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abbyshands · 2 months

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THE LAST OF US, and the israeli themes surrounding it

i'm very glad that people were able to see one of the previous things i published, where i complied a series of links that you can use to learn more of what's going on in gaza, how you can help, places you need to boycott, etc. however, at the end of the post, there is a large part of it that is DIRECTLY meant for people who play or watch the last of us, or play the last of us 2.

the last of us 2 in specific is not at all elusive in displaying the chilling themes we are seeing before us today. what boggles my mind, is that a select few individuals are choosing to keep publishing fics, reblogging them, uploading content that has NOTHING to do with what's going on, etc. also, you can't reblog one thing about palestine and claim that you care, then flood your account or people's home pages in fanfiction, especially during a media blackout. it just doesn't work like that.

i took the time to make a post discussing all of the israeli/palestinian themes that the games as a whole, but mainly the second one, display. if you are my mutual, a friend, a fan of my work, or a fan of the game or show, then i 100% demand you read this. if you can read fics for hours, you can spend time to read a post discussing the universe those very fics came from.

a lot of us are now aware of the last of us's nature in regards to the ongoing genocide, but not many people know the specifics of it. after seeing this post last night (the person who made this, you are an angel), i decided to take the time to dive into the specifics of the last of us 2's israeli nature, on a logical level, but also a moral level, using a list of sources to help me along, which will be linked at the end of this post. i will link the sources along the way so you know which sources i got my information from.

regardless of if this changes anyone's mind about ignoring the media blackout, or not giving a fuck about what's going on period, know this: regardless of how you feel, regardless of what you believe, from the river to the see, palestine will be free. at this fucking point, the people who are on the right side will keep speaking out and spreading awareness, regardless if you are here to do it with us. that's it. now, let's get into this.

UPCOMING DISCUSSIONS: neil druckmann, the last of us 1, the last of us 2, the last of us show and zionism in the show's cast, boycotting the game and show, and conclusion

NEIL DRUCKMANN

45-year-old neil druckmann, who was the co-director and co-writer for the last of us 2, was born in tel aviv, israel in 1978. according to the above source, druckmann was raised in a settlement in the west bank, where he was surrounded by violence on a daily basis. comics, movies, and most of all, video games, became an escape for him as a child, before he and his family moved to miami, floridawhen he was 10 years old.

to water down the full story that you can, again, read here, druckmann went to college to major in criminology. however, when he was in college, druckmann took a compsci course, that later lead to his major becoming coding as opposed to criminology. soon after, he knew he wanted a career that related to one thing: video games.

in the summer of 2013, the last of us part 1 was released, and it was renowned as one of best video games to have ever been made. in 2020, druckmann and nd released the last of us part 2, followed by the 2022 release of HBO's show based on the first video game. druckmann played a huge part on set, being not only the co-creator and co-writer of the show, but also having directed an episode himself. druckmann will remain involved in the second season of the show.

bringing up neil druckmann’s background is a crucial aspect of what’s upcoming in this post, hence why i wanted to discuss it at all. druckmann growing up in israel is one of the sole reasons the last of us was ever made at all, and not only that: it is the reason why the second game is the way it is, because neil druckmann planted his israeli ideologies right into it.

so, let’s speak on it.

THE LAST OF US 1

on the official the last of us podcast, neil druckmann himself discussed the last of us' link to the israeli-palestinian conflict, and now, genocide. the general consensus was that people will go ridiculously far for the people that they love. this idea of druckmann's was revealed when he discussed the first time the main character of the first game, joel miller, kills somebody to keep his daughter, sarah, safe from harm. this is one of the first scenes in the game prior to the time jump, where the pair's neighbor becomes infected, and attacks them. joel uses a gun to kill him so that the neighbor doesn't harm sarah.

the following is a quote i would like to copy from this link word for word: "Druckmann said he follows "a lot of Israeli politics" and compared the incident to Israel's release of hundreds of Palestinians prisoners in exchange for the captured Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit in 2011."

the plot of the first game, as neil druckmann explained, is based around a moral dilemma. he discusses how if joel had to kill a man to save a random kid, would he have done it? druckmann himself says, "but when it was his tribe, his daughter, there was no question about what he was going to do."

while the first game, in my opinion, isn't as heavily centered around israeli themes as the second game is, regardless, it is heavily crucial to note that the basis of the first game derived from a real-life incident involving israel and palestine, where hundreds of palestinian people (edit: i believe it is more than 1,000) were released from imprisonment, all in exchange for one israeli soldier. in the second game, the israeli-palestinian themes, if you look closely enough, scream out at you.

let's talk about it.

THE LAST OF US 2

"There is a common saying that if you seek revenge, you should dig two graves. Playing The Last of Us Part II is like being made to dig those graves with your teeth (Zacny)."

nd's 2022 the last of us part II is described down to the last letter in the above quote, albeit the game's utterly obvious israeli nature. in this post, the creator, rob zacny, goes on to discuss the game's theme of a "cycle of violence," and how the game reminds you in each grotesque encounter of the cruel ideology behind that. due to what occurs in the last of us 1, joel, basically, reaps what he sows when he is murdered for killing a surgeon who, along with the group said surgeon was a member of, the fireflies, was planning to perform surgery on ellie, who joel had since grown close to, in search of a cure for the infection that has plagued their world for decades. four years later, the second playable character in the game, who is introduced in the first half hour or so, abby anderson, kills joel to avenge the surgeon who was murdered, who happened to be her father. from then on, the game follows what, again, can only be described as a "cycle of violence." joel kills abby's dad, abby kills joel, ellie kills all of abby's friends, aims to kill abby in the final battle of the game, but spares abby when ellie's conscious morally attacks her for her decisions.

throughout the 24 odd hour gameplay, the player is allowed to play as ellie and abby, abby's parts of the game being arguably longer than ellie's. the idea this, i believe, is meant to introduce, is one of perspective: the player is meant to be loyal to joel miller once the first game has been finished, so when he is killed, they are inclined to make abby pay for it. however, abby's perspective, both in the past and as the present course of the game goes on, is meant to make the player understand why she did what she did. thus, the moral: there are no good guys in this game. every person is as equally bad as the following, and no one is innocent. however, when we consider the israeli-palestinian nature of this ideology and how it is presented in the last of us part 2, it simply doesn't work like this.

“I suspect that some players, if they consciously clock the parallels at all, will think The Last of Us Part II is taking a balanced and fair perspective on that conflict, humanizing and exposing flaws in both sides of its in-game analogues. But as someone who grew up in Israel, I recognized a familiar, firmly Israeli way of seeing and explaining the conflict which tries to appear evenhanded and even enlightened, but in practice marginalizes Palestinian experience in a manner that perpetuates a horrific status quo (Maiberg).”

when discussing the last of us part 2’s plot, one could 100% argue that there really aren’t good guys on the dual sides of the game. if you compare ellie and abby, you know that ellie went on a murder frenzy to get revenge on abby for killing joel. on abby’s side of it all, you know that abby wasn’t all that great before coming across lev and yara, and even then, she killed people to do what everyone in said world aims to do: survive. prior to finding lev and yara, abby had killed numerous people before, and did, as the player sees, handle joel very cruelly before she ended up killing him. here’s one more example, one that’s more random (but it’s simply to compare abby vs. ellie’s people, if you will): joel and manny. joel went on a cross country murder spree to keep ellie safe, and killed a building full of people at the end of the game to save her life. in regards to manny, if you recall a discussion that manny and mel had in the beginning of abby’s parts of the game, the pair are discussing a happening where a group aside from the wlf, the seraphites (which we will discuss later) attacked them because the wlf killed children who were a part of their (the seraphite’s) group. manny voiced how he would prefer to keep their people (the wlf) safe, and challenges mel, implying that those “kids” weren’t really kids, because they were the ones who attacked their guys (the wlf) in the first place. as a general consensus, manny kills several people throughout the course of the game, which can be inferred or seen by the player, making him, for the sake of what i’m getting at, a bad guy.

we see in the game how ellie and abby’s people are unanimously bad. the last of us is set in a world where laws and morals are thrown out the window for the sake of survival, so this is no surprise. however, this dual perspective, “no bad guy,” ideology simply doesn’t apply in the world today. you may compare ellie vs. abby, or joel vs. manny, or bring in more characters in the game, such as tommy, nora, etc, claiming that all parties are bad. that makes perfect sense. but think about it like this: if this is meant to represent the israeli-palestinian perspective, and i give you the scenario of a five-year-old child versus a full-grown IDF soldier, what would you say? isn’t there an obvious answer as to who is in the wrong and who’s not? maiberg is 100% right in claiming that the game marginalizes the real-life palestinian experience. abby, ellie, joel, manny, etc, are not real people. but the thousands of innocent children who have been killed for the ridiculousness and inhumane israeli regime are. you can’t say each side is equal in awfulness, not when one side is full of innocent men, women, and children, some of which could never make it into a year of their lives. not when if one side pauses their battle, there would be a ceasefire, but if the converse pauses their battle, they would all be dead.

“And then they cheered afterward,” Druckmann, who grew up in Israel, recalls. “It was the cheering that was really chilling to me. … In my mind, I thought, ‘Oh, man, if I could just push a button and kill all these people that committed this horrible act, I would make them feel the same pain that they inflicted on these people.’"

remember how i said discussing neil druckmann's background was crucial? it is. druckmann, who, again, was born in israel, told the Washington Post that the game's cynical themes of revenge and suffering is linked to the 2000 killing of two israeli soldiers (tw, lynching), who were killed by a mob (maiberg). allegedly, some of the incident was remembered in film, that druckmann watched, and in his interview, he explained his angry nature that came about in response to the video, and how he desired vengeance.

the last of us part 2 is mainly set in seattle, washington, where secondary main character, abby anderson, resides in with a militia group named the wlf (which we will also delve into later, alongside the seraphites). maiberg brings out how seattle, on a visual and mechanical level, is based around "a series of checkpoints, security walls, and barriers (Maiberg)." he notes: "[seattle] looks almost exactly like the tall, precast concrete barriers and watch towers Israel started building through the West Bank in 2000." here are side by side images for comparison:

now that we’ve discussed this, let us discuss one of most prevalent aspects of abby’s part of the story: the wlf, and the seraphites. the seraphites are a religious group, nicknamed “the scars” due to the scars the members of said group carve into their faces to display their membership, who the wlf, a makeshift militia group, runs into conflict with following the fall of FEDRA, the country’s former military. in a note in the game, a fedra commander explains that the city of seattle has been lost to the wolves (the wlf), who he names as terrorists. maiberg brings out the following: “Here, there are parallels to early Zionist organisations that fought British rule in the region. These organizations were also described as terrorists, and leaders of those organizations later became leaders in Israel, much like how Isaac, the leader of the Wolves, came to control Seattle. Other in-game notes, scenes of urban ambushes, and the bodies of executed FEDRA officers laboriously walk the player through the cliche "one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter (Maiberg).”

maiberg also discusses a series of manners in which the fictional seraphites resemble real-life palestinians. here are the three ways he specifically discusses in his original post, but there are much more:

“The same note from the Seattle FEDRA commander that bitterly says the Wolves are in charge explains that it's now their responsibility to not only feed and shelter the people of Seattle, but deal with the "religious fanatics," referring to the Scars.

Later in the game, Ellie finds a location called "Martyr Gate," where the Scars' spiritual leader apparently died, indicating a religious significance of a specific and disputed location, and emphasizing the notion of martyrdom as central to their culture.

The Scars are able to get around Wolf patrols and various barriers around the city via an elaborate, secret system of bridges between skyscrapers. These function as a kind of flipped version of the underground tunnels Palestinians use to bypass Israeli blockades and other means of limiting free movement in order to get supplies and carry out attacks on Israel.”

one more post i would like to link is this one, the very reason i decided to make this in the first place. it captures the zionism in the last of us 2, along with the wlf vs. seraphite conflict, perfectly. i very much recommend you read it, as it explains it much better than i can.

the general consensus is this: the idea that the seraphites are equally as bad as the wlf, which implies that palestinians are equally as bad as israelis, simply doesn’t apply in 2024. as i said before: what is so vile and cruel about a newborn baby? a pregnant woman? an innocent man? NOTHING. part of the reason the last of us captures this so poorly is due to the apocalyptic nature of the world the game is set in. obviously, people would go rogue if their lives were put in peril by not only animalistic infected beings, but also humans. however, we live in a real world where laws and morals do, in fact, apply. this isn’t a video game where those are simply discarded. what the wlf and the seraphites did to each other in the last of us 2 could be any other day for them: but what israel is doing to palestine right now is a war crime, a genocide, and plainly vile.

THE LAST OF US SHOW, and zionism in the show’s cast

i don’t think i need to spend a lot of time here, because if you have made it this far, you are well aware of the real nature of the last of us and the last of us 2 already, so you must understand that the show is HBO’s take on the game’s story (which, need i remind you show-wise and game-wise, neil druckmann played a huge part in). i simply bring it up so that people are aware of the fact that the 2022 show is ALSO linked to the ongoing genocide, and the cast is a major part of that (however, if anyone would like me to delve deeper into the show, let me know, and i 100% will).

for the following season which is a sequel to the last, theorized to center around the happenings of the last of us 2, members who are set to play a few crucial characters in the game have been announced. this includes isabela merced, who will play dina woodward, ellie’s romantic partner for most of the game, alongside kaitlyn dever, who will play abby anderson.

many people freaked out when they realized kaitlyn dever will be playing abby, but not for the reason they should have been. if you are a last of us fan, you are well aware that abby’s muscles are a central aspect of her persona. yet, kaitlyn dever is on the skinnier side, and according to some, does not resemble abby.

but this is not the issue that is most crucial to discuss.

kaitlyn dever is a zionist, and so is isabela merced (i am under the impression that both of these claims are true, but i had trouble finding a source i deemed reliable enough to link here. if i do, however, i will). now, while i’m not here to riddle you with conspiracy theories, people believe this (zionism) is the reason kaitlyn dever in specific got the role of abby anderson (there is a separate actress, shannon berry, who more closely resembles abby, but made a post in solidarity with palestine. this is theorized to be the reason why she didn’t get the part, and why kaitlyn dever was announced shortly after this particular actress made said post). let us not also forget that ellie’s actor, bella ramsey, is also in support of israel, which can be seen here.

(edit: i was informed since making this that bella has a story on one of their social medias, showing their alleged support of palestine and calling for a ceasefire. i’m going to link this post where i spoke on it, so you aware of what i think on that front).

all of the previously provided information brings me to my final part of this post: boycotting the games, and boycotting the show.

BOYCOTTING THE GAME AND SHOW

i could go on and on about why this is so crucial, but we would be here forever. however, i’m going to paste in what i wrote in this post surrounding the topic of boycotting, as i personally believe i got it down quite well in regards to the last of us (the show and game). it reads:

"DO NOT BUY TLOU, TLOU REMASTERED, TLOU2, TLOU2 REMASTERED, OR ANY GAME FROM ND! neil druckmann has donated money to the IDF in the past. & where do you think he’s getting his money from? yeah, you got that. watch gameplays, pirate these games, or buy them secondhand. several shops sell used games. & for those of you who went and purchased the game anyway, knowing about all of this? fuck you.

if you think your $10 doesn’t matter, then think about this: okay, one person spends $10 on the game. whatever. but when 100,000 people do it? that’s a million dollars, going into the hands of a zionist, who is using YOUR money to help kill innocent men, women, and children. put that in your pipe and smoke it.

it is not just the games you need to boycott. HBO’S show also needs to be. follow this link to learn of more movies and shows you need to boycott, & the reasons why, including the last of us. let’s also not forget that dina & abby’s actresses are in support of israel, and BELLA RAMSEY, ellie’s actress, has also shown support.

boycott. the fucking. show. there are a million websites where you can pirate it, so you are not giving any of your support to it. resist."

what it comes down to is this: purchasing the game or watching the show directly from nd or HBO is not a must. spreading awareness and speaking out about palestine is. you are more than capable of not purchasing the game, or watching playthroughs, or buying the game secondhand, etc. you are more than capable of pirating the hbo show so that money is not made off of your engagement. it's not that difficult. i have said it once, and i will say it again: boycotting is a form of resistance, and that is the least we can do for those suffering in gaza as you read this. resist. people openly admitting that they went and purchased the game anyway simply make me sick. i hope you know what an awful thing to brag about that is, and how despicable of a human it makes you.

CONCLUSION

there's so much to discuss when it comes down to this topic, and it's possible that in the future, i will make a second part to this. however, for now, i really hope this does suffice. i believe knowing of the game's israeli nature is a step. but knowing the specifics is a leap, one that i need everyone engaged in this fandom to take, hence why i wanted to make this post at all.

i'm not saying anyone needs to quit liking the games or the show or whatever. i'm not saying you need to delete or throw away a game you spent $60 on. i've seen so many people who are way too dense to understand that. what i'm saying is that it's crucial you are at least AWARE of the content you are consuming. aware of why it even came about at all.

in my opinion, you can't separate the game from the roots. but you can remain aware of the inner workings of this world you've grown to love. you can keep spreading awareness about it, and you can do right by the people in gaza by discussing the ongoing genocide, and using your voice as much as you can.

i'm so lucky to have been able to gain a following on here in such a short amount of time, even if that following has gone up and down because i've chosen to post more about palestine as opposed to my previous content (granted, that fact won't deter me at all). i will keep using said following to keep speaking out for the people in gaza, and i encourage you to do the same. keep reblogging. keep speaking up. keep using your voices. the people in gaza need us. be there for them.

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE 🇵🇸🍉.

LINKS AND RESOURCES:

neil druckmann | the official the last of us podcast | the not so hidden israeli politics of the last of us 2, by emanuel maiberg (i highly recommend you read the full post. it discusses several crucial details i didn't discuss in this post) | galid shalit prisoner exchange | Neil Druckmann Speaking on the Washington Post | 2000 killing of two israeli soldiers (TW: LYNCHING) | 'The Last of Us Part II' Is a Grim and Bloody Spectacle, but a Poor Sequel | Veiling Colonial Violence: The Last of Us Part II, Israel and the Erasure of Power (full disclosure, i did not read the full post. i merely needed the quote in the very beginning of it) | zionism in tlou2 | isabela merced | kaitlyn dever | bella ramsey's support of israel

PALESTINE LINKS

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jamespotterismydaddy · 3 months

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Five Long Years (Chapter 1)

aemond x niece!reader

A/N: i've been wanting to do age gap aemond with his niece for a while so when someone requested it, i was going to do a smut oneshot but it turned into this so weee new miniseries

WARNINGS: angsty, there will be incest and future smut

WORD COUNT: 1,059 words

next chapter series masterlist

Five years since you saw him last. Two years since the death of his wife, Cassandra Baratheron and he is now finally coming home. He has travelled much, or at least that is what he says in his letters. Aemond Targaryen is a man of few words in everything but his letters to you, his dear niece who has spent the majority of her life doing no less than adoring him. Seeing him has been the thing you have spent the last month looking forward to and the day has finally come as you make your way to the courtyard.

“Ñuha rūs mandianna, look at how you’ve grown.” (my baby niece)

You hear the voice from behind you, whipping around to meet his eye. Oh, and grown you have, into your name and into your body.

You hold in your squeal of delight as you walk up to him. “I have missed you, Kepus. I didn’t think you had already arrived.” You breathe out as he takes both your hands in his and brings them up to his mouth for a kiss. You feel your cheeks flush.

“I missed you more.” He murmurs, brushing a strand of your hair out of your face. He must have noticed your blush by now.

“Tell me everything. I want to hear all about Pentos and Naarth and Lys.” You take his arm, leading him forward for a walk so you don’t have to look him in the eyes.

He smiles at how flustered you are. “You would have loved it, darling. There was so much to learn, so much history in every city.”

You listen to him with such interest as he goes on about each city, their people, their clothes. He’s pleased about how you want to hear it all. You’ve walked through the gardens twice by the time he had gotten through the bulk of it but even so, you can feel that he hasn’t told you everything.

“Tell me more, Kepus.” You beg him, never wanting to leave his side again.

“Not all things are for your ears, sweetling.”

You pout. “What do you mean?”

“You are still just a little girl in many ways.” He holds your hand, his thumb drawing small circles on your knuckles.

“I will be married soon. I won’t be a little girl after that.” A hint of emotion flashes through his eyes as you speak the words.

“I’m not so sure you’re ready for that.” He murmurs, looking at your soft hands before you yank them from his grasp.

“How should you know what i’m ready for?” He’s surprised by your sharp response. He never would have expected you to use such a tone with him.

“Because I know you.”

“You knew me. We have not seen one another for years.” There’s hurt in your voice, in your eyes.

“I had a wife to attend to… a child.”

Both who are now dead.

“A woman grown would be able to understand that.” He says, patronizing you.

“I do understand that.” There’s such jealousy in your voice. You just want to be seen by him, in a way that is different from a little girl who is only now slightly less little.

“You have flowered, yes and you have gotten so beautiful but your petulance has yet to escape you.” He speaks so tenderly as he lifts your chin to force you to look in his eye, but you find his words cruel.

“I’m not petulant.” You protest, pulling your face from his hand. You hate his gentle touches when he’s being mean.

“A well-mannered girl wouldn’t speak to her uncle the way you do.”

“I am well-mannered, just not a pushover.” You say back to him.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have looked at a man on his wedding day the way you looked at me.” It stings when he says it. You didn’t even realize he noticed the way you gazed at him when he said his vows, all your longing wrapped up in a single look.

“Will you truly hold me to a look I gave you five years ago?” You want to scoff or say something mean but you hold your tongue instead.

“I was too old for you then.” He sympathizes. You didn’t even realize he knew. Men aren’t unusually so perceptive, especially ones who are barely twenty years old.

“Eight years isn’t so long. Daemon and my mother are sixteen years apart.” You murmur, knowing there’s no point in pretending.

“Her Grace wasn’t twelve when she married him.”

“Lots of girls get married at twelve.” You think of your grandmother who married even younger.

“Yes, lots of girls do get married at twelve… and then they die in childbirth at thirteen.” He states seriously. Aemond has little interest in fucking children, whether they have bled or not. “It was not because I did not like you, mandianna.” He reaches for you again to bring you demeaning comfort that you do not want.

“Stop touching me.”

“I didn’t know it would hurt you so. I had assumed it would pass.” He knows you still yearn for him.

“You think I still desire you? I want a man who will treat me like a woman, not a babe!” You’re angry and humiliated and you lash out, wanting that childhood crush to finally die, because that’s all it could have possibly been, frivolous and childish.

“I apologize. I should not have assumed.” You know he’s saying it just to calm you because a man like him is not so stupid, just arrogant enough to think he could never be wrong.

“I don’t want your purportless apologies.” You say with venom.

He sighs. “Then allow me to give you the gifts I brought for you-”

“You wish to distract me with trinkets?”

He isn’t too sure of what to say. You were much meeker as a girl, easily won over with pretty things and kind words. You’re more confident now… more Targaryen.

“I just do not wish to argue when it’s been so long since I saw you last.”

“And whose fault is that? You’ve had two years to see me… I’m starting to think it’s now too late.”

And with that, you stomp off, leaving Aemond dazed and confused… and slightly impressed. Maybe you aren’t just a little girl anymore.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi @ravenclawprincess33

#aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond angst

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dotthings · 22 days

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You know who I feel sad for right now is Misha, because I think he wanted to be able to speak much much earlier than he was able to about Cas’s confession. We know he drafted an essay about Cas’s coming out…and then wound up not publishing it. Misha deserved to be able to talk about it in interviews the way Oliver Stark is able to about Buck. Misha mentioned it on zoom calls, briefly. And then it seems like he got yanked back by the PR machine and the nature of Cas’s confession wasn’t discussed on any SPN PR materials and for a time Misha was restricted on what he could say on CE Con stages.

At first, back then, for a few glorious days, I thought the stigma about queer Cas, about Destiel, had been lifted, finally, and then WB/CW brought the restrictions back down via PR. Oh you can have your confession scene, SPN, but corporate will control the narrative on how it’s spoken about or not.

We saw this thaw over time. (Anyone who claims otherwise or that Misha was always able to be open about it, is lying). Now Misha can speak openly about it and that shift began around the time when Chaos Machine really set up shop and changed a few con policies. So I’m happy for Misha that he can speak only about Cas being queer and what the confession means and Cas coming out, but he still has yet to be able to speak in depth about it in major PR. The openness about it comes out on con stage. At first it was non-CE Cons. Then finally he was more able to speak freely on CE Con stages.

Which leads me to another point, which is that, in fact, any of us who thought Cas was supposed to be in the series finale? We were right all along. The PR Misha filmed meant to mislead and misdirect about his last episode…PR misdirect to cover up so it could be a surprise, which makes sense and is sometimes how PR is run. Remember that the production shutdowns of the pandemic happened during the first days of filming 15.19. We found out eventually Dean and Cas were planned to be seen at the Roadhouse bar in Heaven together.

When they filmed 15.18 everyone thought Cas would at least cameo in 15.20. During the filming of 15.18 nobody directly involved knew how far Cas would be shoved out of the story, the actors didn’t know, the writer didn’t know, the director didn’t know, how far 15.20 would be stripped back, no one knew how reduced even mere mentions would be in 15.20.

I’ve talked about this before but a reminder how screwed the spn creatives who worked on 15.18 were, how screwed over the actors were.

You were right. If you thought that there was going to be at least some satisfaction and closure and Cas was going to have one more appearance before the end and it wouldn’t be able to be loud open canon, but something that implied mutual canon Destiel.

We were right. We were right all along.

Antis on twitter dot com can keep scratching and clawing and harassing and gaslighting and spewing phobic comments, denying what Jensen’s views are and dening that corporate censorship is real and that bi Dean is canonical via queer coding and queer Cas is now loud open canon and Destiel is mutual, via canon queer coding. Won’t change what happened here or that the intent was so, so much better and more than what 15.20 delivered, and the reason it fell apart was the production shutdown gave some parties high up too much time to think and then interfere and cut Cas out.

There is no more room to indulge media illiteracy and malicious denialism and trolling from antis.

#Misha Collins #Castiel #Destiel

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fyorina · 22 days

Text

ᡣ𐭩 ALL THINGS END

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: all of dazai's carefully calculated plans come to an abrupt halt when you run into him at a club. he thinks fate is a funny thing, that despite all of his desperate attempts to stay away from you, it still leads you right to him. one night, he decides, is all he'll allow. one night of indulgence, and then things will go back to how they were. that's how it has to be to keep you safe. {wordcount: 11.8k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: wow we're starting side b—side b can be read separately from side a but you’ll get some neat references if you read both (｡♡ ‿ ♡｡). i'm so nervous actually HAHAH i put my heart and soul into side b and trying to characterize beast!dazai properly. it was really hard because the majority of the fic is from his pov and getting into his mind is a lotttt harder than canonzai imo. anyway, reblogs are always appreciated! thank you guys & i hope you guys love this as much as i enjoyed writing it

GENERAL WARNINGS: dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book, it's going to be a common theme throughout the series so i'll leave the heads up now. + as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings!

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

Dazai Osamu thinks that his touch might be noxious, indiscriminately rotting all he comes in contact with until only putrid remains are left of what had once been lively souls. His gaze drags across his fingers from where they’re splayed on top of the table, absently tapping out a familiar name over and over again, the only thing grounding him to the meeting taking place around him in one of the second-floor VIP rooms of the Port Mafia’s most elite nightclub. If he looks hard enough, he swears he can see that the tips of his fingers are blackened, ready to lay the curse of decay upon the next person he brushes them against.

He can feel eyes on him—the impatient glares from the foreign emissaries and the tense stares of his executives, as they wait for him to respond to the offer, laid out to him by the top brass of the Russian kingpin called Nabokov, an old ally of the Port Mafia courtesy of the previous boss. Dazai was already annoyed coming into this meeting, thinking that the Russians were presumptuous for assuming that the Port Mafia should come to their defense in the three-way territorial war going on in their motherland, but the fact that Nabokov couldn’t even bother to come speak to him himself after Dazai’s executives insisted that he be the one to personally handle this only made him even more bitter and irate. He hates having to leave the headquarters.

He takes a long drag from the cigarette hanging between his lips, lifting his free hand to pull the end from his mouth before putting it out on the table in front of him. The buzz of the nicotine isn’t enough to keep him present anymore. He keeps tapping, steady and controlled, the same bunch of letters again and again—everything around himself feels hazy and blurry. The only thing clear that he can focus on is the uniform drumming of his fingers, his voice doesn’t even sound like his own as he speaks:

“Why should I even entertain your offer when Nabokov couldn’t bring it to me himself?”

The first words that he speaks during the entire meeting are cold and harsh, as they should be in response to the disrespect shown by the Pale Flame, but Dazai just wants to be done with this and return to the base before anything can go wrong. His executives are vaguely pleased by his words, evidently taking more offense to Nabokov’s failure to show than Dazai himself does, and the three emissaries of the Pale Flame bristle, sharing looks as they try to figure out what to say in response to Dazai’s remark. Dazai doesn’t even care to hear what they have to say, lost in his thoughts as he glances up at the ceiling.

He thinks that if his touch isn’t entirely noxious, as there have been a few people who haven’t faced ruin after being exposed to it, then his presence makes up for it in its draining effect. The black hole in his chest is just as indiscriminate as the corroding touch of his fingers, emptying people of hope and exhausting them of energy. A part of Dazai mourns over the fact that those who can survive his touch are drained by the void—(chuuya. atsushi. their names weigh heavy on him, knowing that he’s dragged them so far down with him in this life)—while those who can withstand the void are inevitably killed because of their proximity to him—(you, odasaku, your names ring through his head, cruel and taunting. he pushes away the longing that rips at his chest, as he always does.)

His fate is to be alone, a cruel design drawn out by whatever sadistic gods reign above.

In every universe, it’s proven to be true. Even in this one, he can’t spare people from the effects of his existence. Atsushi, Kyouka, Chuuya—as years have passed their eyes have become dull and their souls have become as black as the blood that he forcibly injected into their veins. He considers whether or not he might just be better off dead, that way he can give those who have been the most affected by him, in this life and all of the others, a much-needed reprieve from him. But he can’t, not when he’s unsure over whether or not those who’ve been condemned by his touch will actually survive if it means he’s gone.

“... okov sends all of his reg…”

The tapping becomes a bit harsher, faster. If he was writing out the name rather than tapping it, the script would be jagged and unclear. His surroundings start to fade out again, Nabokov’s executives are speaking but the words are going in one ear, out the other. His head feels fuzzy and his free hand is starting to go numb.

Odasaku. You. He’s sure that there are plenty of others, but you two are the only ones that matter to him. He doesn’t know if killing himself would mean that the two of you could live out your lives to the fullest. You could both die anyway, for all he knows, and then he would’ve died for nothing and he can’t risk that, not when this is the only universe where he’s aware of the fate that you and Odasaku face in every other world.

He can work to protect the two of you in this world; he’ll do what must be done from the shadows to ensure that you and Odasaku can finally fulfill your dreams. A life without you, and a life without Odasaku, is a small price to pay if it means that you two can actually live out your lives. You’ve granted him enough good memories from every single other universe that the least you guys deserve is one without his presence bringing you ruin.

“... the previous b…”

Sometimes, he longs so badly for a life with the two of you that it makes him sick. A world in which Odasaku lives and Dazai can be with you, a world where he’s untouched by the shadows and the tarry substance corrupting his blood. He thinks that Odasaku would adore you if he’d ever been given the chance to meet you—you both have a similar dry humor and an intrinsic desire to help people, even those who decidedly don’t deserve it. On nights that are a bit too dark and a bit too heavy, Dazai imagines dragging you to Odasaku’s place so he can introduce you to him and he imagines how his face would flame up in embarrassment when Odasaku tells you all of the humiliating stories of Dazai’s youth that he knows the man has stocked up.

Moments like this, when everything feels a bit too far away and his mind can’t connect to the present, lost in the pages of all of the other worlds he’d seen, he swears that he can feel the ghost of your touch running across his skin as you trace patterns along his arms and brush kisses against his jaw. He thinks it’s cruel that his mind tortures him with the unattainable; taunts him with the knowledge that the only person he’s ever entirely given himself to, and was accepted by, is out there waiting for him, but the moment Dazai gives in to the aching in his chest, it’ll be ripped away from him again.

“… disorder in the motherl…”

He can’t feel his left arm, and that awful numbness is starting to spread across his chest to his right arm; with nothing left to consume, the black hole in his chest is devouring him again. Now is not the time, not when his executives are around, and especially not when outsiders are around. He taps more intensely—your name, over and over and over again, the only thing that can ever pull him out of these states. It’s the reminder that you’re out there, alive, and that even if it’s not in this world, you love him in every single other one, no matter how absurd the idea is.

“... will not be contained to…”

He needs to focus. He knows what the Pale Flame emissaries are saying even if Dazai can’t actually hear and process the full conversation—whatever is happening in Russia will spread, and it will spread to Japan, certainly, if Dostoevsky comes out on top. This conflict never occurred in the other universes and Dazai doesn’t know what exactly he did in this one that caused this change. Figuring it out and adapting needs to be his first priority because Dostoevsky’s arrival in Yokohama will put everything he’s built at risk.

It will put you at risk.

How many times have you died at his hand? Too many. Too many for him to risk this.

He was able to handle Odasaku’s fate years ago when he got ahold of that painting and convinced him to join the Armed Detective Agency. Odasaku’s fate was easy in comparison to yours, that painting and the Port Mafia have been the cause of his death, removing them from the equation will be enough to keep him safe until Dazai follows through with the final phase of his plan.

Your fate is always more arbitrary—Fyodor Dostoevsky will be the first trial he has to overcome to ensure your survival and then depending on how things play out after that, Agatha Christie will be the second trial. They’re the two leading causes of your death besides Dazai himself. Once the two of them have been taken care of, Dazai can move on to Phase Three, the beginning of the end.

The darker part of him, the one that has festered and corrupted and spread to every inch of his soul without the light you and Odasaku had brought to him in all of his other lives, wonders if he should have you kidnapped and tucked away until he can make sure that Dostoevsky is six-feet-under and unable to disrupt the world he’s built for you and Odasaku. Unlike Osasaku, you have no ability to protect yourself with if everything starts falling apart. You’ll be the most vulnerable, the most at risk.

But he knows he can’t for the same reason that he knows he’ll never be able to approach you in the same way he did Odasaku so many years before: Dazai has never had any sort of self-control when it comes to you and he doubts it’ll be any different in this universe. Even when he knows you’re better off, even when he knows that each second he spends in your life is slowly destroying you, he can never bring himself to part from you. He fears that even the slightest look of you will condemn him and all of the work he’s done, that even just the knowledge of where you are will tempt him into wandering the area in hopes of running into you.

He’s done everything he can to ensure that he never has any contact with you or any information about your life. He assigned Kouyou to look over you, being the best suited for such types of missions. She’s spent years making sure that you’re safe and nothing from the underground disturbs your studies or everyday life. The woman was naturally curious about the request, even more so when Dazai instructed her to never give him any updates on you unless it was a life-or-death situation, but she knew better than to question him.

At this point, only the hand of god and sheer chance could lead him to you, which is why he’s particularly against meetings like these where he’s forced to leave the shadows of his towers and dally into the public. Dazai doesn’t beg, and he certainly doesn’t pray, but whenever he has to leave the Port Mafia base for extended periods, he gets damn close to it because each moment in the light risks everything.

“... oevsky and Tolstoy…”

The ice spreads to the wrist of his right arm and just as Dazai thinks he’s about to be fully swallowed by the void, his gaze drifts to the window looking down on the main floor of the club and he catches sight of a figure leaning on the bar, and it’s ludicrous, really, because how does his gaze tunnel on one person in the sea of hundreds before him. But his mouth goes dry and his body stills as recognition floods through him, replacing the numbness so quickly that his body is almost palpitating in the sudden shock of it. Flames burn through his veins and the fingers that had been steadily tapping out your name jerk so abruptly that Chuuya, Kouyou, and Gin are all casting him hesitant looks.

He rises to his feet suddenly, ignoring the fact that all eyes are on him and that he’s completely disregarded whatever the Pale Flame emissaries had been explaining. He waves Gin off as the girl instinctively moves to follow him, the room is spinning and closing in on him so swiftly that he doesn’t even think he’ll be able to make it out of the room before his mind and body collapse in on themselves.

If there is a god, Dazai realizes, then he’s abandoned Dazai since the moment he was born, because standing there with glittering eyes and a smile so painstakingly familiar and foreign at the same time is you.

There’s a hazy smile on your face as you stumble out of the main room of the club, and down a side hall toward where you’re pretty sure the restrooms should be. You lean against the wall as you try to regain your bearings, inhaling the air greedily—you hadn’t realized how deprived of it you’d been in the stuffy club, where there were more bodies than pockets of air, and even those were smogged with thick, floral perfume and sweat.

You think you’re having a good night—for the most part, at least. You and your coworkers have been at the club for an hour already celebrating your acceptance into Waseda’s prestigious graduate program. You’d been pressured into inviting one of your more unsavory coworkers, having been told you would seem rude and ill-mannered if you invited everyone else except him. You think now that it really shouldn’t have mattered to you, you’re leaving the office soon to prepare for school anyway, but you suppose you’re easily peer pressured. Sometimes.

But you’re free now, momentarily, at least. One of your friends had distracted Takeda so could sneak off to the restroom to freshen up. God knows he probably would’ve tried to follow you there if he didn’t.

You push yourself off the wall with a sigh, wishing that you’d tied your hair back before coming to the club because you can feel it sticking to the back of your neck. Maybe you’ll run into a girl in the bathroom who has a spare tie for you, but you frown as you look around, noticing that the hallway is a bit too empty for it to lead to one of the club’s restrooms.

You pout when you realize that you must’ve gone down one of the halls leading to the VIP suites on the second level, but as you turn to make your way back into the main area of the club, your eyes catch a figure leaning against the wall dressed in a long black coat and sleek dark suit that probably costs more than your life savings.

He’s tall, you note absently, drawn to the man a bit more than you probably should be for no good reason, handsome, too. He hasn’t noticed you standing there, so you just observe for a moment—he has dark hair and smooth, pale skin, partially covered beneath bandages. He’s struggling to light a cigarette, frustration twisting his face; his lighter won’t light no matter how many times he tries, and you think it’s a bit funny that for all of the expensive clothes he wears, his lighter won’t work.

Finally, you take a few steps forward, moving closer to him and fishing into your purse for your own lighter before you hold it up and ask, “Need a light?”

The man freezes, gaze cutting toward you—his eye is so dark and so empty that it almost chills you, an endless abyss that threatens to consume you. You swear the black is so intense that it seems to be swallowing the dim lighting of the hallway, and you watch as something akin to recognition flashes deep within it. He hardly reacts to your presence otherwise, only his gaze shifts as it roves over you, vaguely reminiscent of a parched man in the desert setting eyes on a distant oasis, unsure if it’s just a figment of his imagination. You raise your eyebrows, feeling a bit exposed underneath his stare, and wave your lighter pointedly.

He doesn’t make a move to reach for your lighter as you hold it out to him. You can’t tell what the expression on his face is as he watches you, it’s entirely indecipherable, his lips are pulled flat but his eye is swimming with emotions that you just can’t quite place. Just as you’re about to take it as rejection and put your lighter back in your purse, he suddenly closes the distance between the two of you, leaning his head down, cigarette dangling between his lips and gaze trained on you, expectant.

Oh, you think to yourself a bit breathlessly, throat spasming as you falter under his gaze. He looks amused, watching you carefully, and you can’t help but notice that the dark pit of his eye starts to lighten as he watches you get flustered. When you struggle to light it the first time, you want to blame it on the martinis you’ve been drinking with your friends, but you know from the way your cheeks feel extra hot and your fingers shake that it’s definitely because of the man standing in front of you.

The scent of his cologne floods your senses, you can almost taste the old whiskey on his warm breath, which you can feel fanning lightly across your fingers, making goosebumps rise to your arms—you pray he doesn’t notice, but from the way his eye flickers up a bit to your arm and the corner of his lip quirks up, you think he probably does.

You thank every god that might be listening when your lighter finally lights, catching the end of his cigarette. Your breath catches as he makes eye contact with you and you think you might be able to get lost in his gaze if you’re not careful; your lips part a bit as if to say something to occupy the silence but no words leave them.

After what feels like eternity, he finally stands straight and you can breathe again, watching as he leans back against the wall next to you, head falling to the side a bit as he takes a long drag of his cigarette.

His gaze doesn’t leave you once.

“You smoke?” He finally speaks, and his voice is low, raspy, and hoarse as if he doesn’t use it much. There’s a lilt to his tone, something caught between subtle criticism and surprise, reminiscent of a disapproving old friend who’s taken aback that you’ve picked up such a bad habit.

“Sometimes, why?” you answer, a bit defensively when you catch the edge to his tone.

You don’t smoke—you carry around your brother’s old lighter as a memento, safekeeping for if he ever decides to come back to you, you’re honestly surprised the thing still works as well as it does—but you feel like you have to prove a point now because he sounds a bit judgmental about it.

He only shrugs lazily. “Don’t look like the type.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Is there ‘a type?’” you ask sarcastically.

He pointedly looks over you, gaze raking up and down your body once in a slow, borderline sensual way. You can feel your cheeks heating up again, you curse your body violently for betraying you.

“Yeah,” he drawls after a few moments. “Not you.”

You scoff loudly, looking away, and you blame the alcohol when you find yourself admitting, “… I don’t smoke.”

The man smiles thinly at the three words, a triumphant spark shooting through the brown of his eye and an expression on his face that tells you he somehow knew it without you having to say it out loud but appreciated the confirmation.

“Told you,” he says. “Don’t look the type.”

“Hmph,” is all you respond with, flipping your lighter shut and slipping it back into your purse.

You don’t leave right away; you don’t think you could even if you wanted to, you feel like a deer caught in headlights beneath his gaze, feet glued to the ground. But the problem lies in the fact that you don’t want to leave, there’s something about him that has you drawn in like a moth to flame and you don’t even know why because you don’t even know his name yet. And you probably shouldn’t be, you’ve always had a keen sense of self-preservation and there’s a dangerous edge to this man that should concern you—you can see it in the way he looks at you, the way he dresses, and the way he holds himself.

Dangerous, you think to yourself, but you’re charmed by it—you know you should probably get back to the bar where your friends are, but your feet don’t budge. He’s watching you curiously, not making any move to say anything, just observing you and you feel like you might crumble beneath his gaze. You can’t tell if he’s searching for something or if he’s just looking at you to look at you; the air between the two of you is tense but not in an awkward way. But you decide to break the silence with: “What’s your name?”

He hesitates, gaze narrowing just a bit as if he’s considering whether or not he should tell you, and you feel a bit embarrassed, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth as you anxiously wait for his response.

“Dazai,” he finally says, and you can’t help but notice he sounds a bit breathless. “Dazai Osamu.”

The name feels so achingly familiar that it almost makes you question whether or not you’ve ever met this man before even though you’re sure that you would remember if you did. You give him your name in return and watch as his lips curve upward slightly as he repeats it out loud, making your chest feel warm and your mind a bit foggy. He says your name as if he’s spoken it dozens of times before, the intimacy of it nearly has you reeling.

It has you reeling so badly that you speak without thinking, longing to drag the conversation out.

“Would you… maybe want to have a drink with me?” The words spill from your lips before you can stop them and instantly, you want to swallow your own tongue, shifting a bit nervously on your feet. Usually, when you drink you’re more outgoing, but with this man, you feel like a teen girl fumbling over words with her school crush.

His lips part to respond but no words leave them, conflict swims in his gaze so flagrantly that it makes you a bit embarrassed, realizing he’s probably trying to figure out the best way to reject you. You notice, distantly, that some other foreign emotion flashes on his face and it’s so brief that you almost miss it, but you swear that it’s something akin to a reality slap from the way his eye widens and lips part a bit.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you wait for the inevitable rejection, he casts a look backward, in the direction of the steps that lead to the second floor’s high-end VIP rooms that only the most elite of Yokohama can afford and you realize that this man is probably a bit more important than you thought if that’s where he came from, throat a bit dry.

You start to try to make up some excuse and rush back to your coworkers with your tail between your legs but then he finally says:

“We can get a drink.”

Your eyes widen a bit, a smile splits across your face. You catch a sour look crossing his face as soon as the words escape him as if he regrets them right as they’re spoken. For a second, it’s almost as if he’s fighting an internal battle, and you wonder if he’s trying to figure out if he should take back his words. You hardly think anything of it in your tipsy state, too excited to even fully register it all.

“Yeah?” you ask so eagerly that you want to rip your own tongue out because the last thing you want is to seem desperate.

But clearly, he loses the battle, because his dark eye only softens a bit at your enthusiasm. The corner of his lip curls upward and you swear you see something else in his expression—something caught between grief and longing that makes your throat swell even with the alcohol clouding your mind.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

You hold your hand out to him; you’re not really sure why and you think you might’ve just embarrassed yourself again when his gaze cuts down to it intensely. You withdraw your hand with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” you say quietly. “Got ahead of myself, I guess.”

Dazai doesn’t respond for an agonizing amount of time and when you’re about to head back to the main part of the club and hope he follows you, he decides to hold his hand out to you.

“No need to apologize,” he tells you, voice a bit more hoarse now.

You reach out to take his hand, fingers brushing his bandaged wrist, where his suit jacket is riding up his arm just a bit. His pulse is erratic and rapid beneath your touch, a complete 180 from the calm, aloof expression on his face. His fingers intertwine with yours as you lead him back into the club—his grip is a bit too tight, but you don’t mind. For some reason, it feels a bit comforting.

You and Dazai make your way back down the hall in the direction of the main room of the club. As soon as he pushes open the door, he pulls his hand from yours but before you can even process the action enough to pout at the loss of contact, he’s slipping his arm around your waist to tuck you into his side to not lose you in the crowds of drunken clubgoers and you think you might feel a bit faint at the way his fingers press into your lower hip through the thin cloth of your dress.

You can’t help but notice the way people seem to part for the two of you, even with the majority of them drunk out of their minds, it’s like they catch one glance of Dazai and move out of his way. It seems instinctual, almost, as if he’s exuding an aura that no one can bring themselves to come near.

You peer up at him curiously, watching his eyelashes flutter as he looks down at you as if he can feel you looking at him. Your face is hot when he catches you looking at him so you immediately avert your gaze; you can feel him let out a puff of amusement, but he doesn’t say anything as the two of you finally reach the bar.

“A gentleman,” you tease when he pulls out the stool for you to sit. He waves the bartender down and you watch, a bit surprised, when the man instantly makes his way over to you, gaze flickering to Dazai.

It had taken you twenty minutes to wave the man down earlier to get your drink.

You also can’t help but notice that he doesn’t even ask Dazai what drink he wants, pouring him whiskey on the rocks, a luxury brand that probably costs more than your monthly rent.

You feel a bit embarrassed ordering your cheap martini after, distracting him with idle conversation.

“Do you come here a lot or something?” you ask him curiously, lifting your drink to your lips to take a sip of your drink once the bartender passes it over—it tastes better than it did before. Smoother.

“Or something,” Dazai agrees cryptically, the corners of his lips tilting upward as he looks over you. “Why?”

“So mysterious,” you say playfully, before shrugging. “I’m just curious, he seemed to know you… maybe I’m also trying to figure out if I’d be able to run into you again here.”

You watch him hesitantly, wondering if it was a bit weird to add that, cursing your lips once again for moving before your brain can process. But Dazai doesn’t look weirded out by your comment—he looks a bit surprised, yes, but in a pleased way rather than a disturbed way.

“Already trying to plot out meeting me again?” he drawls, watching you from the corner of his eye with an indecipherable look that doesn’t match the curl of his lips. “What if you decide you don’t like me? If I end up being dangerous?”

“Oh, you’re definitely dangerous, Dazai Osamu,” you say firmly with a laugh, eyes glimmering. “I could tell that from the moment I saw you. I’m not that drunk.”

His eyebrow raises a bit as he tilts his head to the side. “And yet you invited me for a drink anyway,” he notes, his index finger on his free hand thrumming steadily on the bartop.

“Maybe I like danger,” you say, leaning in a bit closer just to test the waters.

Dazai doesn’t pull away, your heart races in your chest as his gaze traces your face, so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips. You think you might’ve been wrong before when you compared the color of his eye to an abyss—now, beneath the lighting of the club, you think they’re far more reminiscent of a starry night, just as endless as the abyss, but not quite as dark and hopeless with the celestial bodies glittering within them.

“Maybe you should be more careful,” he murmurs, and there’s an odd shift in his voice—a warning, as if he knows something that you don’t.

“Maybe,” you agree idly, “or maybe I enjoy living life on the edge. It’s short enough as it is, isn’t it? I’d prefer to live it to the fullest than die having barely lived at all.”

“Living life to the fullest involves inviting shady men to drink with you and scheming out a second meeting without even having decided if you like them?” Dazai questions, voice low and amused.

“Shady?” you grin. “Well, I guess you said it, not me. Anyway, I’ve decided that I already like you, Dazai Osamu, so, of course, I’m going to scheme out a second meeting—hopefully, one where I’m not quite as drunk so I can actually charm you, I’m very charming when I’m sober, I’ve been told. I don’t fumble over my words quite as much, or lighters, for that matter.”

You’ve literally never been told once in your life that you’re charming when you’re sober, so you don’t know where that came from, but you decide to roll with it and hope for the best.

“I’ll have you know that I’m quite charmed already,” Dazai says, lips tilting up into a smile that seems a bit more genuine, reflecting in the way his eye curves up too. “If you get any more charming, I might just be in danger.”

“Well, do you like danger then?” you ask, resting your elbow on the bar so you can prop your chin on your hand, looking up at Dazai through your lashes. “We’ve already established that I enjoy it, are you going to join me on the edge, Dazai?”

For some reason, for a split second, it seems as if you’ve asked Dazai the most difficult question in the world—the space between his brows creases and the easy smile on his lips flattens, the starry sky painted in his eye dulls back into the terrible abyss. Your lips part to say something, because even with the fuzziness of your drink clouding your head, you know you made a mistake somewhere.

“I usually stay far from the edge,” he admits quietly, “... too much at risk for that.”

“... Usually?” you press, latching onto the word quickly as you toss him another teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Am I enough to tempt you closer to it, then?”

“You have no idea,” he breathes out so quietly that you think you’re not meant to overhear it. As if he realizes he might’ve said it a bit too loud, he tilts his head to the side and gives you half of a smile as he asks, “What makes you so sure you like me already, anyway?”

You match his smile, making a show of humming, dramatically thinking long and hard about it. Then you shrug, smile widening, “Don’t know. Maybe I just decided. Or maybe, I’d like to think it’s fate.”

Andddd you’ve made a mistake again. You falter when you see how his expression closes off instantly and you wish you could bite your own tongue off because, of course, it’s just your luck to have misspoken twice in a span of two minutes. This is why you don’t socialize with people.

“I don’t believe in fate,” he finally says, voice a bit tighter than it was before.

“Why?” you ask curiously, brows furrowing a bit.

He hesitates, gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turns his gaze away, lifting it to the ceiling instead. All he says is: “I don’t like the idea of my life being predestined by some higher power—if there’s a fate, then I’ll exhaust everything I have trying to defy it.”

“Okay,” you agree, still not entirely understanding why he’s so against the idea of fate—you think it’s rather romantic but to each their own. Either way, you raise your glass to him, waiting for him to click his against yours. “To defying fate then.”

His throat bobs as he swallows at your words, an odd look in his eye as he repeats quietly, “To defying fate.”

Dazai is in trouble.

He thought he could indulge himself just for one night. If it’s his fate to meet you, then let it happen only once so he can be done with it—one night, and then everything will return to how it should be. He’ll fall back into the shadows and you’ll live your life in the light, a long and fulfilling life where he isn’t putting you in danger just by being around you. But he’s realizing, very quickly, that he severely overestimated his self-control, which is a feat in itself, really, because Dazai knew that his self-control would be abysmal when it comes to you but he still somehow managed to critically misjudge just how abysmal it would be.

He thinks he probably looks like a fool—you’re rambling about your work and the graduate school program you’d just been accepted into, you’re switching between topics so quickly that Dazai can hardly keep up, but he doesn’t care, he’s content just hearing your voice, slurred and excitable as it may be.

It’s different hearing it in person than it is in all of the vague memories of the other worlds—you’re different. You’re brighter. More alive. A shining star in a sea of midnight. The warmth of the sun giving life to a rotting corpse. For the first time in twenty-two years, Dazai Osamu feels like he’s finally breathing. The misty memories didn’t do you justice in any regard, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to return to the shadows alone after having felt the brief glow of your light, warm and comforting against his skin, because Dazai already can’t seem to get enough of it. He thinks you must be like a drug or something because there’s no other explanation for the way he’s so utterly entranced by the sight and sound of you.

A part of him wonders if all of the other Dazais have met this same fate at your hands: bewitched and spellbound, unable to draw their eyes away from you, hardly even able to remember to breathe in your presence. He thinks that they must have—he can see flashes of their lives and feel echoes of their emotions, and it’s always most intense whenever it involves you.

It’s a struggle just to remind himself to play the part of the ordinary man with you around so as to not scare you off, pretending he's like any other human being and not a monster wearing the skin of a man, like you haven’t been the object of his obsessions since the moment he came in contact with the Book. He tries to keep himself pliant and inviting with a loose posture and warm gaze, free of the intensity curdling through his body. He keeps his smile small and gentle, hiding the sharp and bloodied teeth decorating his mouth, and he keeps his touches brief, hardly ghosting your skin in fear that you’ll start rotting beneath it. He doesn’t know if he succeeds. He honestly doesn’t even know if you notice, you’re way more intoxicated than you originally made yourself out to be; he can tell from the way your ever-present smile is lopsided and the way your eyes are a bit glazed over, if it wasn’t abundantly apparent by the slur to your words.

“... and then, Hinata kept talking even though everyone else was… Dazai Osamu, are you even listening to me?”

He hums quietly as you abruptly turn your gaze back onto him and for a moment, Dazai is breathless—his name rolls off your tongue with the familiarity of a pair of lovers who’ve been together for years, and he swears that your eyes glitter beneath the lighting of the club as you look at him, and he doesn’t think anyone in his life has ever looked at him the way you do in this moment. Dazai Osamu has always been a name that no one would rather hear, attached to a man that no one would rather see. He’s not used to being talked to like this. He’s not used to being looked at like this.

He wants to be used to it.

He so, so desperately wants to be used to it.

You lean in when he doesn’t respond to you, a bit too close because he can smell the faded scent of your perfume and the gin on your tongue when he takes in a sharp breath to respond—it goes straight to Dazai’s head, his words dying before they can even formulate in his mouth. Everything feels fuzzy and light and Dazai thinks he might actually pass out. You’re such a far cry from the numb void that he’s used to, overwhelming his senses with the sight and touch and scent and sound of you, overwhelming his mind with emotions that he doesn’t know how to cope with and he just can’t get a handle on himself no matter how hard he tries. Every time he thinks he does, you throw another curveball at him like leaning in so close that Dazai swears if you were any closer, his lips would be brushing yours.

He’s never yearned like this before, not when he found himself in Odasaku’s house years ago as he tried to get ahold of that wretched painting and not during the long, dark nights when he found himself gasping awake, torn from dreams of lives he’ll never experience, the ghost of your lips still smiling against his skin. He can feel it deep in his chest, clogging his lungs and throat. He feels like he’s fighting the strings of a marionette as his fingers twitch at his side, begging him to reach out and feel the skin of your cheek beneath the palm of his hand, cup the side of your face just to see if you’d lean into his touch, craving it the same way he craves yours.

He yearns and Dazai Osamu doesn’t know if he has the strength to deny himself of you now that he’s finally gotten a taste of what he could have. He tries to remind himself of what’s at stake, he tries to conjure the images that have plagued his nightmares so many times before—the sight of you crumpled in his arms, cold and still, and the sound of your cries for help, jarring and agonizing to his ears. But all he can muster is the sight of the wide and genuine smile that only you have ever directed toward him in all of his other lives and the sound of your bright laughter ringing in his ears, two things that he’s been deprived of entirely in this life until now.

“... if the phone call is that important, you can take it, y’know? You don’t have to sit here pretending to listen to me when you’re focused on that.”

Dazai is hardly able to drag himself back to the conversation at hand, your words processing slowly, as if his thoughts are being dragged through thick tar, but he forces himself to focus because even in your drunken state you sound a bit irritated.

He glances down at the bartop, where he had placed his phone down after taking a seat next to you, watching as it vibrates against the hardwood and as Chuuya’s name flashes across the screen. A few seconds pass, and his phone goes still and the missed call notification pops up on his screen—evidently along with nine others.

Dazai winces. He wishes the phone call had been what was distracting him—unfortunately, it’s impossible to tell you that he’s spiraling because of you without sounding psychotic.

As soon as the call ends, his phone is buzzing again, Chuuya's name flashing across the screen once more, persistent as ever. Dazai’s gaze cuts backward to where the two of you had come from, up to the windows on the second floor that look down on the main floor, and then he glances back down at his phone.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Dazai tells you quietly, reaching for his phone.

You toss him an easy smile that nearly has him faltering, whatever irritation you may have felt is gone in an instant.

“I’ll be waiting,” you tease, and Dazai’s heart is in his throat as he hesitates for just a second too long, as familiar words echo through his head, memories that aren’t his own from a life that he’d never be able to experience.

“I’ll wait for you.”

He lingers too long evidently because you shoo him away, spinning on the bar stool to face the bartender as you try to flag him down for another drink that you probably should not be having, seeing how you’re swaying a bit on the stool. Dazai only shakes his head as he makes his way away from the bar closer to the edges of the club, where it’s a bit quieter, if only marginally.

As soon as he leaves your presence, the familiar cold numbness returns, spreading like ice through his chest and he’s desperate to be back in your vicinity already, missing the warmth. Oh, this is trouble, he laments to himself, trying to push away the longing feeling spreading through him and instead turns his attention to purposely waiting until the last ring to answer Chuuya’s call, if only to be a bit spiteful because the other man’s persistence is the reason he had to leave you.

Lifting his phone to his ear, he asks coolly, “Do you need something, Chuuya?”

“Where the hell did you go?” Chuuya immediately hisses back, fury dripping from his words. He’s speaking quietly and Dazai can’t hear any conversation in the background, so he can only assume that Chuuya had stepped out of the room where the rest of the Port Mafia and Pale Flame executives were having their meeting. “You’ve been gone for forty minutes, Kouyou and I have been handling the meeting. Do you even have anyone with you right now? Hirotsu? Tachihara? Atsushi?”

“I’m sure you and Ane-san have been conducting the meeting perfectly fine without me,” Dazai says dismissively, leaning against the wall as his gaze cuts through the crowds to the bar he’d left you at but he can’t catch sight of you through the masses of people. He frowns, pacing a bit down the room to try to get a better angle.

“Bastard,” Chuuya spits out with a venomous type of disrespect that he only attacks Dazai with when he’s exceptionally frustrated. “Answer my question. Where the hell are you? Do you have a protection detail on you? What are you doing?”

“I’m in the club still,” Dazai says distantly, and he’s sure Chuuya can tell that he’s barely paying attention to the conversation because the man lets out a noise caught between a snarl and a growl, much like the dog he is. “I’ll be fine, we have men stationed all over—you’re always so uptight, Chuuya, you should pull out the stick every once in a while.”

“You-” Chuuya says loudly and sharply, cutting himself off abruptly, evidently having realized he’s let himself get too loud. Dazai is hardly listening at this point, getting increasingly more agitated as the masses of crowds block his line of sight to where you should be sitting. “I’m coming down there.”

That catches Dazai’s attention.

“Do not.” The two words leave his lips, a command so cold and cutting that he can practically hear Chuuya jolt in surprise at the sudden shift from the absent tone he’d been speaking with before. He forces his voice to take upon a more teasing lilt as he says, “I met a girl, Chuuya. If you come down here, your ugly mug will scare her right off.”

“What?” Chuuya sounds so baffled it’s almost comical. Dazai might’ve found amusement in it were he not so irritated with his current predicament. “I-you-what?”

“You sound so shocked, Chuuya. Some of us talk to more women than just Ane-san and Gin-chan, you know?” Dazai drawls, noticing that there’s a gap in the crowds up ahead that should give him a direct view toward the bar, beelining toward it immediately.

“Shut up,” Chuuya seethes. “Who the hell would even give you the time of day? And since when do you seek out women? You’ve never shown any interest before.”

“Are you jealous?” Dazai croons. “It’s an ugly look on you, Chuuya.”

Chuuya splutters. “The fuck is wrong with you tonight?” he demands. “You’ve been acting like a damn freak ever since we left the base. Mood swings left and right.”

“You know I don’t like…” Dazai trails off as he finally gets a direct view of the bar, dark eye focusing in on where you seem to be arguing with an unfamiliar man. The smile that had been curling to the corners of his lips falls flat and his gaze goes cold—ice spreads through his chest again but this time it isn’t a result of the numbness, rather it’s a much more dangerous emotion that threatens to erupt. “I have to go.”

“Bastard, if you hang up on me-”

Dazai doesn’t wait for him to finish the sentence, hanging up the call and slipping his phone into his pocket, ignoring it when it immediately starts buzzing again. He doesn’t waste a second before he makes his way back across the club to the bar.

If people had avoided him before, it was nothing compared to now, watching them scramble out of his way even in their drugged-up and intoxicated states. He doubts that most of them even know the significance of who he is, they can just feel the cold fury rolling off of him in waves. It’s a bit impressive, honestly, how quickly he’s able to get back to you, and his hand darts out quickly, fingers wrapping tightly around the wrist of the man who was grabbing your forearm, if his grip was any tighter, the man’s bones would be cracking beneath his touch.

The reaction is instantaneous. Your gaze draws up to him, relief flooding your eyes at the sight of him—distantly, Dazai notes that he thinks that this might be the first time in his life anyone has ever been relieved to see him, but he’s more preoccupied with the man who was bothering you, who’s now turning toward him with an irritated expression.

“Look, man.” Dazai’s hidden eye twitches at the casual address, but he makes sure that the annoyance doesn’t show on his face. “Just trying to get her home, the rest of our coworkers left already.”

Dazai’s vice-like grip doesn’t budge, but his mind races. This is his out. If he lets you go home with your coworker, then he can go back up to the meeting taking place on the second floor and he can try to scorch his mind of the yearning that’s been plaguing him so intensely. Things can go back to normal—his one night of indulgence over, no matter how agonizing the thought of that is. He can return to the Port Mafia base, back in the shadows, and he can use the memory of this night with you to fuel his dedication to his grand plan of protecting this world. It’s a perfect setup, honestly, if he disregards two critical issues: 1) he’s probably incapable of scorching his mind of the yearning you’ve brought on and 2) more importantly, you’re staring at him with an expression nothing short of pleading, seemingly begging him not to leave.

The words escape his lips before he can think to stop them: “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take her home.”

The faux-concern that the man had been directing toward you disappears as soon as Dazai speaks, shifting into an expression that probably would have been concerning to anyone who wasn’t a literal mafioso, and Dazai is not just a mafioso, he is their boss and he has dealt with people who were objectively much more powerful and concerning than a regular civilian who thinks he’s tougher than he is. So Dazai only tilts his head to the side a bit, the corner of his lip curves up in amusement as he pointedly looks over the man once. The cool metal of the gun hidden in his jacket weighs heavily as a reminder that it’s there and ready for him to use; his fingers twitch toward it, but instead, he pockets his hands, deciding against it, if only because he thinks pulling out a gun might scare you away. He doesn’t want that.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asks furiously—Dazai wonders, a bit absently, if this is that Takeda fellow you were complaining about earlier, he certainly fits the picture with the beady eyes and weaselly face.

“An old friend,” Dazai drawls—not entirely a lie, just in a different life, and definitely more than friends, but he doesn’t need to know that. “We’ve been catching up. You can go.”

It’s not a request, and evidently, the man isn’t stupid enough to keep pressing Dazai because his confidence falters as he takes a step back, letting go of your arm. Or more probably, he caught a glimpse of the glint of metal hidden by his coat when Dazai shifted to look at you. Either way, Dazai doesn’t care because the man stutters out a few words and a ‘see you Monday’ to you before turning tail and leaving.

Dazai doesn’t bother correcting him—he definitely will not be seeing you on Monday. He ensures that through the silent order in the sharp look, he gives Tachihara Michizo, who’s been lingering on the outskirts of the club for five minutes now, no doubt trying to keep an eye on him under Chuuya’s command. Tachihara doesn’t hesitate as he nods his head, gaze following the retreating figure of the man before he slinks right after him.

He thinks you have bad friends. Coworkers. Whatever. All of them leaving you drunk and alone with someone who’s a stranger in their eyes. Yes, he scared the only one that tried away, but if it was Dazai in his position, not even god himself would be able to scare him away from making sure you get home safely.

They don’t deserve you, he decides firmly, and those dark thoughts from earlier return, whispering that he should just take you for himself, tuck you away in the tallest towers of the Port Mafia base. He’d keep you safe. He’d make you happy. You’d never have to want for anything ever again, he’d give you the entire world if you so pleased. He shuts off the train of thought before it can become any more tempting, knowing that his thread of self-control concerning you is waning at best.

Dazai promptly turns his attention back to you and all of the irritation that he might’ve been feeling about your coworkers and that man washes away when he catches the dazzled look on your face as you look up at him, elbow propped on the bartop and chin resting in your hand.

“Thanks,” you say so softly that Dazai barely hears you over the thundering music and clamoring people around the two of you. “That was Takeda… I don’t know, maybe he didn’t mean any harm but… I just don’t want him to know where I live, I guess.”

You look sleepy now, eyes a bit heavy and shoulders slumped; the alcohol must’ve worked its way through you already. Dazai also can’t help but notice that the front of your dress is drenched with what looks like the rest of your drink; it must have spilled in the brief struggle between you and your coworker.

“You’d rather a stranger know, then?” Dazai can’t help but ask, making sure to keep his voice teasing, watching you carefully for a response.

He’s curious to know if you feel even half as drawn to him as he is to you, to know if this really is a mutual bond that transcends worlds or if it’s a sick obsession on his part triggered by the revelations of the Book. Or it could be both. It’s probably both. Dazai is pretty sure what he feels for you isn’t normal or healthy, and he’s not sure if it’s any healthier in any of the other universes or if every other Dazai is just as twisted when it comes to love as he is.

“You don’t feel like a stranger,” you admit quietly, looking up at him through your lashes and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat, clogging his airways and threatening to suffocate him. “Is that weird?”

“No,” Dazai breathes out instantly, the confirmation that your words give him lights a dangerous fire in his chest, one that he needs to put out but can’t bring himself to. “I feel the same.”

Your expression softens, eyes tracing his face, and Dazai thinks he would set the entire world on fire just for you to look at him like that again. Then, he realizes, throat a bit tighter now, that the words are not quite the empty promise that they would be coming from anyone else’s lips—he might just be setting everything he’s built on fire just for you, and your warmth is not enough to push away the cold awareness that suddenly spreads through his body, putting out all of the fires that his time with you has set within him.

He reaches out, knuckles grazing your cheek. Your lashes flutter as you lean into his touch and instantly, he’s set aflame again, it’s raging through his chest and melting the ice and Dazai thinks he doesn’t care if this is a bond that transcends worlds or a sick obsession. He thinks it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he needs you so desperately that it might kill him if he doesn’t have you.

It might kill you if he does have you.

Fire and ice wage a brutal war within him, a futile battle because no matter how much the ice tries to spread, the flames melt it away, and he realizes that he can’t be around you when the war is inevitably won because he’ll never be able to drag himself away from you.

One night, he reminds himself, sharp and scolding, one night of indulgence. That’s all.

“Come on,” Dazai murmurs. “Let’s get you home.”

Dazai wonders how a place he’s never been to can feel so much like home.

Or, well, he assumes this is what a home would feel like, it’s not like he’s ever actually had one to compare to. The penthouse suite of the Port Mafia base is closer to a prison than something he can consider a home. He doesn’t remember enough of his childhood to know if he lived somewhere back then that he considered a home. The shipping container he lived in during his teenage years is probably the closest thing he has to compare to and even then, he never felt safe or warm or comforted there, he just had the distant reassurance that no one would ever bother him while he was there and that was more than he had anywhere else.

And this is…

He doesn’t really know how to describe it, the words just won’t come to him—a rare occurrence, considering Dazai’s always been known to have a tongue of the purest silver, acquiring the most lucrative deals for the Port Mafia despite egregious odds and hostile parties solely because he’s learned to read and charm people to the best of his ability. His brain and his tongue have been the driving force behind the Mafia’s rapid and exponential expansion across Japan and into the mainland, yet both fail him now.

Courtesy of you and your influence, naturally.

The curve to his lips is fond as he trails his fingers across the back of the couch in your living room. It’s all so achingly familiar, as if he’s been here a thousand times before—if he lets his eye flutter shut, he can almost picture you cross-legged on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate tucked neatly between your hands, dozing off as he regales you with nonsensical stories.

Everything is just how he remembers it from the vague memories. Your desk is set up near the window on the far side of your room, next to the bench where he would sit and watch you while you study, pouting until you finally decided to give him attention. Papers are strewn all across your coffee table; he flips through them idly, realizing that they’re all study materials for the entrance exam to the graduate school you’d just been accepted into—he makes sure to leave them in the same order that you’d left them in, recalling how often you’d end up yelling at him for messing up your piles. A picture hangs on your wall near the door of you and your brother—familiar, why is he so familiar? His gaze lingers for a moment, brows furrowing before he shakes his head, putting the thought in the back of his head as he wonders if he ended up passing in this universe too.

He wanders over to the kitchen and his eyes narrow just a smidge, noticing that there are two dirty mugs in your sink, the ones you’d always use to make those fancy hot chocolates of yours. He hums to himself softly as he traces his finger along the rim of one, recognizing the same shade of lipstick you wore tonight staining the brim. The other mug has no such stain. His throat tightens a bit, gaze flickering up to the cabinet he recalls you usually putting your ingredients and when he opens the cabinet, he thinks he might feel a bit sick, seeing them all up on a shelf too high for you to reach on your own—you always put them on the lower shelves.

His jaw tightens as he pointedly puts them all back down on the lower shelf before shutting the cabinet, a bit more tense now than he was a few moments before. His gaze cuts across your apartment, searching for any sign of who you might’ve been having over—someone important enough for you to make your favorite hot chocolate for—but he finds none until his eyes land on a jacket crumpled in the corner of the room that’s definitely not yours, hidden halfway beneath one of the pillows on his window bench. He has to remind himself that it’s not his and he’s never been here before now so he has no claim over anything.

He makes his way over to it, yanking it out and lifting it to his nose. It doesn’t smell like you, it’s an unfamiliar woody scent that makes his stomach churn for more than one reason—the most primary one being that he doesn’t know whose it is and why they’re leaving clothes at your apartment. It’s a man’s, certainly, he can tell that much from the scent and the size and Dazai thinks he might feel a bit light-headed at the idea of you having other men over your apartment. His only solace comes in the fact that there doesn’t appear to be any other signs of his presence, but it’s a small solace at best.

He has to leave. The longer he lingers in your apartment, the more he’s struggling to decipher the already blurred line between the lives he remembers and his unfortunate reality.

One night of indulgence, he reminds himself for the nth time because the night is over. You’d passed out long before even arriving at your apartment, after you gave the address luckily because for better or for worse, that had been one of the few things Dazai hadn’t retained from the vague memories he has of the other universes.

He trails back over to the door that leads to your bedroom, a heavy feeling settling over his chest as he leans against the frame. His gaze draws to where you’re fast asleep beneath the covers, still dressed in the outfit you’d worn to the club because although all of the other Dazais would have changed you into something more comfortable when you’re too drunk to do it yourself, he does not retain that privilege in this world. The last thing he wants is for you to think he’s some perverted creep.

Dazai sighs, eyes sliding shut as he lets himself bask in the moment for just a little longer, dreading having to return to the harsh reality of a life without you, fated to be alone until he’s sure that he’s secured the safety of this world when he can take the final step in guaranteeing that you and Odasaku will be able to live out your lives peacefully. Without him.

He wants to touch you one last time, brush his fingers against your cheek, enjoy the way your warmth spreads through him, but he thinks he’s tested his self-control too much for one day. He fears that if he pushes it anymore, he’ll never be able to go back to how it was, so it’s with a heart that pleads for him to reconsider and a body that resists his every move that he turns away from your bedroom, making his way over to your kitchen counter to grab the key that he fished out of your purse.

It takes all of his restraint to not look back, jaw clenched so tight that he thinks his teeth might grind down to dust. He steps outside and the fresh air feels like poison to his lungs, he wants to step back inside, drown himself in the familiar scent of you, the familiar scent of the only home he’s ever known in any lifetime, the one he has to deny himself of for the sake of preserving this world, for the sake of saving Odasaku and saving you.

His fingers tremble a bit as he slides the key into the lock and turns it, checking twice to make sure it locks properly so no one can sneak in while you’re sleeping, before kneeling down to slide the key beneath the crack of the door back into your apartment.

As soon as the key is out of his reach, Dazai feels cold and empty; the black hole within him expands now that he’s vulnerable again without your presence fighting it off, and the force of it is ten times as lethal now that he’s experienced what life might be without it constantly consuming him. He stares at your door for a second after rising to his feet, his mind and heart and body all at war with each other. The parts of him that haven’t festered and withered over the years beg him to just go back to you, tell you everything, and crumble in your arms and pray that you don’t think he’s delusional and call the police on him; the parts of him that have been corrupted by the time he’s spent in the darkest parts of the world whisper more dangerous words, telling him to go back in and take you back with him, it doesn’t matter what you want if it means he can keep you safe, and he knows that one day you’ll understand why he did it, you’ll even be happy because you’re meant to be happy with him, no matter how it comes about.

And he thinks he’s a fool because the only fortunate thing about his circumstances had been that no matter how vividly he remembered you and your apartment, the Book had not passed on the knowledge of its location, so he’d never been tempted to “accidentally” seek you out by wandering in locations that you frequent because he had no idea where you were. Yokohama isn’t a small city and he was never going to cross the line of purposely seeking you out through the use of Port Mafia resources because that meant he was purposely putting you in danger.

But now, he’ll have the knowledge of your location dangling in front of his face for the rest of his life, however long it may be. Every day will be a struggle to resist the urge to seek you out, as if everything isn’t hard enough for him already.

Frustration builds in his chest as he makes his way down to the parking lot of the apartment complex. Realistically, Dazai had plenty of options that would have objectively been better than this. He could have sent you with his driver alone, but the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Albatross, the Flags remain among the most loyal members of the Port Mafia, but Dazai doesn’t think anyone is worthy enough to lay their hands on you. He thinks that if Albatross had reported back to him that he had to carry you into your apartment and put you in your bed, he might’ve put a bullet through his skull and then he’d have to deal with mutiny and he can’t afford a mutiny when things are already so tenuous, stability in the Port Mafia has to be paramount until he can get through all five phases of his plan.

But even if he didn’t send you with Albatross, he could have had Kouyou handle this. Kouyou already knows of you, she’s the one that he assigned to make sure you’re never threatened by Yokohama’s underground, and she knew where your apartment was already. It still leaves a sour taste in his mouth but not as strong as the thought of sending you with Albatross. He could’ve had Kouyou take care of this and he could’ve been free of the temptation already looming over him but-

But Dazai is selfish. Dazai is selfish and reckless when it comes to you; even when he knows what’s at stake, even when he knows the destruction that he brings. Fate, the word rings through his head, mocking him. Fate, fate, fate. It’s his fate to always be drawn to you, like a bee to honey and a moth to flame, irresistible and inexorable. He can’t avoid it and he can’t control himself no matter how hard he tries. You’re tied together by threads that the gods shorten with every passing second and they laugh down at him as they watch him trying to resist it.

It’s his fate to be drawn to you.

It’s his fate to be your destruction.

Dazai slips back into the backseat of Albatross’s sleek black car, shutting the door just a bit too harshly, gaze immediately drifting back toward the apartment complex, up to the closed door on the second level where he’d left you. He waits for the car to pull away, but it doesn’t. Irritated, he turns his gaze to the rearview mirror in the front of the car, catching Albatross staring at him curiously, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose.

“What?” Dazai asks, voice low and icy.

Albatross is unperturbed—of all of the members of the Port Mafia, only he and Chuuya never flinch at his unapproachability. “Ya gotta girl now, boss?” he asks curiously, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Dazai’s response.

“No.”

“Hm.” Albatross only hums as if he’s disappointed by the answer. “You seemed happier, s’all. Never seen you like that before. Was nice.”

Dazai’s jaw tightens again at the man’s words, biting words threatening to escape his lips but he swallows them. Instead, he becomes acutely aware of the jacket that he’s still holding in his left hand. His expression twists and then he tosses it into the front seat at Albatross, who blinks and catches it, looking down confused.

“Whadya want me to do with this?” he asks, baffled.

“Burn it.” Is all Dazai responds with. “Take me back to the base.”

“... You got it, boss,” Albatross murmurs, and he still sounds disappointed, but an order is an order so he doesn’t hesitate as he starts the car back up and pulls out of the complex’s parking lot.

Dazai’s gaze doesn’t leave your apartment door once until Albatross finally turns down a street out of sight of the building.

One night of indulgence, he reminds himself for the last time. One night of indulgence and then he’ll never encounter you again. For better or for worse, that’s how it has to be.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #beast dazai osamu x reader #beast dazai osamu x you #beast dazai x you #beast dazai x reader

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ofjunemoment · 7 months

Text

getting even | lee haechan (P2)

synopsis — Haechan promises you that he wasn't the one behind the prank. But he also tells you that he likes you. You're torn between which one you want to believe more.

pairing - haechan x fem!reader

genre - university!au, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, very slice of life, eventual smut (MDNI)

Wc - 19k

content - camping, clubbing (again), smut (MDNI)

warnings: reader is drunk in one scene

a/n - YAYYYYYY here's the final part of getting even!! thank you for waiting patiently and I'm sorry it took this long,, thank you guys so much for your reactions and feedback on the first part, it definitely helped me finish this part quicker than I wouldve! i had so much fun with this haechan, and i hope you guys have fun with him <33 smut tags will be under the cut (not proofread sorry)

this is the second part of the getting even series! make sure to read the first part before reading this ^^

smut tags - fingering, unprotected sex (dont do this <3), oral (m receiving), praises, dirty talk?? like barely...., gets romantic and sappy in the middle sorry, lmk if I missed anything <3

“Is that everything?” Yubin scribbles at her clipboard as Juyeon closes the trunk of the van shut, clapping his hands together to rid of any excess dust.

“Seems like it,” Sohee speaks out softly, but her sigh is unmistakable. “But Jihoon is late. Again,” Everyone looks around for any sign of Jihoon, but it seems like your whole radio club is assembled but him.

“Ah, no worries. I just got a text from him saying he’s on the way. Something about Yubin wanting extra drinks…” Juyeon pipes up. Said club manager flushed as she got called out, waving her hand and scoffing in denial. “I didn’t say that! I just said, you know, that he should bring things to make the trip more… livelier?” For this semester's story scoop, your club had decided to make a trip to the rural farming areas just a few hour's drive south. Juyeon, the modern history major, had said that there was a grasshopper surge that he had decided to study for in his first year of course, which led to everyone being interested in how the farmers reacted to such a phenomenon. And so you all banded together and rented two vans and borrowed Yubin’s car, now filled with equipment and luggages, to stay in the town for two nights and conduct primary research on the topic.

Everyone seems excited one way or another for such an event, viewing this trip as a much-needed break from studying and assignments. Well, everyone except for your beloved friend, Naeun.

“I already feel sticky and we haven’t even started the trip,” Your selective germaphobic friend murmurs as she eyes the camping equipment that is being shoved at the back of the van by Minseok and Soyeon.

You roll your eyes at her dramatics. “You wouldn’t be complaining like this if Jeno was in the mix,” You lightly shove your shoulder against hers, giggling when she glares at you.

“Jokes on you, I would be saying the same thing. Just with different context,” You grimace at her suggestive brows fluttering at you. Still, before you can let your impulsive thoughts take over and strangle her, you hear the crunch of tires against asphalt. You are met with a car pulling up at the waiting area where your club is waiting.

Jihoon steps out of the car and daps up Juyeon and Minseok, while bowing politely and apologising for being late towards Sohee and Yubin.

“If it makes you feel better I bought a lot of alcoh—” Yubin's sharp laugh cuts off the rest of his sentence as she smacks at his shoulder a few times, her cackles bordering like a threat.

“You’re so young and dumb, running your mouth. Oh, to be youthful…now get your shit out of the car.” She pinches his shoulder before gesturing towards the vehicle he’d pulled up in.

“Actually, I was gonna ask for a favour too…” The rest of the sentence goes unnoticed by you as your attention catches on the car that Jihoon has just gotten out of. It seems like he wasn’t the only person, and you hadn’t realised that until the car doors had opened and out stepped Jeno and Haechan.

“No fucking way,” Naeun pales next to you, and the feeling is mutual as your eyes widen on reflex. “We should really try being scared of good grades instead,”

Jeno steps out of the car holding a box filled with what looks like alcohol and snacks that go along, his sleeveless shirt highlighting his flexed biceps as he carries the box towards where Jihoon is gesturing. Haechan, too, steps out with a box in his grip, adorning a simple shirt and summer shorts, and you can’t pull your eye away from him. Jihoon has his friends distract Yubin and Sohee from his late arrival (it works on the former, not much on the latter) as he guides Haechan and Jeno to shove the boxes in the back of the van you’re taking.

“I even brought extra sleeping bags, they’re new so you don’t have to worry,” His smile stays on even when Yubin pinches at his cheek. “Look at you trying. Hey, we have two extra seats in the vans if you two want to join?” She ignores the sharp look she receives from Sohee as she looks at Jeno and Haechan, who give a glance at each other and then Jihoon, and back to Yubin.

“Thanks for the offer, but I have a game to practice for,” Jeno smiles, and you feel Naeun grip at your wrist. He casts a glance at you, which sends you into a shock before a smile takes over his features. Everyone’s now looking at Haechan, and there’s only one way he can react when he has this much attention on him.

“How could I reject such an offer,” He bats his lashes as Jihoon grapples him into a friendly headlock.

“I’m done,” You mutter, as everyone bustles around you to get their items in the car, Juyeon and Haechan are discussing how to ration their clothes for the latter to use, while Jihoon pulls out a fully inflatable flamingo from the trunk of his car, trying to somehow persuade Sohee on bringing it along.

“There isn’t even a pool there!”

“But there’s a lake, no?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. “Naeun, I’m so done,” Naeun relaxes his grip on your wrist when Jeno waves goodbye to everyone once Jihoon takes all his belongings out of the car. She pats your shoulder encouragingly, prioritising herself now that Jeno isn’t around to send her into a loop.

“You’ll be fine, I mean, he’s probably gonna be preoccupied with Jihoon. You probably won’t be able to even interact with him.”

True to her word, everything was fine. You didn’t even have to share an awkward greeting with him in front of everyone to save face and show that you get along well. Your tasks were assigned briefly by Sohee, and everything fit like it was planned to in the trunk of the vans.

You’re sitting in the back seat of one of the vehicles when the door opens and in comes Haechan. You do a mental check and realise that the only seats left are the two available ones next to you; although one was occupied by Juyeon’s massive skincare bag. As you were about to shove the bag in the middle seat and have Haechan sit on the opposite side, the bag was swiftly taken away by the owner himself.

“Ah, we need to make some space here for you to sit.” His sweet smile comes sinister in your eyes, as you see Haechan looking at the place before sparing a glance at you, the first of the day if anyone was keeping count. Not that you were.

Seeing the caution in your eyes, he goes to settle himself on the opposite side, leaving the middle space empty for your comfort. As Haechan is trying to settle into the car seat, Jihoon takes a moment to glance inside before disappearing for a quick moment and returning with a pool toy, which he promptly hands to his friend.

“There’s no more space at the trunk,” He shoves it even more at Haechan’s side, making the boy tumble and fall into the middle seat instead, his hand coming in contact with yours. As you flinch, you just manage to realize what is happening before Jihoon closes the car door and heads to the passenger seat. Yubin starts the drive, and you find Naeun and Minseok in the middle row, with Naeun looking back at you with concern evident in her eyes.

You try to wave her off the best you can without Haechan realising, but it seems like he’s too preoccupied battling with the inflatable flamingo. “Why don’t you deflate it and inflate it when we get there?” He calls towards the front of the car at his friend.

Jihoon spins around from his seat and tries to look at Haechan through the gaps from the overshadowing pool toy. “This one’s weird, it doesn’t easily inflate again, so might as well just take it there while it’s fully filled. It’s not a tight fit for you two, is it?”

Haechan gives the toy one more push and it’s angled in the least invasive way, yet his left side is pressed against you, and you can’t help but focus on the contact that his knee makes against yours, as the warmth of his skin travels easier with the skirt you’re wearing. You try your best to not look at the guy next to you, reminding yourself that it's only a two-hour drive, and you can probably try to sleep through most of it.

“No, we’re okay,” You ease Jihoon’s worries, who smiles brightly at you before turning back around.

Tucking yourself against the car, you try to find an angle that's most comfortable for you to fall asleep in, but while you’re shifting around something blankets your legs. When you open your eyes, you see Haechan placing a jacket on your leg. Where did he even pull this out from?

Looking at him, his gaze follows up from his jacket placed on your leg to your face, giving you a light smile as he tries his best to give you space even in the tight fit. Without a word, he folds himself against the flamingo toy and closes his eyes, ready to sleep. You want to thank him for his gesture, but as you see his breathing steady, you instead decide to follow his lead and shut your eyes, careful with his jacket against your legs. Soon, your eyelids begin to drift down, and your breaths become slower and deeper until you eventually slip into a restful sleep.

After what feels like a few hours, you awaken to find the van has stopped moving, and the rest of the club members have already gathered outside. You take the jacket in your hands and stretch your weary legs out before stepping outside, feeling the cool summer breeze against your face. Naeun’s the first person to realise that you’ve stepped out, waving her hand at you and gesturing you to join their circle.

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” She teases when you catch up, bumping her shoulder against yours.

“Alright guys, there are four tents, three of them fitting two people and one fitting three. You can pair up and grab them and set up at this area.” Sohee ticks off things on the clipboard, not taking her eyes off of it as she informs your group. “Try to be done by one, we’ll take a drive down to the village area and have lunch before we take a look around and see if there’s anyone who’s willing to be interviewed.” People have started to gather their bags from around their feet, ready to set up the tents. “And be careful about the space, we don’t want to be too crowded because it’s already hot enough. I know the lake is just a few minutes walk away from here, but refrain fro—”

“Let’s start setting up, yeah?” Yubin claps her hands together, effectively cutting her partner off and letting everyone disperse.

As you find an area to set up your tent, you’re not even done with hammering in the corners of the tent into the ground before you hear your friend groan.

"I never imagined they'd make us actually set up our own tents on this trip," Naeun sighs.

"Oh, come on, it's not that hard," you retort. "Besides, it's all part of the experience, isn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that," Naeun laughs.

"Hey, I'm serious! This is meant to be fun," you reply with a smile. As you near the end of your process, you take a moment to look around the camping area. In the middle of a faux circle your tents are making is a general campfire and dock, where most of the snacks and drinks are placed, ready for consumption at later times in the day. Looking at everyone setting up their respective tents, you catch a glimpse of Haechan and Jihoon working diligently. Haechan’s back faces you as he hammers in the corner of his tents to the ground, and you’re only taken away from such a view when Naeun clears her throat.

“I’m innocent,” You don’t even look at her as you say this. Rolling her eyes at your helpless behaviour, your friend turns to the two of them setting up, before feigning a voice of interest. “Oh! Did you guys set up next to us? We’re neighbours now,” Jihoon looks up and smiles cheekily, indulging in your friends' reactions as he starts to talk about how excited he is about the trip. Meanwhile, Haechan merely glances at her, before his eyes shift past her figure and land on you.

You shift in place at his gaze, meekly lifting a hand to wave hello, unable to think of anything else. A gleaming smile breaks out on his features as the corner of his lips tilts up, laughing at your awkward behaviour. You break eye contact, not wanting to spend another second subjecting yourself to being ridiculed like this. When you do, your eyes fall into the lent jacket folded and perched on top of your bag, a reminder that you’re yet to give it back.

When you and Naeun shove your bags into the tent and zip the entry close halfway, you hear a clap echo from behind you, where Yubin stands in the middle of the dock.

“Is everyone done? Come around so we can do a quick brief before we go into the village,” When you all circle around her and the other club leader, a quick rundown is given to you of what is to expect when you head down to the village. You will all go around the village as a group, asking the residents about their knowledge of the grasshopper surge and if they’re willing to participate in a form of interview

The drive to the village was less squished as all the items you’ve packed have been unloaded, and you are able to view the beautiful scenery you had missed while asleep on the way here. Soyeon reaches over and tries to point at the best scenery for you to view, while Minseok tries to distract you by claiming to see a cow every few seconds.

You arrive at the village entrance, your windows rolled down to take in the fresh air and appreciate the charming farming fields spread out before you. The trees swing with the light summer breeze, while the shine of the sun highlights the bright-coloured fruits hanging off of the different gardens of each house. The houses are all clustered together, no doubt creating an easy atmosphere for friendliness between neighbours.

As you exit the van, your eyes slowly wander around to take in the sights of the village. Juyeon spots a few kids running around and playing with large hoola hoops, exchanging a friendly smile and wave with them. Both Yubin and Jihoon seem excited to wander around, quickly taking the opportunity to explore the quaint village by walking into the streets.

It’s quiet as you pass by the houses, with the people no doubt staying inside to have a nice lunch while staving off the heat. “I think there’s a good Naengmyeon store just a few minutes walk.” Sohee looks at both her phone and the clipboard alternatively, before starting her journey without a glance behind her.

As you follow Sohee, you and Naeun walk side by side, taking in the fields and their vacancy. “It’s so serene,” she chimes.

You hum, “It must be so relaxing to live here, even the weather is good,” You stretch your arms out to get a better feel. “If I was living here I wouldn’t have a single complaint. I bet they all must be nice too,”

“If I lived here,” Jihoon chimes, “I would be one of those old people that walks around with a stick I just found on the ground,”

“I would live here with you,” Haechan adds with a smile. “Just so I can break your stick and laugh when you fall,”

Jihoon jokingly goes to wrap his arms around Haechan, who tries to defend himself by delivering jabs into his friend’s waist. Your group laughs at their antics before suddenly being made to take a sharp left.

The quietness that existed two seconds before the turn is now all gone, as you’re met with the bustle of what you assume is the village centre. Market stalls litter around as kids run through their gaps. People gather around shaded decks, fanning themselves with various objects as middle-aged women gossip around. Even the two restaurants are bustling, but when Sohee goes to the one she had previously found, they miraculously provide tables for all nine of you, splitting into groups of four and five.

As fate would have it, you’re seated with Haechan and Jihoon, with the latter too oblivious to the stiff body language you and Naeun now harbour. Haechan provides a tight smile, but his friend goes on about how he’s starving. He calls for the owner of the place and orders your food.

The woman looks to be around sixty years old, and it’s obvious that you’re all thinking the same thoughts; she would be a good candidate to interview. “Anything else,” She jabs when you all silently look at her.

Jihoon, ever the extrovert, sacrifices himself. “Ah, actually ma’am, I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but how old are you?” You can’t help but wince at his choice of sentence, now looking anywhere but at either one of their directions. Haechan purses his lips while Naeun coughs and goes to cover her face with her hand.

You feel more than hear her anger radiating off of the poor woman, as she shoves her hand into her apron pockets defensively. “My, talk about ‘not wanting to sound rude’,” She mocks. “Might as well ask what my income is, or better yet, the size of my br—”

“Please don’t misunderstand! I was just curious because I’m here to—”

“Just wait for your food and eat it diligently before I decide to kick you out,” Jihoon shrinks back in his seat, nodding his head solemnly. She tsks one more time before sauntering off, groaning and muttering under her breath as she goes.

“That couldn’t have gone any better,” Haechan pats his friend's shoulder, before tucking his chair further away from him, his foot bumping against you in the process. You share brief eye contact, about to share some awkward niceties before Jihoon goes to strangle him, something that occurs constantly it seems. You turn to Naeun, who looks back at you at the same time, with what you guess is the same bewilderment evident in your eyes. You burst out into laughter, leaning into one another as you take in what had happened

When you’ve all licked your bowls clean and had Jihoon semi-formally apologise for offending the lady, the group decided to saunter around the centre in order to find people to interview.

“Okay, not a hard task.” Yubin looks at the clipboard that Sohee holds in her grasp, turning back to look at all of you. “We just need to be friendly, and boom, interview opportunity. But in case that doesn’t work, let’s have Jihoon-” The boy in question groans, “And Soyeon go around and try to conduct a mini questionnaire. Just simple questions like how long they’ve lived here, what their occupation is, and then find a leeway to ask about the grasshoppers.” Yubin clasps her hands together, and when no one budges, she starts shooing you off. Jihoon and Soyeon, the two clear extroverts of the group walk away, while Minseok starts dragging Juyon in the direction of a doughnut shop he wanted to try. Yubin and Sohee have their own way of handling things, which leaves you with Haechan and Naeun.

Naeun decides to be the icebreaker this time around, as she turns to both Haechan and you. “Yay! We’re our own trio now,” She makes some jazz hands as she says, “Just like old times in the Beehive club,” Your smile turns sour at the mention of the club.

You cross your hands in front of you in thought. “How can we approach someone about this?” You questioned out loud, but Haechan smiled at you before patting a hand on his chest.

“I can charm anyone over the age of fourty-five, it’s a hidden talent of mine. Alongside being able to juggle five things at the same time—”

“—There’s no way you can juggle five things at the same time.”

“... Do you want my help or not?” You and Naeun shove two thumbs up each in motivation before the boy takes a deep breath and starts scanning the area. With the bustle of lunchtime, there are a lot of people going around, some now setting up their dessert market stalls.

Haechan shoots his chance by going up to a grandpa who walks by, wearing long sleeves and pants to stave off the burn of the sunlight. “Hi, sorry to bother but do you think you would be… interested…” The man kept walking as if nothing had happened, barely blinking when Haechan had come up to him. “Okay, that’s okay. Maybe he was hard of hearing?” As if on cue, the man waves as someone calls his name, going up to them and maintaining a conversation.

Now you have to find someone else. Simultaneously, all of your gazes fall on this one old lady pushing her cart, with a bit of a struggle if the minute movements of the cart are anything to go by.

Haechan makes his way through to her. “Aye, it must be hard for you to carry all of this alone. Let me help you miss,” He flashes his charming smile and you can’t help but find him endearing. In the summer heat, his cheeks look warmer than usual, as the shine of the sun reflects off his skin gleamingly. He looks cute, and you suddenly feel a sort of ache bloom in you.

The grandma squints for a while as she looks up at Haechan’s figure looming over her, and you would too if you were in her position; he’s practically beaming. But when she lifts her hand off of the handles of the carriage, it isn’t to give the boy reign but rather to deliver a hard-hitting smack at his shoulder.

You flinch and Naeun lets out a shocked shriek, as Haechan’s eyes widen, hand coming up to his bicep as he steps back.

“Damn city boy, you’re in my way!” She trudges off, and you all can’t help but look at her retreating back, the ring of her cart mocking your attempts.

It was difficult to try again after those failed attempts (you found it cute as Haechan would pout every now and then while he rubbed at his shoulder), but when Minseok and Juyeon had come back with three successful participants, you had all suddenly felt extremely competitive.

And so you tried again, and again, and once more. Finally, a lady who was selling tanghulu had asked about your reason for visiting this town, to which she had nodded earnestly when finding out you were here to know more about the grasshopper surge. She later agreed enthusiastically when you had asked with your sweetest voice if she doesn’t mind being interviewed about it, going as far as to invite you to her house.

“Ah, we don’t wanna intrude on your privacy,” You had started shaking your hands about, but the lady merely tched at your behaviour. “Nonsense, if anything, you can do me a favour by coming in and keeping me company,” She gestured at her meek stall, and you couldn’t help but smile sweetly and nod.

With all of the interviews and mini-questionnaires secured, your group popped back into the van and ventured back to your camping grounds. Your village centre trip had taken a few hours to finish, and it was no surprise that by the time you had gone back, it was dark, and you were hungry once more.

Soyeon giggled next to you when she heard your stomach grumble. “I can make a mean shin ramen if you’d like,” You were about to bashfully thank her for offering before Juyeon loudly spoke up.

“You’re hungry too right? See Yubin, we should start the fire and barbeque now!” A bit more whining occurs before the fire pit is finally lit. In the dark of the summer night, a light breeze still comes around now and then. You drape a blanket stolen from your tent over your and Naeun’s legs, sitting on the log as everyone tends to a different part of the camping experience.

Yubin and Juyeon get busy with making the food, while Jihoon crowns himself as the bartender of the night, but instead of mixing drinks he merely passes them around and encourages everyone to take a sip before the food gets ready. Sohee quietly sets up a corner of the circle for smores to be made without risking the marshmallows from catching on fire, and a bit to her left sits Haechan, who sips at his bottle of beer while looking at the fire.

It seems like even the warm tone of the fire compliments his skin a lot, and you can’t help but look in his direction constantly, your eyes not wanting to look away. Naeun drones about a cute bag she had seen in the market earlier in the day, but your eyes are stuck on his features, pouted lips glistening after each sip of his drink, his fingers fiddling with one another against the bottle and then tapping at his knee.

The sounds around you muffle as you focus on the contrasts of the dark summer night and the orange-yellow flame of the fire against the boy. You feel your stomach fluttering as you come to realise that the nervous feeling you harbour around him is a result of your blooming affection for him.

Suddenly, you feel a warm gaze on you, and you turn to see Haechan's eyes fixed on you, with a gentle, understanding gaze. Your pulse quickens each moment you lock eyes, and it’s hard to bring yourself out of this reverie.

In the middle of enjoying this blissful moment with him, your heart fluttering and your eyes locked onto his, you startle as you feel someone tap on your shoulder.

You turn around to see Naeun looking at you, a slight frown on her face.

"What's wrong?" You ask her. Naeun shakes her head slightly and looks back in Haechan's direction.

"Have you been noticing Haechan's strange behaviour recently?" She whispers to you. Your brows furrow, but you can’t bring yourself to look at the boy anymore. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know, it kinda feels like he’s silently brewing something.” She taps her fingers against her chin as she thinks. “Or maybe I’m just making things up, I need a drink” She shrugs and quickly goes to stand up, heading towards Jihoon’s direction, who beams when your friend asks for a stronger drink.

The night continues with the food getting annihilated less than five minutes of it being cooked, and everyone mixing their spirits just to experience drunken fun quickly. A few impromptu singing sessions occur, and a very terrible round of truth or dare as Minseok decides to make everything hard by saying such as “I dare you to down two shots or give me fifty-thousand won”. No one was pleased with his low blow.

You know it’s time for you to head off to bed when your eyelids start drooping even when everyone is singing at the top of their lungs. You pat Naeun’s knee as you stand up, with her barely noticing as she tries to match her adlibs to the song.

“I’m gonna head off to bed now,” As she nods back at you, you tuck the blanket back on her knees before shuffling away and towards your tent. Retrieving some things from your bag inside your tent, you hear some shuffling to your left as you head back out. Haechan stands at his tent situated next to yours seemingly calling it a night too as his hands carry his toothbrush and toothpaste.

You’re not sure where you got the confidence to speak first, but Haechan’s soft gaze illuminated by the moonlight eases you. “You’re heading to bed too?”

“Yeah,” He exhales. “I don’t think I can handle two more hours of a Bruno Mars medley. Even I have my limits.” The smile on his face grows as he looks at you, cheeks full of adoration.

As you stand there, a thought tugs at the back of your mind, a memory that you almost missed amidst the camaraderie and laughter earlier. With a sudden realisation, you remember that you still have Haechan's jacket that he lent you earlier. Feeling a little guilty and nervous, you quickly retrieve it from your bag, tugging at the sleeves of the jacket and straightening any creases.

"Actually, speaking of limits," you start, your voice a touch sheepish, "I kind of borrowed your jacket when it got cold. Sorry, I didn't know exactly when I should give it back."

His eyes widen in mock surprise, a playful grin curving on his lips. "You mean you stole my jacket?" he teases, an eyebrow raised.

You roll your eyes playfully. "Borrowed, Haechan. Borrowed."

He chuckles, his gaze dropping to the jacket you're holding out. "Well, I guess I can let you off the hook this time."

You let out a relieved laugh, a weight lifting off your shoulders. Haechan's fingers brush against yours as he takes the jacket from you, his touch lingering and warm against you. His eyes, usually full of mischief, now seem to hold a depth of emotion that you can't quite decipher. The playful smile he wore has softened into something more sincere.

"Thank you," he says, his voice gentle as he folds the jacket over his arm. "But you know, you could have kept it if you wanted to."

Your stomach dips at the implication as you let out a nervous chuckle, fingers fidgeting slightly as you meet his gaze. "I know, but you have to give back what you’ve borrowed,"

He tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. "Well, I'm glad you're honest, even if it's about jacket theft," he says, a hint of a teasing smile returning to his lips.

A comfortable silence settles between you, the tension from before now replaced by a sense of connection that feels even stronger. The distant sounds of the campfire and the rustling of leaves create a soothing backdrop, and when you look at the boy in front of you once more, you’re suddenly brought back to the moment you shared at the festival.

“I thought you were rejecting me before I could even muster the courage to ask you out.” Was he joking again when he said this? Making some elaborate sick and twisted prank to make you feel better about the bucket of water that wasn’t even his own doing?

Your curiosity gets the best of you, and when you go to clear your throat and voice your thoughts, Haechan's lips curve into a warm smile. "Well, it's getting late," he says softly, glancing toward his tent.

You’re momentarily taken aback, now feeling lost on what to say. He takes your silence as a bid, zipping open his tent flaps and toes off his shoes.

“Wait, Haechan,” Your voice surprises the two of you still, as Haechan looks over his shoulder and back at you with a hum, his eyes scanning your features.

You shuffle in place, before bringing your hand up and waving at him timidly. “Sleep well,”

This time, his reaction is different. He purses his lips, as if restraining a more exuberant smile, his eyes glinting with something unspoken. His nod is gentle, and he avoids meeting your gaze directly. "Goodnight, Y/n,"

The following day, after you’ve all washed up and had something to eat, you gather around the cleared dock in a circle once more.

“Okay, so it seems like we have six willing participants. We’ve decided to split the teams as such,” With the crew only having access to three cameras, and today being the last day you all can visit the village, there will be three pairs conducting video-form interviews on three of the participants, while the rest do a one-on-one interview without any form of digital recording.

“These are the three pairs: Soyeon and Juyeon, you two will interview Mr Choi. Jihoon and Naeun, you’re on the Sim couple, and Haechan and Y/n can go to Mrs Kim,” You try your best to not seem as surprised as you really feel when you look at your partner, who beams back at you playfully.

Naeun raises her hand. “If my partner can’t shut his mouth and let the interviewees speak, do I have permission to smack across his head with the clipboard?”

“By all means,” Sohee replies without hesitation, while Jihoon raises his hand to his head protectively, looking warily at the clipboard that is being passed around to the groups.

You all depart at ten in the morning, hopping into the van and leaving your camping sanctuary. Yubin was kind enough to drive each of you to the houses of the interviewees, reminding all of you to meet at the village centre at three p.m. latest for dinner and then a drive back to the camp.

Looking at the scribble of the address that the lady gave you yesterday (you’re still shocked that she entrusted you with such information) you look at the gate in front of you which sports the same exact numbers. With one simple scan around, you find that there’s only a handle attached to the door to indicate your arrival.

Haechan steps forward and knocks twice, before you hear a slide of a door and a few grunts. “Give me a few seconds, I’m not as agile as I was a few years ago,” Opening the gate, you feel like you’ve been washed anew, as Mrs Kim smiles widely at you two. “Come on it, I prepared some fruits for you two to eat,”

“Oh, Mrs Kim you didn’t have to,”

“Nonsense,” She tchs. “It’s important for you young people to stay healthy.” As you enter, you see the beautiful exterior of her house and a mini deck that adorns the fruits she had mentioned.

Haechan adjusts the shoulder of the bag filled with equipment, his arm grazing yours briefly. “You have a very lovely estate, Mrs Kim,” He compliments, and his eyes squeeze shut when the woman reaches forward and pinches at his cheek. You can’t help yourself from laughing, as he contains his grunts.

“You flatter me too much young man,” She pats at his cheek once more, and you have to stop yourself from cooing when you see the red tone of his skin before he covers his cheek with his hand, rubbing it as a form of soothing remedy. “I have a few more things to bring. Did you guys have breakfast? Actually, doesn’t matter, even if you did you should eat more. It’s important to stock up on energy early in the morning.”

“Mrs Kim you don’t have t—”

“You guys can set up,” She shuffles back to her house, sliding the door open and shut behind her, gone before you could utter another word. Both of you look at the deck, which has a big bowl of fruits and three cushions for you to sit on.

Haechan is still rubbing at his cheek when he speaks, “I guess we can set up now, you wanna sit at the deck and I’ll adjust the camera?” The two of you work in harmony, with you adjusting the seats in order to achieve the best angle for the camera, while Haehcan looks at the viewfinder and asks you to shift when needed.

When you’re setting up the microphone and your clipboard with the provided questions, Mrs Kim comes back with two lines of kimbap lined on a plate and three sets of cutlery. Haechan lets out a sharp gasp in gratitude while your jaw slackens.

“Thank you, Mrs Kim,” You hum as you look at her, adoration no doubt filled in your irises. She waves shyly at you, before settling down at the cushion you had positioned for her. “Okay, there are a few questions that I have for you here, and it shouldn’t take more than fourty minutes if I don’t have any follow-ups.” You start explaining to her, and you look over at Haechan to check and see if your volume for the microphone is good or not. He gives you a thumbs up and a nod, which prompts you to continue with your debrief.

“We can take breaks as much as you like, and if there isn’t anything you’re comfortable with answering please tell us. We’re not trying to make you feel bad with this interview, we just want more people to know about this because there isn’t much recorded at the moment,” You list off, not wanting to miss a detail. Situated behind the camera, you miss the way Haechan smiles fondly at your focused expression, but Mrs Kim doesn’t as she lets her gaze flit between the two of you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” You smile at her, and she smiles back before giving you a confirmation.

“Please introduce yourself!” As you ask her question after question, you munch on a few fruits to stave off the heat in the outdoor summer weather. You fill up your cups using the water jug Mrs Kim had brought and subtly shove it to the corner of the deck where it is closest to Haechan, who would try his best to retrieve it with as little disturbance as possible, After thirty minutes, you had only gone through three questions, stuck with asking her follow up questions about her farming and harvesting upbringing with how invested you were. You pause the interview recording as Haechan mutters something about needing the bathroom, and you finally get to dig into the food that Mrs. Kim has prepared for you.

You’re munching on the food when Mrs. Kim asks you a question. “Did you two decide to come here together?”

You cover your mouth with your hand as you speak, “Oh, we’re part of a group at university and our project was to research this topic,” You pour another cup of water for her when you see her reach for the jug. “Which thank you for accepting our offer, it was hard getting someone …”

She laughs as she waves her hand at you. “The old people in this village are all grumpy because of the heat, don’t take it to heart sweetie,” Haechan struts back outside once more, and tampers with the camera to check the records. He brings it to you and asks about the angle which makes you two fall into a convo about the angles. You pick up a piece of kimbap and offer it to the boy, noticing he hasn’t had anything to eat as of yet.

You miss the fond look Mrs Kim holds, as Haechan shakes his head slightly with his mouth open, before engulfing the food and chewing, mumbling more about the camera settings.

“Mrs Kim, are you alright with changing the angle of the camera so it can focus on you?”

“You two are such a cute couple,” You almost get whiplash from how fast you turn your head to look at her, your utensils almost dropping the piece of strawberry you had picked up.

“Oh,” Haechan starts, and you’re not sure if the rouge colour of his cheeks is due to the sun or something else. “We’re—”

“And you’re such a gentleman too,” She gestures at Haechan before picking up an uncut fruit and peeling it. “I have five children, and a dozen of grandchildren. One of the younger ones is around the same age as you, so you remind me a lot of him.” She reminisces, and you can’t bring yourself to correct her statement when she gives you another piece of anecdote. “Although it’s been some time since I’ve seen them, I hope the next time I do they’ve grown as handsome and as kind as you are,”

Haechan grows flustered as he occupies himself with a bite of a fruit, before developing a sudden tenderness. He saunters up to his side and holds his arms wide for a hug, which the woman grows mockingly agitated with, before accepting it. He whines cutely, “Mrs Kim, you can’t go all soft on me with no warning,” He rubs at her shoulder gently. “If you’d like, I’m more than happy to come back again to visit you, in exchange for your world-class food,” He receives a soft smack on the shoulder before bursting into laughter, and you can’t help but feel a sense of adoration at his words.

“You’re only gonna be a nuisance at my side,” She grunts when Haechan goes back next to you, plopping himself down to indulge more in the food. “I’ll let you visit me only if you bring your lovely girlfriend too,”

You start coughing on the grape you were munching on, as Haechan tuts at you and gives you a glass of water. Gulping it down, you stop yourself from having another fit when Haechan says, “I’ll bring my lovely, precious girlfriend with me too. Promise,”

Your interview with Mrs Kim was done three hours after your arrival, as you left with a full stomach and a massive hug from the sweet woman.

“Have a safe trip back,” She waves, and you and Haechan navigate your way through the neighbourhood and towards the village centre.

Haechan gives a wistful sigh. “What a sweet lady, I thought every person over the age of sixty wanted to run us over in this town,”

“I think they just wanted to run you over.” You comment and are met with a light shove to your shoulder with his, a playful grin dancing on his lips. "Me? Come on, I'm nothing but a bundle of charm and charisma," he retorts while he stretches his arms out.

"Sure, if you say so," you reply with a smile, feeling the warm sensation before settling low in your stomach again.

As you both navigate through the village centre, the quaint streets bathed in the warm hues of the sun, Haechan's tone becomes a touch more serious. "You know, spending time with Mrs Kim was really nice," he admits, his expression softening.

You nod in agreement. "Absolutely. She's such a sweetheart. The way she talks about the village and its history, you can tell how much she loves it."

"True," Haechan agrees, his gaze distant for a moment before focusing back on you. "It's heartwarming to see how deeply connected she is to this place."

As you stroll along the cobbled path, a comfortable silence settles between you. The serene atmosphere of the village combined with Haechan's presence makes it feel like you're in a different world altogether, a world where worries and uncertainties can be set aside, even if only temporarily.

Eventually, the village begins to fade into the background as you approach your destination. With the fading light, the sounds of the evening grow softer, and you find yourselves in a quiet corner by the riverbank.

Haechan glances at you, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "You know," he begins, his tone softer now, "I’m glad you were my partner for today."

You meet his gaze, a warm smile forming on your lips as you feel heat gather at your cheeks. "Yeah, it was fun." You cut yourself off short, scared that if you keep talking you’ll say more than you’d want to.

He grins, a hint of his mischievousness returning. "And who knows, maybe next time Mrs Kim will have some more matchmaking plans for us," he says, his eyebrows wiggling playfully. You laugh, shaking your head at his antics, but feel a nervous flip in your stomach.

Before you can overthink and pick his words apart, you hear a honk from behind as a car drives up to the both of you. Yubin rolls down the window, gleaming at you from behind the wheel. “Great! You guys are done too, we were about to come pick you up. You guys had something to eat already?” You both nod your heads, now uncertain of Yubin’s enthusiasm.

“Perfect, because we aren’t heading to the centre for lunch anymore.” She tilts her head back to the van, urging you to get in. “We’re heading to the waterfall!”

It turns out that the man Yubin had been interviewing alone had mentioned a picturesque waterfall just a short drive from the town. The location came complete with a restaurant situated slightly downstream, but what had truly captured his nostalgic sentiment was his recollection of summers spent there during his youth. While she tells you all this, you don’t notice the passage of time. It's only when the car slows to a stop and Jihoon emerges from the trunk, his inflatable flamingo in tow and already sporting swim trunks, that you realize how far you've journeyed.

"Wait, are we actually going swimming?" Juyeon asks, his voice laced with surprise as Jihoon confidently strides towards the water, each step creating playful splashes. Sohee looks ahead at the water and Jihoon, expression blank once more. “We brought a few towels, some of them finished early so we drove back to the site and grabbed some things.” She shrugs her cardigan off, revealing her swimsuit from underneath. “You don’t have to swim if you don’t want to,” And she steps into the water, trailing behind Jihoon.

Naeun, who was one of the lucky ones to have finished early, is also wearing her swimsuit and is now trying to persuade you to join. “Just dip your feet in, you’re already wearing shorts! I brought some slippers for you too,” When she sees that you’re not budging, she huffs at your stubbornness before heading in. Even Miseok, who was fully clothed, went ahead and emerged himself into the water, squealing about the cold of the water.

You sigh in thought, looking down at your cladded feet, contemplating whether you should go in or not. You do feel the sweat built up from the whole day's work disappearing in the presence of the cold waterfall, but the body of water looks more and more tempting as droplets land at your feet, courtesy of Naeun and Soyeon declaring war against Minseok and drowning the guy with splashes of water, their laughter ringing through the air. Yubin clings to Sohee’s waist as she twirls her around in the water, and Haechan tries to coax Juyeong into making Jihoon sink by toppling him over the flamingo.

You sit by the edge of the water, your feet dangling in the cool stream, watching your friends enjoy themselves. Haechan, ever the observer, notices your conflicted expression. His eyes meet yours, and he saunters over with that signature mischievous grin that never fails to stir something in your chest.

“You coming in?” voice tinged with playful curiosity, he gets out to stand next to you, tousled hair dripping and his sun-kissed skin glistening. His shirt clings to his form, and it takes all of your willpower to look away from the dip in his waist.

“I don’t know, I’m still thinking…” The cold water looks exceptionally inviting, but you wouldn’t have a change of clothes, and you’re not sure if the white t-shirt you adorn would help in not exposing you.

“Hmm, I mean, you had a bucket of water dunked on you once, right?” He circles behind you as he says this. “So this time it shouldn’t be too bad,” Before you can turn to look at him and decipher what he means, you feel strong arms circle around your waist before you’re being trudged forward, a startled laugh escapes your lips as he carries you toward the water.

"H-Haechan, wait!" you protest, a mix of laughter and uncertainty in your tone.

He pays no heed to your objections, stepping in more and more into the cold and refreshing water. As the water reaches his waist, he takes another step forward, your laughter mingling with the splashes around you. The initial shock of the cold water is soon replaced by a rush of exhilaration as he swings you left and right quickly.

"See?" he grins at you when you turn to look at him, the playful spark in his eyes impossible to ignore. He takes another step forward, wanting to get the both of you close to the rest, but his foot gets caught momentarily as he leans forward more, making you squeal as you’re faced with your death for a few seconds.

Fortunately, you don’t fall in face first, as Haechan gathers himself just in time. His arms are gripped tighter around your waist, as he tries to fully regain his balance by grounding himself into you. You feel his chest against your back, and if it weren’t for the cool stream of water whizzing past your body, you would’ve been burning up.

“You almost killed us both,” Haechan loosens his hold around you as you say this, gently turning you around to face him instead, your grip going back to his forearm. Nothing could have prepared you for the view you’re met with, a smile gleaming across Haechan’s face, carefree and unfiltered as he revels in the summer sun and the cool water from the waterfall and riverbank. He looks like the embodiment of summer, and you’re slowly finding yourself wanting to bask in his light.

His smile slowly fades as his eyes start looking across your face, taking in your features one by one, from the corners of your eyes to the shine of the sun against your cheeks, and lastly your lips. You feel your breath hitch, the only thing grounding you being the grip you hold on the Haechan’s forearms, while his hands hover over your waits, before gently getting a hold on them, his fingers squeezing deftly. You’re not quite sure if you’re intently focusing in on his face, or if he’s slowly leaning in, but before you can figure out the air that hangs between the two of you, a deafening screech sounds in front of you, and in that suspended moment, your instincts kick in. Your arms reflexively rise to cushion the impact, and Haechan's body collides with yours.

For the second time this afternoon, you close your eyes as you brace yourself for impact, the world briefly becomes a blur of sensations. The water is just deep enough to soften your fall, but you know the skidding of the pebbles under your feet would inflict some sort of pain. Neither of you gets to find your footing this time round, as you fall into the water, refreshing coolness sliding down on you before engulfing the two of you.

As the world comes back into focus, you find yourself near Haechan once again, his laughter bubbling through the water. His mischievous grin is evident even underwater, and it's easy to imagine the triumphant sparkle in his eyes.

"You really can't catch a break today, huh?" he teases, his words echoing through the water.

You can't help but let out a laugh. "You could say that." Haechan surfaces beside you, water cascading from his hair, his wet shirt clinging to his form once more. As you two recover, you look up and towards the direction of the commotion that happened to send Haechan and you toppling over. There you see Minseok, a look of uncertainty cast on his face before it falls to a cheeky grin, his face stretching almost uncomfortably.

"Guess I misjudged the distance," Minseok calls out, his tone light as he shrugs his shoulders. Your brows furrow, but you don’t say anything when Haechan playfully splashes water in Minseok's direction. "Nice aim! You almost gave us a heart attack and had us follow the stream,” He points towards the flow of the water starting from your feet, and looking down at your soaked-through shirt you realise that you’re more exposed than what you had planned.

Haechan’s gaze catches on you crossing your arms over your shoulders, a weak attempt of you trying to cover yourself. Quickly scanning the bags and mats huddled together just on the floor next to the waterfall, he gently offers his hand for you to take, swishing through the currents and stepping out, helping you do the same before he grabs the only available towel he could find, wrapping it around your shoulders.

“There,” He pats your sides, helping you to dry. Your heart warms at his gesture, smitten eyes looking at his while he looks anywhere but directly at you.

People start getting out slowly too, some grumbling about being hungry from not having a chance to eat before coming to swim. When everyone grabs a towel, you realise that Haechan is the only one left without one. Everyone’s too busy tending to themselves to notice, and you see a faint shiver coarse through his body, the cold of the water relentless even in the heat of the summer.

You shoulder off your towel, handing it to him without saying much. He looks at your extended hand and you know he’s about to refuse when he sports a sheepish and teasing smile, ready to refute your attempts by making some sort of joke out of it, or claiming you need it more.

Somehow, you know that he won’t give in until you also have a towel or something similar to help you, so you decide to do something else. You place one end of the towel around his right shoulder, and you see him open his mouth to voice his protest, but his voice dies in his throat when you stick yourself by his left shoulder, wrapping the other end of the towel around yourself too. He looks at you incredulously, and you’re sure now that teh heat on your cheeks can’t be blamed on the heat of the weather anymore.

You try to will away your flustered expression, now refusing to meet his eye. “You wouldn’t take the towel, so I had to make do,” You mutter, now feeling somewhat ridiculous for your attempt at wanting him to use the towel. Haechan, having never met with this side of yours, gets a bit giddy as he grins widely at you, reaching out from under the jacket to pinch at you. You smack away his hand, before muttering something about wanting to find Naeun, separating yourself from the towel and quickly stepping away.

Back at the campsite, everyone takes turns rinsing off and helping to prepare for tonight's round of food. Although most of the drinks that Jihoon had brought were dwindling to a finish, he pulls out an extra bottle of emergency vodka, preparing shots for everyone to have.

As Jihoon’s tactics of making everyone drink to get drunk don’t go through, he tries something that never fails. “Okay, we’re playing never have I ever, and for every one finger you put down you have to take a shot,” Yubin immediately bites, saying “Never have I ever been named ‘Sohee’,”

Sohee's reaction is swift and accompanied by an indignant glare. Without missing a beat, she reaches for a shot glass and downs the vodka, setting it down with a determined clink. Jihoon grins, clearly delighted by the engagement he's sparked. "Only Yubin can pull something like that and not get torn in half,"

But Sohee doesn’t back down easily. “Never have I ever cut my own bangs,” Yubin purses her lips from laughing, lowering one finger as she looks at her shot glass in shame before downing it. A few other people drink too, with Haechan laughing at Jihoon who takes a hard-hitting shot.

“Why would you cut your bangs?” Naeun questions Jihoon as he recovers from the taste of vodka. “Sometimes times are tough,”

Haechan scoffs. “He saw a video of a guy thirst trapping and the girl he liked at the time had liked it. So he thought a haircut would be a quick fix,” Jihoon scowls at being called out so easily. Before he could strike back with a question, Minseok suddenly speaks up.

"Never have I ever accidentally spilled a secret that wasn't mine to spill," Minseok announces, his eyes locking onto Haechan's with a knowing glint. The question lands like a playful challenge, drawing amused glances and ripples of laughter from the group. Haechan's expression shifts from surprise to a grin, lifting a shot glass and downing it seamlessly. Your eyes catch on the side of his face as he tilts his head back, throat bobbing lightly as he downs the drink, and amid all the ruckus and noise of the group, you can’t help but find his expression hot.

Not right now, you can’t start salivating in the middle of a friendly gathering and so you turn to look away. Your gaze instead catches on Minseok, and his once playful expression has suddenly faded into a displeased one, as he pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge. You grow confused at his sudden shift of mood, but before you can further contemplate anything, Naeun shrieks at a question that Soyeon had asked bringing you back to the group.

The game shifts into story time, as people talk about how they’ve broken bones to the times they were caught masturbating. You can’t help but grimace at Juyeon’s story of how the person he was with had kicked out his pet cat from the room only for her other cat to pop out of the closet, as she cooed at her pet not even a full minute after they finished.

Someone reaches for a bottle of water and finds that the ones on the deck are all empty. “I’ll get some more from the van,” You volunteer, standing up and dusting yourself off. Yubin’s temple is resting against Sohee’s shoulder as she slurs, “Take s’meone witchu... Bottles heavy..” You glance around only to be met with Naeun excitedly asking Juyeon to tell her more about his embarrassing moments so she can exchange with him, while the rest egg him on. Your attention shifts to Haechan, his eyes already fixed on yours. With a subtle tilt of your head away from the campfire, a surge of confidence courses through you as you invite him to join you.

The walk to the van is quiet, save for the crunch of your shoes and sandals against the floor, as you look at the sky and the trees, anywhere but at him now that he’s actually by your side.

Haechan's voice breaks the silence, soft. "Was it fun for you so far?"

You turn your gaze to him, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I’m glad to have gotten away like this before the exams start up again." Subconsciously, you start treading closer to him, your shoulder now brushing against his every other step you take. “But I don’t think I can go to another social gathering until next year,”

He chuckles, a sound that seems to meld seamlessly with the night's tranquillity. "Tell me about it. Minseok’s been on a mission this whole trip, hasn't he?"

You nod, the playful note in his voice helping to ease the tension that had briefly gripped the atmosphere. “Your title is gonna be revoked soon if you don’t watch out,”

You arrive at the van, and you feel the weight of the key in your pocket, but you can’t bring yourself to fish it out, as you now stand face-to-face with Haechan. Even with the sun’s shine bringing out the warmth and glow in him, you’re just as mesmerised during the night, the moonlight turning him blurry at the edges, and you can feel yourself softening even more.

You’re brought back to the festival when Haechan had pulled you away and continued to laugh at you for being mad at him for pulling a prank on you. You’re still not entirely sure if he isn’t to blame, but that’s the last thing on your mind as you recall his words. “I thought you were rejecting me before I could even muster the courage to ask you out.”

He’s right in front of you again, looking at you patiently, gaze slowly flitting over your features, from your eyes to your cheeks, at your hair and fleetingly at your lips when you go to speak.

"Hey, about what you said earlier…” you begin, your voice steady but tinged with a hint of uncertainty as your hands fidget with one another. “Back at the festival, about asking me out,"

His eyes meet yours, searching for something in your expression. He seems to hold his breath, waiting for your words to unfold.

"Was that just... you know, another one of your jokes?" you ask, your tone light yet inquisitive.

Haechan's eyebrows knit together for a moment, a hint of surprise in his eyes as if he didn't expect you to bring up the topic, not like this. He then lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "No, I wasn't joking," he says, his voice gentle but earnest.

His second confession hangs in the air between you, a mixture of emotions swirling beneath the surface. You feel your heart racing, your mind racing even faster. Your next words are caught in your throat, wondering if now is the time.

“I…” But Haechan’s anything if patient and kind, as he steps closer and gently clasps your hand in his, both of your gazes falling on your now linked hands before travelling up to your faces. “I really like you,” You breathe, and your gaze zeroes in on his plush lips. “And I really want to kiss you now,”

Your cheeks heat up at your sudden bluntness, but a tender smile graces Haechan’s features and he takes a step closer. Your hands remain linked, his touch warm and reassuring against your palm. His head tilts a bit, breath mingling with yours as his eyes fall to look at your lips, gaze growing hooded in the dark of the night.

His lips meet yours gently, the plush skin enveloping you, and all you can feel and hear is him. The summer breeze and the crickets chirping now fades away, as you feel his fingers clasped through yours and the brush of his nose against you. He separates slightly, pulling back as he slowly opens his eyes, but you’re barely done.

Panic overtakes his features when you let go of his hand, but then it's replaced with a look of surprise when you quickly but gently clasp his face in your hands, leaning in and kissing him once more. He can’t help the slight smile that urges to overtake his features, but he grounds himself by clasping your waist, pulling your body closer to his. He pecks your lips, again and again, his palms squeezing your waist deftly, as if he can’t get enough. Your arms link around his shoulders when he pushes himself closer to you, shifting from caring pecks to heated kisses, pushing you two closer together.

Finally, when the soft breeze doesn’t help fight the heat, you separate from each other, but your bodies are still intertwined. You rest your forehead against his collarbone and he smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist now.

“Fuck,” You mutter, “Why was that so good?” He chuckles at your words, kissing the side of your head that’s still buried in his chest.

“Yeah?” He mumbles into your hair, and it takes all of your willpower to not collapse right then and there at his hot tone. “Can’t wait to show you more then,” He pecks at your cheek lightly before stepping back and towards the van, and you can’t help but silently mourn the loss of his touch.

When you get back to the campfire and sit next to Nauen, she comments on how warm your body is.

“Of course my body is warm, it’s summer. Did you forget?” Naeun looks at you with one of her eyes squinted shut, the other barely open as she tries analysing you through her drunken state.

“You’re right, I did forget. I just thought Haechan kissing you would’ve made yo—“ You smack your hand on her mouth as your wide eyes scan across the deck, scared that other people have caught on to her words. Naeun and her damn mouth, and really accurate drunk guesses.

After looking around, you’re relieved to find that everyone’s too busy with their own activities. Your eyes fall on Haechan, who must’ve felt your gaze as he quickly glances towards you, sending a wink and an air kiss. You roll your eyes, looking away quickly so he misses the fondness that overtakes your features.

Naeun leans on your shoulder as you two look at the blank space that once had your shared tent.

“I’ll miss this place,” She sniffles, and you can’t help but scoff.

“You were complaining just twenty minutes ago about how gross this trip made you feel.”

“Maybe the cleanliness of camping is the friends we made along the way,” She loses her footing when you move away from her, making her lose her position from being perched on you. Going to the van where everyone’s huddled at, you help give some of the items to be fitted into the truck.

Rubin tucks a strand of hair that’s sticking out from Sohee’s hair as the latter reads off of the clipboard in her hand. “Okay, everyone has their bearings?” Jihoon shuffles in with his flamingo plushie. “Wait, let me deflate this quickly and shove it at the back,”

“No!” You exclaim, and everyone looks at you with your sudden outburst. Without the flamingo, you wouldn’t have an excuse for wanting to squeeze closer to Haechan as you sit next to each other. You quickly gather yourself, clearing your throat and trying to seem nonchalant. “Uh, I mean like, don’t deflate it now. It’ll be hard to inflate it again.” You look away as you gesture your hand around. “There’s space at the back of the van anyway.”

You catch Haechan’s gaze, who is now covering his mouth with his hand to not burst out with laughter. Jihoon looks at Yubin with confusion, before the team leader shrugs, gesturing for the flamingo to fit into the van. When everyone shuffles into the van, Jihoon hands you the flamingo, which you happily grasp and tug at your left side, as you sit in the middle. Haechan fits himself at your right side, and you try your best to avoid Naeun’s suspicious yet knowing glare.

When the van roars to life, so does conversation between everyone, as Jihoon plays music through the aux cord, providing some background music. Now that you’ve achieved your goal of having Haechan sit next to you, you don’t know what to do, settling into your seat with the inflatable flamingo cradled in your arms. His thigh pressed against yours as the two of you relaxed back into your seats, and you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on anything but the warmth seeping through the fabric of your clothes, making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

As you steal a glance at Haechan, you find him already looking at you, a playful glint in his eyes and a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. You can never win.

He seems to find amusement in your flustered state, a knowing look passing between you as if sharing a secret language. And just when you expect him to tease you, he instead offers you an airpod of his (which you’re thankful for, you don’t know what suffices as an excuse for oggling him the way you did).

"Here," he says, his voice a soft undertone amidst the conversations. You're momentarily taken aback by his gesture, your fingers brushing against his as you accept the earbud.

It’s when you’re in the middle of choosing which decade of music to listen to when Minseok turns around and is met with your bickering. Naeun joins in, a smile on her lips as she enjoys the banter between you and Haechan.

Then, Minseok's voice cuts through the chatter, posing a question that catches you off guard. “Did you forgive him after his prank?” It takes a moment for you to realize that it’s directed at you. You glance between Naeun and Haechan, uncertain of how to respond to his unexpected query.

Quick to step in, Naeun's voice rises above the background noise as she takes charge of the situation. “The water bucket? Haechan wasn't behind that one,” Minseok now looks at Naeun with a confused tilt.

"But he was, right? I remember he was on his way to class and turned back at the last minute."

It’s now your turn to be confused. “How did you know he was heading to class then?” You see a bit of colour drain from his face as you ask him, and before he can say anything, Juyeon and Soyeon call for his attention, giving him an escape from the conversation.

A glance is exchanged between you, Haechan, and Naeun, a silent agreement passing between you all. Naeun waves off the topic, assuring you with a casual gesture. "Don't worry about it for now. Let's get back to what we were doing." With that, she turns her attention back to the ongoing activities, allowing you to enjoy your privacy once more.

As you listen to the calming music he plays, you lay your head on his shoulder, finding solace in the rhythmic hum of the van's journey. His voice drifts into a lively monologue about his evolving music preferences over the years—tales of the artists he favoured in his younger days and those who currently capture his admiration. You can’t help but feel warm as he tells you personal anecdotes of listening to his parents’ karaoke sessions, and how his mum especially used to love singing.

Watching him speak animatedly, a wave of endearment washes over you. Pouting as he sometimes speaks and moving his hands when he wants to emphasise a point, The surge of fondness overwhelms you and you let your urges take over, nipping lightly at his shoulder, not knowing how else to assert the cute aggression you feel so suddenly.

“What—” Haechan claps his hand over the spot you playfully bit, his mock protest making you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “That hurt!”

“It wasn’t even that hard! My teeth barely caught on.” You cross your arms. He suddenly wraps one arm around your shoulder, hand bumping against the barely alive flamingo as he pushes you closer to him. “Don’t go soft now. I didn’t say I didn’t like it. But just be careful now,” He leans into your ear, lips grazing your skin as he whispers. “I like biting too. Sometimes hard enough to leave a mark,”

You glare when he parts from you. “Is that a threat?”

He tilts his head in thought. “A threat for a good time? Maybe,”

You would be lying if you said the trip didn’t change anything. Naeun has been relentless, asking you every time she sees you smiling if it’s because of Haechan.

“You never smile for any other reason,” She barely misses the pillow that’s flung in her direction.

But as you return back, you’re suddenly met with your responsibilities you had momentarily forgotten about, as deadlines creep up. You’re only either at your classes, the library, at work or at home. So you don’t get to see Haechan, but you do text, which gives Naeun reasons to tease you. It hurts you to say that she’s right about you smiling because of him, so instead you deflect and threaten to spill the beans on her crush on Jeno. That stopped her for two weeks, and that’s all the time you needed to focus on your studies.

As everyone’s assignments and exams come to an end, a flurry of parties and gatherings are held, and people are ready to let loose before dispersing once the holidays start.

And so here you are, at the first party of the week, taking shots with Naeun as if they’re water. Usually, one of you would opt to be just a bit more coherent and sober than the other, just to make sure no one makes any mistakes they’ll regret later; but the exams were hard-hitting this semester, and what else do you talk about the day after these parties if not your fuck-ups?

It’s Sunwoo’s house that you’re raiding, and Naeun has somehow convinced the host to give them unlimited shots as compensation for when he made her talk about Haehcan’s prank.

“You really hold grudges don’t you?” He says as she pours you two another round, almost missing your cups with how much he’s also had himself. She giggles as he says this before her expression falls as he looks at him with a scowl. “Say that again and I’ll show you what a real grudge looks like,”

The night continues to be rowdy, as go around dancing to the music that’s being blasted and you stumbling yourselves into a game of truth or drink, where you would drink even with questions you were okay with answering. You’re now plastered to a couch, unable to move as your body feels unnaturally heavy.

“You know,” Naeun hiccups. “I love you, like, so much. You fucking bitch.” She slurs, tapping her hand against the couch in an attempt to find your hand. She gives up after three taps, hiccuping once more.

You nod against the back cushion of the couch. “I love you too, but,” You blink open your eyes, wanting to look at your best friend as you say this. “I just want you to know that you’re deserving of so much love.” You also try to move your hand to find hers, but you quickly realise that you can’t even find where your hand is.

So you keep going. “Soo much love. And the fact that you’re still single? Crime, jail immediately,” Naeun starts tearing up, because she gets emotional easily after three shots. “You’re so right, like, how long has it been since I’ve had my back blown?”

You shake your head, “Not even that, you deserve someone who’s into puppy play as much as you are. You know what?” Somehow finding some strength, you push yourself up and place your hands on her shoulders to steady yourself, wanting to gaze into her eyes as you say this. “You deserve Jeno and you should confess to him; he would be a psychotic maniac to not want to date someone as hot and as pretty as you are.” You miss catching the tears falling from her face, but you don’t need to do much, as her expression contorts from sadness to realisation.

“You’r—” She hiccups briefly. “So right. You’re so right. You know what? I’m gonna go and confess now,” Naeun’s willpower comes back in full force, as she suddenly stands up, posture straight like never before. You’re flung off of her as she does this, collapsing onto the couch, not yet having found the same energy she has mustered.

You’re not sure if your cry of good luck reached your friend’s ears from where you’re squished against the couch, but you can’t bring yourself to care as grogginess starts to take over, your eyes barely staying open even in the rowdiness of the party.

You feel yourself fall asleep just a bit, but are brought back to the lights and music of the party when you feel a gentle tap against your forearm. Opening your eyes, you’re met with Haechan’s crouched form as he smiles fondly at you, eyes scanning your face.

“You okay?” He asks, and you give him your best smile and a thumbs up.

“Never... Never better.” You reach out your hand, wanting to have some sort of contact with the boy in front of you. “Actually, I’m way better now that Haechan is here,”

Haechan’s smile widens into a grin, as he sees you flailing your hand around his general direction. “Haechan is happy that he’s here. Come one, let’s get you to sit up.” He clasps your hand in his, before gently lifting you from your horizontal position. You lean towards him, wanting to bask in his presence more, but he hums at you, urging you to sit back. Your face makes contact with the back cushion of the couch once more, and you can’t help the pout that sports your face. With your ears no longer buffered, the loud noise from the party rushes back to you at full force.

“It’s so loud here,” You murmur, squeezing Haechan's hand, to which he responds with a gentle squeeze of his own “So loud, ‘s annoying. Everyone’s annoying, but you, and Naeun is wetting her dick right now,” You don’t even care if your words are coherent or not, and judging by Haechan’s warm gaze, it doesn’t seem like he cares either.

He cups one side of your face, covering your ear from the ruckus of the party while having you look at him. “You wanna go home, baby?”

You struggle just a bit to find his gaze, but smile at him anyway, pressing a gentle kiss against the palm of his hand that’s cupping your face. “Baby...yeah, wanna go home.” He pulls his hand back at your agreement, pecking his lips at the same spot you kissed him, before helping you to your feet. "Alright then, let's get you out of here."

[SATURDAY; 2:46 AM]

haechan <3: hope youre okay

haechan <3: drink lots of water when you wake up

[SATURDAY; 11:03 AM]

you: i wanna hibernate my life away

haechan <3: aw dont do that

haechan <3: maybe try a panadol first?

you: i will now

you: thank you for last night 🤍my prince charming

haechan <3: yours?

you: ..

you: anyways.

you: how can i repay u :(

haechan <3: dont gotta repay me for anything

you: let me have this one

haechan <3: if you insisttttt

haechan <3: come over to mine tmr

you: how would i be repaying u that way??

haechan <3: i get to see your pretty face

you: 😐

haechan <3: ik you’re kicking ur feet rn

you: stop stalking me omg

You shuffle on your feet as you wait for Haechan to come to the door, feeling a bit stiff as you stand in the hallway of the apartment he lives in. When you had used the excuse of not wanting to annoy his roommates by coming over, he had attempted to reassure you that you won’t need to worry, because they won’t be here.

The keyword is attempted. You feel far from reassured that it’ll just be the two of you for the rest of the day, afraid that the freedom of being home alone with him would lead to your mind jumping to places you’re not sure about.

As you fidget in the hallway, your mind races with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You've spent time with Haechan in various places, but this is the first time you'll be alone together, let alone in his apartment. The possibilities and implications of this newfound privacy make your heart race.

Finally, the door swings open, and Haechan stands there with a welcoming smile. He's dressed casually, the hem of his white t-shirt hanging just at the waist of his grey sweatpants. "Hey, come in." he greets, strolling aside to let you in. Stepping in, you can’t help but let your eyes wander around, curious about the space he lives in. You’re surprised to find it in a messy-clean state— there are no stains or food scattered around, but there are many things clustered upon one another, as if either Haechan or his two roommates, Renjun and Jeno, were too lazy to put them away or thought they might need it in the near future.

He sees you scanning his living space and starts scratching at his neck in embarrassment. “Ah, I thought we could just hang out in my room, that’s why I didn’t make an effort to clean here..” He points back towards his room, and you feel shame bubble in you when your mind wanders. Maybe he just didn’t want to mess with his friends’ belongings scattered in the living room. Or maybe he wanted you in his room and on his bed.

Before you can dwell too much on those thoughts, you offer a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it's totally fine," you say, doing your best to sound nonchalant despite the butterflies in your stomach. "Your room sounds great."

He smiles at you warmly, before gently reaching forward and holding your hand in his, pulling you towards his kitchen. He pops open a cupboard, and in you see an abundance of snacks. “Wanted you to pick anything you like,” He chuckles when he sees your amazed appearance. “We spend, like, seventy percent of our monthly grocery funds on these things,” He grabs a few snacks to his liking, urging you to pick your faves too. Afterwards, you shuffle behind him towards his room, which you can’t help but study again. A single candle emits a soft, warm glow on his desk, and a few pillows, seemingly borrowed from the couch, are arranged neatly on his bed. You can’t help but feel warm at the prospect that he had gone out of his way to clean his room like this for you.

Heading towards his bed, you place the snacks down at the bedside table, curiously glancing around at Haechan as he roams around, switching on the TV that’s mounted opposite his bed, sitting at the edge of his bed where his laptop sits, trying to connect his streaming service. “Is there anything you want to watch?”

You hum in thought, “I’m fine with anything.” You settle at the edge of his bed, feeling a bit unsure of where to sit. Once Haechan puts a movie on, he smiles at your awkward demeanour, fiddling with your fingers as you look at his bedsheets. He goes up to the headboard of his bed and pats the space next to him, signalling for you to join him. Smiling at his initiative, you take a seat next to him, getting more comfortable against the pillows when he wraps his arm behind your back, sinking back into the pillows.

You truly did try your best; you looked at the subtitles and read them along with the voices of the actors on the screen, and tried to encapture the scenes and backgrounds, but you couldn’t, for the life of you, fully focus on the movie. Not with the warm contact that is spread at your back, your shoulders pressed against Haechan. It also doesn’t help that your eyes travel to the ripple of the fabric of his sweatpants when he readjusts himself to a more comfortable position, or that you envision his soft grunts of moving around as something else whispered deeper into your ear.

It doesn’t seem like you’re good at keeping your feelings at bay, though. Haechan playfully squeezes your side after noticing you lost in thought, your gaze lingering on the tantalizing glimpse of skin between his shirt and waistband. “Is the movie too boring?” Your eyes snap up to his face, now feeling a mix of shame and guilt for letting your mind travel elsewhere.

“No! It’s just…” You trail off as you try racking your brain for an excuse. “Sorry, was jus’ thinking.” You feel another squeeze at your side, and if you were standing at this very moment your knees would’ve given out on you. You find it unfair that he’s able to do all this and drive you up the wall so easily.

He hums at your words before his gaze goes back to the movie playing. You almost scoff at his indifference, but also go back to looking at the TV. Two can play that game.

But you fall short once more when you feel him squeeze your waist once more, this time with his finger sleeping under your shirt, his pinky in contact with your skin. You can feel your heart racing and your palms getting sweaty. You try to tame yourself, to appear calm and composed, but deep down you know you can't help it.

You let your hand drop casually on his thigh, turning yourself to lean more into his body, trying to gauge his reaction. But he remains unfazed, expression unchanged as he merely adjusts himself slightly to accommodate for your new position. You decide to take it a step further, subtly squeezing your body against his, making sure to somehow slot your boobs against him, wanting him to feel more of you.

This guy's got a thick skin, you think, his demeanour as unyielding as ever. He doesn't show that your touch gets to him as he looks at you shifting closer to him. But if you look closely, there's a little twinkle in his eyes, a quick hint that suggests you're getting to him.

"Can I hug you?" he asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and anticipation. He chuckles, clearly amused by your eagerness as you nod your head, and wraps both of his arms around your waist. You take this opportunity to finally feel more of him, and give him something to be distracted with. You straddle his thigh, accepting his embrace as you slot your head at his collarbone.

His hands stiffen at your back, no doubt from feeling the heat of your body against his so suddenly, but he doesn’t let anything else on, as he starts to stroke your lower back, now cooing at you. “What’s got your pretty head all occupied, hmm?”

You hate how easily he’s able to pin this on you, his hands against you and his words whispered in your ear making you feel hot all over. Another soft squeeze of his fingers at your side reminds you of his question, and you feel shame climb up your spine before you’ve even uttered your answer.

“You,” pulling back from him, you look directly at him when you say this, voice almost breathless. You feel his thigh against your core covered by your shorts, and you hope the light press of your heat against him goes unnoticed. “My heads full of you, has been. Thought about you, about this,” The drive of your hips against his leg is now done with purpose, as you feel him stiffen at your boldness, almost making you whimper when you rut down. “Can’t stop thinking about you,”

He lets out a soft sigh when you ground your hips against him again, brows furrowed as he looks at your desperate state. You see a blush spread across his cheeks and creep up his neck, while he tilts his head back slightly, breathing in deeply as if to find composure within himself. He’s both flustered at your sudden ramblings about him, all while feeling a swell in his chest that he’s the cause of your current desperate state. His hands now find claim at your waist, neither pushing you down on him stronger nor pulling you away, simply gripping you as if in need of something to ground him. His eyes are wispy when they look up at you, mouth parted open as he takes a shuddering breath in. “What did you think about?”

What didn’t you think about? His touch on you drives you further, urging you to feel more. You shift your knees to meet at his hips, as you settle yourself down at his groin. “Thought about kissing you,” Your hands splay themselves at his chest, your pupils no doubt dilated the way your gaze settles on his plump lips. He bites on them, no doubt teasing you for something so close yet so far from where you want it; on your lips, both the top and bottom ones.

When you lean in to embrace his lips with yours, his head swivels around as his lips land on your cheek, gaze casts down as his fingers hover over your stomach, before descending down to your clothed core, your loose shorts giving him easy access. His breath fans hot against your face when he swipes his fingers ever so lightly against you, nail catching on your clit through the fabric of your panties. A soft, pathetic sound leaves your lips, as you feel your hole clench on nothing with the brief contact that he’s had with you.

You go to grind yourself down against his fingers, wanting to feel more of him everywhere, but his hands travel to your hips, grip strong as he stops you from pressing against him. He tuts at you, hooded eyes travelling up your body, catching on your chest, where you pant lightly, breasts going up and down. When he finally lets his eyes go past your boobs, his grip turns harsh as he presses you back when you try to ground yourself against him once more.

“My pretty girl,” His tone is sweet, but you can’t help but feel like he’s mocking you. “I asked you a question,” When he sees your faraway gaze, he chuckles against you before leaning in, letting his lips graze against your collarbone now exposed by him pulling your collar aside for access, nipping at your skin before soothing it with a swipe of his tongue. You scramble through your brain as you try to remember the question he asked, too occupied with his fingernails digging into you.

As if he can sense what's running through your mind, he refreshes your memory.

“What,” another playful bite lands, harder this time at the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Did you think about, baby?”

Gathering your thoughts, you now realise that he won’t be giving you what you need unless you tell him. You feel your stomach burn low as you recall the moments you’ve let your mind wander.

“Thought about your fingers,” You start, looking earnestly at him as if to convince him of your burning need. “Your fingers in me, fucking into me.” You pant when his hand drops the grip it had on your waist, his digits swiping at your core through your panties. When he presses the pads of his fingers against you, he curses lightly under his breath at how wet you already are. Using his other hand to tuck the seat of your underwear aside, his fingers meet your bare pussy, swiping up and down against your folds, spreading your slick around.

“Fuck,” You sigh when he slowly presses his middle finger in, going till his knuckle meets your skin before pulling back out, his eyes seeking your face, wanting to see the pleasure in your expression. You squeak in surprise when he pushes another finger straight after, before building a slow rhythm against you. “Keep going pretty,” He sighs, his gaze captivated by your face. His hand that’s tucked against your underwear goes to your folds, thumb pushing against your clit in encouragement.

“Also,” You gulp down a breath of air. “Also thought of going down on my knees for you,”

“Fuck,” Haechan’s head falls back as you say this, his fingers quickening in speed. “Yeah? What else?” You whimper at his new pace and at his onslaught of touches against your sensitive clit, body clenching up when he taps at your bud quickly.

“Ab-about…about you fucking me,” You squeeze your body closer to him. “Fucking me until I can’t think,” You don’t realise that you’re moving now, grinding up and down against his fingers that are fucking into you.

Haechan groans at your words and actions, eyes squeezing shut as you start to chase your own pleasure. “That’s it baby, fuck. Wanted me to fuck my pretty girl dumb?” He hums against your cheek, placing a sweet peck against your skin, a stark contrast between his words and his grip on you.

You try to gather your wits, but Haechan lets his other hand wander up your body, shoving your shirt and bra away in favour of freeing your boobs. You moan when he pinches your nipple, your body shuddering at the different stimulations.

“Didn’t know my baby was so dirty,” He chuckles at your reaction, scratching his nail against your nipple before rolling it between his fingers. “When did you get like this?”

“In the car,” Your confession slows his movements, but you’re too busy chasing your high to realise. “On the drive when you were next to me. Your scent was jus’.. Everywhere.” Your hands clasp on his shoulder for support, thighs aching as you grind your core against his hand. “Wanted you to take me right there,”

You just miss the sharp intake of breath he takes, eyes going unfocused at your desperate form trying to find some sort of release, getting off only with his two fingers in you.

“Fuck,” He moans breathily, eyebrows furrowing. “Shit— so fucking dirty, thinking of wanting to take me where anyone can hear, can look.” He keeps his fingers still for longer, wanting to see how far you’d go to chase your own high, slick sounds tightening the knot in his stomach.

His eyes look mesmerised as he watches your every move, even when you move yourself up and off of his fingers. You start shaking your head, clawing at his clothes. “Can’t,” You groan, “Can’t finish like this.. Need you, so bad.”

Haechan moans at your desperate hands before copying your movements, shoving your shorts and underwear away before letting you do the same. His cock bobs against his stomach once you pull it out of its confines, and you feel drool gather at your mouth at the sight, tip adorned in a pretty shade of red and glistening with precum, leaving a spot of wetness against his skin, exposed by you pushing his shirt up, wanting to see more of him.

Once all your clothes are off and discarded, you don’t hesitate to reach forward and kiss him, lips parting against each other as you press your bodies together. Your hand travels to his chest, nail catching on his nipple as you let your fingers descend down, the scratch on his sensitive skin making his body jolt, hips bucking forward as a whine falls from his lips.

Your hand clasps his dick in your hold, separating from the kiss to look down as you pump him a few times. He moans against your cheek as his eyes fall shut, not being able to look at you pumping him for long, scared he’ll finish right then and there.

“Pretty doll,” He pants. “Love —fuck, love having you against me,” At the pet name, you can’t help but keen, wanting to hear more of his praises. Planting one more kiss against his plush lips, you let your mouth travel down against his figure, only stopping when you’re right at his groin. You arch your back for better leverage, before guiding the tip to your awaiting mouth. You press your tongue against him, kitten licking around the head as you gather his precum, before pressing an open mouth kiss.

“Fuck,” He hisses when you let his tip go past your lips. “So good, such a good girl for me,” You keen at his words, humming around his cock before going further down, wanting to take more of him. When your tongue swipes at the underside of his head, you feel his thighs tense around you, hip stuttering a bit from wanting to fuck against the tight heat of your mouth. Haechan tilts his head down as he squeezes open his eyes, wanting to see you take him in.

You don’t get to test your limit on his dick before you feel a hand settle at your cheek, pulling you up and off of him. He leans down, meeting you halfway to kiss you, tasting a bit of himself when your tongues swipe against each other.

“Couldn’t,” he pants when you pull away from each other, hands gripping your waist as he manoeuvres you to lay flat against the bed. “Wanted to fuck you, couldn’t handle not being in you any longer.”

You smile at his desperation, letting yourself be handled into the position he wants you in. His cock shines with a mix of your spit and his precum, tip sensitive and red as he grips at his base, giving it a few pumps before tapping it against you. You whimper when his head meets your clit, finally feeling the pressure again where you want it the most. Haechan can feel his composure slowly slipping away, the control he’s had before withering as he sees you laid before him, chest heaving up and down and you wait for his next move. So pliant and so ready, all for him.

He says just as much, as he leans over you, placing a hand near your head while the other repeatedly taps his dick against your folds. “Look so perfect, so needy. All for me, right?”

“Yours,” You drape your hands over his shoulders, wanting to feel him all over you. “All yours,”

“Yeah?” His voice is soft as he says this, eyes lilting up from your pussy hugging his cock, as he slides over your folds, gathering your wetness onto himself. “All mine.”

His eyes are now caught between your bodies, mesmerised by the way his dick looks between your folds. Straightening his back, you see him get hypnotised by the slide of your bodies together, keening into you further when you moan and writhe against him as his swollen tip brushes over your clit.

“Good for me,” he lets his hand slide down your body, gripping up and down your thigh before he grips himself at the base. Without another word, he slowly pushes himself into you, drowning in your moans as he bottoms out. You feel your walls clench tightly, sucking him in as you arch your body into him.

You curse when his pelvis stills at your hips, but he doesn’t move, staying fixed against you before dipping his head down, and landing a kiss on your lips. This time, his lips move with less fervour and more passion against you, suddenly slowing down the rush you feel buzzing in the air between you.

“Haechan, please,” You pant when he separates from you, hugging your legs around his waist and pushing your bodies together in lieu of wanting more. “Please move, want more,”

You don’t miss the shiver the throb of his cock inside you when you clench again, wanting to encourage him to do something. He presses a sweet kiss against your lips once more, and another against your cheek before pulling back; enough to be able to travel his gaze all over your face, taking in your dilated pupils and glistening lips.

His eyes locked onto yours with a sincerity that sent shivers down your spine. "I like you," Haechan confesses, breath warm against your skin. "I want us to be more than just this; than just this moment."

You’re taken aback by the sudden confession, yet you feel your body warm for reasons other than the heat that’s between your legs.

"I don't want this to end either." Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Haechan’s relieved smile lets you know that he’s heard you nevertheless. Diving down, he kisses you hard, teeth lightly clacking against one another as the both of you smile into each others’ mouths. He moves back a bit, before thrusting in and filling you once more, letting you feel him fully to the hilt over and over again. He moans low against your lips, and you feel your thighs shake around his waist, feeling overwhelmed by his touch and sounds.

“Can I,” He pants as he picks up the speed, his hand going to your leg before pulling it up to press flush against your chest. “Can I be yours?”

“Yes,” You whine. “Be mine, all mine.” You clench around his cock again, making him groan out against you. “Fuck, Haechan. I’m all yours. Please,” You aren’t sure what you’re begging for at this point, but it seems like Haechan is just a step ahead, knowing what you want before you can want it.

Pressing your legs against your chest, he goes to drive himself right flush against you, pressing you into a mating press. “S-shit—”

“Oh my god,” You sob as you feel him deep inside. “S’ deep,”

“You’re so pretty,” His eyes cast down between your linked bodies as he says this. “So pretty and hot, taking me so well.” He moves to clasp your leg over his shoulder, stretching you open for him, the pain in your body is nothing in comparison to the pleasure he delivers with each plough of his dick into you. “Can’t believe you wanted me to do this to you in front of everyone,”

“God—” Haechan’s words combined with the join of his finger against your clit send you into a fury, body clenching as your back arches off the bed. “Gonna—”

”Fuck you with my fingers where everyone can see,” His fingers tap incessantly against your bundle of nerves, hissing as you grip his bicep. “Would you let everyone hear you come? Show everyone who can make you feel this good,” He’s now mumbling to himself, hips snapping with a whimper falling from his lips when he feels your walls tighten against him. “Look at you, all fucked out and pretty. Who else makes you feel this good?”

“You,” you gasp, now panting, body wanting to writhe away from the overwhelming amount of feelings you’re filled with. “Only you can make me feel this good Haechan, fuck—”

“Are you close?” He hums, and a groan slips out from his lips at the nod of your head, watching the way you bounce on his cock, tits bouncing up and down from each drive of his hips. “You’ve been so good, let go, baby,” He leans in to plant a kiss on your lips and cheek, and with a few more targeted taps against your clit and a steady thrust of his hips, you feel hot white course through your body as you reach your peak. He peppers kisses down your face and into your neck, hips slowing down as he burrows his head in your neck, allowing you time to come down from your high.

As he goes to pull out and move away, you channel all your force to keep your legs locked behind his back, keeping him in place inside of you. “Inside,” Your voice is hoarse from feeling fucked out. “Come inside me, please Hyuckie,”

It seemed that your words were all he needed to push him over the edge, as his hips stutter once, twice, before you feel the twitch of his cock inside of you and spurts of cum fill your cunt. His whimper muffles against your neck, bodies running hot as sweat gathers on your skin.

“You good?” His voice is soft when he says this, hand coming to caress your hair and cheek, a stark contrast against teh harsh plough of his hips earlier. You smile dazedly as you lean against his palm, nodding and kissing his hand, which he pulls back gently and places a kiss at the exact spot your lips landed, before coming to kiss you directly.

“Bear with me,” He mumbles when he pushes himself up straight, and you wince when he slowly pulls himself out of you. You can feel the slow gush of his cum seeping outside of your hole, and Haechan’s eyes looked mesmerised once more as he looks at your cunt. Almost as if by reflex, his fingers reach out to your sensitive core, gathering the messy mix of your fluids before plunging his fingers back into you, plugging your pussy back full with his cum.

You whine loudly at the overstimulation, spent body twitching as you let Haechan do what he wants. “S-sorry,” He still seems dazed as he says this, eyes unable to stray away from your pulsing pussy. “Couldn’t help it…” He pulls out his fingers, spreading them and looking at the wet mixture of your sticky release.

“Haechan…” His eyes widen when you mumble his name, but soften when you reach out your hands weakly, gesturing him in for an embrace. “C’mere,”

Like a teddy bear, he cuddles into you without hesitation, body curving into you as he gently moves both of you around to lay comfortably. He kisses the crown of your head, cheek smushing against your forehead as he tries to get as close to you as possible. “Was that good?”

You hum. “Everything I wanted and more, you were so good to me.” Although you know he tried to hide it, you still feel the giddiness course through him, his skin now growing warm against you at your praise.

You can slowly feel the exhaustion catch up, the task of keeping your eyelids peeled open getting more difficult as time passes by.

“Thank you, Channie,” You mumble tiredly, feeling his skin rumble beneath you as he hums.

“Anything for my baby,” And before you know it, you slowly fall asleep.

It didn’t take long for people to realise the two of you are together, and it wasn’t even Naeun’s fault this time.

The one who makes it known to the whole campus that you’re together is Haechan, and you would be flattered that he can’t help but mention you every second sentence, always finding a way to say the phrase ‘my girlfriend’ in any given context, but you also can’t help but be embarrassed about the fact that he’s parading you around like this.

So, everyone knows you’re together. But they also know the water bucket prank, and how you both now know who it actually was.

Being the partner of the campus prankster and class clown means that everyone knows about the incident of you getting soaked right before your mandatory class. But when you had thought that it was Haechan to blame, the car ride back from the village had raised your suspicions of Minseok, when he had tried to convince you that it was, in fact, Haechan who pulled it; his source being.. gut feeling?

Jihoon had also confessed a week after the camping trip about how Minseok had drunkenly confessed to wanting to prank the prankster, setting up the water bucket thinking Haechan was to attend that class. Unfortunately, his plan fell through when you walked in instead.

You would’ve accepted Minseok’s apology for dunking the water on you, even if he didn’t intend to do that to you; but that’s the problem. He didn’t apologise and even tried to deny the fact that he had planned on doing that when you had brought it up to him. He had avoided both you and Haechan, which was such a petty thing to do. With the grudge you’ve been holding against Haechan when you thought he was the original pranker, you’re unable to tone it down with Minseok this time around. You don’t want to start with the fact that it was a simple, water bucket again.

So it goes without further saying that the party that’s being hosted by Sunwoo again is not one without purpose. Haechan had always had something up his sleeve when something like this happened (which, taking into account his reputation, this wouldn’t be his first rodeo). But unfortunately (but fortunate for one), you’re nowhere to be seen yet.

Minseok is bouncing his leg as he sits on the couch, hand gripping his cup which was been empty for more than twenty minutes, too nervous to move off of the couch and get himself more in case anything happens to him. When people come up to him, offering him a dance or a shot, he shakes his head no vehemently, not wanting to take the chance.

When Naeun drops down next to him on the couch, drink swiping around in his cup, his eyes widen in fright as his heart starts beating erratically. The girl giggles at his cautiousness, going to smack at his shoulder, which he effectively avoids just in case that was part of an act.

“It’s so funny—” Naeun’s giggle gets cut off by a hiccup. “Because, you’re so scared now. Did you plan on gluing yourself to the couch or is that what they pulled on you?” On her claim, Minseok’s bouncing leg immediately ceases any movement, as his body suddenly goes stiff, now looking at the girl beside him incredulously.

Naeun shrieks in the middle of her laughter at his expression, as Minseok suddenly shoots up from his sitting position, looking at the couch he was just perched on while his hands grasp at his ass, checking for any damage. Naeun almost falls to the floor with how hard she’s laughing now, heaving at Minseok’s expense.

“Not funny,” Minseok frowns at her toppled figure, now warily scanning around the place once more, feeling vulnerable now that he’s standing.

Naeun rubs at the corner of her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. “They’re not here tonight if that helps.” It took the wary man a few seconds to realise who she was talking about. “Haechan had a last-minute shift to cover or something early tomorrow morning, and so they both decided to skip out on this party.” She chuckles against her cup, taking a sip as she lets her eyes scan Minseok’s quivered stance. “So you can relax. For now. I'm gonna go find the love of my life.. I mean Jeno,”

The gleam in her eyes grows as she stands when Minseok scans around the party once more, before heading to the kitchen, deciding that he finally needs another drink.

Walking next to Haechan, you shush him when he suddenly starts talking loudly, animated expressions making you laugh while you shove at his shoulder with your own. You walk down the campus hallways, making your way towards the broadcast club room for today's meeting, with Haechan insisting on dropping you off.

When you’re shoving Haechan away from poking at you, nearing the door of the meeting room, your attention catches on to another person lingering in the stark empty hallway. When you look to you’re side, you’re met with Minseok, his expression shocked still as he, too, heads towards the room.

“Oh,” You’re a bit breathless from trying to avoid all of your boyfriend's onslaught attacks. “Hey Minseok,”

“W-what..” He starts, before clearing his throat, not wanting to come off as weak or scared. “What are you guys doing?”

Haechan’s arm is slung around your shoulder, squeezing you to his side. “Just dropping her off at the broadcast room.” Oh, of course. The same reason why he’s also situated in the hallway.

“Go on, Seok.” You motion towards the door, encouraging him to go ahead first. “I’ll say bye to Haechan and I’ll come i—”

“No!” Minseok exclaims with his hands stretched out, shaking them vehemently before dropping them down after realising how dramatic his actions were. “Uh, it’s okay. I’ll wait, and we can all go in together." He hopes his expression comes off as kind, but from the look on both of your faces, it seems to be more similar to a grimace than anything.

“Actually,” Haechan starts, wanting to get rid of the awkwardness swirling. “I’ll come in too. Jihoon needed my help with a sound system.” Even with Minseok closer to the door, it doesn’t seem like the boy is gonna make an effort to go in; not unless you two do, and prove to him that nothing is waiting for him on the other side.

“Well, okay..” You glance at your boyfriend with a questioning look, to which Haechan merely shrugs at you, his mouth turned downward. Stalking towards the door, you open it slowly stepping in while holding it open for the two men to get in. Minseok is still vigilant, looking at all corners of the open door for anything out of place, famously a bucket of something, maybe.

But when you head in and look back at him expectantly, he stalks in eventually, embarrassed at seeming so cautious about —seemingly— nothing in particular.

A chorus of greetings is shared, with you and Haechan waving hi to everyone and heading towards your friends, sitting down and starting conversation. Minseok doesn’t let up, getting a thorough look at the room he’s frequented a lot, scanning for any misplacements or outliers. He squats down to take a look below the table and cranes his neck to take a good look at the ceiling. He’s the last to realise the room going silent, as everyone looks at him expectantly, casting glances at each other at his odd behaviour.

It’s Sohee who breaks his quest. “Are you gonna take a seat or not?” At that, Minseok startles, before realising that everyone’s attention is caught on him. His cheeks warm up as he goes to his seat, tucking himself against the table before muttering a meek apology.

As the meeting commences, Minseok can’t help but look around the room restlessly, feeling on edge even when everyone sends him weird glances when he bounces his leg endlessly or takes a look to his left and right periodically.

But the meeting ends, and nothing out of the ordinary happens. Everyone gets out of their seats, and you head towards Haechan and Jihoon, who are huddled in a corner next to the stereo, fiddling around with it as they finish up their work. Minseok suddenly feels ashamed for suspecting the two of you; just because he was menacing enough to pull something doesn’t mean you would do the same. Packing his things from the table, he goes to stand up and heads towards you, repeating in his head how to apologise to you two. But even with a hand braced against the table to steady him, he couldn’t get to his feet.

“What—” He tries to stand up once more, both hands now braced against the chairs’ handles, but to no avail. The chair topples ever so slightly as he exerts all his force, and it's as if he’s glued to the chair.

“You—!” When you turn to look at him, you topple over with laughter, your hand finding Haechan’s shoulder to shake, wanting to bring his attention towards Minseok who’s struggling against the chair. Haechan grins, coming to a stand next to you and looking at the boy. Everyone else giggles along at the carried-out prank, slowly filling out the room but not before taking a quick picture and video.

“Oh no, are you okay Minseok?” Jihoon’s fake worry makes shame bubble in said person's stomach. “It seems like you’re stuck,”

Coming up to him, you place a pair of pants on the table near him, giving him a sweet smile. “I don’t think you’ll be able to come out in one piece, so here’s some emergency supply.” You give him a pat against his shoulder, before Haechan softly grabs your hand, bringing you towards the door before giving Minseok a wave goodbye.

thank you loads for reading till the end!! I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, its late rn and I'm not bothered to really go through it thoroughly once more. also, will I ever learn how to pace my fics after the two characters get together????? guess we wont ever know

if you liked this, please don't hesitate to let me know!

#nct dream fluff #haechan x reader #haechan fluff #haechan smut #nct haechan smut #haechan scenarios #nct smut #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct dream smut #7dreamnet

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honeyskywitch · 23 days

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prettier than a peach (john "bucky" egan x reader)

In which you're his favorite nurse, and John Egan tries his hardest to win your heart.

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: Bucky Egan is a warning all on his own. Fluffy, fluffy fluff.

Disclosure: Please do not copy my work on any other sites. I will be posting this here & on ao3 shortly. This fic is based on the characters brought to life in the Apple TV series Masters of the Air, not the real people the characters were based on.

Note: Peach!Reader is going to make many appearances, I'm going to make this a series. Without further adieu, enjoy.

It all started on a Saturday morning. It was early—really early. You hadn't really expected to have anyone walking around near the infirmary, but at half past 0300, you heard the sounds of heavy footfalls, with slurred speech and another low voice arguing.

You get up to look out the window, and not a second goes by before the door swings open. You recognize the two men instantly: Major Gale "Buck" Cleven is half dragging Major John "Bucky" Egan into the infirmary.

"Morning, ma'am." Major Cleven's blue eyes zero in on you immediately, and he offers you a kind (and apologetic) smile. "My buddy here had a bit too much to drink and got himself into a scuffle with some guys at the bar."

Your gaze flickers to Major Egan, studying him with a calculating gaze. He's going to have a black eye, you notice, and he's holding onto the left side of his ribs. It's not the first time you've heard of the Major getting into a fight, but it's the first time it's happened on your shift.

"Alright, Major." You're addressing Egan now, coming to his side to support his left side. "Let's get you settled in bed so I can take a look at those ribs."

You are wholly unprepared for the absolute human hurricane that is Major John Egan.

"Tryin' to get me in bed already, doll?" His words are slurred from too much alcohol, but his voice is deep and husky, and you hate the way it makes you shiver. "I don't even know your name."

Major Cleven sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes. "John Clarence Egan." That accent drawls his friend's name, and his tone is very much annoyed. "You're in the presence of a lady—a nurse—for crying out loud. Behave."

"Oh, c'mon, she walked right into that one." He insists, "She thought it was funny. You thought it was funny, right, doll?"

Stormy blue eyes are suddenly fixed on your face. It's almost like time stops for you; of course you've seen him around before, but the moment you really look into his eyes, it's like you can see your whole life ahead of you. He's quiet now, just watching you, and he finds himself absolutely anamored with the delicate blush working its way onto your face.

"It was a little funny." You admit it, but you don't meet his eyes again. You're too afraid of what you'll see on his face, because while you're falling hard and fast at first sight, he's only flirting with a woman. That's all it is to him, you're sure of it.

His chest is warm when you open his jacket and roll up his shirt. You have to ignore how beautifully masculine he is on order to focus on your job. Your eyes flicker to his abdomen, and sure enough, there are wicked bruises starting to show on the skin that covers his ribs. You're pretty sure they're not broken, but you have to be sure.

"This may hurt." You warn him, your fingers prodding gently at his side, and he hisses quietly under his breath. You don't feel anything out of place, but he'll definitely need a few hours of rest and something to ease the pain.

"Your hands are freezing." He grumbles, and before you can say anything, he's got both of them in his much bigger, warmer hands. "There, that's better."

"You're unbelievable, John Egan." Major Cleven speaks up from behind you, his tone more exasperated than anything else.

You carefully extract your hands from Major Egan's, and you try to ignore the way he pouts when you're no longer touching him. "I'll keep him overnight for observation, Major Cleven. Make sure he rests and heals up a bit."

Major Cleven looks strangely relieved, but still, he frowns. "Are you sure? I can handle Bucky; I don't want him causing you any trouble."

His gentle demeanor makes you smile. "I appreciate that, Major, but I've dealt with far rowdier men than Major Egan here. You go on and get some rest; I'll handle this."

Major Egan looks irritated that you and his best friend were talking about him like he wasn't even there. "Just call me Bucky. Or I'll take John." He tells you, his tone demanding, his lips pulled into yet another pout.

"You behave yourself." Major Cleven points a finger at him, his face stern. When he turns back to you, he offers another warm smile. "You might as well call me Buck, too, since you're saving me from trying to sleep in the same room as that one while he's drunk."

You offer your name in return, and you offer a comforting smile as you shoo Buck off to bed.

It's quiet for a moment after the other Major takes his leave. You wonder if the alcohol has made Major Egan fall asleep. You're surprised to see his eyes open and staring directly at you when you turn around.

"Can't remember if I've ever seen you around before." He says, his words still slightly slurred as he speaks. You can't recall ever having heard a voice like his before. Gravely, warm and steady, even with alcohol in his system. "I'd remember that face; you're so pretty."

"And you're drunk." You answer, turning away before he can notice that you're blushing. You've dealt with flirty airmen before, but this is the first time it's really gotten to you. "Get some rest, Major."

He's quiet for a moment, and you're grateful for a reprieve from the flirting as you mark the log book with a pencil. The only noise for a few moments is the lead scratching against the paper as you write.

"I'm gonna call you Peach."

When you turn back, his lips tug into the most heart-stopping smirk you've ever seen. "You could just call me Nurse." You point out, and for some reason, that only seems to egg him on.

"Well, I like Peach. You're prettier than a peach. Sweet as one too; look at that blush." You're sure you've forgotten how to breathe.

"You're a menace." You answer after you've finally gotten a hold of your emotions. "And it's early; you need rest. Sleep."

"How about a goodnight kiss first?" You almost toss the log book at him. Almost. "Just one on the forehead, and then I'll sleep. Scout's honor, Peach."

You sigh, your eyes darting over his face for a moment. Sure, he's a flirt, but you've never heard of him ever harming a woman. So you walk over to his bedside and lean down.

His forehead is warm, an errant curl tickling your cheek as your lips press against his skin. You feel him shudder under the touch of your lips against him, but then his breathing evens back out as you lean away.

"Alright, Major, you got your kiss. Now sleep." He doesn't miss the way your eyes flicker to his lips and away again, but he does as he's told and rolls over onto his side.

After he falls asleep, the morning is quiet. Your shift at the infirmary ends at 0600 and the nurse who comes to relieve you doesn't seem surprised to see Bucky there. She rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh as you explain how he came to be in a bed in the infirmary.

He's shifting awake as you're leaving, and his blue eyes have just enough time to focus on your retreating form before you're gone. He was a little saddened; he'd been hoping for one more kiss.

Outside, the air is still cool, and the sun is just beginning to peek beyond the horizon. The inky blackness of the sky is lightening to a shade of blue that looks like Major Egan's eyes, and God, you have to stop thinking about him. You really didn't need to get attached.

You pass Buck on the way back to your quarters, and he waves at you with one of his dazzling smiles as he passes. He's wearing his uniform, and you know that means he'll be out in the sky soon enough. You return his smile and wave happily.

Exhaustion sweeps through you as you enter your quarters, and you make quick work of taking your hair pins out and wiping your makeup off. By the time your head hits the pillow, sleep pulls you under. The only things on your mind as you fall asleep are dark curls and blue eyes.

***

Hours later, you blink awake. There's still sunlight flittering in through the curtains over your window, and you sit up to stretch your arms and shoulders. It had to be close to dinnertime, and your stomach rumbles as you slip out of bed and dress in your uniform. Sometimes you missed your dresses back home, but you always felt a sense of pride in your olive drab skirt and jacket. You make sure to swipe on your Victory Red lipstick before you leave.

Placing your cover under your arm, you slip out of your barracks just to come face-to-face with a man. Not just any man, either.

"Peach!" He's still loud, his face wide and warm and friendly. His breath smells like the peppermint gum he's chewing, and his eyes are clear. "Don't think I didn't see you slip out of the room before I could ask for my morning kiss."

He's smiling so brightly that it's like looking at the sun. He's all white teeth and dark curls and blue eyes, his cover tucked under his arm. He's got a single flower in his free hand. You've never seen someone look so devastatingly beautiful.

"Major." You greet him, and it's a good thing you didn't put on blush when refreshing your makeup because your face is hot now. Just from looking at him. "What brings you to the women's barracks?"

"I told you, Peach. Call me Bucky. Or John." His grin never falters. You want to kiss the corner of his mouth, nip at the jawline. He's got so much energy and vitality, and your heart beats so loudly that it's a wonder he can't hear. "Well, I came to offer you this gorgeous flower I found on my way over here and ask if you'd like to dance with me tonight."

You'd forgotten all about the party tonight. A crew completing their 25th mission—you hadn't really planned on attending, but you find yourself very tempted to go. "I'm not really the party type." You admit that, and that dims the light in his eyes a little. You regret the words immediately.

"Just one dance." He steps in closer, taking up more space. He's so tall and broad-shouldered; the man takes up so much room that it makes you feel small in the best way. "For your favorite patient? After all, you did give me a good-night kiss. That's gotta count for something."

Your mind rewinds to that moment, when he was fever-warm and shivering under your lips, when you'd wanted so badly to let him kiss you all over. If you weren't blushing before, you sure are now. "Alright, Bucky," You have to ignore the way he lights up when you use his nickname. "One dance."

#bucky egan x reader #bucky egan #john egan x reader #john bucky egan x reader #mota fic #snow writes.

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forgiveness-in-the-misery · 2 months

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The bathroom scene from Buffy the Vampire Slayer still stands out objectively as just one of the worst things in a show or movie.

The idea of reminding the audience that Spike is a villain doesn’t work that deep into the narrative, but even then there were a million other ways to display him being evil or morally conflicted, ways that didn’t involve a out of pocket attempted rape scene.

Place aside filming it made both actors uncomfortable and both to this day are still pissed about the entire thing and how bizarre and random it was.

The scene didn’t have weight. It was sudden and gross and hellish and then sort of slowly became just this thing. Nothing about it was handled well narratively speaking.

Plus it being what drove Spike to end up accidentally receiving a soul. Other than temporarily driving him insane with guilt a soul made no major difference in Spike as a person. Spike had never been a good vampire, he wasn’t good at being a man in the era he was born into and he wasn’t good at being a vampire.

As a human he was gentle and shy and soft and lovely. Traits that had him mocked and teased and pushed out, seen as “strange” and “unmanly”. Then we see him as a vampire and he’s unique as Dru is unique, he is beyond capable of love. This man, this monster fucking loves intensely and it is his biggest trait as soon as he is introduced.

He is nothing like Angel. Angel as a human was a rude sexist drunk and a bit of a prick. Angel as a vampire was as demonic and horrendous as any monster could be, even with Dru he drove her insane then turned her, he can pretend he loves her just to toy with her, but he would kill her if she proved useless to him. Being cursed with a soul is solely the only thing making him a “good” person. Every time he loses his soul he is dangerous.

But Spike isn’t like that. Even before being chipped, even before the soul he was complicated and complex, he was protective and intense and emotional.

The show if Whedon hadn’t been insistently bizarre about Spike could have explored so much that was already laid out. What does a soul even mean? What does it mean if Spike sand soul is capable of compassion and guilt and love and kindness? That he can break down sobbing when Buffy died, that to honor a promise to a dead woman he watched after her teenage sister? What does it mean that Angel without a soul uses every kindness and softness Buffy and Giles and others showed him against them? That her vulnerability becomes something he can torment her with.

What does a soul mean or matter in this case? Is Angel a good person in any real capacity? His soul given to him as a curse is genuinely the only thing making him be good. And there is something about that that makes Angel terrifying as a character for me. Don’t get me wrong I love Angel good or evil, I love him more in Angel the series, but in general it is difficult to really take him necessarily as good.

While Spike on the other hand is more in line with a human, he isn’t good or bad. He is traumatized and hurt and angry and in love and so human despite having a demon soul.

And these complexities could have been explored. Not a pull it out of left field sexual assault scene.

#buffy the vampire slayer

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genericpuff · 5 months

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All That Glitters is Not Feminism - An Analysis of LO's Brand of "Feminism" and What Remains of its Fanbase (The Twist)

Alright y'all, I've been waiting a hot minute to talk about this because I wanted to see how it fully panned out before saying anything about it. And it's not even specifically about LO, but I do think it's very adjacent to it in a way that I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear. Much of it speaks to how we prop up white writers even at the expense of POC.

This is 'the twist' attached to my first post that I made just a couple hours ago that concerns an entirely other topic but I feel ties into this subject very well.

If you haven't heard, there's this author who recently fucked around in the Del Rey publishing scene.

Her name is Cait Corrain.

In the original tweet calling this person out, names were not dropped, but it was made very clear that what Cait did was unacceptable behavior.

You can read the entire thread that started it all from Xiran here:

There's also a GREAT recap thread from one of the affected authors, Bethany Baptiste:

I want to make it clear that Cait Corrain isn't just a debut author.

Cait Corrain is - or now, was (foreshadowing is a literary device that-) - a debut author who had an agent, a publishing deal with Del Rey (an imprint of Random House which is a MAJOR publisher) and even an upcoming Illumicrate deal - meaning, her book was going to be packaged in a monthly loot crate subscription shipped directly to people's doors, quite possibly one of the best marketing deals a debut author could ever get, usually unheard of in this industry. All the pre-reviews were strong and positive.

Cait's book was literally set up for success. All she had to do was sit back, relax, and watch the fruits of her labors roll in. She had written the book. It was ready for release. The hard part was technically over.

But I guess the racism brainrot got to her because as it turns out, since April - for EIGHT MONTHS - she's been making alternate accounts on GoodReads to review bomb the indie and debut works of her friends and peers, most of whom were POC and did not have the same opportunities set up for them as she did. There are loads of receipts to back this up that you can find in those above threads ^^^

To say that this is appalling is an understatement. This was an intentional and deliberate act of racism by a white queer writer who claimed to be "jealous" - of what, I can't imagine - so much so that she deliberately sabotaged her peers, people who had supported her and her book.

And then when she got caught? She doubled down on it and claimed it was a "friend", also an alternate account she made up.

The exchange between her and this made-up person is actually the funniest shit out of this entire thing, it's so poorly written and as soon as people noticed the time stamps were out of order, that was when it truly cemented her newfound clown status.

"oooooh he's standing right behind me, isn't he?" energy right here LMAO

yes keep expositing cait, that's really selling the "this is a genuine conversation that really happened with a real person" bit 🤡

Anyways, it became abundantly clear that Cait was just going to continue to dig her heels in over something she caused.

This has been a hot topic in the UnpopularLO Discord, not just because of how crazy of a situation it is that we had to talk about it - and we have people within the community who work in the literature and media sector - but because we noticed one very telling thing in the list of series that she had review bombed in her very own personal act of wrath.

You see, Cait made one fundamental mistake that led to her undoing - she didn't just review bomb the works of her peers, she positively reviewed her own book and others.

What's her book about though?

It's an Ariadne x Dionysus retelling set in space.

It's literally another "modern retelling" of Greek myth.

And wouldn't you know it, guess who else created a modern retelling of Greek myth that she included in her positive review raiding while she was sabotaging the work of her actual peers?

Now, I think it goes without saying that what I'm about to say should be taken with MOUNTAINS of salt, I'm sure a lot of you are reading the headline and going, "Ugh, really? You're gonna make this about LO? Could you give it a rest already???"

I need you to understand, with the current state of Rachel's fanbase and 'modern' Greek myth literature as a whole, at this point Lore Olympus - and the works that are literally inspired by it such as A Touch of Darkness - has basically become the shopping cart litmus test of basic decency. It's like when someone says they like Harry Potter - you can't take it automatically at good faith anymore, because there isn't a whole lot separating someone who simply liked Harry Potter as a kid and still rewatches the movies from time to time from someone who fully supports the politics and agenda of J.K. Rowling. No, not everyone who still watches the movies or reads the books fondly is a TERF by default, but it's justifiably a reason for suspicion when the consequences are often too dire to risk.

There's this thing that's been happening in the LO fanbase that I frankly saw coming, but has really recently started to hit its peak. It's what I call the "Kanye Effect", where the comic has become so absurd and backwards in its misogyny and white feminism that the only people who seem to be left supporting LO are the people who are legitimate white feminists and misogynists - because all the normal level-headed people fell off the comic ages ago (or transitioned into the critical side of the community).

I mentioned it in my last post, but it bears repeating - Rachel's fanbase has literally been shipping Hera, a victim of abuse, with her abuser, Kronos. I'm really hoping a lot of them realize how fucked up that is now that Hera herself has called it what it is - abuse - within the comic, but I also can't count on the LO fanbase picking up on that or even noticing it with how quickly people swipe through it each week, it's very apparent at this point that most of LO's readers don't know how to chew their food and don't pay attention when Persephone and Hades aren't onscreen.

But I'm digressing. Or am I? We're talking about Crown of Starlight after all. The debut Dionysus x Ariadne sci-fi/fantasy romance that was quite literally advertised using Lore Olympus as its baseline-

This. This is what the ongoing cultural erasure and white feminist uwu-fication of Greek myth is doing to the literary zeitgeist surrounding Greek myth as a whole. This is why we criticize Lore Olympus and works like it that are created by disingenuous people who only seek to use the assets of Greek myth material as a way to shoot themselves up into fame and stardom. This is why we demand better standards in the literature and webcomic industry, so that people like Rachel and Cait can't use their privileges to quite literally erase the source material that they used to make themselves famous in the first place.

If anything, Cait's actions didn't just affect the people she negatively review bombed, or the people she was affiliated with, but also the people she positively reviewed. While I don't support what Rachel creates, she wasn't the only one who Cait went out of her way to review positively from her alt accounts, there were many others as evident in the Google Doc - but all this really does is tarnish the legitimacy of these books and their ratings by artificially jacking up their numbers that are advertised to others.

Making Greek myth fanfiction or fun creative retellings was never the problem, but it's now being sabotaged alongside so many other genres and mediums by toxic white individuals who can't even keep themselves from committing hate crimes, let alone create something purely for entertainment that's transparent in its illegitimacy, lest it destroy the illusion that these people are qualified to speak over those whose voices are being stifled, often by these very same people. Many of these writers get caught and are still allowed to continue what they're doing - that was certainly what we feared with Cait.

Until today.

It was revealed today that Cait's book will no longer be featured in the Illumicrate May 2024 box.

Del Rey has dropped Crown of Starlight from their publishing schedule.

Daphne Press will be hopefully following suit.

And, most telling of all, Cait's own agent has severed ties with her.

For anyone not familiar with the inner workings of the publishing industry, Cait has essentially been blacklisted. Without an agent or a publishing house, she'll have to entirely rely on her own resources through self-publishing. Unless she manages to sneak her way back in under an alias (which I wouldn't put it past her to try) she no longer has access to the mainstream publishing industry that was already guaranteed for her before she let her 'jealousy' get the better of her.

Her career was already made for her. She had a red carpet laid out for her debut. Her book was getting good pre-reviews and she had quite literally nothing keeping her from her success. The best thing she could have done was nothing. Somewhere in her head, she made up a threat that didn't exist, and sealed her fate in acting on it, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I think in these situations such as with Cait Corrain, Rachel Smythe, and - also recently and relevant - James Somerton, we need to become increasingly aware of how white voices are still overpowering POC voices, not just in their actions, but in the opportunities they're given over others which they then use to further stifle the voices of those they feel "threatened" by or feel entitled to speak over. While neither James nor Rachel have used sock puppet accounts to "take out the competition" (at least as far as we know lmao) James did quite literally steal the words and voices of queer writers who were deserving of their time in the spotlight, and Rachel's work is being quoted as "rewriting Greek myth" as if its blatant gentrification and appropriation should be marketed as some sort of positive.

It's all too common for these deeply-rooted prejudices to rear their ugly heads and for the people who carry them to act out in this way while justifying it as "jealousy" or "a mistake". This isn't jealousy. This isn't a mistake. This isn't someone "starting drama". This is genuine, targeted hate, with the intention of snuffing out the voices of others who should be empowered, not silenced.

All that time and effort, and for what? Racism and petty jealousy? It just goes to show, it doesn't matter how many opportunities you're given, how high up on the ladder you already are - it won't fix the deeply-rooted insecurity and racial pettiness that spurs people on to do such horrible things.

I've spent enough of my time and words today talking about Cait, and James, and Rachel. So to end this off, I want to join in with all the others who have highlighted the books that were review-bombed by Cait, and help in uplifting them so they can have successful debuts. I'll be pre-ordering a few of them, so I'll be happy to make dedicated posts for them in the future after they release. Please consider purchasing them for yourself if you want some new reading material <3

The Poisons We Drink by Bethany Baptiste:

So Let Them Burn by Kamilah Cole:

To Gaze Upon Wicked Gods by Molly X Chang:

Mistress of Lies by K.M. Enright

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White:

(I'm sure there are plenty others so if I missed any here, please let me know so I can add them here and check out their books!)

If there's any silver lining to this, I hope that it makes people aware of the media they consume and who it's being created by. I hope it makes people more willing to seek out the books that aren't getting the same opportunities as Cait Corrain and Rachel Smythe. I hope it's a wake-up call to the industry that matters like this need to be taken seriously and that POC writers are still being silenced under their own noses. And most of all, I hope it's a reminder that we shouldn't even need at this point that this behavior is not okay, no matter what level a person climbs to - that just because someone is part of one minority doesn't mean they're not capable of sabotaging another. It sucks that that has to be said, it sucks that despite these groups being so intersectional there are still people within them who submit to their deeply-rooted insecurities and find ways to feel threatened that they use to justify hateful behavior.

Having a platform is a privilege. It should never be weaponized against your own peers or those who you simply feel "threatened" by for no reason beyond your own imposter syndrome or doubts or internal struggles. Because as much as you may feel like you've earned where you are, that never gives you the right to weaponize your opportunities against others who were never given those same opportunities in the first place. "Feminism" is not using your power to crush "other women". "Progressiveness" is not exclusive to the progress that only benefits you.

I wish only the best to those who were affected by the actions of Cait Corrain. You deserve to be heard and seen and appreciated for the work you do and the abuse you've had to tolerate. I look forward to your debuts in 2024 <3

#cait corrain #support POC writers #crown of starlight #the poisons we drink #so let them burn #the voyage of the damned #mistress of lies #say isn't it funny how all the debut books cait tried to sabotage accurately describe her and her actions LOL #that's what we call irony #debut authors 2024 #booktok #webtoon critical #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus

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multifandomgirl08 · 5 months

Text

Glass Houses - [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Mother!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: When Raymond had called you about going and getting lunch, you should have known that something was going on.

Warning(s): Jos Verstappen (Being himself/an asshole), Mixed formatting (Story + Article), Max and Reader get into an argument about Reader going and meeting Jos, Max opens up to Reader about Jos, Max and Reader making up at the end

A/N: Although this chapter, like Stones To Throw, is pretty heavy in terms of topic. These were some of my favorites to write for this series. This is also the longest chapter of this whole series.

Words: 4k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

When Raymond had called you about going and getting lunch, you should have known that something was going on. You and Raymond never talked much without Max around.

Max was at Milton Keynes for testing this week before the season started again, Nico was at school for the day and the sitter was taking care of Nikita for the few hours that you would be out of the house. When you showed up at the restaurant, you saw Raymond talking to someone who was sitting across from him.

As you got closer to the table you couldn’t help but stop in your tracks. Raymond was sitting and talking with Max’s father. Who you had never formally met, or talked to at all. But you knew it was him, from the photos online to see the outline of the same man in your driveway 7 months ago. What was Raymond thinking inviting you to lunch with them?

You timidly walked up to the table before hearing Raymond speak, “Y/N,” He said with a slight nod.

“Hey Raymond,” You greeted him, letting your eyes sweep past Jos.

You didn’t want to look at him, mostly because of the stories that you had heard from Max and Victoria. Jos was a good grandfather to Victoria’s boys, but every time she brought it up with Max you could tell that he was getting angry about it. You always had to keep the peace between them when those conversations started.

Jos stood up from his chair reaching his hand out to take yours. You glanced at it and then at him. He was only slightly shorter than Max. Bigger in build from the fact that he wasn’t on an athletic diet like Max, who had to keep his weight down so he would be in top shape for when the season started in a few short weeks.

You didn’t want to shake his hand but did anyway. There had to be a reason as to why you were here. You just hoped it wasn’t to make a deal with the man who Max grew to despise as he grew up.

He gave you a half smile, and although it didn’t seem malicious you couldn’t help but slightly question it.

“Jos.” Max’s father said.

“Y/N.” You replied.

“I know, my son’s wife.” He made a vague gesture towards you. “Where are my lovely grandsons, if you don’t mind me asking.”

You flinched internally at the word lovely. You loved the way Max said that word when he was complimenting you, or commenting on something that was going on. Hearing Max’s father say the same word and what followed after, made knots in your stomach start to form.

“I actually do.” You played with your wedding and engagement ring as you looked at him, not bothering to answer his question.

The more you looked at him, the more you could pick up the little parts of Max’s features that he got from Jos. His nose, his eyes, even though Max’s were a darker shade of blue. Max had a mix of Jos and Sophie’s hair. Luckily Max had gotten the majority of Sophie’s features.

“I was right, wasn’t I Ray?” Jos turned to Raymond. You could see his smile turn up a little more. “Max chose well.”

You had heard from Christian that Raymond and Jos were friends but never gave it much thought before now. You were sure that Max hadn’t told his father about the house, so Jos was keeping tabs on Max through Raymond.

“Is there a reason as to why I’m here?” If there wasn’t then you would like to go about the rest of your day. You still needed to get groceries before going and picking Nico up from school.

“I wanted to meet you,” Jos said before reaching for the glass that was in front of him. “Meet the woman who is going to help mold my grandson’s future in Formula 1.”

“You don’t know that, you have no idea if my son is going to keep karting.” You crossed your legs, your eyes traveling over Jos’ face trying to read into what he wasn’t saying.

“You’re son?” Jos mocked placing his glass back down onto the table.

“Yes.” You fired back. You didn’t need to hear this from him. Jos hadn’t been in Max’s life for a long time, and he had never even known Nico.

You watched as Jos’ shoulders went lax, sitting further back in his chair. His eyes studied you for a moment before he nodded.

“I’m surprised,” He crossed his arms.

“By?” You asked quizzically.

“My son finding someone… who can handle everything.” You wanted to question Jos. What did he mean by that? Everything? Did he mean Max’s career, his schedule, him being away all the time? Him having to raise a child by himself essentially for the first few years of Nico’s life?

You shook your head, “I don’t understand what you mean by everything. It’s not like my life is all that different. I’m married and I have 2 children. What’s so different about-?”

“I meant,” He said, cutting you off. “That you can love my grandson as if he’s your own.”

Your eyes hardened. Of course, you loved Nico as your own. How could you not? He was a sweet boy, who loved playing with his model cars, wanted to ride his bike around the driveway, and was always polite to those around him.

“There is no if, in that, it’s not as if he’s my own. That little boy is my son regardless of what you or other people might think.” You didn’t know Jos like Max did so you had no problem telling him how things were. “I can’t believe that you even though it would be right to make Max give Nico up. Max is an amazing father to our children.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you felt bad for him. He would never get to see what a great dad Max was to the boys. He would just have to hear about it from other people.

Jos moved forward in his chair almost as if he wanted to lunge at you. You didn’t flinch or move away.

“You think that you have a right to tell me this.” He said defensively.

“I have every right,” You calmly replied. You weren’t going to elaborate. You didn’t need to.

You made sure to meet his eyes and could see the recognition in them. He knew deep down that you were right. But he would never admit it publicly or try to talk to Max about it. He had too much pride for that. He had raised Max to achieve everything that he did and now got to revel in it when anyone asked who pushed Max to succeed. It was like Jos fed off it.

“If you want to keep tabs on Max through Raymond, that is none of my business, but please respect that my husband doesn’t want you near our children.” You moved out of your chair pushing it in. Jos had moved his hands onto the armrest of the chair as if he were going to get up. “My children’s career, be it racing or otherwise is none of your concern.”

You pushed up your hand to stop him from getting up from his chair. You didn’t want to be there. You should have just left when you saw that it was Jos here with Raymond.

You gave Jos one last look and you could see that whatever he was trying to accomplish by getting you here had failed. You collected your bag from the top of the table and walked away from them both.

You weren’t going to enjoy telling Max about this.

Five Days Later - Sunday

Wife of Formula 1 Driver, Max Verstappen, Y/N Verstappen seen abruptly leaving a restaurant just outside of Saint-Tropez

Anita Eriksson For DAILYMAIL.COM February 22, 2026

A few days ago one of our journalists was in Saint-Tropez and saw Y/N Verstappen, wife of 4 time World Champion Max Verstappen in a restaurant.

Verstappen's wife, Y/N was there for less than half an hour, and she was seen talking to who appeared to be Verstappen's father Jos, and his manager, Raymond Vermeulen. Over the years, people have started to notice that Jos Verstappen hasn't been present at F1 races and is never seen around the paddock anymore.

Rumors have spread that Verstappen banned his father, saying that he was too much of a distraction, making it hard for Max to compete. Verstappen's father was absent for all of Max's championship wins dating all the way back to his first in 2021. Just over a year after Verstappen's oldest son was born. Although, Jos being banned from the paddock has never been confirmed by Max or anyone from the Oracle Red Bull Racing Team.

From what the journalist saw, Y/N didn't seem all that happy to be sharing the same space with Jos. She sat down for a few minutes, didn't order anything, had what seemed to be a harsh conversation with him, and then collected her bag before getting into the navy blue Bentley Bentayga S 2026 that her husband bought her as a birthday present.

Jos Verstappen didn't look pleased after Y/N had left the table and was seen yelling at Vermeulen.

In December of last year, Y/N gave birth to Verstappen's second child, a boy named Nikita, named after racing legend Niki Lauda. Which they announced via. Y/N's Instagram. This is the first time that she has been seen out in public since the birth of her son.

One Day Later - Saint-Jean Cap Ferret

You had been in the kitchen making yourself something to eat after just having put Nikita down for his afternoon nap. Max had come storming into the room with his phone in hand, from the spare bedroom where his racing sim was set up.

"Did you have lunch with my father and Raymond while I was away last week?"

You had stopped what you were doing and just looked at Max. You had never seen him so angry before. His expression was almost unreadable. You had only ever seen him look like this after something had gone wrong during a race.

You put down the knife that you were holding, "Yes." You started to say. You wouldn't really call the encounter that you had with Jos lunch, but to Max that would only be a minor detail. "Raymond called me and asked that I come meet him."

"You went, of course, without telling me." He stated, moving his hands a bit as he spoke.

You knew why Max was saying this. He didn't want Jos around you or Nico remembering how Max was after Jos had visited the house all those months ago. The following days after Max had been rather clingy with you and Nico, wanting to be around you as much as possible.

"I didn't know that Jos was going to be there." You hadn't but you should have assumed that it wouldn't just be a friendly lunch between you and Raymond either.

“You…” He started to say before he cut himself off. “You shouldn’t have gone. Not without me.”

“I don’t need you to protect me Max.” You had always been able to handle things by yourself, that hadn’t changed.

Max walked closer to you, leaving his phone face up on the counter. It was unlocked to show a Daily Mail article, with a photo of you from last week. It was you leaving the restaurant before you had gotten back into your car to go home.

Max didn't walk any closer to you, keeping a fair distance between the two of you. You could see one of his hands slightly twitch as if he was going to reach out for you. He dropped his hand at his side and then ran it through his hair.

"Were the boys with you?" He asked. You watched as his eyes moved no doubt studying your face.

"No," You said with a sigh. You would never have taken the boys with you to meet Raymond alone. Maybe that's why you were so insistent that Sylvie stayed at the house with Nikita. Your instincts told you that it was better not to take Nikita with you. "Nico was at school and I left Nikita with Sylvie so I could go see Raymond," And your father, you thought. "And then went and got groceries before I went to pick up Nico once he got out of school for the day."

You knew better than to take Nico shopping with you, he would always put things in the shopping cart that you didn't need.

Max nodded but didn't say anything else to you. He walked out of the room, leaving his phone, not looking at you at all.

You picked it up and read through the article. There would no doubt be comments on Twitter about you with the hashtag #lionessverstappen. You had grown used to the moniker but never thought that your being protective over Max and the boys would lead to this type of reaction from Max.

You had never had to explain to Max why you did things throughout the entire time that you had been together. There had always been a reason and Max had understood that. Why couldn’t he understand this?

You didn’t follow Max out of the room because you knew if you did it would lead to both of you yelling at each other. So you just stayed in the kitchen and kept cooking. You finished making yourself food and then started the prep for dinner.

As you stared at the plate of food that you had made, you couldn’t help but push it away from you. You didn’t want to eat anything. You knew that you should since you were still breastfeeding but you couldn’t manage it. So you forgo eating and pull out your laptop to answer some work emails.

You glanced out into the backyard to see Max pacing back and forth while talking on the house phone, his hair in complete disarray from running his hand through it so many times.

As you looked at him, you wanted to tell him why you had gone to talk to Raymond.

Max didn’t talk about Jos unless he had to. He was always a sore subject. You thought that going and talking to Raymond would give you more insight into Max’s relationship with Jos. But after you had met Jos yourself, you were quick to realize that you should have waited for Max to talk to you about this when he was ready, even if he never would be.

After having only spent half an hour with Jos. You understood that Jos cared more for himself and the way he looked in the eyes of the media and F1 history than actually being a good parent/grandparent when it came down to it, or when it had anything to do with Max. He wanted people to view him as the person who helped mold a champion. It just happened to be that that Champion was his own flesh and blood.

The sound of the crackle from the baby monitor pulled you out of your thoughts. You left your computer open, rushing to Nikita’s room. Not noticing that Max had watched you leave before he sat down on the couch outside with his hands in his hair. The house phone now lying on the coffee table after he finished talking with the Red Bull team publicist.

You and Max hadn’t talked to each other all evening. Both of you paid attention to Nico at dinner and as you kept looking over at Max, there were only a few fleeting moments when you could feel him look at you.

This was the first time since you and Max had gotten married that you didn’t feel happy. After just a year of marriage, you had your first fight. Better now than later.

“I don’t want it to be like this.” He said after turning off the faucet in the kitchen after dinner.

You had sent Nico up to his room to finish his homework assignment, and Sylvie had taken Nikita to his room after his 7 pm feeding.

“Like what?”

“I don’t want you to keep things from me.”

“What do you want me to say, Max?” You asked in urnist. “I didn’t tell you that I saw your father. I didn’t want to tell you given what we ended up talking about.” Even if you wanted to justify it by saying that you only meant to talk to Raymond that wouldn’t help.

Max gave you a pensive look, his lips pressed into a firm line.

“I know.” He muttered before you saw his lips quiver. “What did he say?”

You shook your head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Tell me, please.” he pleaded. You shook your head not wanting to tell him before sighing.

“Something about helping mold Nico for Formula 1.” With those words, it was like you momentarily saw the color drain from Max’s face.

“He’s an asshole, and my father… and he-”

Max cut himself off with a sob. You moved closer to him, taking his face in your hands, holding his cheeks, and searching his eyes. Seeing the tears start to form, the storm brewing in the blues of his eyes.

You wanted to tell Max what Jos had said to you but thought it would be better for Max to get his thoughts out first.

“Jos had always pushed me to be the best when it comes to racing, and I, of course, let him because I thought it would make him proud of me.” He paused for a second as if he was trying to think of the right way to say something. “The only good thing he ever did for me was show me what it truly takes to be a father and love your children unconditionally.” He took in a sharp breath.

Max had pulled your hands away from his face. It was as if he needed the space to be able to get those final few thoughts out.

“There were always strings attached when it came to Jos being proud of me. If I wasn’t doing well, then he wasn’t proud of me. I know now, from the boys, that if you truly love your children, you put their interests first, always.”

That was why Max had such a hard time when Nico started karting. It was what Nico wanted at the time, and what he was still passionate about even now, but Max didn’t want to make Nico feel like, if he wasn’t doing well he wouldn’t be proud of him.

“I don’t want to feel as if he defines me, because I know that I’m nothing like him. But I can’t help it at times.” You didn’t want to keep telling Max that he was nothing like Jos. Being like Jos would always be Max’s biggest fear, and the only way that he would be able to get over it was for him to work through it. He would need you for that reassurance until the boys were old enough to be able to tell Max themselves that he had done the best that he could for them.

“I wanted to keep you away from him, so you wouldn’t see the parts of me that I get from him.” Max continued to say. “I can’t lose you, not when I’m grateful for all of the things that you have done for me, and our family.”

“You won’t lose me, I won’t let you.” You promised him.

Max was quick to drop his head afterward. “We don’t fight.”

It was true, you and Max didn’t have arguments. You weren’t those types of people.

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t disagree on things in the future.” You said.

Max had held his hands out to you facing his palms out, inviting you to touch him. Offering himself up to you.

You moved closer to him, taking his hands in yours. “It matters that we worked it out.” He moved closer before resting his forehead against yours. “That we always find a solution, together.”

“We will.”

“I’m sorry, for getting upset with you.” He said.

“I’m sorry for not telling you that I went to lunch with Raymond and that Jos was there as well. I should have told you right after it happened.”

“It’s okay Schat,” Out of all of Max’s pet names for you that was the one he used the least. “I know you were only doing what you thought you needed to.”

“What did you say to him?” He asked muttering the words into your hair. Max was looking past you a little lost in thought.

You let out a small sigh, “I told him to respect that you don’t want him around the boys, and that Nico’s career wasn’t any of his concern.”

With those words, it put the conversation to rest. Max met your eyes, and you could see his shoulders relax.

Max pressed his lips to your forehead, and then your cheek. You let him hold you for a moment, running your fingers over his back as you felt his shoulders relax further. You slotted your head against his shoulder.

As you stood there in each other's arms the baby monitor crackled awake with the sound of Nikita fussing. You pulled back from Max before he stopped you.

“I’ll get him.” Max reached up and cupped your cheek before leaving you in the kitchen to calm him. You ended up pushing in the kitchen chairs that weren’t tucked under the counter.

“Come, Nikita, come to Papa.” You heard over the baby monitor as you moved to sit in the living room. You could hear Nikita lightly fussing but it ended rather quickly.

You moved onto the couch taking the cashmere blanket that was hanging off the edge and laying it over your legs before you saw Max come back into the room with Nikita lying against his shoulder.

You didn’t move from your sport, instead you stayed there watching Max interact with the baby, as he gave him all of his attention. Nico had come into the living room, shoving the papers from his homework into his bag. He ended up climbing onto the couch before crawling over to you sitting in your lap, and laying his head on your shoulder.

Nico had gotten extra clingy with you now that Nikita was around. He wanted to always have your attention when he could even if you were trying to change Nikita’s diaper or make sure that Nikita wasn’t being fussy. It had taken a bit of time but eventually, Nico started to understand that you were paying more attention to Nikita because he was a baby, not because Nico had been replaced.

Max eventually joined you and Nico on the couch with Nikita tucked into his arms. You spend a little longer in the living room with them until Nico's head grew heavy against your shoulder after he fell asleep. You switch with Max, him taking Nico and putting him to bed and you taking Nikita, putting him in the bassinet that was in the master bedroom.

Eventuality both you and Max make it to bed, he can't seem to let you go once you’re under the covers sharing a few kisses before your eyes are too heavy to stay open. He pulled you flush against him, your head over his chest, his hands finding any bare skin that he could feel without the fabric of one of his shirts getting in his way.

“I love you.” You mutter into his chest. You need him to know that through every argument and all the time spent away from one another, you still love him and will always be there for him.

“Ik houd ook van jou, mijn leeuwin.” You can tell from the tone in Max’s voice that he’s almost asleep but not quite there yet. You feel one of his hands move out from under the shirt that you’re wearing before he reaches to take your hand in his. He kisses the back of your hand and then interlocks your fingers together placing it on the vacant part of his chest.

Translation:

Ik houd ook van jou - I love you too

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