he’s laughing at his brother’s grumbling of having to put up being like Neteyam, and as your eyes drown in everything he has to offer, you realise the whole world had started to disappear, until all you see is him.

After a long day spent with the younger Na’vi within your clan, you’re finally finding the time to slip away and relax. Your time had been filled up with helping teach the children different aspects that Pandora had to offer before they go their separate ways and start heavily training on what they wish to do in order to provide for the clan - whether that be foraging, hunting, healer, weaving... You and a few others had taken the children out into the forests, showing them the plants, the fauna, the creatures, the life that constantly emanated around them. 

This was arguably one of your most favourite things to do - teaching the children the way of Ewya was such a beautiful experience when you got to witness their eyes light up in awe, fascination cleaving at each and every one of them, wanting to know more, to explore more. Spending time with them made your heart grow fonder, the images conjuring in your mind of the day that yourself and Neteyam get to do such things with your own children. You’re still unsure as to how many you’d like, but you know that Neteyam would be the best father, without a shadow of a doubt.

Such thoughts stay lingering within the corners of your mind, unrelenting in their leave and it has the corners of your lips turning up in a subtle smirk. The walk from the tent you had just visited after dropping off the last child wasn’t such a distance from your own, and you couldn’t stop the sigh of relief breathing through you when you spotted it. Already, you were picturing yourself laying down in the comfort of your mat, eyes closed as the worries slowly start to slip away, your dreamland beginning to take to the forefront of you mind. 

Lately, your dreams had only been filled with Neteyam, and you wondered what else they’d have you thinking about that night. The time of your bonding with Neteyam was just around the corner now, on the precipice to being the next chapter in your life, and both nervousness and excitement filled your entire being. You wanted it to be special, you wanted to be everything Neteyam ever wanted in a mate, and that’s where your nerves started. But, the moment you thought of them, they were shut down by your excitement - you knew Neteyam, and with the way he had been treating you all this time was only further evidence to how much he cared about you. You truly didn’t have anything to worry about.

“Y/n!” Your name pierces through the clan, senses heightened when you recognise the voice, such a sound being the cause of your craned eyes and elevated tail, like they had a life of their own and were looking forward to seeing him, too. You stop in front of your tent, watching as Neteyam slowly jogs his way over to you, his hands hidden behind his back.

“Hi, ‘teyam,” you greet him, an affectionate smile playing against your lips.

He sends you one back, but this one falters a little towards the end, like he’s unsure of yourself. It has you feeling nervous again, but this time, the nerves are understandable - he’s beginning to fidget from foot to foot, nodding to himself as though he’s telling himself everything’s going to be okay. “Hey,” he replies, voice low and quiet, so unlike the Neteyam you’re used to. One of his hands points towards your tent behind you, still keeping the other one hidden away from your prying eyes. “Can we talk inside for a moment?”

Such words only make you feel worse, so many jumbled thoughts and suspicions bouncing from one side of your intrigued mind to the next, concocting different possible outcomes of what could be the source of his anxiety. You repeatedly tell yourself that it can’t be anything too damaging - after everything the two of you have been through together, even before finding out you were to be mated, it’s practically impossible to pull you apart, now. Without yet being mated, you know the two of you are bonded for life, and nothing can ever come in between that. Still, a small part of yourself feeds off his apprehension and you can’t help but wonder if going inside your tent with him will change the course of your life as you know it.

With a tense smile, trying your best to muster up the courage and pretend that he’s not worrying you, you nod, moving towards the entrance. Neteyam’s quick with his movements - instantly, the flap is pulled open for you, his hands holding back the fabric and allowing you to usher yourself inside. That’s a good sign, you tell yourself - if he’s treating you like this still, whatever he wants to talk about can’t be too bad, right? Unless he’s being a gentleman so the idea of tearing you down doesn’t seem as harsh.

You walk over to your mat, placing yourself down in a hurry, looking up at Neteyam and gesturing for him to do the same. He does so, and his body movements of sitting down opposite you are stiff, too. You notice his hand still firmly placed behind his back. Suddenly, the air feels uncomfortable, too much to bare as it continues to envelop you more, his worry stifling every one of your senses. Sucking in a breath, you let out a nervous laugh, hoping to ease the tension, wanting to get it over with in the chance it’s something bad. “’Teyam, you’re worrying me.”

As soon as you speak, he’s on alert - his head shoots up to you, finally able to properly look at you directly, his pupils blown wide. Tension steadily starts to dissipate from his figure, a brittle chuckle parting from his lips as he shakes his head slightly. “I’m sorry, I do not mean to worry you, it’s just...” he pauses, takes a big breath like he’s preparing himself for something monumental and steadies himself. “I made something for you.”

The strain of believing Neteyam was going to be telling you bad news disperses and it’s like it was never there in the first place. You feel your ears wiggle as they come to understand exactly what he said, your tail swaying back and forth in anticipation. “For me?”

He breathes out a soft laugh, eyes lighting up at how adorable you look to him. “Of course, am I courting someone else?”

It’s like the nervous Neteyam has completely disappeared, and finally you’re looking at the one you know and love - the Neteyam that is brave, and proud; the Neteyam that enjoys teasing you just to get a shy reaction out you; the Neteyam that can’t help but be sarcastic despite being a nervous wreck just moments beforehand. You hate the way he teases you, and yet you love it at the same time. You shake your head at his sarcasm, in slight disbelief at how he had managed to change his demeanour in the matter of a split second, a velvet-like giggle breaking out before you have the chance to force it back in. Now, he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Slowly, with both precision and care, he moves his hand from behind his back, palm outstretched and showing off what he has to offer you. Your eyes land on a beautifully woven necklace, all different colours, shapes and sizes of beads and feathers and small intricacies tied all into place to make it perfect. It’s completely caught your attention, and you can’t seem to train your focus away from it. Subconsciously, your hand covers your mouth, smile wide and tears beginning to brim along your waterline. “Oh, ‘teyam. It’s beautiful.”

He brings himself closer to you, body shifting over until you’re now sat side by side, legs touching. He holds the necklace delicately in his hand still, bringing it further into the light to show it off, to show you how it looks in its true element. A beam plays at his lips now that he’s finally at ease, seeing the way you look so adoringly upon the object, so intense and ethereal it surely can’t be real. 

With a slight shake to his hand, he points to one of the beads, a watercolour blue that glistens when it shines perfectly against the light. “This bead is to represent when we first met - when you tripped and fell into the water.”

The memory comes back to you so quickly, it felt as though it happened just yesterday. You had been stood by the water, so close your toes were tipping in to the cool liquid, watching the fish as they swam in their habitat, blissfully happy and fascination clear on your features. Neteyam had unintentionally snuck up on you, scaring the life out of you as you fell into the water in surprise. Instantly, Neteyam felt bad, helping you out of the water and making sure you were fine, but as time went on, Neteyam loved to casually bring it up in conversation, if only to tease you.

You playfully smacked his arm, features recoiling before gasping out at his remark. “I did not trip - you scared me!”

He laughs, eyes imploring straight into yours, and you can see the hearts filled lovingly within them. Shaking his head, he bites back his smile, moving onto the next one, this one a darker brown, almost rusty in colour with different edges of tones. “This one is to represent the time when I started to help you with your bow.” As another memory filters through your mind’s eye, of two younger looking Na’vi practicing in the midst of the forest on how to correctly aim, you start to realise that this necklace your future mate had made for you is personal. He didn’t choose these specific ornaments just based on their beautiful colours or their variety of textures... he’d chosen them to portray each pleasing moment you had spent together, right from the very beginning. Your attention doesn’t falter, eyes trailing slowly from the necklace up to him, watching as he continues to talk through each one; so in his element, so in love. “This is a feather I found that looks similar to the colour of your ikran, and this one is supposed to represent when I asked to court you-”

You couldn’t help yourself - his voice was drowning in your ears, a ringing sensation taking over until silence deafened you and there was nothing else important in the world. Whilst he’s still speaking, you take his face gently within your grasp, holding onto both sides of his face, turning him to you and smashing your lips against his own. You kiss him passionately, as though it was the last one you may ever share together. It isn’t usually you who initiates moments like this one, but the more he spoke about every moment you shared together, concocting them and making them into something you’ll wear for the rest of your life proudly, all you wanted to do was show him how much the gesture meant to you, how much he meant to you.

When you eventually pull back, your lips linger against one another, breaths mingling together. You press another soft kiss to his lips, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing the apples of his cheeks. Looking up at him, you watch as his eyes start to open slowly, dazed, hazy, in love. A grin rests along your features at having been able to get him so drunk on you in such a way. “Nga yawne lu oer, Neteyam (I love you, Neteyam),” you breathe out, pecking his lips again, even lighter this time. “Oel ngati kameie (I see you).”

A vast smile is obvious upon his features now, uncontainable, but it wasn’t like he wanted to contain it anyway. For as long as the two of you were together, he’d show off all of himself to you, no matter the circumstance. Such a sight before you - all for you - has your heart fluttering. Neteyam presses his head impossibly closer to your own, trying his hardest for the two of you to become one, kneading his face against your own, wanting his scent to be all over you, for everyone to know that you belong to him. “You have no idea how much you mean to me, yawne (beloved), and how eager I am to finally be all yours.”

Your cheeks are hurting from how happy you appear, but there’s so much love being shared between the two of you, you simply don’t care. “And, I cannot wait to be yours, muntxa (mate).”

It’s the first time you’ve admittedly called him your mate - after all this time, it’s usually him to call you such a name. But, seeing him today, presenting you with a gift of such beautifully personal memories, you finally give into yourself. Even if it is still some time before the two of you mate as one before the eyes of Ewya, but all in all, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan will always be your mate. 

A laugh bubbles in the back of his throat at finally hearing you call him such a name, pearly fangs on full display as the two of you show off your eagerness to come together as one - of how much you care for one another, how much you yearn for one another.

You truly cannot wait to be all his, because there was no doubt in your mind that Neteyam was always the one for you.

taglist ;

@bakugouswaif @andraga12 @draiochtwrites @teyums​ @neteyamslovrr @tinkerbelle05 @netesanrr

#𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐑’s work ── ✎ #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar 2 #neteyam fluff #neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam sully x you #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x fem reader #neteyam sully fluff #neteyam sully smut

[veethefreeelf]

RM / KIM NAMJOON Fic Recs (I)

M - Mature (minors DNI) / F - Fluff / A - Angst / HpE - Happy Ending

None of these works are mine, I tagged all the authors, make sure to go to the authors page, like and reblog their works

new guy - one-shot, 5.5K - by @kithtaehyung - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

Solace - one-shot, 13.5K - by @m-yg93 - full Masterlist -> M / minor A / F / HpE

the interpretation of dreams - one-shot, 13.8K - by @ppersonna - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

out of my league mini Series by @ppersonna (go through their masterlist, trust) -> M / A / F / HpE

lost in the funhouse - one-shot, 9.7K - by @dovechim - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE?

The Body Through Time - one-shot, 10.9K - by @yeoldontknow - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

False awakening - one-shot, 6.8K - by @taleasnewastime - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

Between the pages - one-shot, 4.5K - by @hwanghyunjinenthusiast - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

you, after all - one-shot, 6.8K - by @effortandmore - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

the sleeping hours - one-shot, 12K - by @effortandmore again because their writing is beautiful -> M / A / F / HpE

tuesday moon - one-shot, 7.7K - by @effortandmore again. Just read all of their Masterlist, please, you won't regret it -> M / F / HpE

worth all your while Series by @effortandmore (just leave here and go to their page) -> M / minor A / F / HpE

promises - one-shot, 18K - by @jeonbunnie - full Masterlist -> M / major A / F / You can choose your ending

lacuna - one-shot, 7K - by @eoieopda - full Masterlist - this one has a prequel and a sequel, do yourself a favor and read all of them -> M / A / F / HpE

The Making of: Love - one-shot, 12.7K - by @inkjam-moon - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

Not Another Holiday Romance - one-shot, 32.3K - by @kpopfanfictrash - full Masterlist - this one is one of my absolute favorites, they never disappoint -> M / A / F / HpE

The Rich Man's Crochet Club - one-shot, 32.4K - by the incredible @kpopfanfictrash again -> M / A / F / HpE

My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold Series by @daechwitatamic - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

give and take - one-shot, 10.5K - by @ddaenggtan - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

midnight wishes - one-shot, 10.3K - by @ddaenggtan again because they write Namjoon beautifully -> M / A / F / HpE

Moon Child - one-shot, 16K - by @adonis-koo - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

Scent of a Woman - one-shot, 10K - by @sahmfanficbts - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

The Take-Home Test - one-shot, 11.3K - by @versigny - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

keep in step - one-shot, 2.6K - by @jjkeverlast - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

On With The Show - one-shot, 33.9K - by @joheunsaram - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

reflection - one-shot, 18.6K - by @jimilter - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

A Fine Line Series by @moni-logues - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

All Night - one-shot, 12K - by @luaspersona - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

real magic - one-shot, 16.7K - @here2bbtstrash - full Masterlist -> M / minor A / F / HpE

deep end - one-shot, 4.2K - by @here2bbtstrash again because their writing is incredible -> M / F / HpE

The Stand-In - one-shot, 13.5K - by @yoonia - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

doom boy - one-shot, 4.2K - by @soft4gguk - full Masterlist -> M / HpE

s u g a r - one-shot, 10.8K - by @joonberriess - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

rivals academia - one-shot, 4.2K - by @aseaofyoongi - full Masterlist -> M / minor A / HpE

Love Language - one-shot, 14K - by @rmnamjoons - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

Castaways - one-shot, 25.5K - by @rmnamjoons - this one is absolute GOLD -> M / A / F / HpE

all aboard! (the passion express) - one-shot, 10.8K - by @ve1vetyoongi - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

Inside My Mind - one-shot, 19.2K - by @jimlingss - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

His Majesty - one-shot, 9.6K - by @yoonieper - full Masterlist -> M / A / minor F / HpE

Dragonfire - one-shot, 7.3K - by @hamsterclaw - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

obsessed - one-shot, 13.8K - by @namjuicyy - full Masterlist - really read the trigger warnings for this one please, it's not for everyone (it's brilliant tho) -> M / A / F / HpE

Untitled - one-shot, 16K - by @ahundredtimesover - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

Dino-Mite - one-shot, 34.7K - by @chimcess - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

Cherry Muffins and Lavender Tea - one-shot, 8.1K - by @roses-ruby - full Masterlist -> M / minor A / F / HpE

English literature - one-shot, 7.6K - by @tayegi - full Masterlist - this one also has a sequel, be sure to check it out as well -> M / F / HpE

glasses-clad boy - one-shot, 10K - by @jeongi - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

Love Borrowed - one-shot, 7K - by @goldenkookietae - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

Love is Blind - one-shot, 7.4K - by @helenazbmrskai - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

the snow globe effect - one-shot, 10K - by @gukyi - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

there was a bug - one-shot, 7K - by @kimnjss - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

#rm smut #rm #rm fluff #rm angst #rm fanfic #rm fic #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #kim namjoon smut #kim namjoon fluff #kim namjoon angst #kim namjoon fanfic #kim namjoon fic #fanfic recs #fic recs #bts fic recs #bts fics

[gffa]

You would think, after a month of voracious reading of BATFAMILY fic, that I would at least begin to slow down, because I still primarily read I’m Having Dick Grayson Feelings And I’m Making That Everyone Else’s Problem, but I have also discovered that I have Jason feelings, I have Tim feelings, and I have Damian feelings. Which of course I knew before, but what I really learned is that other people have made this my problem now, too. And by that I mean that there’s amazing fic on all of the Bat babies and I am not immune. So, you may still have to scroll a bit, but if there’s an idiot badass with black hair and blue eyes, you’ll hopefully find something here to cry about with me, because what are any of us even in this fandom for, if not for the Feelings Hell About Vigilantes With Emotional Problems? BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I’M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ it is with my whole life by dustorange, dick & bruce, 2.2k      Nine-year-old Dick’s been kidnapped. Bruce tries not to fall apart. ✦ World’s Finest: Lake Weekend by WingFeathers, dick & bruce & clark (& clark/bruce), 10.3k      Bruce and Dick invite Clark to the lakehouse for a long weekend around Rosh Hashanah, but Dick has trouble sleeping outside the Manor, and Bruce isn’t as available as he should be. And all of this brings up a question: what exactly are the three of them, a bat-vigilante and his ward and his superhero boyfriend? Could they be something like a family? (And how will they eat with Alfred not taking care of them?) ✦ Revision by takadainmate, dick & bruce, 3.8k      New to Bruce Wayne, new to being Robin, new to being alone, Dick didn’t believe there would ever be anyone there for him again. ✦ count the stars by emavee, dick & bruce, 3.7k      He doesn’t know what to do. It’s not like he can stop the storm. If he could wave a magic wand and make the sky clear—or even if he could call up someone from his large contact list full of metas who could control the weather—he would. He would honestly disrupt Gotham’s weather patterns if it meant Dick would stop crying. Or: Dick doesn’t like thunderstorms, so Bruce takes him somewhere where they can’t touch him. ✦ cautionary tale by drakefeathers, dick & bruce & young justice, 11.4k      Q: “Why did Queen Bee want Robin taken in alive in Bereft?” A: “Think of Speedy as a cautionary tale.” ✦ batman & robin by chickenmuffinsoup55555, dick & bruce, 4.8k      The Batman has a shadow. A shadow clad in reds and greens with a smile like sunshine. Bruce is adjusting. ✦ five times someone told Bruce he was a good dad… by emavee, dick & bruce & clark & selina & cast, 10.3k      …and one time it mattered ✦ Phobias by RascalJoy (DarkQuill), dick & bruce & alfred, 18.4k wip      It was stupid. It was irrational. Dick knew that. There was no good reason for him to be afraid; he had been doing this for most of his young life. And yet… Five times Dick fell, and the one time Robin didn’t. ✦ I Hate Dick by JeanjacketCarf, dick & bruce & talia, 3.7k      “Robin wrapped his legs around the Bats’ neck and rested his head on top of the cowl. Then he stuck his tongue out at Talia. Talia felt her face growing hot with anger. She tried to restrain it. The Bat loved this child for some unholy reason.” ✦ shades of blue by thatsveryambitiousofyou, dick & bruce, 2.4k      Dick Grayson has blue eyes. Or the one where Bruce tries harder BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ Withdrawal by Sohotthateveryonedied, dick & bruce & cast, 1.8k      It’s been six hours since he got dosed. The green ring around his eyes has been faded since dawn. It won’t be long before the withdrawal hits him in full force. ✦ The Post-Mission Ponderings of Brucerman and NightBunny by Ptelea, dick & bruce, 4.8k      This is just sheer (metaphorical) fluff to follow up on the (somewhat more literal) fluff of Wayne Family Adventures, season 2, episode 54, S'tel ees a cigam wohs! Heavy on the puns, even heavier on Bruce being struck by amazement at how much he loves his oldest son. ✦ gotta make a stand (but I am just a man) by CaptainOzone, dick & bruce & alfred, 2.3k      Bruce makes it back to the Cave, injured and exhausted, but remarkably alive. He expects Alfred to meet him. He meets someone else. Or: a third credit scene in which Nightwing makes an appearance. ✦ The Hand in My Hand by audreycritter, dick & bruce, 4.4k      Dick offers himself in exchange for some hostages and it does not go as planned. ✦ Yesterday by I_Have_To_Get_Off_This_Planet, dick & bruce, 1.5k      Dick was pretty sure this was what dying felt like. He was curled up, almost in fetal position, on his bed in the Manor. He was there for the holidays, and he had been looking forward to their entire family being together for once. Even Jason had agreed to come. And now he was gonna die before Christmas even arrived. ✦ I Bet On Losing Dogs by Anonymous, dick & bruce, 2.5k      (Or; Bruce’s relationship with his oldest and how it slowly starts to mend, with only a little push from his friends.) ✦ You can pick your battles but you can’t pick your poison by woodenwashbucket, dick & bruce, 1.8k      “Hey, am I bleeding a lot somewhere?” Nightwing asked. Batman gave him an unimpressed look, but Nightwing shook his head. “Seriously. I feel off.” Nightwing wobbled. Batman grabbed him by the shoulders before they could find out if he would have fallen, and Nightwing met his eyes with undisguised alarm. “Ok, maybe worse than off,” he said. BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ what’s past is prologue by Icestorm238, dick & bruce & jason & damian, time travel, 18.1k      Dick Grayson, bestowed with the memories of an alternate life, decides that things are going to go better this time. Priority number one: preventing Jason’s death. ✦ exactly how this grace thing works by irnan, dick & bruce & barbara & jason & cast, de-aged!dick, 22.7k      Dick gets de-aged. You’d think this would be a routine thing. ✦ sick day by daringyounggrayson, dick & roy & titans, 1.2k      Dick tries to power through a cold and lead a training session with the Teen Titans. It doesn’t exactly work out. ✦ The Gravity of Tempered Grace by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & selina, 10k      He’s sick, he finally catches on, and at that moment, a cough builds up in his chest, and he barely has enough energy to sit up enough to let his lungs work properly. A coughing fit later, and Dick’s breaths are making a horrible wheezing sound that makes him sound like one of Titus’ chew toys. That’s bad. He’s pretty sure that’s bad. ✦ you swallowing matches by torielle, roy/dick & bruce, NSFW, 8.2k      A month after being fired as Robin, Dick is forced to attend a Wayne gala, and is grateful for a particular friendly face. ✦ The Shape Of You (Was Jagged And Weak) by WinterSky101, dick & bruce & slade & jason & tim & damian & batfam, 40.6k      Six months ago, Nightwing died. They never found the body. Last week, Deathstroke arrived in Gotham. He brought a partner with him. ✦ You say you wanna stay by my side (Darling, your head’s not right) by wlwintersoldier, roy/dick & lian & donna, 2.5k      Dick is stupid and reckless on a mission, whats new, and Roy deals with the fallout ✦ Laundry Mishaps by JeanjacketCarf, dick/babs & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & duke, 3.5k      Dick’s siblings often show up unannounced and take his stuff without asking. It’s how they show their love. Or Dick’s washing machine is commandeered for Steph’s laundry, his clothes disappear, he goes to girl’s night, has brunch, gets a little shot, and picks his baby brother up from school in about a week and a half while the secret group chat has a grand old time. BATFAM FIC RECS - JASON TODD IS AN ASSHOLE CAT, I’M GONNA THROW HIM AT DICK BECAUSE IT’S FUNNY (AND MAYBE SOME OF HIS OTHER SIBLINGS TOO): ✦ Two Dead Birds by InsaneTrollLogic, jason & dick & tim, time travel, 29k      There’s some lunatic in a red helmet running through Jason’s territory. He wants to think it’s a copycat. He’s wrong. BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK AND DAMIAN WERE THE BEST BATMAN & ROBIN, I’M NOT HEARING ARGUMENTS ABOUT THAT EITHER: ✦ Won’t You Stay A While? by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & cast, 2.8k      Ric did not expect to find a child sitting on the hood of his cab. Damian did expect to get his brother back. ✦ birdgrief by windupclock, dick & bruce & damian, 1.5k      How could you? Dick doesn’t say. Get out of my sight, Dick doesn’t say. What the hell is wrong with you? Dick doesn’t say. Tim storms out. Dick is left to deal with Damian. ✦ we’re like long lost brothers who found each other (and love each other like family) by drakefeathers, dick & damian, 9.3k      ongoing collection of scenes set when Dick is Batman and Damian is his Robin, ranging from cute to sad (hopefully not too sad). not chronological. ✦ I’ll Carry You by BrickSheep, dick & damian & bruce & tim, 2.1k      Dick Grayson will take every opportunity he can just to carry Damian in his arms. ✦ in my own imperfect way by notquiteaghost, dick & damian & bruce, 1.8k      Dick jokes, a lot, about being the only reason Bruce still remembers how to talk to people. About breaking him in for everyone else. He was Robin first, and he was Robin longest, and he’s why Bruce took in the others, he’s why Bruce isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. And the jokes are funny! He’s never trying to be passive aggressive, or guilt trip, or whatever else. He and Bruce have spent enough time, now, pointedly not actually looking at each other, pulling words out in painful fits and starts. Dick knows where they stand. They’re good. But. ✦ (Un)Fortunate Son by Syl, dick & damian & bruce & cast, 26.1k wip      Bruce reaches a decision about Damian. Dick disagrees and decides to do something about it. BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY’RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies, jason & bruce & dick, 31.4k      Bruce swallows, closing his eyes for a brief moment before he takes another, steadying breath and presses both hands to his face. He just needs a moment. Needs to remember where he is, what year it is, that Jason is not actually fifteen, he only looks like he is. This is temporary. This is just a temporary problem that needs to be contained until they can change Jason back. This is not a repeat of events already passed. This is not a second chance. ✦ what’s past is prologue by Icestorm238, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & barbara & steph & cast, time travel, 84.9k      Dick Grayson, bestowed with the memories of an alternate life, decides that things are going to go better this time. Things take a few unintended turns, and the consequences of his actions ripple through his family. ✦ And the Scene Slips Away (To the Evenness I Fake) by Kirazalea, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & duke & alfred & cast, rape aftermath/read the tags, 37k      One mistake is all it took to force Jason back into the wonderful world of the Wayne family. Now publicly and legally alive once more, he’s forced to spend the next two weeks of his life stuck in the Manor with the whole family. This leads to several strengthened relationships and the realization that maybe he’s missed a few things over the years. Things that he’s now determined to get to the bottom of. ✦ now the clock is melting (so’s my mouth and so’s my mind) by SilverSkiesAtMidnight, tim & bruce & dick & cast, 4.1k      The League’s base is not built to welcome strangers. Bruce is not a stranger. ✦ what catches and who holds by victoria_p (musesfool), dick & cass, 3k      Dick never wanted to be Batman. Cass always did. ✦ Bet on it by Lysical, jason & damian & jon, 2.4k      Even Damian could admit that his older siblings occasionally had their uses. “I need your assistance,” Damian said, voice low and tense. “No,” Jason replied, and hung up. ✦ a soft place to land by unchosenone, dick & tim, 3k      Tim rubs the back of his head, trying to affect a joking tone. “I knew I should’ve just gone for the new escrima sticks.” Dick is ready to be a good big brother to his grieving little bro. Tim flips the script. ✦ Consanguineous Ministrations by Briarwitched, bruce & kon-el & clark & dick, 23.9k      “Who gave you a baby?” Dick demanded, the instant Bruce opened the front door, eyes drawn immediately to the sobbing infant on Bruce’s hip that he gently bounced to no avail. At the same time, Bruce muttered, “I told you, it’s fine, you didn’t have to come.” Alternatively titled, “Let’s give Batfleck alien baby problems”. ✦ The League of Extraordinary Bowling Bats by chibi_nightowl, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & alfred & cassandra & stephanie, 5k      “What did Dickiebird do? Steal all your other shirts?” The shirt is bright green with wide yellow stripes pretending to be a pin stripe running vertically across it. On the back, in bright red letters, “Timmy” is spelled out. “You’re next,” he spits out, shooting Jason the worst glare he could muster. “He’s got one for you too.” ✦ a cheese raspberry flavored void (except not really) by dottie_dc (dottie_wan_kenobi), Marzue, SilverSkiesAtMidnight, Squintyfist (ErzasCake), dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & alfred & cast, 3k      “Jason.” Dick walks up to the desk, suspiciously peering around. Jason jerks and attempts to get in his way, but Dick is quick and fully willing to vault over his brother. Only, Jason immediately latches onto him, and the momentum sends them stumbling back, knocking into the desk. It’s a good thing Jason stopped him, for right behind the desk, where Dick would’ve landed, is a swirling void. ✦ The Talk by InsaneTrollLogic, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian, 2k      Bruce never gave Dick the Talk. Dick was grateful for that right up until the time Damian sat through his first health class and started asking questions. ✦ Brothers in War by IaMcHrIsSi, jason & dick & cast, 3.2k      Jason, Cass and Damian ran from the League. In Bludhaven, they run into Dick. Literally. Dick just wanted to get breakfast. ✦ Baby I’m Bi Bi Bi by Sohotthateveryonedied, dick & steph, 1.5k      Dick catches her staring. “Oh, yeah. Forgot I had that. I bought it for when Wally, Donna and I were planning to go to Gotham Pride last year but a Joker thing came up and I didn’t get to go. You can just toss it. I have a ton of other bi merch and I only bought that one because Donna pressured me into it, anyway.” Steph looks down at the t-shirt and bites her lip. “Actually…I think I’ll keep it, if you don’t mind.” ✦ two attempted robberies too many by tsuchann, dick & bruce & jason, 2.2k      Dick could have knocked out the man before he had the chance to blink let alone pull the trigger, but he wasn’t dumb, and he worried his reaction would have caused the other robbers to shoot, because in the bank, at the middle of it all, with a gun pressed to his head, was Dick’s little brother. ✦ That the Ripest Might Fall by Ellegrine, TheFightingBull, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce, reverse robins, 2.4k      Jason stared at the fallen chandelier. The priceless, fallen chandelier. They were dead. They were so, so dead! ✦ the butler’s neighbor by deargalileo, tim & alfred & bruce, 16.6k      it starts with a baseball, thrown onto the wayne’s property. it’s alfred’s job to deal with such happenings, of course. but over tea and galas, it turns into so much more. after all, why should bruce be the only one allowed to adopt any child that he finds? ✦ the straw drawer by deargalileo, dick & bruce & jason & tim & alfred, 7.4k      sometimes, love is stored in the straws. a story about family, traditions, and gifts, through the medium of crazy straws. (a companion piece to the butler’s neighbor, so i would suggest reading that first) ✦ you gotta push all the doubt to the side of your mouth by danishsweethearts, dick & stephanie & cast, 1.7k      Steph practices mindfulness. BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK/BABS FOREVER AND YOU CAN SHUT IT IF YOU DISAGREE, THEY’RE ADORABLE TOGETHER: ✦ Crime and… by Ladymercury_10, dick/babs, 1.7k      “Are you punishing me with glitter? That’s not a very good punishment, Babs.” ✦ the dickbabs baby au. by thychesters, dick/babs & batfam, 49.1k wip      Telling Dick she’s pregnant is much more stressful than she was hoping it would be. Them telling the rest of their families and friends? Yeah, easier said than done. BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE’S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ buy back the secrets by sundiscus, tim/kon & bruce & clark & jason & cast, 48.1k wip      He takes a long, slow breath. Ignores the glares from the other students. “Superboy,” he murmurs. “It’s me. If you’re listening, I could use some help.” Or: 5 times Superboy saves Tim Drake, and one time Tim Drake saves Superboy. ✦ Grevious Misuse of TTK (or, Alternate Uses for TTK) by Cfae8, tim/kon, NSFW, 1.4k      Tim wakes up to someone touching him. But Kon’s hands haven’t moved. ✦ The Lost Art of Minding Your Goddamn Business by JpegDotJpeg, tim/kon & jason, 2k      Tim just sputtered, looking thoroughly scandalized for someone standing in the middle of the irrefutable evidence of his own fornication. If the furniture looked this bad, Jason couldn’t imagine that little Timmy had escaped Superboy’s super cock completely unscathed. “It’s not that bad,” Tim said, gesturing to the carnage, but he didn’t even sound convinced of his own words. “It looks like the fucking honeymoon scene from Twilight in here.” ✦ Practice Makes Perfect by rotasha, tim/kon & jason, NSFW, 18.3k      Kon is trying to seduce someone – he won’t tell Tim who – and he enlists Tim’s help to try to hone his flirtation skills. This surely won’t end in disaster for Tim, who’s had a thing for Kon practically since they met. BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT’S WHAT I’M HERE FOR: ✦ Wait, What? by PandasandDucks13, dick & bruce & titans, 2.4k      Dick Grayson finds something interesting while applying for college. On a side note: He should really evaluate how many felonies he commits on a regular basis ✦ Dawn Breaks Through the Window by sElkieNight60, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian, depression/read the tags, 14.7k      Without realizing it, Dick has fallen into a listless apathy, but when an incident cuts a little too close, Bruce and his brothers are there to remind him just how loved he is. ✦ Wisdom Always Chooses These Black Eyes and These Bruises by audreycritter, dick & bruce, 3.2k      After a severe, life-changing injury, Dick and Bruce have an epic fight and then fall back together. Sometimes, family hurts you the most, but that doesn’t stop how much you need them. ✦ your continental divides by isawet, reisling, dick & bruce & damian & barbara & cassandra & stephanie & donna & roy & wally & artemis & cast, rape aftermath/read the tags, 26.7k      When running doesn’t work and working doesn’t work, home is the place you go where they have to take you in. Dick’s home has never been Gotham; it’s always been the people.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #timkon #fic recs #batman fic recs #long post #really long post

[unseededtoast]

Take My Hand | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Part Two to I Stayed There

Inspired by “Right Where You Left Me” by Taylor Swift

Summary: In which almost a decade later unlikely paths cross again, with little time to make big decisions. What once was broken can be mended, and the past can be forgiven. Frozen hearts can be reignited and destined souls can become one again. But only if given the chance.

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

wc: 10.3k

warnings: a lot of angst, pining, men begging on their knees, emotional turmoil

a/n: howdy folks, back at it again with part two. I want to thank everyone for the overwhelming support on part one, and I really hope part two lives up to your expectations. It got a little lengthy, but I hope you all enjoy it. And as always, thank you so very much for taking the time to read my stories, I appreciate each and every one of you.

"I knew if I told you that there was someone else that you wouldn't push the issue. I knew you loved me too much to interfere with my happiness. I used your own love against you and I am so sorry." He sniffles and pushes tears from his eyes.

His words feel like someone has punched you square in the stomach. Spencer had never found anyone else, he just wanted to protect you. He loved you too much to let you be harmed. Realizing his actions were done out of pure love, and not betrayal, a sob bubbles up from your chest.

Years upon years you had spent every night in envy of the other woman who was receiving Spencer's love. Months had been dedicated to wondering what you could've done differently to keep him from leaving. Countless weeks spent in agonizing misery, mourning and yearning for the love of your life.

Eight years, eleven months, and twenty-eight days. That's how much time has passed since Spencer had walked out, and every day that passes and another day is added to the count, his heart grows heavier.

Sure, he's able to get up in the mornings and do his job thoroughly, but the joy life once had has faded. He's become jaded, and everyone has noticed. They've all just accepted that it's who he is now. He no longer tries to go out of his way to inquire about his teammates and their lives, he stopped practicing his magic tricks when there was downtime. Instead, he keeps to himself for the most part. The only time the team really hears from him is when there's an active case.

The first year or so the team had given him some grace, they understood how badly the break up had affected him; they assumed he'd bounce back eventually, but more and more time passed with no indication of returning to his former self.

And after a while they stopped trying to set him up with dates, they quit teasing him about being disinterested in getting back out there. Spencer had never told them exactly what happened, but after they stopped, he suspected Derek filled in the blanks for them.

Truthfully, the rest of the team had taken pity on him; they understood all too well why he had initiated the breakup. But even with their knowledge and insight, they are still saddened by what Spencer has become, and they wish every day that his old personality will resurface. But until that day comes, if it ever does, they will remain supportive from a distance with which he is comfortable with.

"You ready for the next case?" Derek asks Spencer as he stirs the sugar into his coffee. Spencer stares at the rising steam before answering.

"Yeah, I'm ready." He replies and grabs the cup, following Derek to the briefing room where JJ and the rest are awaiting them.

Spencer takes his usual spot and listens to JJ explain the case. It's a local case, a wife gone missing in the middle of the day yesterday. From the photos, it looks like it could've been a burglary gone bad. Spencer zones out a little while JJ is explaining, instead focusing on his coffee, which he wishes he would've put more sugar into. After JJ has completed the brief, the team heads out to start working, and like usual, Spencer is tasked with the geographical profile.

Derek works alongside him under the order of Hotch while the rest go explore leads. The two of them work silently and efficiently, singling out places of interest to investigate and narrowing down a perimeter for officers to search.

"What do you think about it?" Derek breaks the silence, earning a sigh from Spencer. He steps away from the board and crosses his arms, studying what they have so far.

"I think it's weird that nothing of value was really missing, just the wife. You'd think if it were a burglary gone bad the unsub would've taken something else." Spencer's eyes dance across the crime scene photos, mind working a hundred miles a minute to make sense of this.

"Well maybe it wasn't a burglary." Derek says, eyes trained on a photo of the husband who reported his wife missing.

"Maybe not." Spencer agrees, and the two of them delve back into the work.

-----

You stir your tea around in your cup, settling on the couch for some morning television before you start your day. There's a laundry list of things you need to get done, only you lack the necessary motivation to get started on it all. Your hand finds the remote and turns the volume up, the woman on the screen piquing your interest and distracting you from your responsibilities.

"Mrs. Greene was reported missing late last night by her husband. At this time, her whereabouts are still unknown, and the authorities urge you to contact them if you have any information." The news reporter speaks with clarity and urgency. A photo of the missing woman pops onto the screen, but you don't recognize her. You hope they find her alive, but you know cases like this usually don't end well.

Thinking about what might have happened to the woman, your mind drifts to Spencer, and you wonder how he would approach the case. Would he immediately suspect the husband? Or would he hold off on judgment until he got the facts straight? Running your hand over his blanket, you wish he was here to talk about it.

Though it's been almost nine years at this point, there isn't a day that goes by that you don't think of him. You hope he's doing well, you hope he's found happiness. And at this point, you even think he might have a family of his own. But you try not to dwell on that thought too long, for it still makes you sick to your stomach to imagine him having a family with anyone other than you.

Of course, you could always ask Derek, but you think that a part of you would prefer not to know. Because if you don't know for sure, then there's always a chance that you're wrong. In order to stay functional you need the plausible deniability. While you want him to be happy, and you want him to live his life to the fullest, his absence is still very prominent and noticeable to you.

After you finish your tea, you place your cup on the white tablecloth adorning the dining room table, red stain having faded to pink from time and wear. And while the stain may fade, you know for a fact your memory about that morning will always be in your mind. And if the stain wasn't enough of a reminder, the scars on the bottoms of your feet are. It still hurts to step a certain way after all this time, the glass had embedded itself deeply into your skin, causing lasting damage.

Once you get ready for the day, you embark on the errands you have to run. A small part inside of you is excited about this new journey; it'll be like a fresh start and you think that's exactly what you need. You don't really want to move away, you love this city, but it houses memories that will forever hold you prisoner if you let them; and you've let them for the past nine years. The other part of you, the part that still clings to Spencer, is suffering and it makes this decision ten times harder. The guilt slowly, but surely, eats away at you with each step you take down the street but you try to convince yourself that this is the right move to be making.

Ignoring your emotional turmoil, you walk into the leasing agent's building and find her office easily, having already been here once last week to start the process of relisting the apartment. She welcomes you in and explains the paperwork as you sit across from her. The agent tells you where to sign and when you will need to be out of the apartment once you've submitted the paperwork. She said that since Spencer had taken his name off the lease years ago, that this process is a hundred times easier since there's no permission needed from him anymore. It's a bittersweet statement you realize.

You take the papers from the agent's office and tell her that you'll be back soon with everything signed. She had wanted you to fill everything out right there, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. After all, this apartment holds so much sentimental value and the thought of it being someone else's makes your heart ache. You'll have to build yourself up to sign them, once you've fully convinced yourself that this is the right thing to do. And you know that once you sign those papers, the tiny part of Spencer you still have, will be yours no longer.

After the leasing agent's office, you take a trip to a moving company to get a quote on how much it would cost to move your things from Virginia to Colorado. The price they gave you was a little steeper than you had hoped for, but you thank them nonetheless and try to figure out how to foot that bill while also finding a new place to live. There are a few places in your sights, but you had yet to decide on one.

You return to your apartment after you had completed the last few errands on your list, dropping the stack of papers onto the dining table and unloading the groceries you had picked up on your way back home. The sun had started to set and so you turned on a few lamps and lit a candle, wanting to try to soothe your anxieties after today and have a relaxing evening.

A glass of wine finds its way into your hand after dinner, you kick your feet up on the coffee table and sip while staring at the screen in front of you. They're running another story on the missing woman, but it seems they have more details. Intrigued, you turn the volume up.

"Authorities are now saying that the scene looks like it could have been a robbery gone bad. Informants on the scene noted that there were signs of a struggle inside the residence. If you noticed any suspicious activity, contact the sheriff's office immediately." The reporter switches to a different story, and you change the channel, wanting to know more about the missing woman. And you know there's always one channel that seems to be ahead of the news.

The reporter is a fiery blonde-haired lady who makes her opinions well-known to the public. And you know her persona is probably partially to generate views and interest value, but you can't deny that she's able to get insider information quicker than the traditional news channels. Sure enough, the woman's face is on the center of the screen, and she's going on about Mrs. Greene's disappearance in a very animated manner.

"You're telling me that a husband reports his wife missing hours after he was aware of her absence? He knew that she was gone since at least the afternoon, and he didn't report it to police until almost the next day? Not only that, but there's been a disturbance in the house! From the photos I've seen so far, the ottoman in the living room was knocked over, the coffee table was shattered, and the dining room chairs were all sorts of disheveled. And to top it all off, I've got someone on the scene there, and they just told us that police are reporting a positive luminol test. There was blood on the scene that's been cleaned up. Now I'm no expert, but I think that certainly casts suspicion on Mr. Greene." Her voice drones on and on about her theory that Mr. Greene was most definitely involved in the disappearance of his wife, but something about the details is oddly familiar, you just can't quite put your finger on it.

You go to bed that night trying to recall why those details sound so familiar. Tossing and turning, you struggle to pinpoint where you've heard something like that before and it's beginning to drive you insane. The plots of movies and shows run through your mind, trying to piece things together, but to no avail. You eventually drift off to sleep, and for the first night in nine years, your dreams are full of something other than Spencer; your mind finally has something compelling enough to mull over to distract you from the cold, empty spot beside you.

The morning comes and your hand ghosts over the spot next to you, like it does every morning. You had hoped that by now your unconscious would understand that he's not here to hold close in the morning anymore, but you wake up the same way every day; full of sorrow and longing. With a sigh, you push yourself out of bed, the air feeling crisp against your skin. What you wouldn't give for five minutes of Spencer's warmth.

Your morning routine comes and goes, and you find yourself staring at a stack of cardboard boxes, waiting to be filled. Hands on your hips, you look around at everything that needs to be packed. Things are either coming with you, or they're being returned to their rightful owner. You still had no idea how you're going to get everything back to Spencer, but you figure you'll work it out when the time comes. For now, you'll start boxing things up.

With a box beside you, your heart constricts as you reach for a stack of Spencer's books to be put away indefinitely. The empty shelf is reflective of the emptiness in your soul, and you're not sure if it'll ever fill back in. Truthfully, you don't know what could possibly mend the brokenness as your heart only has one desire.

You pack up two bookcases before you're unable to handle it anymore. With each empty shelf the reality sets in more and more; he's not coming back here. Your Spencer isn't going to knock on the door and come back to you. You turn your head to look at the door, not sure what you're expecting, but your eyes land on his coat that still hangs from the rack. It lost its signature Spencer scent about three years ago, but you don't have it in you to take it down, not yet at least.

You're keenly aware that eventually you'll have to pack up the stained tablecloth, Spencer's clothes that remain in the dressers, his favorite blanket, and give them away forever, never to be seen or touched by you again. Then all you'll have left of him are the memories, and after all this time some of them have already faded entirely. You're no longer able to remember many of the small moments shared together, you can't recall how his lips felt against your forehead as he bid you goodbye in the mornings before work. You fear that in another nine years you won't remember anything except his name and the moment he walked out of the door.

You fold the top of the box down and slide it across the room to join the others. When you return to the shelf to assess what size box you need next, your eyes land on a very specific book. It's one you had recommended to Spencer. You told him it was a compelling story and though it's not a literary classic, he should give it a try and broaden his horizons. Of course, it took you a week to finish it and it took him a casual afternoon.

The details of the book flood your mind and you realize why the disappearance of Mrs. Greene seemed so familiar. Your hands open the book and flip through the pages, finding exactly what you were looking for. In a frenzy, your eyes scan over the words and they grow wide with realization. Either this is one of the biggest delusions you've convinced yourself of, or you might just be onto something.

You reread the words over and over again, wrestling with yourself about whether this is worthy of submitting a tip. From the perspective of an investigator, it may seem absolutely ridiculous. I mean after all, you're using a piece of fiction to explain a real-life situation. But a small voice in the back of your head reminds you of something Spencer had said several times,

"Sometimes what seems like an insignificant detail ends up cracking the case."

Youwrestle with what to do, placing the book on the coffee table and pacing around, the television providing low background noise as your mind goes through different reasonings. You stop pacing around once you see a familiar blonde-haired woman on the screen, her FBI credentials hanging from her blazer pocket.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, you turn the volume up and listen to her intently. She announces that the BAU is actively working the case and that they hope to find Mrs. Greene soon. She also implores the public for any information. Your phone on the dining room table seems to call your name, and before you can think through what you're doing, the phone is ringing.

"What's up sweet thing?" Derek's voice greets you through the phone. You trust that even if your speculation is wildly ridiculous that he won't make fun of you. You explain to him your theory but he cuts you off in the middle of your sentence.

"Come by the office in the morning and explain it to the team. It might just be something." He asks, and you sigh.

"Derek I don't-" You begin making your excuse of why you can't go to their office, but he cuts you off for a second time.

"He won't be there, just come on by." Before you can get another word in, he hangs the phone up. It seems you have no choice, really.

Anxiety blooms within you, you haven't been to the BAU office in a decade. And the last time you were there was under much better and happier circumstances. But if Derek promised Spencer wouldn't be there, you figure it's worth going if your theory can help find Mrs. Greene. You just hope that the others don't bring him up in any capacity; you don't think you could handle hearing how happy he is with her while you suffer every single day without him.

-----

Nine years. It's been nine years today since Spencer left you. He stares up at the ceiling when his eyes open in the morning, heavy with sleep. There's an uncomfortable emptiness within him, fueled by his thoughts of what today signifies. He's sure the only thing he'll be able to do is replay that fateful night over and over again in his mind today, he's not sure how he's going to stay focused on the case.

Eventually, he gets himself out of bed and begins his morning routine. He buttons his shirt, puts a tie on, and shrugs a sweater overtop. Spencer stares at himself in the mirror, his reflection showing him the grim reality that is the dark circles under his eyes and his unkempt hair. His eyes trail down to see that his tie is crooked, and his fingers fix it; but he can never fix it like you used to.

Breakfasts don't seem to be as tasty as the ones you made, heading off to work without a goodbye kiss gives him no ambition for the day, and there's nothing to look forward to after he's off the clock for you aren't eagerly awaiting his return with a smile on your face. In the nine years that have passed, the vibrant world has devolved into grayscale.

The clock on the wall tells him he still has two hours before he's supposed to be in. Derek told him to take a few hours this morning, he knows how hard today was bound to be for Spencer, and he was right. But Spencer is restless, he knows if he stays in this apartment for another hour and a half that he's going to let his mind take him to sorrowful places; and that's sure to affect the team dynamic.

After three years, Derek had confronted Spencer. He said that while he understands the pain, that Spencer can't let it affect his job performance. And that if he did, there's a chance he'd have to be let go. So after that day, Spencer made an effort to keep up his appearances and performance. He couldn't bear to lose you and the job. If he lost the job then it means he left you for nothing. It had to be for something, for something good and meaningful.

Spencer ties his shoelaces and finds his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder. The team isn't expecting him for a while, but he's got nothing better to do and he doesn't want to be left alone with his thoughts any longer than he has to. And surely the team won't mind him coming in sooner than scheduled, besides there's just something about this case that seems so oddly familiar to him.

-----

The elevator door dings and you find yourself in front of familiar doors, the FBI logo cleanly shining on the glass doors into the BAU's office space. Readjusting the bag on your shoulder, you go to open the doors to find lots of agents buzzing about, carrying folders and talking to others. You're really just looking for one agent in particular, but you can't seem to find him. Feeling anxious about being here, you contemplate just turning around and going back home. As you go to make your quick escape, you hear Derek's voice behind you.

"There she is!" He says and you swear you can hear the smile on his face. His arm wraps around your shoulders, bringing you in for a brief hug. So much for your escape plan. You plaster the best smile that you can manage on your face and return his hug, his embrace is familiar and warm.

"Here I am." You say, nerves twisting your stomach around. Derek leads you through the craziness of the bullpen into a smaller room, where people are already waiting. You recognize the blonde from the TV, and you remember Garcia and Hotch, but you don't know who the dark haired lady is, nor the older man. But you're thankful that there's one missing agent from the table. Feeling like you're under heavy scrutiny, you give everyone a polite smile and wait for Derek to take the lead like you know he will.

After a few moments of silence, Derek claps his hands together to gain everyone's attention and then introduces you to the team. Once again, you give your politest smile and listen to Derek explain why you're here. The team all looks to you with interest, and you pull the book from the bag on your shoulder.

"So, I know this may sound silly, but I couldn't help but notice all the similarities, just from what I've gathered from the news. If you look where I put the bookmarks, you'll see what I mean." You tell them in rushed words, anxious to see their reactions, expecting ridicule.

"Gone Girl, huh?" The older man Derek introduced as Rossi questions, leaning in closer to the book to read the marked pages. You nod, chewing on your bottom lip as their eyes scan the pages.

"It is oddly similar. The picture frames on the mantle, the ottoman, the blood in the kitchen. I wonder if there are more similarities that we just haven't noticed." The dark-haired woman, Emily, speaks up first. Her words of interest makes it feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders, they're not going to ridicule you after all. In fact, it seems like they may be entertaining the idea.

While you're engrossed in the team's blooming discussion about what this might mean, you hadn't heard the door to the room open, and you hadn't noticed who stepped through that door. No, your attention is solely on the lively debate about what the team's next step should be. Emily thinks that this might be a path worth pursuing, but Rossi urges her to keep an open mind. It's not until the discussion has died down, and the team all thanks you for coming in, do you turn to leave. Immediately your eyes land on his tall frame, standing right in the doorway.

Spencer is standing right in front of you.

It feels like the air has been kicked out of your lungs, your limbs feel like they've turned to jelly. The blood in your veins turns to ice and you're frozen to the floor. Ringing sounds off in your ears, unable to hear anything around you. The only thing you can focus on is his honeyed eyes staring right back into yours. It's like the rest of the world has dissolved, and he is the only thing that remains.

In his eyes you can see your Spencer, you remember so clearly the first time his eyes met yours, and how you were enamored from the very beginning. The first time you laid eyes on him you felt your heart race and you just knew you had to go up to him and say something, or else you'd regret it. You remember how soft spoken and polite he was, and how he stumbled over his words when he asked you on your first date. His hazel eyes dazzled under the warm lights that night and you knew you were hooked. His eyes hold so many precious memories, and they all flash right after another in your mind, even the memories that had faded with time come back.

Derek's hand on your elbow knocks you out of your trance and you realize then that the whole team is staring at the two of you, but you don't care. You come back to your senses and look over Spencer, taking note of how his hair is longer, curlier, and how his tie is still crooked. He's even grown out his facial hair a little. He looks so much like the Spencer you knew but nothing alike at the same time. This Spencer looks tired, worn down, and just plainly miserable. It deeply pains you to see him in such a condition.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something, but he stays silent. You see his hands clench beside him and your face flushes with heat, your eyes begin to sting, and you feel like it's becoming harder to breathe.

"Come on, I'll walk you out." Derek says into your ear and he gently tugs you towards the door, where your eyes stay locked onto Spencer as you follow Derek. Spencer takes a step to the side to let you and Derek out of the room, and your arm just barely brushes against his, sending a tingling feeling throughout your body. You feel a tear drip down your cheek, and you swear you can see tears in his eyes too.

Derek gets you down to the parking lot where your car awaits you and he opens the door for you and helps you in. He can tell that you're going through something. You haven't said a word, you have a far away look in your eye, and you're crying without bothering to wipe away the tears. It's almost like you're in shock, and in a way, you are.

"He wasn't supposed to be here for another hour, I'm sorry. If I had known I would've just come over or something." Derek apologizes, but you shake your head, slowly coming back to reality.

"It's not your fault, Derek. Maybe this was the universe's way of letting me say goodbye, get some closure." You speak, voice hoarse. Derek's eyebrows furrow together,

"What do you mean?" He asks, not understanding what your words imply. He'll never admit it to you, but he's concerned about how you're going to handle this run-in. From experience, he knows that you're likely to spiral after this, and that's the last thing he wants for you. After all the progress you've made lately and your personality finally beginning to come back, he fears this may cause a relapse of sorts.

"I'm moving to Colorado." You tell him for the first time. His mouth falls agape in surprise.

-----

After Derek comes back into the office from seeing you out, he can tell that the atmosphere has changed in the room. Glances are being thrown Spencer's way, and Spencer looks more pale than usual, like he had just seen a ghost. He's lost in his own mind, oblivious to the looks everyone is giving him.

"Let's head to the scene one more time to see if this theory holds up. Morgan, Reid, you can meet us there." Hotch announces and stands from the table, the rest of the team following closely behind. Once everyone has dispersed, Derek sits across from Spencer.

"You okay?" He asks, not knowing where  Spencer is at mentally. His watery eyes glance from the tabletop to Derek, and he swallows hard.

"Today is the nine year anniversary of when I left." He says, and Derek's heart breaks for the two of you. Sure, it would've been hard on any given day for the two of you to see each other, but on a day with so much significance? It has to be gut wrenching. And to put the cherry on top, Derek knows the news he has to break to Spencer.

"Listen man. She told me something before she left and I think you should know." Derek's hand finds its way to Spencer's shoulder.

"What is it?" Spencer's mind is running through dozens of scenarios, trying to predict what you possibly could've said. Derek lips his lips and sighs,

"She told me she's moving to Colorado." Spencer feels as if the entire world has stopped spinning.

"What? When?" His voice is breathy and desperate. He has to know where you're going, when you're going, and why. He can't stand the thought of you being out there alone without being able to make sure you're okay. Derek's hand squeezes Spencer's shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"She said within the next few weeks, but she's got some loose ends to tie up here first." Spencer nods, understanding he still has some time to figure out how to approach this situation. He can't see anything clearly right now, for his mind is self-destructing from the thought of losing you for good.

"Maybe I can find a way to delay her trip somehow, or find out where she's going and set up some sort of periodic welfare check. Or maybe I set up a fake social media profile to follow her and make sure she's still okay." Spencer begins rattling off different ways he can make sure that you'll be okay if he can't be there. And he's well aware that his suggestions sound like borderline stalking, but he doesn't care, his love for you knows no boundaries and he would go to the ends of the Earth to make sure you're okay.

He needs to know that you are okay, no matter how many miles are put between the two of you. If he can't know that you're okay then he doesn't know what he's going to do; he even considers relocating to a field office out in Colorado just in case you need help.

"I've watched the two of you destroy yourselves over the past nine years. Neither of you have actually been able to recover, and you know it. She still thinks that you're with another woman. You're still in love with her, and now it's time to make your decision on whether you can let her go or not." Derek's voice speaks reason into Spencer's racing mind and he realizes that Derek is right. He's got a decision to make, and he has to make it soon.

-----

Rain patters against the window, providing some white noise for you while you tape the top of a box down. At this point, you've managed to pack up all of Spencer's books and every bookcase now sits barren. You swear the absence of his books causes the apartment to drop a few degrees, it feels empty and lifeless. You told the leasing agent that you would be by in the morning to drop off the paperwork, finally gaining the courage to sign them last night.

It had taken you about ten days after seeing Spencer before you could push yourself to sign them. A tiny part of you was still clinging to hope that he would come by. But he didn't. And he's not going to, you have to remind yourself. Constantly you have to remind yourself that you were able to see him one last time, and that's going to have to be enough closure, for it's all you're going to receive. But still, you can't help but feel the hole in your soul ache with desire for him.

Standing in the middle of an almost barren apartment, you're haunted by memories of happier days. You can remember the first time you and Spencer had walked through the front door, excited for your future together. Little by little, the two of you decorated and furnished the apartment to make it your own private haven where the two of you could seek refuge in each other.

Your hands find Spencer's blanket draped over the back of the couch, and you hold it close one last time, trying to commit the feeling to memory. It lost Spencer's scent long, long ago, but you still cherish it. After you've made peace with it, you fold it and place it in the bottom of a box, and go to the bedroom. Pulling out drawers of the dresser, Spencer's clothes are still neatly folded, just as he had left them. His clothes find their place on top of the blanket, and soon enough, the drawers are empty and more boxes are taped shut.

Evening comes around and you zip up a familiar dress, ready to spend one last night in a familiar restaurant. Today would've been your twelfth anniversary. Just like every year, you had made a very specific reservation, only this year will be the last. Applying mascara to your eyelashes, you give yourself one last look in the mirror. You can still see the young woman you once were in your reflection.

Your phone buzzing on the counter tears your gaze away from the mirror. You see that Derek is trying to call you, and so you pick up without a second thought.

"Hey sweet thing, what are you doing tonight? How about you come over and we have a farewell drink?" He offers and you smile at his generosity, knowing that any other day you would've taken him up on it.

"Sorry Derek, I can't tonight. I've got a reservation." You tell him, knowing that he will understand what you mean. He doesn't keep track of the days like you do, but he's familiar with your annual tradition.

"Okay, another night then, enjoy yourself." His voice is warm as he hangs up the phone. You're grateful that Derek has been a reliable friend throughout the years, and you know you're going to miss him when you move. Of course you'll make the effort to stay in contact, it just won't be the same as having him nearby.

The waitress shows you to your seat and you order the same wine you get every year. It doesn't matter if your tastes have changed, that's not the point. By now the rain is coming down harder, and you can't help but wonder if the Earth is mourning the end of things like you are. Your lipstick leaves faint marks around the rim of the glass and you stare at the empty chair in front of you.

Each year, you try your best to remember what it was like when Spencer was here, but each year your memory becomes more and more hazy on the details. Until one year you couldn't even remember what color tie he was wearing. Instead, all you can recall is the way he made you feel. You intend to drag this dinner out as long as you possibly can, knowing once you leave here that it's just one more piece of Spencer you've had to say farewell to for the final time.

There's a couple sitting at the table next to you, sharing smiles and clinking their glasses together. You try not to stare, but they remind you so much of who you used to be. The woman's eyes have a hopeful spark in them, hopelessly in love with the man who sits across from her who is obviously just as in love with her. When the waitress comes around to ask if you need anything else, you ask if you can pay for their tab.

An hour later, you're swirling around the remnants of wine in your glass. You had finished dinner and consumed enough wine for the night, so now you're just stalling. You can't yet pry yourself up from this spot, still clinging dearly to this part of Spencer you still have. Once you stand up, it'll make this reality all too real, and you can't face it quite yet. So you give yourself a few more minutes to mourn the way you need to and to make your peace here.

You hear the front door open, but your sights are set outside the window, watching the rain pelt the sidewalk. There's some sort of rushed conversation happening by the hostess' stand, but you can't make out the words, not that you're trying to anyways. The couple that you paid for gets up and leaves the restaurant, and that gains your attention. You offer them a weak smile as they giddily exit the restaurant; their happiness only emphasizes your sorrows.

Before you can turn back to resume watching the rain, someone stands in front of you. Your eyes trail up the person's body, only to find Spencer in front of you, hair wet from the rain, hands occupied with a bouquet of pastel-colored tulips. Your heart drops into your stomach and you have to blink a few times to make sure that he's actually real and standing right in front of you.

"Spencer." His name falls from your mouth effortlessly and breathily, shocked to see him here. He licks his lips and looks over you once before meeting your eyes, a familiar look within them.

-----

Spencer paces around his apartment, hair disheveled from raking nervous fingers through it. His mind has been consumed with nothing except for you since he saw you at the BAU. Derek's words keep repeating themselves in his head,

"She still thinks that you're with another woman...make your decision on whether you can let her go or not."

He knows his time is running out and yet he's conflicted as to what is the right thing to do. The logical and rational part of him is quick to remind himself that he left for a reason, for your safety. The photographs in the unsub's room flash before his eyes, vividly reminding him of what kind of danger his presence puts you in.

But the aching in his chest yearns for your touch, to hear your laugh. For years he's been able to make sure that you're taken care of from a distance. Some years he would anonymously send tulips to your apartment, and other times he would pay the leasing agent half of your rent so it would be one less thing for you to worry about. Of course, it had taken some convincing to ensure the agent would keep his donations a secret, and as far as he knows the agent kept good on the agreement.

Nervously, Spencer bites the skin around his nails, a battle of reason and emotion waging itself inside his mind. He turns to pace again, but this time his eyes catch a picture that sits on a side table. It's a small photo, taken in the early days of your relationship. Spencer picks up the picture that he's committed to memory, seeing the bright smile on your face, your eyes wrinkles at the sides from happiness, his lips pressed to your cheek and his arms around your waist.

His mind morphs his own body into another man. And now he's seeing that man's arms around your waist, another man's lips on your cheek, and it's almost enough to bring Spencer to his knees. Abandoning the photo, he moves quickly to put his shoes on with newfound purpose.

He's made his decision.

With rushed movements, Spencer makes his way to the florist he frequents for your flowers. It's a race against the clock, he only has five minutes to spare and he hopes that the florist is still there. The rain makes it hard to see the road, it slows traffic and the anxiety bubbles up in his chest.

With one minute to spare, Spencer enters the florist to see the sweet older lady packing up for the day. His entrance startles her, and she jumps.

"Spencer?" She questions, knowing he's not due back for another month at least. He nods his head frantically,

"Yes ma'am, sorry to come by like this but I'm hoping you can help me." He swallows hard, heart pounding in his chest from the adrenaline flowing in his veins. The woman sees his distraught demeanor and gives him a small smile. Of course she'll help him. After all, Spencer is one of her favorite customers; he always leaves her generous tips.

After fifteen minutes, the florist has constructed a beautiful arrangement with all of your favorite colors, tied up with a bow around the stems.

"Good luck." The florist gives him a knowing smile, and he thanks her before rushing over to your apartment. Spencer's fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel and his chest heaves with nervousness.

He parks his car along the curb and hops out, practically running into the building. There's a small line for the elevators, and he doesn't have time for that. Not when a lifetime with you is at stake. He takes the stairs at record speed and takes a moment to compose himself once he stands at the door.

With a rush of courage, he knocks on the door and waits to hear your footsteps. But instead he's met with silence. He knocks again, a little harder this time and waits. He's met with silence again. Fearing the worst, he digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Derek, who answers on the third ring.

"Listen she isn't here. I'm at the apartment and she's gone. Did she leave already?" Spencer's voice cracks as he asks the dreaded question, but he needs to know. If Derek tells him that you've left, he won't hesitate to take the first flight to Colorado to find you.

"No, she didn't move yet. I called her earlier, she has a reservation. Remember the restaurant you two went to for your first date?" Spencer rushes out a thank you before hanging up, knowing exactly the restaurant. How could he forget?

You were wearing the most beautiful dress that complimented your body well, your hair was loose around your shoulders, and your eyes held the depths of your love. He knew from that exact moment that he would never find a love like yours again.

He parks and haphazardly shoves his keys into his pockets, instead taking care to handle your flowers with the utmost care. His heart thumps heavily in his chest with each step he takes towards the front door.

He runs a hand through his hair as he approaches the hostess stand, and his words come out very rushed. He asks if there's a woman here matching your description, but the hostess is hesitant to answer. He begs her to tell him, insisting that you'll be here waiting for him. The hostess glances between him and the flowers in his hand before nodding and pointing to where you are.

Spencer swallows hard and thanks her, eyes scanning the dimly lit restaurant for you. A couple laughing gains his attention and he can't help but look. And he's thankful he did, for you're sitting right across from them, a sad smile on your face and sorrow in your eyes.

His feet carry him over to you before he can process what he's doing. As if time moves in slow motion, he watches your eyes move up his body before landing on his face. Your eyes grow wide, your jaw goes slack.

He only hopes that you'll listen to what he has to say.

-----

"What are you doing here?" You ask, eyeballing the flowers in his hand; they're oddly reminiscent of the ones you receive on your doorstep every few months.

Of course, he's probably here to meet his girlfriend, or fiancée, or perhaps even wife. A mixture of nausea and confusion hit you like a brick wall but you try your best to maintain your composure while you feel like your insides are melting. Spencer takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours and he finally speaks to you.

"Without you and your love, your touch, your warmth, life is entirely meaningless. Ever since I made the biggest mistake of my life, every day has been like walking through hell. There hasn't been a single day that's gone by that I didn't wish to have you back in my arms or to spend just one more evening with you. And I know this doesn't make up for any of it and I am undeserving of your forgiveness. But, I couldn't let you go without letting you know that I've never stopped loving you." His voice cracks with his confession, and a lone tear rolls down his cheek.

His words sends chills down your spine. What he said just doesn't make any sense. Hadn't he left for someone else? Or perhaps he did and he left her as well, or maybe they're still together and he's just doing this to break your heart one last time. You're conflicted with what you should be thinking and feeling. You had waited for this day for nine years, and now that it's here it doesn't make sense.

"But what about her?" You finally muster up the courage to ask, knowing very well that his answer could break your heart. Spencer shakes his head,

"There was never anyone else." His words sting. Had he left because he fell out of love? Or perhaps he grew bored of you and used a newfound love as an excuse for an easy departure.

The more he speaks, the less you understand. Your eyebrows draw close together in pure confusion, your head shakes and your eyes move from him to the flowers in his hand, another mystery about this situation.

"But you said that you had fallen in love with someone else." You point out, desperately needing some explanation to all of this. Spencer nods his head with a solemn expression.

Instead of answering, he digs some cash out of his pocket and throws it on the table before extending his hand to you, to help you from your seat. The gesture sends your heart soaring, having missed the simplest of touches from him. And no matter how confused you are, you've missed him too much to pass this up. He helps you out of the seat and guides you to the front door with a hand on the small of your back.

A familiar fire within you blooms, one that could only be ignited by Spencer's touch. And with just the slightest contact with him, you feel your frozen heart begin to warm.

Thankfully it appears the rain has stopped, for now at least. The two of you walk slowly beside one another towards the parking lot, something that was once so familiar seems so foreign now. After a few steps you hear Spencer suck in a breath,

"I owe you an explanation." His voice is even, but you can hear his apprehension. You swallow your nerves and agree, wanting to hear every last word he has to say.

-----

By the time you both arrive at the apartment, the sun has fully set and the wind carries a bitter chill with it, piercing through the fabric of your dress. The tension is palpable between the two of you on the elevator ride up, your arms brushing against each other with every little movement.

Your hands tremble as you unlock the door, nervous about being so close to him and what he may tell you. The two of you step through the door and for the first time you see how empty it is, boxes stacked on top of each other throughout the apartment.

Turning around, you watch as Spencer takes in the scene of what his former home now is. Guilt washes over you, but you stay quiet, unsure of what to say. Once he's taken in the apartment, his full attention turns back towards you, his eyes flickering between you and the flowers.

"These are for you." His voice is soft as he hands the flowers to you. You take them, fingers brushing against his as you do.

"Did you- were you the one sending me flowers?" You see the familiar color combinations and arrangement style as the ones you've received off and on for nine years. You had never expected Spencer was the one sending these to you, you had always assumed it was Derek trying to brighten your day. And you had always wondered how Derek knew what your favorite flowers were, but you chalked it up to his profiling skills.

A smile small appears on Spencer's face and he nods. Your heart swells with emotion as it hits you that maybe some of what he said is true, maybe he never has stopped loving you. Not prepared to face all of that just yet, you turn and find a vase to put the flowers in, thankful you hadn't packed them up yet and let them decorate the kitchen counter.

Silence washes over the two of you, but it's short lived as Spencer clears his throat and pulls out a chair at the dining room table. You join him and your blood runs cold as you realize you're sitting in the same places as that day he left. Spencer starts picking at the skin around his nails, opening and closing his mouth as if he can't find the words he's looking for. But you've waited nine years so what's a few more minutes?

"The case I came back from was one of the worst we've ever seen, even to this day." He starts and you nod, leaning forward to soak in every word.

"The unsub had printed out pictures of you hanging from his walls along with the rest of the team. He had a plan to torture each and every one of us, and he was going to use you to hurt me. He had plans to torture you to death." He continues, voice wavering towards the end. Your eyes are glued to Spencer's face as he speaks, never having heard the details of that last case. Derek would never tell you.

"Oh, Spencer." You whisper, wanting so desperately to reach out and comfort him but respecting that he might not want your touch. His eyes glance up to yours, and you see his jaw tense.

"I knew then that my job puts you in too much danger. It was clear that while you were with me that you could be a target for anyone who wanted to get back at us. I couldn't let that happen, I couldn't let someone hurt you because of me." Tears spill down his face and he bites his bottom lip to try and keep his composure. You feel your own lip start to quiver, but you hold it together.

"And I knew if I told you that there was someone else that you wouldn't push the issue. I knew you loved me too much to interfere with my happiness. I used your own love against you and I am so sorry." He sniffles and pushes tears from his eyes.

His words feel like someone has punched you square in the stomach. Spencer had never found anyone else, he just wanted to protect you. He loved you too much to let you be harmed. Realizing his actions were done out of pure love, and not betrayal, a sob bubbles up from your chest.

Years upon years you had spent every night in envy of the other woman who was receiving Spencer's love. Months had been dedicated to wondering what you could've done differently to keep him from leaving. Countless weeks spent in agonizing misery, mourning and yearning for the love of your life.

The two of you cry together, and while you want to be angry because he had lied, you only find yourself feeling overjoyed that he's back; that he wants you back and never fell in love with another. And now knowing that he was still showing his love for you by sending you flowers solidifies that what he's telling you is factual. You only wonder what else he's done that you're unaware of.

Spencer's love runs deep, that much you do know. You're keenly aware that if he went through the trouble of sending you flowers that he was also likely up to other things. But you're okay not knowing, as far as you're concerned, you're just happy he's here.

"I'm so sorry." He cries out again, moving out of his chair and getting on his knees in front of you. You wipe tears from your eyes so you can see him clearly, his glistening eyes beautifully reflecting the light as he envelopes your hands in his.

"I will spend every second of every day earning your love back if that's what it takes. I cannot bear to live this life without you any more, I will do whatever it takes. I love you with every fiber of my being, and I will love you for as many days as there are stars in the sky. As long as the sun rises in the morning and sets every night I will continue to love you. You're the one that completes my soul, you're the one who my heart beats for." Spencer pours his heart out to you as he grips your hands tightly and looks into the depths of your eyes. Your lip trembles as tears continue to stream down your face, unable to contain your overflowing love for the man who kneels in front of you.

Taking your hands back from his, your fingertips graze the soft skin of his cheeks. The familiar warmth brings a smile to your face, one that you never would have thought would come back. You hold the sides of his face, so that you can look at him, really look at him.

His parted lips are wet from tears, his face blushed from crying. Even while he cries on the floor in front of you, he's still the most beautiful man you've ever seen. Unable to hold yourself back, you bring his face to yours and your lips reunite.

It's like the two of you were made for each other, and feeling his lips on yours is like falling back into a familiar rhythm. Spencer stands from the floor and brings you up from your seat, one of his hands wrapping around your waist while the other holds your cheek, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

Your frozen heart warms with a heat long forgotten, and when your lungs burn for air, you pull away and rest your forehead against his. The two of you catch your breath, each unable to keep your hands off of one another. Your eyes meet and you can see the love he holds for you plainly.

This is your Spencer, and he finally came back home. After all these years he finally came back to the place where he left you, the place you had stayed.

-----

"Is that the last one?" You ask, placing books neatly on a shelf. It was a no-brainer that after Spencer came back that you weren't going to move. With him here, there's no place you'd rather be. And so after you had halted your plans, you and Spencer began repiecing your life together. 

Turns out, a lot happens in nine years and the two of you spend every moment possible catching up on lost time together. He tells you about some of the most memorable cases, and you tell him about how you made it through in one piece. You both agreed not to spare each other any details, and have agreed to work through whatever issues arise one step at a time and with honesty. And you made Spencer promise that no matter what happens at work, that the two of you will talk and plan together; there's no more running, except for towards each other.

"I think there's one more." He says, showing you the book in his hand before he slides it in the open spot on the shelf. It's the copy of Gone Girl that you had brought into the BAU. Spencer had told you that your theory ended up being right. They found Mrs. Greene as she was staging her alleged kidnapping getaway. And while it wasn't your favorite book, it has a special place in your heart now; without it there's a chance you and Spencer never would have crossed paths again.

You feel Spencer's hands wrap around your waist from behind as he comes back from the shelf, and he hugs you tightly against him, burying his head in the curve of your neck and gently kissing you. Showing affection at every given opportunity has been Spencer's modus operandi. After having lived so long without you, he never wants to stop touching you, or kissing you, or showing you love in any way that he can. 

Your eyes flutter shut, soaking in all the love he gives you, placing your hands atop of his and just letting yourself be held by him. Even the smallest moments are cherished now, for you understand their true value. 

"I love you." He whispers into your ear before letting you go, and a smile makes its way onto your face while your cheeks heat. Even after nine years he's still able to make you blush like a highschooler with a crush. 

"And I love you more." You say, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before moving to pack up the empty boxes that are scattered everywhere. 

The two of you stand in the front doorway of your apartment, looking at how everything has come together. Spencer's books are back on their shelves, his blanket is draped over the back of the couch, his clothes back in the dresser, and he's right beside of you. Like it should have always been. Your eyes find one last thing to get rid of alongside the boxes. 

Walking over to the dining room table, you rip the stained tablecloth off and crumple it in your hands. This tablecloth holds too many bad, heartbreaking memories to keep it in the place where you two are rebuilding your lives together. Without a second thought, you toss the tablecloth into the trash and you're relieved. Only a short time ago you dreaded the thought of getting rid of it, but now you can't stand the thought of keeping it.

Now it's as if a new light and a fresh breath of life has been given to the apartment. For so long it was representative of all that you had lost, but now it shows you how much you've gained and how far you've come, both of you. Rays of bright sunshine filter in through the sheer curtains, and you take in a deep breath, soul full, content, and at peace. 

"We really did it." You breathe out quietly. 

"There's only one more thing I can think of that would really make this all come together." Spencer speaks up, and you scrunch your eyebrows together, not seeing anything that you two had forgotten. As you turn to him, you see him kneeling down in front of you on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand. 

Your mouth falls open as he opens the box, revealing the most perfect ring you've ever seen. Spencer has a wide smile on his face and a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"My life will never be complete without you by my side, there's nobody on this Earth that can even begin to compare. When I look inside my heart, I can only see you. May I have the honor to take your hand in marriage, will you make me the luckiest man in the world and marry me?" He asks and you nod your head enthusiastically before he can finish the question. Rushing up from the ground, Spencer envelopes you in a hug, lifting your feet off the ground and spinning you around. 

As your feet make contact with the ground again, he takes your hand and slides the ring onto your finger. It's a perfect fit. Tears of elation well up in your eyes, and you pull Spencer in for a kiss that's full of love, desire, and passion for him. You both smile into the kiss and only break away to confess your undying love for each other. 

"Spencer Reid, you are the love of my life." You say with tears of happiness rolling down your cheek, a wide smile on your face. 

"And future Mrs. Reid, you are the reason I wake up every morning, you are the breath in my lungs, and you are the love of my life." He brings you in for another kiss, and you know that you're going to spend every day for the rest of your lives together. No force of man, nor nature, can drive you apart for the love shared between you two runs deep, your souls intertwined with one another for the rest of eternity. 

Looking down at the shiny gemstone on your finger, you feel the once fragmented pieces of your heart tie themselves back together, the million pieces seemingly repairable after all. With a smile on your face, you can't wait to marry your soulmate and you're hopeful and grateful for the life you will share together. 

- -

Taglist: @spenciesprincess @reedmurdock

#spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #derek morgan #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #taylor swift #taylor swift inspired

[spider-stark]

A DARK AGE

next part

summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, gwen stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. i will do my best to place warnings at the beginning of each chapter, but please read at your own risk.

word count - 10.3k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts //

THE BUGLE was buzzing to life in a way it hadn’t in ages. Landlines were ringing off the hook, accentuated by a chorus of email and text notifications crying out from every cell phone in the building. As you stepped out of the elevator you found yourself staring at a sea of amateur reporters, all of them gathering on the far side of the office around a television set. 

You clutched the coffee in your hand tighter to keep it from spilling as a young man accidentally bumped into you, quickly moving to join the herd of his peers. You shot him a nasty look, ignoring the swift apology he muttered out as he continued to rush past you. 

Despite your intrigue at the collective panic of your coworkers, you didn’t bother moving to join them around the TV. Instead, you walked the clear opposite direction, making a beeline for the office of the only man in New York City that you trusted to know exactly what all of this fuss was about. 

“What the fuck is going on?” 

Workplace etiquette had flown out the window for you a long time ago. Reporters didn’t have time for benevolence. 

“They’re acting like rowdy animals out there. Foswell is running around the office like he’s in a goddamn marathon! Nearly gave me a third degree burn trying to get past me.” 

A vehement grunt was the first thing to leave Jameson’s mouth, which constituted a typical greeting for him. Following it was the shrill squeak of his old office chair as he spun around to face you. “Haven’t seen the news, y/l/n?” 

You furrowed your brows. “We are the news.” 

Another noise of discontent, followed by a hand coming up to rub viciously at his eyes. If you had learned anything during your time at the Bugle, it was that Jameson was always upset, which meant that you rarely found his vexed appearance very concerning. Yet, despite that, you couldn’t help but get the feeling that something was off. 

“The Daily Globe.” The name of the Bugle’s biggest competitor slipped past his lips like a slur, Jameson’s lip curling as if it had somehow left a bad taste in his mouth. “Some jackass at the station leaked info to them before they even got the crime scene taped off. Bushkin had everything plastered on their front page this morning before most of us even had time to pour a bowl of Special fucking K!” 

“What crime scene?” 

His hand dropped from his face down to his lap, shooting daggers straight at you. “You’re a reporter, y/l/n! Check the fucking headlines for once in your life!” 

“Sorry,” you sneered at him, “some of us actually have a life outside of work.” 

Of everyone at the Bugle, you were the only one with the authority (and the audacity) to backtalk Jameson and actually live to tell the tale. It was a perk of being his top investigative reporter, one that you never let go to waste. 

If anyone else dared to get snarky with him, he’d likely send a paperweight flying at their head. But, since it was you, he only responded to your comment with a dry chuckle—primarily because he was aware that you were lying through your teeth. 

The Bugle was all that was left of your life, the one remaining piece after you had lost everything nine months ago. Jameson knew how fresh the wound still was, how hard you fought to ignore what you’d gone through, and so he elected not to make an actual comment on your remark; a subtle indication that the crotchety man actually did have a heart. 

“Remember Aleksei Sytsevich?” 

You nodded, patience already growing thin as you waited for him to finally just tell you what happened. At this point you were beginning to think you would have been better off to gather around the TV with the rookies. “Of course I remember him,” you told him, “I’m the one that wrote the story on him hijacking that Oscorp truck last year. He goes by the Rhino now, right?” 

Each of you formed your own twisted expressions at the name Sytsevich had picked for himself. The name was fitting given the military grade battlesuit he’d managed to snag from Oscorp, but it was a tad too on the nose for your taste. It lacked creativity, though neither of you really expected anything better to come from the former Russian mafia leader. 

“Sometime last night he was found in an alley off 102nd.” Jameson declared, following you with his eyes as you moved towards his desk, taking a seat in one of the old chairs that sat in front of it. “Beaten to a goddamn bloody pulp.” 

Your nose scrunched up slightly. 

If it were anyone other than Sytsevich that had been left to bleed out in the dead of the night, you might have felt a bit of sympathy for them. But, instead, you only felt hopeful that Jameson would confirm the question that already fell past your lips, “He’s dead?” 

It was cruel to wish death on anyone. You should have felt guilty for the way your chest swelled with hope as you waited for Jameson to reply, but you didn’t. New York was running short on heroes these days, which meant that more and more criminals had begun to use that to their advantage, making a hobby out of terrorizing the innocent. 

Sytsevich had already escaped the Vault once, the so-called impenetrable prison, which meant that sending him back to jail was all but useless. But death? Not even Sytsevich would be able to crawl back from that. 

“No.” 

Your heart nearly sank, and you could tell that the sentiment was shared by Jameson, who looked equally as disappointed. After all of the innocent lives Sytsevich had claimed, he deserved to be put six feet under. 

“Not yet, at least.” He clarified, “As soon as they noticed a pulse they had him life-flighted to North General. Good news is that they don’t think he’s gonna make it through the weekend.” 

You snorted at Jameson’s execution of the comment, as well as the childlike joy that seemed to twinkle in his eyes as he thought about the possibility of Sytsevich finally being gone for good. Still, you could tell that there was more. That he hadn’t quite told you the full story. 

While the impending death of a former mafia leader was quite a story, there was little chance that it had been enough to piss Jameson off so much that the Daily Globe got word of it first. 

Criminals die every day, especially in a city like this. It was hardly front page material. 

“So you mean to tell me that the world is in hysteria all because Sytsevich is about to kick the bucket?” You questioned him, nudging your head in the direction of his office door, encouraging him to acknowledge his frantic employees as they paced the office floor. 

“It sucks that the Globe got to it first, but we should be celebrating!” As demented as it might seem, it was true. “But instead you’re in here wallowing as if we just missed out on the story of the year.” 

The joy that he had felt just moments ago was now extinguished entirely, replaced with an expression that carried far more weight. 

“You’re right. Sytsevich dying an excruciating death would be a fucking fit from a God I don’t believe in, y/l/n.” His forehead creased, thin lines appearing between his brows as he pressed a button on the laptop in front of him, tapping a few keys before turning the screen around to face you. “But the story isn’t just about his death—it’s about who killed him.” 

A wave of shock slammed into you like a ton of bricks, hard enough that it made you lose your grip on the disposable cup in your hand, the contents of it staining the old carpet that lined Jameson’s office. Neither of you paid any mind to the mess and you became consumed by the headline on the homepage of the Daily Globes website. 

SPIDER-MAN RETURNS - BRUTALLY ATTACKS ESCAPED CRIMINAL 

Your eyes grew wide, air getting caught in your lungs as you worked to keep yourself from vomiting right on Jameson’s desk. 

“No.” The word slipped out from under your breath without approval, a flash of pity washing over Jameson’s face as he took in your reaction. He had expected it, though, aware that of every reporter in New York, you would likely have the most intense response to the news. 

But your shock quickly began to morph into something more closely resembling rage. “There’s no way, right? Spider-Man’s been awol for months, J! They really expect us to think that out of every enemy Sytsevich has made that Spider-Man would be to one to fucking kill him? It’s bullshit! They’re just trying to get eyes on their shitty paper!” 

Jameson’s brows raised, clearly agreeing with the sentiment. He was never one to miss an opportunity to slam the Globe. “Normally I’d agree with you,” he mused, turning the laptop back around, “but the NYPD confirmed that Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/l/n. It doesn’t look good.” 

Your blood ran cold, turning to ice in your veins. Darkness started to take over your peripheral vision, threatening to consume the entire space around you. Images flashed through your head—asphalt painted with thick blood, bones snapping, his gruesome screams—it was a past that you had fought so hard to put behind you, only for it to now creep back up on you. 

You instinctively clutched the bag at your side, half debating reaching inside for the little orange bottle you hadn’t touched in months. You restrained yourself though, terrified to feel as if you needed to rely on the pills again. Things were getting better. 

“Spider-Man’s not a murderer.” Your voice was so hesitant, so uncertain, and it made it difficult to tell who the statement was meant to convince, Jameson or yourself. 

Jameson’s shoulders lifted into a lazy shrug as he leaned back in the rickety chair, the plastic creaking at the shift of his weight. You were aware of his stance on Spider-Man, but even he had never considered the possibility of the vigilante committing something like this. 

“No, he isn’t.” He agreed with you, evoking a bit of shock. “But he’s about to be. He’s the only one that can be linked to the crime scene. If Sytsevich dies—and it’s only a matter of time—then Spider-Man’s the one going down for it.” 

Your mind was reeling, yet your body remained motionless, your gaze fixed onto the floor. Coffee still leaked from your cup, forming a sizable stain that only grew with every second that passed. You didn’t care. 

It had been months since anyone had last seen Spider-Man, and during that time, New York had already begun to turn on him. Citizens hadn’t yet forgotten their debt to him, the countless times in which he’d nearly laid his life down for the city, but that didn’t mean that many hadn’t grown to resent him. 

They had been abandoned by their hero, left to question if he was even still alive. And if this was how he returned? A killer? 

“It’ll turn into a man-hunt.” 

There was no other outcome for it, you both knew that much. Since his disappearance, an eerie sense of unrest had settled in the streets. Spider-Man’s absence had created a whole slew of problems, things that the NYPD weren’t equipped to handle. Hope had already become such a precarious thing, and if it were confirmed that their lost hero had abandoned his own code of ethics? It would destroy all that's left. It would unleash pure chaos. 

It would be the dawn of a new age. 

A dark age. 

“Maybe.” He was being cautious with his approach, aware that this topic had the ability to turn you into little more than a ticking time bomb. “Still, there’s not any cold hard proof that he was the one to send Sytsevich to his death bed. All they know for certain is that he was at the crime scene.” 

It was strange to hear those words from Jameson, crafted as a defense for the vigilante he swore to hate. If anything, that only increased your already heightened level of fear. 

Of everyone in the world, you would have never imagined that Jonah J. Jameson would be willing to testify that Spider-Man was innocent in anything. 

“I already told Urich to assemble a team, get out on the streets, and start finding some real proof. I’ve got a source at North General giving me hourly updates on Sytsevich, but we still don’t have much time to put together a story.” 

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, your face contorting into a sour expression as you flung out of your chair, ignoring everything about his statement except for one detail. 

“Fuck Urich!” You screamed loud enough that more than a few heads turned from outside Jameson’s office, a few of them now attempting to eavesdrop as the conversation became heated. “This is my story, J.” 

He sucked in a deep breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d anticipated this reaction too. 

“No, y/l/n, it’s not!” Jameson’s own voice boomed, easily rivaling yours in volume. You didn’t so much as flinch. “Last time you chased a story with that Spider-fuck you nearly died! You’re staying away, got it?” 

You gritted your teeth, taking another step towards his desk, closing in on him. “You said it yourself J, we’re running out of time, right? You need someone that knows what they’re dealing with. Urich doesn’t have any connections to Spider-Man! I do!” 

Somehow you believed that preaching these facts to Jameson would change his mind, as if he didn’t already know about your past encounters with the hero, like he wasn’t the one that published the stories you had done on him. 

“I’m one of the last people to even see him alive, J!” You reminded him, finally letting your tone drop back to a normal volume as you continued, “Urich might be able to snoop around a crime scene, but I’m the only one with a chance of getting an actual statement from him.” 

Both of you knew that your claim was a bit far-fetched. If this were last year, getting a statement from Spider-Man would have been a piece of cake for you. But now? 

It was different. 

Either way, Jameson didn’t seem willing to budge. “A statement isn’t worth losing my best reporter.” 

If the circumstances were different you likely would’ve teased him for the comment, for making it so obvious that you were one of the only things to matter more to Jonah J. Jameson than a story. 

“Fine.” You snapped, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you challenged him. “Then I quit.” 

His face blanched. “You what?” 

“I’ll pursue the story on my own. Get a detailed fucking statement from Spider-Man—a few pictures, too.” You crossed your arms over your chest, entirely unwavering as you held his gaze. “Then I’ll sell it to the Globe.” 

Jameson’s face turned beet red, his eyes narrowing at your threat. “Don’t be stupid. You’d need an entire team to go after a story this big.” 

You mocked the lazy shrug he had offered just moments ago. “No, Urich needs a team. All I need is a few hours and some phone calls.”

Ben Urich would need access to several of the Bugle’s best reporters in order to conduct enough research to even know where to begin. Aside from that, you and Jameson both knew that one of the best potential sources for this story layed beyond the gates of Ravencroft—and Jameson would have a hell of a time trying to get authorization for an interview with any of their prisoners. 

But you? 

You could get in with a simple phone call. 

“This isn’t a game, y/l/n.” Jameson cautioned. “The night Spider-Man disappeared—when I got that call from the hospital—I thought you were gonna be dead, y/ln.” 

A pang of guilt shot through your chest and he reminded you of that night. When you arrived in the emergency room they had tried to call your emergency contacts—but you knew they wouldn’t answer, that they were the reason you were even there. Jameson was the only one that answered, the only one to show up. 

You knew how much guilt he still faced for pushing you to chase another Spider-Man story, for encouraging you to get closer to the vigilante, only for it to land you in a hospital bed with several broken bones and a grade three concussion. 

Sometimes you wished that you could tell him it wasn’t his fault. That you were already in too deep, long before you had started chasing another story, even if you didn’t realize it at the time. But you couldn’t. 

“If you take this story then you’re putting yourself at risk. Again. You’ll be destroying everything you’ve worked for.” 

Blood pooling, bones snapping, his screams echoing. 

You bit your cheek until you tasted crimson, shoving the hellish thoughts from your mind. “Are you gonna take Urich off the story or not?” 

Jameson’s shoulders immediately slouched, his disappointment evident as the corners of his mouth turned downwards. But he knew you—too well, which meant he knew that nothing would stop you from following this story. 

So, against his better judgment, he straightened his posture and tried to mask his own emotions, but you could still tell how much it had hurt him to mutter out the word—“Fine.” 

You didn’t plan on waiting around long enough to hear anything else he might have to say, already turning on your heel and aiming for the door, knowing that it was best to leave before he changed his mind altogether. Still, just before the door slammed closed behind you, you heard him speak. 

“Your funeral.” 

His snide comment left a bad taste in your mouth, pungent and unpalatable, but you did your best to ignore it. There wasn’t any time to comprehend the gravity of his statement, to consider just how close you had come to death last time. 

If Jameson was right about anything, it was that time was of the essence. The sooner Spider-Man could be proven innocent the better. 

So instead of dwelling on it and risking uprooting your past trauma, you shoved your way through the crammed newsroom, coming to a halt only when you could plant yourself at the edge of Urich’s desk. He looked up at you through his thickly-rimmed glasses, brows knitting together. 

“This your team?” You asked him, an idle finger pointing to the crew of unfamiliar faces that surrounded the desk. 

Urich gave a stiff nod. 

“Great.” The smile you gave was sickening, filled with misplaced animosity. You scanned over the group, your gaze ultimately settling on the figure directly to his left, a somewhat tall woman with neatly bobbed hair. Out of everyone, she was the only one armed with a pencil and notepad, having taken note of his every word. “What’s your name?” 

The women seemed stunned, her voice shaking the tiniest bit as she responded. “Betty. Betty Brant.” 

“Nice to meet you Ms. Brant.” Your tone was much milder when speaking to Brant, though it quickly turned harsh again as you shifted your attention back to Urich. “I’m taking over the story. Jameson already gave me clearance, so please, if you plan on whining about it, keep it between the two of you, mkay?” 

Urich’s usually squinty eyes suddenly widened behind his lenses, thin lines settling into his forehead. He didn’t even have time to open his mouth in protest before you had already cut him off. 

“Anyone who isn’t Brant can get out of my face. I don’t have a use for you.” A dismissive hand was waved at the small crowd, although none of them bothered to move more than a few feet away, too interested in eavesdropping to venture any further. 

“And, um, what is it that you’d like me to do?” Betty Brant was quite the apprehensive woman, her lack of confidence shining through in quite literally everything she did. She was new to this, that much was obvious, but you still found yourself with some sort of intuitive faith in the girl. 

“I need you to track down some information for me.” 

A pit suddenly grew in your stomach as it dawned on you that this would be the first time you had so much as uttered his name since that night. He had essentially become a ghost to you, capable of haunting every corner of your mind without ever reentering your life. It was easier that way, though. Avoiding him had been the best way to recover from him; even if that meant treating his name like a curse. 

You took a deep breath, garnering every ounce of strength you had left to ensure your voice wouldn’t crack. “I need a way to get into contact with Peter Parker. He used to work here, but the number we have on file isn’t in service anymore.” 

Once. 

In the nine months since it happened, you had only tried to call him once. With the phone pressed to your face you had already prepared yourself to hear the dial tone go on for ages, fully aware that he’d just let it go to voicemail. He didn’t want to talk to you—he didn’t want to talk to anyone. But, instead, you were greeted by a prerecorded message saying the number had been disconnected. 

And that was the closest you ever got to a goodbye from Peter. 

“Parker?” Urich finally got a word out. “What’s he gotta do with this?” 

You didn’t have any intention of offering him a detailed explanation, your back already turned to him as you spoke over your shoulder. “He’s the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man. If everything goes as planned, I’m gonna need his skillset.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. Regardless, it was the best defense you had for needing a way to contact Peter; one that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. If anything, you would have preferred to start your hunt for information with Peter, because then you would’ve been able to avoid Ravencroft altogether. But, unfortunately, Peter was little more than a dead end right now. 

“Jameson has my number–get it from him and text me as soon as you have a lead!” 

It was the last order you barked before disappearing into the elevator, quick to rush off to the first destination on your list. You had to get moving, at least until you could find a way to talk to Peter, which meant you needed to start gathering the names of anyone who might’ve actually wanted Sytsevich dead. 

Unfortunately, that meant hailing a taxi to Westchester County and digging up another ghost from your past. 

You hastily pressed the button for the ground floor, your other hand already delving into your bag, grabbing your phone and dialing the number that had called you many times over the past months; a number you rarely answered. 

“Hi, this is y/n y/l/n calling,” a weight settled deep within your stomach, accompanied by a shiver running down your spine as you forced yourself to speak, “could I speak with Leonard Samson? I would like to take him up on his visitation offer. Please tell him that I want to speak with Harry Osborn as soon as possible.”

The Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane was not for the faint of heart. 

At first glance, most would consider it a fine establishment. The ornate iron gates lining the property seek to paint a picture of elegance, while the impenetrable stone walls offer those on the outside a sense of security—serving as a silent oath that those on the other side can’t get out. 

While technically labeled a prison, Ravencroft always insists that they place treatment above punishment for those incarcerated here. They pushed this motto, staff members regularly appearing on the local news to preach of mercy and remission; despite the fact that no one committed to the facility had ever made it out alive. 

Ravencroft’s prisoners weren’t always as willing to keep up the facility's pristine public image though, well known for spitting in the face of that ‘guise of elegance they’d worked to build. It was because of their sharp tongues that Ravencroft rarely let reporters past the front gates, petrified of what they might learn from those on the inside, worried that someone might get the chance to uncover their true nature; or worse, expose their unlawful ways of curing the prisoners. 

You were the only reporter to ever be invited onto the property, even if it was under special circumstances. 

“Truth be told, I was shocked to hear you called!” Director Samson confessed. His tone always rubbed you the wrong way, always coming off as far too exuberant for a man in charge of a psychiatric facility for criminals. “What’s it been, five months? Six, perhaps, since we last spoke?” 

“Seven.” You noted, sporting a rather sardonic smile. He didn’t seem to notice your ill-intent. 

“Well, either way, it had been far too long!” He chortled to himself, a chorus of keys clanking against his hip as he led you down another winding hallway. 

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating the immaculate white linoleum beneath your feet. The smell of bleach was incredibly pungent, burning your nostrils with every breath you took. You did your best not to breathe at all. 

“You’ve been checking your email, yes?” Director Samson was a few long strides ahead of you, moving at a pace you couldn’t manage to keep up with. “When you stopped answering your cell, I decided to have my secretary begin forwarding you all of our notes from his treatment sessions. It’s pivotal that you’ve stayed up-to-date on his progress, especially if you finally plan on becoming an active role in his recovery!” 

You braced yourself for the tainted oxygen that would fill your lungs as you lied, “Of course. Even gave them a quick review on the ride over.” 

In the seven months that you had been dodging Samson’s calls, you had never once opened any of the emails from his secretary. You always saw them come through though, and you always found yourself staring at the subject line for just a moment too long. 

Patient #121394 - Progress Report 

It made you sick sometimes, the way he had been reduced to a number. Other times, you were thankful for it. It helped to create a divide in your head, allowing you to create some sort of separation between who he was and who he is. Harry Osborn was your friend. Patient #121394 stabbed you in the back. 

Regardless, you could never actually make yourself read them. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to delete them, stashing one-hundred and eighty-four daily progress reports from Ravencroft into a separate folder, out of sight but kept on hand, just in case you ever needed them. 

You weren’t sure why you ever would. 

“Good, good!” He chirped loudly, both of you now approaching a large armored door. It didn’t match the rest of the hallway, the rusted surface polluting the otherwise pure white space. 

Your attention was pulled away from it as Director Samson spun on his toe, index finger suddenly wagging in your face, your eyes growing wide as you tried to lean back a few inches. His nails were a touch overgrown, caked with a substance you didn’t recognize. Describing him as eccentric would be kind, although disconcerting fit him better. 

“You must promise me something before you speak with him!” He sputtered out. You did your best not to flinch as his saliva spewed onto your face. “I understand you may have felt a need to…” his head bobbed side to side, squinting as he considered his wording, “distance yourself from Mr Osborn. That is why I did my best to respect your need for space the past several months-” 

Ah yes–you thought to yourself, fighting the urge to laugh in his face–calling bi-weekly and sending daily emails is clearly a sign of respecting someone’s wish to be uninvolved. 

“But!” He shouted out, his rotten nails now close enough that you could smell whatever laid beneath them. “If you cross this threshold,” his hand moved to the large door behind him, offering you a chance to swallow back the bile building in your throat, “you cannot abandon him again, Ms. y/l/n. Progress is a volatile thing, especially for the damaged souls that call Ravencroft home. I need to know that you’re prepared to devote yourself to Mr. Osborn’s treatment.” 

Abandon him—the claim was enough to make your blood boil. You wanted to scream at him, remind him of what had happened that night, remind him that you were the one who had been abandoned. You wanted to turn around, to leave and never step foot in this cursed building ever again. 

If you did that, then maybe you could keep lying to yourself. Harry Osborn could remain your former friend, one of the few crumbs you had left of the life you so desperately wanted back. He could be innocent, and Patient #121394 could be the murderer. 

“Well Director Samson, I can assure you that I have absolutely no intentions to abandon him!” The mask you put on was sickly sweet, more than palatable enough to hide the animosity behind it. 

His bug-eyed stare remained locked onto you, unnerving and wild. “You must promise.” 

“Okay,” A sigh managed to slip out, quickly covered by your response, “I promise.” 

He instantly relaxed at the vow, easily returning to the childish ebullience he’d displayed previously. You wondered how he would react if he had noticed the hand behind your back, if he knew your fingers were crossed as you spoke. 

Abandonment was a much kinder fate than Harry Osborn deserved, so you were certain that if a higher power existed, they would forgive you for breaking your promise to Director Samson. 

Metal jingled about as he removed the keys from his belt loop, somehow knowing exactly which one to grab from the couple dozen crowded the thick ring they hung on. 

“Now, please, do your best to remember the rules!” He began unlocking the various deadbolts on the door. “All patients in the visitation area will be secured to his or her station, for your safety as well as theirs. Under no circumstances should you touch any of the patients. Should you notice a patient is acting out of sorts, please remain calm and notify the warden-” 

You already knew the do’s and don’ts of visiting prisoners, having interviewed several of the inhabitants at Ryker’s Island for the Bugle, and so you found yourself droning him out entirely, watching as he moved from one lock to another, until he finally reached the last one. 

“Most importantly, do not forget that this time is meant to inspire and encourage your loved ones to continue on their new path towards righteousness!” He displayed a toothy grin, cavity filled and displeasing. In return you offered a much less prominent smile. “And please, when you’re done with your chitter-chatter, come by my office. I would love to discuss next steps with you!” 

You gave a curt nod, aware that you would not be doing that. Interacting with Samson was enough to drain even the most extroverted people, which was one of the many reasons you’d stopped returning his calls only two months into Harry’s sentence. 

He viewed you as a valuable tool for curing Harry—mentally, at least. His actual disease was of little interest to Samson, his physical health naught in comparison to his damaged mind. Harry had no next of kin, which meant all of Samson’s hopes had been placed onto you. He believed in order to cure Harry’s mind, he needed the assistance of someone who was dear to him, someone to act as a tether to his sanity. 

Director Samson also believed that the venom Harry injected into his veins was the cause for his self-proclaimed insanity. This told you all you needed to know about the Director; he was clueless. 

You knew the truth. After all, you were the one that had fed his lawyers the story and loaded them up with all the evidence they’d need in order to paint a picture for the jury, illustrating Harry Osborn’s mental descent. It was you that had convinced them to make him swallow his pride and take the insanity plea—your final act of kindness towards Harry. 

The clunky metal door groaned profusely as Director Samson pushed it open, heavy enough that it required him to use both hands and the majority of his body weight. Once it was open, he bowed in a particularly odd manner, motioning you into the room with a dramatic flair that made you nauseous. More than anything in the world, you couldn’t wait to never see him again. 

The small space you walked into had distracted you from Samon’s bizarre attitude, immediately taking note of them in case you ever felt like breaching Samson’s trust and writing a story on Ravencroft. 

First–it didn’t share the same suffocating scent as the hallway, the smell of chemical cleaners having completely vanished. You took advantage of this, letting your chest expand with several deep breaths. Your nostrils no longer burned, however this came with a price, this room much grimier than the rest of the facility. It didn’t shock you. 

Second–there was nothing white in here, a stark contrast from the unsoiled appearance of the never ending hallway you took to get here. This room truly felt like a prison, despite Ravencroft’s insistence that they were far from that. Muted shades of chipped paint coated the walls, the floors nothing more than poured cement. 

And, finally, third–no one, and you truly meant absolutely no one, appeared as if they were on the road to recovery. 

To your left there was a red-headed girl chained to a metal bar fastened to the wall. A bit of drool dribbled down her chin, her eyelids drooping as if she had been drugged. On your right was a boy no older than nineteen, handcuffed to his chair and left with nothing to do except stare at the floor beneath his feet. 

They looked miserable, and you almost felt bad for sticking Harry in a place like this. 

Almost. 

Behind you the door shut with a crash, the symphony of locks clicking back into place. Your heart rate spiked as you realized you were now trapped in here with them, taking a glance at the warden. He was a burly man, yet the only weapon he had on him was a baton, lazily stuffed into his waistband. It only added to your growing apprehension. 

Anxiety, you reminded yourself through gritted teeth, is another thing reporters don’t have time for. 

Each second brought you closer to Sytsevich’s impending death, which meant you didn’t have time to waste on fear. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier, still feeling as if you were frozen in place, wishing that they hadn’t made you leave your bag in the main office. 

If Brant had managed to find a number for Peter then you could just skip this whole mess, go straight to the source and get hard proof that he was innocent… but it was too late to turn around now. 

You were already here. 

In the furthest corner of the room you saw a steel table, placed directly in front of the patient’s only source of natural light—an incredibly small window, armed with thick black bars. Your heart lurched as your gaze settled on the table's only occupant. Even with his back turned, you could still recognize him. 

Lifting just one foot had been the hardest part, terror pricking your bones as the single step caused one of the patients to whip their head around towards you. 

He was an enormous man, standing several inches over six feet with muscles that rivaled the Hulk. Fortunately, you didn’t hold his attention for long, hesitantly watching as he went back to staring at the old-style television set that had been stuffed in the corner. Static painted the screen, and every once in a while the large man would give a swift hit to its side, making the other patients flinch. The warden didn’t stop him. 

Each step after that was rushed, an attempt to get out of his line of sight. He was restrained, as were all of them, but he still filled you with a sense of unease. When you finally reached the table and quickly slipped into one of the metal chairs, eyes still darting about prudently, you heard the patient sitting across from you laugh. 

You had thought the terror seeping into your veins had been intolerable, but it was no match for the misplaced grief that fought to consume you at the sound of his voice. It simultaneously sent chills down your spine and relaxed every muscle in your body, a paradox of a reaction that only the living dead could possibly provide. 

“Aw, what’s wrong?” He drawled, leaving you hanging onto every syllable. “My new friends scare you?” 

A bit. 

“Hardly.” You snapped back a bit faster than intended. Beneath the table you clenched your fists, fingernails prodding into the soft flesh of your palms. 

Stay calm. Hide your weaknesses. 

You were disappointed with yourself, your inability to mask your discomfort, especially here. A penitentiary wasn’t the best place to rollover, and you knew that the moment you fucked up and showed your underbelly you’d be as good as dead. You needed to be better. You needed to be incomprehensible. 

“You look well.” You spoke again before he’d have the chance to beat you to it, determined to be the one holding the reins in this conversation. “I’m shocked.” 

It truly wasn’t meant as a slight though the scoff you received in response made it clear that he’d taken it as one. It was God’s honest truth though; you hadn’t expected him to look as good as he did. 

Last time you saw Harry Osborn was when the venom had already invaded his bloodstream, transforming him into something near unrecognizable. That was the Harry Osborn you had been expecting to see today. A nightmare, a killer, a monster. 

Instead, you found yourself looking directly into the cerulean gaze of a boy you had mourned for nearly a year. There were subtle differences; the natural dark pigment of his hair still hadn’t returned, leaving it a dusty shade of brown, and the disease that fought relentlessly to claim his life had spread, a scaly patch of skin taking over his cheek bone. 

But, for the most part, he looked like himself. He looked like Harry. 

And that simple fact was almost enough to break you. 

“Wow, less than a minute in and you’re already spitting out back-handed compliments.” Harry's mouth twitched into a smirk. “You sure know how to greet an old friend.” 

Was he antagonizing you on purpose? Or was he simply delusional? Either way, you only offered him a tight smile, “We’re not friends.” 

You had no way of knowing if your words actually had any effect on him. Having been raised in the limelight meant that Harry had years of practice in maintaining his composure, always working to maintain the Osborn image. You had never been good at reading Harry, and that’s how he liked it. Like most powerful men, he enjoyed keeping secrets. 

“Aren’t we though?” He countered, a swift tug at the reins, an effort to regain some semblance of control. 

Your jaw clenched. “Not anymore.” 

Harry leaned forward a touch, those menacing eyes glistening as his palms remained flat against the cold steel, secured there by thick cuffs. “You think I don’t know what you did? That I don’t know who fed my lawyers all that bullshit about childhood abuse and disease warping my mind?” 

That bullshit had saved his life. Forced the jury to see him as more than another twisted villain, coerced them into feeling some sort of sympathy for Harry. By no means was Ravencroft comparable the the fucking Four Seasons, but it was far better than the alternative. Without the insanity plea, Harry was on a quick path to Ryker’s Island—a place you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. 

“You’re right. I gave them everything they needed to build your case.” There was no use in denying it. The recounts of the trauma his father had inflicted on him were too detailed, too intimate, and Harry knew only three people in this world had access to that information. Himself, you, and Norman; and the latter was already dead. “But not because we’re friends.” 

He cocked a brow at you, once again leaning back into the uncomfortable metal chair. “Then why bother?” 

“Because I’m not like you.” 

And you wholeheartedly believed that. Caring about him had nothing to do with your choice to try and spare his life, your decision to aid Gwen’s murderer. 

“A rich boy like you wouldn’t last a single day in Ryker’s. Those guys would’ve eaten you alive.” You asserted, the only physical sign of the anger coursing through you being your flared pupils. You were in control. “I had an opportunity to save your life, so I took it. Not because of friendship,” the word tasted acidic, burning as it rolled off your tongue, “but because I’m a good person—better than you ever were.” 

It wasn’t until you were done talking that you realized how desperate you had been for the declaration to cut him. You only recognized it afterwards, irritation flooding you as he remained perfectly still, seeming entirely unphased. 

Then after a moment of nothing, he sighed. Not out of annoyance, not out of sadness. Instead, it seemed to be out of pure boredom, which only made your irritation towards him grow. 

“Guess that means you’re not here to help with my treatment, huh?” He said it like a joke, as if he too thought he was incapable of redemption and found this whole thing to be a waste of time. “Samson’s gonna be so disappointed when he finds out.” 

“You’re right, I’m not here to help you.” you confirmed, sucking in a deep breath and biting back at your pride, “But you’re gonna help me.” 

His brows snapped up—a reaction, subtle, but there nonetheless. “And why would I do that? I mean, you already made it clear that we’re not friends. So why should I do anything for you?” 

“I’ll keep coming here. Participating in whatever stupid shit Samson has planned, keep acting like I wanna help you get better.” You sneered, eyes rolling. People like Harry Osborn were incapable of better. “There’s gotta be something for you to gain in all of that, right? Some sort of reward for making progress. If you’re lucky then maybe they’ll give you more playtime with your little buddies or something.” 

Your gaze flicked over his shoulder, once again landing on the enormous man that had noticed you earlier. He was still beating against the side of the television, the thumping of his palm against thick plastic echoing through the room. No one seemed to mind the noise. 

“Besides,” you continued while shifting your focus back to Harry, “you owe me.” 

He did owe you—him and Peter both—but pulling that card made you sound desperate, like you had truly run out of options and were now using everything left in your arsenal to sway him. 

But that was the point. 

It was a calculated move, entirely deliberate, right down to the doe-eyed glance you shamelessly flashed at him, feigning a moment of vulnerability. You hadn’t rolled over, hadn’t exposed your weak points, but you wanted him to believe you did. 

There were certain benefits that came with knowing Harry—who he used to be. You knew about his insatiable desire to be needed by someone, to feel wanted. There had been a time in which you wouldn’t have dared to exploit the trauma that desire stemmed from, but things were different now. 

Even when armed with his stoic mask, you could tell that you had hit your mark perfectly. He remained silent, considering your words. A rational part of him was likely screaming to tell you no, to send you out of Ravencroft without so much as a second glance. Odds were that he knew this was an attempt to manipulate him, to play at the side of his that ached to be essential to another. 

But Harry Osborn wasn’t known for making rational decisions. He was rarely driven to act by his near-genius level IQ, instead always finding himself a victim to the gnawing pain in his chest; and you were banking on that. 

Then, it happened. 

For a moment—mere seconds, at most—the mask slipped. A single muscle twitched in his jaw, his nose wrinkling the slightest touch. The shift in his demeanor was so subtle, yet so apparent to you. Having once been so close to him, you’d all but trained yourself to detect the moments in which his arrogance would melt into something far more innocent. You used to crave those moments; live for them, even. It felt like an honor to witness the side of Harry in which he fought to keep locked away, a side he tried to ignore. 

Now, though, you felt almost nothing. 

Harry finally let out a gruff sound, his tongue darting along his chapped bottom lip. “You’re here about Peter, aren’t you?” 

You were careful not to outwardly react. “You’ve seen the news?” 

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Not everyday the city hails Spider-Man a murderer.” 

He said the vigilante’s name like a curse, as if it were the dirtiest word he’s ever spoken. It was laced with a bone-chilling sense of contempt, one that only deepened your resentment towards Harry. You didn’t like it—the way he spoke as if he had a right to hate Peter. After everything Harry had done, after everything he’d taken—your nails dug deeper into your palms as you fought to keep your eyes peeled. terrified that if you so much as blinked you’d catch a glimpse of Harry’s sins. That you’d catch a glimpse of her.

“Are you gonna help or not?” You struggled to stay composed, his brows raised in amusement at the snipped statement. 

An unfortunate oversight in your plan had been in failing to acknowledge that Harry knew you just as well as you’d known him. It didn’t matter if you rolled over, because you were already exposed. He knew that Peter was a soft spot for you, that he had always been a soft spot, and all he had to do in order to push you over the edge was jab a little harder at that unhealed wound.

Surprisingly, he chose to leave it alone. 

“You’ll come four times a week. Minimum.” 

You fought the urge to grin at his demands, aware that it meant the rational side of him had lost. 

“Twice a week.” You countered.

“Make it three.” He almost sounded pitiful, coming off more like he was begging than demanding. It caught you off guard to hear him sound so desperate, and for a moment you wondered if he had turned the tables; if he was now manipulating you, playing on your emotions and trying to make you feel bad for the loneliness Ravencroft had inflicted upon him. 

But there was something about the look in his eyes, how transparent they suddenly seemed, that made you feel like this hadn’t been done with nefarious intent. His desperation was genuine, and you weren’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Fine.” You agreed, aware that you didn’t have time to negotiate with him all day. You had a story to write, and in order to create a solid defense for Spider-Man—for Peter, you’d need help. You’d need a culprit, someone that had a motive to kill Sytsevich. “Deal?” 

Harry grinned, that same arrogant and flashy sort of grin you’d seen him give heiresses and models. You always wanted to be on the receiving end of that smile, to be the one he was trying to win over, but now it only made your stomach sink. “How can I be of service?” 

“Do you know anyone who might want Sytsevich dead?” You decided to be blunt with the question, keeping your voice low. 

“Uh, yeah. Try the entire Soviet Union. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like he made a real fucking mess of things when he left Russia.” Harry noted. 

“O-kay,” you drawled, “what about locally? People talk in prison, yeah? If somebody was planning something you would’ve heard about it.” 

His nose scrunched up. “What do you think happens in prison? That we all just get together like it’s a slumber party and swap hit lists?” 

You didn’t bother responding, not verbally, at least. Instead, you opted for shooting him a sharp glare. It didn’t phase him. 

“Look,” he glanced towards the warden, scooting forwards a touch once he noticed the negligent guard had become distracted by his phone, “a guy like Sytsevich doesn’t go down without a good fight, alright? I saw the blueprints for that armor he wears, right before the board locked me out of Oscorp’s systems. I know what it’s capable of. Most people wouldn’t even have a chance to get a hit in, let alone send him to the hospital.” 

“Perfect,” you snapped, his eyes widening slightly, “if you know what his armor is capable of then you should know who would be strong enough to take him on.”

Harry scoffed at the simplicity of your deduction, “Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea, actually.” 

You gritted your teeth, aware of where he was heading. “It wasn’t Peter.” 

“How’re you so sure?” He asked you, a thin crease settling between his brows as he glowered at you. “I know you like to fixate on my fuck-ups in favor of avoiding his but you were there that night, y/n!” 

The banging sound of the prisoner’s palm colliding against the side of the thick television kept the guard from hearing Harry’s raised voice. 

“He wouldn’t kill Sytsevich.” You held firm in your beliefs, even as your gaze faltered and fell away from Harry’s, settling on the surface of the table. 

Bang. 

“He almost killed me!” His voice was consumed with bitterness, with pain. 

“And you killed her.” 

Was that truly a good defense? Had Harry’s sins somehow absolved Peter’s? A life for a life—the logic behind the sentiment was skewed and you didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to venture into the memories you’d fought so hard to block out. Your stomach suddenly became taut, unwilling to face the question you didn’t want answered. 

“You know what he’s capable of.” He pressed further, still leaned in close, as if trying to close the gap between you both, the shackles securing him to the table preventing him from doing just that. “Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/n. Don’t be dense-”

Bang. 

“Peter isn’t a murderer, Har!” You hissed through your teeth—too overstimulated to notice the pet name slip from your mouth and too livid to care. 

He went to argue the statement when another bang sounded out against the side of the television, this one finally powerful enough to knock some life back into the formerly deceased device. Your eyes darted in it’s direction, Harry’s neck snapping around to do the same as you both listened to the hum of the static clear, a female voice breaking through. 

“-just moments ago we received word from the NYPD that former Russian mafia member Aleksei “the Rhino” Sytsevich passed away less than an hour ago. Sources from North General hospital confirmed that Sytsevich’s condition began to rapidly worsen, until he eventually gave in to the fatal wounds sustained in last night's mysterious assault.” 

The tautness in your stomach grew stronger, a wave of nausea settling over you as the organ began to tie itself in knots. 

“Chief Davis with the NYPD will be holding a press conference this afternoon, however officials have already confirmed that there is now an active warrant out calling for Spider-Man’s arrest. Individuals with any information on New York’s fallen hero are being asked to call the number displayed on the bottom of the screen, and police advise citizens to avoid their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man at all costs-”

Harry twisted back around to face you, cautious and uncertain as he met your stare. He almost appeared concerned—not about the news, not about Peter, but about you. The corner of his mouth twitched downward, forced to watch as your face blanched, mind reeling. 

It’s not too late. There’s still a chance. He can still be proven innocent. A warrant doesn’t mean jackshit. 

The metal legs of your chair screeched against the ground as you pushed yourself back from the table, “I need to go.” 

Harry’s wrists pulled against the shackles that held him in place, instinctively reaching towards you, as if he’d nearly forgotten they were even there. “Wait!” 

Against your better judgment, you listened to him, though you weren’t entirely sure why. You needed to go. You need to contact the Bugle, needed to see if Brant had found a number for Peter. As much as you hated to admit it, Ravencroft had wound up being a deadend, and you needed to keep moving—but you just didn’t. You stayed, staring back at a boy you once knew, waiting for him. 

You always waited for them—Harry and Peter both. 

“You’re not-...” he hesitated, blinking and shaking his head as he debated whether or not he should even continue, if it would even make a difference. “You’re not going to see him, are you?” 

“Of course I am!” You ignored the groan that escaped his parted lips. “You’ve been fucking useless, so Peter is all I’ve got left. He didn’t kill Sytsevich, alright? But he was at the scene. He’s gotta have some idea as to who did this.” 

It was obvious that the offhand insult had stung, evident by the way he winced as you launched it at him. You nearly found yourself apologizing for it, but decided against it as you watched him quickly stiffen back up, always refusing to wear his pain so blatantly. Norman had trained him well, drilling into his head that weakness wasn’t a part of the Osborn way. 

“Don’t get involved.” 

Your stare narrowed. What he offered hadn’t been a recommendation, rather a demand. “They’ll hunt him down, Harry! If the police convince the entire city that Spider-Man’s a murderer? The city will turn into a fucking disaster. I’m not gonna let him go through that alone.” 

“You could get yourself killed!” Harry barked back, clearly indifferent to whether or not Peter suffered alone. You found yourself laughing in response, finding humor in his attempt to show concern for your life. 

“It’s Peter.” You stated plainly, devoid of any emotion as you rose to your feet. Harry’s head tilted upwards, following you with his eyes. “He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.” 

“Remind me again who saved you that night.” His jaw clenched, his tone turning callous as he decided to prod at the old wounds. “Cause it sure as hell wasn’t Spider-Man.” 

Your fists balled up tighter, blood beginning to seep from your palms and pooling beneath your nails. You zoned in on the stinging sensation, digging deeper into your flesh, using the pain as a tether to keep you from slipping too deep into your own subconscious. You didn’t have time to think about that night. You didn’t have fucking time. 

So you bottled up the thousands of thoughts running rampant in your head, biting your tongue instead of allowing yourself to spit anymore insults at him. He’s not worth it–you tried to tell yourself, starting towards the warden–it won’t change anything. 

“y/n!” He growled as you moved past him, electing to ignore him entirely. He thrust his arms against the shackles again, rattling the thick metal and grunting as they tightened around his wrists. You were just a little over a foot away when he spoke again, “Don’t fucking tell him you know!” 

You paused, suddenly feeling as if your feet had been cemented to the floor. You cursed yourself as you responded, refusing to look back at him. “What are you talking about?” 

“Have you talked to him since that night?” He asked. 

“No.” You chewed on your bottom lip, ignoring the abrupt pang in your chest. “I haven’t.” 

“Okay. Great. Then he doesn’t know for sure what you saw that night. That you saw him without the mask, that you know he’s Spider-Man.” He was talking uncharacteristically fast, as if he was worried you’d leave before he’d get the words out quick enough. “So don’t tell him.” 

You frowned, shifting to the side, now looking at him through your peripheral. “Why?” 

“Because.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut, fending off the growing headache that this situation had brought on. “As far as he knows, I’m his only loose end. The only one that knows who he really is.” 

Your chest tightened as you realized what was happening. Since walking into Ravencroft, you’d concerned yourself so heavily with keeping your guard up, with guarding your weakest points—only for Harry to be the one to rollover. He was exposing his hand, and you found it unsettling, especially when you realized that there was no selfish intent behind his words. 

Harry had nothing to lose in this situation. 

Except for you—his friend. 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s not a murderer. But if he did kill Sytsevich? Anyone who knows about Spider-Man’s secret identity is gonna have a huge fucking target on their back.” His eyes remained closed, drawing in a shaky breath before he continued, “So please,” his voice shook, desperation lacing each syllable, “just–don’t tell him, okay?” 

Goosebumps arose on your forearms, unable to hide from the fear that radiated off of him. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find an ulterior motive for the statement. There was no clear sign of manipulation, no indication that he wanted to do anything other than protect you; and that made you feel sick. 

You had long since buried Harry Osborn, having told yourself countless times that two of your friends died that night. For two-hundred-and-seven days you had mourned both of them. 

With every fiber of your being you had believed that the arrogant boy that had weaseled his way into your life was gone, having been replaced with a malevolent monster. 

But now you could feel him.

It no longer felt as if you had just been staring at his corpse, but rather as if someone had actually breathed life back into him, offering you a glimpse of what still remained. 

It caused the tiniest spark of hope to ignite within you, a spark that you would do your damndest to extinguish. 

Harry Osborn was better off dead. 

“Our deal’s off.” You asserted, cold and uncaring. His eyes shot open again, a desolate expression washing over him. He didn’t try to conceal it, didn’t bother to adjust the mask he always wore. “You gave me absolutely nothing, so I’m not obligated to hold up my end.” 

Harry’s lips parted as if he were going to protest, as if he were going to do something—but nothing came out, and you hadn’t expected him to find the words, anyways. Try as you might, the three of you had never been capable of such candor; never willing to shine a light on the darkest corners of your minds, too scared of the risks that came with exposing what laid beneath the surface. 

You couldn’t help but think there was something poetic about it; the melancholy cord that bound you to Harry and Peter. How you were all fated to don matching wounds, but always be too afraid to admit to one another that you were bleeding. 

Sometimes you wanted to show them the stains on your hands, the red that you could never scrub off. You wondered if it would have made a difference, if maybe then the three of you could have bore the weight of it all together, rather than crumbling beneath the pressure. 

But none of that mattered anymore. 

None of you were the same anymore. 

And so you gritted your teeth and held your head high, letting the blood continue to collect under your nails, hiding it from his view. You took a heavy breath, your chest heaving beneath all of the pain you chose to carry. 

“Coming here was a mistake.” 

It was the only thing left to say, the only other admission you’d let slip past your lips. It hung in the air between the two of you, resonating with each of you in an entirely different manner, knowing that you’d never share your own interpretation with the other. 

Harry didn’t respond, choosing to drown in his silence, having grown used to watching people walk away from him. And you forced yourself to leave, choking on the remnants of your own grief; having grown used to abandoning what you once loved. 

a/n - ah, so it's definitely not june BUT i did post it finally! i've put a lot of time and effort into this fic cause i do just genuinely love the idea of it and it brings me a lot of joy lol. with that being said, it takes a ton of effort for me to write it because i'm putting in a lot of little details, so updates on this won't be the quickest, especially while i'm taking summer classes!! but i'll be doing my best! please feel free to leave comments, opinions, etc. and look forward to getting loads of peter content in the next part! also feel free to check out THIS if you want to see an edit of the newspaper headline!

#peter parker imagine #tasm imagine #harry osborn imagine #tasm fic #peter parker fic #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman imagine #harry osborn #spiderman fic #peter parker x reader #mcu imagine #yandere peter parker #yandere spiderman #dark peter parker #the amazing spiderman #tasm2 #tasm fanfiction #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter one shot #tasm harry osborn

[parmahamlarrie]

Welcome back to another post for the directory of fic recs on my blog! If you would like a specific theme or trope, let me know! As always, these are all fics I have read and loved, not all the fics out there. You can find more Omegaverse fics here! **This post will be updated as I have more fics in this theme to recommend!**

Face Your Fears || @sadaveniren || 92.2k Omegaverse, Baker Harry, Famous/Non Famous, Misunderstandings, KidFic, Mpreg, Slowburn, Angst

Violent Delights || @ohpleaselarry || 76k Omegaverse, Alpha Harry, Omega Louis, Regency, Prince Louis, Prince Harry, Rapunzel-Esque

Seeing Blind || zedi || 46.7k Omegaverse, Rut Bar, Blind Louis, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry

picking up the pieces || @falsegoodnight || 37.6k Omegaverse, Childhood Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Fake Relationship, High School Reunions

Follow Your Arrow || @ladyaj-13 || 36.2k  Omegaverse, Pack Dynamics, Canon Divergent, Touch Deprivation

Sometimes You Just Know || @2tiedships2 || 33.8k  Omegaverse, Soulmates, Exes to Lovers, Nesting

Blush || @dip-lou-in-honey || 33.4k Historical AU, Omegaverse, Period Typical Sexism

Leave Your Mark On Me || @kingsofeverything || 32k  Omegaverse, Restaurant AU, Fake Bonds, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

An Alpha For Christmas || IceQueenRia || 28.1k Christmas, A/B/O, Fake Relationship, Neighbour AU

never been a fan of change, but we're still the same || @onlythebravest || 27.1k Omegaverse, Friends to Lovers, College AU, Hurt/Comfort, Drops, Nesting

only guilty of loving you || sweetrevenge || 22.1k Omegaverse, Scents, You’ve Got Mail AU

Pretty in Pink || lovelarry10 || 18.8k Omegaverse, Alpha Harry. Omega Louis, Feminine Harry, Friends to Lovers

Empty Nest || @littleroverlouis || 16.4k Omegaverse, Mpreg, Nesting, Established Relationship, Fluff

Prince Harry and the Expert in Motorcycle Maintenance || @juliusschmidt || 15.9k  Omegaverse, Crack, Royalty, Cinderella Story

balance between you and me || @beckydoesthings || 15.2k Omegaverse, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry, Businessmen, Courting Rituals

Smells Like Omega Spirit || @lululawrence || 11.7k Omegaverse, Misunderstandings, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Scene Neutralizers

Stumbling Into Your Arms ABO verse || @sunshineandthemoonlight || 11.3k - 2 parts Omegaverse, College AU, Train AU, Fluff

Enter the Rose Garden || @angelichl || 10.3k Omegaverse, Friends to Lovers, Soft Heat, Pining

14 Days of Valentine’s || @stylesthebrave || 9.3k  Omegaverse, Omega Harry, Alpha Louis, Established Relationship, Courting

a body wishes to be held & held || turnyourankle || 9.1k  Omegaverse, Coworkers to Lovers, Pining, Heat/Rut

The Coach Tommo Universe || @enchantedlandcoffee || 8.8k Omegaverse, Kid Fic, Fluff and Smut, Bakery Owner Harry

I’d Walk Through Fire For You (Just Let Me Adore You) || @neondiamond || 8.3k Omegaverse, Friends to Lovers, Firefighter Louis

There With Open Arms || @cupcakentea || 7.6k Omegaverse, Beta Louis, Omega Harry, Dropping

Dance With Your demons || @pocketsunshineharry || 6.7k Omegaverse, Established Relationship, Mild Hurt/Comfort

Almost Misheard || @tommokat || 6.5k Omegaverse, Friends to Lovers, Idiots to Lovers

Everything I need, I get from you || @lunarheslwt || 6.4k Omegaverse, Anxious Harry, Established Relationship, Valentine's Day

Something Blue & Someone New || @littleroverlouis || 6.1k Omegaverse, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry, Courting, Neighbor AU

Perfect, For Now || @parmahamlarrie || 4.9k Omegaverse, Neighbor AU, New Towns, Touch Starvation, Misunderstandings

Open Up Your Honey Pot || @polaroidlouis || 4.8k Omegaverse, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry, Frat Boy Louis, Service Top Louis

Feel the Heat Through Your Phone || @larry-hiatus || 4.3k Omegaverse, Established Relationship, Phone Sex, Heat

The Cat that Got the Cream || @suesheroll || 4.2k Omegaverse, Virgin Harry, Friends to Lovers

Wanna Make Your Body Numb || @letthemusicmoveyou28 || 3.8k Omegaverse, Dom/Sub, Club Owner Louis, Established Relationship

I need you right now, baby (won’t you come home?) || @non-binharry || 3.3k Omegaverse, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry, Heist, Humor

No (Birth) Control || @haztobegood || 2.8k Omegaverse, Omega Harry, Alpha Louis, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Porn with Plot

and it was love at first blush || @bottomhaztoplou || 2.4k Omegaverse, Historical AU, Ballroom Dancing, Courtship, Courting Rituals

Simply the Nest (Better Than All The Rest) || @homosociallyyours || 2.2k Omegaverse, Strangers to Lovers, Alpha Harry, Omega Louis, Nesting

listen to me, butterfly || wherewestwood || 2.1k Omegaverse, Established Relationship, Canon, Nesting

I Trust You || @neondiamond || 1.8k  Established Relationship, Omegaverse, Ace Harry, Omega Harry, Alpha Louis

I’ve secretly always wanted to be yours (and for you to be mine) || @bottomhaztoplou || 1.6k Omegaverse, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry, Heat/Rut, Older Louis, High School AU

#tracksintheam #trackinghappily #trackinghome #1dsource #fic rec #fic rec list #larry fic rec #my fic rec lists #omegaverse

[kiachiako]

april nct recs

my library of favorites from APR <3 all creds to authors

[ sorted by word count ]

series

JAEMIN | better than your next (i'm the next) | @ddeonuism 11.9k [ part one ]

RENJUN | messenger | @dojunie — smau | You find a phone number written on the mirror of the Sulim Library's second floor bathroom. It’s scrawled messily across the glass in erasable expo marker, the handwriting underneath almost closer to hieroglyphics than lettering— and what you thought it read, was ‘SEND DUCK PICS FOR A GOOD TIME.’ (You suppose, in hindsight, it was a good thing this person’s penmanship was so shit— because if you knew what it really said, you might have never stumbled across the oddly intriguing inbox of one Huang Renjun.)

oneshots

[m] JAEHYUN | seeds of pomegranates | @anashins 29.5k — The day the god of the underworld steals you away, he expects to have found a timid wife to make his isolated life more bearable. Little does he know that the rose he picked from the garden called earth bears knives instead of thorns, and he might not have found a timid wife, but a queen with a heart as dark as his.

[m] JAEHYUN | hearts are won at practice | @angelwonie 21.2k — jung jaehyun is an obnoxious, way too handsome footballer whom you have no intention of getting to know. at least until a series of coincidences forces you to spend time with him, and you realize there might be more to him than what meets the eye.

CHENLE | potential | @rrxnjun 20k — rich kids au, childhood friends au, friends with benefits au. angst, fluff, suggestive | You saw his potential without seeing credentials. And maybe that's the issue.

[m] HAECHAN | monochrome | @sundaysundaes — Lee Donghyuck once believed in the concept of soulmates—how fate would connect a red thread from one lover to another, in a form of dreams and memories. That was how his parents met, that was how they claimed their happiness, and he wanted nothing more but to live his life the way they lived theirs. Until one day, as he sees her slipping away from his hands, he has no choice but to stop believing entirely.

CHENLE | i still love you | @xiaodejunletsact 17.4k — high school can be complicated. thats why when your crush of three years, zhong chenle, approaches you out of nowhere offering to drive you home you are right to question his intentions.

HAECHAN | free trial wedding style | @liliansun 10.6k — when a random, cute, guy comes up to you and practically asks for you to follow along, you do so without much thought. that is until you get home and see he’s your new neighbor who just might need your help a little more than you expected.

[m] HAECHAN + MARK | the girl is mine | @luvrkives 10.5k — mark and hyuck can't stop fighting over you. who fucks you better, who makes you laugh more, who you like most, who fucks you better, yada yada yada. but honestly, why argue when you would happily take them both?

JAEHYUN | love you goodbye | @serendipityseulgi 10.3k — the one with the story of dysfunctional love between you and jaehyun. aka, you both want different things and your love isn’t always enough.

[m] JOHNNY | color evasion | @ncteez 8.7k — or the one where you join a kink website and a specific dom’s profile catches your attention enough to actually meet him at a hotel and practically ignore your safe words bc man, he’s good. 

[m] HAECHAN + JAEHYUN | mine too | @waithyuck 7.5k — donghyuck x jaehyun x reader (f), smut, basically pwp

JAEHYUN | eye of affection | @aitarose 6.6k — for as long as he can remember, jaehyun’s world has been in black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide. 

HAECHAN | full of love (and stars) | @httplastic 6k — friends/roommates to lovers, light angst

[m] HAECHAN | unavoidable | @sunpopz 5.8k — after swearing to yourself you're done catching feelings for people; you meet someone who makes that incredibly difficult. you think you can avoid him... then you're assigned a final together.

RENJUN | hard to let go | @cinnajun 4.3k — your high school friend group had an ambiguous and messy end, and you never got any closure for anything. two years later, and lee donghyuck’s girlfriend lives on the same floor as you, and you’re forced to face huang renjun, whose abandonment hurt you the most.

HAECHAN | she's quiet | @ijuliet 3.4k — although you were not looking to make new friends, the ones you had tried their hardest to push you out of your comfort zone to find something abnormal for you. which is why you’re at a frat party on a thursday night, watching as lee donghyuck observes you from afar.

[m] HAECHAN | all bark no bite | @jjsneo 2.5k — lee haechan is the most annoying man you’ve ever encountered. but that doesn’t mean you don’t find him hot; and maybe that’s why he has you flat on his mattress one night at a random frat party.

JAEHYUN | in the rain | @sehunniepotwrites 1.9k — All this time, you were looking for love in the wrong places and in the wrong people. As a serial dater, you never thought you would find it in the pouring rain and in the person you trusted the most. 

. . .

ur fav recs n fics blog is back hehe | happy reading <3

xoxo

#nct fic recs #nct fic rec #nct imagine #nct smut #nct127 #nct 127 fic #nct 127 #nct dream #nct #nct u #nct imagines #nct fic #nct fics #nct dream imagines #nct127 imagines #nct127 fic recs #nct au #nct aus #nct scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct 127 fic recs #jaehyun fic #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fic recs #haechan x reader #haechan imagines #haechan au #haechan fic recs #haechan smut #renjun imagines

[justagalwhowrites]

Halcyon - Ch. 6: But, Honestly, Something's Gotta Give

You and Joel review each other's lists. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 5, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Semi-graphic description of masturbation. Mention of drug and alcohol addiction. Mention of past drug overdose. Diet culture type language. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 10.3K

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Hey you!” 

You managed to resist the urge to groan when your sister threw the door open, her hip popped against it and a large glass bottle clutched in the hand she’d put in the air in excitement. 

“Please tell me that’s not wine,” you said, trying to see the label on the bottle. 

“Oh you’re such a buzzkill,” Anna rolled her eyes and visibly deflated a bit. “And no, of course it’s not wine. It’s sparkling cider, heaven forbid a girl wants to do something different once in a while…” 

“Sorry,” you said, hands up in surrender as she stepped aside and let you in. You gave her a quick hug before following her toward the kitchen. “How’ve you been?” 

“Drunk off my ass and high all the time,” she made a mocking face over her shoulder at you. “Oh wait, no, that’s just what my sister thinks I’ve been doing…” 

“You answered the door with something that looks like a wine bottle in your hand and you’ve been out of rehab for all of two months,” you said, voice sharper than you’d really intended it to be.  “Think my question was pretty reasonable.” 

“You know, a little trust would be nice,” she said, stopping at the counter and pouring the cider into two waiting wine glasses. “Kinda hard to rebuild my life if fucking no one in it trusts me to do it.”

You sighed

“You’re right,” you said, sitting at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.” 

You held up a box of candy and shook it, the little squares inside rattling in their paper and plastic confines as you did. 

“I brought you chocolate,” you smiled at her. 

“Buying my love, hm?” She asked, setting a drink in front of you before sitting down at the seat beside you. You just shrugged as she pulled off the lid, wiggling her fingers over the various truffles before selecting one without looking at the map explaining the varieties. “Well, it worked. I forgive you.” 

She bit into the candy and made a face, scrunching her nose. 

“Ugh,” she said, holding out the remaining half of the truffle, brushing it over your lips. “Coconut. Disgusting.” 

“I don’t want your spit candy…” you leaned away from her but her hand shot forward and stuffed the piece in your mouth as you spoke, making you cough for a moment before you gave up and just chewed it. “You’re disgusting.” 

“And you’re lame,” she said. “So we’re even.” 

“So,” you said, swallowing the candy. “How are you doing? Really?” 

She shrugged, her fingers lingering over the box again as she selected her next piece.

“Fine, I guess,” she said. “I have a job interview next week…” 

“No shit!” Your eyes went wide, impressed. “That’s amazing, where at?” 

“OK, be less excited because otherwise it’s going to be a letdown,” she rolled her eyes a little. “But, believe it or not, it’s an office job. Data entry. It’s going to be total bullshit but it was a foot in the door which, right now? I’ll take.” 

“Congratulations!” You smiled, genuinely happy for her. “That’s exciting.” 

She shrugged again. 

“Only exciting if I get it. And even then… pretty damn lame.” 

“A steady paycheck is only lame until you realize how nice it is,” you said. “I think you’ll like a little stability and independence.” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I think you’re right. It just feels weird to be at this stage right now in my life, you know? I didn’t finish college, I have no job experience. I thought my life was going to just always be my life and now it’s not. I’m basically starting from scratch at 29. Less than scratch, I’m already divorced and have two stints in rehab under my belt.” 

You shrugged. 

“Scratch isn’t so bad.” 

“Ah right, my sister in arms, fellow member of the hot young divorcee club,” she smirked, grabbing another chocolate and popping it in her mouth before nodding slowly. “This one’s better, caramel.” 

“Not divorced yet,” you signed, rapping your fingers on the side of your glass. “Gale keeps sending over new terms… I feel like this is never going to end.” 

“It can take a while,” she nodded knowingly. “Hell, even when you’re on decent terms it takes a while, take it from someone who knows.” 

“Speaking of our exes, how is dear old Joshy?” You asked. Anna rolled her eyes a little but you saw the corners of her lips pull up. “Josharoonie. Joshimiah.” 

“Shut up. And he’s fine, last I heard,” she said. “I haven’t seen him in a bit.” 

“Really?” You said. “I’m impressed.” 

“Not that impressive,” she muttered, taking a sip of her drink. 

“Uh huh,” you replied. “Hon, I remember a time that you couldn’t stay away from him for five minutes and I remember him convincing you that oh, no, it’s just a little wine, just a little pot, just a little coke…” 

“Yeah, he’s way less hot shit when I’m sober as it happens,” she laughed a little. “God, yeah, I don’t know that I would have made it down the aisle with him if I’d been sober. I was three bottles of wine deep that day…” 

“Yeah, I remember,” you laughed a little, too. “That really should have been red flag number one, you had to get hammered to marry the guy. I probably should have tried harder to stop you.” 

“Eh,” she shrugged. “Can’t hold it against you. Not like your taste in men was all that great. No offense.” 

You just shrugged noncommittally. It was easier than arguing. You weren’t sure why you kept wanting to defend Gale to people. It’s not like he was being especially kind or caring as your marriage dissolved. It wasn’t like he’d been especially kind or caring toward you in a very long time. 

But something in you grated at people’s distaste. You were divorcing him, yes, but it’s not like you’d lost all your feeling for the man. You still cared about him. You still loved him. Or you thought you did, anyway. Sometimes, you weren’t sure if it was him you loved or if it was the life you had before that you longed for, the gentle stability of a partner who you knew would put his hand in the small of your back when maneuvering around you in the bathroom in the morning and would program the coffee pot before you went to bed at night. There was a comforting, quiet certainty in knowing the pattern of someone’s scars and where to find them in the dark. You hadn’t had that in a while. 

But you hadn’t had any kind of special consideration in even longer, your husband paying you and your wants and needs very little mind as the two of you moved along toward divorce through the final years of your marriage. It was slow at first - curt words and quick frustrations - and then all at once, with raised voices and wounds that cut deeper than you’d realized at the time. 

Part of you wondered if Gale would have stayed as he was when you met him if it wasn’t for you. Like maybe you’d driven him to this version of himself, the version that seemed to be vindictive and mean now and had been thoughtless and cold as everything collapsed. Maybe, if you’d been less infuriating or self centered or immature, he’d have remained his brilliant, pensive self. Maybe he’d still have wanted to steal you away into his office to go down on you between classes, your legs spread wide as he pulled your ass to the edge of his desk and plunged his tongue inside of you. Maybe he’d still want to take you to restaurants you didn’t know to eat foods you’d never tried, his hand slipping up your thigh as he fed you your first bite of caviar. Maybe he’d still call you Doll and look at you like you had something worth experiencing somewhere inside you.

Maybe you’d ruined him. Maybe you’d ruined everything. 

The oven timer dinged and Anna jumped up, grabbing pot holders and pulling a baking dish out of the oven as you frowned. 

“What?” She asked, getting out plates. “I invited you over for lunch, I was obviously going to feed you.” 

“OK, yeah, not obvious,” you said. “And I figured that it might mean… I don’t know, sandwiches or something, what is that?” 

“Mom’s mac and cheese,” she smiled, proud. You gaped at her for a moment. “What! I was a housewife for years, I did pick up a few skills.” 

“You followed Joshamania around on tour for years,” you corrected her. “I don’t think you had the facilities to make Mom’s mac and cheese at your disposal.” 

“OK so maybe it’s a new skill,” she said, spooning the food onto plates. “But I’m not totally useless.” 

She put the plate in front of you - it was chipped, one of the same ones you’d eaten off of every day as a kid - and sat next to you, tucking her leg below her as she did before the two of you dug into the pasta. 

It smelled warm and familiar, a little like your kitchen on Anna’s birthday when you were kids and you took a bite. But you only chewed it for half a second before you dropped the food back on your plate and grabbed the glass of sparkling juice, chugging it as Anna made a disgusted face. 

“What did you do to it?” You coughed, trying to get the taste out of your mouth. “That’s the saltiest thing I’ve ever eaten!” 

“It said to salt the water!” She coughed, too. “And add salt to taste in the sauce…” 

“Did you taste it?” You asked, brows raised. “And how much salt did you put in the water?” 

“I don’t know!” She said. “It didn’t say how much to put in. And no, I didn’t taste it, I thought it’d be gross to eat out of the pan I was cooking in…” 

“This is what’s gross,” you said before pouring another glass of juice and chugging that, too. “Jesus… that tour bus really didn’t have a kitchen did it?” 

“Nope,” she took the bottle and just started drinking straight from it. “But if it did, I’d probably have killed half the band…” 

You snorted at that, almost shooting sparkling juice out of your nose when you did. As the two of you regained your composure, you looked at your little sister. It sometimes felt like the two of you had gone down completely opposite paths, everything about you so disparate it was like she was a total stranger to you. 

It’s not as though you were related by blood. Your parents had adopted Anna when she was a baby and you were almost three years old, back when their marriage was still functional and bringing another child into it sounded like a good idea instead of total insanity. But you’d have thought growing up together with the same parental neuroses and sharing the same bathroom would have made it so you somewhat resembled each other in the way your lives had turned out. 

It hadn’t, though. You were valedictorian of your high school class, went to an ivy league school, got a doctorate and started teaching at your alma mater. You’d married the first real boyfriend you had, the only time you’d ever interacted with a cop was the two times you’d been pulled over for speeding and you could count the number of concerts you’d been to on one hand. 

Anna, on the other hand, had finished high school by the skin of her teeth. She’d been in her first semester of community college when your mother died and she dropped out almost immediately, no matter how hard you tried to talk her out of it. She got involved with a protest group for a while before she started following her favorite band on tour. She ended up sleeping with half of them before she wound up married to the guitarist. Your life had been quiet and stable and hers had been free and exciting and yet you’d both wound up back in your home town, divorced and trying to figure out where to go next. 

Maybe you were more like her than you realized. 

“I think I have the stuff for sandwiches,” she said, shoving back from the table and heading for the fridge. “Because yeah, that’s inedible…” 

“Don’t worry about it on my account,” you said, pushing the offending plate away. “I’m going to dinner with Joel in a few hours so…” 

“Joel?” She straightened up from behind the fridge door, her eyebrows raised as she watched you. “Wait, like a date?” 

“Please,” you scoffed. “It’s Joel. Be real.” 

“Right, you’re too straight laced for someone like that,” she rolled her eyes, going back into the fridge. 

“No I’m not!” 

“Yes, you are,” she said, standing up again and bumping the door closed with her hip. She came back to the table and dropped a Lunchable in front of you. You raised your eyebrows and she glared at you. “Not a fucking word.” 

“I didn’t say a thing,” you said, pulling back the plastic wrap lid. “And you know that you couldn’t pay Joel enough to date me…” 

She scoffed, opening her own Lunchable. 

“I’m not his type!” You protested, resisting the urge to kick her under the table. 

“Type schmype,” she waved you off. “Mom always thought you two were going to get married one day…” 

“Yeah, because her judgement was always so stellar,” you rolled your eyes, making a little sandwich of meat and cheese and crackers. 

“Say what you want about her taste in men but Mom knew you,” Anna said, her tone almost uncomfortably earnest. “You’re so much like her. So, so like her. She knew. And she said it, even after you were engaged to Gale she said it. Because she knew.” 

“Well,” you shrugged after a moment. “She got it wrong.” 

You ended up staying at Anna’s for a few hours. She told you more about the meetings she was attending, how she liked her sponsor. Things seemed to be going well for her, it was stabilizing. So much better than it had been when you’d decided to come back to Texas a few months earlier. She’d passed out at a party after taking drugs from someone she barely knew. Thankfully, someone she was there with was smart enough to get her to a hospital when she wouldn’t wake up. You’d flown down and sat with her at the hospital, talked to her doctors, helped convince her to go to rehab. For a few torturous hours on the plane ride, you thought you might lose your sister, too. That you’d have no one and you’d be adrift in the world, lost and alone and as empty of meaning as you’d always been afraid you were. You’d decided then that, if Anna lived, you were moving back.

But navigating your relationship with Anna since was a balancing act. Part of you wanted to become her mother, to take care of her and guide her and support her through everything. It seemed safest, making decisions for her since she seemed to be so bad at making them for herself. But you knew that wasn’t tenable, not really. She was fiercely independent, she always had been. She’d rather make all the wrong decisions on her own than have someone make the right ones for her. But being just her sister didn’t feel like enough, not when she was struggling and trying to find her way. 

“I hope you and Joel have fun tonight,” she said in a sing song voice as she walked you to the front door.

“You’re obsessed,” you rolled your eyes. “I promise, it’s nothing interesting…” 

“You two have been spending a lot of time together for nothing interesting.” 

“We’ve always spent a lot of time together,” you said, turning to face her as she stood in the doorway. “He half lived at our house when we were kids if you recall.” 

“Yeah, you were in love with him then, too,” she smirked. 

“Not even going to dignify that with a response,” you said, not wanting to think about how well your sister seemed to know you. “You know where to find me if you need me, right?” 

“Oh gosh,” she huffed dramatically. “Joel’s?” 

“Alright, bye!” You waved and Anna cackled.

“Hey,” she called from her door as you went to get to the car. “I’m happy you’re back.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Believe it or not, I’m happy I’m back too.” 

***

“You got everything?” Joel asked, herding Sarah toward the truck. 

“Yes Dad,” she rolled her eyes. 

“Got your pajamas?” 

“Yes.” 

“Clothes for tomorrow? Including clean underwear?” 

She sighed. 

“Yes, duh.” 

“Don’t ‘duh’ me,” he said. “You forget stuff you need all the time and I’m not gonna just be at home waitin’ for you to need something tonight. If you forget it, you’re on your own kid.” 

“I have everything.” 

“Vanessa’s present?” 

“Dad,” she stopped and looked at him. “I’m 11. I’m basically a teenager. I have all my stuff.” 

Joel tried really hard to not laugh. 

“Alright,” he said. “In the truck, you almost teenager.” 

She smiled proudly before obeying. 

“Can I put on my playlist?” She asked, leaning between the front seats. 

“You have to give me the phone then,” he said. “And you have to sit back and buckle up.” 

She pulled up the playlist before dropping the phone in his hand and sitting back. 

“You excited for Vanessa’s birthday party?” He asked as he started the playlist. “Seatbelt.” 

“Yeah!” She said, obeying and buckling up. “Melanie is gonna be there, too, and she was bringing her karaoke machine. Can I get a karaoke machine?” 

“You gonna let me use it?” Joel asked, looking at her in the rear view mirror. 

“Only if you sing something besides old man music,” she smirked at him. 

“I don’t listen to old man music…” 

“You listen to old man music,” she said. “You’re gonna tell Aunt Goldie I say hi, right?” 

“I’ll tell her you say hi,” he smiled a little. “Even though I figured we’d pretend the world didn’t revolve around you for one night…” 

Sarah scoffed and he could tell she was trying not to smile, too. 

“The world revolves around me every night,” she said. “As it should.” 

Joel laughed and pulled up in front of Vanessa’s house. 

“Alright center of the universe,” he said, pausing the music and handing her the phone. “Go, have fun, be on your best behavior…” 

“You too,” she said, getting out of the truck before pausing on her way out the door. “Dad, I think I forgot something…” 

Joel sighed. 

“What do you need, Baby Girl?” 

She just laughed. 

“I’m just messing with you. Have fun!” 

Sarah jumped out of the truck before he had a chance to respond and ran to the door, her duffle bag bouncing on her arm. He waited until she was safely inside and waved to Vanessa’s mom - whose name he could never fucking remember - before he headed to your place. 

He hadn’t just triple checked to make sure that Sarah had everything she needed, he’d also made sure he was ready, too. 

Joel wasn’t sure why he was so anxious. It’s not like he didn’t see you all the damn time now. It seemed like if the two of you weren’t hanging out you were texting. Even though it sometimes felt like you were getting reacquainted, it was still like you just knew him, knew him on a level no one else ever had. But this was different. He was deliberately owning up to all the things he wanted to change about himself, all the ways he’d fallen short in his life. It was uniquely vulnerable. He didn’t want to go in unprepared. 

So he’d made sure he had the list. And that the list didn’t make him sound like a total fucking idiot. He got his truck washed. He made sure he had a pair of pants that weren’t just blue jeans and a clean shirt with a collar. 

He knew that things weren’t going perfectly for you, either. That was the whole point of this entire plan, the two of you figuring out your lives together. But you were still you. He wanted you to know him but he also wanted you to know the best of him. Not the shitty things, not the things he was ashamed of. But… you were still you, the only person he’d want to do something like this with. He’d just have to get past it. 

Joel took a deep breath and knocked on your door. You opened it almost immediately, putting in an earring as you did. You were in a dress that looked like it had been made for you, skimming over your body, dipping low enough that he could see the curve of your breasts and, for half a second, Joel’s mind went back to the night before in the pool. You’d been so close then. He could feel all of you against him, all your softness and all your warmth - even if your hands were cold. There was a moment he lived in for longer than he wanted to admit, one where it felt like it would have been OK to kiss you, to hold your body tightly to him, to pull you inside and peel off your swimsuit so he could run his hands over the goosebump prickled flesh below. He’d come to that thought, alone in his bed once he was sure Sarah was asleep and he wouldn’t be interrupted. He’d come so hard he had to muffle his moans and he stayed there, cock in his hand as he stared up at the ceiling, as he tried to shove the thought of you away. You didn’t want that, you’d made that much perfectly clear more than a decade before. This wasn’t going to take him anywhere good. 

And now you were standing there, in a dress that couldn’t make you look more appealing if it was designed by temptation itself. 

God fucking dammit. 

“Jesus, Goldie,” he said after he collected himself as much as he could. “Feelin’ a little underdressed here.” 

“Shit,” your eyebrows drew together and you looked down at yourself. “I don’t have much that’s  dressy, this was from this cocktail event the university wanted to trot me out like some show pony for last fall… I can see what else I have if you’re OK to wait for a minute….” 

You turned to go back inside but Joel caught your wrist and you frowned.

“You look great,” he said. “Besides, I know how long ‘a minute’ is in woman getting ready time…” 

“Oh fuck off.” 

“…and I’m starving. Let’s go.” 

You gave him an exasperated look before shrugging into a trench coat and grabbing your bag and gold notebook from the table just inside the door. 

“You look good, too, by the way,” you said once the two of you were in his truck and he was heading for the restaurant you’d picked the other day. Joel scoffed. “Hey! I mean it, you do. Should wear something besides jeans and t-shirts or flannels now and then, you clean up well.” 

“Next time we hang out, I’ll rent a tux,” he smirked a little and glanced at you, just catching a glimpse of your eye roll as he did. “Polish up my shoes, whole nine…” 

“Should just buy the tux,” you replied. “Seems like a smart investment for a man of your profession and lifestyle…” 

“Oh, sure.” 

“Got all those galas to go to…” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Awards shows…” 

“Naturally.” 

“Black tie weddings.” 

“You gonna get some nice formal gowns?” He teased back. “Come with me to all these hoity-toity outings?”

You laughed. 

“Sure, Joel. I’ll be your back up date to any and all formal events.” 

The restaurant you wanted to try was definitely nicer than anything Joel had gone to in a while but it’d been easy for you to talk him into it. He remembered you being more excited about food when you were kids, how you’d watch his mom in the kitchen sometimes when you stayed for dinner or how you’d reach over and steal fries off his tray at the burger place down the street from your apartment when you were so hungry that your own fries weren’t going to cut it. Now, though, it seemed like anytime he wasn’t deciding what you were eating you ate the kind of shit that you scrunched your nose up at in high school. People and tastes could change, of course. He wasn’t stupid. But it didn’t feel like you. It felt like some holdover from that jackass you’d spent the last decade with. 

So as soon as you texted him the menu and just said “They have Osso buco!” he was in. He didn’t know what the fuck Osso buco was, he was just excited to see you excited about something that made you happy when he knew you before. 

The hostess sat the two of you in a quiet corner, giving you a knowing look, and Joel more watched you pore over the menu than read his own, an intense and serious look on your face as you went through it line by line. 

“If I got a bottle of wine, would you have at least a glass?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes from across the table. 

“Anything for you, baby,” he teased. 

“I hate you.” 

Joel scoffed. 

“No you don’t. And yes, I’ll drink your alcoholic juice.” 

“Good,” you said, looking back down at the menu. “Because the one I really want isn’t available by the glass and I don’t need that much wine…” 

“Look at you, all fancy and shit,” he said. “Ordering your wine by the bottle…” 

“Almost like we’re grownups,” you said absently. “What are you getting?” 

“Why, so you can steal some?” He asked, brows raised. 

You looked at him, face serious. 

“Yes. Duh.” 

Joel sighed. 

“You’re the worst person. And I’m getting the spaghetti. Don’t bother calling me lame, I know I’m lame.” 

“Well, as long as you’re aware,” you said, looking back at the menu. 

“What are you getting, Miss ‘I order whole bottles of wine’ level of adult? That one thing you were excited about? The Oss… whatever the fuck?” 

“Osso buco,” you smiled across the table at him. “And probably that…. But it’s probably more than I really need and…” 

“Goldie,” Joel cut you off, tone serious enough that you actually, fully lifted your gaze from the menu in front of you. “Don’t let that asshole ruin this. Get the… whatever it is.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Osso buco it is.” 

Once the food was ordered and the wine was poured, Joel put his list next to him on the table and you did, too, your ever present gold notebook sitting in front of you. 

“So,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as awkward as he felt. “How do you want to do this?” 

“You first?” You asked, wincing a little. 

He nodded and looked over the list one last time before turning it around and putting it in the middle of the table. You leaned over - don’t look down your dress, don’t look down your dress, don’t look down your dress - and started reading. 

“It’s not in any real order,” Joel said, cupping the back of his neck. “Just… wrote shit as I thought of it.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“Throw Sarah a pool party,” you said. 

“Yeah,” he laughed a little. “She’s been sayin’ the last few years that she wants a pool party for her birthday but… I’ve just been too swamped to make it happen. Always end up taking her and her friends somewhere like Putt Putt Golf or something, somewhere I don’t have to plan shit, I can just show up. She always has fun but I know she’d like the pool party. I just need to make sure my shit is together enough to do it.” 

“Play music again,” you moved on to the next item and you frowned, looking up at him. “You stopped?” 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Well, no. I didn’t stop playing at home but… Before Sarah was born, there were a few local places I played at sometimes. Back then, it was because I hoped I’d meet some record label asshole who’d sign me. But I miss it. It was fun, playin’ for people. Would like to do that again.” 

You nodded, going back to the list. 

“Start your own contracting company,” you smiled at that. “Business owner Joel Miller…” 

“Future business owner,” he corrected you. “Don’t own shit yet. Not sure I know how to own shit.” 

“You’re smart,” you said. “And I’m pretty sure by our powers combined, we can at least Google a lot of this stuff.” 

“Probably should have done what you told me,” he said. “Gotten my damn associates…” 

“I am right about most things,” you said. There was no smugness in your voice, almost the opposite. Like you were sorry you’d been right about this thing in particular. 

“Just didn’t see the point then,” he sighed. “Hindsight is 20/20, I guess.” 

“It tends to be that way,” you conceded before looking back down at the paper. “Design one big project… is that a work one?” 

“Yeah,” he smiled a little sheepishly. “Figured… I dunno, it’ll take a bit to get my own business going, you know? Gonna keep working for the company I work for now for a bit yet. Should try and make it something I like while I’m there.”

You smiled at him in that way you had, the way that started small but spread fast. It reminded him of the way light started to poke through curtains in the morning, slipping in through a crack, illuminating the things directly around it before they were thrown open entirely and the sun broke through everything, spilling onto every surface, drowning out the darkness quick and sure. 

“Good,” you said, still smiling in that wide, open way. “You should like your job, you’re there too much to not like it.” 

You went back to the list and Joel took a sip of wine. 

“Find a stable relationship,” you said, a little quieter.  

The server returned, putting your plates in front of the two of you and you cleared your throat, setting the paper to the side and smiling kindly as the waiter asked if there was anything else the two of you needed before excusing himself. 

“OK,” Joel said, looking at your food from across the table. “I see why you were excited now, that looks fuckin’ delicious.” 

He reached over and stabbed his fork into the meat on your plate as you gaped at him, appalled. He ate the bite he’d taken, chewing thoughtfully. 

“Yup,” he said. “Fuckin’ delicious.” 

“You’re such a dick!” You reached over and stabbed your fork into his pasta. 

“Hey!” 

You ignored him, twirling your fork haphazardly as you tried not to lean into the food in front of you before taking it back across the table. You ate the spaghetti and nodded to yourself as you did. 

“Definitely scratch pasta,” you said. “Have to come back here and get some of my own. Or just steal more of yours…” 

“If you want pasta, order pasta,” he said. 

“If you want Osso buco, order Osso buco,” you replied, fork up and ready to stab his hand if it creeped across the table.” 

“Maybe I will, now that I know what it is,” he teased, digging into his own plate this time. 

“So,” you said after the two of you had the time to have a few bites of food. “Stable relationship, huh?” 

“Yup,” he nodded, taking a sip of wine. “Not sure I even want to own up to the last time I had one of those…” 

“When was the last time?” You frowned, picking up your wine glass. 

“Can’t judge me.” 

“Too late,” you smirked a little. He glared at you and you laughed. “Come on, Joel. It’s me. I always judge you all the time.” 

He rolled his eyes and then sighed. 

“It’s… been a while,” he said eventually. “But… Haven’t been on more than three dates with anyone since Sarah was about four.” 

Your eyes went wide. 

“I said you can’t judge me!” 

“I’m not judging!” You said quickly. “Just… shocked is all. You always had a tendency to go through them fast but I always kind of figured you’d outgrown that over the years.” 

“Well, less fast now and more that women in their 20s don’t really want to play stepmom,” he said wryly. “Never got as far as introducing any of ‘em to Sarah, haven’t bothered really looking since I’ve been in my 30s. But… I dunno. It’d be nice, I think. Have someone to come home to, that sort of thing.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“What?” He asked after you were quiet for what seemed like too long. 

“Can I ask what happened with Sarah’s mom?” You asked, fork hovering over your plate. “I don’t want to dredge anything up but…” 

Joel shrugged. 

“Not much to dredge up,” he said. “We… well, we were… casual. Real casual. She got pregnant, I tried to do the right thing but she wasn’t really interested in that…” 

You frowned. 

“Right thing?” 

“Suggested we go down to the courthouse,” he twisted the slender stem of wine glass in his thick fingers. “Make it legal. Since we were bringin’ a kid into the world seemed like the least we could do but… anyway. She said no but that she’d try dating me. We didn’t have much in common, didn’t get along all that well for longer than a few hours. Her shootin’ me down was probably one of the best things to happen to me, really. Especially when it came to untangling the legalities of it all when she took off.” 

You winced. 

“I’m really sorry, Joel,” you said softly. “That… that’s shitty. It really, really is.” 

He shrugged. 

“I got Sarah,” he said. “Do it all again in a heartbeat for that kid.” 

You smiled at that, a smaller, softer smile, one that felt like it was just for him. 

“It all worked out the way it was supposed to,” you said. “None of it was a mistake, it was just… Sarah, being inevitable.” 

He laughed once at that, smiling a little. He liked thinking of it that way, his life putting itself in just the right order that his daughter could exist. Now, he just needed to put it in the right order that he felt like he was doing something with the rest of it. 

“Alright,” he said. “Enough about my shit, let’s see yours.” 

You handed him his list back and opened your notebook, holding it to your chest for a moment. 

“Remember the lack of judgement I gave you,” you cautioned. “I expect the same back.” 

“So plenty of judgement,” he smirked a little. “Got it. 

You glared. 

“Gimme the list, Goldie.” 

You sighed and handed it over. 

Joel took half a second to appreciate the fact that he was holding your notebook again. For something that was always with you, it was something he rarely touched and never opened himself. You’d shown him one or two things inside it before but you’d never just surrendered it to him like this. He had to fight the urge to flip to the start of it and read everything he could, try to swallow up every thought you’d had that you thought was important enough to put down on paper. 

Instead, he just cleared his throat and started at the top of your list. 

“Finalize divorce,” he said, eyes tracing over your letters. “That’s a good one. Where you at in that whole process?” 

“I have no idea,” you sighed. “Every time I think we’re close the agreement gets tossed out and we start back over. I swear he’s just trying to piss me off sometimes…” 

“Probably is,” Joel said. “He’s a jackass.” 

“So you keep saying,” you half smiled at him. 

“My only issue with this one is that it’s not something you can really control,” he said, looking over the table to you. “I don’t want you beating yourself up or taking less than you deserve because you’re trying to tick a box…” 

“I won’t,” you said. “Don’t worry.” 

“Better not,” he said, looking back down at the paper. “Finish book, alright. That one you can control…” 

“Kind of control,” you corrected him, a crooked smile on your face. “Sometimes, the words just won’t come and there’s not much you can do about it.” 

“Still,” he said. “Got more control over that than anything with fuckin’ Brad…” You shook your head a little, exasperated, but were still smiling. “Have any idea about what you want this one to be about?” 

“Not really,” you sighed. “I’ve started a few things but I keep scrapping it. So many outlines for no goddamn reason…” 

“You’ll get there.” 

“Maybe,” you poked at the meat on your plate. “Or maybe I told the only story I have that’s worth telling. Maybe I’m all used up.” 

“You’re not,” he said gently. You nodded a little but kept looking at your plate. “Hey. Goldie. Look at me.” You sighed and obeyed, meeting his eyes, your face frustrated but your gaze sad. “You’re not. You’re…. You’re fuckin’ amazing, you’re gonna make something great. You are.” 

You smiled tightly and, for a moment, looking at you was too intimate to do in public. He looked back down at the page. 

“Be there for Anna,” he said. “What, like you aren’t now?” 

“I still haven’t figured out how to do it right,” you replied. “I just… I need to find the right balance. And I need to make sure I keep up with her, I can’t just… I’m worried she’s going to land herself back in the hospital and I’m her big sister. I need to make sure she doesn’t.” 

He just nodded, jaw tight, moving on to the next item. 

“Go on a date,” he said, a twinge in his gut that he didn’t want to acknowledge. “Alright, that’s not bad…” 

“Yeah, I think I’ll need your help with that,” you said and his head shot up, meeting your eyes across the table. 

“What… how?” 

“Oh, don’t panic,” you waved him off. “Not expecting you to do it. But I’ve never used a dating app or anything like that, I have no idea how to meet someone now. I imagine you’re an expert…” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“What! It’s a good skill to have,” you said. “One that I am painfully lacking. I’ll take all the help I can get.” 

He sighed. Because of course this would mean finding you a date. Jesus. 

“Yeah, I’ll help,” he said. “Make sure you’re not attracting any weirdos…” 

“Not sure that you’re the best help for that part,” you teased. He rolled his eyes. “But… thank you.” 

“Yup.” 

He went back to the paper. 

“Get a cat. Really?” 

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. “I’m kind of tired of how empty my house feels but I’m not up for taking care of a dog. And cats are cute.” 

“Promise you’re not just gonna turn into a cat lady?” He teased, looking back to you. “Get yourself a dozen of ‘em, use them as an excuse to never put yourself out there.” 

“That’s between me and my cats, isn’t it?” You teased back. “Don’t get mad because you’re at risk of being replaced by a fluffy thing who sometimes scratches the shit out of my furniture.” 

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t scratch the shit out of your furniture,” he said wryly and you snorted. He went back to the list, taking a sip of wine and almost choked on it. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed the last item on the list until now, written in red ink instead of black and circled. 

“What?” You asked. He glanced up at you before looking back at the paper. 

“Well…” he cleared his throat. “Last one’s… interestin’.” 

“Oh,” you laughed. “Yeah… right…” 

He put the notebook in the middle of the table and tried to regain his composure for a moment. 

“Surprised it’s a priority for you…”

“Well I don’t know about priority,” you laughed. “But, honestly, something’s gotta give…” 

“Well,” Joel cleared his throat again. “Have you fucked anyone since Brad?” 

You rolled your eyes but didn’t answer. 

“Goldie.” 

“Joel.” 

“C’mon.” 

“No, alright?” You snapped. “I haven’t.” 

“And you two separated when?” 

You scrunched your nose. 

“Come on,” he said. “When’d you break up…” 

“A year ago last month,” you muttered, not looking at him. 

“Goldie!” 

“What!” 

He lowered his voice and leaned conspiratorially across the table towards you. 

“You haven’t had sex in a year?” He hissed. “That’s… how…” 

“Hey,” you replied, pointing at him accusingly from across the table. “That is not what I said.” 

Joel frowned, his eyebrows knitting together as he watched you. 

“What do you mean that’s not…” his eyes went wide as you avoided his gaze. “Goldie.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Didn’t I just tell you to shut up?” You snapped. “Come on.” 

“So when was the last time you fucked your soon to be ex-husband while you were in the process of divorcing him?” He asked, looking around as though someone would overhear and make problems. 

“Well now I really don’t want to say…” 

“Goldie.” 

“Please don’t make me say it.” 

“I’m not dropping this,” he said. “When was the last time?”

“The night before I left Rhode Island, OK?” You hissed, voice low. 

“Goldie!” 

“Look, it was just like… I don’t know, a goodbye fuck, OK?” You sat back in your seat and adjusted your skirt, looking anywhere but directly at him. “It’s not like I have a bunch of people waiting in the wings, I wasn’t sure when I’d have the chance again, it seemed appropriate…” 

“Definitely wasn’t that…” 

“Never should have mentioned this…” 

“Gonna move ‘get laid’ to the top of the fuckin’ list now,” Joel muttered. “Jesus Christ…” 

“It’s not that easy, alright?” You said, actually looking at him now. “I’ve basically been with just one person my whole life…” 

“Oh, wow.” 

“What?” 

“One person?” Joel said, brows raised. “Really?” 

You leveled him with a look.

“Joel.” 

“I am right here.” 

“You know what I mean,” you snapped. “Come on, don’t…” 

“Don’t what?” He asked. “Want a little explanation when you say I never happened?” 

“That’s not what I said!” 

“It’s not?” He said. “Because that’s sure what it sounded like…” 

“Jesus Christ,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine, OK? I’ve been with two people my whole life since you apparently want to make sure the notches on my bedpost are the right damn number…” 

“So that’s what we were?” He asked, his blood getting hot. “Just a bedpost notch?” 

“Don’t do this,” you said. “I’m not relitigating prom night with you…” 

“Is it relitigating if we never fucking talked about it to begin with?” He asked. “Because I think that’s just litigating it…” 

“Can I get you folks anything else tonight?” The server appeared beside your table, smiling kindly. 

“Just the bill,” you said quickly. “Separate, put the wine on mine, please.” 

He left and Joel waited until he was out of earshot to continue. 

“Why?” He asked. “Why don’t you want to talk about this?” 

“Because it was a decade and a half ago, Joel!” You snapped. “We’re in our 30s now! We were 18 years old then, we were kids, what do you want me to say?” 

“That it wasn’t nothing!” He snapped. “Because Jesus Christ, if you ended our friendship over nothing, I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that…” 

“No rush on this,” the server smiled and left the check in the middle of the table. 

You pulled your wallet from your bag and Joel got his out of his back pocket and the two of you put cards into the book before the server quickly came back to collect it. You took a deep breath and looked at Joel. 

“I didn’t end our friendship, Joel,” you said. “I did what I needed to do and I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Fine.” 

“Thanks, y’all, for coming out tonight,” the server dropped the cards and the slips back off at the table. “Hope you both have a great rest of your evening and we’ll see you next time.” 

You gave him a tight smile and signed your slip as Joel did the same with his before smacking his pen down with too much force on the table. The two of you got up wordlessly and headed for the truck. 

This wasn’t the road he’d meant to go down. He hadn’t meant to bring it up at all but you’d caught him off guard. The thought that prom night hadn’t been anything to you wasn’t something he’d ever considered. He’d always assumed it had been a big deal because of how you reacted. It had been a big deal for him. It had been a big deal before you took off across the country. After that - after it had made him lose you - it was everything. It was everything he’d ever wanted, it was the stupidest thing he’d ever done. It was proof that what he felt for you wasn’t some childish, one-sided crush and it was evidence that all you’d ever be was a girl he’d loved once. The one thing it had certainly never been was nothing. 

You sat, arms crossed over your stomach, staring out the window in silence as Joel drove you home, a knot of fear settling in his gut. What if this was it again? What if you just left again? He’d just gotten you back, life felt more whole than it had in years, what if you just moved on? 

He pulled into your driveway and put the truck in park before he sighed, looking over at you. 

“Want to come in?” You asked quietly. “I got a bottle of tequila that looks fancy as fuck as a gift. We can get hammered.” 

The knot in his stomach eased ever so slightly. 

“Yeah, alright.” 

He followed you inside and you got the bottle from the kitchen, pressing it into Joel’s hand. He went to sit on your couch but you walked past it and he frowned. 

“Don’t feel like sitting there in this stupid dress,” you said, lifting one stiletto clad foot and taking it by the heel, pulling it off. “I’ll be back in a minute…” 

“Can I come?” Joel asked before he thought better of it. He didn’t like the idea of you being more than just a few feet away in that moment. Like if you were somehow out of his sight, you’d vanish and it’d be a decade before he had a chance to have you back in his life again. 

You just looked at him for a moment before you shrugged. 

“If you really want,” you did the same thing with the other shoe and Joel trailed behind you to your bedroom. 

“Just stay out there,” you called from inside your closet. 

“What, don’t want me checkin’ you out?” He said in a teasing voice even though that thought made his stomach clench. 

“Joel,” you sounded exasperated. 

“Sorry.” 

He’d been over to your house plenty but had never been in your room before. It looked like you, though. So like what your room had been like in high school, just more refined. Like you’d grown into your taste in the past few years. The stack of books on your nightstand was orderly instead of total chaos and there was a charging stand there instead of a tangle of chords. Instead of movie posters held up with tape and thumb tacks, there were framed vintage-style prints lining the walls. Your dresser was less cluttered and more curated with little things that clearly mattered to you: a ticket stub and book mark in a matted frame, a wedding picture, a little glazed clay vase that looked handmade.

He went to your dresser slowly, as though what was there might bite him if he moved to suddenly. The wedding picture practically stared him down, the glare of it harsh, like a too bright spotlight being pointed directly at his eyes. 

He picked up the frame delicately, the frame enameled silver. You were beautiful, in a gauzy white dress that hugged your body and a veil in your hair, a hand on Brad’s chest as you looked into his eyes. He was beaming, looking like someone who’d just gotten exactly what he wanted. But your smile was more subdued. Joel wasn’t sure if it was just peaceful or if you weren’t as happy as he’d always thought women were when they got married. 

But the longer he looked at the picture, the less the woman in it looked like you. The dress didn’t look like something you’d really pick. Your nails were done in a way he’d never seen you wear them. Your makeup, too, looked off. Like someone had dressed you up as a character, as though you’d been cast in the role as bride and showed up to play your part and nothing more. 

“I should probably get rid of that,” you said, making Joel jump. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest. You were in leggings and a burnt orange Longhorns sweatshirt now that was several sizes too big for you, sleeves pushed almost to your elbows and sliding down. “Just can’t bring myself to.” 

Joel nodded slowly, setting it down. 

“Looked beautiful,” he said. You scoffed. “What? You did.” 

“Thanks,” you said, going and pulling back the blanket on your bed. Joel paused before he went around to the other side of it, tequila bottle still dangling from one hand. He stood there for a moment, half reaching for the bedspread, half watching you for permission. You stretched over and pulled the blanket back. “Shoes off, don’t be gross.” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ animal,” he rolled his eyes before he sat on the edge of the bed, kicking his shoes off without bothering to untie them and climbing in beside you. He leaned against the headboard and you did, too, a good two feet between your bodies in the king sized bed. “That why you keep it?” 

You frowned. 

“Keep what?” 

“The picture,” he nodded to it. “Because you looked pretty?” 

You laughed a little. 

“No,” you said. “Not that. Just… feels very final, getting rid of the last wedding picture. Once that’s gone, it’s like it never happened at all. There’s nothing tangible left of the last ten years of my life, it’s all just smoke.” 

Joel nodded slowly and opened the tequila bottle before passing it to you. You took it, your fingers brushing his, and took a drink, face scrunched in a wince when you handed the bottle back. He laughed. 

“That good, huh?” 

“No, it’s good,” you coughed a little. “I just should have also grabbed… I don’t fucking know, lime and salt or something.” 

He took a drink himself, appreciating the small sting as it went down. It was smooth, definitely better than anything he’d buy himself, but he needed at least a little burn in that moment. 

“You’re just a baby,” he said, looking at the bottle. “Don’t need a damn thing with this stuff…” 

“Alright, macho man,” you snatched the bottle from him and he laughed before you tipped it back for longer than you had before. He watched you swallow twice before lowering it with a cough. “There,” you managed eventually. “Who’s the baby now?” 

“Still you,” he clapped you on the shoulder and you fixed him with a glare but handed him the bottle, anyway. 

“Gee thanks.” 

“Anytime.” 

He took another sip and looked around your room a bit more, gaze pausing on one of the vintage style posters. He frowned for a second, trying to place why it felt familiar when he was too far away to read the movie title before he laughed. 

“What?” 

“Is that some fancy style Curtis and Viper poster?” He looked at you and you smiled. He passed you the bottle. “Where’d you even find that shit? There’s no way they made something that classy for fuckin’ Curtis and Viper…” 

“Etsy is a beautiful thing,” you said. “I can show you if you want.” 

“So you’re gonna stick around long enough to show me, then?” He asked, regretting it almost as soon as it was out of his mouth, especially once the small hurt was there on your face. “Shit… I…” 

“I wasn’t planning to take off across the country anytime too soon, Joel,” you said cooly. 

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… Just… It scares me. I like having you here. You belong here. Don’t want to lose you again, I just got you back.” 

“I don’t want to lose you again either,” you said quietly, looking down at the tequila bottle instead of at Joel. 

“I’m not the one who left, Goldie.” 

You were silent but you nodded. 

“You never even told me why,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know what happened… still don’t…” 

“I don’t really feel like digging up ancient history,” you said, your thumb tracing over the curve of the bottle before looking up at him. “I mean, is that really what you want to do? You really want to go through all of that?” 

He sighed. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know.” 

“I know what I want,” you said. 

He could feel your eyes on him. He met them.

“What?” 

“I want you in my life,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to go back to missing you all the time. I want my best friend back.” 

He sighed. 

“I want that, too.” 

You smiled a little and scooted closer, leaning over until your head was on his shoulder. He could smell your shampoo, the slightly floral tang of your perfume, the scent of your skin nestled below it all. 

“How about we never fight again,” you said. 

Joel could hear the smile in your voice. He laughed once. 

“Sure thing, Goldie,” he said. “We’ll never fight again.” 

“Good,” you said and he felt your cheek move as your smile grew. You held the tequila out to him. “You’re slacking off, by the way.” 

“Well shit,” he said. “Lemme catch up.” 

The two of you drank more than you should have, devolving into slurred speech and shrieking laughs before you passed out, tucked against Joel. He turned out the light and adjusted delicately until he was lying down and your head was on his chest, curled up against his side. His arm curved around your shoulders until his fingers traced over your jaw, your cheek, your hairline. 

“You’re warm,” you mumbled against him. “Best pillow…” 

He smiled and nuzzled into your hair, his lips brushing your forehead. 

“Sure am,” he whispered. 

“Glad you’re here,” you slurred, words closer to mush than anything else. “Missed you.” 

He took a deep breath and tried not to get too attached to the way your body felt on his. 

“Glad I’m here too, Goldie. Missed you, too.” 

Providence, Rhode Island

Early August, 2008 

Joel had never been on a college campus like this. 

Of course, he’d only ever been on one and UT barely counted, the campus was just part of Austin. He had no idea where to start looking for you at some place like this. 

Some asshole dude with too much gel in his hair gave Joel a look as he tossed his duffle bag on one arm and left the bus stop. His mouth got dry. He didn’t belong here, that much was fucking obvious, and everyone could fucking tell. 

He just walked for a few minutes, working his way deeper into the ivy-covered cluster of buildings. There weren’t many people around but he supposed that made sense, fall semester hadn’t started yet. He’d finally managed to get Anna to tell him where the fuck you’d gone and why. Some summer program, an invitation-only intensive for creative writing students.

“It was so weird,” Anna said when he finally convinced her to get a cup of coffee with him. “She got the invitation in like… April and talked about it with Mom and she decided she didn’t want to go. It started before school was out here - I guess college semesters are shorter or something - and she didn’t want to miss prom and graduation. And then a few days after prom she came home from school, locked herself in her room for a bit and then told mom she was leaving Friday for the program. She already had it all worked out, it was nuts…” 

You’d never mentioned it to him. Not the invitation, not deciding not to go, not changing your mind, none of it. It didn’t make any fucking sense to him. Why wouldn’t you have told him? Why would you have just left? Especially after prom… 

He finally stumbled upon someone who didn’t look like a rich asshole who pointed him in the direction of the English department, but she cautioned him after he thanked her and turned to leave. 

“There’s basically no one there at this hour,” she warned. “You might run into Professor Newton - he runs the writing program - but they usually have all left for dinner. My boyfriend’s in the program, they like to give them plenty of writing time in the evenings…” 

“Right,” Joel nodded. He hadn’t come up with a plan of anywhere to stay tonight if he couldn’t find you but he had enough money that he could get a cheap motel room for a night or two. He’d figure it out. “Thanks.” 

He jogged to where the girl had pointed him and found the sign for the English department building, some rich asshole’s name on it, and took the steps to the front door two at a time, catching it just as someone else left for the day. 

The building was quiet, just like the girl had warned him it would be and he worked his way through the labyrinth of lecture halls until he found the faculty office list. Dr. Gale Newton, professor of creative writing, third floor, office 315. 

He ran up the stairs and took a second to catch his breath before opening the doors to the hall. 

Immediately, he was met by the sound of your laugh. It hit him hard, for a moment. It had been months since he’d heard your voice, longer than he’d ever wanted to go but you were here now, so close that he could hear your happiness again. 

He followed it, a siren call, to the end of the hall, office 315. The door was cracked, just enough that he could hear you and just see inside. 

“I’m being serious!” Your laugh was still on your voice but it was quieter now. You were standing in front of the desk, your back to Joel. “You really think it’s good?” 

“Oh Doll,” a man said, coming around the desk. He stepped in front of you and reached out, cupping the back of your neck and tilting your head to bring you into alignment with him. “I think you’ve made tremendous strides since coming here. You’ve learned so much.” 

He kissed you then, pulling you against his front, his other hand going to your lower back as you moaned into his mouth. Your arms went around his neck, your body curving and arching into his touch. The man adjusted you until your legs were against his desk and he pulled back from you. 

“Gale,” you breathed, all desperate and needy. 

“Let’s see what else you’ve learned,” he said, helping you onto the desk. 

Joel felt like he was going to be sick. 

It was as though he was outside of his own body, moving without intending to. He was to the end of the hall, down the stairs and out onto the grass before he really knew what was happening. The air outside felt thick and he was having a hard time getting enough of it. His head spun. You’d taken off across the country, cut him off entirely, and found someone else. Your fucking professor. You hadn’t even talked to him, hadn’t even hesitated…

He doubled over and threw up in the bushes, all the shitty bus station food he’d eaten over the last few hours coming back. You were gone, you were really, actually gone. 

Joel wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist and walked, numb, back to the bus stop. He stood there, staring into space, when the girl he’d spoken to before came up alongside him. 

“Hey,” she smiled up at him. “Did you find what you were looking for?” 

He looked at her and, for half a second, thought about seeing if she would bring him back to her dorm, see if she’d let him make her come until she was screaming his name and he could erase the sound of you moaning another man’s name from his head. 

But she said she had a boyfriend. 

Though he supposed it didn’t really matter. It could be anyone. Just something to get that sound out of his fucking head. 

She frowned, watching him. 

“You OK? Did you find it?” 

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “Yeah, I found it.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: They were so close to actually talking it out but our good friends, youthful indiscretion and denial, are going to have them dodge that conversation a little while longer yet.

But!

They have their plan in place! Sarah's still a gem! Anna's now fully in the mix! Just have to see what happens next!

Thanks so much for being here. I'm so sorry the wait has been so long between chapters. I keep thinking life is going to slow down and then it just doesn't. I appreciate you spending your time with these characters and this story! Your kind comments truly mean the world.

❤️

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #halcyon

[absurdthirst]

Casual Neighbors {Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: FWB, Oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, protected sex, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of abortions,

Comments: Training to be a nurse, your first patient is your handsome neighbor. Which leads to dinner, that turns into a FWB situation since Marcus is rethinking relationships and even having a family. Until you learn that you're pregnant when you are in your ultrasound class.

A/N: We based it alllllll off this TikTok. Yes, we are unhinged.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Pike MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Marcus is exhausted, he needs to sleep but he’s been working all night long. Too busy trying to solve this latest case. The suspect had been brought in for questioning and held overnight. Marcus ran out of time around six in the morning and the perp had been released, making his department scramble for the evidence to arrest him. Marcus knows it’s him, he just has to prove it. He sighs and makes it up the last flight of steps on the floor to his apartment. In his exhaustion, he misses the last step and goes flying forward, hitting his head on the bannister and splaying over the floor.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” You had been leaving your apartment to go get some coffee and study before your class, leaving your apartment just in time to witness someone go sprawling. Dropping your bag, you rush over towards him, luckily moving and wincing as he slowly shuffles to his knees and groans. “Hold on, hold on, let me look.” You drop to your knees and start to try to get a look at the cut on the man’s forehead.

Marcus groans, trying to get his bearings and he looks up at you with glassy eyes, taking a few moments to recognize you as his neighbor that moved in a few months ago. “God, you’re beautiful.” He murmurs, still lost in the confusion of tripping over combined with his lack of sleep.

“You did hit your head hard.” You joke, looking into his confused brown eyes. He’s sweet, and very handsome, despite the blood that is running down his forehead. You introduce yourself and tut, reaching into your pocket to pull out a pack of Kleenex you carry. “We should get this cleaned up, I’m a nurse- well, I will be one when I get done with my training.”

“I should get to hospital and I-” He stumbles as he stands up, clinging to the bannister. 

“I can help clean you up.” You tell him and Marcus bites his lip, eager to avoid the trip to ER. 

“Okay.” He nods and you guide him to his apartment, helping him when he fumbles to get his keys out of his pocket. 

You help him inside and sit him down on his sofa. “Stay here. I’ll go get my kit.” You tell him and he nods, wincing but slumping against his sofa.

You rush back into your apartment, excited and nervous to treat your first ‘patient’ even though it’s something relatively minor. You’ve already checked for concussion, but you’ll check again. When you’ve pulled out your extensive first aid kit, you walk back to his door and knock on it before pushing it open. “Knock knock, you’re nurse is here.”

Marcus looks up, wincing at how quickly his head moved and he feels like an idiot for tripping up on the stairs. He watches you come and set your kit down on his coffee table and he blushes when you lean in towards him to start cleaning the cut. “Will I survive?” He jokes softly, admiring you as you concentrate.

“It might be touch and go, but I think you’ll survive.” You hum, looking away from what you are doing to smile at him. Telling yourself that you’re not flirting, you’re practicing your bedside manner. “You seem like you’re very coordinated normally, when I see you running out of your apartment in the mornings. Everything okay?” You see that his eyes are bloodshot, he’s obviously tired since you don’t smell any booze on him and he doesn’t appear to have any drugs in his system.

Marcus goes to nod but stops himself because of your hand on his forehead. “Yeah. Just exhausted. Work was a shit show. I haven’t slept for - shit - for like 48 hours.” He sighs, knowing he needs to take a few hours and head back into work. “I- you were heading out?” He remembers, wincing when you clean the cut.

“I was, and you need to sleep.” You tut, dabbing at the cut. “Good news is that you don’t need stitches, but just barely.” You hum, reaching for the antibiotic ointment and the butterfly bandages. “I’ll get you cleaned up and since you don’t have a concussion, I’ll give you some painkillers and then tuck you into bed.”

“God you’re the prettiest nurse I’ve ever had. So - God, I was lucky you were there.” He murmurs as you finish cleaning him up. His head is throbbing now, from the wound or the exhaustion he doesn’t know and he watches you fluster. “Sorry. I- you’ve helped me and I just can’t stop my mouth from blurting out the first thought in my head.”

“It’s okay.” You assure him, giving him a smile and patting his knee gently before you lean back and turn to your bag so you can get him some aspirin. “You seem sweet and for my first patient, you’re very cute.” You flirt, wanting him to feel good.

“Do you want to have dinner?” Marcus asks, flushing when his brain catches up. “I mean…I want to say thank you for helping me. You’ve saved me an expensive ER bill. Least I could do is make you dinner. Just you know, as neighbors.” He adds, not wanting you to feel pressured or awkward.

You grin, shaking out several aspirin into your hand and offering them to Marcus. “That sounds good.” You admit shyly. “As long as you go right to bed and sleep for at least eight hours.” You instruct seriously. “If you don’t feel like you are up to it, you can text me and cancel.” You grab a notepad and a pen out of your kit and quickly jot down your cell for him.

Marcus knows he won’t be asleep too long. He needs to go back to work before he grocery shops but he pretends to take your advice. “Shall we say 7:30? Do you get out of school? Or work?” He asks, suddenly nervous about tonight but he reminds himself this is just as friends. He swallows the aspirin after you get him some water and he takes the piece of paper.

“I get out around 6 so that’s perfect.” You nod. “I’m in school.” It’s easier to just say that right now rather than explaining you worked to save up for school and keep a budget that should carry you through nursing school. “Can I bring anything?” You ask, feeling slightly giddy about a simple dinner.

“No. No. Just yourself.” Marcus insists then downs the rest of the water. “I better get some sleep.” He stands up, swaying slightly, and he reaches for his tie, tossing it down as he shrugs off his jacket. He just wants to get into his bed, pass out and then wake up to plan dinner. “I’ll let you go. I can get into bed.” He promises, kicking off his shoes.

“Okay.” You watch him for a moment, struck by how cute your neighbor is and then you shake your head at yourself. He needs rest and you need to get out of his hair to do it. “I’ll let you get some sleep Marcus.” During his rambling, he had told you his name, but you hadn’t mentioned that he was still wearing his FBI badge with his name and picture on it. “Sleep well.”

****

Passing out in bed, Marcus sleeps for four hours and forces himself to wake up, getting in the shower to get ready to go back into the office. His head hurts but he takes some Tylenol and has a bagel, feeling better and ready to go back into work then go grocery shopping.

For your own part, you had a lot to tell the other girls and the one guy that was in your nursing class. Happy that you had been able to help, which was why you were becoming a nurse to begin with, and snagging a date with a cute guy. When class was over, you had rushed home to shower and pick out something cute yet casual to wear for dinner.

Marcus has a bottle of wine in the fridge, the pasta is boiling and sauce is simmering. He’s not the best cook but he’s pretty proud of the dishes he can cook. When the doorbell rings, he makes his way to the door, dressed in jeans and a button down, he tries to make this casual. This is not a date, it’s a thank you. He opens the door, smiling when he sees you in jeans and a blouse, and God, you’re just as pretty as he remembers. “Hey.” He offers you, feeling a little bashful now.

"Hey." You groan at the smell that is coming out of the apartment. "It smells absolutely amazing in here and I'm going to be in for a treat." 

Marcus is pleased it smells good and he guides you into his home. “You want a glass of wine? I have white but if you want red I can open that. Or if you want rosé, I have that too. Or Prosecco. I can open that.” He rambles, aware that he’s nervous and that’s fully on display.

You give a small laugh, reaching out and touching his arm. “It sounds like you have a great wine selection, but a glass of white wine sounds amazing.” You tilt your head and check for any additional signs of concussion. “As long as you have one with me if you're feeling up to it?”

Marcus nods, “I’m feeling fine now. I had a good nurse.” He winks and makes his way to his fridge to grab the bottle of wine, easily pouring two glasses and handing yours out until you take it. “To my savior.” He jokes, offering a toast as you hold your glass.

“To good timing.” You offer in return, tapping your glass lightly against his. “It made for a good story today in class. How I got my first patient and it was my handsome next door neighbor.” You figure since you already know that he thinks you’re pretty, there’s harm in letting him know the same.

Marcus blushes a little, sipping some wine, and he sets the glass down to continue working on dinner. “Shit. I didn’t ask if you’re allergic to anything.” He curses himself, knowing he should’ve checked. “I’m making chicken Alfredo.” He tells you, hoping you like that and don’t have any problems with it. If not, he can rustle something else up.

“That sounds perfect to me.” Marcus really is a sweet, considerate man. His relief is written on his face and it’s nice to have someone actually care about small details like that for once. “So, Marcus, what are you doing when you aren’t going 48 hours without sleep?” You ask, knowing that he’s in the FBI, but you assume they have different jobs other than just being scary g-men.

Marcus chuckles, “I work a lot but I like to read. Watch TV. Try to work out and go running. Normal stuff. I, uh, I like going to the farmers market on a Sunday.” He confesses, knowing he likes watching the happy couples walk by while he wallows in his singleness.

You raise a brow in surprise. Most men would talk about the sports bars they go to or the dating apps they are on. “All of that sounds great.” You admit, watching as he moves around his kitchen with the ease of someone who is used to cooking this. It’s not a performance simply to impress you. “I didn’t hear about dating in there, though. I’m assuming that there’s not a girlfriend or wife in another city?” You hadn’t seen any women come and go. “Or maybe boyfriend or husband?” You add, not wanting to assume just because he said you were beautiful.

Marcus snorts, unable to stop himself. “I- I have firmly decided against dating for the time being. I had a difficult situation when I moved to D.C. It’s a long story but I was engaged to a coworker, she - she called the engagement off to be with her partner and I have kind of wanted to focus on myself and get settled before I venture back out there.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The idea that this might be a date dies a swift and disappointing death. You give him a small smile and nod. “Working on yourself is never a bad thing. It’s always good to know yourself better before involving someone else.”

“I really was ready to marry her, I was even ready to give up having kids, she didn’t want them. I- I don’t think I want kids anymore or to get married. It’s so complicated.” He’s been burned too many times. His ex wife had done a number on him. “Anyway, what about you? Am I dragging you away from a partner?” He asks, suddenly wanting to change the subject.

Your heart breaks for him, although you understand that after something painful, his viewpoints on everything might shift. “No.” You shrug and give him a painful look of commiseration. “Painfully single for the past…three years?” You nod. “Yeah. Three years. I’ve been busy working my ass off so I could afford to go to nursing school without having to work full time too. No time to do the song and dance and no desire to put up with the dating app bullshit.”

“I fucking hate dating apps.” Marcus confesses, stirring the pasta into the sauce after draining the water. “I can understand you being busy. What made you want to be a nurse?” He asks, shifting to serve the food in to awaiting dinner bowls on the side.

You laugh at the face he makes when he mentions dating, mirroring your feelings exactly. “Well, I always liked the idea of helping people. Like this morning. But honestly? I couldn’t really find anything else that held my attention longer than a semester or two.”

Marcus carries the dishes over to the table, setting them down and he heads back to the kitchen to grab the garlic bread. “Sit down.” He insists, “I remember when I was in school…I hated it.” He admits, setting the bread down, “I just wanted to get out into the world and make a difference.”

“I feel like that too sometimes.” You admit, reaching over and grabbing Marcus’s wine glass to bring over as you walk to the table. “But there is so much that goes into nursing that I can’t just jump into it. But I’m almost done.”

“You’ll be a good nurse. I can tell.” He winks at you and sits down, picking up the wine glass you just set down. “To impromptu hallway ERs.” He jokes at you and clinks his glass against yours.

“I am happy that my first patient was as nice as you.” You admit after taking a sip of the delicious white wine. “I’m assuming not every one of them will invite me over to their house for a homemade dinner to say thank you.” You set down the wine and pick up your fork. “If it tastes half as good as it smells, I am in for a treat.”

Marcus flushes slightly, not used to cooking for anyone but himself. “I hope it tastes good too.” He says and sets his wine down to start eating. He watches you eagerly as you take your first bite, watching for any micro expressions that tell him you don’t like it. He tries to not ask how it is, biting his lip to smother the question.

It takes you a moment. That slight pause where you just absorb the flavors of the meal before you react. Groaning, your eyes slip closed with a small smile on your lips as you chew. “Oh my God.” You cover your mouth with your hand to make sure you don’t show any food. “I need this recipe for Alfredo, Marcus. It’s amazing.” 

To say he’s pleased is an understatement. He beams, ducking his head shyly as you praise him, and he offers you a bashful smile. “I’m glad you like it. I can give you the recipe. I got it online.” He tells you, offering you some garlic bread that he knocked up. He’s so happy you like it, eager to thank you for helping him out earlier.

“God, I can’t. You shouldn’t be this hot and a good cook.” You huff playfully, enjoying the way that the heat starts to creep up his neck. You imagine that if you were to try to feel his skin, it would be very warm. “It’s unfair. That’s what it is.”

Marcus snorts, knowing you’re just flattering him since he invited you to dinner. “Not unfair. I’m complicated. Got too many issues. Plus I leave my socks on the floor. Hairs in the sink.” He jokes, shaking his head as he twirls the fettuccine around the fork.

“Yep, socks, that has to be the deal breaker.” You joke back, grinning at him. You can tell he has a hard time accepting compliments. “Maybe it’s complicated because you have an intense job?” You offer. “I noticed your badge this morning. I bet there’s a lot of times things at work pop up and some women are idiots to let minor things get between them and a good man.”

Marcus sighs, setting his fork down, “sometimes. I mean, my ex was a coworker so she understood. She would rush off too for different ops. My ex wife…she hated it. Thought I was having an affair and making up the ops. Got to be too much and she wanted a divorce. Shit, I’m just spilling all my baggage. What about you? Why’s a beautiful woman like you single?” He counters, picking up his fork again.

“Scheduling.” You tell him with an ironic grin on your face. “Men don’t like to be told that they need to wait for sex because I have to work. Or study. Or sleep. So…” You shrug and fork up another bite of your dinner. “Just me and Bob most nights.”

“Bob.” Marcus chuckles, familiar with the term. “You deserve better than that, sweetheart. Too many people are caught up in media, wanting the perfect person to love them but we are all flawed. You should love someone, including their flaws. I- I’m a huge romantic. Love Actually is my favorite movie.” He confesses bashfully.

“Uh huh.” You nod and finish your bite before you lift your glass of wine. “I love that movie but I have one point that might get me kicked out.” You take a sip and grin. “The Walking Dead guy? His character was dead wrong. He ruined their wedding photos and the creepy board thing was way out of line. He expected her to keep this secret from her husband, he’s best mate.”

Marcus snorts, nodding his head, “you are right. Super creepy and over the line. My ex…her partner…he was in love with her and did everything he could to break us up. Succeeded in the end but gave me similar vibes to that character. I think that movie definitely shows the errors of love. How people make mistakes and sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad. Things happen for a reason. I’m convinced about that. I just - I’m not ready to throw my hat back in the ring.”

“God.” You stare at him for a moment, unsure if he realizes how perfect he sounds. “You definitely don’t deserve to be alone.” You huff, shaking your head. “Or at least have a fuck buddy who appreciates what you bring to the table.”

“Which is?” He snorts, “I don’t have anything to give. I work all the hours I have to and barely have enough time to work out so I’m not in the best shape of my life. I am - I am a desperate romantic and I get inside my head. I need something with no strings attached at all. And that’s hard for me, I’m not emotionless. I like emotions and I want to know someone before I take them to bed.

You might be about to embarrass yourself, make a huge fool of yourself and make your handsome neighbor avoid you like the plague, but no prizes are won unless you shoot your shot. “So fuck me.” You offer. “We’re both busy, single. We live next door to each other and think the other is attractive.” You pose, arching your eyebrow at him. “I’ll give you no strings attached and you’ll let me give my vibrator a break.”

Marcus nearly chokes on his food at your suggestion but then he thinks about it. It’s not silly, it’s smart. You’re a gorgeous woman and he is interested in you. Undoubtedly, he would never turn you away from his bed. You’re his next door neighbor though and he doesn’t want things to get messy in lieu of short term gratification. “Are you- no strings attached? You won’t be upset if I don’t buy you flowers or take you on a date?”

You snort and shake your head. “Flowers die, I appreciate the thought behind them, but I’d rather have orgasms.” You admit with a grin. “If you aren’t interested, it’s okay. No harm, no foul. We pretend like I didn’t say anything, we finish this dinner and go about our evenings alone.” You tell him. “If you are interested, well…..” you smirk and shrug. “We finish dinner and see how we feel after we get the first awkward fuck out of the way.”

His heart pounds in his chest and he hesitates but not because he doesn’t want you. He just doesn’t do this sort of thing, never has. Even in college his friends would make fun of him for not fucking a different girl every night. Maybe it’s his romanticism. “Let’s finish dinner and sit on the couch. See how things go. I want you, I’d be blind to not want you. You’re gorgeous. Let’s eat and then I…I wouldn’t mind my dessert being you.” He says with a smirk despite his flushed cheeks

Smirking slightly, you nod and fork up another bite. “Yes sir.” You tease, knowing that this is crazy but your neighbor is handsome and it’s been a long time since you’ve had a good man in your bed. Even if it’s just fucking, you know he won’t treat you like an object.

Dinner is enjoyed but rushed, Marcus scrambling to put the plates in the dishwasher and you stand up to help him.  He hates when things dry in the pan so you offer to help him and he accepts. “Sorry. Not exactly foreplay.” He jokes as he loads the dishwasher. He knows he wouldn’t be able to concentrate without the dishwasher being on and the kitchen being clean. 

You shrug, drying off the pot, “I’ve had worse.” You confess. 

Marcus shakes his head, “I’m an idiot.” He admits, starting the dishwasher just as you’re about to wash another pan. He grabs it from you, setting it down and he pushes you back against the counter. Inhaling deeply, he leans closer to you, not kissing you yet. His dark eyes on you and he leans in to run his nose along your jaw, enjoying your perfume. “It’s been a while.” He admits, pulling back to look into your eyes, “are you sure you want this?” 

You nod, dumbstruck by how handsome he is. “Words, baby girl.” He orders, and you swallow harshly, “yes.” That word sets a fire off in Marcus’s belly and he leans in to press his lips to yours, his hands grabbing your hips.

It’s surprising how passionate the kiss is. You can feel the built up tension behind it, repressed sexual need and want pouring out. Moaning slightly, you open your mouth and heat pools in core when he deepens the kiss. Sliding his tongue into your mouth and groaning into you. Your own hands slide up his back before you start to push up under his shirt, wanting to feel his warm skin under your fingers.

Marcus groans when your nails scratch his lower back and his hands slide along your waist, squeezing your breasts through your shirt until he can pull it over your head, exposing your bra. He leans in to kiss you again, tongue sliding against yours and he moves to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, trying to not suck too hard on your skin.

You tilt your head, letting him kiss along your throat and the thrilling sensation of arousal takes over. “I’m clean.” You hum, knowing that you should be demanding a condom, you know the statistics on STDs but you want to feel him. It’s been so long. “I- fuck, I’m on the pill.” You moan when his hands quickly unclip your bra and cup your tits. “Y-you?” 

Marcus leans back so he can look you in the eyes, “I’m clean. Got tested a few weeks ago for my quarterly health check at work. I haven’t been with anyone in a while. I, uh, can show you if you want.” He offers but you chuckle, shaking your head. You highly doubt Marcus would lie about that to you. 

“I believe you. I want to feel you. All of you.” You declare and reach out to squeeze him through his pants. 

“Shit.” He hisses, trying to not buck into your touch and instead, he focuses on you. Leaning in, he kisses along your chest until he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking while he enjoys your cries of pleasure.

You’re going to fuck this man right here in his kitchen unless you move somewhere else. Gasping out, you clutch his head to your chest and moan when he bites down gently before soothing the ache with his tongue. “Fuck- bedroom?” You ask, not certain if he would want to go that far. For all you know, he might just want to bend you over the table. 

The guilt settles as he realizes he should’ve taken you to bed. He’s not being a gentleman despite the fact that you’re about to have casual sex, you deserve to be treated properly. “Bedroom.” He confirms, pulling back from you and taking your hand so he can guide you through his apartment to the bedroom he keeps clean and tidy. 

Turning back towards you, he works on unbuttoning his shirt, fingers fumbling slightly until you take over. “Thanks.” He murmurs, enjoying the brushes of your fingers on every inch of skin you expose. His hands grab your ass, pulling you up against him when you have the shirt off of his shoulders and he relishes in the feel of your breasts against his skin. “God, you’re beautiful.” He echoes his earlier sentiment, still meaning it while he leans in to kiss you again.

This kiss is slower, more seductive and you can tell that this man is one who likes to please a partner. Except, you don’t want to be soft or gentle. You don’t need seduction, you need sex. Reaching down, you fumble with the button on his jeans and pull his zipper down, reaching into his pants to cup his cock. “Marcus, I need you to strip down.” you pant, wanting to feel him inside you and squeeze him. 

His groan is wrecked already when you squeeze him through his pants. Marcus can’t deny you anything, that has become clear, and he agrees, shifting to push his pants down. “Fuck baby, take - take your pants off.” He begs, wanting to see all of you. He kicks his pants aside, nearly stumbling while he takes off his socks.

It makes you giggle, watching him hop around even as you start peeling your own jeans down and shucking them. Going ahead and taking your panties off too, thankful you had showered and shaved before you had come over. Although you hadn’t anticipated sleeping with Marcus when you had done so. Standing in front of him naked, you let him look. “Do you want me to ride you or do you want to be on top?” 

Marcus cups your cheeks, bringing your eyes to focus on him. “How do you want me?” He asks, wanting you to decide this first time. “Ride me? Me on top? Me behind you? You tell me what you need.” He demands softly, wanting to please you.

“Fuck.” It’s been a long time since someone’s asked you how you want to take them. Your cunt clenches and you know that you’re already wet enough to take him. Glancing down at his cock, you hum. “I want to ride you.” You decide, knowing that he would want to play with your tits and kiss you while you bounce on his cock. 

Marcus’s cock twitches at the thought and he walks over to his bed, laying down on it and he pats his chest. “First you’re gonna ride my face. Want you to be wet enough to take me.” He orders, “come on. I want to taste you.”

You smirk, shaking your head as he looks up at you. Kneeling on the bed and straddling his waist, you don’t move closer. “No, I want to feel the stretch.” You reach down and wrap your fingers around his cock and start pumping him. “Feel the burn of your cock while I’m in class and know you fucked me.” 

“Fuckkkk.” Marcus hisses, his hands sliding along your waist until he can cup your tits, eagerly squeezing them and rolling your nipples between his fingers. “You’re a dirty girl. I love that.” He admits, loving how you’re not afraid to voice your fantasies, your desires. “Take what you want, sweetheart.” He demands, trying not to buck into your hand.

You enjoy the respect, shuffling up and lifting your hips up so you can place him at your dripping entrance. This man who you technically met this morning is now inside you when you lower yourself down onto his cock. Moaning at how he is stretching you out and not regretting a second of it. Closing your eyes against the thick stretch of him and enjoying how breathless he sounds underneath you. 

“Jesus Christ.” Marcus hisses, watching his cock disappear inside of you and he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. “Holy - you feel amazing, baby.” He groans, fingers caressing your hips as he patiently waits for you to adjust to him and get ready to move. His hands slide up your body to your tits and down to your ass, not able to get enough of you.

“Knew- knew you would want to touch.” You crow smugly, starting to grind your hips slowly before you lift off his cock and sink back down again with a moan. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his and gasp at the angle when he presses up against something wonderful inside you when he’s buried deep. “Fuck.” 

When your walls flutter around him, his hands find your ass and he squeezes, unable to stop himself from smacking your cheek. You gasp into his mouth and he smiles, enjoying your shock. He repeats the action and you rock back onto him, keeping that same angle. “So good.” He murmurs against your lips, “you feel so good.”

You pant in agreement, your hips starting to roll faster, chasing that sizzling spark of pleasure every time he hits deep. It’s been a long time since you’ve fucked someone and had it feel this good. “Fuck it’s so good.” You whimper, holding onto his shoulders and kissing him while you rock on his cock. 

Marcus shifts, sitting up so he can get closer to you, and he grabs your ass to haul you closer. You are now cross legged around him and he uses his new position to thrust up into you, his lips wrapped around your nipple. “Want to feel you cum for me. I- I won’t last long this time.” He informs you with panted breaths, not wanting you to walk away from this without an orgasm at least.

Reaching down between you, you start rubbing your clit. You know that he will feel guilty if you don’t cum and this will help. “Fuck.” You whine, body jerking up on a particularly rough thrust and your clench around him. “Like that.” You beg. “Ke-keep doing that and I’ll cum.” 

He wants to rub your clit but you know your body best. He wants to learn every little thing that makes you tick. The tricks to making you cum and he will, just not tonight. When you’re here next, he will go down on you and make you moan his name. Find out all your sensitive areas. For now, he follows your orders and thrusts up into you, keeping his hips angled the same way so you can seek your pleasure from his cock.

It only takes another three harsh thrusts and your cumming. Fingers pulling away from your clit as you squeal out his name, walls clamping down around his cock in pleasure. “Fuck! Marcus!” You cry out, body twitching backwards and you would fall back if he wasn’t holding you close as he rocks his hips up. 

“Fuckkkkk. Oh fuck. That was - that was hot as hell. Can I cum inside of you, please baby?” He asks, wanting you to be sure and when you nod, he wraps his arms around you. Dragging you into his chest, he thrusts up into you three more times until his cock twitches. Painting your walls with hot cum, he groans into your neck and clings to you.

Both of you cling to each other for a few moments, enjoying the afterglow of your pleasure before you pull back and tenderly kiss his lips a few times. “That was amazing.” You mumble happily, slightly hazy from your orgasm. “Gonna sleep like a baby tonight.” 

“Me too.” Marcus snorts, kissing your jaw. “We gotta do that again.” He declares, eager to see how else he can make you cum. “And again. And again. And again.” He says between kisses along your neck and you giggle, running your fingers through his hair. He rolls you into your back and pulls out of you, groaning at the sight of his cum pooling at your entrance. “Oh that’s pretty.” He coos, sliding his fingers through your folds.

“Someone has a cum play thing.” You hum playfully, your fingers tangling into his hair to play with it. You don’t mind at all, you’re protected and this is fun. You’re more relaxed than you’ve been in months and it’s all due to him. “God, how do you feel?” You ask. “No regrets?”

Marcus can’t deny that. He likes to see his cum pooling in his lover's cunt. Part of him admits that it’s a breeding link but he wouldn’t tell his partner that. Not wanting to make them feel awkward. He smiles at you, pulling his fingers away and shamelessly licking them clean. “No regrets. That was amazing. I loved it. I want - I want to keep doing it. Do you?”

It’s hot to watch a man lick his own cum from his fingers and it makes you moan softly. “Absolutely.” You agree with a quick nod. “So much better than Bob.” You tuck your arm behind your head and look down at him. “We can keep it casual. Just text if we need to release some steam or set up a schedule if it makes you more comfortable.” You don’t particularly like planned out sex on a schedule but it’s not just about you.

“We can text.” He decides, not wanting you to feel like you need to fuck him every Wednesday evening. That feels too mechanical. “Casual and fun. If either one of us isn’t feeling it anymore, we talk. No bullshit ignoring each other. We are adults having fun.” Marcus pecks your lips, “I’ll get you some water.”

“Perfect.” You smile as he walks out of the room before you climb out of the bed to snatch your panties off the floor. Your shirt and bra are in the kitchen so you can’t put those on, but you can start getting dressed again. Since you’re done having sex, you don’t want to make things awkward by overstaying your welcome. By the time Marcus comes back, you are zipping up your jeans. “Thanks.” You smile when you see the bottle in his hand. “Did you get yourself some water or do you want to split this?” 

“No, I'm good. It’s all yours, baby.” He promises, kissing your forehead and he walks back into the kitchen to grab the rest of your clothes after pulling on his boxers. Usually, he’d be asking if you want to stay for a movie but it’s clear that this is just sex and he will respect that. He has to come to terms with the fact that this is casual. He can’t let his romantic heart ruin a good thing.

Once all your clothes are back in place, you walk over to Marcus and kiss him gently. “I had a great time tonight.” You murmur, giving him a wink when you pull back. “Now I’m going to pass out and sleep like the dead until I have to get up.” You pat his chest gently. “You should do the same. I know you didn’t sleep for eight hours.” 

Marcus chuckles, grabbing your hand to place a kiss on the back of it. “Come on sleeping beauty, let’s get you home.” He tangles his fingers with yours and walks you to his front door. “I had a great time.” He murmurs and you nod, “me too.” He opens his door, checking the coast is clear, “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” He promises and you step into the hall, crossing it to your front door. “Goodnight Marcus.” You tell him after you unlock your front door. “Night.” He offers you a little wave and waits until you’re inside before he steps back into his own apartment. With a smile on his face, he gets ready for bed. What a wild day.

****

“Fuck,” Whimpering, you curl your hands around the blanket under you, trying not to reach up and hold onto him while he moves over you. Rocking into you with hard, deep thrusts as his jaw clenches. Stretching your neck out, you kiss along his jaw, shuffling your legs higher on his thighs and smirk when he groans. Your walls had clenched around him, something you know drives him wild and he twitches harshly. 

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart. That - shit - you feel so good. So fucking good.” He groans and turns his head to press his lips to yours. Two months you’ve been in his bed and every fucking time feels as good as the first. He shifts his hips, trying to find that angle you like and grins when you cry out beneath him. He knows your body as good as his own and he uses that to his advantage to make you cum.

“Marcus.” You close your eyes and moan his name again, loving how he always wants you to cum. He’s a fucking generous lover and the times where it’s just not possible for you to orgasm, he still makes you feel like you’ve had a great time. Sometimes it just won’t happen. “Fuck baby.” You whimper, getting closer to cumming with every harsh thrust. 

Marcus can tell you’re close. Loving the whimpers escaping your lips and he reaches between you to rub your clit. “You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” He asks, leaning in to kiss your jaw. His hips continue to keep the same steady pace despite his balls threatening to pull tight. He needs you to cum first.

The pressure of his fingers and the way his cock spears against your g-spot sends you over the edge. Crying out and clenching down around him as a wave of pleasure rushes over you. Soaking him in a hot rush of cum and making his thrusts sound so wet. 

Working you through it, he focuses on his own pleasure. Picking up the pace, he hisses your name and starts to thrust harder and deeper. Grabbing your thighs, he pushes them back towards your chest so he can sink his cock deeper inside of you. “Fuck baby. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me-” He pants and groans, pushing his cock deep inside of you to spill his cum.

You love the moment Marcus cums. The furrowed brow relaxes and his entire body follows suit. Melting into you while he throbs deep, filling you up. The heat from his cum always satisfying and you sigh softly, your hands finally reaching up and stroking his sweaty back. “So good.” You hum softly, kissing him again as he lets go of your legs to let them drop back down over his thighs. 

Marcus takes a few moments then pulls out of you, kissing along your neck and he grunts when he stands, reaching for the wipes he now keeps on his nightstand to clean you up. “You want something to eat?” He asks, pulling on his boxers after he tosses the wipes.

“I shouldn’t.” You sit up and sigh. “I have a ton of studying to do when I go home, but I know you will argue that I won’t eat if I don’t eat here.” It’s a part of him that you adore. Even though this is casual, Marcus is still a man who likes to take care of people and it shows. “So, yeah.” You nod and reach for your shirt. “I’ll eat with you.” 

“Good. You want breakfast for dinner? I have bacon. Pancakes. Eggs?” He asks and you nod. “Take your time here. I’ll go start the food.” He bends over to peck your lips and makes his way into the kitchen after grabbing his t-shirt. He knows this is dangerously overstepping from “friends with benefits” but he wants to take care of you. The lines are blurring and that terrifies him but there’s nothing he can do except go with the flow. Not if he wants to keep you in his life.

You jump into his shower, cleaning up even more than the wipes. You know Marcus won’t mind, he’s told you to clean up however you need to since he cums inside you every time. Redressing, you make your way out to the kitchen, smiling at the domestic scene as Marcus makes you pancakes. “So how is work going?” You ask, sitting at the stool at the bar and watching him. 

“Good. Been crazy. We have this case…a famous piece of art was stolen from a senator's house and no one knows how it was taken. No camera footage has been altered. No one in or out. It’s bizarre.” He admits, sliding a pancake onto your plate while he turns back to the eggs and bacon.

Humming, you shake your head, amazed at the things that Marcus gets to see and the people that he gets to meet. “Fun.” You reach over and grab his water bottle and twist the cap off to steal a drink. “Betcha it’s an insurance grab.” You tell him. “They are always trying to pull shady shit.” Marcus hums, and you grin - knowing he’s not going to tell you anything about an active investigation. “We are about to work on ultrasounds this week.” You are excited about that. “Should be interesting. Getting to see organs on the inside.” 

“Oh that’s cool. My girl is getting so close to being a nurse.” He winks at you, turning back to the stove and you stare at his back. He called you his girl. Marcus meanwhile, is cursing himself for letting that slip. He’s crossing boundaries and he knows you don’t want more than just fuck buddies. Neither does he. It’s less complicated, he’s less likely to get hurt.

It’s awkward for a few moments, the silence settling between you before you clear your throat. “So, I am probably going to be dead after the test coming up next week.” You inform him. “It’s going to be days of studying so I don’t flunk out. Don’t be surprised if I come beating on your door at 2AM, needing to cum. On the weekend of course.” You add, never wanting to interrupt his work schedule because of your needs. 

“You can knock on my door whenever you want.” He reminds you, “I’ll make you cum whenever you want.” He winks and slides the eggs onto your plate. “Just make sure you do well on your exams. Then maybe I’ll reward you.” He winks at you, already thinking about buying you something nice. He knows it might overstep but you deserve it after working so hard.

You chuckle quietly and wonder how he would reward you. “Hmm, then I’ll make sure to study extra hard.” You promise, groaning at the smell of the food and you take another drink of your water. It’s easy with Marcus and you know that you should probably end things, because you are getting too deep but you don’t want to. It’s fun and you really like him. 

Marcus smiles, taking a seat at the kitchen table and he watches you dig into the food he made. It would be so easy with you but he can’t risk it. He’s been hurt too many times and you are just starting your career. You’ll probably move away when you get a job offer, or find some hot doctor to date. “Better study hard then, baby.”

“When I do pass this fucking thing and get my degree, I am taking at least a month off from everything.” You tell him with a groan after you fork a bite of his pancakes up. He really does spoil you at times even though he doesn’t have to. “And I’m going to do nothing but walk around my apartment naked, sleeping, eating and hopefully fucking.” You wink at him and grin. 

“We can definitely accommodate that.” He winks, taking a bite of his pancakes and he is eager to have you pass this exam so he can celebrate with you. Maybe he can even take you to dinner. “Ultrasounds are first.” He reminds you, wanting you to know he remembers what said earlier.

“Ultrasounds first.” You agree, quickly finishing your dinner and it’s automatic to get up and help Marcus clean up the kitchen. He always grumbles that you don’t have to, but you would feel like you are taking advantage of him. You rinse off your plate and load it into the dishwasher before you lean against the counter. “I should probably go.” You hum, not wanting to but you know you need to. “Let you relax.” 

Marcus sighs, reluctant to let you go but he can’t just keep you here all the time. “Okay baby. I’ll see you later.” He pulls you close, pressing his lips to yours, and he smiles against your mouth when you peck his lips. “Good luck tomorrow.” He murmurs, guiding you over to the door and you quickly rush across the hall to your apartment. You offer him a soft “goodnight.” He winks and shuts his door, sighing to himself. He’s too deep and he’s gonna break his own heart.

****

“Once you spread the jelly across the surface, make sure you press the wand into the skin firmly.” Your instructor speaks out across the room, five different tables laid out with students stretched out on them with their shirts lifted up. You are on the first table since you want to see how it looks first. 

“Ohh it’s cold.” You always heard people say the jelly was cold but it’s freezing. “There has to be a warmer or something.” 

“We will make a note to the suppliers.” The instructor chuckles as she walks past, your fellow student sitting on the stool to press the wand into your skin. The instructor stands there, pointing out your organs until she stops talking, eyes wide. “There’s your womb.” She chokes out and your fellow student’s eyes widen. “And there’s your baby.” She chokes out and everyone scrambles to look at the screen, their gasps echoing in the room when they see the shape on the screen.

“What?” Your own eyes widen in disbelief, lurching up off the table and moving the wand away from your uterus for a second before your classmate brings it back and the baby reappears on the screen. “There’s no- it’s a trick right?” You ask breathlessly, confusion and terror, joy and absolute shock rushing through your entire body as you manage to tear your eyes away from the ultrasound to look at your instructor. Needing to see that she is playing a prank on you and will start laughing. “I can’t be preg-pregnant.” 

Your instructor bites her lip, “you might want to get a test to confirm but…it looks like you’re pregnant. Congratulations.” She offers softly, seeing the shock on your face and she reaches out to take your hand. “I know it’s scary but you can leave now. I won’t keep you here for the class. You can go home.”

She prints out a few pictures for you and you gather your things, almost in a daze. Shocked that you have a baby inside you. You know that birth control isn’t one hundred percent but you hadn’t had any issues with it before. You drive to the doctor on auto pilot, demanding to be seen right away. You need a blood test to confirm what you know to be true, but you need the test. 

**** 

Marcus is coming home when he sees you standing at his door. He frowns when he sees your face. “Hey baby. What’s wrong?” He asks, immediately walking up to you and he works on unlocking his front door. “Come in.” He orders, guiding you into his place and he sets his briefcase down to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” You shake your head, thoughts scattered and you’re not able to focus like you normally would. The blood test confirmed it, and from the scans, you know the approximate date of conception. It lines up with when you were with Marcus. It was a week that you only slept with him one time. “I need to talk to you.” You rub your hands on your pants and take a deep breath. “Marcus, I- I’m pregnant.” 

Marcus stares at you, searching your eyes, and he chuckles after a moment. “Haha. Very funny. What is this? Trying to make me have a heart attack?” He jokes and shakes his head. When you continue to stare at him, not laughing, he pauses and stares at you. “You- you’re - seriously?” He chokes out.

Your hands shake as you pull out the scans and the blood test that shows positive for pregnancy. “I was in my- my ultrasound class today and I- the instructor showed me.” You manage. “I- I’m so sorry, Marc. I’ve been taking my birth control. This is my fault. I’m just-” You break off, unsure of what to say while he takes the paperwork from your hand. 

Marcus stares at the scan and the results. He always imagined this moment to be joyous. To be in a committed relationship that he’s happy in and have a stable environment for his child to come into. He always imagined he would be crying with happiness at the prospect of being a father. Yet right now, he feels sick. He’s not ready to be a father. He doesn’t have the house or the dog or the yard. He’s not married. “I- I don’t know what to say.” He says honestly, frowning at you.

Six words seem to crush your soul. You had imagined that he would be surprised but ultimately happy. Or at least warmer. Instead he is frowning at you and that alone makes tears pool up in your eyes. “I- it’s okay.” You manage, wiping your eyes and nodding. “I just- I wanted to - to tell you. You don’t have to say anything.” 

Marcus doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t anticipate this and he needs to process. “I, uh, I need to - to process this.” He admits and hands you back the scan. He is terrified, scared to lose you since you clearly didn’t want to be in a relationship and neither did he. This was supposed to be fun, casual. “Have you…have you considered what you want to do?”

“I- I don’t know.” You admit quietly, tucking the scans back into your jacket and giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I just - I guess I need to process too.” Process is code for not wanting to deal with it, you know that. He doesn’t want a pregnancy with a woman he was just casually sleeping with and by his reaction, that hasn’t changed. “I just wanted you to know.” You turn around and grab your bag. “I’ll go and let you….process.” 

He wants to drag you back and make you stay but he can’t. He needs to think about what he wants. You’re in school, you have your entire future ahead of you. He’s finally getting somewhere in his own work after having to prove himself. He’s been married, he’s been engaged. He’s done the right thing and both times he’d been burned. You aren’t like his exes. You are so different. You’re incredible. Smart, beautiful and you rock his world like no one else. He wants you but he can’t hold you back. You’ll hate him if he forces you into suburbia before you get the chance to live your life.

When you get back to your apartment, you just….deflate. Closing your door, you lean against it and let the hot tears that you had been holding back go. Rolling down your cheeks as the reality of your situation crashes over you. You’re pregnant. Not different than if it were by a one night stand. Marcus clearly isn't interested in raising a child and you don’t know if you want to take up the mantle of single motherhood. The other brochures in your pocket weigh it down, making you wonder if you shouldn’t schedule an appointment. 

Marcus doesn’t know how long he’s on the sofa just staring into space but he keeps running through different scenarios. Trying to figure out what he should do. If he was old fashioned, he would head over to your apartment and he would get down on one knee and propose to you, be there as a husband and a father. He doesn’t want to be insincere. You’d look straight through him if he did that. “Shit.” He rubs his cheek, knowing he needs to talk this through with you. He stands up, making his way over to his front door and he opens it, stepping into the hallway to knock on your door.

You lift your head off the sofa where you had been laying when you hear the knock on the door. You know it’s Marcus. It has to be. Making you wonder if he’s already come to some grand conclusion while you are still reeling from the news. Groaning, you get up off the couch and walk over to the door, opening it and leaning against it as you look at your neighbor. “Hey.” 

Marcus awkwardly stands there, tilting his head as he looks at you. “Can, uh, can I come in?” He asks and you nod, letting him walk inside. You are apprehensive and he clears his throat, realizing he’s never been inside of your place before. “You have a nice place.”

“Thanks.” You wonder why the small talk but you just decide to go with it. “Can I get you something to drink?” You don’t wait for an answer, turning on your heel and walking to the kitchen to grab some water for you and him. You can feel his eyes on your back but you don’t know why he is here, but you’re sure that it will be a serious talk. Opening the fridge, you grab two bottles and turn to set one on the counter in front of him where he had come to stand and open yours. 

Marcus takes the water and leans against the counter, looking at the pamphlets you have there. One for pregnancy symptoms and another for abortion. “Do you…are you considering it?” He asks, placing his finger on the brochure.

“I’ve made an appointment.” You admit, not meeting his eyes and looking around your apartment. “I- I figure I can cancel it or change my mind if -” You shrug your shoulders and swallow harshly. “I don’t know.” You’re slightly overwhelmed right now, unsure of what to do or how to feel.

Marcus hates the thought of you aborting the baby. He wants it. He realizes that now. He wants the baby and he wants you. “Is that what you want?” He chokes out, staring at you. He wants to know what you’re thinking, desperate to find out.

“No.” You shake your head and sigh. “But I don’t want to be a single mother. I just-” You close your eyes, more tears slipping down your cheeks. “I wish I didn’t fuck up. That I didn’t put you in this mess. You- you must hate me.” 

Shaking his head, Marcus moves fast to wrap his arms around you. “No. Baby, no. You - I could never hate you. I-” He pulls back so he can look into your watery eyes. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Shit, that should terrify me after all the shit I’ve been through but I love you. I want you. I want this baby.”

“You don’t have to say that.” You promise him, shaking your head. You know that he doesn’t want a baby or a relationship. He had told you that he had just wanted casual, that he wasn’t ready and it certainly wouldn’t be with someone who didn’t have their life together. “I promise you- you don’t have to-” You break off with a small sob, knowing you love him. 

“Please listen to me. Believe me. I was scared. I am scared. I’ve had my heart broken too many times and I - I wanted you to enjoy your career, your future without me dragging you back. I didn’t want to hold you back. I want you, fuck, you’re all I think about. I love you. Please believe that. I love you.” He pleads, wanting you to believe him. He needs you to believe him.

Closing your eyes, your chin trembles and you nod. “I- I fucked up.” You admit quietly. “I should have ended things a month ago.” You tell him. “When I knew I wanted more than just casual, but I promise, promise, that I didn’t mess with my birth control. I didn’t- I wouldn’t do that.” 

“No. No. I know you wouldn’t do that. I love you. I have for a while. I should’ve told you that a long time ago. Baby…do you- I want you to be my - my girlfriend. I want more. I want you.” He promises, suddenly terrified of losing you.

You give a tiny giggle at being asked to go steady when you are literally carrying his child, but you nod. “I’d like that.” You tell him gently. “Although no more wine when you feed me.” Your hand comes down to your stomach in awe, realizing that you are going to have to completely change your life around. “Since I’m pregnant.” 

Marcus’s hand covers yours, swallowing harshly, and he is terrified but so excited. “You’re pregnant.” He declares in awe, leaning in to kiss you. “I love you. I mean It, I loved you before I found out and the baby. I’ve been a scared prick but I won’t be scared anymore. I’m ready for this”

“If you aren’t…that would be okay.” You offer, knowing that this is just being sprung on him. You know it takes two to tango, but you had also taken the responsibility of birth control on when you had let him cum inside you. “I don’t want to push you to take on anything you don’t think you can handle.” 

“I can handle it baby. It’s…it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I just gave up on that dream, having not found the right person but I’ve found her. I love you. Please don’t doubt that. Let me - let me be a father, a partner.”

You bite your lip, considering his words as you look into his pleading eyes. You can tell that he wants to pull you into his arms. Marcus is sweet and loving and you are lucky that he wants to love you and do this with you. “Okay.” You agree softly. “Although we have to figure out what we are going to do.” You both only have a one bedroom apartment, not needing as much space and now you need more. “But for now, I- we can worry about that later. I’m not having the baby tomorrow.” 

Marcus knows he will already start to plan moving forward. He will find a house for you both. He wants to take care of you and his child. “No, we have plenty of time. Have you eaten?” He asks, worried you haven’t eaten today after all the drama.

You can’t help but grin at him, loving how he always wants to feed you. It’s like providing food is his love language. “I haven’t had anything.” You admit quietly. “I was too unsettled to eat and haven’t really thought about it.” 

“You’re gonna come to mine, let me feed you, and I want you to stay in my bed tonight.” He orders softly, not wanting you to spend a single night away from him from now on. “I’m gonna take care of you baby.”

“You promise?” You ask softly, a smile on your face and lean in to kiss him gently. 

“I promise.” Marcus tells you solemnly. He might not have wanted anything more than casual, and he was right, he was lousy at it. His romantic heart had struck again and this time he had managed to find the perfect girl and discover that she loves him like he loves her along with having a baby on the way. Casual had quickly become serious and Marcus couldn’t be happier. 

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike smut #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike the mentalist

[blueywrites]

new skin

The diner’s signature dish: Fresh-baked soft pretzel knots with sweet Georgia peach jam, topped with bitter trauma. Recipe includes a dash of pining, a sprinkle of faith, and a generous heap of healing love.

Linecook!Eddie x Waitress!Reader. 60s Diner. Slow Burn.

Follows canon, except Eddie lives, and Vecna is defeated after causing the 'earthquake'. This is written in second person 'x reader' format, but you've been given a name. The name and nicknames that appear throughout the story are listed below; use the InteractiveFics extension to replace them if you'd like!

full name: emmaline louise. nicknames: emma, emmy

series content warnings -> eventual sexual content (18+), fem!reader, plussized!reader, fatphobia, domestic violence, domestic abuse, miscarriage/pregnancy, discussions of suicidal ideation, significant religious themes, found family, hurt/comfort, slow burn, angst with a happy ending

chapter content warnings -> 18+ for mature themes. mentions of blood, numerous Christian religious references, disordered eating habits, anxiety, references to emotional abuse and manipulation, body image issues, internalized fatphobia

one: an empty room (10.3k) | next | masterlist | playlist | AO3

You surrounded me

and my windows are breaking

Something is rotten inside of me

I have to find it and

cut it out

House Song — Searows

It was a mortal man who drove you away but divine providence that guided you to Hawkins.

You’d been dropping off the key to your motel room when you saw it: a cockeyed paper pamphlet in the dusty wooden holder mounted beneath the counter. Stuffed beside “Indiana Caverns” and “The World’s Largest Ball of Paint,” it advertised a place where fissures had unfurled like the spindly legs of a spider, all radiating out from the center square. ‘Visit the town that hosts the gates of Hell,’ it read. You knew the town couldn’t really host the gate of Hell because Hell is a lake of fire and not a crack in the earth, though even the thought made a chill of foreboding shudder through you. Still, as you gazed at the name written in big red letters across the faded paper, you rolled it around in your mouth, seeing how it felt against your molars and exploring the way it tasted on your tongue.

Hawkins.

You’d expected bitterness. Ash and fire and brimstone, if the leaflet was to be believed. Instead, Hawkins tasted of pine, of sweet corn, and drugstore laundry powder. And that was odd, certainly. But maybe odd was what you needed— something wholly unfamiliar, nerve-wracking in its foreignness but peaceful in the knowledge that, if nothing else, you know he would never expect you to escape to somewhere like this. 

You’d been cutting a path from your home in Georgia due north, aimless and wandering, restless like a frightened prey animal consumed with nothing but thoughts of flee, flee, flee. The instinct had brought you from parking lot to roadside fuel-pump to motel six day after day, bouncing as the stacks in the cashbox wedged beneath the passenger seat began to dwindle. A pawn shop helped resupply your reserves, and your ring finger was lighter for it, but the running is beginning to wear on you. And there's just something about the taste of Hawkins lingering in your mouth, yeasty like wheat and clean in a way you haven’t felt since the day after Christmas when the bleeding began.

Your fingertips twitch before you snatch up the folded paper from the holder, spilling out into the gray of early morning. You cut a path back to the crack of warm light leaking from your room, where you’d wedged a stone against the metal edge of the door to prop it open. You slip inside one last time before you depart. 

There isn’t much to gather. Inside, there's just a musty floral bedspread and a side table with a bolted-down lamp. You flick the switch, leaving the room cold and dark in preparation for your departure. Your few personal belongings are already packed away in the car waiting outside, and it’s with a sense of familiar shame twanging at your heartstrings that you duck back into the tiny tiled room nestled in the corner of the bedroom. The pamphlet crinkles as you fold it and slip it into your coat pocket, freeing your hands to do what they will. 

This place is just one in a long line of stark rooms, transient nests that shelter you briefly as you flee. It's what made you think you were aimless and wandering, but you weren’t. Not really. 

During your flight from Georgia, you’d stopped in Lexington, Kentucky. And when you drove on, you could have, just as easily, chosen to go northeast, toward Columbus, perhaps curving over toward western Pennsylvania. But you decided to go northwest instead, dipping into the southern edge of Indiana, avoiding Cincinnati and its choked smog until you nestled into fields and farms again. It was divine providence that guided you that way, that bid you stop at this motel for the night, that helps you now discern the notes of flavor you hadn’t noticed back in the office as the leaflet crinkles in your coat pocket. Because beneath the unfamiliar— pine and corn and laundry powder— there is the familiar musk of fresh hay, mown on a sweet summer morning by your pa as soft whinnies huff from the stable. It warms you, though the January wind cuts through to the bone as you scurry back out of the motel room and let the door thump closed behind you. Your eyes dart for lookers-on, though the sting of self-consciousness isn’t quite as acute now as the first few times you’d waddled to the pastel blue Lincoln and fumbled the back door open with laden hands.

When you found that pamphlet and chose Hawkins, Indiana, as your final nesting place, God was calling you home. You will know that in the end, but you don’t know it now. Now, you’re just a scared girl carrying toilet paper, satchets of soap, and tiny bottles of mouthwash in your fists, pilfered from yet another temporary room. They tumble to join the pile of stolen treasures in the backseat, right beside the pillow from Tennessee and the scratchy blanket from Kentucky.

You've known since you were small that you aren’t a lamb— only Jesus is the lamb. Still, you'd hoped you are a sheep, pure and white, close to Him. Yet it turns out you’ve been wrong all this time. It turns out you're just a dirty, thieving crow, poking your beak in the dirt to search for shiny things to sustain you. As you stare at the pile of your baubles, the shame tugs again at your heartstrings, clawing up to settle heavily in the base of your throat. Thick like the beginnings of tears.  

You slam the back door and climb into the driver’s seat, sitting motionlessly for a long moment as you speak with your Father. You've always talked to God as long as you can remember but never had your prayers been so consistent as they've been this past week. First the waiting. Then the bleeding. Then the forsaking. Then the stealing. In all, you ask the same.

Please, Father. Forgive me.

 You pull the leaflet from your coat pocket, unfolding it carefully, avoiding the inflammatory language about gates and fissures as you search until you spot the tiny map and the star in its center that demarks the location of Hawkins. The instructions say that, from the south, you should take route four-thirty-one to route three north. 

Your aimless crawling has suddenly gained a clear direction; with it, your prayers shift for the moment. A hymn comes to mind, and you close your eyes as its melody plays in your head: Lead me, guide me, along the way. For if you leave me, I will not stray. Lord, let me walk each day with thee.

“Lead me,” you sing, a breath of a whisper as your eyes open. “Oh Lord, lead me.”

Beside your Lincoln, a businessman is loading his trunk into the passenger seat of his station wagon.

You crank down your window hastily, resting your fingers against the doorframe as you peek out without making a sound; working yourself up to speak with this strange man takes some effort. He has just closed the door and is about to cross around the front bumper when your voice finally comes, timorous but sweet as Georgia peaches. “Excuse me, sir,” you say, brows tipping as he turns to you. “Do you happen to know the way to route four-thirty-one from here?”

The cloud cover never wanes as you meander along the highways that lead to Hawkins. Even as the hour deepens to late afternoon, there is no glow of warmth from the sun; only cold bright grayness follows you as your gas gauge edges toward a quarter-tank, and you pull off to find a gas station and something to fill your aching stomach. You shade your eyes as you stand beside the pump and squint across the street, gaze catching on a familiar mascot: a swirl of hair like a dollop of black whipped cream and the red suspenders of Frisch’s Big Boy. The sight promises cheap food which will almost certainly be filling enough for your single midday meal.

The place isn’t overwhelmingly busy inside, but you still need to wait by the empty hostess stand before you’re taken to your seat. Against the long smudged window, shiny stickers and little childish baubles crowd the twenty-five cent machines, but your interest lies in the considerably more drab newspaper dispenser beside those colorful globes. You aren’t quite at your destination yet, but you’re close enough that local ads will likely provide you with a taste of your chosen home before you reach it. You purchase one quickly, wedging the newspaper under your arm and jumping almost guiltily when the hostess returns and finally chirps a greeting at you. You feel as if you’ve done something wrong as you trail after her, though as she hands you a menu and leaves you with a pleasant smile, she implies nothing of the sort.

You don’t spend long perusing the menu before you make up your mind. You order with a soft voice as the waitress scratches across her pad, promising to bring your orange juice and coffee in a jiffy. “Thank y’ma’am,” you say, small with your hands folded one over the other in your lap. 

You wait eagerly, stomach rumbling in earnest now that it knows your meal is well on the way. If you had to choose one type of food to eat for the rest of your life, breakfast would surely be it. A smile plays on your lips, and your mouth wells up with wanting as you picture it: crispy fried potatoes, eggs any which way, fluffy sweet milk waffles, cream of wheat with maple syrup and cinnamon. That one’s mama’s favorite. Pa’s is country fried steak, with a crunchy crust but tender and pink inside. Paul’s is—

You hedge from the thought, skipping quickly along to yours: dense, crumbly biscuits and thick, well-seasoned gravy, with little savory bits of sausage mixed in. They hadn’t had that here, so you ordered the pancakes and sausage links with a side of over-easy eggs, plus the coffee and orange juice. You’d gotten into the habit of eating once a day, mostly because it was easier to eat one big meal than try to stop for several smaller ones. That means that, as you sit there waiting, the scents of the kitchen and the clinking of silverware quickly become a dizzying reminder of your hunger, one that necessitates a distraction. So you spread the newspaper out against the table, turning each page slowly as you scan for the town that tastes of fresh laundry and hay.

You spot it once you reach the classifieds. It’s in an ad blazoned with one bold word across the top: vacancy. Forest Hills Trailer Park, the paper reads. Ready-to-move-in trailers, spacious for singles and small families. Just a five-minute drive from downtown Hawkins. In tiny font, tiny enough that you need to scrunch your nose and draw your face close to the paper to read it, the ad remarks, No background check or references required. First month’s rent plus deposit due at lease signing.

Forest Hills Trailer Park will clearly be a far cry from what you’ve left behind, but it checks all the necessary boxes, especially the most important ones.

You fold the newspaper, creasing it carefully with your fingernails before tearing bit by bit along that manufactured edge until the advertisement comes free. You’ve just carefully deposited the clipping into your pocket as the food comes, steaming and succulent, making your mouth instantly water. 

“How’s it look?” Your waitress asks as if you aren’t itching to pounce on the plate the second she goes away, devouring your sustenance like a starved animal.

“Looks great,” you assure her, tiny and sweet and small and docile. “Thank you so much.”

But even once she leaves you to it, your manners forbid you from such a thing. You keep your elbows off the table and cut the pancakes with little even saws of your knife, spearing each square daintily with your fork before raising it to your lips. You eat your meal as if everyone around you is watching, even though no one is.

When your waitress returns with a refill for your coffee, you ask her for directions to Hawkins. For the first time, her eyes rove over you, taking in the winter coat you haven’t removed and the glinting silver cross at the base of your throat that peeks above the collar of your starchy dress. She squints at you and asks, “What, ya visitin’ family?”

When you don’t reply, she gestures with the coffee pot. “Take thirty-five west and keep drivin’ ‘til you reach the barn with the cow out front. Then turn left there. Y’can’t miss it.”

The ‘cow out front’ turns out to be a cow statue, bigger than any real cow you’ve ever seen and certainly not one you could miss, as she said. You slow and turn left, finally abandoning the highway for a scenic road lined with pine trees that stand like silent sentinels as you carefully guide your vehicle along the road to… 

Home.

Your new home.

Now that it feels so imminent— this decision you’ve made to build your nest at the feet of the supposed ‘gate of hell’— doubt begins to creep in, freezing at the edges of your ribs and creeping toward your center. You’ve driven more than twelve hours from your origin-place, and America is vast— so vast— with more motels than stars you can count across the expanse of the sky on a clear summer’s night. 

And you’ve set your mind on this place because you saw it in a pamphlet? 

Your fingers tremble as you pass tree after tree, branch after branch, leaf after leaf, a sea of unending forest stretching to enclose you and the road you follow. Might as well’ve spun myself around at the treeline, pointed a finger, and started walking, you think to yourself, the leather of the wheel creaking under your wringing hands. It is one thing to run aimlessly; it is quite another to plop yourself down the same way.

'Trust in the LORD with all your heart; and lean not unto your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct your paths.'

“Proverbs,” you whisper, your trembling beginning to subside with each exhaled word that passes through your lips. “Chapter three, verses five and six.” The fingers of one hand unpeel from the steering wheel to clasp instead around the silver at your throat. And by the time your fingers have warmed the metal, your doubt has calmed, and a sign on the right interrupts the treeline, declaring you’ve arrived. 

Hawkins, Indiana. The forest gives way to typical small-town life, though the evidence of what occurred here almost three years ago is still evident in the divots of scarred earth now frosted over with ice, like sharp gauze packing a wound. Some buildings are in permanent disrepair— collapsed, crumbled, roofs caved in, wood and brick sinking into the earth like sinew and bone, partially covered over by hairy weeds that expose the steady march of time. But as you drive slowly toward the center of town, where is rebuilt is teeming with small-town life, not unlike the place you’ve come from. As the sun begins to wane, warm lights slowly blink on inside cozy split-levels and ranches to take its place. Wives welcome husbands home from work before sitting down for supper; children are called in from the streets as mothers stand in breezeways, dropping bikes to be left abandoned in the frosty grass until tomorrow. Despite the present bleak midwinter and the past tragedy that befell them, life goes on for the people of Hawkins, Indiana. That fact conjures a sense of peace as you wander through, searching idly for Kerley— the road that leads to the trailer park. This is the place described as hosting the gate of hell? As you pass bare cornfields and sleepy suburban streets, Hawkins feels so far from it that your earlier fear seems suddenly silly.

You meander the town in your pastel blue Lincoln until you happen upon Kerley Street. By the time you finally reach the turnoff for Forest Hills Trailer Park, the black of night has fallen like a curtain over the vague rectangular structures that crowd beyond the gravel entrance. Your headlights swing and illuminate a slapdash sign that designates the land manager’s residence, and you’re relieved to see a vague glow seeping through the crack below the door and between the curtains, persistent despite the clear attempts to keep it concealed from the outside world. You park the car and hold onto the doorframe as you emerge onto gravel, which you waver over in your low heels until you reach the stairs at the base of the porch. There’s a cracked flowerpot on the bottom step, but instead of the husks of flowers you expect, it’s loaded with cigarette butts, decaying in layers of paper and used nicotine. 

You stare at the door for a moment before announcing yourself. You’re nervous to be confronted with the unfamiliar person beyond; foreboding clenches in your chest, but it can’t be helped. A rap of your knuckles conjures the man who’d tried so valiantly to hide that he was home. His shirt is dirty, his pants sag, and his shave isn’t close to even; he eyes you wearily as you stand on his stoop. “Locked out?” he asks dully, and you flounder a moment before replying, swallowing to wet your throat and hope your voice stays steady. 

“I don’t live here,” you say, “but… I’m lookin’ to. That is, I saw in the paper you had vacancies—” You shove your hand in your coat pocket and pull out the newspaper clipping, passing it over. The man surveys the ad perfunctorily, one bushy brow quirked. The toothpick between his teeth bobs as he plays with it, his eyes sliding to you as you ask hesitantly, “...Do you still have vacancies?” 

His chuckle comes so fast it’s startling. The sound is raspy, like he needs to clear his throat. “‘Course I have vacancies.” He pulls the toothpick from between his lips, flicking it heedlessly away. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

When you shake your head, he jerks his toward the doorway spilling light across the porch. “Come on, then. Let’s get this done.”

You forget his name almost as soon as he tells you, but your land manager seems nice enough. Brusque, sure, but harmless as you sign the papers and pay for the first month’s rent. He waives the deposit— literally waves your words away like irritating wings are fluttering near his ear— and explains, “Place is mostly unfurnished, but you got a bed at least.” 

You can’t do anything but stand there stock still as he tells you your house number— seven— and drops the key into your open palm. “Don’t bother callin’ me f’somethin’ breaks. I’m useless at plumbin’ and ‘lectrical. You’ll need to call someone in the profession.” You curl your fingers over cold metal, and the grooves of the key bite your palm as he wags a finger at you. “Y’lose your key, it’ll cost you a fiver to replace.” He waits until you’ve nodded enough to satisfy him, and then he sends you on your way, closing himself away again. The light leaking from the crevices is extinguished by the time you reach your car door.

You guide your car carefully along the gravel path, driving past darkened trailers, past a red dome made of bars and a picnic table, past a trailer with a caved-in roof you stare at as you pass. A great crack churned up the porch floorboards, and between them now sprout tall, dry, brittle grass made feeble by winter’s bite. There's a streetlight nearby, but it's broken; the moonlight that plays on the dilapidated structure makes you shiver. Still, there isn’t much time to react before you’re at your place. Your trailer is a carbon copy of the well-kept rectangular box beside it, except the other has a chain-link fenced-in yard at the front. A clothesline denotes the edge of your side yard from your neighbors’. 

As you cut the engine, the world goes quiet. You sit in the stillness, and for a moment, there’s just you, your car, and your new home beyond a scraggly dirt yard.

You think of the other places you’d called home before your temporary motel rooms. You think first of your childhood home, and your mouth fills with peaches, with the hollowness of piano keys and the rich dirt from under the wraparound porch. You think of that tall white house, where your delighted shrieks echoed through warm wood hallways as you ran out the back door toward the stables beyond. Your clumsy fingers had carved your name over your bedroom door in elementary scrawl. Pa’d been so angry when you did that, but he relented and ruffled your hair in the end, shaking his head. He always was too fond of you.

Then you think of the home you could call your own— not your parents’, but yours. Yours and Paul’s. Stately, proud, with more of a brick landing than a porch leading up to the dark oak door. Inside are gauzy curtains and rich wallpaper; plump pillows line the couches just so, and the servers display decorative crystal. As you remember, your mouth fills with powdered sugar and water lilies, the gloss of fine china and the silk of ruffled bed skirts. But there’s metal on the back of your tongue, the copper acrid and biting as it overwhelms the rest. You shudder a breath, breaking from your recollections to finally emerge from the car and face your newest home.

In the moonlight, you can see that it also has a porch, but it’s sagging. You mount its stairs, and they’re rickety, creaking under your heels. Inside, when the screen door cracks back into place behind you, the interior of number seven Forest Hills Trailer Park feels like a void of stillness. The light switch flickers erratically before coming to life when you nudge it with your fingertip as if it hasn’t been called to do its job for quite some time. A long narrow hallway directly across from you leads into darkness, with a living room on your right and a kitchen on your left. All of what you can see is empty aside from a thick layer of dust coating the window frames, which are cracked with dried paint, the drips of sloppy workmanship forever preserved in lacquer. There’s mildew growing at the corner of the wall in the living room, and you hesitate to explore it further, opting to head left instead.

At the threshold of the front door, you’d landed on a filthy, matted-down rug. You clack forward with hesitant steps as if afraid to disturb anything, as if this is someone else’s place, not yours. When you edge into the kitchen, cautiously pulling open the refrigerator door, the cold air leaking from inside is reassuring. But when it suddenly kicks and rattles as if sick or angry, the sound makes you tense and jerk away quickly. It’s empty in this room, too— every drawer and cabinet is barren when you tug them open, aside from the dried corpses of flies mounded in a strange pile on the linoleum in front of the kitchen sink. At least the land manager said there’s a bed. Vague unease begins to well in your chest; you hurry down that dark, narrow hallway, flicking the switch as you pass, but nothing changes. The light does not come on. In the back room, the bed is nothing more than the vague lump of a mattress, lonely on the floor. 

The screen door snaps closed behind you as you rush back down the rickety porch stairs. When faced with the choice, you elect to wrap yourself in your scratchy Kentucky blanket, your winter coat, and some extra socks to sleep in the Lincoln despite the bleak midwinter.

Because number seven Forest Hills Trailer Park trips off your tongue; it doesn’t taste like home.

The sun streams cheery light through the windshield, and you wake at just after six, mouth dry as cotton weeds. Your back and neck are sore, cricked from their position against the headrest all night, and the muscles spasm when you stir. You rub your bleary eyes clear, holding your palms against your lashes as if reluctant to remove them and see the state of your new home as it was last night. Eventually, you relent; in the light of day, you peek again at the worn trailer with its gray siding, faded and covered with moss at the concrete base, that rickety porch, and the dull brass knocker concealed behind the screen door… 

You take a moment to consider but can’t decide if it’s any better in the light of day.

With a handful of your stolen toiletries, you venture back inside, and the screen door makes you jump as it snaps closed while you’re standing closeby. Your heart hammers, blood rushing in your ears, and you chastise yourself lightly once it calms. I have to remember to lower the door closed, otherwise people’re gonna get mad with me making such a racket in the morning. 

A quick glance past that closed door you hadn’t explored yesterday reveals that the bathroom is in a bad state, so you avoid it aside from what’s necessary. You brush your teeth at the kitchen sink, setting the toiletries— tiny bottles and sachets of soap— in a carefully-laid line along the side, conscientiously avoiding the pile of flies near the toes of your kitten heels. With minty freshness on your breath, you feel finally awake, and it’s clear what your first order of business should be: getting this place spic and span. No use living in a pigsty, as mama would say.

You take a moment to survey the trailer more carefully, walking in circles around the living room, the kitchen, and the singular bedroom as you peek into nooks and crannies and compile a mental list of the supplies you’ll need. You move gingerly as if you still do not want to disturb this place, though it’s not quite as foreboding as it was last night. 

It’s just an empty box, after all.

You don’t bother unloading the rest of your meager belongings before driving into town for your cleaning supplies and other essentials: bedding and bath towels and cooking utensils and furniture to provide you with somewhere to sit and eat. It hits you then, as the ranches and yards subside into businesses and parking lots, how little you truly have. How much you’d relied on others before, how much you’d taken for granted.

Downtown Hawkins in the daytime is a bustle of quaint activity. The streets aren’t overly crowded because the town is not overly populated, but you can take your time perusing the shops you drive past. And you do— your eyes scan them almost desperately as you try to stamp down on the feeling rising inside that writhes in the pit of your stomach. A video store. An arcade. A laundromat. None of use to you right now, though the laundromat has you thinking of the dress you’re wearing, the way it pinches your arms and pulls tight around your stomach as you drive. You’d managed to ignore the feeling during your flight, but now—gasping and huffing on the comedown as you stop running, and with the enormity of your situation looming before you— the writhing is spreading from your stomach to your chest, pressing outward as if you’ll burst, and the wardrobe you’ve been wearing for months now is finally beginning to suffocate you.

Seeing the thrift store feels like a gust of fresh air has been breathed directly into your lungs, and you don’t even need to ponder it before parking and throwing the car door open to access the backseat. After all, there is no reason to endure any longer; no one is stopping you now. So you dump the contents of your two trash bags onto the Lincoln’s backseat and the remnants of your old life spill over onto the floor. Almost detachedly, you sort the contents into ‘keep’ and ‘sell’ piles; you keep your undergarments and pantyhose and shoes, and you stuff all the dresses— all their linen and gauze and luxurious cotton, all their structured hems and nipped waists and darted busts— into the trash bags to be sold.

If the employee behind the counter is surprised to see the quality of the items you’re selling, more suited to a department than a thrift store, he doesn’t show it. Calmly, you pull out each dress, laying the fabric out carefully before you slide it over the counter towards him. As the garments emerge from your trash bags, their associated occasions flash in your mind. The yellow gingham you’d often wear when visiting family. The pink peony was often seen in your kitchen, protected by an apron covered in flour. The blue linen, one of your old favorites, makes you think of Sunday mass. All get passed to the man on the other side of the counter, all but one that sticks in your memory, left laid against the bedspread back in Georgia. 

The man examines each dress and punches staccato numbers into a calculator with the eraser of his number two pencil until they’re all gone from you, and in their place is a wad of bills you can use to shop for a new wardrobe.

If the employee behind the counter finds it strange that you’ve sold your department store dresses to buy thrift store ones, he doesn’t show it.

Gathering your replacements doesn’t take long because you know exactly what you want. Your new wardrobe should be modest and comfortable, comprised of a practical assortment of casual dresses and cardigans, a couple of nicer frocks for your Sunday best, and some loungewear for the house, including a bathrobe that makes your cheeks burn when it slides across the counter toward that same employee from before. After making your purchases, you carry the plastic bag into the dressing room, slipping behind the velvet curtain and pulling one casual dress out at random.

You rip down the tiny zipper on the starchy dress you've been wearing since yesterday, and the release of pressure is bliss. Though the cotton of your new dress is a little scratchier than what you’d been wearing before, you don’t hesitate in kicking the old fabric aside before gazing at yourself in the mottled thrift store mirror. 

The new dress buttons up past your decolletage. It’s almost long enough to skim your ankles, and it is at least one size too big, maybe two. It looks more fitting for a forty-year-old than your twenty-one years; some might even call it frumpy. But it’s what you want.

Because when you think about the clothes you’d been wearing— think about how, over the last year, your breasts and hips and thighs and stomach had gradually broadened, softened, begun to press uncomfortably against the fabric even after your mother had let out the seams as far as they could go— frumpy doesn’t compare with what you’d experienced.

You remember the sympathy in Paul’s tawny brow as he stared down at you. ‘No, Buttercup, I’m sorry. Think of it as an incentive,’ he’d said kindly when you’d asked for an allowance to purchase bigger clothes. ‘I’m just trying to help you.’ You remember how the ladies in town could see the way the beautifully tailored dresses, once so flattering, now bulged and bunched around the heft of your changing body, especially around your midsection. And you knew, though they were always too polite to say it, that when you gathered with them after church or ran into them at the grocery store, they couldn’t help but glance at your tummy and wonder if you were pregnant. But you weren’t pregnant. You were just…

Fat.

The reflection in the mirror suddenly doesn’t feel like you. That’s not your soft jaw; those aren’t your round cheeks. Your dress wouldn’t balloon so far outward over your breasts and stomach, and your thighs wouldn’t rub together because that isn’t you. But those are your eyes, and your hair, and your lips and fingers. And when you twist to look at your backside, so does she; when you smooth your palms over your ample hips, she does too. So she must be you.

You just wish she wasn’t.

You pull your attention from your body and focus instead on your dress, trying to detach from that knowledge again. The important part is that this dress doesn’t restrict or cling or reveal any unsavory lumps and bumps, and that’s what you want. You pull on some woolen stockings and a loose cardigan since it is still January, and after sliding on your low heels once again, you leave the thrift store behind.

You can run from that dressing room— can slip back into your car, load the new plastic bag into the backseat and coax the engine to life— but you cannot run from your feelings. And seeing yourself in the mirror has left you hollow and wanting, exposing the void inside that begs to be filled in that familiar way, the way you’ve grown used to over the last year. Your kitchen at home may be bare, but from beyond your windshield, you can see what will help you fill it. There’s a bright spot down the road and across the way in the lot beside the general store.

Miss Daisy’s Diner.

As you leave your purchases behind in the car, your eyes glaze over the help wanted sign written in beautiful script in the diner window; you’re more focused on filling that hollow place inside you. And inside Miss Daisy’s Diner is more than enough to satisfy the ache.

There isn’t just the promise of good food waiting for you at Miss Daisy’s. There’s the scent of grease and salt on the air, sure, but there’s something else there too. Something that beckons you forward, light and almost ticklish, like the heat of panting breath, the softness of a furry ear dragging under your chin to the tip until it flicks off. Before you know it, you’ve taken two steps forward, and a waitress in a swish of skirts and a flick of her manicured nails has plucked a single menu from the stand.

“One?” she asks, chipper as you nod. “Booth or table?”

“Table,” you answer, and she leads you to one. 

She leaves you with the menu, but you don’t yet look at it, consumed by the crowded atmosphere around you. The restaurant seems almost suspended in time with its black and white tiled floor, the retro-patterned tabletops, the chrome, the beveled glass windows, the teal and white booths and chairs that squeak with vinyl when you adjust in your seat. The walls are loaded with pictures and posters, memorabilia of the 50s and 60s: Coca-Cola bottles, old cars, Elvis and Marilyn, novelty signs advertising products for cents on the dollar. The effect is charming, made even more so when you realize that each table, including yours, is decorated with a white daisy in a glass of water. Somehow, the interior of this restaurant feels jubilant and comforting, like the bright joy of Easter, even though it’s January. Maybe that has something to do with how full it is— though it’s around ten o’clock on a Thursday, the place is no less than three-quarters full.

“Hey there, dear. You decide what you want yet?”

The croak interrupts your reminiscing, and you startle upon seeing a different woman than the one who’d brought you here— older, with gray hair coiffed into a beehive and pink lipstick crackled on her lips. “Oh!” You are immediately repentant. “No, ma’am, I’m sorry. I haven’t looked yet.”

The woman snorts, but it’s all in good humor. “Ma’am,” she echoes you, though where yours was respectful, hers is slightly sardonic. “No need to go reminding me I’m old, dear.” You crackle with nerves, but she grins at you with slightly yellowed teeth. “I’ll come back when you’re ready. Just flag me down, all right?”

You manage a nod, nerves easing as she taps the table with her wrinkled hand and leaves you to it.

The menu is not overly vast, but it takes some time to decide what will fill that void you feel, what you’re really yearning for. In the end, you settle on a Reuben sandwich with french fries and a chocolate milkshake. Though all the waitresses are dressed the same here to fit the theme, you’re grateful for your waitress’s distinctive beehive as you catch her attention, peeking at the nametag she has pinned to the right of her collar when she arrives. ‘Sherry,’ it reads, and oddly, there’s a little doodle of a shamrock beside it which looks to be drawn on in permanent marker.

“Comin’ right up, sweetie,” she promises you.

“Thank you, m—” you swallow the ‘ma’am,’ and Sherry’s smile widens as she wags a finger at you.

“Watch it, you; I heard that,” she says, her voice a croaking tease. “Don’t you start.”

You giggle, and when she leaves you again, it isn’t just the promise of food that makes you feel better.

The sandwich comes quicker than you expected, considering how busy it is, and it's delicious: creamy Russian dressing, salty corned beef and mild Swiss sliced thin, piled together with tart sauerkraut. The outside of the bread is grilled crisp and not too greasy, and the fries are hot and crunchy, a perfect balance with the thick, sweet coldness of your milkshake. It’s perfect; you couldn’t have asked for more.

As you eat, you watch the waitresses flit about in their matching yellow dresses with white collars, aprons, and cuffs, gathering behind the bar counter when not visiting their tables or pushing through the swinging doors to the kitchen. You watch them laugh and chat with one another, and it pricks at something familiar inside you. It’s been years now, but you still remember what it feels like to flit from table to table, to smile and serve, to share in that camaraderie behind the bar, though the place where you’d done it was nothing like this. 

Once you’ve thoroughly cleaned your plate, Sherry stops by again just as the jukebox kicks on to play Baby I’m Yours by Barbara Louis.

“How was it?” she asks, and you tell her it was very good. “Any room for more?” She follows up, eyeing your empty plate, and there’s a sudden hot flash of shame, a moment where you think she might turn wolfish. But her tone and expression remain nothing but sincere, so it wanes. Still, you hedge on an answer, deliberating whether to accept the offer.

She notices your hesitation and perks her brows, coaxing, “We’ve got a mean pecan pie.” A little encouraging smile plays on her crackled lips. “Sounds like that might be right up your alley, judging by your accent.”

It is true— you love pecan pie. And that void was lessened by your meal but not quite filled. So you accept, and Sherry brings you the slice.

And you think maybe this is what does it— this slice of pecan pie. The crust all golden brown, the pecans placed so carefully on top, the filling gooey but not falling into a gelatinous heap upon the plate. Your sandwich had been so good, and your milkshake, too, and this, now— this just looks so good.

You take a bite of the mean pecan pie, and it is not good.

You chew slowly, nose scrunched, brow furrowed just slightly. It’s not… horrible. But it’s not good. Certainly not as good as the pecan pie at home.

Miss Daisy’s Diner is so inviting inside, suspended in time, straight out of the glossy world of dreams. The chrome is shiny, the teal booths pleasant, and each table is adorned with a single daisy. The doo-wop of the jukebox mixes with the hum of conversation; the waitresses in their yellow dresses laugh with patrons as they fill up their coffee mugs and emerge from those swinging doors with plates loaded with delicious food. But the pie isn’t delicious, and you would hazard a guess, as you crane your neck to peek at the display of cakes and muffins beneath the far end of the bar, that the rest of their baked goods are the same way: good-looking under the lights, but nothing compared to what you’re used to.

Nothing compared to what you can do.

'Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.'

When Sherry stops by the table to ask if she can get you anything else, your reply comes swift and easy. “I saw the sign in your window. Are y’all still hiring?”

It’s a quick affair, becoming a waitress at Miss Daisy’s Diner. 

When you ask that question, Sherry’s brows flash, but she sits across from you right away, crossing her legs smartly as she asks you a series of quick questions. You used to work at the restaurant in a country club back home, and though it’s been a few years now, you know how to answer them all sufficiently. That kind of knowledge— the knowledge you gain from experience— never really leaves you. When you finish, she looks at you discerningly before shrugging. “Well, y’seem alright to me. Just wait here. I’ll get Willy.” She pauses half out of her chair as if a thought has just occurred to her. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Emma,” you tell her, and despite the croak of her lungs, your name flows like molasses off Sherry’s tongue when she repeats it back to you.

Willy is the owner of Miss Daisy’s Diner, and he looks nothing like the ‘Miss Daisy’ pictured on the menu. Where she appears crisp and plucky, Willy is doughy and lax. You learn that there is no real Miss Daisy, though Willy jokes, "All my chickadees here are Miss Daisy. That’s why they dress alike." He doesn’t even interview you after learning Sherry already talked to you; apparently, that’s good enough for him. Instead, he just rambles about scheduling, uniforms, and payroll, speaking in slow circles that loop back and around again until Sherry cuts him off.

“I’ll get her up to speed, Willy,” she says, and his face splits with a lazy smile. 

“Sher’ll get you trained up,” he concludes as if it was his idea.

He begins to turn from the table, and you pipe up before he can leave. “When can I start?” 

Willy shrugs lazily, looking towards his employee. “Tomorrow?” he offers, and Sherry concurs, and that is that.

When you leave Miss Daisy’s Diner, your Lincoln is parked down the street where you left it, the white plastic bag of your new clothes visible through the backseat window. When you get in, your pillow and blanket are beside you, reminding you of the lumpy mattress and the pile of dead flies that need to be tidied. Your original goal for the day still looms ahead.

But, God, you aren’t complaining. You swear it. Because Hawkins is a refuge, and you have a job, and the bleeding finally stopped this morning. And there’s security in the first chore you’ve decided to begin your new life with. You’re intimately acquainted with mopping, dusting, and scrubbing, having learned to clean well in the last three years. While you don’t particularly enjoy it, there’s comfort in making something dirty into something clean. By tomorrow, your trailer will no longer be a pigsty, and maybe you’ll sleep in your bed tonight. Tomorrow, you get to go back to Miss Daisy’s Diner, back to Sherry and the jukebox and the flowers on the tables, and maybe you’ll be laughing behind the bar this time.

‘For I know the thoughts that I think concerning you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you the end that you wait for.’

Thank you, Father.

In the few days following your first day in Hawkins, you learn many things. You learn that the daisies on the tables of Miss Daisy’s Diner are made of fabric and wire, and the water is dried glue. You learn that Willy— given name Wilbur— might own the place, but the girls run it. You learn that the coffee maker sometimes doesn’t spit out water unless you smack it hard and that you won’t get a shiny nametag to match the others until Willy orders one from a special shop, which may take a while. You learn that the yellow dresses and aprons might look cute, but they aren’t all that comfortable, though Sherry kindly accommodated your request for the largest size she could get. It's not quite as big as the dresses you'd picked for yourself, but she did her best.

Still, these cracks in the facade of Miss Daisy’s don’t make it any less charming to you. The pace is hectic, and though each restaurant has its own way of doing things, you fall back into that ebb and flow quickly with the help of all the girls, who don’t hesitate to welcome you into the herd. That’s another thing that helps— the waitresses are all kind and helpful, though more curious about you than you’d prefer, sniffing at your hair and shoes when you aren't looking. It becomes apparent very quickly that they’re all the same: goats who bleat at one another across the floor and nibble at the strings of one another’s aprons in friendly affection, yours included. You aren’t quite one of them, but they don’t seem to notice.

You can’t hide your accent, of course, so they know you're not from around here. There’s always that awareness in a small town— even your tables ask you about it. You remain vague about your past, reserved but polite with your coworkers and charming with your customers, treating them with hospitality just like mama raised you. The beatitudes guide your manner: meek and humble, righteous and merciful, pure of heart and generous. A peacemaker, bringing harmony to those around you. 

It’s almost enough to make you think you might have white wool after all, though you can’t quite shake the raven feathers that shudder when you return home to your nest with its barren sticks and its piles of stolen trinkets you gathered on your flight to Hawkins. That’s why you spend as much time as you can at work, soothed by the dulcet tones of the jukebox as you flit from table to bar to kitchen and back again until all begins to feel familiar and comforting.

Safe.

By the end of your first week, you’ve also grown accustomed to the back of the house. Even the sight of Harry, the line cook, begins to comfort you. He is large, broad-shouldered and thick, but his movements are measured and gentle, set with a pace that speaks assurance that things will get done when they get done. In fact, his movements are so predictable that every time you shuffle through the swinging doors into the kitchen at the start of your shift, you anticipate the repetitive sound of his thick bull hands scraping the spatula slow and even as he works the cooktop. 

So the sight that greets you now as you catch the door from Sherry is quite jarring. 

Before the cooktop stands a man who is both shorter and thinner than Harry but somehow far more imposing. He’s angular and jagged, frenetic in his movements: booted foot tapping tile, elbow jutting sharp as he jerks the spatula, a wild mess of curls shaking as his head bobs exaggeratedly. And the sound of the kitchen isn’t at all soothing in his presence. There’s some kind of tinny howling coming from him, some unholy noise that nearly makes you halt at the threshold of the swinging doors before you realize it’s coming from underneath his hair and not from him, exactly. You quickly spot the thin cord running down to the tape player clipped to his tight dark pants, though the handkerchief swaying at his hip— old and spilling loose threads, black and white and emblemed with eerie skulls— has your nerves kicking up again just as quickly.

Sherry’s voice is hoarse from smoke and age but, to your surprise, not filled with even a hint of the same nerves as she greets the man. “Afternoon, Ed,” she says, sounding almost fond as she shouts to be heard above the music. 

Almost instantly, the headphones are jerked down to hang around his neck, and when the man spins abruptly from the cooktop to face you both, your chest clenches again. His voice is brash and warm, mouth split wide to flash his eyeteeth as his gaze finds your coworker quickly. “Afternoon, Sher,” he says, mimicking her fond inflection, a teasing grin dimpling the corner of his plush pink lips. “How’s my best girl?”

Your eyes quickly dart from him to Sherry and then back, face frozen so as not to reveal your reaction: a mixture of wariness and confusion since he looks almost thirty years younger than her. Sherry just rolls her eyes and purses her lips, which are crackled with deep pink lipstick. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all your best girl, aren’t we, Eddie?” It’s said with long-suffering sarcasm like this exchange is akin to slipping on an old pair of shoes— worn in and comfortably molded to one’s foot. 

The man, Eddie, doesn’t reply, though his smile does widen. Sherry nods your way but addresses him. “This is the new girl. Be nice,” she warns, wagging a gnarled finger.

“Whaddya mean, Sher? I’m always nice.” Eddie huffs through his nose, showily stretching his arms above his head and holding his clothed elbows as his eyes slide to you. Yours dip to the dark stains beneath his pits, the evidence of his toil and sweat that begs the question of why he’d be wearing long sleeves if he’s that hot. “Hello, new girl,” he says lightly, and his voice hums like there’s a secret joke he’s holding back from laughing at.

The cock of his hip, the sharpness of his limbs, the narrowness of his waist where the apron is tied hastily, the stretch of his ribcage against the dirty long-sleeved shirt, the tilt of his lips— it hits you suddenly what he is, just as suddenly as you’d realized that Sherry and the girls are bleating goats and Harry is a gentle bull.

This man is a coyote.

Suddenly, that feeling of safety is threatened. What else could explain that rush of tingling awareness pricking up your neck when he acknowledges your presence, if not the fear that a predator is near?

Instinct drives a prey animal when confronted in such a way. You’ve seen it yourself back at home: hens clucking and skittering in the dirt when they sense a fox, horses swaying uneasily in their stalls when a wolf prowls the woods beyond the paddock. And like a prey animal, your body can either freeze or flee. It chooses the latter. 

You squeak out some semblance of a greeting— even fear can’t entirely overwhelm the graces you’ve been taught— and hurry around Sherry to duck into Willy’s office. You want to close the door, to wedge a physical barrier between yourself and those dark eyes and flashing white teeth, but you resist the urge knowing Sherry will be coming in right behind you, and the gesture is not only futile but potentially rude. 

You’re tying your apron when she enters, and she catches your eyes immediately when you look up. Sherry purses her lips at the sight of your flushed cheeks and wide eyes; she chuckles, but there’s an edge of sympathy. “Oh, come on now, dear," she consoles you. “Eddie might look some type of way, but he doesn’t bite.” Her wrinkled eyes soften as she regards you, the tease in her voice gentling as she adds, “He’s a good boy.”

You force a smile, but her assurances can’t dispel the goosebumps prickling along your flesh. They don’t calm your trembling fingers as they slip your notepad into your white apron, smoothing along scratchy cotton afterward as if attempting to press out the bulge it makes against the front of your body. Your body whispers danger and your mind does, too. And if the spirit guides the flesh, then you know you feel this way for a reason. 

Sherry’s platitudes are no match for instinct and belief.

After your initial spook, your shift progresses much the same as any other. You greet your tables, fetch them drinks, faithfully record their orders, deliver their plates, ask them if they need ketchup or hot sauce, chit-chat just a tad, drop the check, and bid them ‘have a good day now,’ parting with a smile. Your voice doesn’t even waver when you push open those double doors; your call of ‘corner’ is sweet and stable, less tremulous than how you began earlier this week. The only time fear squeezes your chest is when you must clip up your tickets. Because that means you’ll have to approach the coyote, draw near to his jagged elbows, those dark, angular legs, and the abundance of curls that cling damply to the edges of his pale jaw and conceal his expression from your view. At least facing Eddie’s back or side is considerably easier than his front; luckily, he’s so thoroughly occupied by the cooktop that he doesn’t acknowledge you before you scamper off. Your fear becomes a predictable wave: with each step toward him, your chest tightens, and with each step away, you feel the clench begin to ease. 

You’ve just swung returned to the floor, loose and nearly chipper, when Samantha hurries over, holding a loaded plate, her ponytail and yellow skirts swishing as she skids to a stop before you. “Emma! There you are.” She beams brightly, and the words huff out of her as if just the sight of you is a relief. It makes you feel warm inside, and that warmth blooms in the smile you answer her with before asking, 

“Is that mine?” 

You look down at the plate as she nods, noting that the steak has just barely been cut on the corner, not even all the way through. “It’s from table four. She wants it cooked a little more. More like medium-well,” she explains, and you take the plate without a thought.

“Sure thing,” you say, and it isn’t until you’ve pushed back through those swinging doors into the kitchen that you realize what this task will require.

Your throat dries as you approach Eddie, eyes darting over the white of his shirt, how the fabric has gone somewhat translucent where it sticks to the planes of his back. His shoulders roll as he stretches to the side to reach a hoagie roll without moving his feet, which still tap along with the rhythm coming from the headphones slung around his neck. The sound of howling has since subsided to resonant thumping and the faint melody of some screeching instrument, which grows clearer as you edge closer with your plate. 

Closer and closer still you draw until you can detect the faint scent of sour sweat, pungent smoke, and something earthy as the coyote turns his head back to the cooktop, still oblivious to your presence. You halt then, feet sticking as your clenched chest whispers that you’ve come close enough. Eddie continues to load chopped beef, peppers, and onions into the hoagie roll, and you hover some steps away until his chin happens to edge left, and he catches you in his peripheral.

His long eyelashes flick up as his gaze flashes to you, eyebrows jerking in mild acknowledgment, mouth soft and slack. The eye contact makes you hasty; you push out your voice and plate together, squeaking, “Can you cook this more? …Please?” You tack the pleasantry on, nudging your elbows forward as if urging him to take the plate as quickly as possible.

You want him to take the plate, but still, you must resist a flinch when his hand outstretches to receive it from you. His palm is broad, with callouses dotting along the meatiest sections, and his fingers are long and ruddy at the tips. Your breath hitches at the sight of his hand’s approach, but all Eddie does is grasp the plate. As soon as his fingers close around its edge, you snatch yours back toward the safety of your body. “Thank you,” you say, and you hazard a glance at his face.

A dimple forms on Eddie’s cheek as he grins, and his voice is warm and brash when he meets your eye and replies, “For you, sweetness? Anytime.”

And then he winks, a quick flash of those long lashes to conceal a sparkling brown iris. 

Such a small thing, really, to say and to do. Thrown just as casually as a smile for a stranger who holds the door for you, just a brief moment of banter between coworkers as they cross paths in the diner kitchen. 

But the swell of emotion Eddie’s words and wink conjures within you is not a small thing. You jerk away from him, a fierce spasm of your muscles to match the fist of fear that seizes you tightly and shakes you until you’re left trembling. The feeling is visible all over your body— in the tightening of your arms against your middle, the shrinking of your shoulders, the blanching of your face, the quiver of your lower lip, the widening of your wet eyes.

The sudden violence of your reaction clearly shocks him. Instantly, Eddie’s spine straightens, and his face falls. Those dark eyes go wide to match yours, confusion sinking into ruefulness as your back begins to bow— feet planted but spine arching, upper body inching back as if your only desire is to get away from him. All the warm brashness in his voice has deflated as he stutters, “Look, I– I was just— I’m—”

Had he gotten it out, would it have been an apology? An explanation? Would it have put you at ease, unclenched that feeling inside? Who’s to say. Because desperate to repair, to stop your backward flight, Eddie reaches out a hand toward you again. Soft, palm upturned, fingers slack. An entreaty to stay and let him fix things. Suddenly and acutely, your wrist aches at the approach of his palm; with that shock of pain, your freeze finally turns to flight.

In a burst of white and yellow, you skitter and spin toward the swinging doors, leaving your predator behind.

It’s a temporary balm, of course. You cannot avoid the coyote in the kitchen forever. After all, you have a steak to retrieve. This is your responsibility, and though the temptation to ask Samantha to fetch it for you is there, you know it would be wrong to give in to that impulse.

Out of the kitchen, in the front of the house, Miss Daisy’s Diner carries on as if nothing has happened. All is calm; all is bright. You hear the familiar clinking of utensils against ceramic, the swish of yellow skirts and the squeak of sneakers, the bleating of the girls mixed with the crackly doo-wop of the jukebox. Someone has put on Try Me by James Brown, and you whisper the words along with him as you shake off the tension like feathers ruffling to wick off water. ‘Try me,’ ‘hold me,’ ‘need you,’ you sing, the words repeating over and over like the lazy spin of a record on the turnstile. The slow beat eases you back into the rhythm of the floor as you steal precious minutes before you must return to the kitchen.

When you can delay it no longer, you edge back through those doors, breathing slowly to keep yourself from turning away as you anticipate the sight of his body, angular and jagged, coiled tight. But the slope of the coyote’s shoulders is low, and the frenetic swaying of his hips is still now. The howling has quieted, and the jerking of his spatula is slow, slow like Harry’s, which you’re used to. It helps to ease your cautious steps as you reach him, stopping a short distance away. You can see that the plate of your steak is prepared for you to retrieve it, resting on the counter just on the other side of him.

It doesn’t take as long for Eddie to notice you this time, and your chest threatens to clench when his chin turns your way. You try to push out a reminder of what you need. “C-can you—”

Eddie doesn’t make you ask. “Yeah,” he interrupts, “No problem.” 

The three words do not sound angry or sad; they do not sound like much of anything, really. His mouth does not open wide to say them. Instead, his white teeth hide behind his pink lips as he passes you the plate with no other words exchanged between you. And as soon as you receive it, Eddie turns his face away.

Each successive visit to the kitchen that afternoon proves the truth of the matter. Since that first encounter, the coyote’s tail has since been tucked between his legs. The points of his teeth have been filed, and with them, over the course of those hours, your fear of his bite finally begins to ease.

So why, then, does your wrist still ache? 

chapter two: I'll be seeing you is coming soon.

taglist: @emma77645 @ashlynnkennedy @luna-munson83 @micheledawn1975 @gaysludge @hazydespair @ebaylee422 @thebrookemunson @a-time-for-wolvess @lightmelikeamatch @live-love-be-unique @daleyeahson @bexreadstoomuch @devilinthepalemoonlite @screaming-blue-bagel @mcueveryday @ethereal27cereal @vintagehellfire @razzeith @josephquinncore

@h-ness1944 - not taggable

#blueywrites #new skin #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader fluff #linecook!eddie #stranger things fanfiction #st fanfic

[concreteburialplot]

Intertwined // 05

-> 05 - Girl Crush*

pairing; noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo

masterlist; here | crossposted; ao3 | word count; 10.3k 😅

warnings; sad lol, dumb boys, mutual masturbation, p0rn, alcohol, peer pressure, vomiting, college!omens, jolly intro, gay panic & very mild gender confusion??, denial is a river in egypt, 18+ MDNI

REMINDER: this is an au where everyone is around the same age, follows no actual timelines/events, and uses oc's for family members.

a/n: don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

-NICHOLAS- 

It had been about a month since Noah moved out completely and was fully living with us. It wasn’t that difficult of a transition since he stayed with us most of the time anyway. He seemed to be finally settling in and getting comfortable, which I was happy about.

Him living in my house wasn’t the only thing that became comfortable - in fact maybe we’d gotten too comfortable. 

That first night weeks ago, where we took care of our morning wood next to each other, wasn’t the last time. It started as that one time thing, then an occasional thing, then finally, a casual thing. Neither one of us seemed to take it seriously, maybe to play off the implications of it. Because what else are you supposed to do when you jack off next to your best friend regularly?

It became so casual, sometimes as if the other wasn’t there.

--

My half-asleep ears fill with the faint sounds of moans, accompanied by restrained groans I recognize. The more I wake I feel movement behind me.

I stir a bit before turning around finding Noah pumping himself under the covers while holding his phone in the other. He jumps a little when I catch him but doesn’t stop. His actions only halt temporarily.

“Sorry if I woke you up.” He says bashfully, baby pink tinting his cheeks.

“It’s fine.” I gulp, my eyes drifting to the obscene noises coming from his phone. “Whatcha watching?”

He shrugs, tilting his phone to me, revealing the most generic looking porn I’ve ever seen. But porn is porn and it makes my already semi-hard dick twitch. “You wanna… watch too?”

My cheeks grow warm at the offer, “Oh, um, I mean, I don’t wanna intrude…” Though, I can’t help my eyes from being glued to the screen.

He shifts a bit and reaches over, setting the phone down between us propped up in a divot of comforter. In the clumsy process, the duvet slides off his lap revealing his cock.

My eyes widen at the sight of him but I immediately divert my attention so that he doesn’t catch me and assume something else.

“Oh sorry.” He blushes and goes to cover himself again but pauses, “Actually, do you mind? I just don’t wanna deal with the mess and-“

“I don’t mind.” I reply faster than intended. I shake my head, “I just don’t wanna… do that. But I don’t care if you do.”

“Cool.” He nods and returns to his previous position with his eyes locked on the screen.

There’s a panicky heartbeat lingering in my chest but the throbbing in my cock takes precedence. I relax a bit beside him and life the duvet higher up on my body, trying to cover as much of myself as possible.

I spit into my hand before dipping it beneath the covers and down around my member, working it out from my shorts. A hiss leaves my mouth at the coldness of my palm but it doesn’t take long for that discomfort to fade.

My eyes begin on the phone, to the blonde woman with large unnaturally perky breasts being railed by some strong man with a big dick, something you’d find on the first page of any porn site. Not my usual cup of tea but whatever, it’s doing something for me right now.

Naturally, my eyes drift and happen to fall on Noah’s cock. His large hand works up and down his member – he’s duo-toned darker at the base and lighter towards the tip, kind of like me just much pinker. I glance between him and the man in the video. He’s smaller than the man, but he’s definitely not small. The video is obviously emphasizing the man’s large size, but he’s still smaller than me, not by much but he is. It makes me wonder if Noah would be impressed by my size.

Why would I think that? What do I care if Noah’s impressed by my dick?

Noah’s probably not even looking at him like that, I’m just weird I guess.

As if on cue, Noah comments.

“I wish my dick was that big.”

Not wanting to stay uncomfortably silent, I nervously chuckle, “Yeah me too.”

“Well, how big are you?” He asks casually.

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Surely, he doesn’t actually wanna know.

“Oh – oh, I don’t know, but I don’t wanna take the covers off because-“

Noah proposes a solution, “I could feel?”

“I uh – what do you mean?”

“Like, feel it under the covers. So, I can’t see it. That’s what you’re insecure about isn’t it?”

“Um, I, well,” I stutter, trying to think of any sort of appropriate response. I should say no. I shouldn’t want him to do that. But something in me screams that this might be the only time this could happen – not sure why that’s even important. “Um, sure.”

I scooch a little closer to him so it’s easier for him to reach. Unexpectedly, he brings his free hand up to his mouth and spits into it. My eyebrows furrow at the action, not quite understanding why that’s necessary. But when his arm snakes itself under the covers and his hand replaces mine, I’m suddenly not as confused.

My eyes round at the feeling of his hand around me and every muscle in my body tenses when he starts moving.

“Jesus, you’re pretty big.” He says before his hand even reaches my tip.

Suddenly, all the nerves in my body seem to flood to cock and I feel so sensitive under his fingertips. I should be watching the video, but my eyes bounce between his still working on himself and on his other one bobbing under the covers. I can’t tell fully, but it seems like he’s pumping himself faster than before.

His palm reaches the head then slowly slides back down. “You’re so much bigger than me.” His voice seeming casual, but there’s a hint of strain beneath it.

His words and his even faster movements on both of us only worsens the buzzing in my cock.

“Is this okay? I just, I’ve only ever felt my own dick so, I’ve only ever imagined what having a bigger one would feel like.”

“Yeah, yep. It’s fine.” I reply quickly, just trying to maintain my composure.

My chest rises and falls rapidly and my fingers curl into the sheets. A familiar knot forms in the pit of my tummy and the last thing I want to do is cum while he’s touching me. His hand moves on me at the same speed as on his own. His fingertips stride up and down the underside of my length, hitting the sensitive spot beneath my tip every time. My lips press flat together as I try to stave off my orgasm – I don’t want to cum while he’s touching me, but I also don’t want him to stop.

Thankfully he has less stamina than I do.

“Ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans, working quickly on himself chasing his climax. “Fuck, fuck!” He whines desperately. His hand doesn’t stop on me while his hips buck up into his hand spurting milky white all over his exposed tummy.

The visual of his cock twitching and spilling cum all over his hand, combined with his high pitched moans and his hand on me catapults me over the edge. “F-Fuck.” I sputter out a strangled groan and scrunch my eyes closed. Before I have time to yank him off of me, my body goes rigid beneath him. The buzzing across my skin seems to all rush into my throbbing cock in Noah’s still moving hand. “O-Oh.” Slips from my mouth just above a whisper while every muscle in my abdomen tightens. I feel myself twitch and spill my own cum into the duvet and all over his hand.

The orgasm nearly blinds my vision and my heart beats so fast I can hear it thumping in my ears. Those couple seconds where it was just me, my racing heart and my throbbing cock, it was pure bliss. Possibly the hardest I’ve ever came before. 

It’s not until I begin to come down that I realize what just happened and that… he worked me fully through my high? 

My eyes shoot open the second I return to earth and feel his hand finally slip off my softening member. For a split second I contemplate if there’s a way for me to get out of this without even looking at him and god I wish there was. 

Fuck

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” I begin to profusely apologize before he cuts me off. 

He laughs, “It’s okay. I’m sure having someone else’s hand probably feels a lot better than your own. Even if it had been you I probably would’ve came even faster than normal… and you know I already don’t last long as it is.” He chuckles with a light peach tinting his cheeks.

One part of me feels bad that I hadn’t returned the favor, until I remember I didn’t really even want to do this to begin with. Then, another part of me wishes I had returned the favor, maybe I wanted to know the same thing he did - maybe I want to know what another cock would feel like in my hand too. 

“Yeah - um,” I swallow the little saliva I have left in my dry mouth. “Yeah it was nice.” 

He pulls his hand from beneath the covers. “So much for not making a mess.” He laughs. 

My eyes round when I see just how much I had spilt all over his hand. “Yeah, yeah sorry again, I just didn’t think that…” My eyes follow his stare on the milky white mess of mine on his hand. 

His coffee brown eyes snap up to mine and utters out the last words I ever thought he’d say. “Have you ever tasted your own cum?”

I blink blankly at him, completely devoid of words. 

What the fuck

“I-I um, no? Why would I?” 

“I don’t know, curiosity?”

“…Have you?”

“Well, yeah, I wanted to know.” He shrugs. “It was gross, bitter. But,” His eyes flutter back down to his hand. “I’ve obviously never tasted anyone else’s. I wonder if yours tastes different?”

My brain seems to glitch, not fully comprehending his statement. 

“I-I um, I mean, probably.”

“Would it be super weird if I tasted it?”

My brows shoot up at the question. 

But I reply before I’m even sure of my answer. “No, I um, don’t think it would be that weird?” 

And it wouldn’t be, right?

He’s just curious.

Just like he was about my cock. 

“Alright.” His tone much less confident than just seconds ago. 

His dark brown eyes drop to the puddle of my cum on his right hand, just above where his thumb meets his hand. He lifts it tentatively up to his mouth; my eyes can’t help but rotate between his face and his approaching hand. Hesitantly, he darts his pink tongue past his lips to dip the tip of it into the puddle. Unexpectedly, his eyes find mine, snapping me out of my gaze that was locked on his tongue. His mahogany eyes surprise me, with how round and soft they are - so puppy dog-like for a situation such as this. I blink at him and for some reason, seeing him flatten his tongue a bit on the remnants of me makes my cock twitch. He takes a scoop of my orgasm on his tongue and into his mouth. 

“Hm.” He hums, almost sounding pleased, like he was taste-testing wine. “You taste better than me. Sweeter. Must be all those bananas you eat.”

Sweeter

My brows join together, perturbed, “It can’t be that different?”

His boney shoulders raise into a shrug. “You can try mine if you want? To make it even or whatever.” He gestures his left hand up a bit to remind me that his mess remains on that hand too. 

“Oh - I - well -“ I watch his hand gesture towards me again. The turbulence in my tummy reminds me of when someone offers you a gift and out of politeness, you’re supposed to refuse it - but I don’t want to refuse. I want to know.

“Oh c’mon it’s only fair, it’s not that bad.” He urges me, only reaffirming my inability to voice a decline. 

I look down at the back of his hand covered in cloudy white rivers. My fingers gently take hold of his wrist and he lets me take control of his arm without a single ounce of resistance. I bring his hand to my lips and copy his actions - dart my tongue out and meet his eyes. His are just as intrigued as mine were, locked in my tongue. 

The second his cum meets my taste buds, my eyes flutter closed. I’m surprised at the taste, it’s bitter and salty, what I imagine battery acid must taste like. The texture is about what I imagined, thick and slimy. And yet, even with the immediate disgust of it, it makes my cock twitch again. There’s a tingle in my fingertips and on my tongue that urges me to lap up the rest of his orgasm but I fear if I did, I’d be completely hard again. I never thought something as rancid as battery acid would make me hard, but for some reason right now it’s threatening to. 

I’ve never been more grateful for anything more than the duvet on my body right now. 

I half-force a twist in my face at the taste as I pull back from his arm. “Augh, that’s disgusting.” 

He lets out a hearty laugh, “See! Told ya.” 

A nervous chuckle escapes me, “That you did…” 

-Next Day- 

Since landing an apprenticeship at a local tattoo parlor, I don’t see much of either Noah or Folio. While I’m at work after class, they’ve been hanging out at the library in a study group full of people I barely know - people from the frat party a couple weeks ago. 

Today though, I got off my shift early and I’m on a different mission. 

-

My tires screech and the weight of my entire body jerks forward as Stella makes another abrupt stop at a redlight. My hand lands on my dash as a reflex I had gotten far too familiar with.

My tongue passes between my lips before pressing them together and close my eyes through a deep breath. I consider myself a fairly patient person, but if there’s anyone on earth who could get me to snap, it is definitely my sister.

“I told you to start braking 5 million feet ago.” I exhaled with the hopes of Buddha himself coming down and bestowing me with a well-deserved medal of excellent patience.

“Whatever, we still stopped, didn’t we?” She sasses, as she continues to dance to whatever pop song pours through the speakers.

“Yeah, barely.” I grumble, crossing my arms in the passenger seat. “I have no idea how they let you pass your driver’s test.”

“You are so grouchy today.” She glares at me. “What, did the shop bully you again?”

My eyes roll so hard they could’ve fallen out. “No.” I clench my fingers into my palms and stretch them out as overlayed flashbacks of scrubbing every inch of the tattoo parlor flash across my mind. “No, I just cleaned a lot. Fumes. Headache.”

“Right.” She responds unconvinced.

The car takes a sharp turn into a plaza I’ve only ever driven past before and pulls into a parking spot right in front of the destination of my mission.

“We’re here!” She beams, turning the engine off.

We walk up to the small shop snuggled in the tiny strip. The walls look like they were once white, a long, long time ago. Now they’re stained a yellow-y beige with weeds and vines growing across the plaster.

“’Record Store. Plus repairs.’” I read off the giant red letters above the door. “How creative.”

Stella’s elbow sharply jabs into my ribcage. “Ow!” I hiss and recoil away from her. 

“Be nice. Be cool.” She scolds me in a hushed tone.

Whatever the fuck ‘nice and cool’ means to a teenage girl.

A bell trills sharply when she pushes open the glass door. A rush of cold AC blasts against our skin soon as we step into the foyer. 

At the tall reception desk stands a man with lengthy brown hair and a long face. He looks a couple years older than me, at least 23ish.

“Hi Jolly!” Perks Stella almost jumping the second her fingertips meet the glossy wood.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip in an attempt to stifle a giggle when I see the man noticeably deflate the moment he hears the shrill chirp of my sister’s 16-year old voice.

He sets down his pen on whatever paperwork he was working on and turns to us, “Hello Stella.” He greets flatly, with a hint of a foreign accent I can’t place yet.

It’s quite obvious that she comes in here often, more than she’s let on – enough for them to be on a first-name basis.

“Jolly, this is my brother Nick, Nick this is Jolly.” She beams at his name, completely smitten with the older boy. If it wasn’t so obvious that he’s irritated by her mere presence, I’d be more protective of her - but she’s perfectly fine. She’s made sure of that herself.  

“Hey.” I meekly wave at him.

He acknowledges me with a nod and looks back at her. “What’s up.”

“Well, we need your help!” She rocks up and down on her feet with her hands behind her back.

“Great. What is it you need help with?” His fingertips restlessly patter on the table top, impatiently waiting for her to deliver her pitch faster. 

“Go on Nick, show him.” She urges motioning her hand towards him.

I sigh and pull out my phone from my jean’s back pocket, then scroll to find a picture of Noah’s snapped guitar and hand it to the man.

“Could you fix that? Or know someone who could?” I inquire, already feeling as though the trip was hopeless.

His brows pull together as he inspects the picture then uses two fingers to zoom in on the instrument. “Whoever did this really did a number on it.”

“Yeah.” I mumble, scratching the back of my neck. “So, do you think you could fix it?”

“Hmm.” He hums, pulling down his thick-rimmed glasses down his nose. “I can’t say for sure, you’d have to bring it in.”

Air escapes my throat with another sigh, that’s the last thing I wanted to hear. “Okay. I’ll get it in as soon as I can.” Even though I have no idea how I’ll be able to do that without Noah noticing.

He hands me back my phone, “That’s a really rough break.”

“Trust me, I know. Thanks for looking.” My tone suddenly lacking optimism. “And sorry about…” When I turn to point at Stella, I realize she’s not beside me anymore, now shuffling through the various wooden crates of records. “Her.”

He taps his pen against the counter and glances over at her. “It’s fine. She brings friends in. They buy records. Sales are sales.” He shrugs before going back to whatever he was working on before we interrupted him.

Stella doesn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon so I let myself roam around the shop. The majority of the small store is made up of boxes full of records, a mix of old and new. A small, separated section has various instruments strewn about, most of them looking refurbished. The air is pungent with the smell of sandalwood incense, some kind of chemical-y polish, and stale wood.

“Okay! Ready to go!” Stella calls from behind me and when I turn to her she’s holding a record that I recognize.

“Since when do you listen to Nine Inch Nails?” My brow arches up, seeing as she’s only ever been a Taylor Swift type of girl.

She giggles, “Jolly suggested them.”

I take two fingers and pinch the bridge of my nose with a deep sigh, “Okay, whatever, let’s go.”

--

Stella and I walk into the house and my ears are immediately unsettled by the sounds that fill the house. They’re giggles, some I recognize to be Noah’s but the other is quite … feminine. 

The edges of Stella’s lip curl into a mischievous grin, “Oooooh Noah snuck a girl innnn.” She snickers in a sing-song tone.

“Go to your room Stella.” I order, mostly because her tone irritated me but also because I don’t want her to see what’s behind the cracked door.

She gives me a glare, “You’re just jealous that he’s getting some and you’re not.”

“Go. To. Your. Room.” I repeat sternly through gritted teeth.

“Fine, whatever. Be the party pooper you always are.” She huffs before turning down the hall and slamming the door behind her when gets to her room.

I blink at the doorknob as her words sear into my chest. I question even interrupting until another giggle pierces my eardrums.

I’m precarious with the way I approach the cracked door and peer in. Noah and the girl from the party, Kassidy, next to each other on the bed with open textbooks and notebooks littered about. They’re laughing at something but all I can focus on is her hand on his thigh. An odd twist forms in my abdomen, somewhere between my ribs and my gut. It makes me feel sick, like I ate some gas station sushi.

My knuckle taps on the door and creaks it open. “Hey.”

“Oh, hey Nick!” Noah seems surprised to see me but not necessarily upset by my presence, which for some reason eases the knot in my chest. “I heard a door slam did-”

It’s not until the blonde waves at me with the hand that’s not glued to Noah’s thigh that I realize the anger staining my fingertips.

“Noah, can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask through a fake smile.

“Sure.” He nods, “Be right back, Kass.”

Once the bedroom door clicks behind him, I feel myself begin to unravel.

“Does my mom know you’re bringing girls home?” I question, my voice coming out much harsher than intended.

“No…?” He answers. “I figured I would just do what we always did with each other? Sneak in.”

“Okay well, I don’t appreciate you bringing girls into my room. Please tell me you guys didn’t do anything in my bed.” The words shoot from me, quick and sharp, like acid bullets.

His face falls and I see the light behind his warm eyes dim.

My

Fuck

I regret the words the second I realize my mistake. Though I suppose on some level, deep down, I knew that the word choice would hurt him, but I said it anyway.

I said it anyway.

I was so upset that I said it anyway.

“No?” He replies sounding a bit offended at the accusation, even though it’s not out of the realm of possibility. “I wouldn’t do that in your bed.”

The impulse to lash back is there, bubbling just under my skin, but I have no reason to be angry. No valid, explainable reason. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Lie.

“Right.” Noah says softly but with a slight edge. “Well, I” He thumbs over his shoulder. “Um, she was just about to leave so.”

“Okay.” I reply quietly, suddenly overwhelmed with an odd mixture of anger and guilt.

-

While Noah escorts the girl out to say goodbye, I begin tidying up the room. Noah is pretty clean thankfully, so the room itself is clean, but I can’t shake the feeling of something oddly foreign within the four walls. The room suddenly feels so dirty and the taste on my tongue is sour like expired milk. My eyes land on the bed sheets and my stomach feels like I had drank expired milk – maybe 3 whole gallons of it. My mind struggles to account for the food I had eaten today but fails. Surely that is the reason for my abrupt nausea.

Before I can even process my actions, my fingers hungrily latch onto the bed sheets, snapping each fitted corner off the mattress. Heavy textbooks and pens hit the floor with a loud crash.

Despite having just washed them, I’m absolutely positive that they’re filthy.

Maybe they smelled too much like stagnant laundry this morning

Maybe they were making me itchy last night

Maybe I developed an allergy to our detergent

Maybe it’s been too warm and I soaked them in sweat

Or maybe I just want to clean the fucking sheets.

“Oh,” Noah’s gentle voice startles me from the doorway. His eyes trail up from the mess on the floor to the balled-up sheets beneath my palms. “Um, did I accidentally get highlighter on them or something?”

“Nope.” I’m quick to answer. “Just wanna wash ‘em.”

His brows furrow still looking at where my hands keep the shape of the large sphere of material. “Oh. Um, well. I just washed them like 2 or 3 days ago?”

“It’s fine, I just want to wash them again.” I respond shortly.

“Okay… well, let me do it then.” He crosses the space between us going for the sheets but I pull away.

“No. I got them, thanks.” I avoid him by swerving around his thin body and head towards the door.

 “Well, what can I do? I could mop again or… reorganize the fridge? Or…” He trails off, not being able to come up with much else.

“No, Noah. It’s Stella’s turn to mop and who the fuck offers to reorganize a fridge?” I snap at him from the doorway, “You don’t need to be cleaning the house 24/7, okay?”

His eyes falter but he nods “Oh, sorry, I um, I just wanna be doing my part. You know… earn my keep and all that? I just… wanna help.”

My face softens and the tight muscles in my shoulders ease. I feel guilt all over again. 

I sigh. “I’m sorry – I just - I just had a bad week with school and with the shop and,” I pause. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, okay?”

He nods and the edges of his mouth upturn ever so slightly into a tight-lipped smile. “Okay.” He pauses, fidgeting with his fingers. “Sorry about Kassidy. I should’ve asked.” He says quietly while his eyes drop to his anxious hands.

The tips of my fingers curl into the sheets a bit, a stream of… frustration maybe?  shoots through my veins. “It’s okay. I just don’t want my mom to get mad.”

A half lie.

“Right.”

When I turn to leave, he stops me, “Oh – I wanted to ask you something?”

My eyes widen while still turned away from him. A chill rolls up my spine at the realization that we’ve barely spoken since yesterday morning, when his hand was around my cock.

“Um sure, what’s up?” I turn back to him cautiously.

“Well, the fair is in town this weekend, I thought we could go? You know, me, you and Folio?”

I smile at him, relieved it wasn’t about something else. “Sure, sounds fun.”

-Friday Night-

When Folio comes to pick us up, I immediately regret agreeing to carpool. The passenger side door flings open with yet another blonde in the front seat. This one a bit more of a natural, darker blonde and not nearly as bobblehead-like. She looks vaguely familiar, maybe she was one of the wannabe sorority girls from the frat party.

I sigh when I glance over to my busted blue car that’s been acting up every morning since the cold weather’s been getting closer.

The girl smiles wide at us and gets out so we can fold her chair to get to the backseat.

We squeeze our way to the back and naturally, Noah’s mile-long limbs take up most of the room.

The thick distinctive stench of paper-wrapped nicotine coats the cracking plastic of his car doors and the pungent aroma of $10-per-gram weed oozes from the stained beige seats.

Even though Nick brought his ‘friend’, I feel decent about the fair tonight. I mean these are the things we should be doing, right? Going out is what college kids do.

The girl hands back a plastic bottle wrapped in brown paper and Noah hungrily takes it.

“Vodka.” She says simply with a dazed smile.

“Cool.” Noah grins, though I know he’s never tasted pure vodka in his life.

He puts the bottle to his lips and tips it back, immediately scrunching his face in disgust at the taste. If it was just us, I know he would’ve spit it out.

He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, “Not bad.” He lies straight through his teeth.

Noah tips the bottle offering it to me. I shake my head and wave it off, “No, I’m good thanks.”

“Oh, c’mooonn Nick, don’t be a wuss.” Noah whines.

“Yeah Nick, loosen up! Have some fun!” Folio perks up from the driver's seat and watches me in the rearview mirror.

The last time he told me to “loosen up”, he ended up floundering in a lake so it hardly has an enticing ring to it.

“No really.” I reaffirm. “Not for me.”

Noah tsk’s and rolls his eyes, “You’re no fun.”

The words hit me square in the chest and my ribs mold around the letters like playdoh.

You’re no fun.

They’re simple words. Logically, I know they’re mostly a joke. Yet, they burn like a lit match colliding with white paper.

You’re no fun.

We’ve been friends for a long time. Long enough to sit in boring silence scrolling on our phones comfortably for hours. But now I’m no fun because I won’t drink out of a foreign bottle?

The searing in my lungs forces my hand to reach and snatch the bottle from him abruptly. I don’t think, I just do. I take the bottle to my lips and tilt my head back with scrunched-closed eyes. I chug, better he did and better than the girl, until the scorching of my throat gets too much.

I shove the bottle back at him, now an extra quarter empty. His face and every other face in the car seem shocked, eyes wide with slightly dropped jaws.

“What?” I hiss and let out a vodka-singed burp. “You told me to have fun.”

--

Nick’s wheels roll to a halt in the dirt of the fair’s extended parking. The crowded car disperses faster than I anticipated, leaving me alone in the empty car. I stumble out of my seat and precariously steady myself in the dirt to scan the parking lot for the group. The four of them are already ahead of me, nearly halfway to the entrance. Their laughter carries in the wind all the way back over to me. 

Once I catch up, I trail behind them quietly. My hands stuffed in my pockets and my Vans kicking up dry dirt, just trying to focus on walking in a straight line. 

As we approach the ticketing office, my heart plummets to my stomach when I see two familiar girls standing at the gate waiting for us. 

I should’ve known.

“Nicholas, you remember Brooke, right?” Noah grins and gestures to the carbon copy of every other sorority girl on campus.

“Yeah. Hey.”

That’s when I notice the delay in my words and the lag between my fingertips as I wave to her. And as we buy our tickets and make our way into the fair, I catch the warmth all over my skin and the growing numbness in my lips.

I think I’m drunk. Really drunk. 

 --

We make a solid lap around the entire park – picking up random snacks here and there, some fried oreos, a shared funnel cake, slushees, and more I can’t even remember. All the fried food mixed with the couple spin-y rides and the alcohol sloshing in my stomach, I was more than ready for an actual meal. I convinced everyone on hotdogs since it’s the cheapest food here and I’d already spent a good chunk of my tip money on ride tickets and overpriced junk food.

When we reach the window of the hotdog stand we’re met with a familiar face.

“Bryan!” Exclaims Folio, excited to see his fraternity mentor.

As always, Bryan looks about as thrilled as a mother of toddler triplets after a candy bender.

“Trout.” He replies unenthusiastically with his monotone cadence matching the deep sleep-deprived purple beneath his eyes.

Normally I would’ve giggled at Folio’s ridiculous nickname but my body was too focused on sustenance.  

“Two hotdogs and fries please.” I skip past the rest of the indecisive group.

“We’re out of fries.” He replies flatly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He just shrugs, unbothered.

“Fine. Just the hotdogs then.” I huff.

“Coming right up.” He feigns enthusiasm.

The rest of the group place their orders and I can’t help but find amusement in how comical Bryan looks. He’s uniformed in a hotdog themed apron and a silly hotdog visor.

We finally make our way to a painted blue picnic table that sits off to the side away from the busy crowd. I’m grateful for the small respite from the overwhelming, overstimulating chatter.

I fucking hate hotdogs. Usually.

But the minute that meat and bread combo meets my tastebuds, it is as though heaven itself found home in my mouth.

The rest of table fades out as I devour my food and it is only when I’ve finished my 2nd dog that start regaining consciousness. I glance over at the boys who are in the midst of telling some story that’s got all the girls laughing.

My eyes land on Kassidy. She’s giggling at every single thing Noah says and he’s looking at her like she hung the moon. 

No matter how tacky or annoying she is, she’s still objectively beautiful – beautiful in a way I could never be.

The way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, makes me want long blonde hair too. When she bats her fake lashes at him, it makes me wish mine were longer. Her nails adorned with white tips suddenly make my nailbeds feel bare. The foundation caked on her face reminds me of the breakout I have on my cheek and the stubble growing beneath my nostrils. All at once I’m disappointed with every bit of myself that isn’t like her.

A fleeting moment of curiosity passes pondering if this is what it feels like to question your gender. It had never crossed my mind to be anything other than male, nothing else I ever desired. I’ve never felt like I was in the wrong body or anything of the sort – so, I don’t quite think that’s what I’m feeling now.

Maybe I just envy her existence or how confident she is. Maybe I find her attractive? It’d be kinda shitty if I found her attractive, seeing as she’s Noah’s date and I’m here with Brooke. I don’t think it’s that either, since I can barely tolerate either of them.

Perhaps I’m just drunk and confused.

I must just be drunk and confused.

Once the food settles in my tummy, I feel significantly better, a little nauseous still but better nonetheless. My buzz has fizzled, but the tips of my fingers still tingle and words are still hard.

I quietly use a leftover bun to move around a glob of ketchup as entertainment. Noah’s always been the social one, he’s always been the connections, the glue. So, it’s no surprise that he’s captured the attention of the whole table, filling the air with collective drunken giggles. Normally though, he helps nudge me gently into conversations. He helps me not stay silent like I am now. It’s fine though, I don’t have much to contribute since they have all these inside jokes from their study group.

I snap out of my daze when I hear Folio crunch a coke can in his hand as he gets up from the table. There’s an emptiness beside me I hadn’t felt til now – Brooke is gone.

My gaze follows the group as they get up from the table to bring their trash to the overflowing garbage can.

“Where did Brooke go?” I ask to the general conglomerate, most of which pay no mind to me.

“She left to go meet up with some other friends.” Noah replies, his tone suggests that he’s downplaying the situation. I’m sure she wasn’t having fun with a half-drunk silent boy.

‘You’re no fun’ rings in my head from earlier in the car.

2 things I’ve learned from tonight are:

1 – eat hotdogs when drunk.

2 – pretending to be “fun” is really fucking exhausting.

“Oh.” I say quietly, matching their actions by tossing my flimsy paper plate and Dr. Pepper can into the trash.

“We’re heading towards the bigger rides, if you want to come.” He turns and follows the rest of the group through some carnival game tents.

‘If you want to’ I mimic him in my head.

No I don’t fucking want to but I was driven here and I’m stranded.

“Yeah.” I mumble and quickly jog to meet them ahead of me.

--

The others made their way to the short ferris wheel line after I insisted it was okay to leave me behind. I sure as fuck didn’t want to sit in a pod alone or 3rd wheel on one of their’s.

I watch Noah and Kassidy’s pod reach and stop at the peak of the small ferris wheel, I don’t know why I’m watching but my body is rooted where I stand. Upon it’s a slow descent down, I see it.

His hand cupping her face. Their lips locked.

It’s not a decision I make until their pod locks at the gate and they’re being let out. My foot swivels in the dirt, kicking up dying grass as I try to dip around various family-owned booths for cover. As feared, I hear him calling from behind. I knew I had messed up by making a run for it so late.

“Nicholas!”

His calling only makes my legs move faster – I’m not sure exactly why I’m running or what good it’ll do, just that I need to get as far away from him as possible.

He catches up to me faster than I was prepared for. Fall leaves crunch beneath his worn-out Converse. “Where are you going?” He asks and before I even turn around to see him, I know the look on his face. The same look that I can’t seem to ever say no to – the one that breaks my back just to make me bend to him.

I sigh and turn to him. “Noah, I’m going home.”

“What! Why?”

And there it was. Big, round, puppy dog eyes full of decadent chocolate so sweet it could rot the teeth right out of your skull - paired with pouted lips that demand pity and restitution.

“I’m not having fun. I don’t want to be here.”

“What? You told me you wanted to go to the fair?” He questions with curved eyebrows.

“No. I didn’t. You invited me. You told me that I wanted to go. You tricked me into being on a triple date I didn’t want to be on.” My arm gesturing towards the fair.

“Well, c’mon we can still make it fun! We can just get some more ride tickets and-” He grabs the sleeve of my flannel and tugs at it towards the fair.

I yank my arm back so hard it nearly pulls him back with it, “No you’re not listening to me Noah. I don’t want to be here. Why do you continue to bring me places that you KNOW I won’t like?”

“We’ve been to the fair a million times, Nick.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yeah! With just us! Not with three random fucking girls!” The churning in my chest begins to spit drunken thoughts out without filters.

His brows knit together in confusion. “They’re not random girls Nicholas, and I really thought you’d hit it off with Brooke-”

“Oh my god, why the fuck would you think I’d get along with her? Just because she’s got tits and ass? Sorry, I’m not you, I need a little more than that.” I scoff.

“Well, I-I don’t know just thought you’d want-”

“Augh!” I groan and pace a tiny lap around the grass. “Can you stop assuming you know what I do or don’t want?”

“So, let me get this straight. You don’t want to go to parties, or the fair, or hang out with girls… normal college stuff, you don’t want?”

My heart pounds hard against my eardrums and my fingers burn with frustration. My fists tighten at my sides and my jaw clenches, digging each row of teeth into the other. Molten lava threatens to spill from my throat.

“No, Noah. I guess I don’t want ‘normal college stuff’, I don’t fucking like alcohol and I don’t even know if I like girls!”

My yelled words tumbled from my mouth so easily I didn’t even realize I said anything that odd until Noah’s eyes widen.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

“What?” Noah asks softly and genuinely with his head tilted slightly.

“I-I,” I stumble back, accidentally hitting an oak tree behind me. “I’m- I just need to go home.”

“Nick.” His hands stretch out to grab my arm as I turn to leave but he’s a millisecond too late. “Nick!” He calls after me.

Every bit of adrenaline available in my body propels me forward, past all the booths, all the rides, and through all the neighboring forest. When my feet finally find asphalt, my head feels like a basketball on a player’s fingertip. My eyes widen at a sharp turn in my stomach. I analyze my surroundings in a split second, running towards a lamp post for support. The moment my palm touches the cold metal, I double over and empty the contents of my stomach onto the concrete. The funnel cake, the cotton candy, the fried Oreos, the slushees, and the goddamn fucking hotdogs all found home the sidewalk.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

Why would I say that?

Is that true?

Do I not like girls?

Of course, I like girls.

I wobble over to a bench and sit on the cool wood. The weather’s a lot colder now that the sun has set, and I regret not bringing a proper jacket.

I like girls. I know I like girls. Right?

I mean, I’ve been jerking off to girls… this whole time? So, if I didn’t like girls, why would I do that?

I like girls.

Only.

I like girls.

Right?

I shake my head of the thoughts spinning faster than I can even grasp.

The dim light of the street lamp flickers and it occurs to me that it’s almost 10 pm and I have no idea where I am or how to get home.

Fuck.

Pulling my location up in my Maps app tells me that I’m still fairly close to the fair, which unfortunately means I’m pretty far from home. Tears begin prickling in my eyes and a tight knot forms in my throat.

The weight of the night crashes down onto me all at once.

The “you’re no fun”

The fucking hot dogs

The “she went to meet other friends”

The “if you want to”

The ferris wheel

The “I don’t even know if I like girls”

“Fuck.” My voice cracks as tears take hostage of my cheeks.

My body doubles over, folding in on itself to bury my face in my hands.

I’m drunk, I had a shit night, I left my best friends at the fair and now I’m stranded on some random street.

Even through my own heaving, a brief pang of guilt shoots in my stomach for leaving Noah behind.

He wanted to have a good night, perhaps I ruined it. 

In the past, I would’ve stayed feeling guilty because I knew for a fact that if the roles were reversed, he’d come back to find me. But now, I’m not so sure. I don’t think he’d leave Kassidy for anyone or anything.

Not even me.

My palms try to stave off the tears by digging into my eye sockets.

“Fuck, okay. I need to get it together.” I say out loud to myself, letting out a deep exhale. “What the fuck am I gonna do.”

Both of my only friends are still at the fair.

Mom is at work.

So that leaves me with…

Stella.

“Shit.”

I unwillingly pull myself from the bench and begin to pace back and forth taking fast but deep breaths. I ring out my hands out, trying to expel any sort of panic from them. The last thing I need is for her to see me like this.

Finally, once I’ve composed myself, I dig my phone out of my pocket and click her contact name “Snot”.

It rings for a little bit too long and I almost hang up just before she answers.

“Hello?” She asks a little louder than necessary, shortly after I hear a flood of giggles in the background. Her sleepover.

“Hey.” I barely get out without my voice cracking.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asks with concern lacing her voice. There’s the sound of a door closing behind her, shutting out the chatter.

“Oh um-“ My tone pitched up and I feel tears welling up in my eyes again. If the rest of tonight’s events weren’t enough, here I am making a fool out of myself to my little sister. “I forgot about your sleepover. It's fine – I’ll just walk home or something.”

“Walk home? Where are you?”

I swallow the knot in my throat trying to keep my voice level, normal and calm but my pause is long and loud.

“I-I,” My eyes squeeze shut pushing as much of my tears out. “I don’t know.”

“Did you drink?”

The back of my hand roughly wipes my nose. “Yes.”

“Are you with Noah?” Her voice is gentle and kind and reminds me of how our mother would talk to us when we scraped our knees.

I sniffle and my voice threatens to break once more. “No.”

“Okay.” She states as if she just got handed a checklist of effortless tasks. “The girls were just about to go home.” I know that’s a lie. “Drop me a pin and I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks Stell.” I reply quietly.

“Of course.”

--

It took about 20 minutes for Stella to pick me up in my own car.

My arms wrap around my shivering body and my head rests on the window as I watch the streetlights zoom past us. Her speed is inconsistent, fast in short bursts then slow in long drags. Her stops are jerky and her turns wide. If this was an early Tuesday school morning, she wouldn’t be able to stop my mouth from rambling off critiques. But tonight, opening my mouth seems more dangerous than her driving.

“So. Do you wanna talk about what happened?” She cuts through the silence unapologetically, like opening a crisp can of Coke in a dead, silent room.

I shake my head.

“C’mon. You can’t really expect me to pick you up in the middle of nowhere at midnight without any context?” She patters her fingertips on the steering wheel and glances over at me. “Did something happen with Noah? Did you get into a fight?”

“Something like that.” I mutter.

She squints her eyes and kind of tilts her head to the side. “You guys never fight?”

“Well.” I reply bluntly. “Things change, I guess.” The fabric of the seat cover stretches as I shift. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

The gears spin in her head, I can almost see them. “Weird.” She mumbles under her breath. “Was it about a girl?”

“I said I’m done answering questions.”

“Sheesh, okay.” She says defensively.

Silence fills every empty space in the car. I’m not sure I’ve ever been uncomfortable around my sister before, but I certainly am now. It’s a new feeling, something I want to run and hide from. My knee bounces nervously as my mind cycles through everything that happened tonight. Regardless of anxiety and confusion twisting my organs into pretzels, I fear that if I don’t say what’s chanting in my head right now, I could explode.

“I told Noah that I don’t even know if I like girls.” I blurt out with extreme urgency, as if I didn’t get it out now, I never would.

Her eyes widen a bit but they stay focused on the road. My heart thumps hard against my chest threatening to jump right out.

“Okay.” She says calmly but cautiously. “And why did you say that?”

“I-I don’t know.” I let the weight of my body finally relax and sink into the seat. “You’ve known me my whole life. Do you think that I… might not only like girls?”

She turns to me at a red light and the face she gives me reminds me of when she was 4 and I was 7, when I speculated that Santa might not be real. Without a second thought she replied, “Of course he’s not real, silly.”

Even at 4 years old she was smarter than me.

“I think that might be a question you have to figure out yourself, Nick. I can’t tell you what you do or don’t like.”

I huff, suddenly frustrated that I couldn’t hand off such a complex task onto someone else – that I couldn’t have someone else give me a quick, solid, factual answer.

“I guess you’re right.” I mumble. 

She returns her focus to the road and lets out a little sigh. “Do you remember when we were little? And we liked Power Rangers?”

“…Yeah?” I reply confused as to what exactly Power Rangers has to do with my sexuality.

“Well, I remember the first time we watched it - and you thought it was so stupid.”

“No I didn’t? I loved Power Rangers?” 

“No.” She corrects me. “At first, when it was just us, you thought it was dumb. But then all your friends started liking it and suddenly you did too. You even wanted to be the red one for the group costume that Halloween, remember?”

“Okay… and? What are you getting at?”

“I can’t tell you what you are or aren’t, Nick. But you’re right - I have known you my whole life. And I know that sometimes you change things about yourself to, I don’t know… not make waves? Not stand out? To fit in? I don’t know your reasoning and I don’t know if that’s what you did with this. But… just something to think about I guess?”

My fingers tap at my knee in thought. I don’t really remember that specific component, only that I had Power Ranger shirts and bedsheets. I remember playing with the figures on the playground with friends and running around the neighborhood with them on Halloween as the Red Ranger. If I was having fun, does it really matter if I didn’t actually like Power Rangers? 

“Yeah… I guess it’s something to think about.” I let out a deep sigh. “How’d you get so smart anyway?”

She shoots me a smile, “I learned from the best.”

“Nope, definitely not me. That was all Mom.”

“Who did you think I meant?” She smirks.

“Ha-ha so funny.” I roll my eyes with a toothy grin, finally feeling the tiniest sliver of ease enter my body.

The relaxation slipped from me as quickly as it arrived. “Please don’t um, tell her…or anyone that we talked about this – especially Noah.”

“You got it. I would never.”

I somehow feel relieved yet terrified of what I’ve just divulged to her.

“Do you wanna get donuts from that 24-hour place? And maybe some water for your inevitable hangover?”

“God yes please.” My thumbs rub circles into my throbbing temples. “And a burger please, jesus I need a burger. And fries, I need fries more than air right now.”

“Fiiine, McDonalds too, I guess.”

“Thanks, Stell.” I say soft and genuine.

“Of course, Nick.”

I smile kindly at her. Tomorrow I’ll probably regret everything I said and did tonight but right now, I’m getting junk food with my sister at midnight and the world is quiet. Everything feels okay, even if it only lasts until the end of my Mcdonald’s.

I wave Stella goodnight as she walks into her room. With a twist of my doorknob, I open my door and my feet halt in their tracks. My swollen eyes widen at the last thing I expected to be in my room.

“What are you doing here?” I question before I can even really gauge my own reaction.

Noah sits on the edge of the bed still in the same outfit from the fair.

“I went looking for you.” His brown eyes find mine and it makes my chest ache the same way it did earlier on the bench.

“You did?” My square shoulders soften briefly before straightening back up again. “And why would you do that?” I snap at him.

The space between his brows burrows slightly, seemingly confused by my harsh response. “Well, I-I,” He presses his lips together while his fingers pick at his nails. “I was worried about you.”

My eyes dart down to the carpet and try to ignore the way my heart swells at his words. I swallow hard and curl my fists at my sides. “Well, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

“Oh okay…” He trails off and lets his gaze drop to his fiddling hands and bouncy leg. “I just wanted to make sure, I guess.”

“Okay well, you’ve made sure. Now I really just wanna go to bed, if that’s okay with you.” I cross all of the two feet from the doorway to my dresser and forcefully yank the top drawer open.

He carefully lifts from the bed and meets me where I dig for clothes. “Nicholas.” His voice is gentle and full of concern, but no matter how much it should comfort me it just fans the flames of my resentment.

“What now, Noah.” I sigh harshly and turn to him.

“What did you mean at the fair?”

After the food adventures I had with Stella, it had almost erased what I had said from my memory. Too bad it couldn’t have done that to him too. I was really banking on him being too drunk to even remember. But I should know better than that – Noah and his very selective memory.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign confidence and turn back away from him to focus on finding PJs. My chest and limbs fill with a feeling similar to sitting in the waiting room of a principal’s office. Suddenly, I’m small and the room triples in size while the oxygen rapidly depletes.

“You know what I’m talking about Nick.” His fingers gently grab my arm to turn my attention to him again. “Do you… not like girls? Do you think you’re-”

“Gah! No!” I all but spit out. The thought of what he was about to say makes me want to vomit all over again. “No, I’m not…that.”

“O-oh, okay…but if you were, you know you could tell me, right? You know you can tell me anything, like we’ve always done.” His voice is quiet and tender, even through the vodka I can still smell on his breath.

“Oh my god Noah.” I grasp at the air in frustration. “No. I just said it to, to throw you off. So you’d let me go, so you’d leave me the fuck alone.”

“Oh.” His hand slips from my arm and he takes a step away from me.

If this was any other night, after any other event, I would apologize, minimize it, and say that I’m just having a bad night. But it’s not any other night and I don’t have enough energy in my entire body to make more excuses.

My fingers dig into the bundle of PJs I hold, and my stare stays straight on his chest. “I just, want to take a shower and go to bed. Okay?”

“Right.” He sucks his teeth and nods. “Okay, enjoy your shower then.”

“I will, thanks.” I reply blandly, shoving the overflowing drawer closed.

-

The world seems much lighter now that the thick layer of carnival muck, the remnants of alcohol and vomit were washed down the drain. I scrunch my hair with a terry cloth towel while I walk to my room from the shower.

I’m confused to find my door cracked open with the big light still shining through the door. I spent almost an hour trying to get all the grime off and let the water ease the pulsing in my head. Surely, Noah wouldn’t still be up, it’s almost 3 am.

I quietly creak the door open to find the bed empty.

“Huh?” I whisper to myself and make my way over to the disheveled bed. Noah’s nowhere to be found, but instead there’s a plushy on his pillow. I hook my finger through the plastic carabiner attached to it and lift it to my eyeline. It’s a stuffed tuxedo cat with sunglasses that look similar to the knockoff RayBans I usually wear.

I look back at the pillow and notice there was a note beneath it. I pick it up and unfold it with the cat dangling on my pinky. 

‘Saw this at the fair and thought of you. 

Went to stay over at Kassidy’s so, you can have your room back for the night.

-N’

The breath that escapes from deep in my torso seems to deflate me completely. I knew the slip of up of my words the other day hurt him, more than I thought. A vine of thorns wraps around my throat, each guilt-drenched spike digs into my windpipe. He left because of me.

I take a precarious seat on the edge of the bed, holding each item in each hand. My palm aches to crush the note in my fingers but my eyes burn with salty tears too. All while the cat swells my chest in the saddest way possible. How could someone feel so many things at once? 

I have no screams, no yells, no sobs left in me and my body begs for rest. I can’t let myself wallow in whatever this is, how could I make sense of it now? When my brain is so hazy and my eyes are so sleepy. 

I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tiny bit of tears left in my eyes and set the note and the stuffed kitty on my bedside table. The bed creaks when I bury my knee into the mattress and let myself fall to the middle. 

The bed feels colder and emptier without him in it, but right now I’m not sure this is where I want him to be. 

I reach up to tug the lamp light off and pull the duvet around my shivering body. 

After about 20 mins of stirring with no hope of falling asleep, I give in and just stare into the stillness of the room. My eyes finally adjust to the darkness and start making a sort of mental inventory list counting all of the items scattered around my room that aren’t mine. I try to remember what the room looked like before he moved in, but I can’t.

While there are growing pains, I can’t imagine my room without him in it anymore. He’s tangled himself into the very essence of the space. 

Drawing my gaze across the room, I land on the kitty he’d gotten for me at the fair. I reach across the space and bring it to the bed, placing it in his spot. 

It fills a tiny void in the vast emptiness of the bed and for about 15 minutes I cling to the minor comfort it brings, believing it might help me fall asleep. 

I let out a frustrated sigh. The heaviness of the night drops onto my shoulder blades and finds refuge beneath my eyes. Once again a venomous coil tightens itself around my ribs.

It is mostly confusion that I feel, the only factor I can distinctly pick out. 

The only other one I can somewhat recognize is, loneliness. 

I glance back over to the cat and it dawns on me the possible reason I can't fall asleep. My fingertips tap rhythmically against the mattress cycling through my options until I find one. 

I wrap my thick duvet around my body and grab my pillow before shuffling down the hall. I gently tap my knuckle against her door then crack it open just a bit.

“Stella.” I whisper-yell into her room. “Stella.”

She shifts in her bed and cracks one eye open at me. “Hm?” She groans sleepily.

I let myself in and scuffle across the carpet to her bedside. “Can I sleep on your floor?” I request in a hush. 

“What? Why?” Her brows knit together with her eyes barely open. “What’s wrong with your bed?”

I chew on my bottom lip searching my brain for an answer that makes any sense but there’s only one. 

“It’s empty.” 

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Thank you for the support on this series and on my other series, Virality. I appreciate it more than you know. I love reading your comments and asks. I am incredibly grateful for them, thank you.

#i have edited this so many times and it got so long #sorry if there’s errors or is bad idk 😭 #im honestly just really sick of editing and looking at it #longest chapter i’ve ever written for any of my series-es ever #as always lots of plot lots of dialogue #concreteburialplot works #intertwined series #nicholas ruffilo fanfic #nicholas ruffilo fic #nick ruffilo fanfiction #noah x nick #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo #nicholas ruffilo smut #noah x nicholas #noah x nicholas fanfic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic

[bestiesenpai]

Chef Getou

Yes i have watched the bear thank you for asking (i have also worked in kitchens before please respect me), fem reader in the way you are referred to as miss and daughter. All the dishes & names of people are from actual michelin star restaurants around the world

10.3k words

Your hands shook with excitement, practically falling down as you tried to stop yourself from sprinting to the restaurant. You’d been called by the executive chef himself to work at his esteemed restaurant; he already had one Michelin star under his belt and he was hungry for another as his letter said.

“Ah, you must be Miss (Y/N).” The maître d’ greeted you at the door, her hair tied back in a tight bun. “Right this way.” Swiftly turning, she didn’t check back to see if you were following her. Rushing to keep pace with her, you looked around the dining area quickly. It was lit with undoubtedly expensive hanging lights with some well placed candles on the tables. Sparkling silverware and intricately folded napkins atop glazed stoneware sat on the tables and a light scent wafted through the air, one of baked goods and something fruity.

Going around a corner, you entered the kitchen, immediately nudged to the side and back against the wall. The kitchen was bright, sterile almost from how clean it was - but also heavy with tense silence. Every worker stood at attention around the perimeter of the kitchen, all of them focused on the chef before them, someone you instantly recognized.

“So, tell me again what this is.” Getou spoke, his voice so calm it raised goosebumps on your arm. His hair was tied back in a tight bun and gripped tightly in his fingers was a spoon, a scoop of sorbet sitting atop it. It came from the small glass dish to his side, decorated with a mint leaf and a small slice of lemon.

“It’s- it’s a coupe colonel…” The person standing before him looked tiny in front of him. They were cowering in their spot, fingers twitching at their side but unable to move even an inch away from his deadly stare.

“Really? Because it tastes like absolute shit to me!” Letting the spoon clatter loudly onto the counter, Getou picked up the glass dish and held it between them. “You mean to look me in the eye and tell me that this is the coupe colonel I asked for? Where is the flavor, the tartness? And did you make this vodka in the fucking toilet? Tell me, answer me seriously now.”

“I’m sorry sir, I truly am. I can remake-”

“Not in this kitchen.” Taking a staggeringly deep breath, he put the glass down and looked at it with disgust. “You’ll never make another coupe colonel in this kitchen. Now,” Letting his eyes wander the room, he briefly looked at you before looking in front of him, “Go make something else for tonight or consider yourself out.”

No one dared move until Getou did, no one dared take a breath too loud until he did; they were all waiting for his next decision. Standing straight up, he closed his eyes for a moment to let his heart steady before snapping his fingers twice. And just like that, the hold he had on everyone broke and they scattered like rats back to their stations.

“You.” Getou came right up to you, excusing the maître d’ with a wave of his hand.

“Hello Chef.” Nodding quickly, you found yourself unable to hold eye contact with him.

“Do you know what a coupe colonel is?”

“I do?” Your brow furrowed for a moment.

“What do you think of it?”

“Personally?” Raising a brow, Getou gave you a slight nod of confirmation. “Not enough vodka for me.”

“I won’t have you make it either then; I want my guests happy, not drunk from a little sorbet.” Getou cracked a smile, the only indication he had any emotion before his face settled back down. “I trust you know my name and I yours.”

“Yes Chef.” It was disappointing Getou didn’t say your name, it worried you that maybe he hadn’t remembered it all and that he called you here as a joke.

“Good. Follow me.” He walked through the kitchen with ease, glancing over line cooks shoulders and offering quick tips. “It’s good to see you got the uniform, a few more should be delivered to your new place of residence soon.” Coming to a stop in front of a freshly cleaned station, Getou pat the counterspace. “This will be for you when you’re ready.”

“Ready?” You’d already studied the menu and practiced making the dishes, even going back to previous restaurants Getou had been at and trying those as well.

“Yes. I need to make sure my choice wasn’t a mistake.” Getou pointed back to the front of the kitchen. “You will be with me, you’ll take notes and maybe take over as the aboyeur for a time.”

“Okay Chef.” Nodding, you felt your shoulders sag a little as your hopes dashed away. You’d been called here to be a sous chef and impress Getou, make him happy that he invited you to be here.

The rest of prep time was spent trailing Getou, getting to know all the other staff and where everything was. The pastry chef was quiet, looked tired and was so dedicated to his craft he was always the first person there. Under him was a baker, a young boy surprisingly passionate about bread making. And standing off to the side was the poor chef glacier who had gotten scolded in front of everyone.

Going through the restaurant, it was surprising to see how much space there was. A station for entremetiers, grillardin, a butcher and more. Seeing how many stations there were gave you peace in a way, there would be so many people to learn from and possibly make friends with.

“Everyone, front.” Getou announced, taking long strides to stand at the head of the long countertop at the front of the kitchen. A chorus of yes’s followed and it took less than a minute and a half for everyone to be lined up and looking at him.

“As you hopefully saw, we have someone new joining us today.” He gave a brief motion to you and your mouth opened to introduce yourself, but no chance came. “This is (Y/N). She will be my new sous chef in due time, but for now she will be calling orders with me.” No one spoke as he continued to speak about the dinner menu and what high brow guests to expect. Getou didn’t mince words, calling out certain stations that were not up to his par or praising some that were.

“Alright that’s it. Get out of my sight and get ready for tonight.”

“Yes Chef.” Everyone spoke in unison, their feet carrying them just a bit faster to their stations. Looking at the clock on the wall, there was only five minutes before service started. Getou was writing things down on a notepad, crossing lines out on a guest list and writing down food substitutions for a few stations.

“Three, two, one. It’s time.” Getou announced, clapping his hands loudly. Everything happened all at once: the sound of searing meat, sauce cooking in a pan, bottles of wine being uncorked and glasses already being run out to guests. Spotting your somewhat nervous expression, Getou nudged you. “Try to keep up, okay?”

“Chef.” Someone walked up, holding out a small dish of gazpacho.

“Delicious, add a touch more goat cheese and a dash of salt.”

“Yes Chef, thank you.” And away they were, going back into the fray.

“Monkfish filet for tables one and five. Table two has specifically ordered the lobster to be, in his words, ‘smothered in brown butter atop a smattering of potatoes and with a bottle of the finest cabernet sauvignon the sommelier has to offer’.”

“Red? Are you serious?” The sommelier, an older gentleman that you’d learned was named Guillaume, dramatically slumped over. “I have told him time and again- no, I will go out and show him.” Without another word, Guillaume left for the dining room with a bottle of white wine in hand.

“Don’t be too harsh!” Getou’s words trailed after him with a light laugh.

“Those two have history?”

“Yeah, it’s his son.” Laughing to himself, Getou flicked his chin over to the entremetier. “Go over there and help, it appears they’ve forgotten what a monkfish is.”

“Yes Chef.” Rushing over, you quickly introduced yourself before helping slice the fish and laying it in the pan, staying to ensure it cooked right. You dared not glance over your shoulder to see if Getou was watching you, if he was you wanted to impress him with your focus.

“Chef.” The plate was presented to Getou in just a few minutes, delivered directly from you. He looked over it while still calling out orders and quirked his head.

“Why are the vegetables like that?” Fishing a spoon from his apron, Getou gave you a glance. “I wrote it to be creamy, does this look creamy to you?” Analyzing the spoonful he held up, you thought they looked fine. Your lack of answer frustrated Getou and he ate it himself.

“Call the others over.” He said, voice low and face disparaging. Collecting the people in question, you stood before him. “Tell me why you think this is acceptable?” He’d taken a bite of the monkfish and spat it out almost immediately.

“We measured the internal temperature and did everything the exact same way as the trial run.” A line cook spoke up.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Giving you a pointed look, he asked again. “(Y/N). Why do you think this is acceptable? The texture of the fish is appalling, like chewing on a tire. And these vegetables are underdone to hell yet somehow you’ve managed to burn them and try to cover up the mess with the sauce.”

“My apologies Chef, I should have watched more closely.”

“Have you ever cooked monkfish?”

“Yes.”

“And did I not request you personally to come work here?”

“You did.” His words were cold, calculated. Humiliation started to waft over you, being scolded like this especially in front of the line cooks you’d helped.

“So then why have you decided to disappoint me on your first day here?” Shoving the spoon back in his apron, Getou scoffed at the plate, a silent demand for it be taken away. “Remake it immediately.”

The line cooks left hastily, not sparing you a glance lest they be scolded as well. You were left to stand there alone, head cast down and heart beating hard. The cacophony all around you deafened for a moment as you sank into the feelings swirling around you.

“Chef, do you think the beginning of dinner service is an appropriate time to sulk?” Getou quipped, snapping near your ear before barking out an order.

“Sorry Chef.” Your apology went unnoticed, Getou had already moved onto something else. Choking down the knot in your throat, you forced yourself to continue with service. Getou was right, you couldn’t let your feelings get the best of you so quickly.

“Hands!” You cried out ten minutes later as Getou went on a bathroom break. Dishes were leaving the kitchen quickly and you could faintly hear the chatter in the dining room with the sommeliers making lively chatter about their favorite picks for the night.

“Ice cream, please!” There was no way you would send out a subpar dish, especially not after what Getou had said earlier. It was presented before you by the same chef from earlier, their ego still bruised from the coupe colonel.

“I’ve been working on this for a bit, it’s a creamy chocolate and salted butter caramel atop a peanut ice cream.” Nodding along to their words, you took a bite. It was indeed all that they had explained and you smiled slightly.

“This is delicious, send it out.” Giving them a nod, you watched the chef walk away with a smile of their own.

“Delicious?” Getou’s voice sounded from behind you, his frame coming into your peripheral vision. “Let’s see if you’re correct.” Having a taste for himself, Getou’s face held no emotion. “Tasty, yes. Mind blowing? No. The guests will like it well enough though I suppose.” Taking his list back from you, Getou resumed control of the kitchen.

“Nice work everyone.” He announced when dinner was over. There wasn’t a hair out of place on his head and although there were a few stains on his jacket, Getou looked the same as when you walked in.

“Thank you Chef.” Responding in kind, everyone began to pack up, clean their stations or begin prep for the next day.

“(Y/N).” Getou grabbed the back of your jacket, stopping you from going to help.

“Yes?” By the tone in his voice you were sure his next words wouldn’t be particularly positive. Flicking his chin, he had you follow him out into the dining area where the servers were cleaning up. Leaning against a wall near the restrooms, he let his hair down and ran a hand through the dark strands.

“What do you think of your first day here? Is it everything you dreamt of, working for me?” Getou looked at you with a neutral face, as if he could wait all day for whatever answer you had to give him and he still wouldn’t like it.

“I…think it went well.” Taking a deep breath to study yourself, you noticed the way Getou glanced away for a few seconds.

“Well? If you would like to think that way you can.”

“What do you mean?”

“I expected more from you.” You knew you didn’t want to hear his answer, knew it would be something that would hurt your feelings, knew he was disappointed in you - and yet you still asked.

“I-I’m sorry but-” He silenced you with a raise of his calloused hand, a few burn marks and knife knicks on his palm.

“How could you let the monkfish possibly get to that state? You should have been more on top of the temperature and controlled it better. And the vegetables - were you playing around with me? Think you could get one over on me, maybe trick me? I know you can cook a better piece of fucking broccoli than that.”

“Chef, I swear that wasn’t my intention.”

“And that goddamn ice cream? Anyone with a functioning palate could tell the chocolate was much too rich and the ice cream was basically chunky peanut butter.”

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. I need you to be focused and actually taste the dishes, put some thought into them and consider for a moment that if you were paying this much to dine here, would you want to be served something as subpar as what you tried to send out tonight?”

“Y-you’re right.” Fighting back embarrassed tears was the only thing you could focus on now. You kept your eyes cast to the floor, hardly taking Getou into your peripheral at all.

“Go home.” Sensing your upset mood, Getou took a step back and motioned away.

“What?” This made you look up at him with wide, scared eyes. He couldn’t be firing you already, could he?

“Your shift is over. Go home, think about today and what you can do differently tomorrow. I expect you here a bit early, we’ll go over some basics.” Taking a step to leave, Getou stopped himself. “And grow a thicker skin, will you?” With those parting words, Getou left you all alone to lean against the wall and try to collect yourself.

Driving off into the night, you waited until you were a few good blocks away before letting out a wail. Pulling over and letting the tears fall down your face and into your lap, you let go of the emotions that had welled up. Getou had told you to grow a thicker skin and you would in due time but for now this was all you wanted to do.

Eventually your crying ran out and you made it home emotionally drained and hungry. Hardly having energy to take a shower, making proper food was the last thing on your mind and your hand landed on the first thing in the cupboard: a styrofoam cup of instant noodles. Setting the pot to boil, you answered a few text messages and tried to forget about the day. Eating the noodles in a haste, you collapsed into bed in a sorry huff, letting sleep take you quickly.

Was it as difficult for the other staff to return to Getou day after day? To be subjected to his painfully neutral face and demanding voice. It seemed the only people he could even feasibly stand were the pastry chef and the sommelier, but maybe that was because both of them were older and earned their respect from Getou long ago. The glacier chef had been fired and a new one was already in their place, making a perfect coupe colonel for Getou.

You fared no better than the others, what with adjusting to a new city and having to deal with a boss that wanted such a high degree of excellence from everyone you feared it would break you. He said he wanted better from you and every day you tried to do that for him but it wasn’t enough.

“This plating on the sea bream tartare, do it over.”

“Where’s the pear on this goat cheese tartellete? You can’t have seriously forgotten.”

“Nice try (Y/N) but this pasta is far past al dente.”

Every day it was something new, something that you missed and messed up on and needed to correct. This torment lasted a week and there seemed to be no reprieve, the only indication it was getting better was when he went down from scolding you three times to two times a shift. His word choices hadn’t gotten better but they had at least eased up.

“What’re you doing here?” Coming in through the back entrance Getou was surprised to see you tucked behind a corner of the kitchen, sitting at a small table peeling potatoes from a shipment received a day ago.

“I asked the prep cooks if I could do this for them.” Taking a brief pause, you looked behind you towards the rest of the kitchen. “I just…need a break, that’s all.” Keeping quiet, Getou nodded and said nothing more, walking further into the restaurant himself. Resuming your work in silence didn’t last long, your phone interrupting you with its incessant buzzing.

“Hello?” Putting the phone on speaker, you were confused as to why your parents would be calling you now when their timezone was a few hours behind yours.

“Sweetie, you’ll never guess what we have to tell you.” Your father started, a light buzz of people behind him.

“What is it?”

“We’re here!” Both your parents said in unison, your mother clapping her hands excitedly. “I know you said not to visit you just yet but this is such an amazing opportunity for you, we couldn’t bear the wait any longer!”

“I’ve hardly been gone three weeks.” Resting your head on the table, you let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know if tonight is a good night for you guys to come.” Or any night, really.

“Nonsense, we’ll be there right as dinner service starts! Besides, this was the only time we could manage to get a dang reservation!” Chuckling to himself, your father recounted the hassle it was to try and line everything up.

“We look forward to seeing you tonight.” Nearly breaking your neck from turning so fast, your jaw fell in shock at seeing Getou standing off to the side with his hair not tied or his jacket done up.

“Honey, is that who we think it is?” Your mother whispered excitedly.

“Y-yes, it is!” Your ears were burning, scalding even as Getou laughed behind his hand. You tried to rush and turn off speakerphone before she said anything damning but Getou beat you to it and picked up the phone.

“Hello, this is Chef Getou at your service. Once again, I look forward to having you here tonight and I promise it will be a night you won’t forget.” Excited murmurs broke out between your parents while you looked on in shock.

“Th-thank you so much for this, Chef! And for hiring our daughter as well, she has always been a big fan of yours and-”

“Okay, love you both bye!” Now you were desperate to turn the phone off. Slamming it face down on the table, you thought about taking an eye out with the peeler. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” Getou could hardly contain his amused look. “Are they allergic to anything?”

“Nothing.” Peeking out from the corner of your eye, you watched Getou take out a notebook from his back pocket.

“Perfect. Quail filet with fried duck liver, orange, sherry vinegar, dried fruits and a nut crumble. I wasn’t planning on pushing this out for another few weeks but two of the restaurant's arguably most important guests will be here tonight.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” You hadn’t the heart to say that your parents weren’t the most high brow when it came to their dining choices. This was the fanciest restaurant they would be in their whole life and no way would they know how to react to such an elaborate meal.

“Of course I do, they’re your parents after all. They’re spending time and money just to come and see you, see how well you’re doing and all your hard work. It’d be a disservice to them to give any less than my best.” Getou wasn’t one to give touches of reassurance to his staff but he broke the rule for you, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “And it’s been too long since I’ve had parents to impress, I need to make sure I still got it.”

“Where are your parents?” Coming to a stand, you regretted it when Getou froze for a second.

“They passed away a long time ago when I was a teenager.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” You wanted to return the touch on the shoulder that he’d just given you but you didn’t want to risk it and push him away by being too forward.

“Don’t be, they’re in the family plot back home and I made a name for myself just like I promised them I would. They’ve funded my entire career, from my first day of culinary school all the way to now.” Taking a sharp inhale and exhale through his nose, Getou clapped his hands and turned around. “Enough about that though, we have some prep to do.”

When you were this early to the kitchen, it showed how quiet it could be; with just as much chaos and yelling there could be a time where you could hear a pin drop and know exactly where it fell. Seasoning the liver and watching Getou cut the quail out of the corner of your eye felt serene, almost like you could fall asleep to the atmosphere.

Getous face held no expression but there was a noticeable relaxation to his brows and his shoulders were lower than they usually were. He himself looked content standing over the cutting board with a look in his eyes that said there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“So, what have you told your parents about this job?” Breaking the silence, the two of you made eye contact.

“I told them it’s going great.” Nodding to yourself, there were countless times you had told them parts of the truth about how your day went while fighting back tears of frustration, numerous days you had to splash your face with cold water and calm down before video calling them and lying through your teeth.

“Makes sense. You wouldn’t want to let them know how much of a piece of shit I am.” A bark of laughter came from Getous chest tinged with bitterness.

“No you- you’re not-”

“Yes I am, you don’t have to lie to me.” Drawing out a few of the words, Getou set down his knife and turned to you. “I know I’m strict and demanding and never have anything nice to say to anyone or about the food they make. I’ve made people cry, too many to count; and I know I’ve made you cry too.”

Setting your knife down as well, you worried your lip. What could you say to that? He was right, there were plenty of nights you went to sleep hoping that he wouldn’t show up the next day or that he would get an offer from a restaurant across the world. And he was more than right about making you cry.

“I…” Struggling to find the words, you stared at quail. “You’re right about it, all of it-” he cut you off with another bitter laugh, “but I can understand it?” Shrinking under his peculiar stare, you kept going. “You went to the best culinary schools in the world, trained under the best chefs and now you have a star - aiming for another one at that. All of that time, all of that effort, I can understand why you’re so…intense about everything.”

“Intense.” Getou repeated that word, a smirk on his face. “I guess that’s one way to put it, huh?”

“I guess.” Unsure of what else to say, you let silence fall over the kitchen again. As the minutes ticked by more people started to come in and the familiar noise of the kitchen was returning.

“(Y/N).” Done with his work, Getou took a step away and looked around, seeing the familiar faces of the staff and putting his hard exterior back on. “Thanks for being honest in such a…nice way.” Tilting his head and giving you a wink, Getou was gone and walking away with not only the quail but the liver too.

Your nerves were starting to get the better of you as dinner service started to approach. Your parents were coming with such high expectations of you and the restaurant, you didn’t dare want to let them down and make them think you had to come back home.

“(Y/N).” Getou spoke to you after nearly forty-five minutes of ignoring you, not looking your way or truly speaking to you. “When your parents get here, I want you to dine with them.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind being back here.”

“Have you yourself ever eaten at one of my restaurants?”

“No.”

“Then this is the perfect night to do so. I told the maître d’ to let your parents in early so they could see the place before it got all busy.” The sudden kindness from Getou was taking you back, knocking you off your feet and making you question if he’d taken something to change his mood.

“You’re being too kind.” Shaking your head lightly, you refused to believe such a thing.

“And Guillaume will pull out the best wine we have - they do like wine, don’t they?”

“I suppose.” Truth be told, you usually found a can of beer in your fathers hand and maybe a cocktail for your mother.

“Jeez, do you know anything?” Getou teased, laughing at your glare. Seeing the mask he had on slip away for a moment, allowing you to see that he did have feelings other than discontent for his fellow man, was nice. It made a gentle bloom spring from your chest and settle warmly into your mind.

“Miss (Y/N), it appears they’re here.” With a light tap to your shoulder, the maître d’ went to open the door of the restaurant.

“There she is!” Your parents entered in their best attire, holding a gift bag in the crook of her elbow. You rushed to them, hugging and exchanging elated hellos.

“What’s this?” Attempting to reach for the bag, your mother swatted your hand away and motioned to the man you’d just left behind you.

“Sshh, not for you.” She muttered quietly, watching Getou stride over with his hands behind his back.

“Ma’am.” Outstretching a hand, Getou shook your mothers gently and kissed the back of it. “Sir.” Turning to your father, he shook his hand as well before turning and motioning to the dining room. “Welcome to my humble establishment.”

“Thank you for having us!” Your mother jumped in, holding the gift bag out to Getou. “We brought you something for giving our daughter an opportunity here. It means the world to us; all of us.” She snuck a glance over to you, remembering clear as day when you got the invitation.

“What’s this?” Getou took it gingerly, also giving you a glance as if you had any idea what it was. “Oh.” Pulling the contents out of the bag, his brows rose high in surprise when it wasn’t the usual bottle of scotch he received but instead a candy bouquet, something he could find in the grocery store.

“Oh my god.” Slapping a hand over your mouth to stifle your loud gasp, you looked between the two of them in horror. How could she give Getou this of all things?

“(Y/N) loves these, we always get her one for her birthday and she eats them up within a day!” Giving your shoulder a nudge, your father patted Getou on the arm. “Maybe you’ll be more patient than her, hm?”

“I-I’m so sorry.” Your knees were on the edge of buckling.

“I…” Getou looked over the candy, some he hadn’t eaten in years. “I love this, thank you.” Your jaw dropped open at his admission and if you looked just right you could see a slight glisten to his eyes. “Here, I’ll have the maître d’ put this in my office and I’ll give you a tour.”

It all happened so quickly: Getou escorting your parents around - explaining the inspiration behind the design and construction of the restaurant - showing them his notebook and what he had planned for future menu items. He even opened the door to the kitchen and showed them inside, proudly stating that you stood right by his side and helped him call out orders.

The restaurant opened soon after and you were seated at the best table in the house with three glasses of wine poured after Guillaume and your parents had a lengthy and passionate discussion about the best vineyards and types of grapes. Starting with an iberico ham salad as an appetizer, you made pleasant conversation, noise that mixed in with the rest of the dining room.

“Here we are folks, the main course.” Getou of course had to be the one to present it to you all, nearly making the whole dining room turn and watch as it was laid out before you. “As promised, fileted quail served as a rouleau with fried duck liver, orange, sherry vinegar dried fruits and a nut crumble.”

“Oh my.” Staring in awe, your mother didn’t move an inch. Your father, ever eager, took his phone out and snapped multiple pictures, even telling you to smile as he got a quick few of you.

“Thank you Chef.” You were quick to fill in the silence seeing as your parents were too busy.

“Enjoy, please.” Giving you a grin, Getou slinked away to the kitchen.

“Honey, what part of this did you work on?” Done with his phone, your dad waved his fork at the plate.

“I helped with the liver and a few other things.”

“Well this looks much too fancy to eat but I wouldn’t want your hard work going to waste.” You hardly blinked, watching your parents take their first few bites of the food. Maybe it’d be too complicated for them or the flavors wouldn’t mix well in their mouths, or maybe they’d force themselves to stuff it down and then complain about it later.

“Dear, this is amazing.” Reaching across the table for your hand, your mother grasped it tightly. “We are so proud of you.”

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, words of adoration and appreciation never too far from your parents' mouths. They loved any and everything they set their eyes on, even gushing about the hand soap in the bathroom. Dessert was crème brûlée with peach ragout and lemon thyme ice cream, the patissier even bringing it out himself.

As dinner ended, Getou gave your parents one last goodbye, even indulging your father in taking a picture with all of you. Despite Getou saying there would be no rush, you promised to come back quickly after walking your parents out to the car they’d rented.

“I feel like we’ve said it a thousand times but truly, we are so proud of you (Y/N).” Both of them had tears in their eyes, a flair for the dramatics in both of them. Both of them launched into small speeches about watching you grow up and rooting for you every step of the way.

“Thank you guys, really.” Even your eyes had become a little misty and you had to cut them off or you’d be there all night. Bidding them a goodbye and vowing to let them into your apartment, you went back to the restaurant with your head held high.

Coming back to the kitchen, it was a surprise to see Getou not at his usual position. Looking around and not seeing his tall frame anywhere, you knew he must be in his office. Coming around a corner, there he was sitting in his chair, gnawing away at a chocolate bar.

“Caught me.” He didn’t try to hide it at all, letting his mouth be covered in the sweet stuff.

“I’m surprised to see you actually eating that.”

“What, you think I’d throw it away?”

“Yeah, actually.” You had a vision of him tossing the whole bouquet into the dumpster out back and laughing at your parents' stupidity.

“You think just ‘cause I have a star I can’t eat commercial candy?” Giving you a teasing petulant look, Getou pointed to a Twix bar with chocolate coated fingers. “I’ll have you know, this is my favorite candy in the world.” Letting a beat of silence go, he huffed and shook his head. “It’s not all black forest cherry tarts and lobster thermidors for me.”

“Of course, of course! My mistake!” Giggling under your breath, you held your hands up in mock surrender. “I wanted to come by and thank you for tonight, truly. My parents will definitely not be forgetting it.”

“You’re welcome.” He says it sincerely and you can tell in his eyes he wishes he could do the same for his. “It’s always a treat having family here.” The two of you shared a look, one tinged with slowly growing warmth and what felt like could be a friendship of sorts - or at least a more positive relationship in general, maybe one where he respected you in the kitchen like he did with Guillaume and the patissier.

“I should…go back and help. Make sure everything is good.” You said it slowly, not wanting to leave whatever this was but having a sense of duty to the kitchen. Getou nodded, offering you a quiet ‘see you soon’ before you walked away.

The next few days were surreal, almost like the past few weeks hadn’t happened. You and your parents got to look around the new city you were in, comparing all the food you ate to Getou’s. He also started treating you better, still tough and a little sharp tongued, but gentler. Instead of yelling at you, calling you a half-baked idiot or dumping a dish you’d been trying to perfect into the trash, he offered more advice. Telling you tips and tricks to help make a dish come out the same way every time, helping you sharpen your knives and letting you ask all the questions you wanted.

Not wanting to be accused of favoritism, Getou offered more advice to the chefs as well; though their number of questions came with a limit. He still yelled at someone nearly every shift but no longer was there someone crying in the walk-in that you had to maneuver around.

Walking into work two weeks later - long after your parents had gone back home and left you with a hundred and one things they wanted to do next time they visited - the atmosphere was back to when you had just arrived; heavy, tense, everyone terrified to even breathe too loudly.

“What’s going on?” You whispered to a prep cook. You’d gotten the message to come early with uniforms freshly pressed, just as everyone else had.

“We have a visitor. I saw him in the dining room.” They whispered back. Nodding wordlessly, you walked to your station, idly wiping it down as you waited for something to happen. Getou had finally allowed you to go to it a few days ago, saying you were ready to start your real work now.

“Everyone, front. Now.” Getou’s voice boomed much louder than usual and it made you jump, but you wasted no time in following the order. Lining up shoulder to shoulder, everyone peered at the man standing next to Getou with a tall white hat on. Getou owned one as well but he never wore it, claiming he didn’t want it to slip off his head and into someone's soup.

“Good evening. Thank you for coming early.” Getou started, his hands behind his back. “I’m not going to waste time, so let me introduce you to someone most of you probably know already: Nicolas Conraux.” A quick few claps sounded from most of the staff, only some of you not moving. “And for those that don’t,” Getou sent a look to you, “this is the man that trained me and got me to my first star.”

Your eyes widened upon hearing that; this man was responsible for Getou, for making him the way he is in the kitchen. The memories came back to you, of small times Getou opened up about his past working under a chef who pushed him so hard to be better than he was that it made Getou puke on one occasion. This man’s name would forever be attached to Getou and now here he was right in front of you.

“I hope my presence won’t disturb you too much, but I was eager to see how my protégé was doing. He also sent a few emails regarding some worries he had for getting a second star, so I want to help in any way I can.” A heavy French accent hung over his words forcing you to focus on them closely.

“But just because he’s offered his help doesn't mean you can all slack off or take it easy, not even for a second. Be more meticulous, more precise with what you’re doing. Think twice before sending a dish out and if any dish comes back…” Trailing off, Getou gave you all one of the scariest looks you’d ever seen. After a debrief of how the evening was to go, you broke off back to your stations.

This was the first time since you’d gotten here that you wished you weren’t at your station. It was in the direct line of sight of Getou and Nicolas, the latter of whom had his eyes set intently on you. Taking a deep breath, you ignored his gaze in favor of preparing for the evening.

Tonight should be easy, you mused to yourself; the menu was a familiar one brought back due to popular demand, Texel lamb shoulder with sweet potato and vegetable chips and a tenderloin as well with crispy oyster mushrooms. Getting to work on the lamb, you were able to ignore Nicolas until he went to watch someone else. Letting out a breath at his departure you weren’t able to relax long with Getou announcing dinner would be starting in five minutes.

Counting down the seconds as usual, once the clock struck it felt like a whole different atmosphere. The kitchen was a bit lively again, nowhere near the level of volume it usually was, but it wasn’t painfully quiet anymore either. You felt comfortable calling out to the others and walking around, tasting the harissa for the lamb and wincing at the strong flavor.

“Why are you doing that?” A familiar accent came into your ear and you couldn’t even turn your shoulder to look at Nicolas. He was almost leering at the way you plated the first order of lamb for the night.

“E-excuse me.” Taken aback by his sudden arrival as well as his closeness, you shuffled a few inches from him.

“Answer me.” He pressed, immediately filling the space again.

“This is how Getou and I planned it, we discussed it to-”

“It’s lacking.” Cutting you off sharply, Nicolas called Getou over. “What do you think?” Getou was caught in a hard spot now, looking between the two of you and the plate. You were doing exactly as the two of you had planned but now with Nicolas’ critical eye, Getou was starting to see things differently.

“Perhaps it is lacking.” He agreed, nodding and avoiding your surprised face. “How should we change it, (Y/N)?”

“Don’t ask her.” A brief roll of his eyes and a snap of his fingers and Nicolas was taking the plate from you and grabbing a new one. “She’s already got one idea in her head, she’ll just try to do it again.”

“Of course.” Getou had turned into a complete yes man in front of you. Both of you watched Nicolas replate the dish, adding only a few mild changes that you knew no one would notice.

“There, now it is perfect.” Letting you get a once over of it, Nicolas sent it out of the kitchen. “I hope you took note.” And then he walked away, going to lean over someone else's shoulder.

“What was that?” You hissed, finally catching Getous eye.

“He was right.” That was the only answer he gave you before Getou left you as well. Biting back an annoyed noise, you set to work on the next plate, trying to remember what Nicolas had just done.

By the middle of dinner you were ready to leave the kitchen. It felt like Nicolas took even more offense at the things you did than Getou did, finding a reason to come up to you at every step of your process and correct it. He even commented on the way you stirred a ladle for soup, saying that you would disrupt the flavor profile.

Getou was no help either; he either sat back and watched or actively participated, sometimes spewing a few harsh words your way. You thought you were done hearing him say you might cut it better as a window cleaner or him wondering aloud whether you really knew how to cook some simple carrots.

“(Y/N), this is awful.” You’d come up to the table with a plate of steak tartare appetizers. Spending a bit more time on it than you usually did just to make sure it was made to perfection, hearing those words and watching Nicolas spit it out into a napkin - it threatened to bring angry tears to your eyes.

“Please, you can’t be serious!” Getting fed up, you slapped a hand onto the metal table. “You’ve had nothing good to say about any of the dishes I’ve prepared!”

“That’s because they’re all shit.” Shrugging your words off like they were nothing, Nicolas pushed the plate back to you. “Try again, though I think with your skill level it might be too difficult.”

“Oh fuck you!” In your anger, you pushed the plate back and made it flip over. Getou made a surprised noise and was about to scold you when you turned to him. “And you! I thought things had changed with you, you weren’t going to be such an asshole anymore but I guess I was wrong.”

“(Y/N), stop it.” Getou squared his shoulders. “This isn’t appropriate.”

“But telling me I should see if the local morgue was hiring because that’s the only people that won’t get sick from my food? That’s appropriate?” All of the harsh comments and jabs that had been made at you this night came flooding to the forefront of your mind. You’d tried to ignore it, push it deep down and deal with it when you got home, but that was no use. Hot, angry tears burned at your lash line begging to be set free.

“You want to know why I say those things?” Now Getou was at the same level of emotion as you, his face getting flush. “Because I want you gone.” That was what did it, that is what made the first tear fall. “It was a mistake to fucking invite you here when all you’ve done is cost me time and money. I should have left you in that insignificant little restaurant back in your insignificant little hometown. You’d do better work scrubbing the grease traps there.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You couldn’t be bothered to wipe at the tears now free falling, couldn’t be bothered to care about who saw what now. Ripping off your white jacket and flinging it onto the counter, you turned away from Getou and all but ran off. Quickly grabbing your things, you didn’t spare a single glance back as you left through the backdoor and raced to your car.

Speeding off before anyone could try and follow you, you first stopped at a park to cry. It was cold without your chef's jacket on, it made you feel bare to the world. Now anyone could see that you, in fact, could not cut it working under Getou. That you failed, weren’t good enough and weren’t strong enough to push through.

An unknown number called you and you let it go to voicemail. There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d answer the phone now, not when your eyes were puffy, nose stuffed up and voice hoarse from crying. Even a slight headache started to develop, one which forced you to now drive home.

Dragging your feet and kicking the door closed, you slumped against it and slid down to the floor. Letting your knife case fall to the wayside, you dug your phone out and finally listened to the voicemail.

H-hey…it’s me, Getou. Just the sound of his voice made you roll your eyes.

Things got really heated just now and I want to- fuck, uhm - I want to apologize. I’m your boss I shouldn’t be saying those things to you and- and especially not to someone I’ve come to care about. I want to apologize in person, (Y/N), I really do, you deserve that much at least.

“What if I don’t want to?” You mumbled to yourself, but Getou quickly answered.

I understand if you don’t want to, if you’d rather never see me again for the rest of your life…that’s completely fine. Just let one of the other chefs know and I’ll make sure your final check is posted as soon as possible.

It had gone eerily quiet in the voicemail making you check to see if he’d forgotten to end the call.

Just please…call me, okay? Even if it’s just to curse at me.

Only after those words did the voicemail finally stop, the true silence of your apartment taking over. Your fingers hovered over the delete button, wanting nothing more than to be done with Getou and his ever changing attitude. But you couldn’t find it in you and instead shoved your phone in your pocket and got up, changing out of your uniform and into comfier clothes.

A few hours later, after decompressing and having a meal where no one could judge your plating, your mood was lifting. More tears had fallen during that time and the struggling realization that you’d have to tell your parents sooner or later was in the back of your mind. But for now, you decided to slip on some shoes and head out to treat yourself to a sweet treat.

Walking down the block, you looked at the time. Dinner service had been over for almost forty-five minutes and a couple other chefs messaged you, telling you they’d miss you badly if you decided to never return. Worrying your lip, you wondered if you would ever return, if maybe you could find it in you to push away Getou’s disrespectful words and make him beg for forgiveness.

Coming to an ice cream shop, your hand bumped into someone else's as you reached for the door handle. A quick sorry died on your tongue upon seeing who it was, his long hair and dark circles unmistakable. He was dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, a stark contrast to the bright white jacket he usually sported.

“After you.” Getou mumbled, opening the door. Standing still for just a moment, you took the opportunity and stepped in.

“Following me?” You couldn’t help but ask, standing in line with him beside you. He didn’t say anything, opting to read the menu instead. It was unclear whether that made you more mad or it helped that he was giving you space.

“What flavor are you getting?” He replied instead, glancing tentatively at you.

“Probably cookie dough.” Whispering back, you went through the line, fishing out your wallet when it was time to pay.

“She’s with me.” Getou told the cashier, already sliding some cash across the counter. Rolling your eyes, you took a step back; if he wanted to spend money on you in hopes of winning you back, so be it.

“I don’t know if I’m coming back.” The two of you had decided to take a walk, with you knowing he wouldn’t leave you alone otherwise. These were the first words you’d said to him since starting the idle stroll.

“I-I understand.” You didn’t miss the sudden falter in his steps. Sighing heavily, Getou took a bite out of his ice cream and once again you saw with him chocolate smeared across his face. “I would do the same too if I were you.”

“Why are you such a fucking jerk?” Stopping at a crosswalk, you turned to look at him. Under the light of a street lamp and the setting sun, you could almost mistake him as looking rather handsome.

“I don’t mean to be.” He tried to take a step forward but you refused to move.

“Really? Because everything you say seems rather intentional.” The grip you had on your ice cream cone threatened to break it into pieces.

“I know.” Hanging his head low in shame, Getou faced you properly. “I’m the last person anyone would want to work with in the kitchen, even for just a day. Hell, I don’t really have a lot of friends outside the kitchen either. I can hardly hold a conversation if it’s not about food, I glare at everyone so hard I already have premature wrinkles. And probably worst of all, I make pretty girls cry.” As the last words left his mouth Getou looked up at you through his lashes, a grimace across his face.

The urge to slap in the face made you flex your fingers. How dare he send you such a pitiful look when he had looked upon you with utter disgust just a few hours ago? He called you pretty and as much as it made you want to grin, it also felt like he was trying to compliment you to get out of this situation.

“If you think I’m so pretty then why do you do it?” You mumbled, leaving him to cross the road. Getou’s footsteps were behind you, a few feet away as he mulled over your words. He didn’t fully catch up with you until you made it to the edge of a park, a small green space that was starting to empty out.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Rolling your eyes heavily, you pushed forward.

“Yes, okay?!” Getou’s irritation grew in a flash, making him grab your arm. The motion flung your ice cream out of your hand and he threw his down in tandem. “What am I supposed to say? You want me to admit the reason I told you I wanted you gone is because I realized I had fallen for you?” His face became awash with a red blush both from anger at himself and embarrassment.

“That- that your stupid, pretty little face and the way you smile and the way you laugh with the other chefs made me jealous? I want you to laugh and smile that way with me but all I can manage to do is humiliate and degrade you, make you feel like shit whenever we’re together!”

“And your food is fucking amazing, by the way.” Running a rough hand through his hair, Getou groaned. “I loved it, still do. You’re so talented it hurts me.”

“Why lie to me like that?” The grip he had on your arm was loosening but you could still feel his racing pulse.

“Because if I told you it was bad then maybe you’d come to me for help. Maybe you’d talk to me more and I could impress you with what I knew and then maybe…maybe it would lead to something else.” Fully dropping your arm in defeat, Getou slapped a hand over his face and leaned his head up to the sky. “Maybe I could find out what it feels like to hold your hand, to have you smile at me so brightly and tell me I’m doing a good job and I’m more than just some good chef that’s a grade A asshole.”

A heavy silence hung between you, the weight of all of Getou’s words weighing down the air around you. It felt difficult to breathe but somehow, you managed.

“Amazing.” You whispered, making Getou crack an eye open to look at you.

“Huh?”

“You’re an amazing chef.” Dropping his head back down, Getou stared at you with mild confusion on his face. “You have a Michelin star and an incredible eye for detail and flavor. Don’t get me wrong, you’re absolutely awful to be around and sometimes your presence makes me want to-”

“Okay.” He interjected, a tiny grin on his face betraying him. “I get it, I’m awful.”

“And I would love to learn from you.”

“Seriously?” Raising his brows in shock, Getou was surprised you would even acknowledge that part of what he said.

“Yes.” Your face portrayed no lie, no intention of changing your mind just to hurt him. “You think I’d want to pass up on an opportunity like that from someone I’ve admired for so long?”

Getou swallowed thickly. He had an inkling that you were a fan, from your parents words and from how you were around him, but you finally said it out loud. And maybe admiration could be something more. It made his heart swell hopefully, stupidly. He couldn’t even think of trying to stamp it down.

“When would you like to learn?” He spoke slowly, words coming out carefully as his eyes watched your face, his dumb little heart deflating a bit at the sudden downturn of your lips.

“I don’t know.” Rubbing the back of your neck, you shifted awkwardly on your feet. There was a bench behind you and you motioned for Getou to sit down. “I don’t know if it’d be a good idea for me to come back.”

“Wh- no it is, it is.” Gripping the back of the bench, Getou turned to you with his mouth hanging slightly. “It’ll be better, I swear. I’ll be better.”

“But how long will that last? Until you get mad again and snap at me?” You itched to play with the fraying patch of fabric on his sweats, to give your hands something to do other than twist and turn within themselves.

“I won’t, never again.”

“How long will Nicolas be at the restaurant?” Raising a brow at Getou, you watched his mind work. He was uptight on a good day and with Nicolas’ presence it only made it worse. The strict, military-like regime he had only became tighter and it choked the life out of you.

“A week.” Getou hung his head in shame, knowing he wouldn’t see you again any time soon. “But (Y/N), I swear on my life. Every fiber of my being. I won’t let him talk to you like that anymore; I don’t care if he’s my mentor or not.”

Contemplating Getou’s words, you weighed your options in your head. You had faith that Getou could change his ways, but so suddenly? And with the pressure of Nicolas behind him? Any hope of him being even slightly different during this week was dashed out of your mind. But looking up at him, his worry written all over his face and in the way he chewed his lip, it sparked something in you.

“Okay, I’ll think about it.” Your quiet utterance of the words had Getou leaning back dramatically with the weight of the world off his shoulders. He made a noise from his chest, something akin to a groan and a holler. Taking a few breaths, he sat up and looked at you.

“Yes, please do.” It was then that you noticed, as a breeze rushed past, that it had gotten quite late out. The sky was considerably darker and you could just barely make out some stars between the glaring lights of street lamps.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” Getou was sliding off the bench and nudging you to stand as well. Walking at a slower pace with him at your side, you took a few turns and made it back to your apartment with no trouble.

“Home sweet home.” You motioned to the building, gradually coming to a stop.

“It’s funny how close we live to each other.” Getou mused, hooking his thumb behind him. “I’m 3 blocks down and to the right.”

“Well neighbor, have a good night.” Feeling emboldened by the cover of darkness, you reach out and pat Getou’s shoulder, letting your hand linger for a moment before sliding off.

“Good night.” Giving you a small wave, Getou waited until you were safely in your apartment before turning and leaving himself.

4:45pm. The clock's large red numbers stared back at Getou. He was waiting not so patiently at the door for your arrival. He knew you came in at about 4:30 and after the conversation the two of you had had last night he hoped you’d be a bit earlier than that.

“Chef!” Someone called for him and Getou’s legs twitched instinctively to go help, but he remained in his spot.

“Chef!” They called again and Getou groaned. 4:46pm, the clock stared back at him. He didn’t want to move, not even a centimeter. But there were more pressing matters to attend to than waiting for you like a puppy.

“Coming!” He yelled back and drug his feet away. He was a fool to expect you to come back so soon after what happened, and although you said you’d think about it, it wasn’t a definitive yes to coming back.

For the next 15 minutes Getou tried to sneak looks at the door whenever he could, hoping and praying you’d waltz right in. He had dry cleaned your jacket that you’d thrown off, the stain from the steak tartare now a memory and no longer glaring right at him.

“Everyone, to the front.” Getou announced like he usually did, fingers wrapped around the metal table in a white knuckle grip. Everyone was standing at attention in no time, everyone but you. “As a reminder for service tonight…” He started, face a little sullen from your lack of appearance. So wrapped up in his own head he was that Getou didn’t notice the sound of the back door opening and closing or the way you snuck in behind everyone.

“And that’s all. Let’s do good tonight.” As everyone dispersed and Getou went about checking his lists, one person remained at the periphery of his vision. “Come here, do you have a question about the menu?”

“I do.” The sound of your voice made his head snap up and a fervent smile fought its way onto his face. Nicolas was off to the side reading something from a list of his own, not wholly paying attention to either of you.

“You came.” Getous mouth hung open slightly. There you were before him looking as eager as the day you’d first stepped foot in the kitchen. He remembered that day so clearly and how he wished he could have made a better impression on you instead of yelling about a coupe colonel.

“I did.” Smoothing down the front of your jacket, you caught his eyes. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not.” Shaking his head, Getou tried to look away from you but he couldn’t. His fingers flexed if only to try and disguise the slight tremble to them.

“Well, service has started.” Inching closer to him, you tried to ignore the slight burn in your cheeks as he continued to stare. “Can I look at the list? I need to make sure we have enough oyster mushrooms for that appetizer.” Your fingers wrapped around his and deftly unwound them from the piece of paper he’d been clenching onto. The action pulled him out of his stupor, enough so that he finally noticed the few line cooks waiting off to the side.

“I-I’ll be right there.” Clearing his throat and giving them a glance, Getou turned to you. “Glad to have you here, (Y/N).”

“Glad to be here.”

#jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fluff #geto fluff #geto x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

[abarbaricyalp]

For the @sambuckylibrary Anniversary Event!

This is my favorite trope, but I didn't have much inspiration for writing something new, so I thought I would compile all of my Post-WS/Sam-Finds-Bucky fics here instead. Of course, read all warnings on the AO3 pages!

Convergent Lines // Rated G // 4.8k words

Sam finds Bucky six months after the fall of HYDRA. And keeps finding him.

This fic has the same energy as when you leave a can of tuna out for a feral cat every few days and slowly become friends, except it's told from the cat's point of view

Eyes in the Sky (heart on the ground with you) // Rated T // 7k words

With a secret up his sleeve, Sam Wilson manages to find Bucky Barnes over and over again. It's driving Bucky nuts.

Rescue Me // Rated E // 7.4k words

Sam Wilson is having a bad night. Bucky Barnes helps

Bucky takes care of Sam, pwp

Out of Touch, Out of Time // Rated M // 7.8k words

When Bucky Barnes falls out of a train in the Second World War and lands on the ground in the present day, he figures that's as weird as his day is going to get. Then there's a voice in his head, a handsome man trying to fight him, and his own doppelganger dating his crush and he figures he should stop daring the universe to get weirder

(Multiverse/Timeline shenanigans)

Only vaguely adjacent to the Sam Finds Bucky trope, but I still like it

Stained // Rated T // 10.3k words // MCD

When Sam and Riley find a man wandering in the desert, they can't fathom the repercussions that will follow for years to come.

This is in the same spirit, even if it's many years earlier

Putting Bandages Where Stitches Should Be // Rated M // 4.6k words

Sam Wilson's bad day (getting kidnapped, not finishing his errands, Steve being right about something going wrong) gets worse when Bucky Barnes is kidnapped right next to him

Bucky Barnes's bad day (getting tricked in returning to the States to rescue Steve and/or Sam and getting kidnapped instead) gets worse when Sam Wilson has to act as his nurse

Bid Your Heart Goodbye // Rated T // 4.4k words

Every year the Avengers host a "Date Auction" for charity fundraising. In his first year, Sam Wilson is in for a surprise bidder.

I'm sure there are others and I've definitely mentioned it in fics that weren't focused on the Post-WS/Pre-CW era. (The first section of The Truths Beneath Our Ribs is post-WS) I just love this trope and its uniqueness to Sambucky

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing

[jupiter-soups]

the more that you say, the less I know

part three of begging for you to take my hand part one part two

pairing: joel miller x f!reader, friends -> enemies -> lovers (kinda)

summary: joel faces the reality of what a life without you actually feels like. you discover the joys of speed dating.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, masturbation (m), some very mild verbal sexual harrassment towards reader (kinda, just being cautious), some angst and general lack of emotional intelligence

word count: 10.3k

Joel lifted the hunting rifle into place, hands flexing open and closed as he stretched the stiffness out of his fingers in preparation for taking the shot. A stag, tall and substantial in size, had entered the clearing up ahead and peacefully cantered to the edge of the lake. It didn’t sense the Millers, neither the elder brother, who was lining the impressive beast in his rifle scope, or the younger one, who was more preoccupied with the rapid darkening of the sky. 

Joel’s shaky finger reached down onto the trigger, and he forced a few heavy blinks to get the sleep out of his eyes. His vision was slightly blurry around the edges, a symptom of the deep exhaustion that permeated his entire body. Sleep hadn’t been coming to him easily recently, and he knew that his movements were slowed and sloppy as a result. 

Sharp inhale. Hold your breath. Steady and firm pressure on the trigger. 

Ping! 

The bullet ricocheted off of a slab of rock that was jutting out of the water. Not even close to where the stag was. Or had been, rather, as the beast streaked off into the woods at breakneck speed the second the bullet made contact with the jagged boulder. 

Tommy sucked in an exaggerated breath through his teeth, faux pity in his voice as he playfully jabbed “Ohhhh, so close. Better luck next time, brother,” with a teasing, but sympathetic, pat on Joel’s shoulder, using him as leverage to stand up.

If Tommy hadn’t been so preoccupied with getting back home before the sun set, he probably would have noticed the tension in Joel’s body, and the way his eyes remained locked on the point where the stag had been standing. It was only when he turned around in the absence of audible footsteps following him that he noticed his brother was still kneeling where he was.

“Come on, Joel, we still got a good haul, was jus’ one stag. We gotta head back.”

Jackson had been struggling with food resources after a colder-than-usual winter had meant that some of the foraging that they relied on couldn’t take place. It was the reason why Joel and Tommy had been sent out to hunt for the day, and why Joel had had no issue with finding extra shifts to take over throughout the last month.

Fear over lacking resources wasn’t the reason for Joel’s shitty mood though. His body hurt. He was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. He just missed a shot that should have, no, would have, been a sure thing on a typical day. All because he couldn’t stop thinking about you. 

The only thing that actually worked to mitigate the guilt and loneliness he was feeling was working to the point that he simply couldn’t think about it. And now, Tommy stood by his horse, practically giddy that he would get to go home on time to his wife, while Joel’s attempts at pushing himself to the point of not-feeling had failed miserably.

Joel finally stood, grunting slightly as his knees cracked at the movement. He paced towards the cart behind the horses, gritting his teeth to prevent himself from saying anything unkind to Tommy in the face of his unmistakable eagerness to finally head home. 

Each of Joel’s movements were close to violent as he circled the horses and cart, tossing each of the unpacked bags into the back of the cart with unnecessary power, before beginning to busy himself with ensuring everything was securely in place under bungee cords. 

Tommy finally spoke up about Joel’s unconcealed anger when he saw his brother almost tearing open the saddlebag on his horse to rifle through for his worn winter gloves.

“Hey, easy there brother, we got plenty for the people back home. Your traps did a good job with the rabbits, much better than our old ones.”

Joel nodded wordlessly, trying to tamp down the excessive anger before it inspired more conversation or probing from Tommy. Looking up, he realized that it was already a lost cause, judging from the appraising look that Tommy was giving him.

“Not about the stag, is it?” Tommy’s tone was frustratingly knowing. 

The soundtrack of howling wind that had been surrounding them throughout their entire ride out into the woods was maddeningly absent in that moment, letting Tommy’s smug voice linger in the air. Joel cleared his throat and climbed up onto his horse. 

“I don’ know what you’re tryin’ to imply, but nothin’s the matter, Tommy. Jus’ tired.”

He had been quiet and thoughtful for the entire day. Well, quieter than usual. That was the typical sign that he had been working too long and was worn out; when he let Tommy go on and on about whatever mundane domesticity he was experiencing without complaint (this time it was that Maria had just found a new dress for some event she was helping to plan.) 

“Right.” Tommy’s voice was full of suspicion, and Joel knew that he was not going to drop the matter,  so he reached over to grab his old thermos, and tossed back the last few swigs of lukewarm coffee. He would need it to survive the journey back. 

It only took a few minutes of riding back to the main road for him to start his interrogation.

“You good, man?” Tommy knew that he wasn’t good, that something had been wrong for at least a month now. He had just assumed that it was the stress of a dwindling food supply and a relentless winter. Whenever he tried to approach the subject, he was met with a shut-the-fuck-up glare that sent him on his way.

Joel made a dismissive noise, not wanting to dignify the line of questioning with words.

“Come on, brother. I can tell  something’s goin’ on. I mean, you’re a mess.You know it’s true. You haven’t been sleepin’, you’re in a shitty mood, you look like shit–” 

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Joel sucked in a long-suffering breath, rifling through his tired brain for any way to explain his behavior without needing to actually explain. “Just not been feelin’ too good, is all.”

“Oh. Do’ya need to see a doctor, or somethin’?”

“Not like that.” Joel's hands flexed around the leather reins in his hands, listening to the steady crunch of snow under the horses hooves for a brief moment before continuing.

“Haven’t been sleeping too well. Not been feeling…good,” He finished lamely, trying to successfully find the correct words. Words that would be honest, but not honest enough to concern Tommy. The silence in return made him certain of his failure in this pursuit.

The sky had continued to darken considerably as the sun set, and Joel knew that they were already nearly back to Jackson. As much as he had been pushing to stay out for longer, he was grateful for how close their journey had kept them to the safety of the Jackson gates. At least he could get away from the line of questioning, just as long as he could make it through those gates where Tommy would surely become distracted by getting home to Maria on time for dinner. 

“Is this…about the patrol you went on last month? The, uh, overnight?” Tommy’s voice was apprehensive. 

Fuck. So close.

Joel’s eyes snapped up to Tommy, who was markedly not looking at Joel. “Why? What did’ya hear?” He cringed internally at the speed at which he spoke, knowing that he just gave himself up. If he was lucky, Tommy wouldn’t pick up on it. But of course, Joel knew he was never one for luck.

“Nothing, nothing.” Tommy’s raised an eyebrow, infuriating Joel. “ Just, I know you don’t get along too well with…her,” At least he didn’t say your name out loud.“Thought maybe something happened. You… argue or…?”

Tommy’s words trailed off under Joel’s fixed look.

“Everything was fine. We didn’t… argue. ” That was clearly all Joel had in him, and Tommy seemed to give up for the moment. 

It wasn’t like Joel was going to suddenly tell him what was going on with him. That wasn’t how he worked. He had already been cracked open by Ellie, and that in of itself was something that Tommy wouldn’t have been able to predict. It was hard to sense how much more Joel was even capable of giving, so pushing him on this felt like a losing battle. He decided to try a distraction, instead. 

“Y’know, tomorrow some of the guys were goin’ down to that speed dating thing at the Bison, the one that Maria’s been helping to organize. You thinkin’ of goin’?”

Joel let out a huffed chuckle, humorless and short. “An’ why, exactly, would I do that?”

“You fixin’ to stay single for the rest of your life?” That was exactly what Joel was planning to do, but he knew that Tommy wouldn’t like that answer so he simply didn’t respond. 

“Maria’s invitin’ her single girlfriends, includin–,” Tommy cut himself off with a stutter. “Well, anyway, it could be good for you. Get back out there, an’ all that. I think–”

Joel shut him up with a look, yet again, before focusing back on the worn path. Just a little longer, and this would be over. Suddenly, he felt like maybe seeing a doctor would be the right plan of action, as slight nausea began to creep in as Tommy’s words floated around his drowsy mind. 

He knew what his brother was about to say. You were going to be there. After all, Joel was well aware that you were single. You being there meant that you wanted to move on. Maybe, he thought to himself, you didn’t even need to move on. It might have just been a simple release of pent up frustration, something that he had cruelly tainted by hurting her with his callousness.  

No matter how much he tried to convince himself that it made sense for you to find someone actually good for you, and that he wanted this, the knowledge was ice in his veins. His grip on the reins tightened until his knuckles were white from lack of circulation, as he tried and failed desperately to not think about it. To not think about you, happy and in love with someone that wasn’t him. 

You wanted this. You wanted this. You wanted this.

It was so wrong to feel what he was feeling, of course, and the guilt that he already felt for his treatment of you just multiplied as he considered his hypocrisy. He had been the one to hurt you, anticipating your future regret and acting on it before you could. What he didn’t anticipate, foolishly, was how fucking hard it would be to be nothing to you. 

It was one thing when you had spent months hating him, mocking him, arguing with him. That was difficult enough, after knowing first hand just how soft and caring you could be. But at least it was something, at least he knew that you thought about him. Now, he wasn’t even worthy of a glance. Not a single joke at his expense, nothing. As grateful as he was for Ellie teaching him that he could be a person again, a feeling, gentle, person, in this moment he found himself missing his cold self. He was stronger then. Loneliness was always there, festering in the pit of his stomach, but it had been a dull ache. Manageable. It didn’t feel that way anymore.

Now, he felt like he was losing his mind. That feeling only intensified at night, when he was alone, no one to distract him away from thinking about you. That was precisely why he had been doing his level best to avoid experiencing those nights, making sure to push himself to his mental and physical limits with how much he was working. If he wasn’t working, he was with Ellie. If he wasn’t with Ellie, he was with Tommy. If he wasn’t with either of them, he was at the Tipsy Bison, drinking until he knew that sleep would come easy. His nights would end with him passing out on top of his covers, usually not even being able to change out of his work clothes first. 

As the brothers reached the Jackson gates, Joel could tell that that wasn’t going to be the case tonight. It was far too early in the day, despite the dark winter sky. That sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach returned, as he dismounted his horse and began to walk it into the stables.

Despite his best efforts to leave quickly and quietly, Tommy caught up to Joel. “Hey, wait up. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? Jus’ me and Maria, bring Ellie along. I’ll cook up one of the rabbits you trapped. Maria will make that turnip thing you like.”

Joel considered it for a moment. It would be a good distraction. Probably would fill up a few of the daunting hours of free time ahead of him. He almost agreed before spotting the glint in Tommy’s eyes that told him that he had ulterior motives. There was no way that the previous topic, that Tommy had so kindly dropped on the journey, wasn’t going to come up again, and Joel knew how good Tommy was at making him talk once Joel had some whiskey in him.

“I’ll probably call it an early night. Have some dinner with Ellie, or somethin’.” 

Tommy accepted his answer, but continued to stand between Joel and the exit. “Brother, y’know you can tell me what it is. I don’ like seeing you like this. Jus’. Find me when you’re ready to talk, alright?”

“‘Course.” Joel had no intention of doing so. He was already too much of a burden, and this was self-inflicted. So, he would do what he always did. Suffer it alone.

That night, as he lay in his bed after a frustratingly quick dinner with Ellie, who had quickly left for a sleepover at her friend's house the second her plate was empty, Joel thought everything through. He had considered heading to the Tipsy Bison for his usual routine of sipping on a strong drink until he felt he could face his bed, but Ellie had actually wanted to have dinner with him, an increasingly rare event. He wasn’t mad at her for it. It had been hard for him at first when she seemed to want to spend more time with her friends than him, but you had convinced him that it was normal teenage girl stuff. 

You.

No. Can't go there. 

Joel swung his legs over the side of his bed, getting up with a groan of exertion. God his body was sore. He tugged on his clothes from the day that was strewn across a chair in the corner of his room, and took a look at the faint numbers on his broken alarm clock. Nine p.m., practically early evening. He would just have a few drinks, and then be back to bed soon enough.

The snow whipping down outside didn’t do much to convince him to take it easy for one night, but the light on in Tommy’s living room did. Fuck, he should have just gone the longer route. Now, Tommy’s stupid words were ringing in his ears. Joel knew that Tommy would say what needed to be said. He had that much trust in his younger brother, who was seemingly incapable of lying to him when it mattered. Before he knew it, he was walking past the turn for the bar, and heading up those creaky porch steps that he knew well.

Tommy didn’t seem surprised at all upon seeing Joel on his doorstep. He led his brother to his couch and poured him a couple of ounces of whiskey, giving him the opportunity to shoot back a few sips before speaking. 

“So, somethin’ did happen, then?”

“It did.” Joel drained the rest of the whiskey in an instant, placing the glass down on the coffee table only to instantly regret not keeping something in his hands to fidget with. He looked around the space for anyone that could overhear, particularly the someone who was best friends with the topic of discussion.

“We slept together.”

“Alright, brother, good for you!” Tommy exclaimed, slapping a congratulatory hand down on Joel’s shoulder with a cheeky grin, “Didn’ know you had it in you,” He teased.

“I, uh. I told her I didn’t want to do anything else. Or to be with her again.”

Tommy let his hand fall off Joel’s shoulder as he groaned in exasperation. “You kiddin’ me? Is this why you’ve been mopin’ around town, workin’ yourself half to death?”

Joel merely scoffed in response, but wasn’t able to conjure any other words to deny the accusation.

Tommy rubbed a hand over his tired face, frustrated at his brother's basic lack of ability in dealing with basic human interaction. “I’m assumin’ she didn’t take it well, then.”

“No, she did not.” Joel replied quietly, eyes trained on the wood grain of the table in front of him. “She was quite angry.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Joel suddenly felt very idiotic for showing up to Tommy’s. They were brothers, and he knew that he would listen, but Tommy couldn’t possibly relate. He had Maria and a whole community of people that loved him and cared for him. He was even thinking of starting a family soon. Tommy was happy.

 Joel wasn’t necessarily unhappy. If anything, he was the happiest he had been in a long, long time. Jackson had given him more than he thought he would ever have again. Routine, neighbors, safety. Ellie had given him even more. Parts of him that he thought had been destroyed, forever. It was selfish of him to feel so lonely, despite everything that he had.

Joel started to stand, muttering a quiet “This was stupid. Thanks for the drink,”

Tommy forced Joel down onto the couch with a firm push on his shoulder. It only served to remind Joel of how much weaker he was than he used to be. He was older now, and his body showed it to him everytime he tried to do something that should’ve been easy. Joel didn’t mind that, usually. He had lived a long and tiring life, longer than he had thought he would, or frankly than he even wanted to at times. But now, with the prospect of starting something looming over him, it just served as a reminder that it was too late for him.

“You shouldn’t have done that to her. Maria’s been tellin’ me that she’s been weird recently, and she didn’t know why. I think you really upset her. You need to fix this.”

Joel nodded with gritted teeth. He was well aware of how angry you were. How cruel he was to you. It didn’t feel good, but it was a necessary evil. Tommy couldn’t possibly understand, not when shit was so easy for him.

“You need to fix this. And not just for her sake. I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said you were a mess. You’re punishin’ yourself and her at the same time, and you don’ need to.”

“Tommy, you don’ understand. You can have your nice house, nice wife, nice family, all of it. I’m happy for you, really, I am. But I’m not the typ’a man who can have that life anymore. I’ve done shit, and you know better than anyone what I mean by that. I’m lucky enough that I have Ellie.”

Joel stood up again, and paced towards the front door, pausing at the sound of Tommy’s concerned voice.

 “I do know you, Joel. An’ I admit, when you first got here I had my concerns. But you’re differen’ now, and you know it. I see it in the way you treat Ellie, everyday. How you take care of your neighbors and work for the people here. Don’ throw away a chance at something more, jus’ cos you don’t think you deserve it.”

Joel’s throat tightened at that. He didn’t deserve it. He knew that as a fact. He didn’t deserve any of the things he already had, so why would he deserve anything more?

“It doesn’ even matter. It was a heat of the moment thing to her. No point in doin’ any more damage by trying for somethin’ more. You’re right though. I should apologize.” Joel accepted, hoping it would be enough to satisfy his brother's worries.

He gave his brother a small smile of appreciation that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Tommy let him leave with a disappointed sigh.

Joel was lying in bed by midnight, slightly intoxicated but not quite enough. Tommy’s insistence that he could be worthy of more made the taste of the whiskey he ordered in the Tipsy Bison, mere minutes after leaving Tommy’s home, bitter in his throat. Even more bitter than the poor excuse for whiskey usually was. 

Alright, you can do this. You can sleep. Just relax. Focus on your body.

 First focus on your arms, down to your fingertips. His shoulders ached. His knuckles were scraped and sore.

Your chest and your breathing. His breathing seemed strangely loud in such an empty house.

Your legs. Your toes. Fucking stop thinking about her. His feet hurt. They always did. He probably needed new shoes. His knees were almost as bad as his feet when he was standing for a while, but the soft bed gave him some reprieve. 

Okay. That’s good. Just…keep focusing on your body. There was something else, too. A sensation that would find him late at night, when he was conscious enough to be aware of it. When it was real quiet, and nothing blocked out the thought of you. The image of you. All soft curves and rough touches. Hands grabbing onto him, onto his hair, his arms, desperate for a release only he could give you. 

You’re weak. Pathetic. His hand trailed down past his waistband, unable to fight it, the memories taunting him. He had you, and he lost you without even fighting for something more, all of his own volition. Would it be so wrong to indulge in what he was left with? 

He gave in. He always did.

Joel’s callused hand wrapped around his hard length, fucking into his fist fast and rough, chasing a quick release. ‘Then don’t hold back.’ Your voice echoed around his head as his breathing intensified, reverberating around the room. You had wanted him, you’d begged him to give in to you, and he did. A quiet whimper passes through his clenched teeth.

He hesitantly moved his thumb over the tip of his cock, hissing at the sensation as he stroked. It had been what you had done when you brought him to completion, but it was just not enough. His hand wasn’t soft enough, and it was clumsy where yours had been precise, knowing exactly what was good for him. You had been so good for him, and he ruined even the chance of anything more.

“Fuck,” He groaned shakily as he approached his climax. This is just a release, just biology. He knew he was lying to himself, no matter how much he wanted it to be true. It was your words, your eyes, your lips, that brought him to this point, as it had been everytime he was in this position over the last month. Sleeping with you had been such a mistake, because now he knew. There was no one that could make him feel how you did. 

With a muffled, unsatisfied, grunt, it was over. 

It was fucking freezing. Even more so than you had anticipated when you drew back your curtains and saw the dark, heavy clouds roiling outside. It was the tail end of a long and brutal winter, and it seemed as if the season had one last death rattle to exhale in the form of yet another approaching snowstorm.

If you hadn’t made a promise to take Ellie on a morning run, you would have decided fuck this and promptly gone back to bed for a couple more hours of shut eye before you had to get up for patrol duty. But alas, you made a promise. One that the teen girl had been very certain that you would not regret. 

This was another one of her hare-brained schemes to prove to Maria that she was ready to join the patrol team the very second she turned sixteen.

First, it was that she would ‘wow’ everyone with her expert knife-throwing skills. She was good, you would give her that, but the minute Joel found out about it, it instantly became a no-go. You had just been grateful that he never clocked that it was you who agreed to teach her. 

Next, she insisted that she would get so good at hand-to-hand combat that no one would possibly have any reason to doubt her survival skills. Her teachers were not particularly thrilled when they found out about the fight club she had organized during lunch, despite Ellie’s insistence that it was perfectly safe and that Leah's sprained wrist was because she tripped over a root. Joel’s scolding look of disapproval in her direction during the entirety of his conversation with her teacher meant that the reign of the J.Y.A.F.C (Jackson Young Adult Fight Club) had to come to an abrupt end. 

Her latest and greatest idea was that she would demonstrate just how committed she was by shadowing an existing member of the patrol team. One that was strong, knowledgeable, kind, and super pretty and cool. Her words, of course. She always knew how to get her way, which is why you had to start making your way over to her home at the ass-crack of dawn in the shittiest of weather conditions.

As you trudged along the salted road in the familiar direction towards J– towards Ellie’s house, you thought about how much you regretted telling her that you went on a run every single morning at six a.m. You assumed (hoped) that your white lie would discourage her, especially since she loved to sleep in as late as possible, but she only seemed more determined that she would be up and ready to go. You knew her better though, so you weren’t surprised when you finally reached the front door, and she did not answer your first few knocks. 

Yep, still asleep. Which meant she was still upstairs. In a bedroom quite close by to the other occupied bedroom. Which meant you had to knock loud enough for it to be heard by both of those bedrooms. Great. 

You continued to knock, much louder now. Please don’t hear. Please don’t hear. Muffled footsteps could be heard through the front door, and even though they sounded far too light to be who you feared, you still felt a palpable sense of relief as the door opened to Ellie’s scrunched up little face wrapped in a soft fleece blanket that she had over her head. 

“Whaddya want?” She groaned, unable to keep her eyes open. 

The shit-eating grin on your face only served to piss off the tired teen even more, as you answered sweetly. “It’s time for our run, Ellie! Y’know, the one you promised you would wake up on time for?” 

As much as you loved Ellie, it was sort of amusing to see her regret her choices so deeply in that moment. 

“But it’s the middle of the night!”

“It’s dark because it’s winter, not because it’s the middle of the night. Look!” You lifted your wrist and turned it to face her, showing the little hand on the six and the big hand on thirteen. “I’m practically late waiting for you!”

The girl bit back whatever curse word she was about to fling at you, and grumbled a dissatisfied and begrudging “Fine!” before turning around and plodding back up the stairs to get ready. 

She left the door open, probably expecting you to let yourself in and settle down on the couch while she got changed. As cold as you were in your worn out hoodie and sweatpants, there was no way in hell you were going to go into the house. Instead, you parked yourself by the front door, leaning against the slatted wood to wait for the girl to show back up, hopefully without her falling asleep again in the process. 

It had been a long while since you’d been here. A month and a half had passed since you even spoke to him, let alone hung out at his house. Instead, you chose to meet Ellie at the school house, or at your place. Sometimes even at the kennels, where Ellie would linger after school to play with the puppies after their training. Safe places where you were sure you wouldn’t run into him.

Joel.

A sick feeling settled into the pit of your stomach as the thought of him drifted into your mind. It didn’t last long, though, as you were broken out of your anxiety-driven nausea by the sudden introduction of very real physical pain. The screen door to the left of you had swung open with overwhelming force, knocking into your body with enough impact to actually kind of hurt, despite it being mostly mesh.

“Fuck!”

“Who’s there?!”

It took a few seconds for both of you to realize what had happened. Joel stood there in front of you, confusion deeply etched onto his tired face. He was wearing his worn down old blue jeans, top button still undone in his haste to get them on. He was also noticeably shirtless, and any pain that you may have felt was suddenly secondary to the immense heat you felt throughout your body at the sight. 

When you had slept together, you never got the chance to see him like this, and he was every bit as beautiful as you had imagined. You could have forgotten how mad you were at him for a moment, if his guilty expression didn’t remind you.

“W-what’s wrong?” His urgency wasn’t lost on you, and you knew that he thought the only reason why you would show up at his door was that something terrible had happened. He wasn’t even shivering in the cold, despite his state of undress, completely occupied by you being in front of him.

“Nothing’s wrong. I wouldn’t come here if something was wrong. I came here for Ellie. We’re going on a run.” You wanted your words to wound him, but the pained expression that flickered on his face for a brief moment didn’t feel good.

“Right. She, uh, mentioned somethin’ like that. Sorry, I jus’...heard the banging on the door, and it was open, so I, uh, jus’ thought–”

“Well, you were wrong, so you can go back inside now.” You shifted forward to lean against the railing overlooking the icy front yard, not wanting to look at him, with his stupid, sad, brown eyes and his strong, scarred body any longer. “And tell Ellie to hurry.”

You thought he might have headed back in before hearing him clear his throat quietly.

“You can…wait inside, y’know? I’ll be back upstairs, gettin’ ready. It’s real cold out this mornin’” With that, he left you there, heavy footsteps heading back upstairs.

It was cold. And the worst case scenario had already happened for you the moment he rushed outside, panicked and searching for a potential intruder. At this point, you might as well head into the belly of the beast, you decided as you shut the front door behind you and walked into the living room that was unsettlingly nostalgic.

The horse carvings were still on the old bookcase by the fireplace, but now there were a few new ones. A couple of sheep, too. There were framed portraits dotted around the mantlepiece, and small scraps of paper here and there that had pencil sketched images of Joel, Tommy, Ellie’s closest friends, and even a few of you, you noticed with a small smile. His guitar was still there, but there was another one right next to it. Slightly smaller than his, and with a cursive ‘e’ carved into the light wood. He had always wanted to teach Ellie guitar. 

It took an annoyingly long time for Ellie to reenter the room, before she ran down the stairs with a speed that was, frankly, concerning.

“We haven’t started the run yet, Ellie,” You chuckled at her display of fake enthusiasm.

“I know, but I am just so excited to get going!” She began to jog around you in circles as if to prove her eagerness, “Look at me go, wouldn’t you consider that the behavior of someone who is committed to the cause?”

“If the cause is being annoying, then yes” You said, giving her a teasing elbow in the side.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” She laughed, heading back into the corridor to pull on her sneakers. You heard her whisper in her evillest voice “...for now,” as soon as she was out of your eyesight.

You took a moment to look around the room one more time. It had been somewhere safe for you, a place of warmth and comfort and him. You resented Joel for the way the thought of him now made you tense up rather than relax, and the way you felt so, so small in a house that was briefly a second home to you.

“You, uh–,” You jumped at Joel’s voice coming from the corridor behind you, “Sorry, jus’ wonderin’ if you wanted a coffee, or somethin’?”

“No, I don’t want anything. Ellie, you ready?” You circled around where he stood to start walking to the front door.

“Wait!” You felt the brush of his hand against the sleeve of your hoodie, before he quickly withdrew it to his side. “Wait. Can we jus’…talk for a second?”

You had to get out, you had to get out now. Ellie looked up at you with an awkward smile and quickly darted out of the front door, slamming it behind her to give you both some privacy. Of course she couldn’t be fast when getting ready, but she was perfectly capable of being fast when it came time to abandon you.

“Say whatever thing it is that you have rehearsed so I can leave, Joel.” If you didn’t look at him, it would be okay. 

You could hear him swallow dryly as he prepared to speak to you.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot, recently. I jus’. I know I hurt you, but I just need you to understand why I said…what I said. All I want is for you to be happy and I wouldn–”

“Do you think it made me feel happy to be used like that? Just a quick fuck to keep warm before you go back to ignoring me?” You finally faced him and stalked closer to his rigid body, not even bothering to disguise the contempt you felt for him at that moment. Your eyes traced every inch of his face, observing each twitch and shift in expression coldly. Your heart was beating too loudly in your chest to make heads or tails of any microexpression, but you still took it all in. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Jus’ lemme explain–” His voice seemed desperate, now.

“You knew how I felt about you and you decided that being all alone together was the perfect opportunity to get what you wanted.”

“How you felt?”

Another step closer. You were practically chest to chest as you tried to ignore the pounding in your ears and the heat across your cheeks. 

“Well, are you happy Joel? Was it good enough to justify it? Was I good enough?” You meant the question to be a hurtful one, one pointed out the casual cruelty in how he used you, but there was an unfortunate wobble in your voice, a weakness that you couldn’t hide, which betrayed an embarrassing insecurity.

His eyes flickered down to your lips for a moment before moving back up to meet your eyes. 

“You were... Uh.” He was clearly flustered, unable to put together the correct answer, and that brought you some semblance of satisfaction. You waited patiently for his answer.

“Of-Of course you were good. But that’s not wh—”

You smiled bitterly as you took a couple of steps backwards, hand reaching behind you for the handle on the front door.

“Well, I’m glad you were satisfied, at the very least. Makes it all worth it.”

“Wait, please–”

The front door slammed behind you, leaving him standing there in the corridor. Alone.

Ellie was standing at the base of the porch steps, casually leaning against the bannister. 

“Oh, hey. Just…waiting for you. Over here. Away from the door.”

“Goddamn it, Ellie. Just.” You sighed in exhaustion, “Just start jogging, okay?”

Ellie gave you a big, dramatic salute, before taking off ahead of you, running way too fast, while you followed behind at a reasonable jogging speed. Within minutes of her beginning to run she was already groaning and complaining. Ellie was relatively fit but the girl wasn’t exactly one for cardio, and she had no problem with letting you know that as she stopped and knelt over to catch her breath in the middle of the road while you caught up with her.

“Fuckin’ Christ, there is no way you do this everyday!”, She exclaimed as she grabbed onto your arm while gasping for air. 

“I don’t do this everyday. I do it, like, three times a week, maybe,” She looked at you, eyes wide at your treachery as you giggled at her expense. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay? In my defense, I said jog not sprint. Also, like, you kinda asked for this,”

“I know, okay. God.” She muttered, finally straightening up and starting again at a pace that matched yours. 

The early morning was still and peaceful, and you started to appreciate the calm it brought you. Being with Ellie like this was comforting, and it reminded you of when your little sister still spent time with you. She was engaged now, and as much as you did still spend time together, it just wasn’t the same.

“So what’s going on with you and Joel, anyways?” Ellie’s voice cut through your sudden melancholia, and your defensive expression prompted her to quickly tack on, “Well, it’s not exactly normal right now! He’s being all weird and you’re not even making fun of him.”

“Weird? Weird, how?” You ignored the small smirk on her face when you latched onto her words about him.

“Well, I don’t know, sad and tired, I guess? Like, he just works and sleeps. I figured you finally started dating someone or something.”

Shock crossed your face and your foot sort of caught against the ground as you turned to look at her in confusion.

“Why would–. He’s probably fine, it’s winter, they probably just need more help than usual. People probably…have the flu, or something.” The lack of confidence in your voice was unconvincing.

“Right,” Ellie said sarcastically, “Well, he’s off today. If that is something of interest to you.”

“It’s not,” You had begun to respond before she even finished her sentence, causing her to roll her eyes.

“Right,” She continued “Well, are you busy tonight? ‘Cause, I was thinkin–”

Rather than let her even nearly finish whatever scheme she was going to try and sell you on, you cut her off again. “I am actually busy tonight, Els. Sorry. Maria forced me to sign up for this speed dating thing at the Bison. It’s stupid, but I thought I’d just…see what happens, I guess.” 

Ellie stopped in her tracks and pointed at you with an accusatory look “So you are dating someone else!”

“Not really, I’m just gonna go and talk to some other sad 30-something year olds for a couple of hours and then, I don’t know, go to sleep early or something.” 

Ellie didn’t need to know about your real plan, which was to suffer through the evening with a fake smile and a full cup of whatever shitty liquor they had put aside for the event. 

“Ugh, lame, remind me to never get old.” 

You threw a lump of icy sludge at her from the side of the road in response to her teasing, and you were sure that her blood-curdling scream in response woke up any of the few people who hadn’t yet woken for the day.

You felt stupid and underdressed. Insecurity about your appearance was something that you had always refused to make space for. There was just too much to think about, important things, and you weren’t going to let the fear of being unattractive interfere with your ability to get shit done. It may have crept in over the years here and there, from the occasional snide comment or weird, uncomfortable leering from drunk men, but for the most part, your appearance was something that you were apathetic about. All of your years of not caring evaporated the moment you stepped through the doors of the Tipsy Bison doors and saw people actually trying. 

Curled hair, jewelry, shaved legs in short skirts, the whole nine yards. And you stood there, looking like…you. Plain you.Your jeans were baggy and so was your sweater, removing even the suggestion of a figure, and the only makeup that you owned smelled too expired to apply that evening (you guessed that the natural crushed berry concoction that your sister made for you had a pretty short shelf life.) 

You didn’t consider yourself to be ugly by any means, and male interest was something that you definitely had experience with, but, in light of a pretty recent rejection, ‘plain you’ just didn’t feel like it was good enough. 

Maria waving you over from her seat at the bar saved you from spiraling, and you were able to swallow the strange sensation building up your throat with the help of her bright expression. As you approached her warily, she chuckled at your serious expression and leaned over to physically lift the downturned corners of your mouth into a smile.

“Come on, at least pretend you want to be here!” She begged playfully, causing your fake smile to turn into a real one.

“You’re right, I know. Just–I don’t know, I look like shit and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t…” Maria gave you a quick look up and down and plastered on an insincere smile ”...look like shit?” Her eyes lingered at the crusted mud splattered on your jeans.

“I—well, I had to go to work! It’s all gross sludge out there right now! Don’t look at me like that!” 

Maria rolled her eyes while standing up, pushing you into the seat she had been occupying and gesturing at the bartender for a drink to be poured for you. “You’re gonna have a drink and then you’re going to go talk to the nice men, and maybe even set up a real first date with them. Then, you’re gonna come for lunch with me and Tommy tomorrow and tell us about your favorites. These are orders, not requests.”

“Fine- wait, where’re you going?”

Maria paused with one arm in her jacket sleeve, as if she had been hoping that she could casually sneak out without you noticing. 

“Oh. Well. I sort of was going to go on a double date. Your, uh, sister and her fiance wanted to cook dinner for me and Tommy, so…”

“So…..you’re abandoning me?” You hoped your accusatory tone made her feel as guilty as possible.

“Yeah, pretty much.” 

“Traitor.” 

You knocked back the shot sitting on the bar in front of you and gave your friend a quick half hug before she left you to visit your happily engaged sister. Who was five years younger than you, and already engaged. Engaged to be wed. While you sat there, about to embark on fifty first dates, not even really knowing why you bothered to come. 

Well, no point in delaying the inevitable.

You forced yourself away from the safety of the bar and approached the plastic fold out table containing name tags and score cards. Each pin had the names of those who signed up for the event in simple calligraphy that you recognised as your sisters. She must have been practicing for the wedding invites. You pinned the button onto your sweater, and walked to sit at one of the tables, waiting anxiously for the first man to sit in front of you 

It had been the longest hour of your life. Longer than the time you were stuck in a flipped car, unable to crawl out towards safety due to the few straggler runners roaming the street that hadn’t quite heard you yet. Even longer than the time that Tommy thought Maria was breaking up with him, and came to you drunk and babbling about making a plan to win her back, only to find out that the note she left him was referring to her leaving temporarily to check in on the new family in town (he had been on some strange paranoia-inducing painkillers for a foot injury at the time.)

The liquor was definitely helping, as you listened to the unremarkable man in front of you drone on and on about some sort of farming quota he was struggling to meet. He hadn’t asked you a single question yet, and the time on the stopwatch meant that you only had three minutes left in his lovely company. Three minutes that could not be moving more slowly.

You let your eyes wander around the bar, and spotted Emmett, your current patrol partner. He gave you a bright grin, almost spilling the drink in his hand in his eagerness to wave at you. Stifling a giggle at his almost, but not quite, endearing stupidity, you turned back in time for the timer to beep, signaling your freedom.

It was time for a short break, and you practically dragged yourself to the bar for anything strong enough to make you forget about the carrots and the turnips and the stupid fucking green beans that you had heard enough of for the rest of your life. 

Emmett reached out to you as you approached with open arms, pulling you into a too-tight shoulder hug that you reciprocated out of sheer awkwardness. 

“Well, well, well, look who actually showed up for one of these events! You could've told me if you were looking for a hot date, I would have taken you out in a heartbeat.” His wrinkled black dress shirt was buttoned a few buttons too low, and there was a leather strapped necklace with a gaudy metal shark tooth pendant around his neck. It only served to make you even less charmed by his attempts at seduction, if that was even possible.

“Unless you’ve aged ten years since the last time I saw you, that’s probably going to be a no,” You gave him a tight smile.

“Come on, you know I'm wise beyond my years. Trust me, I have plenty of experience where it counts,” You began to peel his arm off from around your shoulder while he laughed at his own implication, ready to move further down the bar and away from his slightly slurred voice. 

“Sober up, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning, alright?” You said when you finally got out of his vice grip, turning away.

Alcohol of any kind was needed, right that second, if you were going to make it through the rest of the evening.

“Is he like this with you all the time?” The voice next to you made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your fingers curl tighter around your glass. 

Just ignore him. Keep your eyes on the placemat in front of you. Why is he even here?

The bartender seemed to sense your frustrations, if the double shot of gin he poured for you without you needing to ask was any indication.

“You actually let him get away with that?” 

“I let you get away with a whole lot worse, didn’t I, Joel?” 

He shut up at that, for a moment, and your shoulders began to relax. You didn’t know where he came from or how long he’d been here. You certainly hadn’t seen him around the event, otherwise you would have left already. 

You felt him shift closer to you, chest almost touching your shoulder as he leaned closer to speak to you, almost imploring you to listen to him.

“He’s a real piece of work, you really shouldn-”

“I don’t need advice from you.” You slammed your glass down onto the counter as if to punctuate your point with a glare of pure disdain in his direction.

He seemed to take the hint, turning away from your side and resting his hands against the counter in frustration. He stood there, shoulders rigid, seeming as if he was physically holding himself back from speaking. You were grateful for that.

As your eyes reached his form you felt your previous anger die down, just a little bit. He looked so tired and unsure of himself, so strangely tense. He was not quite drunk but definitely getting there, and your outburst left him visibly unanchored as he grit his teeth and nodded carefully. You felt almost embarrassed at the way you snapped at him when he seemed so hesitant under your glare.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. None of my business.”

“Yeah, it really isn’t.” With that you walked away from the bar and from him, wanting to just get through the last couple of dates so you could go home and forget this ever happened. Fuck dating, fuck the boring men at this stupid event, and especially fuck Joel Miller for somehow still being able to get under your skin.

Once you sat, you checked your watch and noted that you might even have enough time once you left to head straight to Tommy and Maria’s and demand they were put to justice for making you partake in this nightmare. Your evil plans were cut short by the shadow of someone looming above you. You almost laughed when you looked up and saw who it was taking a seat opposite you.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Joel?” The chair you were in let out an awful screeching noise as it scraped against the hardwood floor where you pushed it back from the table, but you didn’t move to get up yet.

“You’re next on the thing.” He mumbled while gesturing at the card in his hand before placing it face down on the table and settling down in his seat.

“You…why are you even here? I thought you weren’t into the whole relationship thing. Y’know, unless that was just your way of letting me down easy.” All of your effort was going into not letting your voice shake in anger.

“Jus’--I thought–” His stops and starts infuriated you even more. “Tommy mentioned it, I thought it might be- fun.” He couldn’t even look at you as you fumed in silence.

“What’s your job in Jackson?” He read out quietly from the question card in the center of the table.

You clenched and unclenched your jaw, finally moving to stand up. 

“Wait. It’s not time to switch partners yet.”

“Fuck off, Joel.”

He looked into your eyes for a couple of moments too long before looking away silently. As if he accepted that you weren’t going to give him anything. You froze in your movement as you saw his face. God, he really didn’t look good. 

Despite the voice in your head screaming at you to just leave and go home and eat the caramel corn that you stole from your brother's pantry, your body seemed to instinctively sit back down.

With an exasperated sigh and a flat tone, you answered “Patrol. You?”

His eyes flitted up to yours for a moment and he nodded, “Patrol, too. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.” It wasn’t green. There was just a part of you that didn’t want to let him have anymore of you than he already had, even something as inconsequential as a favorite color.

He paused at that, slight confusion on his face. His fingers that were loosely resting on the table began to tap against the wood restlessly. His mouth opened and shut, before he seemingly decided to push forward. 

“Mine’s blue. What’s your favorite movie?” You felt uncomfortable as he watched you, with his soft brown eyes glued to your face as if he was waiting for you to say something, anticipating it.

“Titanic.” You answered without elaborating further. 

“No, it ain’t.” The hand that had been tapping slammed flat against the table, not out of anger but sheer frustration. He leaned in closer, sitting up straight from where he had been leaning to speak as if he was telling you a secret. 

“You like Star Wars. I know that for a fact, ‘cause had a hell of a lot to say about the way it ‘revolutionized cinema’ when we talked about it.” He was almost daring you to tell him he was wrong.

“Changed my mind.” Somehow, you were able to answer without stuttering, ignoring the way your heart rate accelerated from him being so fucking close to you. You didn’t know why he remembered that stupid debate you had with him. It had been months and months since you had talked about anything as simple and lighthearted as your favorite movies. You really didn’t know why it seemed to bother him so fucking much that you said an answer outside of what he believed to be true. 

“Right.” He said with a sigh, slumping back into his chair. His hands that were on the table, just a few inches from your own, shifted back towards his own body. “What’s your–”

“You didn’t answer.” Fuck, shut up. Joel seemed as surprised as you were at your interjection. 

“You know what my favorite movie is.” You did.

 “What’s your favorite book?” He continued to read from the question cards diligently.

“I don’t really have one.”

He stared at you, jaw clenched. 

“Is it that hard to answer a few questions? You like Star Wars, I know you like Star Wars. You like yellow. Your favorite book is Interview with the Vampire.”

He was right, of course, but that didn’t mean it didn’t frustrate you that he was so certain that he knew everything there was to know about you. If he cared enough to remember random trivia about you off the top of his head, then how could he be so deeply uncaring just as easily?

“You don’t know everything about me, Joel. I can change my mind.” Your fingers had started to hurt from how hard you were gripping the edge of the table.

“You do that often? Change your mind like that?” His tone was low and gravelly, and it wasn’t hard to understand that he wasn’t referring to the stupid ice-breaker questions.

“And what, exactly, do you mean by that?” Now you were the one leaning forward in your chair, unable to get a grip on the rising anger in your chest.

He sort of flinched at your sharp tone. “Well. You’ve been different, since…” He hesitated for a moment. “An’ I know that’s my fault. Jus’ didn’t think it would mean that I wouldn’t even exist to you anymore.”

You stood up, ignoring the looks from the other couples nearby who all looked at their stopwatches to see if they were supposed to be switching partners. “Why the fuck are you actually here, Joel?”

He looked uncomfortable and shifted slightly in his seat. “I told you–”

You turned at the start of his non-answer and grabbed your thick winter coat, pulling it on over you as you walked out on him. Any patience that you had for Joel Miller was long gone, and you regretted ever giving him the benefit of the doubt. You should’ve known there was no point in even trying when he showed up for a dating event a mere month after using his alleged inability to be in a relationship as an excuse to not be with you.

The snow was flurrying down outside, and if it wasn’t for the soft yellow glow of the street lamps illuminating the main street, it would have been pitch black.

“Will you hold on jus’ one minute?” Joel whisper-shouted behind you, still tugging his own jacket on in his rush to follow you. “I jus’ wanted a chance to explain things!”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you to a stop before you could begin your trek through the snow home, and you wrenched it back from him as if his touch burned.

“Jus’ wait! Please.” It wasn’t the authoritative tone he used in his command, but the desperation in his plea that finally got you to stop in your tracks. 

Noticing the way you sniffled from the cold winter night where you stood in the open air, he guided you towards the alleyway beside the Tipsy Bison, never actually touching you but instead steering you with a hand a few inches away from making contact with your back.

The alleyway was dimly lit from the left over street light, and thankfully slightly warmer due to the proximity of the busy kitchen’s back door. The rushing breeze didn’t quite reach either of you in the sheltered space. It was much quieter here, as you stared at each other, and you were determined to not give him the pleasure of having you crack under his gaze. You were going to be cold and unaffected and not let yourself get dragged back into whatever game he wanted to play.

“Will you just leave me alone? I don’t understand you Joel, you were the one who didn’t want me. You say you want to explain, but it already seems pretty cut and dry to me.” You were sort of impressed at how strong your voice came out of your nervous body, surprised that your determination to be unaffected actually seemed to be coming across. 

“You’ve got this idea in your head that I planned this, or somethin’. That I wanted to use you,” The word use dripped in what sounded like disgust at the very idea that you could have believed that of him. He took a step closer to you and moved a hand to rest on your bicep, not squeezing or putting pressure, just wanting you to feel him there.

“I...I do care about you. That’s the problem. Maybe to you it could’ve been somethin’ casual and I ruined it by bein’ so cold,  but it couldn’ be that for me. An’ you yourself said that you would want somethin’ more out of a…relationship.” His voice faltered for a moment as he spoke that word. Relationship. Just speaking it in the context of being with you made his hand tighten around your arm.

“I would need you entirely and I know I can’t be that for you. Don’ even know if you would want it to be me, but I do know that I couldn’ be that. I want you to be happy.” His voice was almost pained as he tried to explain himself, the words he didn’t get to say in the morning now tumbling out in a rush. 

You couldn’t identify the exact moment that it happened, but he was holding on to you by your shoulders now, eyebrows furrowed with an intense need for you to just, somehow, understand him.

“Just deciding what it is that I want or need without actually listening to me isn’t fair, Joel.  This isn’t how people care about people. This isn’t how you care about people. I didn’t need or want anything more than what happened between us.” You reached up and brought one of his hands down between you both, gazing at his scarred fingers resting in your palm before letting it fall to his side.

He seemed to struggle for words for a moment, pulling back from you entirely. “We can be friends again.” His voice was pleading. “Or whatever we were before I fucked it all up. I can be that for you. I know you regret what we did, and you want to forget it ever happened. I won’t cross any lines, I won’t try anything with you ever again. I just… I miss you.” 

He was more vulnerable than you had ever seen him, but none of it felt right. You and him were practically nothing for months on end before you slept together. He was insisting that you meant something to him, that he needed you, but he wanted to keep you at arms length. It was so fucking confusing, and you were still struggling with just how easily he was able to let himself hurt you, even if he convinced himself that it was for the best. 

“I think…it might be a little late for that, Joel.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, partially to warm yourself up and partially to soothe the building anxiety in your chest. “We haven’t been friends for a long fucking time. I think…maybe it should stay that way. At least for now. This just. It isn’t what being cared about is meant to feel like.”

Your words seemed to have an impact on him, as something seemed to shutter behind his eyes, closing off that soft vulnerability that he had let you into for such a brief moment.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, “You’re right. I don’ know what I was thinkin’. You, uh, have a good rest of your night.”

He walked past you quickly, giving you a wide berth as he passed, before pausing with his back still turned to you. His silhouette in the dim light was broad and still as his heavy exhale visibly poured out of him in a haze of vapor. 

 “And I’m sorry. For everythin’.”

A/N: AHHH I'M SORRY FOR TAKING SO FUCKING LONG BETWEEN UPLOADS, I'M GONNA GET MY SHIT TOGETHER FOR THE NEXT (FINAL :O) CHAPTER!!!

please let me know what you think!!!!!!! i hope it wasn't disappointing!!!

also massive thank you to @morning-star-joy @beardedjoel @huffle-punk for reading and giving me feedback, you're all my babies and i love you and i'm sorry for needing you all to pat me on the head and tell me i'm doing okay so often <3 <3

tags:

@beardedjoel @huffle-punk @quicheislife @orcasoul

lemme know if u wanna be tagged!!

#joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel x reader #tlou fic #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader

[starlightkun]

❧ word count: 10.3k ❧ warnings: cursing, mentions and discussion of past family deaths, discussions of blood and blood drinking, graphic description of blood and blood drinking, an even more graphic description of neck biting than the first one lol (y’know, vampire stuff, hope we weren’t expecting anything else) ❧ genre: fluff, angst but between friends not our main couple, modern magical creatures au, fantasy au, college au, vampire kun, human reader, ft. various other magical weishens, same universe as strawberry sunday, sequel to romance is dead ❧ extra info: this is a sequel to romance is dead! it cannot be read as a standalone, you must read romance is dead first! this work is set in the same universe as strawberry sunday! there is no continuing plotline between fics in this universe (aside from romance is dead to this one), they simply take place in the same world/magic system and may have overlapping characters (neos may pop up in more than one work!) ❧ author’s note: a second inspiration has hit the author, mr. president

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ explore the strawberry sunday universe more here!

i believe in miracles, something more than physical

“Hey, guys—”

“You know, Kunhang, just write a paper about it in your Philosophy of Magic class, because I’m sick of hearing about it,” you spat at the gryphon sitting across from you, paying Yangyang—who had just walked up and you had cut off—entirely no attention.

“I’m not even in Philosophy of Magic, so—” Kunhang shot back, giving you a smug look.

Yangyang’s bright smile turned to a look of ‘yikes’ as he pivoted on his heel, presumably to make a break from what he had just walked into. Except Ten’s hand darted out to latch onto his forearm and yank him down into a chair at the table.

“Oh, no you don’t,” the siren said through gritted teeth. “This is your fault, you’re going to suffer through it with the rest of us.”

“My fault? How? I just got here.”

Dejun leaned in from across the table, “They’re debating the ethics of blood drinking. Or, Kunhang is at least trying to.”

“And he’s about fifty years late to it in modern academia at least,” Sicheng snorted softly, bringing the straw of his drink up to his mouth.

“That’s also like the first assignment you get in every Intro to MCS class ever.” Yangyang ripped open a ketchup packet to begin squirting it all over his fries. “Why is he—”

All of his friends who weren’t currently hurtling verbal vitriol at each other instead gave him a very frank, pointed look. The witch trailed off.

“Oh. Right.” He picked up a fry that had gotten a bit too much ketchup on it, watching as a glob of the red condiment dripped off it before biting it in half.

You, meanwhile, were this fucking close to storming out of the student union building and keying Kunhang’s car. You weren’t one for violence, but you absolutely were one for vandalism and property damage. And it would be so goddamn cathartic to key his car right about now. After all, this wasn’t the first, nor second, nor even third time that he had tried to philosophize and/or debate you out of your relationship.

Speaking of, you spotted a familiar figure approaching your table, one that was able to dissolve just enough tension and malice from your body in that moment that you decided to save keying Kunhang’s car for another day.

“Oh! Kun!” You lifted your hand to give him a small wave, despite the fact that you definitely knew that he had both seen and smelled you, and was already headed straight for you.

Kunhang noticeably clenched his jaw and shifted back in his seat, clearly upset at your discussion being interrupted. Thankfully, he generally had the decency to not do all this in front of your boyfriend.

Kun offered an enchanting smile as he approached, first picking one of your hands up to kiss the back of it as always, then he pecked your cheek. “Hello, Y/N.”

“Hi, Kun.” Your gaze followed him as he walked around behind you to take the empty seat you’d saved for him in between you and Dejun.

“Good afternoon, everybody,” the vampire nodded to your other friends.

A chorus of ‘Hey, Kun’s came from around the table, save for the gryphon across from you. You stared him down angrily, but he refused to make eye contact with you.

“Did you get held up or something?” You turned your focus to your boyfriend instead, referencing his unusual tardiness to your friend group’s typical late-lunch meetup.

“I had to speak with my professor about a recent test grade. It turns out he entered it in the electronic gradebook wrong. I didn’t expect it to take so long, I’m sorry, my love, I should have texted you to let you know I was going to be late.”

“Kun, it’s okay,” you reassured him, taking his hand in yours and resting them on your lap. “It was just a few minutes.”

“Sucks about your grade, though,” Yangyang added, then stuffing three fries in his mouth at once.

“It’s been corrected, so no harm done.” Kun had an easy smile on his face as he conversed, one that you were happy to see more and more.

“Why even correct it?” Kunhang huffed from his seat, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re going to live forever, what do grades even matter? You can just take the class again, right? Get another degree, you can get a million degrees, I’m sure you already have a hundred or two. What does this one little grade even matter? What does any of this even matter to you? What do any of us even matter to you?”

“Kunhang, stop it!” You snapped, your grip tightening on Kun’s hand. You knew where that line of questioning was going, or had already gone implicitly. So what did you matter to Kun, then? But you already knew plenty about Kun’s view on life, both the finite and his eternal one, and how much he treasured everything he had now and looked forward to all the changes that were yet to come. Kunhang, of course, knew nothing about that, because this was so far the closest thing he’d had to a real conversation with the vampire since you and Kun had officially started dating.

“This was my midterm test grade, which is a significant portion of the class’s overall grade as this professor only gives three grades: midterm, final, and final paper. If I had to repeat the class, it would affect my current plan to graduate next semester with Y/N and begin my master’s next fall.” Kun, who you would’ve sworn was an actual angel if not for the red eyes, calmly answered only his first question.

“Y/N, seriously? You have life plans with a—”

You finally felt something fully snap inside of you, letting go of Kun’s hand to slam both of your palms on the table and stand up out of your chair. “Just shut the fuck up, Kunhang! You’re not him! You know that, right? You’re not him, so just stop it already!”

Kunhang’s nostrils flared as he stared you right back down, his grey eyes swirling like storm clouds. Then he grabbed his backpack off the ground and stormed out of the student union, knocking his chair so far back in his haste that it hit a student sitting at the table behind you.

You were still rooted to the same spot, your hands flat against the table, leaning over it, your eyes glued to the doors that the gryphon had left through. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, feeling the anger tingling in the tips of your fingers and your toes like electricity.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Ten asked quietly, hesitantly.

“No,” you answered flatly, grabbing your own bag and taking off in the opposite direction.

Hot tears were already pricking at your eyes before you pushed open the door to leave the building, and you couldn’t even make it to the sidewalk that wrapped around the main block of campus before the tears gathering in your vision made it too hard to see.

You stopped at a bench, looking around hopefully and letting out a rather pitiful, “Kun?”

He emerged from the crowd of students just a moment later, relief flashing across his face for a moment before a deep line set between his brows again as he came to sit beside you. You immediately buried your face in his neck, and he wrapped his arms around you, resting a hand on the back of your head.

“There you are, my love,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I was late again.”

You let out a strangled giggle into the material of his sweatervest at that. Turning your head so your words wouldn’t be so muffled, you joked, “It’s okay, I was kind of running away.”

“Still, I should be faster than you.”

“Mm, good point.”

You were still crying, the tears falling down your cheeks one after another. But you didn’t want to keep crying on campus with the sounds of other people walking by. While you certainly weren’t the first person to cry on this bench—nor would you be the last—you didn’t want to prolong your stint there any longer.

“Kun?” You mumbled his name.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Can you take me home please?”

“Of course.”

“Your home,” you clarified.

He shifted to hold you just a bit tighter to him. “Of course, my love.”

At Kun’s house, you were sat on his plush olive-green couch, your knees pulled up to your chest as you blew on a mug of hot tea that he had just handed you. Both of you were fresh out of a nice relaxing bath, with comfy clothes on courtesy of your boyfriend, who had also insisted on making you a cup of calming tea. You did make him promise that it wasn’t one of those spiked blends that witches sold. He assured you it was just regular old chamomile that you could pick up at a human supermarket.

Kun sat down beside you, resting an arm along the back of the couch behind you. You continued listlessly staring at the surface of the tea, watching the ripples on the surface as you blew across it.

“Kunhang wasn’t even my best friend first, you know?” You said abruptly into the quiet.

Kun took it in stride, asking curiously, “Whose was he, then?”

“My brother’s.”

“Your… brother’s…” He repeated slowly, and you knew exactly what he was thinking about: when he had met your immediate family just a few weeks ago, your mom and dad. No siblings.

“Yeah, Kunhang’s family lived across the street. They were inseparable growing up. It was practically like having two big brothers,” you recalled fondly, a bittersweet smile playing across your lips for a moment before it fell off completely at what was coming next. “Then after the funeral, Kunhang and I would check up on each other. Calls, texts, getting lunch, ‘wow you’re graduating already I can’t believe you’ve gotten so big,’ and we just kind of never stopped.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Kun ran a gentle, cool knuckle up your cheek to catch a stray tear. You grabbed his hand to hold it instead, giving it a tight squeeze.

“What are you apologizing for?” You sniffled, a hint of playfulness in your tone as you echoed the words he’d said to you when he’d told you about his parents’ passing.

“Isn’t that what you say? I’m sorry for your loss?” He murmured back, clearly aware of the same déjà vu, but with no sense of irony or humor to the words.

“Yeah, I am too.” You finally took a sip of the tea, and immediately let out a hiss. Too hot still. “Anyway, I actually think everyone was expecting that Kunhang and I were going to end up together but he’s just… it’s not like that. And I think he thinks his job is to be my brother now. To watch over me since… my brother can’t anymore.”

“‘You’re not him…’” Kun repeated in recognition.

“I know… that probably hurt him a lot.” You gnawed on your bottom lip regretfully as you imagined the kind of pain those words must have put your friend through. “But I wish he could just get it through his stupid bird brain that he doesn’t have to do that. All I need him to be is my friend.”

Kun rubbed his thumb over yours tenderly. “Have you told him that?”

“No, no I haven’t,” you admitted, reluctantly realizing that you unfortunately weren’t entirely faultless in this. Or, at least that you could be doing much more to patch things up instead of expecting Kunhang to just read your mind.

“Maybe try that?” He suggested.

“Okay, yeah. You’re right.” You lifted the mug to your lips once more, then immediately spat the tea back out. “God, Kun! Did you get the water for this from the surface of the fucking Sun? What the fuck?!”

“The Sun is far too hot to maintain liquid water,” he deadpanned, earning a frank glare from you.

“You’re hilarious. You and Kunhang should do stand-up together if he ever gets the mile-long stick out of his ass.”

“He should see a doctor about that.”

You shifted forward to set the mug down on the ornately carved cherry wood coffee table. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of it tomorrow.”

“You’re such a Good Samaritan.”

Kun enveloped you in his arms as you turned around to wrap yours around him, resting your head on his chest. He laid the both of you down on the couch, pulling a blanket down off the back to lay it over you. You liked laying like this, because despite everyone else telling you that vampires were technically dead, when you and Kun were like this, you could hear him breathing in and out—and yes maybe that was just for him to keep track of smells like the apex predator he technically was, but it’s not like you didn’t do the same thing; take an extra deep inhale when you were here, wearing his clothes, in his home, being held by him. And you could hear something beating in his chest, too. What was it pumping, to where, and for what purpose, you didn’t know, or really care. All you knew was that despite it all, Kun was right here, with you, and you could hear that, feel that, know that, and know that he always would be, even after you were gone.

“Kun?” You looked up at him, your chest getting warm and tight when you realized that he had already been gazing down at you.

“Yes?” He traced your jawline with one finger seemingly absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Kiss me?”

“Ah, how could I resist?” He tilted your chin up as he bent his neck to connect his cool lips with your warm ones.

In the morning, you finally woke up, sitting up and stretching out what felt like a decade of tension from your body. You always felt like you got the best sleep of your life at Kun’s place thanks to his carefully acquired silk sheets and vampire-level blackout curtains. Blindly reaching out in the dark for the other side of the bed, you were disappointed to find it empty. Figures, Kun never slept in, if he even slept at all. Well, you could at least turn a light on. You turned exactly one bedside wall sconce on—which you guessed was probably originally meant to be for oil but Kun had retrofitted to be electric—and immediately spotted a folded piece of paper standing up on your nightstand.

Propping yourself up on an elbow, you grabbed the small piece of cardstock, unfolding it and holding it up to the sconce to be able to read the neat script that was on it. Rubbing sleep out of your eyes, a smile spread across your lips as you recognized it as another poem from Kun. An Italian sonnet, if you weren’t mistaken. He would still pen you verses at random intervals, but at least never gave them when there was a risk of your nosy friends being around.

You read it through one more time before setting it back on the nightstand and swinging your feet over the side of the bed. After first shuffling to the bathroom, you then shuffled to the bedroom door.

You found a full fare of breakfast already set up at the kitchen table, but no vampire in sight. Huh. Usually even if he wasn’t going to eat, he would at least sit with you and read a book or chat with you while you ate.

Loading up a few pieces of fruit and finger foods onto a plate, you took your breakfast to go into the living room to look for your boyfriend. He was a quick find, at least, sitting at his producing desk. His head was bobbing along to whatever he was listening to, sitting cross-legged in his desk chair as he leaned forward on both elbows on the desk. Which was probably why he couldn’t hear or feel you approaching until you laid a hand on his back.

Kun’s shoulders jumped as he startled and whipped around, pulling his headphones off. You couldn’t help but laugh at his wide, surprised eyes. It wasn’t often that you could give a vampire a scare, after all.

He put a hand over his chest, a relieved smile coming to his face, “Oh, it’s just you, Y/N. You startled me.”

“Clearly,” you snickered, popping a grape in your mouth. You rubbed your hand up and down his back. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, nothing.” He quickly minimized the tabs on his screens.

“And that’s not suspicious at all,” you snorted. “But fine, you want to do a little secret project, go for it.”

“You found breakfast.” Kun smiled up at you, gesturing to your plate of food.

“Changing the subject, also not suspicious. But yes, I did. The poem, too. Thank you for both.”

“Also, good morning, my love.”

“Good morning, Kun.” You cupped his cheek to pull him into a good morning kiss. “Are you hungry?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s all yours.”

“Not what I meant. You didn’t feed last night, unless you had some supplement this morning before I woke up.”

“We were talking about a delicate subject. Not exactly the time to ask to bite you, I think.”

“You never ask to bite me. I always have to offer.”

“Well—”

“Do I not taste good, Kun?” You asked humorously, mock offense in your tone.

He seemed at a loss for words, caught between not wanting to insult you and not wanting you to feel obligated to let him feed on you. “That’s not—”

“I’m kidding, hon,” you tossed another piece of fruit in your mouth. Stroking a thumb over his cheekbone, you reiterated firmly, “But are you hungry? And be honest with me, Qian Kun. You know that if you need to feed, all you have to do is ask.”

“You eat first,” he covered your hand that was on his face with his, and offered you a small smile. “Then I will. Okay?”

After finishing your plate of food, you were back in Kun’s bedroom, sat in a plush, oversized armchair with him. He had you in between his legs, your back flush to his front with both arms around your waist. You leaned back against him contentedly, resting your head against his as you rubbed circles into his inner thigh with your thumb.

“You always get quiet right before… What goes on up there every time?” You murmured, threading the fingers of your other hand through the hair at the back of his head. “Angsting about being a monster? Contemplating about your soul being damned? Indulge me, Kun.”

He let out a short laugh at your dramatics, his cold breath laugh blowing over the exposed skin of your neck, and his chest vibrating against you. “No, nothing like that. I’ve long disposed of thoughts like that about what I am, thankfully.”

“Good. Then what is it?” You dropped your hand and craned your head to be able to see his profile.

Even in the dim light afforded by the single wall sconce, you could see the warmth flickering in his scarlet irises as his gaze met yours. “I just stop to appreciate the moment, to appreciate you. I want to make sure I’ll never forget how lucky I am to have you.”

You closed the small gap between you, pressing your lips to his. Kun kissed you back unhurriedly, mouth moving against yours tenderly. It was you that moved to deepen the kiss, parting your lips. Always one to indulge you, he swiped his tongue against yours, cool and familiar. You didn’t break apart until you needed to breathe again, and even then, exchanged a handful more open-mouthed kisses full of tongue and teeth. Kun kept kissing a wet trail from your mouth to your jaw, then behind your ear, then down your neck. You let your head fall back on his shoulder as he stopped to press several kisses over one spot in particular. His deep inhale was audible. Anticipation pulsed through your body with every beat of your heart.

Your hand hadn’t stopped smoothing circles into his leg, and your grip on him tightened as you were alight with excitement. One of his hands reached out to lace with your free hand and wrap back around your waist.

Then, with one more gentle brush of his lips against your pulse point, he bit you. The familiar sharp piercing of his fangs breaking skin came first, followed by a sweet, soothing ecstasy that spread out from the bite through the entirety of your body. You shifted slightly to relax further back into him, a noise between a hum and sigh coming from your mouth. Kun squeezed your hand that he was holding, and you were quick to squeeze it back, an easy way for him to check in on you while he was drinking from you. If your grip wasn’t as strong as he’d like, or you failed to respond at all, he would’ve stopped entirely for fear of overdrinking. And if you ever wanted him to stop, you just had to squeeze his hand twice in row. You’d never had to use that signal once, nor did you ever imagine that you would; Kun was always a perfect gentleman before, during, and after, never coming close to overfeeding. If anything, you were sure that he erred on the side of underfeeding himself and supplementing with the artificial blood he kept in his fridge.

Kun’s mouth sucked the tender area as his tongue smoothed over the two rivulets draining from you. Another soft sound came from you as you reached up to grab his head, holding him there by the hair. You could feel him chuckle fondly against your neck, the vibrations thrumming through your body.

Like always, it was over much too soon for your liking. He took his mouth from your skin, pressing one more tender kiss to the spot where he bit before disconnecting entirely. Kun gently unwound your fingers from his hair and reluctantly unlaced his hand that was holding yours. He kept his arms around you, though, as he reached over to the short table that was beside the chair and grabbed a small tin no bigger than the palm of his hand.

Twisting the lid off, he leaned all the way back in the chair, encouraging you to sit back against him, turned just slightly to the side. He gently applied the salve to the bite, and you let your eyes flutter shut as you enjoyed the feeling of cool fingers running over the sensitive area. Sometimes you didn’t let him apply the bite salve, enjoying the look of a vampire bite on your neck for a few days. But today could not be one of those days, which you both knew very well. Not with who you’d have to go talk to soon after this.

When he was done, Kun closed the tin back up and set it aside once more, rubbing the remaining product into his own hands before wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on the opposite shoulder from where he’d just bit.

The smell of rosemary wafted up to your nose from the bite salve, and you contentedly rested your head against Kun’s. The wound would close up and heal in just a couple minutes now, leaving behind no trace of the bite.

“How do you feel?” He murmured right beside your ear.

“Mm, great,” you answered truthfully, playing with his fingers. “How about you?”

“Good, I’m good.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Thank you, Y/N. My miracle…”

You trudged up a hill, wiping away a bead of sweat that had gathered on your brow. When you’d gone to Kunhang and Yangyang’s apartment after breakfast that morning, you’d only been able to find the witch. He’d informed you that your gryphon friend had taken off early to go flying, but hadn’t told Yangyang where. Lucky for you, you knew exactly where he’d be anyway. Kunhang’s favorite flying spot was a park near your old neighborhood which had been made a specifically designated fly space. It was several square miles where no planes, helicopters, drones, or even kites could be flown to make it safe for gryphons, phoenixes, and other flying beings to stretch out their wings. It doubled as a nature preserve with walking trails, benches, and posted signs protecting the wildlife and plants.

You’d already caught sight of your target back on the walking trails, and were now chasing him down at a severe disadvantage on foot. Finally reaching the clearing he was doing the majority of his aerial tricks above, you stopped and looked up at him, using a hand to shield your face from the sun.

“Kunhang!” You called out to your friend, who was currently somersaulting through the air, powerful grey wings stretched out behind him.

He looked down at you, then pretended not to hear you, swooping down into a backflip.

“Kunhang, come on!” You yelled out desperately. “I-I want to apologize! Please!”

He stopped in midair at that, a fair distance above you. You had to crane your neck up to look at him.

“You want to apologize?” He looked down at you in disbelief.

“Yes! Now would you get down here so we don’t have to have this entire conversation shouting at each other? Again.”

“No.” He dropped down to hover just in front of you. “But you can come up.”

“What?”

“Come on, you know the drill.” He was now stood on the ground with two feet.

“And I’m also not seven anymore,” you scoffed.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

“Fine.” With a roll of your eyes, you wrapped your arms around Kunhang’s shoulders.

“God, no need to choke me out.” He made a mock choking sound, pulling at your arms to loosen your grip on him. “If I pass out, we’re both going down, you know.”

You pinched the skin on the back of his neck. “Just fly, stupid.”

And with that, Kunhang pushed up off the ground, his powerful wings easily lifting the both of you up higher and higher. Your flight didn’t last long, just until your friend had reached a tree branch he deemed suitable for the both of you to sit on, high above everything else, your feet swinging below you. The two of you were side-by-side, his wings folded up behind him.

“I’m sorry,” you started, making sure to hold your end of the promise first. “For what I said to you in the student union yesterday. It was a really shitty thing of me to say, and I don’t want you to think for a second that I don’t appreciate you and everything you’ve done for me, Kunhang.”

The gryphon was quiet next to you, and you took him not flying off as a good sign.

“While I shouldn’t have said it to you like that, I need you to understand: You do not have to be my brother.”

You heard him breathe in sharply, like he was about to say something back, but you pushed on.

“For you to think that you’ve had to not only carry the burden of your grief, but mine, and that kind of responsibility, for all these years… I don’t want you to think you have to shoulder all of that. Because you don’t.” You took your eyes off of the leaves in front of you and finally looked over at him. He was staring straight ahead, his mouth a hard line but you saw the tears gathering in his eyes. Your eyes were stinging with bitter tears of your own, and you continued through the lump in your throat, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, Kunhang. I am relieving you of that, okay? Please, let it go. You are not failing me, or him, to just be my friend. I need you to be my friend. My best friend, in the whole world, okay? Can you please do that?”

Kunhang still wasn’t saying anything, but you saw a tear finally slip down his cheek, and his bottom lip trembled. You reached out to hesitantly take his hand, and were surprised when he squeezed yours back with an iron grip.

“I had a brother, and he was great. And he’s gone now.” Your voice cracked over the word ‘gone,’ which was when your friend finally looked at you, and you gave him a bittersweet smile. “And that’s okay. You can’t help either of us hold onto him by becoming him. So can you please let it go? Just let the weight on your shoulders go?”

The gryphon’s brow creased with concern as he finally spoke, “Then who’s going to look out for you, Y/N?”

“Did he ask you to? Look out for me?”

Kunhang nodded.

You looked up towards the sky and gave a cynical but fond chuckle. “Of course he did. You can look out for me, Kunhang. But there’s a difference between looking out for me, and blatantly treating me like a child who can’t be trusted to make her own decisions. I think that’s what’s been hurting me the most. It’s fine that maybe you’re a little iffy about Kun, he’s a vampire that you don’t really know—well, Yangyang kind of does, but whatever, he’s Yangyang.”

That earned you a choked giggle from your friend, and you chuckled a little as well.

“That little bit of suspicion over your friend’s new boyfriend is normal, even welcome sometimes, except you’ve been making me feel like you don’t trust me. Like you think that I’m stupid or something.” You explained with a sigh, disappointment coloring your voice.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Kunhang admitted, looking at you wistfully. “I don’t think you’re some stupid little kid, by any means. You’ve grown up into such a smart, incredible person that I know your brother is proud of, and that I’m proud of, too, like you’re my own sister.”

“Then act like it, dude,” you scoffed, using your free hand to give him a light smack on the head. “You’ve been making all these assumptions about Kun, and about our relationship, and you refuse to even listen to me or actually like properly sit down and talk to him to see what we’re like together. You want to be the dependable older brother friend? You’ve got to put in the work being you know, dependable, not just be a moody piece of shit about new boyfriends.”

“Okay, I deserve that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But come on, it’s not like he’s new, I mean, he is hundreds of years old.”

“I would shove you out of this tree if I didn’t think you’d take me down with you.”

“So like...” he grimaced. “Does he drink your blood?”

You let go of his hand to cross your arms, and looked Kunhang dead in the eye. “Do you actually want the answer to that?”

The gryphon’s eyes widened comically. “He does?! Y/N!”

“Kunhang, what did we just talk about?”

“Right. Sorry. Uhm... so... tell me about it? I guess?” Each word sounded like its own question, like he was forcing it out.

“Again, do you actually want me to?”

“No,” he answered quickly, a shudder going down his spine. “Just tell me whatever will be reassuring, please.”

You laughed. “Okay. It doesn’t hurt me, seriously. Uh... Kun’s diet is still mostly synthetic blood replacement, and he’ll probably never fully rely on live feeding from me, even after we move in together. Since he’s... old he can control his hunger and his feedings very well. He’s never overfed from me and never will. Happy?”

“You’re moving in together?”

“That’s what you got from that?”

“I know you, Y/N. You thought you could sneak that in among all that blood drinking talk to distract me.” He waggled a finger disapprovingly at you.

“God, fine, Kunhang.” You rolled your eyes. “When my lease is up at the end of next semester, Kun and I have discussed moving in together. But that’s still months away, no need to get your feathers in a bunch yet.”

“How long have you two been dating?”

“Kunhang—”

“I’m just gathering data.” He held his hands up defensively.

“Whatever. You want to gather data? Come over to Kun’s for dinner tonight.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, giving you a feigned apologetic grimace. “Ooh, sorry, I actually just drank some blood for breakfast, so I was going to get some sushi—”

“Save it for open mic night. He’s cooking food and you can bring Yangyang.”

“Sounds great! What time?”

“What are you so dressed up for?” You quirked an eyebrow up when you caught sight of Kun re-emerging from the bedroom in a fresh button-up shirt and pair of dress slacks. “It’s just Kunhang and Yangyang.”

The vampire went back to the pan that he had been tending to on the stove. “I’m hosting dinner at my house, for one. And for some reason that I can’t seem to put my finger on, this feels like a meet-the-parents part two.”

You scoffed at that little jest at the end. “You’ve met Kunhang before.”

“And I got this weird feeling that he didn’t like me.”

“Oh, was it the death glares or all the times I told you he was trying to talk me out of dating you that clued you in?”

He chuckled. “Still, it can’t hurt to want to make a good impression.”

You came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin on his shoulder. “It’s going to be fine, hon. I’m here, and Yangyang will be too, which I think will actually help for once.”

“That is a scary thought.”

“You know, I think we give him too little credit sometimes.”

“Who? Yangyang?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“If it weren’t for his ineptitude, we wouldn’t have gotten together.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Kun set his spatula down and turned around. He readjusted the collar of your shirt, tender gaze tracing over your features. “Now, call me superstitious, but—”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the concept of a vampire being superstitious. A soft smile played across Kun’s lips before he continued.

“—but I think that we would have found each other without the love potion. I don’t know which one of our choices would have eventually made the life that finally brought us together like this, but I think they would. My miracle...” He cupped your cheeks, pulling you in for a gentle, sweet kiss.

While you never wanted this moment to end, the faint, acrid smell of something burning wafted up to your nose, and before you had fully processed that, Kun was already pulling back from the kiss. He cursed under his breath, turning around and pulling the pan off the burner, quickly flipping the food over. You peeked around him to look, seeking a few spots that were a bit blackened.

“Sorry…” You pecked his cheek sheepishly before stepping back fully to leave the kitchen.

Kunhang and Yangyang arrived soon after, the witch almost immediately, and predictably, making a crack about Kun’s house looking like a yard sale, which the gryphon found hilarious. Soon, though, you were seated for dinner, Kun dishing up food for everybody then taking his seat beside you.

“I do have to apologize, one side got a little too crispy,” Kun bowed his head apologetically as everybody had picked up their utensils. “I did my best to alleviate it after the fact, but there may still be some burned areas.”

“Oh, and what were you two doing?” Kunhang waggled his eyebrows, lifting his fork to his mouth.

“Mm?” Your boyfriend didn’t look up from cutting up his food. “Ah, I was changing my shirt and Y/N was setting the table so neither of us were paying attention.”

You opted not to respond, busying yourself with taking a deep sip of your water.

Your gryphon friend dropped his fork back onto his plate with a clatter, disgust on his face. “Y/N, I can hear your heartbeat! Gross!”

“I keep telling you, Kunhang, don’t ask questions that you don’t want the answers to!” You snapped back, pointing a finger at him accusatorily.

“It was just a joke!”

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes!”

Yangyang pushed the food on his plate around with his own fork. “Suddenly I’m not hungry…”

“Oh my god, it’s perfectly sanitary, don’t be dramatic.” You smacked his arm. “It’s either eat it or starve, Yangyang.”

And with that, the witch was back to shoveling food in his mouth. “Don’t have to tell me twice. This is great, Kun!”

Your boyfriend sighed and shook his head. “Thanks, Yangyang.”

After dinner, you knew that Kun was going to start habitually clearing the table, but you already had a plan in mind.

“Kunhang, have you seen Kun’s PC setup?” You asked casually, grabbing yours and Kun’s empty plates before the vampire could. You knew damn well that Kunhang hadn’t seen the computer in his stubborn crusade to avoid Kun at all costs.

The gryphon’s features perked up minutely in interest. “No. Is it a custom build?”

Kun nodded as he reached for a glass. “Yes, it is. I can show you after I—”

But you swiped the glass just before his fingertips could brush it. “You two can go look at it. Yangyang and I have got clean up. Right, Yang?”

To your surprise, the witch gave a thumbs-up from where he was reclined casually in his dining chair, pushing it back to balance just on the rear two feet. “Yeah, all good. Go talk nerd shit.”

“Are you sure?” Your boyfriend asked you, a visible frown on his features over leaving you with clean-up duty.

“Of course. You cooked, we can do the dishes,” you reassured him with a bright smile.

“Alright, thank you.” He pecked your cheek before leading Kunhang out of the dining room.

Once you felt comfortable that you were no longer in the gryphon’s and vampire’s magical earshot, you looked to Yangyang with a curious head tilt.

“So why’d you let me volunteer you for dish duty with no complaints?”

“I knew what you were doing,” he said with a shrug, and stood up to help clear the table. “I don’t like pissy Kunhang anymore than you do, so whatever you think will help.”

“Thanks, Yangyang.” You smiled at your friend sincerely, carrying your stack of plates and utensils over to the sink. “Do you mind putting the leftovers away and I’ll wash the dishes? Heads up, there is blood supplement in the fridge, but it’s synthetic, I promise. If that’s too weird, you can just put everything in containers and I’ll put it away after I’m done washing.”

“I don’t mind, I’ve dealt with grosser. Witch, remember?”

“Right, thanks.”

As Yangyang spooned the little leftover food that there was into a container, you rinsed off the dishes and loaded up the dishwasher.

“So you’re really cool with all this, huh?” Yangyang commented as he opened the fridge up.

“All what?” You asked curiously. “Kun being a vampire? Having to keep my food next to my boyfriend’s synthetic blood? I mean, I grew up with Kunhang and other magical creatures, remember?”

“Fair.” He put the food in and shut the appliance again, leaning against the counter next to you. “So, do you think you could ever do it?”

At your blank stare, Yangyang added on, “Drink blood. I mean, technically you already drank Kun’s in the love potion, but you know, willingly, and a lot of it. If you were to become a vampire, and I’m not even asking existentially about living forever or anything, just the diet. Do you think you could do it? If worst came to worst and blood supplements and synthetic blood were no longer available.”

The witch had a grin on his face like the two of you were giggling kids playing Would You Rather at a sleepover and talking about your crushes, not the actual question he had just posed to you. You chewed on your bottom lip as you thought, still washing a few more pots and cooking utensils from the night.

“I… don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I mean, that all kind of changes when you become a vampire, right? Like, your taste preferences. There’s not a lot of people drinking blood before they turn into vampires, at least.”

“Fewer, for sure.”

“Yeah, I uh, I don’t know, Yang. Would you? Can witches even become vampires?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he sighed wistfully, then turned giddy, “But wouldn’t that be badass? A witch vampire? Vampire witch? God, that’d be so cool!”

“Why can’t witches become vampires? I know you guys aren’t technically humans, but… like, do you know what makes it not work?”

“There’s a lot of theories. As a witch, I’m of course inclined to believe that nature favors balance. A being can only be one kind of magic thing. Humans aren’t magic, but once you guys become something magic, same rule applies to you, no double-dipping, no getting greedy.”

“Seems like a pretty good theory to me.”

Yangyang nodded towards the living room then, “You think it’s been enough time for them to bond over CPU specs or whatever?”

“Probably?” You said. “I’m just glad dinner went as smooth as it did. I hope I wasn’t pushing it with putting them alone in a room together.”

“We haven’t heard shouting or the sound of Kunhang’s neck snapping yet, so that’s a good sign.”

You gave him an unamused look. “You’re truly an optimist.”

“It would totally be self-defense on Kun’s part.”

“Still not helping.”

“Anyway, I’ve got to pee, so—” He pointed down the hall to the guest bathroom, and you nodded with a small smile at your friend’s familiar bluntness.

“Don’t drown in there, Yang.”

He stuck his tongue out at you before disappearing from your sight.

You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves to enter the living room yourself. Coming around the corner, you saw Kun and Kunhang sitting on the main couch together, on opposite ends. Their body language looked relaxed, conversational, and a relieved, genuine smile came to your face as you looked over the two of them.

“Uh-oh, what’s this? The Annual Bad Joke Conference?” You teased, making your way over to perch yourself on the arm of the couch next to Kun, resting an arm on his shoulders. He wrapped his own around your waist, settling his hand on your hip.

“Yes, and now that our keynote speaker is here, we can begin,” Kunhang ribbed you right back.

“Oof.” You clutched at your chest like you’d been stabbed. “I’ve been wounded.”

“I was actually asking Kun about his grad program he’s looking at,” your friend explained, gesturing to your boyfriend.

Kun nodded heartily. “Yes, I was detailing my current predicament about with it being only a one-year master’s, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to work right after or look into finding another one-year master’s to complete since your master’s program will be two years long.”

“Oh, don’t fucking remind me that May isn’t the end right now,” you groaned, dropping your forehead onto the top of Kun’s head.

“Right. My apologies, my love.” He rubbed your back comfortingly.

“Hey, Kun?” Yangyang’s voice floated into the room then, and you picked your head back up to see him walking in.

“Yes, Yangyang?”

“Uh, I really hate to do this, but I kind of accidentally mentioned I was coming over when I was visiting my coven today, and my Grandma asked me to ask you for something?”

“No more blood. I told you, after the love potion, you and your whole coven simply must get your vampire blood from somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I know. And they know. Trust me, I’m never living that one down at sacraments. Uh, no, Grandma told me to ask you for a book back? She said it’s red, about the size of your hand, gold on the edges of the pages?”

“Did she tell you what it’s called?”

“She said you’d know what it was?”

“What… oh.”

You frowned at the concerned look on Kun’s face. “What? What is it?”

“It’s a cursed book of fairytales. I don’t know how Yangyang’s grandmother had acquired it in the first place, but it was wreaking havoc on the coven some years ago. Lures in any children nearby, they couldn’t risk even having it there in a spellbox. She gave it to me for safekeeping,” he explained, looking over to the witch. “Why does she want it back?”

“No clue. Better not to ask questions with her.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Well, it should definitely be around here… somewhere.” Kun stood up with a sigh, looking around the living room. “If not in here, then probably the library, or the bedroom… or the guest room… or the attic. I definitely still have it, I kept it when I moved in here, I know that much.”

Yangyang gave him a skeptical look. “I’ll help you look.”

“Thanks. I don’t feel anything in here, we should start in the library.” The vampire nodded towards the other room. “Alright now, Yangyang, if you think you’ve found it, don’t touch it, you’ll reactivate the curse.”

“I know how curses work! Witch, remember?”

“Witch who puts his potions in Gorgonade bottles! Remember?”

As the two of them headed off, still bickering, you and Kunhang just looked at each other, bursting into giggles at the same time.

“He’s totally going to forget and touch it if it finds it.” You shook your head, sliding down onto the main couch cushions.

“Yeah, he’d be all ‘Look, Kun, I found it!’” Kunhang zealously imitated his roommate yanking a book off a shelf. “And then bam, get cursed like an idiot.”

“I hope that thing’s in the attic. I don’t want to think that I could’ve been almost accidentally cursing myself this whole time.”

“Yikes. Better have Yangyang ask his grandma if Kun is hanging onto anything else for her.”

“Why do you think she wants it back?”

“You never know with Grandma Liu.”

You nodded, silent as you pondered this for a moment, having never met anybody from Yangyang’s coven, much less his grandmother, the matriarch of it. Kunhang left the silence alone for a while before he finally spoke again.

“Okay, fine. He’s not so bad,” he admitted with a half-hearted eyeroll.

“What finally did it?” You asked curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, what was it? What finally convinced you?”

“He’s a pretty good cook.”

“Your stomach, of course.”

“Hey—”

“Look, I’m just glad this is all resolved now,” you grinned, scooting closer to him to wrap an arm around him.

Your friend threw an arm and a wing over your shoulders, pulling you in closer. “Yeah, me too. You deserve something so… good. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Kunhang.” You rubbed his back. “Seriously, for everything.”

Later that night, after you and Kun had seen Yangyang and Kunhang off at the front door with the cursed book in a DIY magic biohazard disposal container consisting of several garbage bags, glass tupperwares, and gloves for the witch to wear while he carried it, then finished tidying up the kitchen. Now you two were sat on the couch, quietly absorbed in your own activities as music streamed from his record player. It was some obscure, limited press record that Kun had picked up on a whim at one of the band’s shows decades ago now; a Google search for the album or band name didn’t even turn up any results. You were reclined in a half-laying position reading by the light of a lamp, intent on finishing all of The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes, while Kun was tinkering with the settings of a new camera he had bought the other day. How well he could calibrate it in his darkened living room, you didn’t know, but you were content to let him fiddle with it in peace so long as he let you keep your legs in his lap.

You were faintly aware of him occasionally taking pictures of the objects around the room, and of you, and lifted the book even high to cover more of your face.

“Kun...” You said his name with a hint of warning, not taking your eyes off your page.

“What?” Another shutter click.

“You have to have a million photos of me by now.”

“Maybe I want a million and one.” Another click. “Okay, maybe a million and two.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued reading, and Kun pointed the lens elsewhere to test the flash. As you came to a good stopping point at the end of one of the short stories, you laid the attached ribbon bookmark in between the pages and shut the book. You watched Kun fuss with the settings for a few moments, amused and endeared as he would sometimes point the lens and make an adjustment without even taking a picture, and sometimes take several photos, look at them, then change something.

“So, what were you and Kunhang talking about?” You asked him as nonchalantly as possible.

He snapped around to look at you. “Hm?”

“I’ve known that man my whole life. I know when he’s bullshitting me,” you informed him, not a hint of anger or malice in your tone. “Very kind of you to go along with it in the moment, by the way.”

“I’m sorry, he stressed that he really didn’t want you to know,” Kun apologized sincerely, setting his camera down on the coffee table.

“What did he tell you? If it was about the first time I went flying, I didn’t throw up everywhere, and really he was the one who—”

“He wanted to ask me something, and you really must tell me this story at a later time.”

“Oh.” You looked around awkwardly. “What did he ask you?”

He focused his red eyes on you, a much more serious air descending on the conversation and his tone. “If I was going to turn you, or if I ever would.”

“Oh God, Kun, I’m sorry.” You shot up into a proper sitting position. “We don’t even live together, he shouldn’t have been asking you if we’ve talked about eternity. As if that’s even his business in the first place anyway.”

“He seemed very concerned about your view on mortality since your brother’s passing,” your boyfriend explained with what you knew were his carefully chosen words. No way Kunhang had that kind of tact.

“He thinks I’m dating a vampire to cope with my brother dying. Great armchair psychology.”

“I don’t think that. I remember when you said that you’re okay with not being here forever. When we went to the video gallery during the love potion incident.”

“Look, I can’t lie and say that it doesn’t bring me comfort to know that you’re not going to get hit by a bus tomorrow and die, or get cancer, or some other horrible illness and die a slow painful death while all I can do is watch. Like that’s… definitely a plus.” You admitted with a chuckle, taking one of Kun’s hands in both of yours. “But that’s not why I’m dating you. And I’m definitely not dating you in hopes that one day you’ll turn me. Like I said, we don’t even live together— eternity, or lack thereof, is not a conversation to be had yet.”

Kun nodded, brushing his thumb over the backs of your fingers. “I believe that’s a fair assessment. I’m of course content to take this at whatever pace you want, Y/N. I’m just glad to have the honor of being in your life, for however long that may be.”

“So what did you tell Kunhang? Because he seemed awfully happy with himself after you two talked.”

He paused, looking down at your entwined hands, then back up at you. “Do you remember how I was turned?”

“You broke your leg and the broken bone nicked an artery. Your friend turned you to save your life because you were bleeding out,” you summarized the gist of the full story, which you’d finally heard some time after you’d started dating.

“I told him I’d never take the choice from you. He seemed to like that answer.”

You let out a small sigh of relief. Honestly, you had half expected Kunhang to flip out at any possibility of Kun being willing to turn you. Seems like he really had listened to you this afternoon.

You pressed a kiss to Kun’s cheek. “Thank you, Kun. I like that answer, too. But again, I am so sorry he put you on the spot like that.”

“Y/N…” Kun murmured, bringing his free hand to gently caress your face. “I know I just said that I’m content to take this at whatever pace you’re comfortable with. And that is true. But I want you to know… that after so long, I know what I want, and because of that it was so easy to fall in love with you. So I’m ready for whatever you’re ready for, whenever you’re ready. You want to move in together? Okay. You want to get three cats? Okay. You want to talk about forever? That will have to be more conversations than the cats, but sure, we can talk about it, talk about a plan.”

“Kun…” You breathed his name out, tightening your hold on his hand in hopes that could convey even a fraction of all the tongue-tied words you couldn’t figure out how to say in that moment.

“I’m sorry, that was too much.” He shook his head at himself.

“No, no. It wasn’t,” you reassured him. “But, I’m not ready to talk about forever right now… I-I don’t even have my bachelor’s yet.”

“That’s okay. Like I said, I want whatever pace you want. I just want you, for however long that’ll be.” He brought your hands up to leave a feather-light kiss on your fingers.

“But the fact that you would be ready to talk about forever…” You let go of his hand entirely to loop your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to press your lips to his. His hands easily settled on your waist and lower back as you felt him melt into the kiss.

When you finally needed air—as Kun could theoretically go on for eternity—you then rested your forehead against his. “I love you, a lot, Kun. I do know that.”

“I love you, too.” Kun ran his fingertips up and down your back. “And know that I really do mean a plan for before forever. You wouldn’t say the word and I’d turn you the next second or anything hasty like that. But, you said you’re not ready to talk about it, so I will shut up now.”

You smiled to yourself at his almost nervous clarification, as if he were worried that he’d scare you off. It was endearing, to get glimpses like this where even his hundreds of years of living hadn’t prepared him for whatever was happening, and his usually calm, smooth words failed him even just for a moment. You pressed a long kiss to his temple.

After a beat, you pulled back enough to see all of his face. “Then, maybe let’s start with moving in?”

“Really?” He grinned, dimples appearing on both cheeks.

“Yeah… I’m already over here so much my apartment is practically just a really expensive storage unit at this point.”

“I’ll have to make room… for… your things…” He looked around his rather maximalist living room as if taking in just how much stuff he had for the first time.

“I need to downsize anyway.” You tried to reassure him casually.

“No, I’ll make room.”

At the anxiety growing on his face, you started rubbing his arm reassuringly. “We’ve got a few months to figure it out, don’t worry.”

“Maybe we can get a new house,” he mused aloud, then turned to you with a hopeful look. “A three bedroom?”

“Who will those other two bedrooms be for?”

“…Guests.”

“And your knickknacks.”

“Well—”

“No, wait, I like this idea. Our bedroom, a guest room, and one can be an office-slash-knickknack room.” You counted the three rooms off on your fingers. “Your producing desk can go in there so you can have some more privacy for all your secret projects.”

“Yes, it will be harder to hide them once we live together. Oh no, you’ve caught me,” he gave his ‘confession’ monotonously, earning a laugh from you. Kun gazed at you fondly, softness coming back to his features as he added, “I actually wanted to show you the one I was working on this morning.”

“You finished it?”

“Things are never finished with me, especially since I live forever, but if I listen to it anymore I think I’m going to cut my ears off, so yeah.”

“A ringing endorsement. I’m excited.”

So you two migrated over to his producing desk, where he insistently pulled you onto his lap instead of letting you bring your own chair to watch as he opened the project he had so hastily exited out of this morning. You indulged yourself and ran your fingers through Kun’s hair, brushing a couple stray pieces back from his face.

He looked up from the screen to you, his brows that were furrowed with concentration now quirking up in confusion. “Hm?”

“Nothing. You just look hot like this, all focused on your task. Has nobody told you that before?”

“I can’t say anybody has, no.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You lie to me, Qian Kun. All these years, not one person has told you? I don’t believe that.”

“I went through a brief stint as a bit of a hermit… didn’t have many visitors. Definitely not ones that hung around my home much as you do and got to just observe me performing various tasks.”

“Hm. Fine.” You grabbed his chin to connect your lips with his.

He hummed contentedly against your mouth, entirely unconcerned that his original goal had been sidetracked. You parted your lips to deepen the kiss as you felt one of his hands land on your hip, abandoning where it had previously been on either the keyboard or mouse.

When you finally pulled back, you had a well-kissed Qian Kun in front of you. He looked up at you with slightly glazed-over eyes, a winded smirk on his face as he asked, “And what was that for?”

“Like I said, you look hot like this. Another good reason for us to tuck your producing desk away when we live together. You’d never get any work done if you were just out in the open.”

“Maybe we should downsize, actually. A one bedroom? Studio?”

“Mm, weren’t you going to show me something?” You asked innocently, one finger tapping his cheek.

“Was I?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” you played along with a giggle, letting go of his face to mess with the collar of his shirt.

“You’re awful sometimes, you know?” He shook his head and laughed, returning his focus to the computer screens, as did you. After a couple more clicks, he had an audio file pulled up. “Ready?”

You settled in so that you were actually facing the screen, one arm around his shoulders. “Ready.”

Kun pressed play on it, and soon a euphonious melody was playing through the speakers. It was a full arrangement with strings, piano, drums, and even a couple sung verses that you easily recognized as Kun’s voice. You’d heard him hum while cooking, or sing along to the old radio and vinyl player in his home, but never a proper performance like this. The song was less than a couple minutes, but it was gorgeous, and you could feel a wide, delighted smile on your features as you listened.

“Kun…” You breathed out in awe once it was over, turning to look at your boyfriend. “That was so beautiful. You… have such a beautiful mind. Thank you for showing me that. I… I just…”

You were at a loss for words, getting too choked up on your thoughts as you gazed down at him. Hesitantly stroking your thumb over his cheekbone, for a moment you almost couldn’t believe he was real, that he was so miraculous, and was right here, with you.

Kun gently took your hand from his face and held it in his, kissing the back of your knuckles tenderly before resting it on his chest. “I love you, Y/N. So much. Do you want to listen to it again?”

You nodded quickly, resting your head in the crook of his neck and closing your eyes. First, the click of the mouse, then the gorgeous work of art that Kun had composed for you played once more. You pressed a kiss against whatever skin of his neck was closest to your mouth.

“I love you, Kun,” you murmured, squeezing his hand that was still holding yours. “I love you so much. More than whatever eternity we’ll have together, big or small, I’ll love you for even longer than that.”

The song ended, and he played it again before wrapping his other arm around you tightly. The two of you listened to it quietly, the only other sounds that of your breathing. And as it neared the end, it looped back to the beginning all on its own, without Kun having to let go of you.

⤷ blog masterlist  ⤷ anthology masterlist

#nct x reader #kun x reader #wayv x reader #qian kun x reader #nct #wayv #kun #qian kun #nct imagine #wayv imagine #kun imagine #qian kun imagine #nct fluff #wayv fluff #kun fluff #qian kun fluff #i: kun #f: miracle #au: strawberry sunday #writing #text #mine

[jut-and-dae-enthusiast]

The Only Exception // s.c.b

pairing: idol!changbin x fem!reader I genre: fluff, friends to lovers, some angst, one sided love, 18+ I warnings: some talk of self-image issues, relationship trauma, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap it up kiddos), breeding kink if you squint, oral sex (f receiving), use of pet-names (babe, baby,princess), mc is unexperienced but not a virgin, aftercare, i am a huge simp for seo changbin, mc is plus sized (bc there aren't enough chubby y/n's in the world and this is my fic)

word count: 10.3k words

a/n: This is my first time posting a fic on here and I have no idea how it's gonna go. If you guys enjoy this, I already have more than enough ideas for a second part/make this into a series.

feedback and re-blogging is deeply appreciated!

synopsis: she's given up on love and decided to focus on building her career. However, meeting a certain member of Stray Kids may change things.

 

Everywhere you went, whispers followed. 

Everywhere you went, whispers followed. 

“There's the spinster.” “Did you hear when she said she’ll never get married?” “I wonder how many cats she has at this point.”

In the beginning, it bothered you a lot. You would lash out, cry, yell. People thought you were crazy, labeling you a psycho on top of all the other things they said about you. But eventually they left you alone. 

Now, even when you hear these whispers, you ignore it. Do you find it annoying that people talk like this even though you’re only 25? Yes. But you figured it was probably magnified due to your outspoken hatred towards the idea of marriage. 

“A man will only slow me down.” You would mumble passively whenever your employee’s tried to ask you about this mindset. “Do you think I achieved this much by this age because I was flirting with boys and going on dates?” Whenever you spoke like this, the awkwardness rose in the air like a swift breeze. “But that’s just my preference. Do whatever you like.” You tried to lighten the room, but it hardly worked. 

The thing you despised the most were the men who attempted to “tame” you. They were normally men who would recognize you from work and try to approach you at the bar. 

“Maybe you just need to meet the right guy.” Was a common line. 

“Are you implying that you are this mystical right guy?” You would retort and watch the fire snuff from their eyes. Because they were losers to start with, they were never persistent. They preferred cute, easy women. Women who would giggle at their jokes and smile brightly at them. If you thought really hard, you could remember a time when you were exactly like that. 

Seven Years Ago

“Why don’t you put yourself out there? The love of your life won’t come onto your doorstep!” Your friend teased, pausing the romance movie you had put on the tv. 

“I don’t know, it’s kinda scary. I think I’m okay with waiting.” You assured them, resuming the movie and tuning them out. 

Eventually, you gave in to their nagging and decided to go on a blind date. When you got there, you smiled softly to yourself. While he wasn’t the most handsome man you had ever seen, he had potential. A different haircut, maybe some better clothes. Something in your stomach felt weird, but you pushed it to the side, calling it nerves. 

The date went well. He was nice and made you laugh. You could immediately tell that he liked you more than you liked him just by the way he looked at you. Also, the way he practically begged for your number at the end of the date. When you got home that night, they texted all night. Even though you weren't crazy about him, you liked the fact that he gave you attention and figured it wouldn’t hurt to just see how it goes. 

Fast forward two weeks and you could feel yourself liking him more and more. Even though you were scared of how quickly your feelings were developing, you were comforted by the fact that he still seemed to like you more. He was still actively pursuing you and messaging you all day. 

A month later, your relationship still wasn't official. However, you had completely fallen for him. In the ways you weren't attracted to him before, you suddenly found him cute. you found his style endearing, his haircut adorable. Even when he was forgetful or late, you were just smitten with him. They had gone on many more dates during that time. They went to the movies, cafe’s, walks in the park, just about anything a college aged couple could do. 

“Hey, I think we should stop here.” He suddenly said out of nowhere as they walked home together after seeing a movie. 

“What?” you asked, confused at the sudden confession. 

“I just think that we shouldn’t see each other anymore.” It was quiet for a moment between the two of them, tears already spilling down your cheeks. “You’re such a sweet girl. You deserve someone better than me. I know you’ll find a guy who really cherishes you one day.” And then he left you crying in the middle of the sidewalk. you were hurt and confused. you didn’t want someone else, you wanted him. How could he walk away from you so easily when not even a week ago, he gushed about how perfect you were and how lucky he was to have you? Said he liked you so much over and over on the phone because he was so enamored with you. 

A week later, you saw him walking in the store. His hand was holding tightly to a girl who was small and cute and pretty. You ducked into an aisle to avoid making eye contact with him, frantically wiping the tears from your eyes. You remembered how he so adamantly told you he “preferred bigger girls” and didn’t even care about your size. You weren't massive by any means, but you looked big compared to that girl. You could probably fit four of that girl into the hoodie you were wearing right now. 

After a long while of convincing, you allowed your friends to set you up on yet another blind date. You decided to go into this one positively. Maybe last time was an isolated incident. Not every guy could be like that, right?

This time, you found yourself in a difficult situation. You had liked him from the very beginning. He was handsome and charming and said all of the right things. But he clearly only wanted one thing from you. He was respectful and gentlemanly for the first month, sweeping your right off of your feet. However, after they had their first kiss, you saw a different side of him. Begging for explicit photos, sending unsolicited photos of his own, and becoming sex crazed in general. Suddenly, they couldn’t even meet up without doing something. Whether it was intense makeout sessions or touching, he was always coming onto you. You felt conflicted because you did in fact like him and was okay with it most of the time. However, he only spoke affectionately to you when they were in the act of doing things like that. He only said he loved you when he was inside of you, which you realized when you would try to say it during the day and be hit with “oh yeah, me too.” He only called you pretty when you were naked, only wanted you if you were pleasing him. After six months of this, there came a time when you said no. They were sitting on his couch and his hands began to wander, as they always did, when you stopped him. 

“Babe, I’m not really feeling it tonight. Can we just cuddle?” You pleaded with him, your voice soft but your hands firmly moving him away. 

“Yeah, sure.” He pretended to be okay with it, pulling you in and kissing the top of your head. A few minutes passed and he huffed, clearly upset. Less than ten minutes after that, his hands started wandering again. 

“Babe, please. I asked for just one night.” You pleaded again, scooting away from him. He groaned and rolled his eyes. 

“You’ve been totally leading me on all night though.” He whined, jutting his lip out. 

“No I haven’t.” you were confused, knitting your brows together as you looked at him. 

“Yeah you have. You wore that outfit you know I like and you keep kissing me.” 

“I didn’t wear this outfit with the intention of doing anything to you. I just think it's comfortable. And we can’t kiss without going any further?” You could see him getting frustrated with you, his attention everywhere but on you as you spoke. 

“I just think you’re so sexy, babe. Look, I already want you so bad.”  He points to the bulge growing in his pants at literally you just sitting there. “It hurts so bad, baby. Please.” He moved towards you again, slowly. When you tried to push him back again, he groaned and rolled his eyes. “I guess we can just break up then, huh? You clearly don’t like me anymore.” He pouted, standing up from the couch. Your heart dropped, fear making your muscles clench. 

“I-I never said I didn’t like you, I just…” You sighed. “I feel like this is all you want from me. Can you promise that you like me for more than just sex?” He nodded eagerly, quickly climbing on top of you. The second you touched him, he moaned “Ah, I love you so much.”

The next day, he broke up with you. He said he needed to focus on himself for a while, telling you that you would eventually find someone who loved you more than he could. Just like the last one, he ended up with a new girl shortly after. 

This time, you not only felt heartbroken but also used. You felt like you got nothing from that relationship other than a different way to view yourself. Is that all guys would want from you? 

Every single relationship you had in the next two years ended on the same note. Eventually, you realized that men only liked you while you were convenient. While you either gave them what they wanted or until someone they wanted more came along. You were never the first choice, never the only option. Because of this, anger grew in your heart. You had shed tears for men who didn’t even remember you or want you. You were determining your value based on if these terrible men wanted you. 

“No, never again.” you muttered to yourself as you drug yourself out of your bed. You wiped the remaining tears from your eyes and decided that from that moment forward, you would no longer subject yourself to this. You would show each and every one of those jerks that you were a force to be reckoned with. That you didn’t need them exactly the same way they didn’t need you. 

Present Day

“Mom, we’ve been over this. No blind dates, no setting me up, no giving out my number. You know how I feel about all of that stuff.” you were exasperated, the phone call with your mother going the direction it always did. 

“You’re already 25 and aren’t married. I’m worried about you.” your mother was kind and soft, just like you used to be. However, your mother didn’t have to worry about the troubles herr daughter went through in regards to dating. Your mother was skinny and beautiful and could have any man she had wanted. She chose her husband in middle school and they’ve been together ever since. 

“Nothing to worry about here. I’m successful, rich, and happy. What more could I need?” You took a sip of your wine, looking out the window of your apartment. 

“Love.” your mother whispered softly. 

“I have that already! I love you and dad, my dog, my friends!” 

“Yes, but you know a love between a man and woman is different than all of those. It’s beautiful and wonderful all at the same time.” 

“Mom, I think you’ve seen too many romance movies. Love like that doesn’t exist for girls like me. I already tried that in college. My priorities are elsewhere now.” You knew your mom came from a good place, but you were tired of explaining yourself. You were tired of feeling like you were weird for feeling this way. If only people knew what had made you this way. If only they felt the fear in your chest when you imagined trying to date again. You would rather be alone for the rest of your life than have to feel that way ever again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t new for you to meet celebrities in your line of work. Your company was a management company, primarily helping overseas artists who are touring in North America. They gave them additional support, set them up with translators, set up their catering, everything they would need to have a successful tour. And with the rise in K-Pop, you were meeting more and more Korean artists. BTS was among your favorites that you had met so far, their world wide fame clear simply from their charisma. 

You wouldn’t consider yourself a full blown kpop stan, but you enjoyed listening to their music. It was also a good outlet for you because they had to say that they loved and cherished you. That they wanted no one else but you. You didn’t need the attention of attainable men who were subpar when these gorgeous boys made you feel like you were everything. It was a perfect balance because they were just far enough out of reach that you would never get your hopes up. 

“Ma’m, our next music artist is here to meet with you.” Your assistant announced from the door. In confusion, you looked down at your schedule. Maybe you had forgotten. 

“Alright, let them in.” You remained composed and professional, even though you had swore you had no more meetings today. You sat up straight and pushed forward a smile, greeting the group as they walked in. Now, this was an adorable group of boys. You bet they were all extremely young. 

They all awkwardly took a seat, shuffling nervously around each other. 

“Let us introduce ourselves. 1,2, Step out! Hello, we are Stray Kids.” The leader spoke up. His dimples were cute. Even their intro was cute. you nodded, smiling. 

“It’s nice to meet you all. My name is y/f/n y/l/n. Can we go down the line and hear each of your names?” You always did this so that no one felt too uncomfortable or left out. So, they each introduced themselves. Bangchan, Felix, Han, LeeKnow, Seungmin, Changbin, Hyunjin, and I.N. Without much thought, you dove into the meeting. They discussed what the boys would like, need, and everything that would help them have a comfortable tour. The boys were polite, almost hesitant to ask for anything. You reminded them multiple times that their company was paying for our service, so they should make the best use of it. 

The meeting ended and you immediately got to work sending out emails for each of their requests to their respective departments. As you were typing away, you heard a few gentle taps on your door. “Yes, come in.” you called out, your eyes never leaving the computer. 

“Miss y/l/nt, one of the Stray Kids members wanted to mention something to you.” 

“Alright, let him in.” You figured it was the leader, Bangchan. He seemed very responsible and clearly cared very deeply about his group members. However, much to your surprise, it was not him. you glanced down at your notes, trying to remember where he had been sitting so you could recall his name. He cleared his throat as he took a seat in front of your desk. “You are… Seungmin?” you asked and your heart dropped when he laughed. 

“No, I’m Changbin. Sorry for bothering you, I just remembered something that I needed to bring up.” 

“I’m so sorry. Please go ahead. Whatever you need.” you were embarrassed now, your cheeks flaming red. 

“So, while we’re on tour, I’m going to need to be on a restricted meal plan.” your brows furrowed in confusion. He continued, “I need to lose some weight, so I have to go on a pretty strict diet.” 

“Why do you need to lose weight?” you looked at his figure, buff and healthy, and found yourself confused but also frustrated for some reason. 

“Oh, uh, I’m just kinda the biggest member in the group. And I don’t want our fans to be disappointed in how I look.” Without realizing, you stood up quickly. 

“Excuse me if I’m being too forward, but that’s ridiculous. You look strong and healthy, which I’m sure your fans would be extremely happy about.” you realized your emotions and slowly sat back down. “While I know that you are in control of what you do and how you live, I just think that you shouldn’t restrict yourself. You already know how stressful touring is on your body.” His eyes were wide with your sudden outburst. 

“You… You really think so?” He muttered, still shocked. 

“But uh that’s just my professional opinion. I would hate for you to pass out or fall ill because of something that could have been avoided.” you cleared your throat and shuffled through some papers. For the first time in four years, your heart was fluttering. Like it had back then. No, this was inappropriate right off the top. Not to mention not what you wanted. “I can, um, make sure that there are healthier options that will keep you on track without restricting yourself.” you began typing an email, desperately avoiding eye contact with him. You knew if you saw the way he looked at you, you would immediately blush. 

“I would really appreciate that. Thanks for being so helpful.” you glanced at him and the way he smiled made you want to melt into the floor. He quickly stood up and bowed. “I look forward to working with you.” And then left the room. You turned your back to the door and covered your now fully flushed face. What in the hell was that? Maybe because you haven't felt like this in four years, you felt it all at once. Yeah, it’s probably just because of that. 

“Thomas, are you messing with me right now?” your tone was stern, your brows furrowed as your grip tightened on the phone in your hand. 

“Unfortunately, no Ms. y/l/n. We’ve tried to find replacements, but are unable to hire anyone.” 

“Okay, what about interns? Anyone?”

“This isn’t the kind of thing we can trust an intern with. This is essentially the most important role, ma’m. And the tour officially starts tomorrow, so I’m worried things may start on the wrong foot if this position isn’t filled.” 

“Don’t they have management on their end?” 

“Yes, but they hired us so that those employees could stay in Seoul.” You thought for a moment, annoyed. They needed an artist manager, someone who would work personally with the boys to get them where they needed to go as well as ensure their safety. It’s what you had started out doing before starting this company yourself, seeing the need was great. “I apologize if this is speaking out of turn, ma’m, but I think you would be a great fit for this. The main issue is that we need someone fluent in Korean and you can fulfill that requirement.” you rolled your eyes. 

“I suppose you have a point there. Let me talk with the advisory board about it and see if the v.p would be willing to fill in while I’m gone. I’ll update you.” 

Everything went swimmingly, if you can imagine that. Everyone was more than okay with you stepping out for a few months, meaning things wouldn’t need to be as uptight (but they never told you that). That morning you met the boys at their hotel, explaining that you would be in charge of caring for them the entire U.S leg of the tour, stressing that they shouldn’t hesitate to ask for anything. Their comfort and happiness was the top priority. 

“I thought you were the company CEO, why are you doing a job like this?” The leader, Bangchan, asked as they were riding in the van to the venue. 

“I am the CEO. However, I’m also the only person who could fill this position on such short notice.” you answered politely, giving him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’m more than qualified. I did this for a while before starting the company.” He nodded, flashing you a smile before one of the boys called for his attention in the seat behind him. 

After arriving at the venue, you jumped into action. Directing the boys towards their green room, sending the crew where they needed to go, and checking in with venue staff to ensure that everything was going according to the email that had been sent to them. Once things were handled outside, you poked your head in to check on the guys. 

“Is everything okay for you guys? Do I need to run for anything?” 

“Oh, no, everything’s perfect. Thank you miss…?” Bangchan was obviously unsure of how to address you. 

“Just call me y/n! We’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together, so no need to be formal!” you bowed and left, going to double check that things were in place for the boys, like water bottles, towels, other things. You felt the thrill of frantically running around that you had missed. Spending years in the office had made you forget how exciting it was to be on the scene. Maybe you would do this more often. 

You walked back into the green room to check on things, as you were working down your list, when you had clearly walked in on a conversation. When they noticed you, they switched from English to Korean. And you could tell he was talking about you. It was Han? The one with the puffy cheeks. You were still learning their names. 

“I wonder if she even knows what she’s doing. Like, how can a CEO know anything about what it’s like to actually be there? I bet she’s super overwhelmed.” 

“Ah, you weren’t in my van earlier when I explained it to Bangchan. I’m more than qualified, as I did this for a few years when I was in college. But I appreciate you worrying, it makes me feel very cared for. I hope you’ll continue to care for me moving forward.” You responded back in perfect Korean, which resulted in both of them looking at you with wide terrified eyes. 

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you! I shouldn’t have been talking like that about you.” Han ended his sentence with a 90 degree bow and the other member (I.N?) also bowed. 

“Oh, don’t worry too much about it! I’m not offended at all!” You flashed them a smile and continued doing your work, successfully instilling the fear in them that would make them behave for you on this tour. 

As you continued about my work, fluttering from here to there, you accidentally walked into where apparently the weights were. Bangchan and Changbin were doing some pump up reps to make sure their muscles looked good. Your eyes instantly went to the shoulder muscles that were showing through Changbin’s shirt and you had to force yourself to turn away and look anywhere else. 

“Uh, just checking in boys. You’ve got about 20 minutes until the VIP soundcheck begins, do you need anything from me before then?” 

“Oh, actually, it would be amazing if you could bring us a few bottles of water? We forgot before we started.” Bangchan asked politely. You quickly reached into your backpack and pulled out two bottles. You turned around to set them on a bench and had to avert your eyes. 

“Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be around.” You bowed and then quickly left the room. Good lord, that's dangerous. 

The show went amazingly, of course. As you watched from behind the stage, a bundle of towels in your arms, you found yourself enamored by their energy. You usually never cared much to pay attention during shows back when you were younger. But back then, you would usually find a cute roadie and flirt with him the entire time. A waste of time by your current standards. Also, why would you want to miss out on this? When they came back for their first outfit change, they were sweating so badly that they seemed so grateful for something as simple as a towel. After a quick change, a few makeup and hair touch ups, they were back out there for more. When the end of the show came, you found yourself getting emotional for some reason. It was almost like you could feel the sadness of their fans (which you learned are called Stay) at them leaving. Like this night they had been waiting so long for was now over and they weren’t sure when they would see them again. The boys, however, were exhausted. You could tell they gave absolutely everything they had for this show. There's no way they would be like that for every single show, right? 

Around five shows in, you found yourself feeling more and more comfortable with the boys. And clearly they started to feel comfortable around you as well, the younger ones affectionately referring to you as “Noona”. At the beginning, they were nervous to ask for anything. Now, you couldn’t get away from them. 

“Noona! Can you take us to a convenience store? I want some snacks.” 

“Noona, will we have time to sightsee?” 

“Noonaaaa, we’re in Seattle, we need to get Starbucks.” 

And you honestly didn’t mind it. They were adorable and it was your job to get them whatever they wanted. You found yourself getting closer to Felix and Hyunjin, two people you didn’t expect to get close to in the beginning. Felix obviously warmed up to you pretty quick, as he was just so talkative and sweet from the start. You found yourself talking with Hyunjin about things like fashion and art when the two of them were together. 

There was only one problem- you sensed that someone was growing a crush on you. That someone, of course, was Changbin. And you already were against dating/marriage, but you also knew engaging romantically with a client was extremely inappropriate. And it took everything in you to shove these feelings deep down. Of course, he was cute. And kind. And a great person to talk with. And good lord he was hot. He also had this habit of subtly complimenting you that drove you absolutely crazy. “Noona, your hair looks nice today.” “It’s sweet how attentive you are to us.” “Noona, that eyeshadow suits you really well.” 

They were coming up on the end of the tour when you found yourself alone on the roof with Changbin, stargazing in silence. Silence wasn’t uncomfortable with him. 

“We probably won’t see you after next week, huh?” He suddenly asked out of nowhere. 

“Uh, yeah, it’s not likely. Unless we can't find someone when you guys come again.” You felt nervous as the air shifted between the two of you. He obviously had something he wanted to say and you had a feeling it was something you didn’t want to hear.

“Can I confess something to you?” 

“You probably shouldn’t.” You were trying your best to remain logical and level headed as you always had been. 

“You don’t want me to?” 

“It’s not that, but I don’t want you to get in trouble.” 

“I won’t get in trouble.” 

“Alright, fine. What would you like to confess?” You asked and your heart was pounding. You didn’t want to have to turn him down. To reject his confession of love. But you couldn’t let yourself fall into this trap again. While he seemed sweet now, there was lots of time for him to become like the others. Maybe he only feels this way because you're conveniently in front of him. 

“I… uh, I think I have feelings for you. I don’t even know why I’m confessing this to you, but I can’t go on pretending that I feel differently.” He looked at you expectantly. You took a deep breath, and looked out at the skyline. 

“Changbin, I uh, I’m sorry but, um, I don’t really want to date or get married or anything like that.” Your hands were trembling. You were scared of how he would react, if he would hate you now. You actually cared how he felt. 

“Can I ask why you feel that way?” He asked softly, looking over at you. Tears pricked at your eyes. No one has ever asked why. No one cared enough to wonder. 

“Um, I just have a bad past with dating. I’ve never been anyone’s first option. I had my heart broken alot and this is a way to protect myself. If I close the door completely, no one can come in and hurt me.” It was silent again, the only noise coming from the traffic on the street far below. 

“So… I just have to prove that you’re my first choice and that I want you for you?” A tear slipped down your cheek. How did he guess that second part? 

“I mean, you can try. I’ll allow that. But, it’s going to be a lot of work. I’m kinda messed up.” You admitted, swiping the tears away from your face. He nodded slowly from where he was. At this point, the men from the past would have scooted over and put their arm around you. Changbin stayed where he was and watched you carefully. 

“I think you’re worth it. And I haven’t even known you that long. I can’t imagine how much more I’ll think that the more I know you… But let's start as friends first, yeah? I won’t push you into anything.” Your head was spinning. How was a man this considerate? He had to be faking. There's no way this could be real. 

“Sure, let's do the friend thing first.” 

So, the two of you exchanged numbers. Once the tour ended, he kept texting you. You kept waiting for the day he would come on to you. Waiting for an unsolicited dick pic. Waiting for the “i can’t wait any longer”. But it never came. Changbin seemed more than content simply being friends. Every time you found yourself beginning to let your walls down a bit, the men of the past would flash into your mind. They said all the right things, made all the right choices. You were still hesitant about Changbin. Did he have some sort of ulterior motive? 

“Aren’t you sick of this?” You asked him one day on the phone. 

“Sick of what?” He responded, sounding confused. 

“Sick of me making you stay my friend. You probably already have feelings for someone else by now.” 

“No I don't.” He retorted quickly. “And I enjoy being your friend. If that’s what I have to do to be by your side, then that’s fine. I’ll be your friend forever if I have to.” You felt your eyes water.

“Why do you always say stuff like that? Are you trying to bring my guard down?” 

“I’m not trying to do anything, Noona. I only wish you could trust me.”

“I do trust you. I just don’t want you to expect anything from me romantically.” 

“You know that I don’t. I told you I’m more than happy being your friend.”

Months went on and you kept getting to know each other. You were waiting for the other shoe to drop at any moment for the first little while. However, you slowly realized how pure his intentions were. He never once crossed the line, never even tiptoed near it. He truly genuinely cared for you. And while he never crossed the line, he made it clear that he only had eyes for you. He said so many times that he was more than okay with playing the long game. Slowly trying to win your heart. If he didn’t get to love you, he wouldn’t get to love anyone else. 

One night, you were extra tipsy from a few too many glasses of wine and decided to give him a call. 

“Hey, Seo Changbin! How dare you make me like you! You came into my office that first day so handsome and kind and whatever. You wrapped me around your finger from the very beginning and that was so fucking rude of you.” You slurred over the phone. He quietly listened, chuckling to himself here and there. 

“Noona, did you have too much to drink?” 

“Maybe, but whatever! It’s none of your business!”

“Okay, then for your sake, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear any of that and hang up okay? Make sure to drink some water please.” He was firm but reassuring. God he was so hot. 

“Changbin, do you still like me?” you asked quietly after a moment. 

“Yes, very much.” He replied almost instantly. 

“But I’ve made you wait so long…” It had been a year at this point since his confession. 

“It hasn’t been too bad, don’t worry.” He assured you and you could practically hear his smile. “I’ve gotta get back to work, but I’ll check in on you later okay?” His voice had dropped a little bit and you felt your heart thump even harder. 

“Um yeah, sure.” You couldn’t even think about what he said, the way he said it had the biggest effect on your drunk brain. When he hung up, you almost immediately fell asleep.

Changbin had become one of your closest friends at this point. You confided in him, laughed with him. But you wouldn’t let yourself feel anything romantic for him. You couldn’t. Even though they had known each other for two years at this point, you were scared he would suddenly change. 

The boys had come to LA for KCon (you only knew because you played a large role in the planning of the event) and asked to meet up with you for dinner. You obviously agreed, as you cherished them deeply. They had rented out a space for them to go out to and were already there when you arrived. They greeted you happily, running over to hug you. You smiled, happy to see them again and complimenting them on their most recent work. You took the open seat at the table, between Seungmin and Felix but was also across from Changbin. 

You ordered some pasta, not caring what they thought. Back when you were younger, you would have opted for a salad or something healthy looking so as to not look like someone who wasn’t minding your figure. However, now, you gave no fucks. You weren't trying to impress any of them in that way and you were hungry so you were going to eat. 

“You seem like you’ve been pretty busy since we last saw you.” Chan comments as we wait for the food. 

“Yeah, we’re doing a lot for KCon on top of other small artists doing tours. Thankfully I don’t have to do all the work.” You joked, chuckling. “But yeah, I’ve kept pretty busy. Not too busy to keep up with you guys, though. Just when I think you guys have reached your peak, you somehow go even higher. I’m very impressed and proud.” 

“Ah, Noona! You’re making me blush!” Felix shouted out from across the table, covering his cheeks. The food came to the table not long after that, so the conversation jumped around. you ended up sitting back and listening as they talked, enjoying your meal and the company. However, as you glanced in front of you, Changbin was observing you with a small smile on his face. 

“You ok?” He mouthed to you, his gaze soft and kind. You nodded and smiled. He winked and nodded before looking away. You could feel your cheeks begin to flush. But then your chest started to tighten. At the end of the night, they went to go their separate ways, a slightly tipsy Felix clinging onto you and whining about how he missed you already. 

“Aw, our little Felix is such a cute drunk.” you cooed at him, smiling sweetly. His smile widened even further as he nuzzled into you and hummed. You walked him to their car, where he slowly let go of you, pretending to cry as he climbed into the vehicle. “I’ll text you, Lixie.” You promised from outside, which made him smile again. Changbin hung back, clearly waiting for his turn to have your full attention. 

“Can you make some time for me tonight?” you asked him, wandering over towards him. He smiled and nodded, waving to the guys as they left. 

When you both got to your place, you knew it was time. You couldn’t deny the way you felt for him and he had waited so patiently until now. They were sitting on the couch and talking when you turned towards him and took a deep breath. 

“Changbin, I have something to say.” You announced, unable to look at him. 

“Oh, uh okay. Go for it.” He shifted nervously, eyes watching you intently. 

“Firstly, I just wanted to thank you for being so amazing to me this past almost two years. I really appreciate having you by my side as a friend.” You looked up at him to gauge how he was reacting. He was watching you, his brows knit together in concentration. You decided to continue.”I think… It’s time that I acknowledged my real feelings…” You paused for a second and took a deep breath. “I like you. So much. Like, everything you do drives me crazy and I want you so badly that I can’t even be afraid anymore.” Once you finished talking, the air was quiet between the two of you. You looked at him after a minute, afraid of what his reaction would be. Relief flooded over you when you saw his head turned to the side, a wide smile on his face and flushed cheeks. 

“Uh, is that how you really feel? You’re not just saying that for me?” You could tell he was trying to keep his composure, now wanting to spook you with his excitement.

“Yes, it’s how I feel.” You muttered, your fingers still trembling. 

“It makes me so happy to hear that. Like, I could die right now after hearing you say that. That was the cutest confession I’ve ever seen in my life.” He started gushing, unable to hold back. He quickly caught himself and cleared his throat. “Um, but I’ll do whatever you want. Like, if you wanna stay friends, that would be fine. If you want to date, I’m also very okay with that.” You laughed, feeling so safe in his vulnerability. 

“I want to try dating you, Changbin. I haven’t dated in a long time, but I want to give it my best shot.” He turned his back from you and squealed. Actually squealed. Like, kicked his feet and giggled. 

“Can I hold your hand?” He asked once he turned back around. You could tell that even though he was excited, he was conscious of your history with guys and wanted to be respectful. Without realizing it, you closed the space between them and kissed him gently, your hand softly on the back of his neck in an effort to pull him closer. When you pulled away, his eyes were wide. 

“Does that answer your question?” You teased, smirking. He immediately pulled you onto his lap and looked up at you lovingly. 

“Tell me when you’re uncomfortable. I’ll stop immediately.” He stated firmly, one hand rubbing small circles on your back. you nodded and cupped his face in your hands. “You are so worth it. Even if I had to wait five, ten, twenty more years. Getting to hold you like this and know that you feel safe with me makes it all worth it.” He whispered, smiling happily. You kissed his forehead, then each of his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, and then his lips again. 

“How are you so perfect?” You whispered, resting your forehead against his. 

“I’m not. I just… love you so much.” He obviously felt awkward admitting it this soon. You had figured as much, since there was no way he could still like you at this point and not love you. 

“I love you too, Bin.” You confessed softly, your eyes closed. There was silence between the two of you for a moment, the only sound to be heard coming from their breathing. 

“Like I said, tell me when you want to stop.” He breathed, his eyes connecting with yours. Your lips met his and the hunger kicked in for the both of you immediately. 

His lips traveled down your neck, stopping every now and then to suck on one spot softly before moving on. You took this opportunity to feel him up like you had dreamed of. His shoulders, his biceps, his chest (oh my god). His hands roamed as well, gently caressing you as his kisses slowly followed the neckline of your top. In a swift movement, you removed your top. His jaw was slacked as he took you in and had come to the discovery that you weren't wearing a bra this entire time. “Baby, what did I do to deserve you?” He muttered, his eyes locking with yours. you smiled and leaned in to kiss him, guiding his hands onto your breasts. He groaned into your mouth, gently squeezing each one. You slid your hands under his shirt, desperate to make contact with his skin. He smirked and pulled his shirt off. His figure was so gorgeous you couldn’t help but gasp. 

“Don’t ever show this to Stay.” You mumbled, your hands grazing across his chest. He laughed and nodded. 

“It’s all yours.” You couldn’t help but smile, even though you were so vulnerable, you felt safe. As the two of you continued to kiss, your hips had ideas of their own, grinding against his growing bulge. The way he whimpered against your lips only encouraged you to keep going. You had never been able to imagine him sounding like that in your wildest fantasies. 

His hands slowly slid down your body and lovingly grazed across your thigh towards your core. He smiled when he felt your soaked panties, to which you bit your lip and blushed. “Such a good girl, already wet for me.” His voice was husky with lust. Combined with his already flushed cheeks and slightly swollen lips, you couldn’t handle how sexy he was. “You still okay?” He asked, his fingers resting tantalizingly close, just on your inner thigh. He made a point to make eye contact, patiently waiting for your answer. You nodded, caressing the back of his head softly. A question of how long this consideration would last wandered into your mind, but you cast it aside. If it was only temporary, you would deal with it later. But for now, there was no one else in the world but Seo Changbin. 

He slid your panties to the side, his fingers sliding along your slit to make contact with your core. He hummed happily, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He gently pulled away and laid you down, his hand resting behind your head as you laid down. 

“I’ve dreamed about tasting you for so long.” He seemed to be muttering to himself as he pulled your skirt off and removed your panties with it. You spread your legs wide for him, your heart pounding with excitement. “Ah, so pretty.” He whispered as he rubbed your thigh gently. You could feel your hips shift, desperate for his touch. He dove in face first, his tongue instantly getting to work. Your hands flew into his hair as you moaned. His tongue expertly flicked in and out of you, going faster than you could have ever imagined. You would forever view his rapping differently after tonight. His thumb made lazy circles around your clit as he lapped up every drop of you. Far too quickly, you felt that familiar knot tighten in your stomach. 

“B-Bin… I’m gonna…” You were embarrassed, as you were sure he was expecting more from you. 

“Cum for me whenever you’re ready baby.” He responded, kissing your clit gently a few times before sliding one finger inside of you. That was enough to push you over the edge, your legs wrapping around his head, your back arching, the most lewd sounds you had ever experienced coming from your mouth. When you finally rode out your high and released his head, he sat back for a moment, wiping the slick from his face. You instantly covered your face in embarrassment, your cheeks red not only from your orgasm. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He asked, softly. He kissed your knee softly and rubbed small circles on your thigh. 

“I’ve never done that before, so I didn’t think I would finish that fast.” You admitted, your face still covered. 

“Wait… No one’s ever given you head before?” He asked, shocked. You nodded and slowly uncovered your face. 

“Me finishing wasn’t the most important thing for the only other guy I’ve been with.” You explained, suddenly feeling shy at your inexperience. 

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” His eyes were sad as he placed reassuring kisses on your thigh. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” He explained, shaking his head. “In fact, you finishing many times is my goal.” he crawled up over your body until he was basically on top of you. He kissed your lips, gently at first. 

“But what about you?” you pulled back and asked, softly. 

“It’ll happen eventually, but I’m not worried about it. I want you to feel the best I can make you feel.” He kissed you again, hands gently rubbing your sides. “But before that can even happen, I gotta stretch you a bit.” His hand slid down your body and the rest of him followed, slowly inserting one finger inside your now needy core. “Oh my god, you’re so tight.” He hissed through gritted teeth. He slowly started thrusting, setting a steady pace for himself. Soon, it was two fingers, then three. 

“Want you… So bad…” you moaned, arching your back with your eyes closed. 

“Yeah? What do you want? Tell me. Use your words.” You looked at him in surprise. This cocky attitude was unexpected but so welcome. 

“W-want… ugh… want your cock in me.” you groaned, his fingers fucking your faster and faster while you begged for him. “Please, Bin.” you whined, reaching for him. He instantly folded, taking off his pants and underwear faster than you thought was possible. 

“Well, when you ask so nicely, I guess I have to.” He groans, dragging his tip against your slit. He lined himself up with your entrance and you glanced down in time to see how big he was. You worried for a second that you weren't stretched enough, but you were determined to take every bit of him with no fuss. “Are you ready?” He looked at you for confirmation, his breathing heavy but clearly still very much in control. You nodded, biting your lip in anticipation. He inserted his tip and groaned. Slowly, he slid himself in, making sure to take time to allow you to stretch around him. Meanwhile, he was kissing your neck softly and whispering encouraging words in your ear in between his own groans and whimpers. “You take my cock so well baby. Like you’re made for me.” “Almost there, princess. You’re doing so good. Being such a good girl for me.” He finally made it all the way in, your hips meeting. You felt so full of him but in the best way possible. He stayed still for a minute, allowing you to stretch around him and adjust to his size. You bucked your hips, wanting him more and more with every moment. “Be patient, beautiful. I’m gonna take real good care of you, don’t worry.” He cooed, kissing your gently on the lips. So, this is what it was like to make love, you thought to yourself. This is what it means to not be used for your body. You were ripped out of those thoughts by his shallow thrusts, the grunts coming from his mouth sending you over the moon. With every thrust, he pulled out a little more, setting a slow but comfortable pace. You wrapped your legs around him and your arms around his neck. you wanted him closer than close. You made out with him in the sloppiest way you had ever encountered, moaning into eachothers mouths while swimming in pleasure. Without realizing, you started to clench around him. This must have been something he liked, because his controlled pace started to get sloppy and you felt his cock twitch with every clench. “I-if you keep doing that, I’m gonna lose control.” He groaned through gritted teeth. “I won’t be able to stop.” His pace was quickening, arms on either side of your head to stabilize himself. 

“Please don’t stop.” you whimpered, the idea of him stopping right now being too much. You suddenly saw his eyes shift, where they were once calm and clear, they were now dark and lustful. Almost primal. He wrapped you in his arms and held you up while he pounded into your, hips snapping into yours with every thrust. You mewled as he hit your g-spot repeatedly, as if he knew exactly where it was. You felt the knot forming in your stomach, getting close again. Without much warning, you came around him, your grip tightening on his hair at the back of his head. He didn’t slow down however, still pounding into your faster and faster, growls coming from his mouth. You felt him twitch as you saw him get closer and closer. “Cum for me baby.” you groaned, kissing and biting his neck, hands roaming around his chest, torso, shoulders, back. With a loud groan, he finished, painting the inside of you in spurts. He looked at you with wide eyes as he cummed. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to finish in you.” He tried to pull himself out, but you wrapped your legs around him and kept him in place as he finished. 

“I honestly don’t even care.” you sighed, feeling full of him. He slowly pulled himself out, rubbing your thighs lovingly. 

“You did so well, baby. So so well.” He praised, kissing your thighs with a smile. He went to the bathroom to clean himself up and came back with a towel to clean you up as well. You reached to take the towel from him, but he shook his head. “This is my job.” which you also found confusing. Your ex just threw a towel at you, which you thought was standard. He slowly and gently cleaned you up, careful of how sore you were already. “There you go my love. Oh, don’t forget to use the bathroom too so you don’t get an infection.” He reminded, a soft smile on his face. You nodded and got up, hobbling over to the bathroom. As you sat on the toilet, you felt your cheeks flush. That wasn’t the direction you had imagined things going tonight, but you couldn’t be happier. 

As you climbed back into bed, you expected Changbin to roll over and go to sleep. So, you did the same. 

“Are you upset?” He asked softly, reaching out for you. 

“No, I just figured you were tired.” You commented, rolling over to look at him. 

“I’ll never be too tired to hold you.” He says matter of factly, pulling you in closer. “If I ever meet whoever your ex is, I’m gonna have to kick his ass.” He mumbles, kissing your hair. 

“Wait, why?” you chuckled, pulling back to look at him. 

“He clearly wasn’t very good to you. And he made you think all of that was normal.” He frowns. “I understand why you wouldn’t want to be with any guy ever again if you thought they were all like that.” You felt yourself melt a bit at his words. He spoke so matter of factly about feelings you had never disclosed to anyone, him included. As you laid together, he peppered your face with small kisses, whispering sweet things to you. You felt so comfortable, so safe. You started to drift off, your eyes feeling heavy. You woke up to the lights off and a cozy Changbin in front of you. His eyes were closed, but a small smile rested on his face. You decided to let yourself fall back asleep in his arms. 

When you woke up the next morning in an empty bed, your heart instantly began racing. Was he disappointed in your performance? Did the post nut clarity hit in the morning? You looked around and saw no traces of him. You thought maybe you had dreamed it all, but upon looking in the mirror, you knew that wasn’t true. Your neck was covered in hickies and your lips were still a little swollen. You wanted to be upset, but you couldn’t be. You decided to just throw on some sweatpants and a t-shirt before heading out to make yourself breakfast. However, as you walked into the kitchen, you were shocked to hear someone already there. You slowly poked your head in and felt your eyes widen at the sight of a shirtless Changbin cooking your breakfast. 

“Um, hi?” you rasped, your voice scratchy from sleep. He turned and smiled. 

“You’re awake! I’m trying to make you some breakfast.” you walked over and saw the scrambled eggs that he was so lovingly making were slightly overcooked, a little brown in some spots. However, that happened to be exactly how you liked them. “Sorry, I know I’m not a great cook.” He rested his head on your shoulder as you turned the heat off and moved the pan to the cool burner. 

“What do you mean? You cooked these perfectly.” you smiled and patted his cheek. “I make them like this on purpose.” He hugged you tightly from behind, giggling. 

“Wow, we must really be meant for eachother then, huh?” He kissed your cheek over and over, making your smile even wider. You felt tears prick the back of your eyes but tried to hold them back. However, Changbin was as observant as ever. He turned you around and held your face in his hands, brows furrowed in concern. “What’s going on, honey?” His voice was soft, his thumbs grazing your cheeks softly. 

“I just thought you had left, so I’m happy you’re youre.” you smiled softly at him as you spoke. He frowned. 

“I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. You’re officially stuck with me now, Noona.” He kissed your forehead gently and then flashed you a wide smile. “Let’s eat before it gets cold, yeah?” He gently guided you over to the food, where they both made a plate and sat down at your table. While they were eating, his phone started buzzing from the counter. He attempted to ignore it, saying it probably wasn’t important. 

“I bet it’s Channie-hyung. You should go answer it.” You took a bite of your food as you watched him walk over, giving you a wide eyed look when he saw you was right. 

“Give me a minute.” He whispered and stepped into the hallway to answer. Part of you wanted to eavesdrop, but you decided to focus on eating . He came back a few minutes later and sighed. “I have to leave here soon. We have a soundcheck in like 20 minutes.” Your eyes widened, as the venue was at least 10 from your house. 

“Shit, then we need to go right now.” You stood up, abandoning your food and running to find your shoes. 

“No, it’s okay! I’ll just get a driver to come get me.” 

“It’s fine, I can just drop you off.” You were already putting your shoes on and grabbing your keys. 

“But I don’t want-” He stopped himself, looking down. 

“Anyone to see me?” you stopped and realized this was the other shoe dropping. 

“Not for any reason you’re thinking. I just don’t want you to get hurt because you’re seen with me.” You handed him his shirt, which you had grabbed from the room, and nodded. 

“It’s all good. I understand.” Did you completely mean it? You weren't entirely sure, but you decided to be cool about it rather than making him feel bad. You knew you had issues that you needed to work on too, he didn’t need to deal with all of it. 

“You sure?” He seemed confused, trying to search for all of his stuff while also talking with you. You walked over to him and hugged him from behind. 

“Yes, I’m sure. Now, get outta here. You’ve got work to do.” You kissed his shoulder. “But I’ll see you later.” He turned his head in surprise. 

“You’ll be there tonight?” He asked with a wide smile. 

“Yeah! Perks of having my team basically handling all of the artists is I can get myself very good seats. You’ll be able to see me, no problem.” You giggled at his reaction, which was him quickly turning around with eyebrows raised and an amused smile on his face. “And I have a very cute outfit planned.” You added, which only made him smile more. 

“Can you come say hi to us before the show? The boys would love to see you.” He asks happily, clearly excited at this new development. 

“I’ll see if I can sneak my way in.” You wink, laughing. He gave you a kiss on the cheek before heading out the door to meet his driver. 

You put on your outfit: a black crop top with a hot pink harness, a black leather mini skirt, and some black knee high platform boots. You did some hella cute makeup and did your hair, making sure to wear your Stray Kids headband you had ordered, since everyone needed to know who you were there for. Once you were ready, you made your way to the venue, all access badge around your neck. You wandered into the back, stopping one of your staff members to ask them where Stray Kids' green room was. Once you got there, you knocked on the door three times before opening the door. You were greeted by a chorus of “NOONA!!”s, which made your heart very happy. Felix ran over and hugged you tight. 

“Noona, you look so pretty! I didn’t know you were coming!” He was so excited to see you, his smile was so wide. You sat down with Han, pestering him as he was trying to play a game on his phone. Only Felix, Han, I.N, and Seungmin were in the room at the moment. After Han finally gave up, you decided to chat with Seungmin. They were all sat on one couch, chatting about this and that. Seungmin saw your headband and decided to tease you about it, saying “You must really like us, Noona.” to which you agreed. 

“Where's the rest of your group?” You asked, confused. 

“Oh, they’re still getting ready. Hair, makeup, outfit. All that fun stuff.” Han informed, once again distracted by something on his phone. After sitting and hanging out, the other boys finally came back. 

“Bestie! You’re here!” Hyunjin exclaimed excitedly running over and hugging you. 

“You look so pretty.” You gushed, looking at his outfit. He laughed and nodded. 

“You do too. I guess we’re two pretty best friends.” He joked and then both of you cringed while laughing. 

“Ah, our y/n is here.” Leeknow commented as he walked in, a small smile resting on his face. You greeted him happily, to which he gave you a small bow and then found a spot to relax before their performance. Next was Bangchan, who was happy to see you and gave you a hug. 

“Changbinnie will be here soon.” He teased, winking at you. You felt your cheeks flush and tried to laugh it off. You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with anyone, suddenly taking an interest in their fridge. 

“Old habits die hard.” You joked, straightening all the labels and pulling things forward in an effort to hide how nervous you are. Thankfully, the others didn’t seem to pick up on it, even though Chan kept trying to tease you. Changbin entered the room and instantly came over and wrapped you in his arms. 

“My baby is here!” He cheered, loud enough for everyone to hear. Your face flushed and you looked at him with wide eyes. “What?” He asked, confused with your reaction. You nodded your head towards the boys, who were looking at the two of you with intrigued expressions. “Oh, right.” He nodded and then turned towards them. “y/n and I are dating now.” He informed them, smiling widely. You didn’t think your face could feel any hotter, your hands coming up to shield yourself from the embarrassment. 

“Ah, so that’s where you were last night, Seo Changbin!” Leeknow pretended to scold, a mischievous smile on his face. You were so embarrassed, the boys laughing and heckling the two of you, that you were extremely relieved to see one of your staff members enter. 

“Miss y/n, I was asked to escort you to your seat so the artists can get ready for the show.” You nodded, jumping at the opportunity to leave the room. Changbin stopped you, pouting. His lip was jutted out as he pointed to his cheek. 

“Kiss please. For luck.” You could feel everyone's eyes on you, the embarrassment becoming almost too much. You rolled your eyes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, which made the boys all scream. You quickly headed towards the door, turning once to give a weak 

“Stray Kids, fighting!” before rushing out the door. 

The entire show was great, the boys all making a point to come over and wave at you at one point or another. Changbin was extra, of course, blowing kisses to you every chance he had. The girls behind you were losing their minds, thinking it was for them. You smiled, happy that they were happy. But you also felt smug, knowing that you had him wrapped around your finger. You were excited for what the future would hold with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

thanks for reading! hope you love it!

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