#A late visitor has arrived.

[kiruamon]

Grey World AU - Visit from the Moon 1

Seventh comic part of the Grey World AU. Had to split the current event/storyline into multiple parts, because it got too long. So here is the first one out of... probably three.

It's their first time meeting each other face to face. I hope you are all in for a bit of angst in the next part? Cause things are getting stressful.

[salsflore]

i fell asleep again . . [ insert something about wanting to take a nap with zhongli here ]

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Yuutsum 2

SUMMARY: What if you also have a Tsum? Then your Tsum and the Tsum of the person you like keep giving signs that they like each other? Ortho's part is platonic as always.

CHARACTERS: Twisted Tsumderland 2 Tsumsitters (Deuce; Azul; Jade; Kalim; Rook; Ortho; Lilia)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader 

WARNING: Spoilers for the Twisted Tsumderland 2 Event and the Tsumsitter cards Vignettes.

WORD COUNT: An average of 600 words per character.

COMMENTS: This was originally a request from @taruruchi for my 1k celebration. Which you can read here. And since so many readers liked it, I decided to do what I normally do when this happens: Do this for ALL the characters! Grouped by event in this case.

Azul's part is different from the one I wrote for the request. At the time the event had not yet reached the English server, if I'm not mistaken.

I hope you enjoy 😉

Yuutsum 1 (Riddle; Cater; Leona; Jack; Floyd; Epel; Sebek)

Yuutsum 3 (after going to the English server)

CONTEXT: Like the original Twisted Tsumderland 2 event, this takes place after the events of the first Twisted Tsumderland. And, surprise, your Tsum is back! But it's the only one, all the other Tsums that came with it are completely new visitors.

You were with your Tsum in the lounge of Ramshackle Dorm, and it wouldn't leave the window as if it was waiting for something. You ask if it wants to go somewhere, but it shakes its head and continues looking out the window.

A short time later you heard a loud bang at the front door as if something had been thrown at it, and your Tsum finally leaves the window and hops towards the door. Even before you open the door, you can hear Ace laughing and Deuce complaining.

When you open it, you find Deuce struggling to contain his Tsum who is trying to break free from his arms.

“Sorry [Y/N].” Deuce apologizes “I can't contain this guy. It started running... or hopping, like crazy when it realized we were going to pass by here.”

Your Tsum makes that cute tsum noise to get the attention of Deuce and his tsum. The two look down and their eyes light up as they see your Tsum. Deuce’s tsum breaks free from Deuce's arms and lands right next to your Tsum. And the two tsums begin to rub their little faces and noses against each other. The Deuce blushes automatically.

Ace, who watched the whole scene, stopped laughing and was now looking at the tsums with a sulky face. “Oi? What's up now with this guy?” he questions.

“I-I-I don't know.” It's the only thing Deuce can say in response.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Ace continues. “Your Tsum came back? Why? Our housewarden's didn't. Neither did Cater's.”

You say you don't know.

“Maybe your tsum is dragged into everyone's messes too.” Deuce says, smiling. “Not even it has a break with us, hum?”

Your Tsum headbutts Deuce's Tsum to get its attention, taps one of its little hands on the ground 5 times and Deuce's Tsum realizes the urgency of something. The two tsums start hopping towards the gate.

“OI! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Deuce shouted.

The three of you run after the Tsums, but they reach the Hall of Mirrors first and go through the mirror to Heartslabyul.

“Well, on the one hand they saved us work.” Ace says.

“Yes, but they are on the loose!” Deuce replies.

You go through the mirror, run a little further and stop abruptly when you come across Riddle and Trey. Your tsums were close to their feet and were still very close to each other.

“See? They arrived on time.” Trey sayd. “They must have just had a little mishap with the tsums. Right?”

Ace and Deuce confirm. Riddle welcomes you and invites you to the Unbirthday Party that will be happening soon. He also tells Ace and Deuce to go do their party preparation duties. After he and Trey leave, Deuce realizes what happened.

“I get it now. Your tsum was telling mine the time, and warning it that we were going to be late.”

“Damn, even your Tsum needs two Tsumsitters.” Ace laughs. And Deuce-tsum hits him.

When it was preparing to hit him a second time, your Tsum got in the way and started rubbing its face against Deuce-tsum’s, calming it down.

“See my point?” Ace adds, and this time it's your Tsum that hits him.

You were walking through the school hallways, with your Tsum in your arms, when you crossed paths with Floyd. He automatically smiled when he saw your Tsum.

You ask each other what the other is doing there and Floyd tells you that he was playing a board game with Azul and his Tsum. He says that he left them playing with each other in the classroom. You feel your Tsum move excitedly in your arms.

After saying goodbye to each other you go to the classroom where Floyd said they were. You knock on the door and pop your head inside. You see both Azul and his Tsum immersed in the game, but not enough to not notice your presence.

“Oh, good afternoon [Y/N].” Azul greets you with a smile. His Tsum quickly looks towards the door when he hears him say your name. “Please come in.” You do so. “Is there anything you need or-” He sees your Tsum and widens his eyes with a sparkle in them.

Azul-tsum makes that happy tsum sound, jumps to the floor, stops for a second, jumps back onto the table to make its move on the board game, and then gets off the table again to hop happily towards you. Your tsum jumps out of your arms and lands on the ground. And when Azul-tsum finally reaches yours the two begin to cuddle with each other.

Azul was focused on the game and only after making his play “Okay tsum, your tu-” did he look at the two tsums, and blushes slightly. He clears his throat loudly causing his tsum to look at him.

Azul’s tsum turns to yours and makes another cute sound, then the two of them hop back to the table. Azul's tsum returns to its place on the other side of the board, but yours jumps into Azul's arms to his surprise. He managed to catch it, then it looked at him and smiled with its eyes, making Azul stare at it in wonder.

“I'll concede that you are indeed charmingly cute.” He then whispers to himself: “As much as the person you resemble.”

You approach to sit with them and Azul suggests that you sit next to his tsum. The two Azuls exchange a suspicious look with each other.

They keep playing. When it's not Azul's turn, your tsum makes little sounds or something that makes him look at it. And when it's not Azul-tsum's turn, it seems to be undecided between paying attention to the board or looking at you so you can pet it. In the end, the two were practically tied, but Azul-tsum makes a play that makes it win the game. Both his tsum and your tsum celebrate, coming back to cuddle with each other.

“Ah, so that was your real move.” Azul said with a smirk. “You used [Y/N]'s tsum to distract me. Actually no, worse than that, you two are partners in crime.”

The two tsums looked smugly at Azul. But he didn't seem upset despite having lost. In fact, he seemed to be looking thoughtfully at the tsums. You ask what's wrong or if he's okay.

“Oh, don't worry, it's nothing. I was just thinking...” He looks back at the tsums who look back at him with an encouraging look. Both of them. “From what I've been able to observe, tsums have a lot in common with the person they resemble, especially their personality. After seeing how these two work together I was just wondering...” He looks at you and smiles confidently. “Wouldn't you happen to have the same interest as your tsum in being my partner too? Hum... partner in crime, I mean.”

With You were walking through the Main street, with your Tsum in your arms, when you see a little thing hopping towards you. It stops right in front of you, at your feet, and smiles at you with its eyes, making that cute tsum sound, as if it were greeting you politely. From the side where the dark grey strand is facing and from the calm demeanor, you can tell it's Jade's tsum.

Your tsum makes the cute tsum sound back to Jade-tsum and you let your tsum jump to the ground for the two to rub their faces against each other.

After that, you hear footsteps approaching you. Looking ahead you see Jade. His tsum looks at him and then jumps into your arms smiling at you with its cute little eyes. When Jade gets close to you he laughs.

“He he. You are quite cunning indeed, tsum. Or should I just say coward at this point?” He was still smiling, but with that look that was worryingly difficult to decode. Then he looks at you. “Forgive me for not greeting you first, [Y/N]. I got... worried about the tsum when I lost sight of it. I'm genuinely relieved that you were the one to find it safe and sound.” He looks down at your tsum. “Aw, what a lovely sight, your sweet tsum is back.”

You feel Jade-tsum tense up in your arms, but it barely moves. Jade bends down and holds out his cupped hands for your tsum to jump into them. You feel Jade-tsum once again tense slightly, but without moving. Jade raises your tsum in front of his face. It smiles at him innocently.

“Undoubtedly adorable.” Jade says. “But you shouldn't just jump into anyone's hands like that.” He lowers his hands to chest height, holds the tsum with one hand while, with the other, he makes a claw-like movement as if he were going to imprison it. “It could be dangerous.” He looks at his own tsum in your arms, who still doesn't move.

“But it didn't just jump into anyone's hands.” You say. He looks at you meeting your eyes. “But you're right, it can be very dangerous. But you should have told that to YOUR tsum.”

Both Jade and his Tsum are surprised by what you said. And suddenly you tighten your hug around Jade-tsum as if you were Floyd squeezing someone. But in this case, you are squeezing the tsum with love and affection. It waves its little arms and legs as if it were asking for help, but not trying very hard to escape.

Jade laughs delightedly, and frees your tsum from his clutches, taking it to his chest just to pet it affectionately. He looks at that little angel face face that knew he wouldn't hurt you or your tsum and smiles.

“In fact, you are a danger on the loose.” He jokes. “Tell me, would the both of you like to accompany me and my little lookalike to Mostro Lounge? We came here for a stroll around campus because I thought it would be a nice bonding exercise. But I’m sure that something like sharing a smoothie, for example, could also be great for bonding.”

You look happy with the idea of going with them to Mostro Lounge. But in the meantime you realize that tsums don't have mouths. How could they share a drink?

“Oh, well, perhaps I wasn't referring to the tsums.” He smiles at you with that bold confidence.

Kalim, his tsum and Jamil took a magic carpet tour of campus. Kalim-tsum’s eyes were sparkling the whole time during it, but something must have piqued its interest because after that it disappeared.

Meanwhile, you were with your tsum in the Ramshackle Dorm lounge when you heard someone knocking on the door. You open the door to find... no one. Until you hear that happy tsum sound near your feet. You look down and see a Kalim-tsum smiling at you with its eyes.

As soon as you say hello, it wastes no time in jumping on your shoulder and brushing its face against your cheek. You hear another tsum sound behind you. You turn around and Kalim-tsum sees your tsum. Kalim-tsum makes another happy sound and jumps off your shoulder to hug your tsum. Or at least that's what it looked like despite its short arms.

If that tsum was there without Kalim, most likely he was looking for it. And consequently Jamil too. Therefore, you decide to take the two tsums in your arms and go find Kalim.

Just as you predicted, you found Kalim and Jamil together on Main Street. When Kalim sees you from afar, he happily waves his arms in the air to call you to join them.

“Hi [Y/N]!” Kalim greets you. “I'm so glad I found you! I really wanted you to meet-” He looks at the two little creatures you carry in your arms when you get close to him. “AH! You found it! You're amazing!”

Jamil sighs with relief. And then they both realize what, or rather, who, the other little creature is. Kalim's eyes shine and a huge smile spreads across his face.

“It can't be! There's one like you too! It's so cute! Aw, I want to hug it so much! Can I? Can I? Pretty pleeease~?”

If you’re more outgoing, your tsum will smile with its eyes at him. If you are more shy, your tsum will be too flattered and hide its face in your arms. Which will make Kalim find it even cuter.

“I know they may look like plushies,” Jamil says “but I don’t think you should treat them like one.”

“Don't worry, I won't hurt it.” Kalim says both to Jamil and to you.

“I'm also worried about the other way around. If that is even possible.”

“What? No way!” Kalim stretches out his arms welcomingly for your tsum to jump into them. And it does. He turns to Jamil. “You don't really think this adorable little thing would hurt anyone, do you?”

Jamil looks at your tsum, who smiles at him with its eyes and he blushes slightly to the point of having to look away. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“But I am a great judge of character.” Kalim completed confidently. He brings your tsum close to his face to see it better. “Oh, if you were bigger I could hug you for real.”

This gives your tsum an idea and suddenly it starts to grow, which takes everyone by surprise, until it stops at the size of a pillow. Kalim has no other way to hold it other than hugging it and that's what he does. He hugs it tight like it's the most adorable thing on earth and he never wants to let it go.

And apparently, Kalim's tsum wants the same treatment, but from you, so it also grows to the size of a pillow for you to hug it.

Jamil looks at you all slightly uncomfortably and can only say: “If you ever do that to each other, at least get a room first.”

It was already late in the afternoon. You were walking across campus with your tsum in your arms when you heard a "CUT!". You have heard that a few other times before, it was Vil's voice and he must have been filming something for the film club.

Your tsum moves in your arms as if it was also curious to see what he was doing. You follow the sound and walk until you reach the Main Street.

“Rehearsal is over.” You hear Vil say and you stop. “Now we must capture this scene before the sun sets. Focus!”

That sounded like your cue not to interrupt him. You weren't at a place where you could appear in the frame, so you just wait there, watching, just like your tsum. However, someone else was watching the scene as well, hidden in the bushes.

“Now the real fun begins.” Rook says, both to his tsum and to Epel, that he dragged it with him. “Let us watch Vil and the rest of the club shine!”

Rook's tsum hops eagerly and the two observe Vil, until something else catches the tsum's attention and it looks to the side. Rook notices this.

“You changed the target of your attention, monsieur tsum. What could have possible divert your gaze from Vil?” He follows the tsum's gaze and finds you, standing there watching Vil. “Bien sûr, there could only be one reason.” He sees your Tsum in your arms. “Oh, marvelous! Tricster's tsum is back! Even more beauty to behold.”

Everything goes smoothly until the end of the recordings. And it is only when Vil sees you and greets you that you approach him. His attention (and everyone's actually) goes to your tsum.

“I see you've also been assigned as a tsumsitter.” Vil says. “I heard it had shown up the first time this happened, but I ended up not having the pleasure of meeting it. I'm glad I got this chance.” He smiles at your tsum who looks at him in wonder. “One also appeared in Pomefiore. A Rook lookalike.”

You feel your tsum spasm in your arms, and then you hear something jumping towards you. You turn around and a wild Rook-tsum appears and greets you with that happy tsum sound.

Your tsum jumps to the ground and lets Rook-tsum approach it first. It jumps to get closer to your tsum but, to everyone's surprise, your tsum dodges and runs away.

You panic a little, your tsum had never done that until now, and Rook-tsum goes jumping after your tsum, even though it has already lost sight of it. You are about to start running to look for them when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You are startled by Rook's sudden appearance.

“Worry not, trickster. I have been following monsieur tsum and it has been an enriching experience. You could accompany me and and observe them together. There is no place they can go that I won't find them.” he winks.

You go with Rook following your tsums. You notice that every now and then your tsum stops as if provoking Rook-tsum and when it is about to catch your tsum, it dodges again and continues running away.

“How fascinating.” Rook laughs “Tell me, doesn't it look like they're playing with each other?”

You continue following the tsums to the botanical garden, already in the early evening. Where they finally stop. Or rather, where your tsum finally lets itself be caught, in the subtropical zone. You see Rook-tsum clinging to your tsum and making a movement with its his head as if were kissing your tsum passionately.

“I wonder...” Rook says “If this is all some kind of mating ritual for the tsums.” he laughs seeing your reaction. “What's wrong, trickster? That look is not from someone who dislikes the idea~ Is there anything your heart would like to share? Because any question you have about mine can be answered by looking at monsieur tsum.”

You were walking through campus with your Tsum in your arms when you heard something above you.

“PREFECT!” You hear Ortho's voice shout from somewhere. “LOOK OUT!”

You see an unidentified flying object coming towards you at high speed. Your instinct is to cower and duck. But the object stopped before it hit you and landed on the ground in front of you. You look and see an Ortho-tsum. Ortho approaches you.

“He he he. Did we scare you? Sorry. Are you OK?” He asks. You answer that you are. “I’m glad. We just wanted to surprise you. Have you already heard of these little creatures called tsums, [Y/N]?”

You stand up, revealing your tsum that had been hidden in your arms when you ducked. Both Ortho and his tsum are happy to see your tsum.

“OH, One like you also appeared! So cool!”

Ortho-tsum uses its new device to fly towards your tsum, who got surprised by it. Your tsum jumps from your arms to the ground and gestures for Ortho-tsum to come closer to it.

Ortho-tsum lands near your tsum again and it starts walking around ortho-tsum as if it is examining the new device suspiciously. The tsum make sounds as if they were chatting.

“I don't know what they're saying...” Ortho laughs. “But from the tone and what they're doing, it seems like your tsum is worried about my tsum's new antigravity device. The audio of the noises I'm capturing sounds similar to a scene from a movie I have stored in my memory, where an older sister is saying things like 'Where did you get that?', ‘Are you sure it's safe?’, ‘You could get hurt.’ Ha ha ha.”

After this conversation between the tsums, Ortho's tsum flies for a second, lands again and makes an inviting sound for your tsum. It jumps onto Ortho's tsum and the two slowly and carefully take flight.

“I think it wants to play with your tsum. Will you play with us too [Y/N]? Pretty Please?”

If you feel safe with Ortho, he will take you flying on his back. If you're scared he'll say: “It's okay, I understand. We can play close to the ground. We don't need to go up to the clouds to have fun together."

After walking around campus you decided to stop to rest on one of the benches in the Courtyard. You sit down and your tsum stays on your lap. A few seconds later, when you thought you could rest a little, something falls into your lap and on top of your tsum, startling you both.

After enjoying your reactions, the new tsum jumps next to you on the bench and turns to face you. It's a Lilia-tsum.

“Yay! Your tsum is back!” A voice behind you startles you and your tsum again, making it jump from your lap to Lilia-tsum's side.

Your tsum starts making sounds like it's complaining, but Lilia-tsum starts rubbing its face against your tsum to calm it down.

“Khee hee hee. Sorry.” LIlia says upside down, floating next to you. “You were trying to rest, weren't you?” He gestured for the tsums to move away so he could sit next to you.

They jump into your lap, where they get so close that it looks more like they're snuggling in a nest.

“I know it may not seem like it, but my tsum was getting tired too. But neither it nor I could resist surprising you and your tsum. Isn't it as charming and cute as me?”

You look at the tsums in your lap who seemed to be cuddled up sleeping. You joke that Tsum can be cuter.

“Ow, you're just saying that because of the plush shape it has. But looking at you and your tsum, I understand what you mean. Your tsum is also cuter than you.” He sees you pout slightly, and smiles mischievously. “Khee hee hee. Looks like someone didn't like being hit with their own spell.”

Lilia's tsum wakes up from its short nap and jumps to the ground, waking up your tsum as well. Lilia's tsum makes an inviting happy sound to your tsum, who also jumps off your lap to join it.

“I think it wants to play with your tsum now.”

You and Lilia follow your tsums to see what they will do. They prank a student. He was distracted reading a magazine when Lilia-tsum makes a sound that catches his attention. He looks, sees Lilia's tsum, rubs his eyes, looks again, and sees Lilia's and yours tsums. He rubs his eyes again, looks again and only sees your tsum. He gets up startled, looks the other way, looks back to where the tsum were and there is nothing there anymore. You hear him walking away wondering if he's going crazy or hallucinating.

You and Lilia laugh. And then Lilia has another idea for a prank.

The four of you go to the library and find two students chatting at a table. One of them is telling the other that he had seen Lilia transform into a small, round creature in front of him. The other wondered if it was some shapeshifting spell or some prank of Lilia's. Lilia-tsum hopped over to them.

“SEE?! HERE! This was the creature I saw Lilia transform into!”

You appear and greet the students. Lilia-tsum jumps into your arms in front of them and Lilia casts a light spell that temporarily blinds them, long enough for your tsum to take your place. When the students look again, they find two tsums.

“AHH! It's not a spell, it's some curse!” the other student says. “If any of them touch us, we become one of them too!”

Your two tsums walk slowly but menacingly towards them, and the students run away. Lilia bursts out laughing.

“This must have been the best one yet. Don't you also think it's funny when two big boys run away in fear from a cute little thing?”

The two tsums return to you. Lilia-tsum looks tired.

“We don't have that much stamina at this age, do we?” Lilia says smiling. He holds out his arms for his tsum to jump into them, but it doesn't. “Um? You don't want me to carry you?”

Lilia-tsum walks up to your tsum and cuddles with it.

“Oho, I see. In that case...” Lilia takes his blazer off his shoulders and ties the ends together as if making a hammock. “Okay you little lovebirds, here's a nest for you.” The two tsums jump in and snuggle together. “In fact, there is one thing cuter than our separate tsums: them together.” He looks at you, but the cute smile turns into a mischievous one when he sees your face. “What's wrong? Don't tell me you don't think they would make a pretty couple. That would break my heart.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[kyseya]

Ancient Mummy

Imagine working as an archaeologist for a museum. However things hasn’t been going so well lately and there are hardly any visitors during opening hours. Sadly, you’ll be forced to close multiple exhibitions and if conditions are not met, the entire museum might have to shut down.

But by some miracle, a new tomb has been discovered in Egypt; undisturbed, unexplored and completely untouched by humans for centuries. It’s said to be the grave of an ancient king- a pharaoh- who was betrayed and murdered by his own cousin.

It’s the perfect opportunity! Maybe you’ll find something that can bring back interest and by extension, save the museum.

You go along with a few other colleagues to the site in Egypt. The journey was a bit tough but it was a hindered percent worth it. With avid curiosity you explore alone and with the others, the different things to find inside the tomb; artifacts and additional discoveries. It’s all very interesting. Wanting to save the best for last, you finally get an in-person look at the grave itself- the sarcophagus.

You have already heard the main tale of the pharaoh within, so you are a little surprised that there is more to the story than you previously believed.

Over the entire stone coffin were multiple hieroglyphs, each one helping and becoming a story together. Your collegue read some inscriptions and told you a basic summary of what it’s about.

Centuries ago there was a king. He had a wife whom he adored more than anything. She was provided with riches, glory and honour. There was nothing he wouldn’t accomplish for her. The people saw the care he held for his wife and therefore both respected and feared her as well, since any ounce of rudeness might end up with their heads spiked on a pole. It was a punishment fitting for those who dare disrespect his queen.

Unfortunately tragedy struck- a disease, more specifically. It took the lives of many and left whole villages empty. That hardly mattered to the pharaoh though, all his focus went to his ill wife; she, too, had been snatched by death. Up until the moment of her demise the pharaoh spent all day and all night at her side, attentively worrying about her needs. When she was gone he was ruined. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep, he didn’t even have the energy to clean himself. What was the point? His beloved was gone so there wasn’t really anything left for him.

It was after this that everything took a turn. It appeared that the king had enough with laying around and decided to do something. There were records of him behaving strangely- even by ancient standards- and drabbling in dark magic. He was later overthrown by his brother, who ordered him to be buried alive. It was quite the terrifying penalty go give one’s sibling. The brother didn’t want the darkness to spread out into the world from the old pharaoh, so he locked him inside the sarcophagus and sealed him far away.

What a tragic story, you thought. Well it was back in the old times and a lot of things were practiced then that aren’t okay in modern day. You suppose it wasn’t the most horrible incident that have happened.

It hadn’t been long since your colleague told you the backstory of the tomb and its inhibitor, but now the others wants to get to the good part and open up the stone coffin. You don’t think it’s the best idea in the world- of course something like this needs to be examined closely and so on, but there is something special about the tomb.

Ever since you’ve arrived, you have had a strange feeling following you around. It’s hard to explain. You feel almost drawn to the sarcophagus or perhaps it’s because it feels as if it is looking back at you. You tried ignoring it, however, the feeling came back stronger than ever the moment the others began preparing to open it up.

You should have told them of your concerns. If you did, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

The first few seconds after opening it everything was fine. All was as it should be; people flocking around to see the discovery and fawn over it while being mindful of its fragility. Then it changed. Your colleague who had been the closest had suddenly been strangled by the thin, dirty arm belonging to none other than the ancient corpse that previously had been resting in death. Everyone was silent as her face turned blue from the lack of oxygen. It was only after she fell to the floor dead that people began panicking. It was hard to process what had just happened, after all.

There was chaos.

Folk ran around like chickens fleeing from a fox that’d managed to get inside the coop. In a way, that was exactly what was going on, though. You had watched as the mummified corpse sat right up and climbed its way out of the cold coffin. It stumbled on its bony legs and quickly found a cornered man and approached him. He screamed when the mummy grabbed ahold of his face and brought it before its own. The creature started sucking the life out of the man- literally.

The man who had previously been a healthy and active person was now shrivelled up like a raisin. His face was dry and wrinkled. He died soon afterwards, only a soft wheeze leaving his lips as he passed.

The opposite seemed to happen to the former-corpse, though. It attacked more and more people and for every kill, it appeared to revert to its original state- a man, pharaoh of an ancient kingdom. The flesh grew back and filled up in the right places and he seemed human again.

How can that be? He had been dead for centuries. Although, just about everything was pretty fucked up in this moment, so his make-over is the least important factor.

You backed into a corner. Your eyes followed the mummy’s every move, it was impossible to look away. There was hardly anyone left apart from you. The one person that was still there was getting attacked by the monster and it wasn’t long until they were reduced to nothing.

Now it was just you and the creature, and it appeared it knew that too.

It turned to look at you. The mummy had now completely reverted back into a man and he was nothing short of breathtaking(and very naked, but you tried not to think about it). It pained to to admit it but it was the truth. He was easily the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on. His long, dark hair flowed when he stalked towards you. Despite his outer beauty, you couldn’t forget what you’d just witnessed him do.

Trembling, you pressed yourself against the wall. “Stay away.” you weakly mumbled.

‘This is it. My time is over.’

You closed your eyes in fear and braced yourself for the pain that would undoubtedly come; only it didn’t. Instead of death, a hand grazed your cheek. It was a light touch, one reserved for something valuable and fragile.

A raspy voice talked, “…My love..it is you..”

You had no idea what he said, it sounded like an ancient language. You had studied hieroglyphs but did not know anything about what speech might’ve sounded like. You decided to be brave and slightly opened your eyes.

The mummy was staring at you, but there was no malice or hatred in his expression. In fact, the only emotion you could find on his face was amazement, shock and….love? No, that can’t be. This is not some ‘lovers reunited’ situation.

“How can this be? Death took you and left me all alone- not that I hold you accountable, of course. I know you would never seek to hurt me.” the mummy kept muttering to himself. “Perhaps….the magic worked after all?”

His face brightened and he smiled gently at you. Whilst he happily went on about something, you became more confused than earlier. What the hell was going on? He committed multiple murders in one swoop and now, suddenly, he is acting like you’re friends talking about your day. He isn’t even human! Or at least not anymore, not really.

You voiced this opinion weakly, “Ummm, could you let me go?” You tried pulling away from his touch, uncomfortable at his caresses.

His brows furrowed at your reaction. From the look of it, he didn’t understand you any better than you did him. He focused at the subtle way you attempted to peel his hand off your arm. You let out a yelp when his arms snaked around your waist and he pulled you into his embrace.

He leaned down and whispered into your ear, petting your hair at the same time. “Wife, why do you seem unhappy at my presence? I do not understand. Are you not joyous at our reunion? I love you so, I cannot comprehend any reason why you would not wish to see me.”

Even if you didn’t know what he was saying, you could hear the sadness in his voice. The pain and desperation. No! You couldn’t feel sad for him. He had murdured multiple of your colleagues, he’s evil! Although, why hasn’t he killed you yet? It’s very strange indeed.

The mummy continued, “I can sense things are not as they used to be. Things are different now. Although I do not know the extent of it. However I am most certain of one thing; I have miraculously been reunited with my love and I do not plan on letting you fall through my grasp again.”

He held you in an almost suffocating hug.

“I shall make you my queen once more.”

[flwrstqr]

FALLING IN LOVE ACCIDENTALLY (OR NOT) (LHS - 이희승)

SYNOPSIS: babysitting wasn't your dream job that you always wanted. as you start babysitting a new girl, lee jihyeon, you meet her older brother, lee heeseung. You end up getting closer and closer to heeseung and ultimately fall in love amidst the chaos.

pairing: bad boy!heeseung x babysitter!reader

genre: s2l, babysitter au, romance, fluff, angst, medium fic

warning(s): parties, cursing, fighting, mentions death, small grammar errors, crying, some angst scenes, kissing, reader and heeseung has a year age gap

word count: 5k+

AN: guys im back with a medium fic!! lowkey this wasn't really the it vibe as the end i feel like was kind of rushed. so if i made any grammar errors im sorry TT, i finished this writing in like 2-3 days so it was kind of hard so. but liz + hye for helping me think of a climax. i kind of got this idea for a POV on tiktok so help

AGE 21, THE SUPPOSED GOLDEN YEARS OF LIFE, or so they say. But for you, it's far from golden. Being a babysitter at this age isn't exactly glamorous; it's probably one of the last jobs you'd expect to have.

"Yunah, I'm heading out to my new client's place, okay?" you call out before leaving the door.

"Okay, just be safe!" Yunah shouts back from her room down the hallway. You close the door behind you and hurry out as usual, pulling out your notepad to review your schedule for the day:

8:00 am: Wake up 8:30 am: Go grocery shopping with Moka for breakfast 9:30 am: Have breakfast 9:45 am: Prepare for the new kid 10:30 am: Leave the house 10:45 am: Arrive at the client's house 1:00 pm: Leave the client's house

You quietly close your notepad and mentally rehearse what to say as you settle onto the bus. Upon reaching your stop, you make your way to the house.

The house is painted in soft beige and cream, with a porch ceiling resembling a clear blue sky on a sunny day. A wind chime gently sways, welcoming visitors with its melodic tinkling. You ring the doorbell and wait.

A boy around your age answers, with dark red hair and deer-like features. His ear piercings catch your attention as he regards you with an intense stare.

"Hi, I'm here for Jihyeon. Lee Jihyeon," you say, your words stumbling slightly under his gaze. "I'm her babysitter. YN LN."

"Oh, Jihyeon's upstairs," he replies with a shrug, ushering you inside.

Inside, the entrance feels airy and bright, with a faint scent of coffee lingering in the kitchen. Making your way upstairs, you come to a door adorned with pink letters and heart and flower stickers, reading "LEE JIHYEON." You knock, and a small girl, around six years old, opens the door.

"Hi," she says, her eyes wide as she looks up at you. "Are you a princess here to take me to princess school?"

You chuckle softly. "You can think that if you want. I'm YN. Your new friend," you introduce yourself, crouching down to her eye level.

"Are you here to babysit me?" Jihyeon asks as she lets you enter her room.

"More than babysitting, I'll be your new friend," you reassure her with a smile.

"Really?" Jihyeon's eyes light up. "I've wanted a friend for a while, but I don't have any at school." She quickly covers her mouth, realizing what she's said, and closes the door abruptly.

"Jihyeon?" you raise an eyebrow at her sudden change in demeanor.

"Sorry, my brother doesn't know. If he found out, he might cause trouble at my school," Jihyeon explains, pouting as she joins you.

"Your brother?"

"Yeah, Heeseung," Jihyeon beams, kicking her legs as she sits. "I love him a lot."

You smile at her innocence. "How old is your brother?"

"22!" Jihyeon exclaims. "He's like 16 years older than me, but he's a great brother."

"I see. How about we start playing now?" you suggest, earning an enthusiastic nod from Jihyeon as she jumps up to grab her toys.

"YN, COME ON! WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE TO YEJI’S PARTY!" Minju exclaims as she peeks into your room. Her mouth slightly drops as she sees your outfit. "Trying on the new dress you got?"

You nodded, turning to her. "Does it look okay? Not too over-the-top?"

Twirling to inspect yourself in the mirror, the knee-length black velvet dress hugged your figure, adorned with delicate black lace and a soft touch.

"You look stunning," Minju beamed, adding the final touch by placing a diamond necklace around your neck.

"Thanks, Minju," you said, pulling her into a hug.

"Anything for you, YN. Now come on, let's go to the party. Yunah is complaining about how long we're taking," Minju laughs, quickly letting go of the embrace before taking your hand and dragging you to the car.

As you get into the car, the six of you start driving to the party, blasting music and enjoying your life. When you arrive, the club is crazy loud. The noise from the DJ speakers vibrates throughout the room, friend groups dancing in circles, and couples making out in the back. Your shoulders tense as you scan the room. You walk over to the bar to get a quick drink before joining the party.

Feeling awkward and out of place, you shuffle around while holding your drink. You glance around and make eye contact with Moka, who is sitting with a group of people. She signals for you to join them, but you shake your head no and excuse yourself to the bathroom. As you wash your hands and return to the party, you come face to face with the one girl you wished you never saw again: Yoonhee, the girl who bullied you in high school for being "poor."

"Oh look, it's YN LN!" she gives a small fake smile. "Didn't expect to see you at Yeji's party tonight."

"What do you want, Yoonhee," you glare.

"Nothing, I'm just giving you a pleasant greeting. Nothing more," she laughs, triggering flashbacks from when you were 17.

"Then get out of my way, Yoonhee," you spat.

"Woah, no need to get so aggressive," she gives a proud smile. "I heard you were babysitting. How's it like to be poor?"

That was your last straw. You grab the nearest drink and throw it at Yoonhee's white dress. Her eyes widen as she sees the purple punch juice on her dress. Her eyes then narrow as she stares at you.

"Do you know how much this cost? This dress cost $5,270. Now you have to pay for that," she says angrily.

"Fuck off, Yoonhee. You're still the same. No wonder you have no friends," you yell before turning around and running out of the nearest exit.

You burst out into tears, knowing you were sober. You walk yourself to the nearest bus station, sobbing silently as you wipe your tears. Each step gets heavier as your heels start to burn and your bare knees and calves shiver from the cold.

“Hey, are you okay?" a voice asks. It's a voice that sounds so familiar. A voice that you swore you heard before. You look up to meet the same boy back at Jihyeon’s house. The boy with those deer-like features and dark red hair, with the same exact piercings.

"You’re the guy from Jihyeon's house," you try to piece his name together as only in your mind was the incident with Yoonhee and you.

"Heeseung, and you are?" he asks, noticing your teary eyes.

"YN," you reply, wiping your tears.

Heeseung then notices how you're shivering from the cold. He takes off his jacket and drapes his jacket over your shoulders

"Here, you can take this. Do you need a ride or anything? Do you have someone picking you up?" he asks.

"Yunah, Moka, and Minju are still there. They're my friends," you sniffle. "But I was walking myself to the bus station."

“Still there?” He raises his eyebrow. 

“At the party,” you mumbled. 

"If you want, I can take you home," Heeseung suggests.

"How do I know you're not a kidnapper," you tease with a pout.

Heeseung laughs softly. "Do you think I am?"

"Maybe," you reply.

"Trust me, I won't. Plus, what's the worst thing I can do?" Heeseung smiles.

"Weird stuff," you say.

"I won't. Where do you live?" he asks.

"Okay, that's a bit off," you reply teasingly.

"Hey..." Heeseung says in a half-joking, half-serious tone.

"Fine, I'll tell you the direction, you drive the car," you respond.

"Oh, who said it was a car?" Heeseung winks as he walks you over to his motorcycle.

Your eyes widen. "A motorcycle? Also, I need a helmet?"

"Wear mine," he grins, handing you his helmet before helping you hop onto the back. You hold him tightly as he starts his engine.

As you clutch onto his leather jacket, he speeds up, and you squeeze your eyes closed, afraid of falling. When you open them again, you admire the midnight sky, feeling the cold breeze hug you warmly. When you arrive back at the dorm, you wave goodnight to Heeseung before he turns around.

"Can I get your number?" he asks.

"Sure," you grin, inserting your number into Heeseung's phone. You wink and then turn around to walk back into your dorm.

THE DOOR SWINGS OPEN, and Jihyeon's sweet smile welcomes you in. She bounds up with excitement, leading you upstairs to her room.

"Where's your brother, Jihyeon?" you ask, your tone light. You steal a glance at your bag, where Heeseung's neatly folded and laundered jacket rests.

"He's out or something," Jihyeon shrugs, already eager to show off her new toy.

As time flies by, you and Jihyeon play together as usual. She cherishes your time together, and as you help prepare lunch, the two of you chat.

"Jihyeon, are your parents not home?" you inquire, placing the grilled cheese she requested onto a plate.

"They're not here," Jihyeon replies between bites of her sandwich, causing your eyes to widen slightly.

"I see," you murmur softly, tucking a strand of Jihyeon's hair behind her ear as she takes another big bite.

"That's why Heeseung is always out. He's always looking for a babysitter for me because I'm only 6. So, I want you to be my permanent babysitter!" Jihyeon beams, savoring each taste of her grilled cheese.

"I'll always be here for you, Jihyeon," you smile back, admiring her cute expression. "How about after this, we play some fun games?"

"Yes, please!" Jihyeon's face lights up with a huge smile as she takes the last bite of her grilled cheese. You then tidy up with her and quickly take her hand as you step outside to play together.

"DOES THIS LIP TINT LOOK OKAY?" you inquire of Wonhee, who was browsing through the new makeup offerings at the mall. She looks up, observing the tester product on your hand.

"Hmm, maybe a slightly lighter shade," Wonhee suggests before joining you to explore more makeup options. You pick up another lip tint, testing it out before making your purchase and leaving the store.

"YN?" a voice calls out your name. You glance up to see Heeseung waving at you.

"Oh, Heeseung," you respond with a smile. "Didn’t expect to see you here at the mall."

"My friend works at the café on the first floor, so I thought I'd pay a visit," Heeseung explains. "Are you here alone?"

"No, I'm here with—" you begin, but your voice is interrupted by Wonhee rushing over to you.

"YN! I finally decided to buy the new eyeshadow palette!" Wonhee exclaims, then she notices Heeseung. "Oh, do you know him?"

"Heeseung, Jihyeon’s older brother," you introduce, as Heeseung gives a small wave. "He's a year older than me."

"Hi, nice to meet you," Heeseung says, shaking Wonhee's hand.

"I'm Wonhee, YN's best friend or roommate, well, one of her roommates," Wonhee smiles.

"Nice to meet you," Heeseung replies, before turning back to you. "Well, gotta go so have a good time with your friend, pretty girl." Your eyes widen slightly in surprise at his affectionate nickname as he walks off to the first floor, hands in his pockets.

"God, he's definitely into you, YN!" Wonhee giggles, noting your shocked expression.

"Shut up, Wonhee!" you exclaim.

"Just saying!" Wonhee laughs.

A COUPLE OF WEEKS HAD PASSED SINCE YOU FIRST MET HEESEUNG, but it was that one night that really caught your attention. After a long day of babysitting, you decided to take a leisurely stroll around the park before heading back to your dorm.

The night was tranquil, nearly 9 pm, and the crisp air refreshed you as you walked. As you approached your usual alleyway, the sound of punches and kicks pierced the calm. Your heart raced with nervousness as you wondered what was happening. Was it a hallucination, or...?

Turning the corner, you were shocked to see Heeseung amidst a group of boys. Quickly, you ducked behind a wall, watching in disbelief. Why was he in a fight?

Straining to hear their conversation, you caught Heeseung shouting, "You owe me $1,000. I won the bet," just before another punch landed on his face. Your heart sank at the sight of his swollen lips and bruised eye.

"Who cares about the bet? You messed with us, you’re dead," a boy sneered, delivering another blow.

"Leave him alone!" you finally mustered the courage to intervene, emerging from your hiding spot.

The boy mocked, "Oh look, is it your girlfriend, Heeseung? If you’re a stray cat trying to get your boyfriend out of trouble, you're out of luck."

In a burst of anger, you threw your purse at the boy, sending him tumbling to the ground. Another boy's eyes widened in shock as he witnessed the scene.

"What did you say?" you demanded, your eyes narrowing.

As the tension escalated, you kicked the taunting boy hard in the legs, causing him to yelp in pain.

"Want to say that again?" you glared. "Fuck off and find something better to do with your time."

The boy slowly looking a bit scared quickly ran off through the alleyways as his friends tagged along with him. 

“So…” you began tentatively, noticing Heeseung’s bleeding lip.

“Sorry for all of that,” Heeseung apologized sincerely.

“Let's talk later. For now, let's get you patched up,” you replied, swiftly leading him to the nearby convenience store to grab a first aid kit.

"HOW DID YOU EVEN END UP IN THAT FIGHT?" you inquire as the two of you settle in at the park. You pull out a tube of scar gel, uncapping it and listening intently as Heeseung explains.

"Well, I made a bet for $1,000 and won, so I got dragged into the whole brawl," Heeseung shrugs. "It's just the usual."

"Usual?" your eyebrow raises as you first cleanse the scar with an alcohol wipe.

"Ouch, that stings," Heeseung winces as you then pat it dry with a tissue. "Yeah, it's kind of normal for me... ouch."

"Then maybe you shouldn't do it; it's dangerous," you respond, leaning in closer to apply the medicine. Heeseung's heart thumps as he watches you approach. You can feel his breath against your skin, and his cheeks flush as your fingers touch his skin. Why does his stomach feel like it's doing somersaults?

You affix a small bandage as a finishing touch. "There."

"Thanks," Heeseung smiles. "So, where were you?"

"Babysitting for another kid today," you shrug, quickly disposing of the bandage wrapper and tidying up your first aid kit.

"I see," Heeseung replies, helping you clean up. "I can walk you home if you want?"

"I'll walk," you smile.

"I could walk with you part of the way," Heeseung suggests, falling into step beside you. You both gaze at the glimmering stars, admiring them from afar.

"You know," you start, "Jihyeon mentioned something about your parents."

Heeseung's gaze drops as he stares at the ground, his smile fading slightly. He looks at you. "She did?"

You nod, meeting Heeseung's eyes. "If you're comfortable sharing, what happened?"

"Well..." Heeseung pauses, contemplating for a moment before continuing. "My parents died in a car crash. They were returning from a movie, and they never really got to say goodbye to us. I guess my biggest regret was not saying goodbye before they left. I was just being stubborn and angry because they scolded me for getting a bad grade."

You listen attentively. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay. It's all in the past now. It happened about five years ago, and I barely remember it," Heeseung shrugs.

"I hope things have gotten better since then," you smile.

"Thanks, YN," he gives you a grateful look.

"Anyway, thanks for walking me. Hopefully, we can talk again later," you wave goodbye before heading towards your apartment building.

"YN, COULE YOU PLEASE JOIN ME FOR A DRESS-UP TEA PARTY?" Jihyeon pleads with a cute pout, coaxing you into her playful scheme.

"Alright, fine…" you reluctantly agree, watching as Jihyeon's face lit up with a wide smile before she hurriedly led you to her room to fetch tiaras and dresses.

"This dress is from Mommy's room, so you can wear it," Jihyeon grin mischievously, confessing how she got it without her brother's knowledge. You examine the dress—a simple white garment with puffy sleeves adorned with intricate lace, reaching knee-length.

After changing in the bathroom, you admire your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the dress fit perfectly, accentuating your features.

Emerging from the bathroom, you found Jihyeon holding two tiaras, dressed in her own fancy pink attire. She hands you a tiara, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she helps you place it on your head.

"Let's go! It's tea party time!" she exclaims, leading you to the dining table where she arranged fake tea cups. Pouring imaginary "tea" into your cup, you play along, enjoying the moment.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of eyes observed from the doorway. "A tea party without me?" a teasing voice remark, revealing Heeseung, in his usual leather jacket and jeans, his smile widening as he saw you. His gaze linger on you appreciatively, taking in the sight of the borrowed dress.

"Heeseung!" Jihyeon exclaims, rushing into his arms.

"How are you, Jihyeon?" Heeseung greets, lifting her up gently.

"Why are you home so early?" Jihyeon inquire.

"Just needed to grab something upstairs," Heeseung replies with a grin. "Could you fetch my phone and wallet, Jihyeon? I need to chat with YN."

"Sure!" Jihyeon agreeing, scampering off to fulfill his request.

"YN…" Heeseung's gaze softened as he admires your appearance in the dress. "You look beautiful."

"I hope it's not inappropriate or disrespectful cause Jihyeon let me borrow it…" you began, but Heeseung quickly reassuring you.

"No, it's fine. You should keep it. It suits you really well," he insisted 

"Are you sure?" you ask hesitantly.

"Absolutely," Heeseung affirm, his smile unwavering. "By the way, are you free next Friday evening? Jihyeon will be with her aunt, and I thought maybe we could grab dinner together."

"Ah, is someone asking me out?" you tease, accepting his invitation with a smile.

Heeseung chuckles. "Guilty as charged. See you next Friday then. Feel free to continue your tea party," he added with a wink as you playfully rolled your eyes. Jihyeon returned with Heeseung's belongings, bidding him farewell as he left the house once more.

"WHY AM I SO NERVOUS…" you whisper to yourself in the bathroom before a ding dong at the door interrupts your thoughts. "I'LL GET IT!" you shout, hastily opening the door to find Heeseung standing there, clad in a white blouse with the first two buttons undone and black pants.

"I hope I’m not too early?" Heeseung grins.

"Perfect timing," you reply with a small smile. "I'LL BE BACK SOON!" you call out to your friends before exiting the house.

Outside, Heeseung's motorcycle awaits, and you sit on it, securing your helmet as he starts the engine. Arriving at the restaurant, he assists you off the bike, taking your hand and leading you inside. As you settle at a table, you quickly peruse the menu and place your order, leaving time for conversation.

"I noticed something unique about Jihyeon," you begin. "Unlike most kids who prioritize toys, she seems more…mature, especially in her care for you."

"Hm?" Heeseung looks intrigued.

"She's genuinely thoughtful and responsible, almost like she was raised exceptionally well," you add, earning a nod from Heeseung.

"You also strike me as a great brother," you compliment, noticing a faint blush on Heeseung's cheeks as he looks away, taking a sip of water to compose himself.

"Thanks," he responds, attempting to maintain his composure.

As the conversation flows, your food arrives, and after enjoying the meal, you take a leisurely stroll, chatting along the way.

"Yunah is more of a 'clumsy older sister' than an organized one," you remark.

"I could gather that from your stories," Heeseung chuckles, then pauses, "Your shoes... they're untied." He bends down to quickly tie your shoelaces, and inexplicably, your heart begins to race. Why the sudden flutter in your stomach?

"T-thanks," you stutter, "H-how about we head back home now? It's getting late, you know?"

"Yeah, sure," Heeseung nods, masking how he was blushing too.

YOU LIE IN YOUR BED, STARING AT THE CEILING, thinking of all the times you've spent with Heeseung. All the times you babysat Jihyeon and he would always stop by and wave at you. All the time he would do small things to make your heart thump loudly. All the rides you took on his motorcycle. The scent of his leather jacket when you first met him after the party. All of that was nearly 4-5 months ago. Now here you are, lying down and thinking about Heeseung all night, memories keeping you up until 4 am.

“Do you think I’m in love?” you ask Iroha.

“I think you are,” Iroha responds with a smile. “You always talk about Heeseung, and he treats you really well.”

You pause and ponder Iroha’s words, contemplating what it truly means to you. Were all those butterflies in your stomach a sign of love? What even is love?You gaze out the window, reflecting for the last time. Now you realize it, Iroha was right. You are truly deeply in love with the one and only Lee Heeseung

“YN, YOU’RE ZONING OUT AGAIN.” Jihyeon pouts as you gaze out the window for the fourth time. 

“Sorry, Jihyeon. Where were we in the play?” you try to give a small smile that hopefully Jihyeon would forgive. 

“We were where the prince confessed to the princess!” Jihyeon exclaims. 

Confess. The word pops up in the brain as you try to gain your focus back, “Right.” You whisper before then zoning out again. God, why was Heeseung taking your whole mind? 

You quickly snap back to reality, “Sorry—so basically the princess confesses to the prince of how much she loves him. How much she makes her get butterflies in her stomach. The way he gives her jacket and talks to her all the time..” You continue on as your mind is only about Heeseung. All the stuff you were saying perfectly described him. 

“You know this kind of sounds like my brother,” Jihyeon says, as she plays with her dolls. 

“Huh?” you look up from talking. 

“Is it?” Jihyeon asks. 

“Uhm..” you hesitate. 

“It is.” Jihyeon replies, reading your expression, “it’s okay cause I have my mouth shut.” She grabs her fingers and pretends to zip her mouth close as you laugh at her cuteness. But she wasn’t wrong, everything you said was about Heeseung. Everything in your mind right now was Heeseung.

YOU AND YUNAH SETTLE INTO A cozy corner at the bustling café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling in the air. Thoughts of Heeseung, the boy who occupies far too much space in your mind, tug at your attention.

"I’m going to the bathroom," you say, forcing a smile as you make your way to the bathroom. Inside the dimly lit space, you take a deep breath, trying to push aside your thoughts. 

But as you stand there, staring at your reflection in the mirror, you can't help but overhear a conversation from the other side of the bathroom.

"Heeseung definitely likes me. Like in Lee Heeseung," a voice boasts confidently. "Remember that one day he kissed me once. He's my type too."

Your heart skips a beat as the words sink in, a wave of shock and betrayal washing over you. Why did you think he likes you? Why did you like him? 

You press a hand to your mouth, trying to stop the sobs that threaten to escape. Tears blur your vision as you struggle to make sense of heartbreak. 

With trembling hands, you splash cold water on your face, trying to compose yourself before facing Yunah again. You can't let her see you like this, can't bear to let her witness the shattered remnants of your heart.

Summoning every ounce of strength you have left, you force yourself to leave the bathroom. Yunah's concerned gaze meets yours, and you offer her a weak smile.

"I'm not feeling well," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think I should go home."

Yunah's brow furrows with worry, and she reaches out to touch your arm. But you pull away gently, offering her a reassuring smile.

"I'll be okay," you lie, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "I just need some rest."

With a heavy heart, you bid farewell to Yunah and make your escape from the café. Once outside, tears streaming down your cheeks. Sobbing your eyes, you make your way back home with a broken heart. 

"YN, COME ON. HE’S SUCH A JERK" Wonhee consoles you as she wipes away your tears for what feels like the fifth time this week.

"He completely played me," you sob, feeling the weight of betrayal. "I thought there was something between us, but turns out he's just the brother of a kid I babysit. Why did I even like him?"

"YN…" Moka's voice is gentle as she squeezes your hand, "Please don't talk like that. What if there's a misunderstanding?"

"They mentioned 'Lee Heeseung,' it's obviously him," you sniffle, trying to compose yourself.

"Well, why waste your time on someone who doesn't deserve it?" Minju interjects.

"Minju's got a point," Wonhee agrees, "He's not worth your tears. He's just a player."

"But I can't help it, I think I love him," you admit, feeling torn.

"But Heeseung doesn't strike me as the type to play with someone's feelings like that. He's a good guy," Yunah suggests optimistically. "Maybe there's more to the story that you don't know."

"I don't even know anymore," you murmur, wiping your eyes. "All I know is I can't face anyone for the next week. I might even cancel all my plans. I just can't bear to see him right now."

HEESEUNG SAT AT HIS DESK, his mind consumed with worry. It had been a week since you abruptly canceled all your plans, and he hadn't heard from you since. His messages were delivered for nearly a week and according to Iroha, you hadn't left your house in days. 

Lost in his thoughts, he barely registered the sound of his bedroom door creaking open. Jihyeon stood in the doorway, her big brown eyes filled with concern.

"Heeseung, are you okay?" she asked softly, her small voice breaking through his anxious mind.

Heeseung forced a smile, trying to hide his emotion, "I'm fine, Jihyeon. Just a little tired."

Jihyeon frowned, unconvinced by his reassurance. "But you've been pacing around your room all day, and you haven't touched your food," she pointed out, her brow furrowing with worry.

Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He couldn't hide anything from Jihyeon; she always saw right through him.

"I'm just worried about someone," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jihyeon's eyes widened with curiosity. "Is it YN?" she asked, her voice filled with innocence.

Heeseung's heart skipped a beat at the mention of your name, and he nodded slowly. "Yes, it's YN. I haven't heard from her in days, and I'm starting to get really worried."

Jihyeon's expression softened, and she took a tentative step forward, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Don't worry, Heeseung. I'm sure she's okay. Maybe she just needs some time alone."

Heeseung wanted to believe her, but the nagging worry in the back of his mind refused to go away. "Hopefully."

Suddenly, Jihyeon's eyes lit up with excitement, as if she had just remembered something important. "Hey, Heeseung, do you like YN?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Heeseung's heart skipped a beat at the question, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I…uh…what makes you ask that?"

Jihyeon shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "YN may have told me that you give her butterflies and so many other things"

Heeseung's breath caught in his throat at the revelation, his mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. You liked him? The realization filled him with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in days.

"I need to go find YN."he said, his voice choking with emotion.

THE NIGHT HUNG HEAVY WITH SILENCE. Tears streamed down your cheeks; the clock ticked, marking the passing of time as you sat alone in your room.

The sudden creak of the window startled you, and you turned to see Heeseung framed against the moonlit sky. His presence sent a jolt of surprise through you. 

"Heeseung?" you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions.

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right words to say. "YN, I…," he started, but his voice faltered as he struggled to find the courage to speak.

"What are you doing here, Heeseung?" you asked, your voice betraying the hurt and confusion.

Heeseung took a step closer, his eyes filled with concern as he noticed the tears staining your cheeks. "YN, what happened? Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice with genuine worry.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of anger at his question,"Why do you care, Heeseung?" you snapped, your voice sharp"After everything that's happened, why do you even bother?"

Heeseung's eyes widened in surprise, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "What do you mean, YN? What happened?" he asked.

The anger inside you boiled over, and you couldn't hold back the flood of emotions any longer. "You like another girl," you said, your voice trembling with hurt and anger. "You kissed her,"

Heeseung's face looked puzzled, his eyes with confusion"YN, it's not what you think," he started, but you cut him off.

"Don't even bother, Heeseung," you said, your voice filled with resignation. "I know the truth now. I know that everything you did to me was just to play."

Heeseung's heart shattered at your words, "YN, please, let me explain," he pleaded, his voice desperate. You shake your head no.

"YN, listen to me," he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of your quiet sobs. "Those are all false. I never kissed anyone. I don’t like anyone but…"

You turned to face him, the tears still streaming down your cheeks as you searched his eyes.

“But  you. I like you, YN," Heeseung confessed, "More than I've ever liked anyone before."

Your eyes widened, “What?”

“I like you YN.” Heeseung confessed, before you could process anything 

For a moment, the world fell away around you as he pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. Lips in sync, his hands snaking around your waist. 

But all too soon, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway outside your room, and Heeseung pulled away, his eyes wide with panic. "YN, open the door, I brought tea," Yunah's voice called out. He realized that he was about to be caught, and he turned to you. Without a word, he pressed his lips to yours one last time. 

As you stood there, the echo of his words ringing in your ears. He liked you. Heeseung Lee liked you back. 

THE WARM GLOW OF THE AFTERNOON SUN FILTERED through the curtains, casting a soft light over the cozy living room. You sat beside him on the comfortable couch, next to Heeseung’s side as you watched a movie together.

Jihyeon sat on the floor in front of the TV, completely engrossed in the movie. Every so often, she would glance back at the two of you, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she plotted her next adventure.

Heeseung wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Is the movie good, angel?" he murmured, his voice soft with affection.

You nodded, leaning into his embrace with a contented sigh. "Mhmm, perfect," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

As the movie played on, you found yourself drifting off, the gentle rhythm of Heeseung's heartbeat and the noise of Jihyeon’s laughter. 

When the movie finally came to an end, Jihyeon jumped up from her spot on the floor, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can we play a game now?" she asked, bouncing up and down.

Heeseung chuckled at her enthusiasm, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Of course, Jihyeon," he said, shooting you a playful grin. "What do you want to play?"

Jihyeon's face lit up with delight as she rattled off a list of her favorite games, her energy infectious as she dragged the two of you into her world of make-believe. You and Heeseung played along with her antics, laughing and joking as you chased each other around the room, completely lost in the moment.

And as you watched Heeseung and Jihyeon, their laughter filling the air with joy, you knew that you would do anything to protect this precious moment, to hold onto it for as long as you possibly could. 

[harunayuuka2060]

Deuce: Oi, Ace! Why don't you just apologize to Housewarden Rosehearts?!

Ace: No!

Deuce: What's wrong with you? You ate his tart!

Ace: I didn't know it was his!

Deuce: It was in the rules!

Ace: And do you expect me to remember all that?! I can barely even remember 30!

Deuce: Housewarden Rosehearts won't allow you to return to Heartslabyul unless you apologize.

Ace: Guess I'll just stay somewhere else.

Deuce: And where? No dorm is going to accept you.

Ace: Hmph. *then realizes something*

Ace: *smirks* Doesn't this school have a rundown dormitory?

Deuce: Huh?

Ace: And a student is staying there too.

Ace: I'll just ask them if I can stay over.

Ace: I'm sure they won't mind.

Deuce: Are you nuts? It's a stranger!

Ace: So? We're in Night Raven College. It should be fine~.

Ace and Deuce: *has this funny, mesmerized expression on their faces*

MC: *in their night robe* I'm not expecting any visitors today. Nevertheless, how can I help you?

Ace: I-I uh... My name is Ace Trappola and I'm a first-year from Heartslabyul.

Ace: And this is my pal Deuce.

Deuce: H-Hello! I-It's nice to meet you!

Ace: And we came here to, uh, stay over?

MC: May I know the reason why?

Ace: Oh my seven- They smell so nice!

Ace: I was punished by my housewarden for eating his tart. Therefore, I cannot return to my dorm until I apologize.

MC: Your situation doesn't seem to be difficult.

Ace: Y-Yes, but...

MC: ...

MC: *chuckles* Well, it's late. It would be rude of me to send you off.

Ace: Wait- Really?

MC: Yes, but I advise you to resolve the situation soon.

Ace: Hehe, okay.

Ace: Deuce, you can leave now.

Deuce: Huh?

Ace: Well I'm the only one banned from Heartslabyul.

Deuce: This jerk-

Ace: Bye-bye~ See you tomorrow~. *closes the door on him*

Deuce: ...

MC: *opens the door* Please come in. I'll inform your dorm leader so he won't be worried.

Deuce: Th-Thank you!

Ace: Tch.

Deuce: *glares at him*

Cater: I didn't see both Acey and Deucey last night and this morning.

Trey: Both of them stayed over at Ramshackle dorm.

Trey: Riddle received a message just before bedtime.

Cater: Ramshackle dorm... Wait. That place is trash!

Cater: Why would they sleep there?!

Trey: Haha, I've heard it has one, decent bedroom.

Ace and Deuce: *have arrived at the cafeteria together with MC*

Ace: *whines while clinging onto MC* Can't I just be part of your dorm~?

MC: *chuckles* I'm sorry.

Deuce: Ace, you're embarrassing.

Ace: But I'll be a good underclassman-

Cater and Trey: ...

Ace: ...

Deuce: ...

Cater: So this is why neither of you came home last night until this morning.

[kwanisms]

KINKTOBER 2024

» svt menu | skz menu | atz menu | txt menu | the rose menu | soloist menu «

➮ monster!idol (svt, atz, skz, txt, woosung, + dpr ian) × fem!Reader wc: — (TBD) summary: a collection of timestamps for the spookiest month of the year genres/themes/au: angst, fluff, smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, mentions of: food/alcohol consumption, supernatural & horror themes; sexual content (18+ mdni), see each part for further warnings. ⚠️  taglist will be in the reblogs join my taglists: main | special kinktober taglist closed! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

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🅆🄴🄴🄺 1

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❑ 「10:01」 WORK OF ART ➮ half-dragon!Minghao × fem!Reader kinks: mirror sex + sex photos prompt: ❛❛ Don’t cover your mouth, I want everyone to know how good I make you feel. ❜❜ summary: After inheriting an estate deep in the Bavarian Alps from his maternal grandfather, Minghao arrives to find the estate has survived the war unscathed and that deep underground is a vault full of historic and old art dating back to the 8th century. He decides to hire an appraiser to inspect the collection but becomes enamored with her. wc: 7.3k READ NOW!

❑ 「10:02」 PRIMAL INSTINCT ➮ werehyena!Mingi × fem!Reader kinks: facesitting + mommy kink prompt: ❛❛ Sit on my face. ❜❜ summary: Y/N hasn’t been intimate with her boyfriend but not by choice. Every time she tries, he always ends up pushing her away and it's starting to affect her confidence. After an argument, Mingi finally blurts out just why he's been pushing her away this whole time. wc: 4k READ NOW!

❑ 「10:03」 WRONG TURN ➮ bunyip!Chris × fem!Reader × bunyip!Chris kinks: threesome + pool/water sex prompt: ❛❛ Make Me. ❜❜ + ❛❛ God, you’re so beautiful when you’re fucked out under me/us/him. ❜❜ summary: Y/N is convinced her map is wrong when she finds herself utterly lost on what was supposed to be a short hike from her camp. When she comes upon a small river and stops to fill her canteen, she finds more than water waiting for her. wc: 6.6k READ NOW!

❑ 「10:04」 SPEED DATING AN ONI FOR DUMMIES ➮ oni!Jeonghan × fem!Reader kinks: bulge kink + deepthroating prompt: ❛❛ I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already wet. ❜❜ summary: Speed dating never was Y/N’s thing but lucky for her, she just so happened to meet someone worthwhile. He asked her on a proper date & has been a perfect gentleman throughout the night. Even if he is an oni. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:05」 GUEST RELATIONS ➮ centaur!Mingyu × fem!Reader kinks: premature ejaculation + degradation prompt: ❛❛ Good boys get rewarded, so behave. ❜❜ summary: Y/N owns an inn in the countryside, left to her by her grandparents. She gets all sorts of visitors but her favorites are the unusual and monstrous ones. When a centaur named Mingyu arrives, she gives him the best horse-size room she has and goes above and beyond to make sure his stay is memorable and welcoming. wc: — READ NOW! — will be late

❑ 「10:06」 BAD DOG, GOOD BOY ➮ werewolf!Woosung × fem!Reader kinks: knotting + creampie prompt: ❛❛ Is that my shirt? ❜❜ summary: All you wanted was a quiet, relaxing night to yourself after a tough week at work. One night to relax and unwind. With your clothes in the wash, you decide to borrow one of your roommate’s shirts. Something he notices when you walk back into the living room while he’s taking a break from gaming. wc: — READ NOW! — will be late

❑ 「10:07」 ONLY MINE ➮ werefox!Hongjoong × fem!Reader kinks: possessive sex + marking prompt: ❛❛ I’m not jealous! It’s just… you’re mine. ❜❜ summary: Hongjoong is possessive by nature and when people get too close to his mate, he has to remind her who she actually belongs to. wc: — READ NOW! — will be late

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🅆🄴🄴🄺 2

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❑ 「10:08」 GAME OF RIDDLES ➮ kumiho!Beomgyu × fem!Reader (feat. Yeonjun & Soobin) kinks: dacryphilia + CNC prompt: ❛❛ I love it when you cry. ❜❜ + ❛❛ What do you mean you’ve never cum from sex? ❜❜ + ❛❛ Your panties are soaked already. ❜❜ summary: When Y/N’s best friends Yeonjun and Soobin dared her to explore an old mine shaft on the edge of town, she never expected to find anything but rock so when she stumbles across an extremely gorgeous man with bright orange glowing eyes, to say she was shocked was an understatement. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:09」 FALLEN ➮ fallen angel!Seungmin × fem!Reader kinks: impact play + begging prompt: ❛❛ Oh no. Not until you beg. ❜❜ summary: His fall from grace had been due to his hard headedness and Seungmin’s status as a fallen one never really crossed his mind. At least until he met Y/N. He’d been dejected and grown disillusioned with life but upon meeting her, he started to see some meaning to life again. To put it simply -- Y/N made him feel alive. wc: 4.5k READ NOW!

❑ 「10:10」 DON’T HOLD BACK ➮ wereleopard!Yunho × fem!Reader kinks: size kink + praise prompt: ❛❛ Try to stay quiet for me, kitten. Can you do that? ❜❜ summary: Yunho hadn’t been on a date in ages when he managed to land a date with his cute coworker, Y/N. Cue one awkward first date and a handful of other successful ones, Yunho feels like he’s starting to settle into his growing relationship. The only thing holding him back is that his girlfriend is so small and it drives him mad with the desire to pin her down and unleash his inner beast. He finally comes clean when Y/N asks him why they aren’t more intimate. wc: 3.3k READ NOW!

❑ 「10:11」 THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED ➮ bogeyman!Vernon × fem!Reader kinks: tentacles + virgin sex prompt: ❛❛ I’m waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you. ❜❜ summary: The monster under Y/N’s bed has been hearing her touch herself for the last few years & is starting to get jealous. Why does she touch herself when he’s right there? wc: 3.9k READ NOW!

❑ 「10:12」 BUMP IN THE NIGHT ➮ incubus!Jongho × fem!Reader kinks: somnophilia + mind break prompt: ❛❛ I’m going to have you screaming by the end of the night. ❜❜ summary: To pass his final incubus test, Jongho must visit the human world and seduce a sleeping person. wc: 2.5k READ NOW!

❑ 「10:13」 HEY, CHECK THIS OUT ➮ shapeshifter!Junhui × fem!Reader kinks: mutual masturbation + voyeurism prompt: ❛❛ Lay back and touch yourself, I’m going to watch. ❜❜ summary: Jun is a witch and has been practicing his shapeshifting. He’s excited to show Y/N his new trick which has an unintended reaction. wc: 3k READ NOW!

❑ 「10:14」 BLOODLUST ➮ vampire!Wonwoo × fem!Reader kinks: bloodplay + period sex prompt: ❛❛ Aw darling, I almost believe you. ❜❜ summary: Y/N has always avoided sex during her period in the past. Not because she found it gross but because her partners did. Wonwoo is different. Wonwoo loves it. Wonwoo also happens to be a vampire so he might be a bit biased. wc: 3.8k READ NOW!

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🅆🄴🄴🄺 3

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❑ 「10:15」 A QUIET MORNING ➮ kitsune!Jeongin × fem kumiho!Reader kinks: dry humping + morning sex prompt: ❛❛ Do you really think you’re in a position to give orders? ❜❜ summary: A year after setting off to find his mother, Jeongin returned to Y/N, finding she had given birth to his daughter. Time skip to another two years later and Jeongin often wakes up to his three year old daughter and one year old son jumping on the bed, shaking him and Y/N awake. It’s not often he gets to spend the morning with his wife so when Clover offers to watch the kits so Jeongin and Y/N can have a weekend away, he jumps at the chance. wc: 2.9k READ NOW!

❑ 「10:16」 BEWARE OF BEARS ➮ werebear!Changbin × fem!Reader kinks: outdoor sex + strength kink prompt: ❛❛ I cannot possibly focus with your damn hand in my- ❜❜ summary: Changbin just wanted to have a nice camping trip with his girlfriend but she has other ideas. wc: 4.1k READ NOW!

❑ 「10:17」 THE RITUAL ➮ demon!Chan × fem witch!Reader kinks: lingerie + facefucking prompt: ❛❛ You look so good on your knees. ❜❜ summary: Y/N has been practicing her summoning, hoping to finally summon a demon. Imagine her surprise when she not only succeeds in summoning a demon but he’s insanely gorgeous and wants to make a deal. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:18」 GOD OF DEATH ➮ shinigami!Hyunjin × fem!Reader kinks: rope play + dubcon prompt: ❛❛ I promise I’ll be gentle. ❜❜ summary: As a god of death, Hyunjin spent most of his days in the underworld but after deciding to visit the human world, he finds himself drawn to a particular human and even conspires to drop his very own death note, hoping for her to pick it up. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:19」 SEASIDE RETREAT ➮ merman!Seungcheol × fem!Reader kinks: daddy kink + choking prompt: ❛❛ Baby, I asked you a question, so if you know what’s good for you, you’d better answer me.❜❜ summary: It’s been a few weeks since Y/N last came to the small seaside town where her boyfriend resides and suffice it to say, he’s missed her greatly. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:20」 THE SIREN’S SONG ➮ siren!Wooyoung × fem!Reader kinks: thigh fucking + brat-taming prompt: ❛❛ Yell at me again and I’ll give you a reason to scream. ❜❜ summary: Y/N’s been having a rough season. The fish have almost all but disappeared and each catch is smaller and smaller. While doing some overnight fishing, she’s woken from her slumber by a beautiful singing and finds that the one doing the singing is even more beautiful. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:21」 MADE OF STONE ➮ gargoyle!Seokmin × fem!Reader kinks: thigh riding + orgasm control prompt: ❛❛ Come here. I’ll show you how to make yourself feel good. ❜❜ summary: Nights are the only time Seokmin can truly live as he spends his days frozen in the glow of the sun. Night was also the time when his human girlfriend would come to pay him a visit. wc: — READ NOW!

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🅆🄴🄴🄺 4

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❑ 「10:22」 BOREDOM ➮ naga!Seonghwa × fem!Reader kinks: table/counter sex + double penetration prompt: ❛❛ I’m bored. Let’s fuck. ❜❜ summary: Y/N’s naga roommate is still trying to get used to the hustle and bustle of life in the city. He finds it difficult to go out and socialize as monsters aren’t socially accepted yet. So he tends to go a little stir crazy and get bored often. Lunchtime is no different when he suggests they do something fun. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:23」 CHEATING DEATH ➮ reaper!Yeosang × fem!Reader kinks: corruption kink + cock worship prompt: ❛❛ Have you never been touched like this before? ❜❜ summary: When an aneurysm in her brain ruptures, killing Y/N, she is faced with a reaper who has come to collect her soul but she might have just discovered a way to cheat death. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:24」 CAN'T TAKE THE HEAT ➮ yuki-otoko!Jihoon × fem!Reader kinks: temperature play + spitting prompt: ❛❛ What? Does that feel good? ❜❜ summary: As a snow demon, Jihoon can’t stand the heat and takes to staying in his apartment he shares with his roommate, Y/N. When the AC breaks down, Jihoon asks Y/N for help in keeping him cool. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:25」 APHRODISIA ➮ alien!Minho × fem!Reader kinks: sex pollen + breeding prompt: ❛❛ Baby… you need me that badly? ❜❜ summary: After Minho’s return to Earth, Y/N has spent the last year traveling the galaxy with her alien boyfriend. While exploring a tropical moon orbiting a massive planet in a binary star system, Y/N accidentally disturbs a cluster of bulbous purple luminescent flowers that release a glowing purple dust that sticks to her clothes and skin. She returns to Minho’s ship hoping that the dust isn’t toxic and will wash off but as she soon finds out, the dust is a very sparkly and potent aphrodisiac and it has a profound effect on not only her, but on Minho as well. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:26」 ROCK THE BOAT ➮ samebito!Jisung × fem!Reader kinks: body worship + dirty talk prompt: ❛❛ Tell me you love me. ❜❜ summary: Y/N’s work has been taking her away from the ocean and keeping her in the office, making her samebito boyfriend, Jisung, very lonely and putting a wedge between them. One night after Y/N doesn’t show up to his underwater cave, Jisung makes a simple little wish that he could go on shore for once to go see her instead of waiting for her to come to him. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:27」 GO INSANE ➮ werepanther!Christian × fem!Reader kinks: public sex + cockwarming prompt: ❛❛ We can’t do this here! What if someone sees? ❜❜ summary: a nice visit to the Japanese countryside was in store for Y/N and her fiancé. What she hadn’t planned on was how insatiable the werepanther was and his animalistic urge to be inside her while she sits on his lap on a crowded bus. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:28」 HEAT CYCLES ➮ weretiger!Soonyoung × fem!Reader kinks: heat cycles + rough sex prompt: ❛❛ You heard me. Take. It. Off. Now. ❜❜ summary: Normally during his heat, Soonyoung stays as far away from his girlfriend as he can for fear of scaring her away but he can’t help himself when she comes by to drop some soup off seeing as he told her he’s sick. wc: — READ NOW!

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🅆🄴🄴🄺 5

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❑ 「10:29」 THRILL OF THE CHASE ➮ werecoyote!San × fem chipmunk hybrid!Reader kinks: predator/prey + hybrids prompt: ❛❛ Why are you shaking? You’re not scared of me are you? ❜❜ summary: San’s favorite thing about his roommate is that as a hybrid, she triggers his prey drive which makes him want to chase her around their apartment, and even if it’s not her favorite thing ever, she doesn’t mind indulging him. It usually ends with her pinned on the couch or wall before San will playfully nip at her and let her go but this time, it ends with her pinned against his bed, triggering more than just his predator drive. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:30」 ALMOST HUMAN ➮ gorgon!Seungkwan × fem!Reader kinks: shower sex + drunk sex prompt: ❛❛ We’re not just friends and you fucking know it. ❜❜ summary: Seungkwan is the youngest of three siblings and the only male gorgon in his family. Probably due to his half-human heritage on his father’s side. He’s lucky that his appearance is much more human than his sisters’. Although he looks mostly normal there are still some things that aren’t quite… human. His inhuman strength and other snake-like features set him apart from the rest, so why his best friend and roommate likes him so much, he doesn’t know why. All he knows is that he’s madly in love with Y/N. wc: — READ NOW!

❑ 「10:31」 MIDDAY HIKE ➮ näcken!Joshua × fem!Reader kinks: overstimulation + sensory deprivation prompt: ❛❛ Don’t act so innocent. I heard you. ❜❜ summary: Trekking through the forest has brought Y/N nothing but joy but now she’s hearing a mysterious violin playing in the distance and follows the sound to find the source. wc: — READ NOW!

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[taylorman2274]

We Care About You (Part III)

Those who have been with you since the beginning discuss the differences they've noticed with and without your presence.

Content Warning(s): Jean, Kaeya, & Albedo Story Quest Spoilers; Mondstadt Archon Quest Spoilers

Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader; [T/N] = Traveler Name

Word Count: 2.1k

Previous || Next

Taglist: @silverstarred; @victoria1676; @angelofdarkness2; @areaderspov; @andromeda-gay; @ash1; @mercy-not-merci; @toodledoodl3;

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The sun had fully risen over the horizon by the time all the stores in Mondstadt's main plaza had opened for the day. Blanche was finishing setting up her fruit trays on the counter by the time Marjorie and Timeaus arrived at their respective stores. Sara, on the other hand, had already opened up Good Hunter half an hour ago. This was in case there were any early birds or if any of the aforementioned shopkeepers wanted a quick bite to eat before work.

Today, the Traveler and Paimon were examples of early birds, as the two were enjoying breakfast from Good Hunter. However, as they were eating their respective meals, they were approached by Raymond, a Knight of Favonius.

"Morning, Traveler. Morning, Paimon," he greeted. "Sorry to interrupt your meal, but I'm here to inform you that your presence has been requested by the Acting Grand Master. She requests that you head on over to headquarters immediately."

Paimon groaned. "Does Jean really have to summon us this early? Paimon hasn't even finished her Fisherman's Toast yet."

"I apologize once again, but it would be rude to keep the Acting Grand Master waiting," Raymond replied.

The Traveler shook their head. "No worries. I'm just about finished anyway." They got up from their seat. "Would you like for me to get you a to-go box, Paimon?

"Get a to-go box? Has Paimon not already proved to you what she's capable of? Watch this!" Paimon proclaimed before chowing down the rest of her Fisherman's Toast as quickly as Paimonly possible.

...Said way involved burying herself nose-deep in her plate and practically inhaling all the food left on her plate. The Traveler and Raymond even had to hold their hands up to their faces to protect themselves from any flying food.

Maybe they shouldn't have bought her a triple stack...

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Despite being invited by Jean herself, The Traveler decided to knock on her office door. It was only proper manners.

"Enter."

They opened the door and allowed Paimon to enter first before letting themselves in. As soon as Jean recognized them, she gracefully got up from her chair and walked around to the front of her desk.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Honorary Knight. I know you must be tired.”

The Traveler shook their head. "It was no trouble. Paimon and I were already up to begin with."

"Is that so? It's a shame my cuties didn't think to greet me in the library first thing in the morning. Your company can certainly revitalize this mage's energy." Came a voice to their left. Both newcomers swiveled their heads to look at the other visitor partially hidden in the corner.

"Lisa? Were you called here by Jean as well?" questioned Paimon.

"I was," Lisa confirmed, perplexion etched on her face, "Though I haven't been told why yet."

"I called you both here for the same reason. However, not everyone has arrived yet. We're still waiting on two more people. Once they’ve arrived, I’ll explain everything," Jean explained.

To pass the time, the Traveler, Paimon, and Lisa began to catch up with each other on what had happened since they last met while Jean leaned against her desk and peeked at the ticking clock on the wall from time to time.

She wasn't worried about the other two members being late. They each were fellow Knights of Favonius members after all. They know the standards that need to be set in order to maintain their position.

A few minutes later, everyone in the office could hear rapid footsteps from outside the room. Not even a second later the door was thrown open by Amber who quickly entered the room and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

pant ... pant ... "Sorry I'm late, Jean. I got caught up with something."

Jean shook her head. "Not to worry, Amber. We haven't started talking about anything yet." Jean snuck a peak behind Amber towards the open door. "Did you happen to see Kaeya on the way here?"

Amber straightened up and nodded her head. "I did, actually. He's..."

"Right here."

Kaeya smoothly walked into the office and quietly shut the door Amber left open behind him.

Jean gave a quick nod. "Good. That should be everybody." Everyone gathered around Jean in a semi-circle. "I bet you're all wondering why I've called you here this early."

"To put it simply, I'd rather get this discussion out of the way before we all start work for the day. This mainly concerns the Traveler, but I promise you all are important to this discussion as well."

Jean turned her attention to the Traveler. "First off, how are your adventures going?"

The Traveler looked at Jean in confusion. Jean called all of them here just to ask them about their adventures? "...Pretty well I guess. I've hit a few obstacles here and there but it was nothing I couldn't handle."

Jean nodded. "That's good to hear. And what about this latest obstacle you're facing?"

Now it was Paimon's turn to be confused. "Latest obstacle...?" she murmured, "Oh! Do you mean [Y/N]?"

Amber, Lisa, and Kaeya all widened their eyes in surprise as they looked at Paimon. Jean nodded once again.

"Yes. That's exactly the reason why I've called you all here. Although I may not know much about [Y/N], I understand that you all have had some experience with them. If you could tell me all that you know about them, I'll get a better understanding of what our next action should be."

The Traveler nodded in understanding before looking around at the others. "Should I go first, or do you all want to share your thoughts now?"

Amber was the first to reply. "Sure! I'll go first. In my opinion, the Traveler and [Y/N] are the same person, but also different people. When I first met the Traveler outside of the Whispering Woods, they introduced themselves as [Y/N]. However, once we dealt with the sources of Stormterror's power in the abandoned Four Winds' Temples, they seemed much livelier. That was when they explained that they were actually [T/N], and [Y/N] was this 'ghost or entity-like thing' that possessed them against their will.

Lisa nodded. "It's true. When we were traversing through the last temple, I felt as if my body was not under my control, but I was still conscious to witness what I was doing. It was scary at first, but after a while, I kind of got used to it."

Jean raised a skeptical brow. "And why is that?"

"Because [Y/N] and I were trying to achieve the same thing. They guided me through the temple, defeated all of the enemies, and destroyed Stormterror's crystal, all things that I originally intended to do myself."

Jean brought a hand to her chin. "Interesting..."

Kaeya raised his hand, signaling to speak next. "It's not just that, either. Later on when I had the Traveler lure some Treasure Hoarders to some ruins, one of them accidentally activated a Ruin Guard while attempting to flee. We managed to take it down, of course, while being guided by [Y/N], but I noticed that I had gotten stronger in between fighting the treasure hoarders outside the ruins and fighting the Ruin Guard. We defeated the Ruin Guard a lot quicker than I thought we would."

Jean furrowed her brows. "But Ruin Guards are a lot harder to defeat than mere Treasure Hoarders. Surely you must be exaggerating?"

Kaeya chuckled. "I can assure you, Jean. The strength I gained when guided by [Y/N] is no exaggeration. Surely you must've felt their presence yourself?"

"Outside of the day when I got burnout, no. But even then, I didn't exactly feel I was much stronger."

"Oh!" Amber blurted out. "Speaking of getting stronger, I've noticed that [Y/N] has improved some of my abilities as well! For example, the day before we pulled that whole sleeping stunt on [Y/N], we were helping them complete some commissions around Mondstadt. While we were completing them, I noticed that I could suddenly fire two arrows with one shot! Not only that, but I was able to manually detonate my Baron Bunny by shooting at it!"

Amber frowned. “The only downside is that I haven't had much success replicating these abilities when I'm not with [Y/N].”

"So you've noticed as well?" Lisa asked. "I thought I was the only one to notice." She turned her attention back to Jean. "You see, [Y/N] typically has me defeat hydro slimes whenever they appear, and with them I'm normally able to defeat them in one or two hits. However, I wanted to test a theory I've been thinking about recently. So I went to go find a hydro slime and see how many hits it took to defeat it. Just as I thought, it took nearly double the number of hits before it was beaten."

"I see. And is this something that we should look into?"

"No. I just thought it was something worth mentioning."

"Alright then. And when [Y/N] does guide you, is it only to complete commissions?" Jean inquired.

"Oh no!" Amber eyes sparkled. "We've been helping the Honorary Knight and [Y/N] all across Teyvat! It's amazing!"

Jean smiled. "Then you all must be enjoying your adventures, I presume?"

"But of course!" exclaimed Amber. "I've always wanted to see the world beyond Mondstadt and it's just as grand as I imagined."

"That's good to hear." Jean then looked down at the floor and sighed. "...Honestly, there are times when I wish I could throw my work to the side and travel alongside you, Honorary Knight."

"Paimon is certain that [Y/N] would love to have you join their Adventure Team! If it becomes possible, Paimon will put in a good word for you."

Jean chuckled. "Thanks, Paimon." She turned her attention to the Traveler. "And what about you? What do you know about [Y/N]?"

"It's a pretty long story. The first time I ever got a clue as to who [Y/N] was was when I was in the middle of helping Albedo with his research. During the middle of some experiments, I felt their presence leaving. However, almost immediately after they left I saw a bright light in the sky. It only lasted for a few seconds, but when the light went away, I saw that it had come from Celestia!"

Jean looked shocked for a moment but quickly composed herself. She had an image to maintain after all. "Really?! From Celestia?"

"Yes. Albedo saw it as well and it piqued his curiosity. To make a long story short, he found out that for a brief moment, the light that spawns from Celestia forms as if one is opening a door to an unlit room. He hypothesizes that whoever [Y/N] is, they are not from Celestia but somewhere beyond it. Maybe even another world entirely."

Kaeya smirked. "From another world, eh? So does that mean [Y/N] is an alien?"

The Traveler shook their head. "I don't think so. Most of the worlds I traveled to before Teyvat were inhabited by humans. I would assume that if [Y/N] is from another world, they would be human as well.

"How certain are you?" inquired Jean.

"I'm like 90% certain they're human," the Traveler confirmed. Amber hummed in thought.

"Do you think they might be a god?"

“A god whose eyes are focused on a world separate from theirs? Sounds unlikely to me,” countered Lisa.

"Regardless..." Jean interjected. "[Y/N] has been absent for a while now, correct?" The Traveler nodded. "Have you thought about continuing your journey without them should they not come back?"

"I've had the thought. But I'm willing to wait however long is necessary if it means I get to see them again."

Jean put a hand to her chin. "Are you sure? I would gladly be willing to have Amber, Lisa, or Kaeya travel with you for the foreseeable future."

Paimon nodded. "It's been almost a week since that incident, and yet Paimon has never seen the Traveler lose any determination at all!"

Jean nodded as well. "I see. In that case, I believe that is all I have to say for this discussion. It was nice meeting you once again, Honorary Knight."

"The same goes for you, Jean.”

Everyone exchanged goodbyes with each other and, minus Jean, prepared to leave the office. However, just before they left...

"Hey. Is it just me, or is it getting brighter outside?"

Kaeya looked towards Amber. "I'm sure it's just the clouds moving past the sun."

Amber shook her head, keeping her gaze towards the window. "No... I didn't see any clouds when I first came in..."

The room was silent. Some looked to the window while others kept their attention on Amber.

Suddenly, Paimon gasped.

"Paimon!" The Traveler shouted in surprise. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"...They're back..." she whispered.

The Traveler tilted their head. "Who's back?"

Paimon was too stunned to speak, but it didn't take long for the Traveler to figure out why. Their eyes grew wide in shock.

"[Y/N]!!" They suddenly exclaimed as they bolted past everyone. Everyone quickly followed the Traveler outside.

Once they all gathered outside. They quickly turned their gaze towards Celestia. Just as they thought, a light, though less noticeable during the day, was slowly getting brighter.

"Sorry, Jean! We've got to go! Don't wanna be late!" Paimon quickly said before everyone aside from Jean was teleported away.

---------------------------------------------------------

"It sure is taking a long time to check for updates," you thought.

After countless research, note-taking, and several anxiety breakdowns, you were finally ready to hop back onto Genshin and meet up with the people who you now realize are alive and sentient.

"I hope all this makes a good impression on them."

The door appeared.

With one click, you would be back to where this trouble all started…

Breathe in… Breathe out…

click

The door opened.

---------------------------------------------------------

Author Side Notes: I looked at my fanfiction and decided that it needed LORE™

Once again, I'll be editing this chapter over the next upcoming days. I sort of prefer it as opposed to keeping this in my drafts. I don't want you all waiting for the next part too long!

[troublesomesnitch]

The Novice

Aemond x Septa!Reader

The one-eyed prince makes a late night confession.

Contents: Book!Aemond. Pure filth, extremely dubious consent/non-con. Confessional dirty talk, coercion, power imbalance.

Words: 4200

Mostly book!Aemond, but with some show elements added to make him a real piece of shit.

CW: sexual assault!

Proof read, but I am not good at proof reading.

-

Twice a week, the grand sept receives fine visitors.

It is always something you look forward to, something special and exciting; hearing guards in the streets outside, and the swift feet of errand boys running to inform your superiors.

The queen will be arriving shortly. 

There is not much preparation that needs to be done, because you never tarry in your duties - there are always fresh matches laid out, candles ready to be lit, not a spec of dust on the altars. But for the queen, you go above and beyond. You fetch cushions for her dainty knees, you light incense in every corner, and you usher out any crowds that are not worthy of her presence. 

You greatly admire the queen. She is all that a lady should be, the very image of womanhood. Gracious, pious, beautifully but modestly dressed, and always kind and courteous to you. She says thank you, and blessed day, sweet Sister, and she asks about your training, your health and wellbeing, what charitable causes you wish to devote yourself to. 

The older septas say that the queen seems to have taken a liking to you, and that perhaps if you are lucky, she will request for you to join her household once you have taken your vows. To be a helper and companion to her daughter, and to teach the little prince and princess - her grandchildren, which is a strange thought, because the queen is so young and so beautiful to already be a grandmother. 

She is certainly much younger than her husband. The king is old and frail and rarely leaves his castle now, but even in his youth, he never came to the sept. At least that is what you are told. Septon Alester says he is an unworthy husband, and an unworthy ruler, too. A heretic, like all the rest of his Valyrian kin, who flout divine law and believe themselves above the gods. 

You would never dare to utter such a thing, but it seems at least partially true - in all the time you have served the sept, the king has never accompanied his queen to prayer. Not even once. She always comes alone, escorted by her guard and her maid. And sometimes by her son. 

The one-eyed prince. The one who rides the largest beast in the world. 

There are many rumours swirling about noble lords and ladies, but especially about him. In the taverns and winesinks people say he is of a sullen disposition, and that the loss of his eye at such a young age has left his face hideous and deformed - clearly they have never seen him, but you have, and you know it is nothing more than malicious slander. 

The prince is as beautiful as his mother. 

They look lovely when they kneel together by the altar, with their hands delicately folded and their heads respectfully bowed. Regal, godly. Like the Mother and the Warrior, you think. You often wonder about the contents of his prayers - what could a royal prince possibly wish for? Not as many things as a queen, it would seem, because he never kneels for as long, retreating after a minute or two to stand and wait for his mother. Watch over her; look at her with devotion and reverence. You cannot help but steal quick glances at him; at his graceful posture and his strong face, and you are always too slow to look away, so sometimes he catches you in it. Even when you stand on his blind side, he somehow knows to turn his head and meet your gaze. The little bow he gives you is courteous, but the taunting smile that follows is not, and you must always remind yourself that you have done nothing wrong. 

It is not a sin to be curious. 

—

When the evening bell tolls, and the city gates close, the High Septon calls to prayer. But one person must always stay behind to keep vigil until the morning, and the duty is shared between all servants of the Faith. Septons and septas, novices, even holy brothers and sisters, sometimes. Only the Most Devout are exempt from it, as well as those who are weakened by illness or old age.

You are neither, but you do not mind taking your turn. It is an easy task, as all of the city is asleep, and those who are not would much rather drink and carouse than come to a place of worship. Here, the night is quiet and calm, and you quite like these hours of solitude. Alone in the sept with only the statues, and maybe the gods, for company. 

On this day though, you are startled from your thoughts when the heavy doors are swung open. 

You have never before encountered guests at this hour, so your fearful imagination is quick to jump to conclusions - the man could be a thief, a common brute, a scoundrel hiding from a brawl, or - gods forbid - from the City Watch.

But when you peek out from your little corner, you are surprised to see that it is the prince. And that he is alone. 

He is dressed differently tonight, in dull colours and coarser fabrics, far simpler than what he usually wears. Perhaps in an attempt to go unnoticed among the common people - but if that was indeed his intention, he has very much failed. Everything about him is unusual, from his hair to his eye to the shining silver clasp at his neck; the immaculate tailoring of each of his garments. Even the way he carries himself makes it abundantly clear that this is no grocer or stonemason. 

You cast your eyes down as his steps echo through the sept, purposeful and determined.  Clearly heading towards you, but you would hate to be presumptuous, so it is only when he is right in front of you that you rise from your seat to curtsy. Reverently, so deep that your knee almost touches the floor. 

“Sister,” he nods. “I have sins I wish to confess - a troubled mind I wish to unburden.” 

You curtsy once more, though not as low this time.

“I am not ordained to hear confessions, but I should be happy to fetch a septon - “

“No,” the prince says. “I will speak to no one but you.” 

What he demands is a breach of the rules, and a cruel thing to ask of you, but there is not much to be done about it. You can hardly refuse a prince of the realm, and what if he tells his mother that you were unhelpful? After all, it is your sacred duty to comfort and guide the faithful. To lead them on the path to righteousness. 

So you nod, draping your veil over your head as you both sit down on your little bench. Right beside one another, so close that your legs almost touch. A proper septa would say confess, and may the Father judge you justly, but that is not appropriate for you, so you merely look down at your folded hands and wait for the prince to speak. 

“I am plagued by impure thoughts,” he begins. 

The colour drains from your face in an instant. Oh, not this. 

Anything else, you do believe you could handle. Envy, drunkenness, greed, gambling, even violent offences, perhaps. Anything but this. But you remain calm; force yourself to keep your composure as you speak. 

“All young men have impure thoughts. It is perfectly natural.”

From the corner of your eye, it looks as though the prince smiles ever so slightly. 

“Of course,” he nods. “But mine are by nature nefarious, because the lady I desire is a chaste and pious woman… a maiden, and justly proud of her innocence. She would be distraught if she knew the wickedness she inspires.”

You feel yourself blushing. Although you are sufficiently educated on the matter, speaking of such things makes you feel ashamed and uncomfortable. As it would most young women. Confession or not, nothing about this conversation is appropriate, and you want nothing more than to be done with it and return to quiet contemplation. You keep your eyes cast down, and you are as curt as you dare when you answer. 

“Then you should not sully her, My Prince, even in your thoughts. You should pray to the Smith for strength, or to the Warrior if you prefer, and occupy yourself with noble pursuits. Prayer, studies, and so forth.”

“Oh, but I do,” the prince says gravely. “I devote my every hour to noble pursuits. And yet time and time again I sully her, and my own hand too in the process -  yes, I must confess that I have sinned exceedingly, in both thought and deed. These urges of mine are so unbearable, I simply must relieve myself…” He pauses to look at you coolly, his brows drawn together in a disapproving frown. “You look quite pale, Septa, is my confession too scandalous for you? I should hope the Faith would not admit a novice so unfit for her position…”

“Of course not,” you quickly mutter, though in truth, you are mortified. This is far beyond your station and skill. Not only is the matter highly delicate, but you must also carefully choose your words so as to not offend a member of the royal family. And one with a - supposedly - unfortunate temper at that. 

“It is not for me to command a prince,” you begin, “but it is my duty to remind you that the Faith condemns such practices - surely you know that by indulging your urges, you will only make them stronger.”

“I have tried to refrain from it,” the prince laments. “But even then, she haunts me…  at night, I dream that I lie on top of her - that I spread her thighs and press her body to my own. And these dreams are so vivid, so terribly arousing, they often cause me to - forgive me, Sister - emit my seed.” He sighs deeply, and turns his face away, his shoulders tense; his handsome features full of torment. “A rather shameful predicament, for a grown man - is it not?” 

Perhaps, you think, but a common one nonetheless, and not something he should be chastised for. You know perfectly well that there are some functions of a man’s body that are beyond his control, as do the gods who made it so. It is best not to dwell on it. 

“My Prince,” you say instead, with what little confidence you can muster, “ - with your permission, I would offer you this advice: if you cannot restrain yourself, and if you care for this lady, then you should court and wed her.” You fiddle nervously with your dress, lowering your voice to barely more than a whisper. “It is a wholesome thing, for spouses to give their bodies to each other - for a man to make love to his wife…”  

The prince hums, either in agreement or contemplation, you can’t tell. But you hope he will take your words to heart, and make this irresistible woman his wife. If the mere sight of her can stir such passion, then he would surely grow to love her deeply, and their union would be happy and prosperous. Blessed by the gods.

- Or maybe not.

“I am afraid that is not possible,” the prince says. Slowly, thoughtfully. “Because you see, my lady is a septa - a novice, as it were…” 

His words trail off, and his hand reaches to caress your face, right by the edge of your veil, where a strand of hair has loosened from its pin. 

You recoil at once, springing from your seat to look at him with shock and horror. 

“This is highly improper - “

“I have thought of nothing but you,” he exclaims, impassioned, rising quickly to reach for you once more, “ - since the day I saw you, I have wanted no one else - ”

Again you manage to evade his embrace, but the prince is tall, and his legs are long and agile. Each one of his strides is worth two of yours, and when you back away he follows, stepping ever closer until you are backed up against a pillar.

Oh how you wish that it had only been a thief come to rob the sept. You could have easily escaped out the little hidden door by the dias; let them take whatever riches they could carry.  There is only silver here, and the Faith has no shortage of that.

The prince is after something far more precious. 

“Don’t touch me - ” you plead, feeling your pulse quicken, the hair rise on the back of your neck. He is too near, moving to loom over you, intimidating and imposing, and so tall that he must bend to brush his nose against your hair. 

“It is a waste,” he murmurs. “That such beauty should only belong to the gods.”

You should flee. You should defend your virtue. Maids and ladies, harlots and tavern girls, all women know to protect themselves, to kick where a man is the weakest, to scratch, bite, shout, make a racket. There are guards patrolling the square outside, and septons sleeping nearby in their cells - if you were loud enough, someone would hear you and come to your aid. 

But at what cost, when your assailant is a prince? 

You dare not risk it, so you stand frozen in place, too frightened to push him away, too frightened to even look at him as he gropes your body, touching it in ways that it has never been, and should never be touched. One of his arms wraps around your waist, the other trails over your dress, feeling your shape underneath the fabric. Your stomach, your hips, your bottom, and especially your breasts. 

He cups them with both hands, kneading and massaging them hard, pressing his fingers into your flesh.

“I would take you right here,” he breathes. “Against this very pillar, for all your gods to see - ” 

The blasphemy, the shameless vulgarity - you gasp, and at the sound, the prince chuckles faintly. 

“You said yourself it is a wholesome thing…”

“For husbands and wives -” you squeak, “please, you mustn’t hurt me!“

“Never,” he says, bringing your hand to rest on his chest, over his heart, as if to reassure you. “If you would only oblige me, I swear I will be gentle…”

You shake your head, but it does not dissuade him. He kisses your hair, your cheeks, the shell of your ear, touching his lips to every little sliver of exposed skin. Not just your face and neck, but your forearms too, your wrists, the insides of your elbows. Anywhere that lets him truly feel you. Feel the rapid beat of your pulse; the warmth and softness of a woman’s body.

And as he touches you, you feel him. His manhood, stiff against your hip when he presses himself against you, moaning softly at the feeling. It is a most intimate sound, and you are ashamed to realise that your body instinctively responds to it; to the closeness, the touch of a man. You feel warm in your chest, and wet between your legs - unnerving, and so at odds with the panic that still grips you, with the tears that prickle in your eyes. 

“Please don’t - ” you whimper, just as his teeth graze your jaw, drawing a single, involuntary sigh from your lips. One that spurs him on to swiftly yank the veil off your head and discard it, fully exposing your hair and neck. 

He pulls back to look at you, your neatly pinned tresses, your smooth throat and collarbones. Your beauty that he has long wished to admire. 

“Like an angel,” he says softly, longingly, taking your face in his hands and stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “A little angel - the Maiden in the flesh - “

“That is a blasphemous thing to say,” you sniffle. 

It only makes him laugh, and before you can say anything else, he tilts your face up so he can press his mouth to yours. 

No one has ever kissed you before. Many boys have wanted to, but none were ever allowed the privilege. You always knew you did not want to be a wife. That you had a different calling. 

It is a very strange sensation, this kiss. Hot, wet, and sticky. You do not return it, and yet the prince is undeterred, parting your lips softly but insistently, just enough to slip his tongue inside. It gives him pleasure, even when your mouth is slack and unresponsive - you can tell from his blissful sighs, and from the indecent way he moves his hips, rubbing the prominent bulge in his trousers against you. He is so entranced by your mouth and your body that you feel a treacherous sense of relief, thinking to yourself that if this is how he wants to gratify himself - by licking your tongue and humping against your hip - you will let him. No real harm has been done to your virtue, and the gods will understand you had no choice. Already you are silently saying your prayers, to the Warrior for courage, the Mother for compassion, the Father for leniency�� -

But you are cruelly interrupted when the prince draws back and begins to loosen the closure of his breeches. 

“No - oh no, no - ,” you shriek, but as you try to wriggle from his grasp, his face hardens and his gentle touch becomes like a vice. Rough and unyielding, holding you in place. 

“You must forgive me,” he rasps, his gaze dark with lust, his nostrils flaring, “ - for I can no longer deprive myself of what I so desire...”

He is so much stronger than you. With an impeccably polished boot he shoves your feet apart, his one hand pinning your arms behind your back, the other hiking up your skirts, determined, deaf to your frantic pleas. 

“You don’t understand, I must remain chaste!”

“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses, “I know the workings of the Faith, you’ve taken no solemn vows yet - “

“No, I have, I have!” you cry. “I pledged myself to the Maiden when I was a girl!”

It is the truth, but the prince does not care. He silences you with another desperate kiss, crushing his face to yours, reaching to hook his hand under your knee and lift your leg. He has you trapped, pinned between his body and the stone column, and you can claw at him until your hands bleed, it makes no difference. Your dress is bunched up, your legs forcibly parted, your most intimate secrets laid bare to be violated. A great sin, made even greater by the circumstances, and yet the gods have abandoned you, left you here to suffer. 

They must be occupied elsewhere, and the statues too stand motionless on their plinths, with their tranquil faces, staring blankly into the distance as though deliberately blind to your tragedy. 

To the hand that worms its way underneath your smallclothes. The nails that dig into the back of your neck, holding your head in place. The mouth that swallows up your sobs until he is forced to break the kiss so he can reach between your bodies and finish unlacing his breeches. 

You gasp for breath, looking up and straight at him, your eyes wet and pleading, your lip trembling. 

“Don’t ruin me, please - I beg you, don’t take from me what can never be replaced - “

The prince’s hand hesitates on your thigh. His one eye flickers between your two, between the tears that flow uncontrollably down your cheeks; your little hands clenched into fists against his chest.

For a split second there’s a shadow of something softer on his face, a strange draw around his mouth, and then he curses and releases your leg. And you bolt, without thinking, ducking under his arm to sprint towards the door and safety. 

You manage all of two steps before the prince catches you and pins you to the pillar once more. 

“Not yet - ” he orders, slipping a hand down the front of his trousers to finally free his member from its confines. He cradles it at the base to proudly show it off before he begins to stroke himself, shamelessly and urgently, while you look on. At once frightened and sinfully curious. 

You have never seen it before. The masculine organ. Only in drawings, of which some were intended to educate young women, and others were of a much lewder nature. The prince’s manhood does look much like those anatomical illustrations, only it is bigger in person than you had imagined. Hard and swollen with need. It fits perfectly in his fist, and the skin glides back to reveal the head, which is thick and meaty, and a dark purple red. It almost looks as though it should be painful for him, having it filled and engorged in such a way. Having it stretched to be so big. But of course you know that is not the case. And even if you didn’t, his gasp of pleasure would have made it very clear. 

He reaches for your wrist, tugging it down between his legs, and you are quick to look away when he closes your fingers around it, with his own hand on top. Somehow, you reason that if you keep your eyes averted, it is not as sinful. Not as deserving of punishment. 

But you can still feel it. In your palm, against your clammy skin. Warm, and pulsing as he squeezes your fingers tight around the shaft, moving them from the base to the tip and back down again, using your hand to pleasure himself. Slowly at first, but as his arousal grows he quickens the pace, moving your hand only over the tip of his member, massaging the bulbous head with quick movements. All the while groping at your chest.

And you let him do it. All of it, resigning yourself to be used at his will and pleasure. It is the best and safest course of action now, and all you can do is bear it. You keep your sobs inside, and your eyes cast down, staring mindlessly at the patterns in the stone floor until the prince’s hand seizes your jaw. 

“Look at me,” he commands through gritted teeth, running his thumb over your mouth, pressing against your lips. “Open - suck, use your tongue - “

You do as he says, wanting so desperately to just be done with it - once he has finished he will surely let you go. The thought prompts you to suck on his fingers with increasing fervour, taking them deep into your mouth, running your tongue along the length of them, along his knuckles; making him gasp at the feeling.  

“Fuck, like that - gods yes,” he moans, letting go of your hand to lean against the pillar for support, his eye falling closed, his hips making shallow, instinctive thrusts.

You continue with the same movements, up and down over his manhood, trying to mimic exactly what he did before, whilst still sucking on his fingers, too. Letting him feel your soft mouth and your warm lips; your little wet tongue caressing his skin. You haven’t a clue as to what you are supposed to be doing, and there is no grace or skill to your licks, but each swirl of your tongue makes the prince moan regardless. He would probably much rather feel this attention somewhere else, but clearly he has the wits to know that shoving his member into an unwilling mouth is not a wise idea. So he contents himself with this. 

And thankfully, it does not take long before your efforts are rewarded.

When you choke back a mewl his hips jerk forward, and his hand flies down to close around yours again, guiding you to squeeze him harder and faster. His jaw goes slack, and his manhood stiffens even more, and even though you are inexperienced, you know what it means. You can feel it, feel his sac tighten, feel him twitch in your hand as semen travels up his shaft. He bends to lean his forehead against yours, and finally, finally, he spurts, moaning with pleasure as he empties himself onto your hand, his seed pulsing out in hot, wet squirts. Soiling not only your skin and your dress, but your conscience too; your virtue, honour and dignity.

And at last it is over. 

The prince slumps forwards against you, hiding his face in your neck. His body trembles with the final waves of his rapture, and he brushes his fingers over your hair in a strangely intimate way, a tender way. As though you were lovers. 

In a sense, now, you suppose you are. 

Before he leaves you he quickly tidies his clothes, throwing his cloak around his shoulders and tucking his shirt into his trousers. And once he has made himself presentable, he retrieves your veil too. Brushing it off with a gloved hand and draping it over your head once more. 

“Thank you, Sister,” he says sweetly, cradling your face to kiss your lips and then your forehead. “I feel much more at ease now.” 

No sooner have the doors closed behind him before you fall to your knees by the Maiden’s altar to beg for her forgiveness. 

Part 2: The Devil You Know

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @helaelaemond, @targaryen-madness, @qyburnsghost.

[seospicybin]

BELONGING.

Bangchan x reader x Lee Know. (s,f)

Synopsis: Chan and Minho’s life together takes a surprising turn when an unexpected visitor arrives on the night of their anniversary. (14,2k words)

Author's note: Just a heartwarming read to sweeten your day ♡

Beep, beep, beep.

The keypad continuously beeping for a while after Chan entered the wrong passcode to unlock the door. His neighbor peeks through the door to check if someone is trying to break into the apartment next door but she sees Chan instead.

"Sorry for the noise," he apologizes with a courteous smile.

After knowing that Chan is simply struggling to get into his own apartment, his neighbor goes back inside and closes the door.

Chan tries another combination of numbers but it beeps again rather aggressively than before and it only aggravates him more. He groans out of frustration and immediately takes a deep breathe to calm himself down.

"Let's think, Chan!" He mutters to himself.

Just as he’s about to punch in another random sequence of numbers, the door swings open from the inside, and Minho stands there with his arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

“You know, if you actually came home at a decent hour, you'd remember the passcode,” Minho says, his tone somewhere between annoyance and playful teasing. He steps aside, holding the door open wide enough for Chan to step through.

Chan sighs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he slips off his shoes. “Minho, seriously, I’m sorry. Work made me come home late again. But…changing the passcode?”

Minho shrugs nonchalantly, but Chan can see the faint trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, you always said you like a good challenge, right?”

Chan gives him a weary smile and lets his bag slide off his shoulder, dropping it by the entrance. “I didn’t realize our front door would be one of them.”

Later that night, they’re lying side by side in bed, the room dimly lit by the streetlight filtering through the blinds. Minho has his back to Chan, his posture stiff as he scrolls through his phone, doing his best to ignore the presence hovering beside him.

Chan shifts closer, trying to bridge the distance. He knows Minho is still upset about him coming home late and made him wait.

“Minho,” he whispers, nudging him gently but there’s no response, only the silent, stubborn rise and fall of Minho’s shoulders.

So, Chan decides to up his game. He slides an arm around Minho’s waist, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry,” he murmurs, voice low and warm against Minho’s skin. “You know I’d come home sooner if I could.”

Minho sighs but doesn’t pull away, though his fingers still tap insistently on his phone screen. Taking this as a tiny victory, Chan smiles and leans in closer, kissing his way from Minho’s shoulder up to his jaw.

“I missed you,” Chan says softly, his lips grazing Minho’s cheek. “Every time I looked at the clock, I thought about you waiting here.”

Minho’s fingers finally still, though he tries to keep his composure. “You’re so dramatic,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile in his voice.

Undeterred, Chan presses a series of playful, lingering kisses along Minho’s cheek, all the way to his temple.

“Is it working?” he whispers. “Are you caving?”

“Not even close,” Minho replies, but he rolls over to face Chan, his expression softened, eyes bright with the faintest glimmer of affection he’s trying to hide.

Chan’s grin widens. “Then I’ll keep trying,” he says, leaning down to plant a kiss on Minho’s forehead.

“And trying… and trying…” Each word is punctuated by a gentle kiss, until Minho finally breaks, laughter spilling from his lips as he pushes Chan’s face away.

“Fine! I get it, you’re forgiven!” Minho says, half-laughing, half-sighing, letting Chan’s arm wrapped around him.

Chan chuckles softly, pulling him in for a tight hug that Minho half-heartedly resists for a moment before melting into. They settle into each other, Minho finally letting himself relax against Chan’s warmth.

As their breathing syncs, Chan presses one last, tender kiss on Minho’s neck, a silent promise that he’ll be there, even on the late nights, and for a second, Chan thinks that maybe this is what makes every exhausting day worthwhile.

-

The bathroom is filled with the sound of running water as Chan stands in front of the mirror, toothbrush in hand, still half-asleep as he lazily brushes his teeth even though he's just showered. A towel hanging low around his hips, his curly hair is damp, and beads of water dotted the skin on his back yet a sleepy gaze is fixed on his reflection, half-lidded and unfocused.

Minho leans against the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, watching him with a small smirk.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says, voice teasing. “Just a reminder, there's that dinner tonight and if you’re late, I swear, I’m serving you burnt beef Wellington.”

Chan freezes mid-brush, then meets Minho’s eyes in the mirror, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He spits out the toothpaste, rinsing his mouth as he chuckles.

“You’d actually burn dinner just to teach me a lesson?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, challenging him. “Try me.”

Stepping over to where Minho stands, Chan wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Not this time,” he says, his voice soft but full of warmth. “I’ll be home early. Promise.”

Minho’s eyes soften, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks as he tries to keep up the tough act.

“Good. You’d better not leave me waiting,” he murmurs, trying to sound stern but failing as his gaze drifts to Chan’s bare chest.

Chan laughs, giving Minho a light squeeze. “Can’t wait to see what you’ve planned.”

As Chan finishes brushing his teeth and about to step out of the bathroom, he catches Minho’s eyes lingering on him, trying—and failing—to look completely unimpressed.

“Like what you see?” he teases, leaning down just enough to bring their faces close, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Maybe I should come home a little late… keep you waiting a bit longer, yeah?”

Minho crosses his arms, rolling his eyes as if entirely unfazed, though there’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Try it,” he says, tilting his chin defiantly. “See what you end up eating tonight.”

Chan chuckles, pretending to look hurt as he tries again. “Not even a little distracted?” he asks, his hand moving to Minho’s waist, pulling him in closer. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

But Minho’s having none of it. He reaches up and gently pushes Chan’s face back with one hand, his tone cool and unwavering.

“You’re not charming your way out of this one,” he says firmly, though there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You’re either on time tonight, or it’s burnt Wellington and instant noodles.”

Laughing, Chan lets his hands drop, backing off as he raises them in mock surrender. “Alright, alright,” he grins.

“Point taken. I’ll be on time.” He winks as he heads back to the bedroom to get dressed, throwing a playful look over his shoulder. “But you’ll have to admit I tried my best.”

Minho just rolls his eyes again, but he’s smiling this time, muttering under his breath, “You’re impossible.”

But as he watches Chan disappear down the hall, there’s a warmth lingering in his chest, the anticipation of their night together filling him with a quiet happiness.

-

Minho smooths down his shirt one last time, casting a quick glance at the clock. Just as the second hand ticks to the hour, there’s a knock on the door. He smiles to himself—right on time. Guess he really did take me seriously, he thinks.

He opens the door to find Chan standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a grin on his face.

Minho raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Flowers? Really?”

Chan laughs, holding them out at him. “Thought I’d do something classic. Happy anniversary!” he says, his tone softening.

Feigning disinterest, Minho takes the flowers, sniffing them briefly. “Hmm, not bad,” he says, pretending to inspect them critically. “You almost look like you know what you’re doing.”

Chan just shakes his head, smirking as he slips inside, brushing a quick kiss over Minho’s cheek. “Glad I could impress you… even just a little.”

As they settle into their anniversary dinner, Chan savors the first bite and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“Alright, you’ve officially outdone yourself,” he says, beaming at Minho. “You should make beef Wellington every night.”

Minho rolls his eyes, but there’s a pleased flush to his cheeks. “Don’t get used to it,” he replies, lifting his glass with a faint smile. “Next time, it might actually be burnt.”

Chan chuckles, reaching over to squeeze Minho’s hand and decides to tease him more by saying cheesy things, he knows how much Minho hates it whenever he does that.

“I don’t care what it is, as long as I’m eating it with you.”

They eat and talk, laughter filling the cozy space as they share memories and jokes, their glances softening as the evening draws on. Finally, when most of the food is gone, Chan leans in across the table, his fingers brushing Minho’s as he says.

“Compliments to the chef are not enough so...” he lets his words trail off as he pulls Minho in for a lingering kiss.

As usual, Minho doesn't easily caves in, he makes Chan works harder to make him return the kiss and when he finally does, Chan triumphantly smiles against his lips.

After a while, Chan takes a second to breath and just as their lips about to meet again, a sudden ring of the doorbell interrupts the quiet warmth.

Minho groans, pulling back reluctantly and leans on his seat. “If that’s another surprise from you, I swear I’ll hate it,” he mutters.

Chan laughs, reluctantly letting Minho’s hand go as he gets up from his chair and heads toward the door.

“It’s not,” he calls over his shoulder, “unless it’s flowers that somehow reappear.”

Chan opens the door and freezes, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the figure standing in the hallway. It’s you, your gaze lowered, fingers fidgeting nervously. You lift your eyes to meet his, offering a small, shy smile.

“Hi, Chan,” you say, your voice soft but steady. “I'm sorry I... I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

For a second, neither of you speaks, the silence filling the space between you. Finally, Chan steps aside, his surprise shifting into something gentler.

“Come on in,” he says, voice warm despite his initial shock.

As you step inside, you look over your shoulder and give a nod. A little girl emerges from behind you, clutching a small stuffed animal and looking up at Chan with wide, curious eyes. You rest a gentle hand on her shoulder, steadying yourself. “This is my daughter, Lucy.”

Chan’s eyes widen, glancing between you and the little girl by your side, his heart pounding as he tries to make sense of the unexpected reunion.

-

THREE YEARS AGO

Chan had been looking forward to this moment the entire week. After days away on a work trip, all he could think about was coming home, seeing your face light up when he walked through the door, wrapping his arms around you.

But when he finally stepped inside, there was no excited smile, no warmth rushing into his arms. You greeted him with a polite smile, a quiet “Welcome back,” before turning back to whatever you were doing, the energy between you strange and muted.

He blinked, pushing down the faint pang of disappointment, telling himself you were probably just tired. “Hey,” he murmured, walking over to you, trying to shake off the feeling. “Missed you.”

You glanced up at him, your expression softening for a moment, but something in your eyes seemed… distant, like you were holding something back.

“Missed you too,” you replied, but the words felt hollow, like they were coming from a place far away.

Chan hesitated, then shook it off with a chuckle, pulling you into his arms despite the subtle tension he felt between you. “I swear, if I had to be away from one more day, I was ready to quit,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

You managed a small smile, letting him hold you, but your arms didn’t wrap around him the way they usually did, your hold tentative, almost reluctant.

He couldn’t help himself from asking, he looked at you with a hint of worry in his eyes. “Is everything okay?” he asked gently. “You seem… different.”

You got a bit startled by the question, and for a moment, there was something in your eyes—fear, uncertainty—but you quickly looked away, forcing a smile.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired,” you replied, voice calm but distant.

“Now, what do you say we make up for lost time?” He asked as he tilted your head, forcing you to meet his gaze.

It somehow worked to get you to smile and soften around him, you melted into his arms as he held you close and then slowly, he pulled you for a long, lingering kiss that cures his longing for you.

Without letting go of the kiss, Chan hoisted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to bed.

He gently lay you down on the bed and then stood at the foot of the bed just looking at you with admiration pooling in his eyes.

He crawled onto the bed and hovered above you, his face only inches away from yours as he cupped your cheek and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

"I missed you so much I think I'm going insane," he murmurs before crashing his lips against yours again.

He sensed hesitancy in the way you returning his kiss but he convinced himself that maybe you were tired, maybe his long absence put a little strain on this relationship and he wanted to fix it in any way he could.

"Do you know?" He buried his head in your neck, planting fluttering kisses that he knew would help to relax you. He knew it works from the way you softly giggled. "There’s not a night where I didn’t think of kissing you."

Chan began making a trail of kisses down your clothed body and when his mouth reached your thighs, he purposely slipped his head under the hem of your dress. You couldn't see what he was doing under but you gasped when his hot mouth made a contact with your clothed sex.

The flimsy fabric of your underwear didn't stop him from opening his mouth wider to take more of you and drenching it with a mix of his saliva and your essence.

After a while though, he craved more than feeling you through your underwear, he roughly pulled your underwear down and pushed the hem of your dress upward until it hunched around your waist.

Chan put his hands under you and slightly lifted your hips off the bed to provide him with the right angle to savor your wet cunt with his mouth. You knew what his mouth is capable of doing, you knew he would tirelessly please you with his plush lips and slick tongue and at the same time, enjoying it cause you knew he gets pleasure from doing it.

He licked, he sucked, he buried half of his face in your wetness and you continously moaned, but it wasn’t enough for him.

Soon, his fingers joined in, two digits pumping in and out of you while he gently sucked on your clit, syncing the two stimulations to give you the utmost of pleasure.

"Oh, God!" You moaned as you arched your back asking for more.

He detached his mouth but kept the motion of his fingers going, his lips were glistening wet as he said, "Yes, baby, moan for me."

Your hand flew to his hair and tugged at it as more moans spilling out of your parted mouth. "Chan... oh..."

Chan triumphantly smiled for succeeding on getting you out of whatever made you seem different and bringing you back to him. He landed a soft kiss on your clit and then another one on the little patch of hair.

"That’s it," he murmured as he saw the way you were writhing in pleasure, "That’s my girl."

There was only one left thing to do and that was to make sure you reach your high, Chan kept the stimulations going and added a little speed to it, bringing you toward your climax until you—

"Oh, I'm coming..." you cried as you clamped his hand between your legs.

Chan didn't pull away just yet, he kept his hand there and gave your clit gentle circles to help you slowly coming down your high. He lowered his mouth on you and kissed your open mouth, letting your satisfed moans spilled into his mouth.

Breaking the kiss, Chan sat up on the bed and took off his dark t-shirt, exposing his sculpted abs that glows under the silver moonlight. He slyly smiled at you, taking your hand in his and brought it close to his mouth to kiss it. He put your hand on his neck next, then slowly, he dragged it down his front. He whimpered as your fingertips trailing down his pale skin and not stopping until your hand meets the waistband of his jeans.

"And now, my question is..." He mutterd as he keeps your hand on his lower abdomen, "Do you think about me too?"

His other hand worked open his jeans, the sound of the zipper opening cutting through the silence in the room. He pulled his jeans along with boxer down just enough to let his erection sprang free.

"Did you also think of me?" He asked as he wrapped your hand around his cock, swollen and hot to the touch.

He made your hand stroking it along with him and his eyes were fluttering as he enjoyed feeling your hand pumping his cock.

"Or this cock?" He asked again as he made your other hand joined in on pumping his cock. He then let go of his hands and letting you touched his cock the way you pleased and propped them against the mattress next to your head.

He leaned in close enough and placed a brief kiss that barely lasted a second. "Did you think of me at all?"

You repeatedly nodded in answer. "Yeah."

"Yeah? Think of me what?"

"Being inside me," your voice low it was almost like a whisper.

He caressed your cheek and placed another brief kiss on your lips. "Is that what you want right now?"

"Yes," you nodded again.

His head went to the side of your head and planted a kiss on the sensitive skin behind your ear. "All you have to do is say it," he whispered to you.

You waited until he hovered above you again and looked him in the eyes as you said. "I want you inside me."

Chan fondly smiled as he held you by the way, "I'll give it to you, baby."

In the moment that followed, he fulfilled your wish, pushing his cock deep inside you and began thrusting at a steady pace. In each thrust, he lost a layer of his senses and gave himself in to desire. Raw groans and desperate calls for your name endlessly coming out of his mouth.

At one point, you pulled your legs and in this angle, you provided him with more depth. Your hands lingered on each side of his waist and at times, glanced down to see his cock slipped in and out of you.

"Oh, baby..." you moaned as you clung to his shoulders and pulled him close to kiss him. "You feel so good inside me."

He hastily kissed you and through his gritted teeth, he muttered, "You feel good around me too."

With that, Chan slowed down but added intensity to his thrust, making you feel every drag of his cock against your walls. He didn't feel pressure to hold back as you cum already but he chose to keep going, wanting to stretch this moment as long as possible.

He kissed you and then pressed his forehead against yours, his hands groped around the sheets until he found yours and clasped them together.

"Can I cum inside you, baby?" He sweetly asked with a soft kiss on your jaw. "Want to fill you with my love."

"Yes," you whined as you pulled him closer and wrapped your legs around him tighter.

Chan buried his head in your neck, kissing and sucking on the skin there as the pleasure got too overwhelming too him. He dragged his mouth lower and took your breast into his mouth, roughly biting at it as he sped up, thrusting into you relentlessly until he came to his release.

Instead of pulling away, he pushed himself deep into you as he released his seed, along with a deep kiss that takes all of your breath away.

When he settled next to you on the bed, he took your hand and didn't let go, he kissed your knuckle, your palm, your inner wrist, he shoved your index and middle fingers into his mouth and gently sucked on them before pulled them away. He rested your hand close to his chest then turned his head to look at you. He saw the same fondness in your eyes but in that moment, he saw something else, something that looked almost like sadness.

"I love you," he said because he didn't know what else to do but convinced you that he's there for you, both physically and emotionally. He cupped your face and he saw as you leaned to it, finding the comfort you seek in the warmth of his palm.

"I love you too," you said back with a faint smile and in a split moment, everything felt alright again.

However, as the night went on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Usually, you’d be telling him everything he missed, filling the air with stories and laughter. He wanted to believe you and that you were just tired, to shrug it off as nothing, but that nagging feeling stayed with him, growing stronger with each passing day, until the night you broke his heart and walked away without another word.

A week after that night, Chan’s world felt like it was tilting, spinning in slow, unbearable circles as he looked at you, trying to process the words you’d just spoken.

“You want to… break up?” he managed, his voice rough with disbelief.

You stood across from him, your expression a carefully held mask. “I think it’s best for both of us,” you said softly, but there was a tremor to your voice that betrayed you.

He shook his head, stepping forward, hands reaching for yours, desperately searching your face for something—anything—that would make this make sense.

“But…why?” he stammered, his voice breaking slightly. “Is it because I’ve been so busy? Because of work? I know I haven’t been around enough, but I’ll do better, I swear. I’ll make more time for us.”

You gently pulled your hands from his grasp, looking down, avoiding his eyes. “It’s not that, Chan. I… I just think it’s better this way.” Your voice was firm, but he could see the conflict in your expression, a hint of pain flickering across your features before you forced it away.

“Better?” he echoed, voice barely above a whisper. “How could breaking up be better?”

He felt the familiar ache in his chest deepen, like a wound reopening, bleeding anew. “We’re good together,” he insisted, almost pleading. “I thought… I thought you felt that, too.”

You swallowed, looking away, pressing your lips together as if to keep something from spilling out. “Please, Chan. Don’t make this harder.”

Chan took a shaky breath, still trying to keep his composure. “Please, just tell me what I did wrong. Tell me what to fix, and I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything.”

Your shoulders stiffened, and for a fleeting second, he thought he saw something—a glint of sorrow, maybe even regret—but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

“It’s nothing you did, Chan,” you said finally, your voice a strained whisper. “But… this is something I need to do.”

With that, you turned away, your steps steady as you walked out the door, leaving him frozen in place, watching you leave, unable to find the words to bring you back.

In the months that followed, Chan tried to move on, throwing himself deeper into work, but everywhere he went, there were memories of you, reminders of a life he had thought would be forever.

It took him a long time, a painful journey through grief and self-doubt, before he could let himself heal, before he could feel whole again. It wasn’t until he met Minho—sharp, sarcastic, and somehow healing—that he began to find peace with what had happened.

-

Now, as Chan stands in the doorway, staring at you and the little girl by your side, the past seems to come rushing back, all the hurt, confusion, and lingering questions he’s tried so hard to leave behind.

As you step inside his home, you take a quick, nervous breath, your gaze shifting to your daughter, who’s still holding onto your hand, eyes wide as she takes in her new surroundings.

You look down at her, giving her a soft smile. “Lucy, this is Chan. Say hello.”

Lucy peers up at him, clutching her stuffed animal tightly. “Hi,” she says shyly, her voice barely a whisper.

Chan crouches down to her level, a warm, welcoming smile on his face. “Hey, Lucy. I’m Chan,” he says gently, offering her a small wave. “I’m a friend of your mom’s.”

She nods, a hint of curiosity lighting up her eyes as she glances up at you for reassurance.

Minho steps into the room, casting a curious look between you, Chan, and Lucy, but he only offers a polite nod and a soft “Hi” to Lucy, who gives him a timid smile in return.

You take a deep breath, then gently squeeze Lucy’s hand. “Lucy, could you stay here for a bit? Mommy just need to talk to Chan, okay?”

“I’ll show you around,” Minho kindly offers, his tone calm and welcoming.

Lucy looks from you to Minho, who nods with a warm, reassuring smile, and after one last glance at you, she lets go of your hand and follows Minho into the living room.

Once Lucy is out of earshot, you follow Chan into a nearby room, nerves tightening your stomach as he closes the door behind you. He turns to face you, his expression soft but concerned, waiting for you to speak.

“Chan,” you begin, voice barely above a whisper. You look down, struggling to find the right words.

“I… I’m in a bad situation right now. I got evicted and I don’t have anywhere else to go. I didn’t want to bother you, but…” You trail off, unable to finish the thought, the weight of your circumstances pressing down on you.

Chan’s face softens, a look of quiet understanding in his eyes as he steps closer. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says gently, reaching out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to explain everything right now. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

You look up, surprise flickering in your eyes. “Are you sure?” you ask, still hesitant. “I don’t want to be a burden. I just… I need a few days to figure things out.”

Chan shakes his head, his voice warm and reassuring. “You’re not a burden. You can stay as long as you need. Don’t worry about anything else. Just focus on what you need to do.”

The kindness in his words catches you off guard, a wave of relief washing over you. After everything that’s happened, the simple act of having a place to stay, a place where you’re welcome, feels like a gift.

You fight back your years and manage a faint smile, nodding. “Thank you, Chan. Really.”

Chan smiles back, his hand giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Anytime. Just know… you don’t have to go through this alone.”

The past month hasn't been kind to you and hearing those words from Chan is really comforting. There's a lump caught in your throat and it burns the more you hold yourself back from crying. You drop your head and begin crying, feeling like you can finally breathe after what felt like forever.

Attentively, Chan opens his arms and gently pulls you, he's holding you close, his hands land soothing rubs on your back.

"It’s okay, it's okay..." he repeatedly says, "You're here now."

-

Minho watches Lucy from his spot on the couch, noticing the way her eyes droop as she leans into the cushions. She’s small and quiet, with an unmistakable look of fatigue that tugs at something unexpectedly soft within him.

He glances toward the closed door where you and Chan are talking, catching snatches of the conversation as he sits with Lucy in the quiet of the living room. Words like “nowhere else to go” and “thank you” float through, hinting at the weight of the situation.

Minho’s fingers tap against his knee, mind racing as he pieces together fragments, but he quickly turns his attention back to Lucy as she shifts, curling up on the couch. Her little head nods, struggling to stay upright.

Seeing her like that, Minho gets up and slowly pushes the door open. He hears your cries and as the door swing further in ward, he catches you and Chan sharing an embrace.

Minho clears his throat to make his presence known and you quickly break away from Chan's hold, your back facing him.

“She’s looking pretty tired,” he keeps his voice low, gesturing to the couch and then glancing from Chan to you.

Chan looks at you and gives you a reassuring smile, then nods to Minho. “Yeah, I think we should get you and Lucy settled.”

Chan guides you and Lucy down the hall, showing you to a cozy guest room and making sure you have everything you need. You manage a grateful smile as you settle Lucy into bed, smoothing a blanket over her. With a final, gentle look, Chan closes the door, allowing you both some rest.

Later that night, as Minho and Chan lie side by side in the darkness, Chan wraps an arm around Minho’s waist, pulling him close. Minho can feel the tension in Chan’s hold, the way he hesitates before speaking.

“I’m sorry,” Chan whispers, his voice rough with sincerity. “I know this isn’t how I wanted our anniversary to go.”

Minho rests his hand over Chan’s, giving it a soft squeeze. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, trying to sound casual. “Plans change, right?”

Chan lets out a low sigh of relief, resting his head against Minho’s shoulder. “Are you… are you okay with them staying here?”

Minho hesitates, weighing his words. He can feel the questions bubbling up inside him, each one itching to be asked, but he swallows them down, forcing a calm smile instead.

“It’s fine, Chan,” he says, keeping his tone light. “It’s just a few days, right? I don’t mind.”

But as he lies there, his mind races with silent questions. Who is this little girl to Chan? Why did you show up now, after all this time? And what else might this mean for them?

He doesn’t voice any of it, though, just pulls Chan closer, letting him feel his support without pressing him for answers.

-

Minho stirs awake to the sound of soft clinking coming from the kitchen. He stretches, rubbing his eyes, and glances over to see Chan still fast asleep. Carefully slipping out of bed, he heads down the hallway, only to pause at the sight before him.

There you are, bustling around the kitchen, and at the dining table, Lucy sits munching on her breakfast, her legs swinging as she hums quietly to herself.

Minho can’t help but feel a pang of surprise—and unease. Usually, breakfast is his thing, the quiet, calming start to his morning. And now, someone else is filling that space.

You glance up from the stove and notice him, offering a warm smile. “Good morning! I made breakfast—I hope it’s okay.”

Minho nods politely, though he can’t shake the hint of awkwardness. “Morning,” he murmurs, glancing at the table as you set down a plate of food. “Thanks for, uh… taking care of it.”

You nod, busying yourself with the final touches. “I have to leave early for work, but Lucy’s all set.” You look over at Lucy, smiling softly as you fuss over her hair, straightening her shirt.

Turning back to Minho, you give him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for asking this, but could you keep an eye on her today? I really appreciate it.”

Before Minho can respond, you’re already grabbing your bag and heading toward the door. You bend down, planting a quick kiss on Lucy’s cheek. “Bye, sweetheart. Be good, okay?

Lucy looks up at you, nodding earnestly. “Yes, Mommy.”

“Mommy will be back soon.” You add with another kiss on the top of her head and with a final wave, you slip out, leaving Minho alone with Lucy.

Minho sighs, looking over at Lucy, who’s now staring at him with wide, curious eyes. He tries to shake off the discomfort, making his way around the kitchen to tidy up after breakfast, but every time he turns, he notices Lucy quietly trailing behind him, her tiny footsteps padding across the floor.

When he goes to do the laundry, she follows him, watching as he loads clothes into the machine, fascinated by every button he presses. When he heads out to water the plants on the balcony, she’s there too, gazing up at him with her big, unblinking eyes.

Minho feels his patience wearing thin. It’s not that he dislikes kids, but he can’t shake the feeling that his routine, his space, has been thrown off balance. Finally, he decides he’s had enough. He heads back to the bedroom and shakes Chan’s shoulder lightly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, casting a glance at the door, where Lucy is still peeking in. “Time to wake up. You have… company.”

Chan opens his eyes slowly, blinking at Minho in confusion before he sits up, glancing at Lucy and then back at Minho, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“She can't stop following me,” Minho whispers at him.

Chan rubs the sleep off his eyes and mumbles, "She probably just wants to play with you."

Minho sighs, crossing his arms, trying to mask the faint flush of embarrassment. “She’s your guest. Maybe it’s time you take over the babysitting shift.”

Chan chuckles, reaching out to give Minho’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Alright, alright. I’ll take care of her.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, giving Minho a playful grin. “Besides, she seems to like you.”

Minho rolls his eyes, the faintest smile breaking through. “Yeah, well… she’s all yours now.”

-

As Chan watches Minho retreat to the kitchen with a faintly flustered expression, he can’t help but chuckle to himself. It’s rare to see Minho even slightly unsettled, but here he is, almost looking threatened by the presence of a two-year-old.

“She’s just a kid, Minho,” Chan murmurs under his breath, shaking his head with a soft smile.

Recalling the message you left for him, Chan retrieves the bag of Lucy’s toys from where you’d placed it by the door. He brings it to the living room and kneels down on the carpeted floor, setting out a colorful array of blocks, stuffed animals, and dolls. Lucy’s face lights up instantly, her small hands reaching eagerly for the toys as she plops down beside him.

“Is it your favorite toy?” Chan gently asks as he lays out all of her toys in front of her.

“Yup!” Lucy adorably nods.

They fall into an easy rhythm, building towers of blocks, arranging tiny stuffed animals in a pretend tea party. Chan’s heart warms watching her giggle with delight each time a tower of blocks comes crashing down.

It’s during one of these rounds of playful destruction that Chan catches Minho’s figure hovering in the doorway, his arms crossed as he watches them with an unreadable expression. Minho’s gaze flickers between Chan and Lucy, his brow furrowing just slightly.

A mischievous thought crosses Chan’s mind as he gets up and strides over to Minho, grinning. “Don’t tell me you're jealous because she’s cuter than you,” he teases, his tone light and playful.

Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Please. I’m not worried about some toddler stealing my spotlight,” he replies coolly, but Chan can see the faint blush creeping up his cheeks, the way his shoulders tense ever so slightly.

Chan steps closer, his voice softening as he reaches up to playfully scratches Minho’s ear. “Hey,” he murmurs, holding Minho’s gaze, “nothing’s changed, alright? Just because she’s here doesn’t mean there’s any less of me for you.”

With that, he leans in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to Minho’s lips. Minho’s posture softens, his hands sliding around Chan’s waist as he lets out a quiet sigh, leaning into the kiss.

When they pull apart, Minho gives him a small, begrudging smile. “Fine,” he mutters, attempting to sound unaffected. “But don’t expect me to join any tea parties anytime soon.”

Chan laughs, squeezing Minho’s hand. “Noted,” he says, casting a glance back at Lucy, who’s now absorbed in her toys, babbling happily to herself. With a playful nudge, Chan heads back to the carpet, leaving Minho watching with a half-smile as he sits down to continue playing with Lucy.

-

"Dinner's ready!" Minho announces from the kitchen but no one is answering him.

He turns his head toward the living room and sees that Chan and Lucy are still busy playing, her giggles echoing in the room for any of them to hear Minho’s call for dinner.

Minho sighs and raises his voice louder. "Dinner's ready!"

Chan abruptly stops lifting Lucy in the air and puts her down, offering his hand to walk hand in hand to the kitchen. He takes her to wash her hands first before settling her on her dining table.

As they sit down for dinner, Minho carefully plates the food, setting each dish on the table with his usual precision. He watches as Chan gives Lucy a warm smile, helping her settle in her seat and making sure she’s comfortable.

Throughout the meal, Minho notices Chan’s gentle attention on Lucy—wiping the sauce from her cheek, cutting her food into bite-sized pieces, and patiently coaxing her to eat each bite.

At one point, Chan looks up and catches Minho’s bitter expression. “Hm…” he sniffs the air dramatically, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Is it just me, or does something smell a little… burnt in here?”

Minho narrows his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch in a faint smile. “Please, I’m not jealous,” he scoffs, trying to sound indifferent as he continues eating.

Chan laughs, giving Minho an affectionate nudge. “Whatever you say.”

After dinner, they all move to the living room, where Chan and Lucy settle in front of the TV to watch cartoons. Minho sits at the far end of the sofa, arms crossed, but his gaze keeps drifting toward the two of them cuddled up together.

Noticing Minho’s pout, Chan reaches out, giving him a playful tug. “Come here, Mr. Not Jealous,” he teases, wrapping an arm around him. “There’s room for all three of us.”

Minho sighs, pretending to resist, but eventually leans in, allowing Chan to pull him close. “Fine,” he mumbles, as Chan presses a soft kiss to his temple.

As they sit together, Chan tightens his hold, smiling at Minho. “See? Perfect little family moment,” he whispers, his tone both teasing and gentle.

Minho rolls his eyes but allows himself to relax, a reluctant smile finally breaking through as he nestles into Chan’s embrace, soothed by the warmth they share.

Menacingly, he puts away Lucy’s hand resting on Chan’s chest and replaces it with his while Chan can only chuckles witnessing it.

A moment later, there are beeping sounds coming from the front door and Chan rolls his eyes toward Minho in suspicion.

"You changed the passcode again, did you?" Chan asks with his eyes squinted.

With a smirk on his face, Minho nonchalantly shrugs and it's enough to tell Chan the answer.

-

"0-1-0-9."

You fumble with the numbers Chan had texted you, pressing them carefully into the keypad, but each time, the door refuses to unlock. After a few more tries, you’re about to give up when the door finally swings open, revealing a sheepish-looking Chan.

“Sorry about that,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Minho changed the passcode and forgot to tell me.” He gives you a small, apologetic smile.

You shrug, offering a quick nod before stepping inside. “It’s fine,” you reply, smiling slightly as Lucy comes running toward you, arms outstretched.

“Mommy!” she squeals, hugging your legs. You scoop her up, brushing her hair back from her face as you carry her toward her room.

“And why are you still up?” You ask her.

Lucy sheepishly gestures toward the living room where the TV plays her favorite cartoons. “Watching cartoons,” she mumbles.

“It's past your bedtime, young lady,” you tell her with a playful glare. Pausing near Chan and Minho, you give her a gentle nudge. “Say goodnight, Lucy.”

She waves her tiny hand sleepily, mumbling, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, cutie Lucy,” Chan says back and gives her a soft pat on the head before letting you take her away.

A few minutes later, you’re settling Lucy under her blanket, humming a song while caressing her head to send her into sleep.

“Picture yourself in a boat on a river / With tangerine trees and marmalade skies / Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly / A girl with kaleidoscope eyes.”

Once she's fast asleep, you give her a soft kiss on the forehead, straightening as you spot Chan standing in the doorway, watching quietly with an unreadable expression.

“So... Lucy in the sky with diamonds, huh?” he says softly as he finally catches on why you named your daughter Lucy.

“You're finally catching up,” You playfully remark, taking the dirty clothes with you as you come out of the room and you head straight toward the laundry room. As you start sorting clothes, he leans against the doorframe, his tone casual yet curious.

“So… what do you think about all of this?” he asks, gesturing vaguely around, though his gaze lingers on you.

“About you dating... Minho?” you reply, glancing at him with a faint smile.

Chan seems to be taken aback by how accurate your first guess is. "Well... yeah," he sheepishly replies.

“It was a surprise, but then I remember our argument on who is the best Ryan,” you talk as you load your laundry into the washing machine. "And you passionately defended that Ryan Reynolds is hotter than Ryan Gosling."

"And I still stand by it," Chan chuckles, looking momentarily relieved, but his curiosity isn’t quite satisfied. “And… what do you think about Minho? I know it’s been… an adjustment, having you and Lucy here.”

You pause, folding one of Lucy’s shirts as you consider your words. “I haven’t really had a chance to talk to him. But the fact that he doesn’t mind us staying here says a lot. It means he’s a good person.”

Chan nods, seeming to take that in, a small smile touching his lips. “Yeah, he really is,” he murmurs, almost to himself. There’s a warmth in his voice that’s unmistakable, and you can’t help but feel a sense of relief, sensing that your presence here, however temporary, isn’t as disruptive as you’d feared.

With a gentle smile, you add, “I’m happy for you, Chan. You look… happy. It’s nice to see.”

He looks up, meeting your gaze with a quiet gratitude that speaks volumes. “Thanks,” he says softly.

For a moment, the two of you stand there in a comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts, both grateful to find this unexpected peace amidst everything.

As you both lean against the dryer, you slowly turn to face him and look him in the eyes as you say, "I know I'm three years late to this but Chan... I'm sorry."

His hand reaches for your arm and gently squeezes it. "There’s nothing to be sorry about," he assures you with a warm smile.

"We both know I wasn't a good girlfriend and the way I ended things..." you take a second to steady your voice. "I'm fully aware how brazen faced I am for coming here and asking for your help."

Chan’s gaze softens as he takes in your words, his hand lingering on your arm as if to anchor you. “You’re not. You’re just... human,” he replies gently. “I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt, but you did what you felt you needed to do. I get that.”

A faint smile touches your lips, relief mingling with lingering guilt. “Still, you’re here, helping me now after everything. I don’t know if I deserve it.”

“Hey,” he interrupts softly, his tone steady. “Don’t think like that. Everyone deserves help when they need it.”

For a moment, silence falls again between you, but this time, it’s heavier with the weight of unspoken questions. Then Chan finally speaks, his voice filled with a quiet sincerity. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have told me and you wouldn't have gone through this alone.”

Your gaze drops, a little of the old hurt resurfacing and just like that, you break into tears. You cry into your hands, feeling embarrassed about everything.

Chan pulls you close, holding you close and letting you rest your head on his shoulder. He rubs his hand up and down your arm as he mutters. “You will always have me. I'm here.”

You nod, a warmth settling in your chest. It’s not easy letting go of the past, but standing here with Chan, it feels like maybe there’s a new beginning, after all.

-

Minho stretches, eyes blinking open to a peaceful morning. For a fleeting moment, everything feels blissfully normal—no guests, no interruptions, just him and Chan in their cozy space. He savors the silence, letting his eyes close again as he feels the warmth of the bed cocooning him. But then he hears Chan rustling beside him, yawning as he stretches.

“Morning,” Chan murmurs, planting a soft kiss on Minho’s cheek before slipping out of bed.

Minho hums in response, eyes still half-shut, enjoying the lingering quiet.

“Oh,” Chan says, his voice pulling Minho fully awake. “Just a heads up—she left early for a two-day work trip. Said she’d be back soon.”

Minho’s eyes open, the peaceful feeling beginning to fade as he realizes what this means. “Wait,” he says, voice still groggy, “so that means…”

“That means Lucy’s with us,” Chan finishes, a little too cheerfully, as if trying to soften the blow. “Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

Minho doesn't say anything but his pout is apparent so Chan tries another way to soften him. “I'll cook breakfast,” he announces with a quick kiss on his cheek.

Minho sighs, feeling a familiar knot tighten in his stomach. He watches as Chan goes to wake Lucy, who stretches sleepily in her little bed before reaching up for him with a giggle.

“Morning, sweet Lucy!” Chan talks in his baby voice at her and then scoops her up, effortlessly shifting gears into a gentle, playful mode as he carries her to the kitchen.

Dreading the chaos of the next two days, Minho reluctantly drags himself out of bed, following the sound of Chan and Lucy’s laughter down the hall. When he steps into the kitchen, he finds Lucy settled in her high chair, happily munching on a piece of toast while Chan fusses over the coffee maker. Minho watches them, a mix of apprehension and resignation settling in.

Chan glances back at him, a soft, reassuring smile on his face. “It’ll be fine,” he says, as if reading Minho’s thoughts. “We’ve got this, okay?”

Minho sighs but nods, taking a seat across from Lucy as she gives him a crumb-covered smile. As much as he dreads the unfamiliar routine, a small part of him feels… almost grateful for Chan’s confidence. With a reluctant smile of his own, he reaches for a piece of toast, bracing himself for the day ahead.

However, in the afternoon, Chan has to leave to take care of something at the studio. Minho watches as Chan pulls on his jacket, glancing back at him with a smirk.

“She just went down for her nap, so you’re in the clear for a little while,” Chan teases.

He comes up to him and plants a quick peck on his lips, “Just… keep her in one piece until I get back, alright?” he jokingly says.

Minho rolls his eyes, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “I'll try.”

With a final wink, Chan heads out, leaving Minho alone in the quiet apartment. The silence is welcome, if temporary, and he lets out a slow sigh, hoping the next few hours pass smoothly.

An hour later, Lucy stirs awake, her small footsteps padding down the hallway. Minho sets out a plate of snacks for her, guiding her to the couch.

“Stay here, alright?” he says, voice firm. “I’m just going out to the balcony.”

Lucy nods, munching on a cracker as she watches him. Satisfied, Minho heads outside to the small balcony, grabbing the broom as he starts clearing away the damp leaves from the rainy afternoon.

He’s only half-focused when he hears the light patter of tiny feet behind him. Before he can react, Lucy slips on the wet floor, falling to her knees with a small yelp.

Minho rushes to her side, instinctively pulling her up. “Lucy!” he scolds, his voice sharper than he intended. “I told you to stay put! Why can’t you just listen?”

Lucy’s big eyes fill with tears, her lower lip trembling as she starts to cry, her tiny voice breaking as she murmurs, “I want Mommy…”

At her words, Minho’s frustration melts into a pang of guilt. He looks at her, realizing how small and innocent she really is, just a little girl caught up in an unfamiliar world. He takes a deep breath, softening his tone as he gently wipes her tears.

“Hey… I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

Lucy sniffles, looking up at him with a mixture of hurt and confusion. Minho feels the weight of her gaze, a new understanding settling over him. She didn’t ask for any of this, and for the first time, he really sees how vulnerable she is.

“Come on, let’s clean those knees,” he murmurs softly, taking her small hand in his as he guides her back inside.

As he bandages her scraped knees, he silently resolves to be gentler, realizing she’s not the cause of his frustration—she’s just an innocent bystander who needs someone to care.

“Does it still hurt?” He asks in slight concerns after covering the scrape on her knee with a bandaid.

Instead of answering, Lucy looks at him with her teary eyes and whines, “I want my Mommy.”

Minho frowns, his phone pressed to his ear as he tries to call you, glancing over at Lucy who’s curled up on the couch, her eyes still red from crying. She clutches a stuffed animal tightly, her gaze flicking between him and the phone, hope evident in her little face.

But after a few rings, the call goes to voicemail. He lets out a quiet sigh, mentally running through other options. If she can’t talk to her mom, he has to figure out some way to cheer her up on his own.

He crouches down beside her, offering her a small, tentative smile. “Hey, Lucy,” he says gently. “How about we eat something? I think we have something special in the fridge.”

Her interest piques slightly, though her expression remains uncertain as she nods.

Minho takes her in his arms and heads to the kitchen, he sits her down on the kitchen island, opening the freezer and pulling out a small tub of ice cream.

“Ice cream?” He asks with a soft smile but deep down he's hoping it works to, at least, make her stop asking for you.

The little girl wipes her wet cheek with the back of her hand and mumbles, “I want strawberry ice cream.”

“Strawberry ice cream for Lucy coming right up!” He cheerfully says.

Minho scoops some into a bowl, topping it with a few sprinkles as Lucy requested. When he hands her the bowl, her eyes light up, the faintest smile breaking through. She takes a cautious spoonful, then another, and before long, her mood visibly brightens.

Minho can’t help but feel a small sense of relief as he watches her savor each bite. “Is it good?” he asks, smiling softly.

Lucy nods, looking up at him with genuine gratitude. “Thank you,” she says, her small voice filled with warmth as she flashes him a fond smile.

Minho’s heart softens at the sight. He hadn’t expected something as simple as ice cream to work so well, but seeing her smile makes him realize that maybe, just maybe, he’s not so bad at this. For the first time, he feels a small connection with her, and it surprises him just how much it means.

-

Chan steps into the apartment, his nerves already on edge. He’s been wondering all day what sort of situation he’ll find when he gets home, half-expecting chaos—or at least a sulking Minho in the aftermath of a toddler-tantrum-filled day. He silently hopes that Minho’s “keep her in one piece” promise has held true.

But as he closes the door, he’s met with… silence.

The calm feels almost suspicious, and he takes a cautious step forward, peeking into the kitchen. His brows lift in surprise when he sees Minho standing at the counter, prepping dinner. And beside him, Lucy is perched on a chair, carefully placing sliced vegetables into a bowl under Minho’s watchful eye.

Chan can’t help but chuckle softly at the sight, folding his arms as he leans against the doorframe. “Wow, I thought you might’ve sent her to the orphanage by now.”

Minho glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes but unable to hide a small grin. “Trust me, the temptation was there.”

Lucy giggles, glancing up at Minho with a shy smile. Chan’s heart warms at the sight, surprised and a little proud of how well they seem to be getting along.

Chan steps into the kitchen, giving Minho a playful nudge. “Seems like you survived after all,” he teases.

Minho scoffs but gives a reluctant nod. “Barely,” he mutters, though there’s a glimmer of something softer in his eyes as he glances at Lucy. He ruffles her hair as she hands him another handful of vegetables, and for the first time, Chan sees a gentleness there that makes him smile.

“Well,” Chan says, grabbing an apron to join in, “looks like I came home just in time for dinner with my two favorite chefs.”

As the evening winds down and bed time comes, Lucy bounces up to Minho, wrapping her tiny arms around his legs. “Goodnight!” she chirps, looking up at him with a grin.

Minho blinks in surprise, and though he hesitates, he can’t help but smile as he pats her head gently. “Mmh... Goodnight!”

Chan chuckles, scooping her up. “Alright, let's go,” he says, carrying her down the hall to the bedroom. He helps her into her pajamas, tucking her in under the blankets as she nestles into the bed.

“Is Mommy coming home soon?” she asks, her voice small, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

Chan smiles softly, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Mommu will be back before you know it. Just one more day, and you’ll see Mommy again.”

He draws hee closer to his side, suddenly feeling protective of her at the reminder that she has no one but you. “So, Lucy, do you like staying here with me?” he curiously asks.

Lucy innocently nods as she stares at his face.

“How about Minho? Did you have fun today with Minho?”

With her eyes getting heavier with each passing second, Lucy nods again. However, Chan can’t help but ask her one more question.

“Do you like me more or Minho more?”

After a while, Lucy confidently answers. "Chan!"

Even though the answer is as expected, Chan triumphantly smiles at that. He presses a soft kiss on the top of Lucy’s head and holds her close.

A yawn slipping out as she snuggles deeper into her pillow. Chan begins to hum her favorite lullaby, his voice soft and soothing as he sings until her eyes finally close and her breathing evens out.

When he looks up, he notices Minho leaning quietly in the doorway, watching them. There’s a gentleness in Minho’s gaze that makes Chan’s heart swell. Minho might not say it, but Chan can see that he’s slowly warming up to Lucy, and it brings a warmth to his heart.

Chan gives Lucy a soft kiss on the forehead, mouthing, “Goodnight,” before he stands and gently closes the door behind him.

As Chan steps out of Lucy’s room and joins Minho, Minho quirks an eyebrow, an amused glint in his eyes. “Look at you, playing the doting daddy,” he teases, crossing his arms.

Chan rolls his eyes, nudging him playfully. “You’re just jealous,” he replies, chuckling. “Admit it.”

Minho just shrugs with a smirk, but there’s no real irritation behind his words. They head to their own bedroom, slipping under the covers, and Chan reaches out to take Minho’s hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Minho,” he murmurs, his voice soft and sincere. “For… everything. For being understanding, for accepting Lucy without a second thought, and for being here with me through this.”

His gaze is warm, filled with gratitude as he looks into Minho’s eyes. “I don’t take it for granted, you know? I’m really grateful for you.”

Minho’s smirk softens into a small, genuine smile. He shifts closer, leaning his forehead against Chan’s. “You’re lucky I like you, Bang Chan,” he whispers, his voice playful but filled with warmth.

Chan chuckles, brushing his thumb over Minho’s hand. “I am lucky,” he replies, his voice gentle as he presses a soft kiss to Minho’s forehead, feeling a sense of peace settle over him. With Minho by his side, he knows he can face anything—even the unexpected challenges they’re now facing together.

-

The next day, Chan, Minho, and little Lucy head out to the grocery store together. As they walk in, they’re greeted by Halloween decorations lining the aisles—glowing pumpkins, skeletons, and eerie ghost dolls hanging from the ceiling. Lucy’s eyes grow wide, and she clings to Minho’s leg, hiding behind him as a particularly spooky skeleton’s jaw clatters with a creepy laugh.

Minho chuckles, glancing down at her. “They’re just dolls, Lucy,” he says reassuringly, giving one of the decorations a little poke on the eyes.

“See? Not scary at all.” He winks at her, trying to make her laugh by mimicking the skeleton’s spooky laugh.

Seeing Minho’s teasing brings a tiny smile to Lucy’s face, and she clutches his hand a bit less tightly, sticking close by his side as they continue down the aisle.

Meanwhile, Chan’s eyes light up as he spots a display of Halloween costumes.

“Oh! We should do matching costumes,” he exclaims, rifling through the racks with growing excitement. “What about pirates? Or superheroes?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, amused. “Are you really trying to dress us all up for Halloween?”

Chan grins, holding up a little cape and mask for Lucy. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Look, Lucy could be a little superhero,” he says, his enthusiasm contagious.

Lucy giggles, her earlier fright forgotten as she clutches the cape, trying to wrap it around herself.

Later that evening, after their grocery run, the three of them settle down in the living room for a cozy movie night. Lucy curls up on the couch between them, her eyes glued to the screen as the movie plays. Somewhere near the end, her little head begins to droop, and before long, she’s fast asleep, resting comfortably against Minho’s arm.

Chan chuckles, nudging Minho with a grin. “Look at you, Mr. Not Jealous. You’re practically her favorite pillow.”

Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s a fond smile on his face as he glances down at the sleeping child in his arms. He carefully stands, lifting her in his arms as he heads to her room. He tucks her in gently, pulling the blankets up to her chin before quietly slipping out of the room.

When he returns to the living room, Chan’s waiting with a soft smile. “You’re really good with her, you know?” Chan says, wrapping an arm around him as they settle back on the couch.

Minho just shrugs, a bit flustered but warmed by Chan’s words. “Yeah, well… she’s not so bad,” he mutters, though there’s a softness in his voice that speaks volumes.

As Minho joins Chan in bed, Chan immediately pulls him into his arms, taking advantage of the rare alone time to shower him with gentle kisses. Minho smirks, leaning into Chan’s warmth as he presses fluttering kisses on his neck.

Not having enough, Chan hovers above him. Their lips make the first contact before the rest of their bodies become one on the bed. In a second, Minho’s hands going all over Chan’s body, trailing his broad shoulders, tracing the ridges of his abs, the muscles on his back and as soon as Chan lowers himself on him, Minho’s hands are gliding down his back and not stopping until his hands meet Chan’s ample ass.

Chan smiles against his lips as Minho starts fondling on his asscheek and Chan gets back at him by feeling Minho’s growing bulge inside his sweatpants.

With everything that happened, it feels like a long time since the last time they had sex. Chan needs this and with the way Minho easily giving in to what he wants, he knows Minho needs this just as much.

However, as things start to heat up— a quiet knock interrupts them.

With his hands resting on his chest, Minho slowly pushes Chan away and says, “Better luck next time!”

Chan sighs but quickly gets up, opening the door to find Lucy standing there, clutching her plushie with tears streaming down her cheeks. The soft rumble of thunder echoes outside, and she sniffles, looking up at him with frightened eyes.

“I'm scared,” she mumbles and gets startled at the sound of thunder.

“Hey, it’s alright, sweetheart,” Chan murmurs gently, crouching down to her level. He lifts her into his arms and brings her into the bedroom, letting her settle down on the bed between him and Minho.

As she clutches her plushie, Chan pats her back, softly humming her favorite lullaby, his voice a low and calming melody against the rumbling storm outside. Slowly, Lucy’s eyes flutter closed, and she drifts off, her breathing steady and peaceful.

Chan glances over at Minho, a mischievous smile on his face. “Hey, let's have one of these,” he whispers playfully.

Minho rolls his eyes but can’t hold back a grin. “Only if you’re the one carrying it,” he whispers back, nudging him.

Chan chuckles quietly, pulling Minho’s hand into his own under the covers. Despite all his initial worries, he feels this warm, comforting feeling settle over him. Having Lucy here, nestled safely between them, only seems to make his bond with Minho stronger. What he once thought might strain their relationship now feels like it’s brought them closer, and he realizes just how much Minho means to him.

They lie there together, hands intertwined, both feeling a quiet sense of peace as they watch over the sleeping child between them.

-

Minho wakes up to the soft sight of little Lucy nestled close to Chan’s arm, her tiny form making Chan look even broader and more protective beside her. Minho smiles, watching them for a moment before slipping out of bed, letting the two sleep in a little longer.

The sunlight spills into the kitchen, bright and warm, washing away any traces of the storm from the night before. As Minho pulls out ingredients from the fridge, he hears tiny footsteps padding across the floor. He turns to see Lucy, dragging her favorite plushie along, her eyes still a bit sleepy.

“Morning, Lucy,” he says softly, setting a plate on the table for her with a warm cheese omelet. Lucy climbs into her chair, her eyes lighting up as she takes a bite.

Minho smirks, watching her enjoy the food. “So,” he says with a playful grin, “who’s the better cook—me or Mommy?”

Lucy giggles, her cheeks puffed from her bite. “Mommy!” she replies without hesitation, her answer sweetly innocent.

Minho huffs in mock offense, rolling his eyes. “Biased,” he mutters under his breath, but he can’t help smiling as he watches her eat with such enthusiasm.

Before long, Chan shuffles into the kitchen, still a bit groggy but smiling at the sight of Lucy happily munching away and Minho standing over the stove. He slips an arm around Minho’s waist, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before taking a seat at the table.

“Morning,” Chan mumbles with another kiss pressed to his neck. He then turns to the little girl busy eating her breakfast and places a kiss on her head, “Morning, cutie Lucy,” he says with his high, saccharine voice.

Minho watches them, a warm feeling settling in his chest as he takes in the cozy scene. Just like Chan had joked, it really does feel like a little family. But as he watches Chan laugh with Lucy over breakfast, Minho realizes he doesn’t have to pretend—it truly feels like this is his family, too.

-

The late morning sunlight spills across the living room as the three of them lounge comfortably on the couch, watching Lucy’s favorite cartoon. She’s nestled between Chan and Minho, completely captivated, while Minho has his arm draped casually over the back of the sofa, feeling more at ease than he would have thought possible.

But the cozy moment is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Minho groans, getting up to answer it, only to find you standing there, suitcase beside you. He blinks in mild surprise before his face softens, and you exchange a quick hug.

“I lost track of the new passcode,” you say with a chuckle, shrugging apologetically.

“No worries,” he replies, stepping aside to let you in.

Without hesitating, you come up to him for a quick hug, “How are you, Minho? I hope everything is well.”

Minho sheepishly smiles and closes the door behind him, “I hope so too,” he jokingly says.

The second you announce your arrival, little footsteps echo through the hallway as Lucy comes running, her face lighting up at the sight of you. She rushes over, throwing her arms around your legs, and you crouch down to hug her back.

As you greet Chan and settle in, the lively energy Lucy brings to the room returns with her laughter filling the space. Everything feels normal again—but as Minho looks around, he realizes this new rhythm, this new arrangement, is his normal now too.

It’s strange to think how far he’s come from his initial reluctance, but he can’t deny the warmth and quiet joy that fills him at the sight of this little makeshift family.

-

The kitchen is filled with the comforting sounds of chopping and simmering as you and Minho work together to prepare dinner. The faint laughter of Chan and Lucy playing in the living room drifts into the space, adding to the cozy warmth of the evening.

“You really should be resting after your trip,” Minho says, glancing at you as he chops vegetables with practiced ease.

You shake your head, a small smile on your lips. “I need to feel useful after being away. Besides, I wanted to thank you properly—for taking care of Lucy while I was gone.”

Minho shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but a hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “She’s not so bad… keeps things interesting around here.”

Taking a deep breath, you seize the quiet moment between the two of you. “Minho… there’s something I need to tell you. I didn’t come here to interfere or… to try to win Chan back.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he places the knife down and looks at you. “Good to know. I mean, I would hope you aren’t here to take him away from me. I’d miss the guy.”

A light laugh escapes you, and you feel the tension ease, if only a little. “Honestly, I wanted to be up-front. Lucy isn’t Chan’s child. She… I had her with someone else, after I made a mistake while I was still with Chan.”

You pause, struggling to hold back the guilt that still lingers. “I never told him. I was too ashamed, and I thought it would be better if he didn’t know.”

Minho’s expression softens as he takes in your words. He understands why you did what you did. He picks his words carefully before saying them out loud.

“For what it’s worth, you don’t have to carry that guilt here. Chan’s treating Lucy like she’s his own because, well, that’s just who he is. And… she’s lucky to have him in her life. We both are.”

You've been carrying it for a long while and your heart lifts at his words. For that, you offer a sincere smile and gratitude. “Thank you, Minho. For understanding, and for... letting us stay here.”

Minho gives a small nod, and his usual teasing smile returns. “Well, you’re lucky Lucy’s cute. She’s winning me over. Just don’t go telling her that.”

You’re silent for a moment, gathering your thoughts. As you continue slicing vegetables, you glance at Minho, hesitating, then finally let out a gentle sigh.

“Chan… he looks so happy with you,” you say, voice soft. “I can see it. He really loves you. I hope you know that.”

Minho pauses, clearly caught off guard by your words. “Yeah?” he asks, almost shyly, though he tries to play it off with a small smile.

You nod, your gaze shifting to where Chan is with Lucy, his laughter filling the living room. “He deserves to be with someone who makes him this happy. I couldn’t give him that but you do. And I really, really hope things work out for you both.”

Minho’s expression softens, a hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes that he doesn’t know how to react to that. “Thank you. That means… well, more than you might think.”

You both fall silent, the sound of your movements in the kitchen blending with the distant laughter of Chan and Lucy. In that moment, you feel a quiet sense of relief, knowing that Chan has found someone who truly cares for him, and that you’ve left him in good hands.

-

Dinner is lively, filled with light chatter and laughter as everyone enjoys the meal. Between bites, Chan glances over at Lucy, attentively wipes her slobbering mouth with a napkin. He beams when he remembers something.

“Hey, would it be alright if I took Lucy to the park tomorrow? I know a spot she’d love.”

You swallow your food and put your spoon down to answer him. “I plan on begin looking for an apartment anyway, so that would be perfect.”

Without missing a beat, Minho clears his throat and injects himself into the conversation.“Well, you’re in luck—I just so happen to have a cozy apartment that I keep meaning to rent out. Figured I might sell it eventually, but,” he shrugs playfully and glances over at Chan, “I keep it around in case I need an escape from Chan.”

The table erupts into laughter, and you look at him, surprised but grateful. “Are you serious? I’d be so thankful. Really.”

Minho nods with a grin and casually shrugs again, “Consider it yours, then.”

Chan catches Minho’s eye, a quiet look of gratitude passing between them. He feels a surge of pride, but more than that, a sense of certainty that Minho is truly the one he’s meant to be with.

Later that night, as they lay side by side in bed, Chan gently pulls Minho close, wrapping an arm around him. He presses a long kiss on his neck before deeply looking into his eyes to tell him his feelings.

“You know, I’ve never felt this sure about anyone before,” he murmurs. “I feel like… you’re the one I’ve been waiting for, Minho.”

Minho rolls his eyes but can’t hide the blush creeping across his face. “You’re getting sappy again, Chan.”

Chan chuckles softly, then leans in, his lips brushing Minho’s in a tender, lingering kiss. “I mean it,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

Unexpectedly, Minho melts right away from Chan's confession, his usual sarcasm fading, and after a moment, he cups Chan’s face, a small smile playing at his lips. “I love you too.”

In this perfect, quiet moment, Chan knows that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

-

Moving into Minho’s apartment has felt like starting fresh—a safe, cozy space for you and Lucy, free from the burdens you once carried. It’s peaceful, even comforting, though sometimes it’s hard to shake the feeling of gratitude toward Chan and Minho for being there when you needed it most. They’ve become part of your life in a way you never anticipated, like family.

The apartment is still a mess and you struggle to find your makeup pouch from the unpacked boxes. When you finally found what you're looking for, you run back to the living room and squat down to be on the same level with Lucy. You carefully draw thin, delicate whiskers on Lucy's cheeks, stepping back to admire her in her little mouse costume. She giggles, wriggling with excitement as you look at her with a big smile on your face.

“Look at you, you cute little mouse!” you grin, smoothing down her costume.

Just then, the doorbell rings, and Lucy’s eyes light up as she dashes for the door. Her little tail wagging amd drags across the hardwood floor as she runs.

“Who do you think it is?” you ask playfully, following her.

She’s practically bouncing as you open the door, and there stand Chan and Minho, beaming.

“Oh?! I can see it now,” You gasp and chuckle when you finally recognize where they got the reference for their costumes. It's from Lucy’s favorite movie, Ratatouille.

Chan’s dressed in a chef’s outfit, his red wig comically tousled like Linguini’s, while Minho, wearing a sharp black suit and a deep scowl, plays the perfect Anton Ego.

Chan immediately crouches down, holding out his arms. “There’s my little Remy!” he cheers, and Lucy runs into his arms, giggling as he lifts her up.

Minho nods, raising a brow and it’s rather dramatic with the dark eye makeup. “Impeccable taste in costume, I must say,” he says with mock seriousness, giving Lucy an approving look.

“Wow, you all really went with the theme,” you laugh, impressed. “You even got the scowl right, Minho.”

Minho smirks, crossing his arms. “Of course. It’s a role I was born to play,” he says dryly, earning a playful nudge from Chan.

They line up in front of the camera, Lucy perched proudly on Chan’s shoulders, clutching his chef’s hat, with Minho standing beside them, a half-smile tugging at his lips. You help direct their poses, snapping a few photos as they make silly faces, then switch to a few “serious” ones with Minho scowling dramatically.

The three of them are laughing together, looking so natural and happy, and as you watch through the lens, your heart swells with warmth. This little found family has its own kind of magic, and it feels like something that might just last.

-

As Chan and Lucy head out for trick-or-treating, the apartment feels a little quieter, but comfortably so. You and Minho settle into the kitchen, rolling up your sleeves and preparing ingredients to bake cookies. There’s a sense of ease between you, both of you slipping into a relaxed rhythm of mixing, sifting, and rolling dough, laughter and chatter filling the room.

“So, how are you settling in here?” Minho asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Actually, it’s been good. Lucy’s adapting well, and I have you to thank for that.” You glance around the apartment, an appreciative gleam in your eyes. “It already feels like a home.”

Minho chuckles, looking a little proud as he dusted the dough with more flour. “I’m glad to hear that. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if this place would be what you needed, but you’re making it work.”

A moment passes in silence as you consider whether it's appropiate or not for you to ask something personal with him. After a while though, you glance at him thoughtfully and decide to take a shot.

“So... you and Chan,” you say, a gentle nudge in your tone. “Are you thinking about... taking things to the next level?”

Minho chuckles at first, lifting a brow at you and he stays quiet, you take it that he doesn’t want to answer until he turns to face you.

“The next level? What, like adopting a cat?” he teases, though you can see the thought truly crosses his mind as he softens a bit. “But honestly... I know Chan. He’s always had this dream, you know? That picture-perfect life with a family, a house with a white fence, a dog… all of it.”

He pauses, looking down as he carefully arranges the cookie dough on the sheet. “Sometimes I wonder if I can give him that,” he admits quietly, his voice just above a whisper. “It’s not like I’m against it… I just don’t know if I’m enough to be his whole dream.”

You nod, understanding the weight of his thoughts and take a moment to assess it. “I think that dream matters to him, sure. But I also know that Chan loves you, and that’s the part that matters most.”

You give him a reassuring look and a warm smile. “If there’s anyone who can make him happy, it’s you. And honestly? What you two have—it's special. I’d be heartbroken if anything ever changed that.”

Minho looks at you, a slight smile pulling at his lips. He seems more at ease, even if only a little, as he nods in quiet appreciation.

“Thanks,” he says, voice soft. “It’s nice to hear that.”

He carefully slides the cookie tray into the oven, letting the warmth of your words and the baking cookies fill the space.

Chan and Lucy return from trick-or-treating just as the smell of freshly baked cookies are out of the oven. The moment they step inside, Lucy’s eyes light up at the sight of the cookies on the counter, and she eagerly scrambles onto the couch, settling in with her treat.

Everyone gathers in the cozy living room, laughing, sipping milk, and munching on warm cookies as a Halloween movie plays on the TV. But the true entertainment comes from you and Minho playfully teasing Chan, trading stories and memories like a friendly roast.

“Oh, he’s still as bad at drinking as he was back then,” you laugh, nudging Chan as he shakes his head, looking mildly embarrassed.

“Not to mention the spice thing,” Minho chimes in, smirking. “Can’t handle anything remotely spicy, huh?”

Chan groans, holding up his hands in defeat. “What can I say? Some things never change,” he grins, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Oh! Grow up, Chan!” You tease him with a mocking grin.

As the night gets late, Lucy falls asleep on Chan’s lap, her face calm and content from the night’s excitement. Gently, Chan scoops her up and carries her to bed, laying her down and carefully tucking her in. You join him, and together, you watch her peaceful expression, a feeling of warmth settling over the room.

“Thank you, Chan,” you say softly, watching your daughter sleep. “I’ve never seen Lucy this happy. She really, really likes you.”

Chan smiles, his gaze softening as he endearingly putting away the haie covering Lucy’s face. “She’s a great girl. Makes it easy.”

For a moment, Chan simply watches Lucy sleeping, endearingly putting the hair away from her face and then, he looks at you. With a gentle tone, he asks, “Can I… Can I be Lucy’s godfather?”

Your heart skips at the suddenness of his wish and how unexpected it is. Before you can respond, you feel the urge to tell him the truth, wanting him to understand everything.

“Chan, I know I should have told you sooner that Lucy is—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, Chan shakes his head and stopping you. “Despite it all, I want to be there for her, and for you.”

Overwhelmed by his words, you nod, a genuine smile breaking through. “I would love to, Chan. Besides, I can't trust Lucy to anyone else but you.”

Chan laughs lightly, his voice a warm whisper. “Not even Minho?” he teases with an eyebrow raised.

You laugh, nudging him playfully and lower your voice as you say, “Especially Minho.”

A gentle quiet fills the room as you both stand there, and for a moment, it feels like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.

-

Chan stands by the door, lingering a moment longer than he intended as you walk up to him with a gentle, knowing smile. “Thank you for everything, Chan,” you say, pulling him into a warm hug. He holds you close, feeling the quiet gratitude that flows between you.

When you pull away, there’s a slight shimmer in your eyes, and he gives you a reassuring nod, as if to say he’ll always be there, no matter what. “If you ever need anything,” he says quietly, “don’t hesitate, alright?”

You nod, laughing softly as Minho steps forward, offering a half-smirk. “Maybe not from me, though,” he quips, rolling his eyes with a small grin.

But when you hug him too, he softens, returning your thanks with a quiet sincerity that he doesn’t often show.

As you release Minho from the warm hug, you take a steady breath, your gaze softening as you look at the two of them.

“Thank you,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “For the first time in so long, I feel like I belong somewhere—like Lucy and I finally have a place and people we can call ours. I’m grateful for both of you.”

Chan smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “That’s what family’s for,” he says, his tone warm and steady. Minho offers a half-smile, trying to brush off the emotion, but there’s a glint of understanding in his eyes.

“Goodnight,” Chan says to you before stepping out of the apartment with Minho.

“Goodnight,” you say back as you linger in the doorway and watching them disappear into the elevator.

-

As Chan and Minho walk together, hand in hand under the soft glow of the city lights, Chan takes a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill his lungs. This—right here, right now—feels like home in a way he’s never known before.

He glances over at Minho, who’s watching the path ahead, his profile softened by the moonlight. Chan gives his hand a gentle squeeze, feeling a swell of gratitude for everything they’ve come through to reach this moment. For all the unexpected turns, the people they’ve grown to love, and the bonds they’ve forged. Somehow, everything led him here—to the love he’s waited for, the family he’s built, and the life he never thought he’d find.

“You know,” he says quietly, a tenderness in his voice, “I think I finally understand what it means to be whole. It’s not about finding pieces you think you’re missing. It’s about realizing that what you have is exactly enough.”

Minho looks over at him, a hint of something deep and unspoken in his eyes. “Then let’s keep it this way,” he murmurs, “for as long as we can.”

And as they continue down the quiet streets together, Chan knows that even if life shifts and changes again, he’ll always have this—the kind of love and contentment that makes every struggle worth it. Because they’re not just walking home tonight; they’re building one, with each other, step by step.

-

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[jolalibrary]

the meeting

francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader* | collection masterlist

summary: stumbling into a diner in the dead of the night, frankie morales doesn't expect to find anyone there. then he meets you. what begins as a one-night-stand-turned-weekend becomes a no-strings-attached arrangement.

pairing: pre-tf/delta squad francisco morales x ofc!reader (*OFC has name and backstory, but is physically a blank slate) rating: smut. 18+ warnings: smut. nickname is given to the reader by frankie: blue. no y/n. no physical descriptions. one-night stand. p in v. blueberry pie... is actually pie. pre-TF. dual POV. wordcount: 4.6k an: originally posted on AO3. i won't be doing a taglist for this series, so i'd recommend bookmarking on there for email notifications.

You only realise the rain is heavier when the bell chimes.

Lifting your head, dragging it away from blurring pages, you quickly spot the thick droplets pounding, hammering their tiny water-based fists against the glass beside you. The battling temperatures continue to do all it can to fog and smear it, making visibility impossible from the inside to the out.

It forces car lights to blur into scarlet reds and soft whites from your place; makes the bright diner sign out in the parking lot—spelt out in neon tubing—to be hidden, slowly swallowed and consumed by the growing storm.

When you'd first arrived, it had only been a small shower. Sometime between your first coffee and now it had shifted into a downpour—the outside rumbling angrily, accompanied by flashes that ripple across full and fuming clouds.

Stretching, raising arms above your head, you glance out from your booth and land on the figure who'd set the bell off.

They're unzipping, haphazardly throwing down the hood, parting their jacket before you see the side profile of their face. You’re transfixed, unable to blink as they rustle the short hair atop their head—the outside they’ve brought in dripping onto the worn welcome mat of the diner.

It’s Doris who hurries to greet—a favourite of yours.

She’s the kind of person who doesn’t judge when you order more coffee when it’s gone midnight or you’ve barely moved to stretch your legs; she doesn’t ask if you’re sure you should eat another slice of pie or question if studying in a busy diner is as effective as the library.

Doris keeps her nose out. And does so in a way that makes you think, that if you needed advice, she’d give it to you. Just like she quickly begins doing (unsolicitedly) to the mysterious, almost midnight visitor.

Y’from outta town? Doris asks, rich in cheer, all sing-song-like and innocent to the point it would trick even a dubious soul that she doesn’t gossip.

You wait for a response, focusing on taking small sips of your coffee. A break from the books, from note taking and soaking information. Not eavesdropping, not at all.

No. Just got in late. Saw the sign, and thought I’m a man who deserves a warm drink.

Smiling, almost smirking, you take a larger mouthful. Lie, your brain says; a charmer, you think immediately after. Taking in the slope of his nose and the way he looks lost, unsure—as though there had been no thought after escaping the night and the storm and stepping inside.

Of all the places in the empty diner for him to sit, he chooses the booth next to yours. Jacket sliding off, folding it, placing it at the end of the booth bench he’s sitting in as he faces you.

He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t glare when he meets your eyes. Just passes you over, acknowledges but not by too much. It’s you who breaks the stare.

Then Elvis begins playing—as he routinely does. Singing about mail and returning to sender as you tap your pencil against the textbook. Dropping your gaze, and doing your best to ignore him.

You’re not sure your best is going to be good enough.

Six minutes and thirty-nine seconds pass, and in that time you take further glances when you think it’s safe to do so.

For one, taking in how he scratches at the back of his head as he attempts to understand the menu. Next, how broad his chest is, and how it forces the thin fabric of his tee to stretch when he pulls out the menu, lays it down and dips his head lower between his shoulders.

By the following chance you afford yourself a glance, his thumb is pressed to his lips as he studies the plastic, two-sided menu, flipping it over with a crack, before doing so again a few moments later. Undecided, troubled—nostrils flaring as he sighs and you try not to glare through your brows.

You blame the fact it’s been a while for why thoughts are sparking.

Practically unable to stop staring at how thick his fingers are, to stop your body from reacting to the width of his thumb. Your thighs press together under the table, mind running away with itself before it’s snapped back to the present when he flips the menu again.

It’s easier to busy yourself by tapping the toe of your sneaker against the metal pole of the table. Discreet, rubber side up, dotting your paper with the pencil as you urge him to order.

Internally pleading him to.

Counting to thirty and then to sixty, before you drop the pencil and rest your cheek on your palm, staring—more bold and unafraid of confrontation than you might have been minutes ago.

“You having a hard time there or something?”

His head snaps up, eyes a little wide. The stare dripping with surprise before he snorts. Before his index and thumb are lifting the menu, tapping the others against the back.

“What do you recommend?”

“You’d take advice from a stranger?”

Shrugging, he dips his chin, but his eyes remain on you. Dark, yet warm—glancing at you as though he wishes to let them up and down your frame. Before he drags them to the empty plates, the ones stacked, ready to be collected.

“No one else for me to ask.”

You smirk, dropping your hand from your face and straightening your spine. “Touché.”

Then, you make him wait. Take as much of him in as you can. Pencil in hand as you trace the eraser end over, and over a graph in your book. Because he’s handsome, good-looking, in a way that’s understated but you know would make you double-take somewhere else.

It’s the eyes, you try to reason.

A unique mix of doe-eyed and sharp.

Exhaling, you tap your pencil louder before saying, “The coffee is good, and so are any of the pies. The pancakes are good, but not when Ernie is on. And Ernie is currently on—they always taste salty? I try not to think why.”

It’s his turn for his lips to slide into his cheek. “Which pie?”

“Huh?”

He points, right to the plates. “Which pie have you been eating?”

For a second, you take him in. Head tilting, back straight, lips rolling together as you try to place him—nostrils flaring as you take a steadying breath. “Blueberry.”

“Alright then.”

To your surprise, he orders you one too.

It sitting, temptingly in a space between notes, postits and your book. Your stomach grumbles in protest, desperate to taste another slice, knowing the importance of fuel and nutrition to ensure that you don’t fall asleep at the table again.

You wait until he sinks his teeth into it. Tuning in for any groan, any evidence of surprise at how good it tastes. You flick your gaze to him, watching, waiting, eventually stabbing your own fork into it before the filling bursts in your mouth, exploding sweetness that’s balanced by a gentle tang—the crust, as always, both crumbly and smooth, all buttery, a treat. Homely. That’s what it reminds you of, home.

A thing, from the look on his face, he feels too.

“Told you.”

It’s a sight to watch him run his tongue across the front of his teeth, fork sliding across the crumbs on his place. “Not bad for a stranger.”

You release a short laugh, one that you try to bury against the cup you bring to your lips.

“I’m Francisco—Frankie.”

He drops his eyes, embarrassment—most likely. Shyness is another option.

Even with no expectation for a trade, you lick your lips and offer him something else. A nickname as he smiles, eyes narrowing. “—not going to just hand you my name, you could be a murderer.”

“I could be.”

“Your nickname doesn’t suit you.”

“Thank you?”

He laughs, low, but light. It’s then he asks if you’re working, to which you share studying. That you find it easier here, less distractions—

“More pie?”

“There’s that too. What about you? Just fancied a break from the storm?”

Sheepish, that’s the word you’d use. The back of his fingers runs along the stubble on his jaw. “I’ve just landed back. Needed… wanted a minute.”

You nod, letting his words simmer as a bolt of lightning catches you in the corner of your eye.

“Guess we’re one step further away from being strangers.”

He hums, and you dip your head, turning the page of your textbook as it becomes the only noise while one song transitions into another.

Frankie tries not to smile when you jump at a clap of thunder.

He hides it behind his coffee and tries to stare out as another bolt sketches itself across the sky. Then, you ask him if he’ll watch your things so you can use the restroom.

Nodding, throat all of a sudden dry when you stand and he manages to steal a look at your bare legs.

Up until then, he’d only seen the oversized grey sweatshirt from the waist up, and then he finds your shorts sitting somewhere along the middle of your thighs—all skin until socks above sneakers. The latter scuffed, overly worn and likely loved. Things he assesses quickly, training coming into use even when home.

What he doesn't spot is a coat or an umbrella.

A thing which ticks in the back of his head as he wonders how long you’ve been here to have racked up the number of plates and the different glass and cupwear. It ticks over, maths whirring when he hears the bathroom door squeal and the sound of you approaching.

Your thank you comes across softly as you lean back into the seat of your booth chair, rolling your neck—and massaging your temple before reaching for something in your bag.

It’s a test, he thinks when you begin to apply gloss. Sliding it over your lips, not glancing up at, as he tries not to even let his eyes wander. To follow.

He fails.

Watching, seeing it glistening, the exposed lighting above the two of you sparkling on them like glitter.

And, he tries to drink his coffee; tries to think of what the next song could be. Whether it will be Elvis again or something else.

The song begins before he has come up with an answer. Having been too focused, too busy silently working out what flavour your gloss is.

Whether it would be tacky against his mouth—

“If you keep staring, Frankie, I’ll think that you want to take a picture.”

A light laugh escapes him, shaking his head, scratching at the back of his hair as he sighs. “Only if you pose for it.”

Your laugh is loud, sweet—gentle on the ears as you pout and roll your eyes. “You’re distracting me.”

Frankie swallows that you’ve been distracting him since he sat down.

By the time it reaches the third hour he’s been here, Frankie finds himself opposite you.

Having relocated, taken some pity on you to help “test” you on something. It had ended quickly when his hands held your notebook and spotted your illustrations along the edges. That’s when he spots a half-bad sketch of himself. A little heart on his jawline, one of his fingers tracing it on his skin, running over the patch that doesn’t fill in like the rest of his beard, before seeing an arrow with the name Frankie at the end and some dots.

“Morales. My surname.”

Grabbing your notebook back, eraser removing the dots, he watches as you write out his name. Immortalise it against the lines pages of your studying. Committing him there, a memory you can keep or erase, the choice entirely yours.

“Now, give it here.”

For a second, you look like you wish to argue, before you surrender, smirking. Pencil placed down as you lick your lips.

Amongst his name, are notes. Swirly handwriting that becomes more chaotic the longer he thinks you’ve sat here. Some circles, some with bubble clouds drawn around them, doodles on doodles—and then there’s your textbook. Post-its and scraps of receipts sticking out from different parts.

“You studying for an exam?”

Nodding, stretching your back in your seat, a little groan emitting.

“How long have you been here?”

Smiling, more telling than wicked—the opposite, he suspects, of what you intend. Your hand reaches for the pot Doris has left, tilting your cup, his eyes spotting its emptiness before your fingers wrap around the handle the black handle on the glass pot.

“Put the coffee pot down, Blue.”

Laughing, the edges of it cutting into your cheeks, “Blue?”

“Better nickname—because at this point, you’re nothing but blueberries and coffee.”

“Oh. Is that right?”

Wrapping his fingers around the handle, smothering over yours, he stares—ignores it, the pulse from your fingers, the warmth. The way his throat dries and he wants nothing more than to slide a palm up your leg to see if it’s as smooth as he thinks it will be.

“What would you say if I said I think I’d rather be full of something else…”

Your words hang, linger.

Lips sliding up into his cheek, feeling your hands loosen from under his. The silence thick. A second away from it all shifting, ruining, mood dampening and changing. So he leans, elbow resting, then forearm—finding some form of confidence buried under the responsibility he usually has to carry.

“You think you can handle that, Blue?”

“What?”

Swallowing, dropping his voice as he glances over his shoulder before staring at you. “Being full of me.”

There's a definitive pause. A glide of your eyes up and down him. Dragging, practically scraping. “Oh, I think I’d like to give it a go, Morales.”

Placing your notebook down, sliding it across the table—tracing his tongue across his teeth. He nods before muttering get your coat.

That’s when you hand him your name, first only, Liv—but friends call you Livvie. He tries it silently before following you out of the booth into the parking lot.

He follows your car—close, not allowing another vehicle to squeeze in between, but not tailgating.

There are barely any blocks, but he doesn’t chance it. Parking behind you, exiting as you do from yours, throwing his bag over his shoulder, as you wait for him outside an apartment building at the end of a small walkway.

Frankie considers the option to turn back.

To consider his choices, to opt out of something that could become complex, awkward. But, he doesn’t. Not when he holds the door open after you’ve let them both in, or when he rides the elevator to the fourth floor, to the fourth door, four-oh-four you whisper as you stick your key in and the lock sounds in the night.

He doesn’t give it another second when the door shuts behind his back, hand grasping, swallowing your gasp when his mouth slides over yours. Bag thumping to the ground, palms wrapping around the sweatshirt as he forces it to cling to your waist when he presses you to him. Your warm, sweet—all plump lips that have the remainder of your gloss.

Tacky, he thinks. Smirking the thought to your lips as he cradles your jaw, as he licks into your mouth and earns himself his first moan.

“Can still change your mind?”

You shake your head, peeling your sweatshirt off—revealing practicality. A little grey sports bra, nothing impressive, nothing you feel embarrassed for. Your nipples are hard, peeking through the fabric as the light from your kitchen paints you in gooey yellow.

“You can change yours though?”

He smirks, almost snarling out, “Not a fucking chance.”

Throwing your sweatshirt, you slide both thumbs under the band that meets your skin and take that over your head. He almost lunges, crashing his mouth to yours, hand cupping one breast as his thumb rolls over it—circling over it. Walking you back aimlessly, unsure of any route, eyes assessing, watching, until he moves you against a wall.

One hand against it for leverage, his other slips down the band of your shorts—passed cotton, it digging into his wrist as two fingers glide through your slick. Feeling your want, your need, able to spread it, smother it over your clit as you whimper, as your arms knot behind his neck and pull his mouth to mould to yours.

“All for me?”

“Shh,” you whisper, grinning, one of his thick fingers sliding from your swollen clit to dip into your pussy. Your hips grinding into him, against his palm, groaning—almost moaning against your mouth at the feel of you. More so when he catches you whisper, “Please.”

“Answer me then, is this all for me?”

Nodding, lips ghosting over his before he slips another finger in. Sliding them in and out, curling. Feeling you tighten around him, clenching.

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“Not so hard, was it?”

His fingers curl, finding that spongy spot that has you whining a completely different noise—has your fingers digging into him, leaving little marks that’ll take hours to fade. He hopes they bruise.

The more he thrusts his fingers, the more you flutter—the more you rut into his hand. The more the noises you emit become strangled, mewls that are wrapped in a moan.

“That’s it, use me, Blue. Take what you want.”

“Fuck, m’gonna… fuck, I’m so—”

Frankie smothers your babbling with his mouth, licks his tongue into your mouth, vanishes them, erases them. Half-about to confess how hot it is that you’re so riled up, all because of him. That you’ve barely invited him in before you’re humping his hand, desperate, aching all for him.

Your fingers tighten around his forearms, hips shuddering, moaning right into his mouth as he feels your slick coat his fingers, his palm. Working you through it until you’re nudging his hand free, pulling it up to your mouth and meeting his eyes.

Then, you’re a fucking sight, a vision. Tongue sliding between his fingers and up and over them, tasting every part of yourself from his hand before his palms clutch your cheeks. Before his mouth is on yours and you’re guiding him to the bedroom, to your made bed of pale shades and decorative cushions.

“Condoms?”

Your hand reaches, shifts awkwardly for the handle, as he swipes at your hand—leaning over, reaching. He spots them, foil in the centre of papers and—

“Fuck, Blue,” he hisses. Looking down, finding his cock in your hand, mouth hovering closer, teasingly, breath fluttering over the leaking tip as you ask you clean and he nods.

Almost set to choke out words when wet warmth envelopes his cock. Cheeks hollowing, doing all you can to take as much of him from this position as he drops his head back, as his fingers grasp at your sheets, as the condom crinkles in his fingers before it scratches, protesting and reminding of its importance.

He’s throbbing in your mouth. Too in awe of the actual fucking sight of you—a person he met four hours ago—who is now a dream come to life.

“Stop, baby,” he groans, hand on cheek, easing him out of your mouth, “Wanna feel you come around me.”

Your eyes narrow in fury as he shifts back, rests back on his knees, eyes unable to tear away from how you lick the small taste of him from your lips, thumb swiping at the spit that had slid around your parted mouth as he rips the foil open.

“Are you sure you want this?”

Lifting up, taking the condom from the wrapper, sliding it down his cock. “Oh, I want you. Wanted you the moment you walked in.” He laughs, watching your hand wrap around his length. “I mean it—I don’t… don’t do this. But, I had to.”

Taking your hand from around him, leaning you back before lifting your leg, he lines himself up—sliding the head of his cock through your folds. Smearing himself in your wetness, coating him, watching you try to style out your little changes in breath.

“Had to?”

Nodding, “Had to, Morales.”

“Frankie,” he says, urges. Slowly pushing himself in, head tipping as he watches how you stretch around him, how perfect you are, how good.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan as he bottoms out.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders and your chest arches into him. Your hooked leg tightening, forehead pressing into his neck as he rubs a circle on your back, comforting, aiming for relaxation as your head lifts, as eyes—glassy, lust-blown and filled with want.

“Good girl. S’good for me.”

Then you flutter, loosen a little, grind your hips—

“You like that, Blue?”

“Move, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

“Please. Please, Frankie—fuck me, fuck me—”

Your words fade, swallowed by a whine as he begins to move. As his hips begin to snap to yours in a rhythm so unrelenting, so desperate. Kissing you between heavy breaths as he lifts you slightly, changes the angle, and swallows a different moan that almost makes him grin as his fingers spread out along your back.

Because fuck you feel good.

A thing he’s sure he groans, says, spills.

Your mouth close to his ear, hands tugging at him, pulling—feeling you everywhere, taking him, all that he’s giving you. As his arm hooks under your leg, spreading you a little more, placing a palm down to the bedsheets as he squeezes the cotton as you tighten around him.

He knows you’re close, can feel it, can see it, a look that he’d seen only in diluted light*,* but now gets a real view of.

And it’s enough to push him over the edge.

“Say my name, baby. Please—”

“Frankie—fuck, m’god, Frankie, right…”

It shifts into a cry, your body tensing as your pussy flutters, tightens—contracting and constricting. Then there’s your nails, the ones clawing at him, scratching. Digging into him in a way he wants you to over, and over, again as he moans.

Because you feel good. Perfect.

His breath fans across your neck and he finds himself so hard, so desperate as he slides in and out, hand grasping at your hip, easing, helping—

“Come for me, Frankie. Need it, need you t—”

“Fuck, m’give it to you.”

It’s dizzying, the way he snaps—gripping your back as liquid pleasure rushes through him, making all sounds mute. Except the ones of his skin slapping against yours—of your whines and breaths as he jolts, as he twitches. Coming hard as a groan rips from his throat. His hips stutter, losing their pace, hearing your whine change as overstimulation layers thickly before he slowly lets himself collapse against you.

A thing, he suspects, you’re eager for. Arms encasing around him, holding him—heartbeat hammering against his in a rhythm that doesn’t match, but could, he supposes.

Then you kiss him.

Drag his mouth to yours, bodies both slick with sweat, glistening, shimmering as your tongue licks a thank you at the back of his teeth and his fingers grasp one of your breasts, sliding a sweat-soaked thumb over your peak as you groan.

He’s not sure of the hour, but he knows it’s morning when he wakes.

The shower’s running. Steam billowing into the bedroom from the ajar door with warm light leaves a line that guides him to you.

A part of him thinks he should leave. Should take the easy option, knowing things—how you feel, how he feels. Hand on your hip between the first and then the second—the time on your clock barely acknowledged as you ask him what he does, where he’s come from.

It rolled from him, the truth. A thing that should frighten him, that he should have held back—

You serve?

Yeah.

Against your sheets, the ones that smell of you and then him and then the two of you, running a hand over his face. Recalling the way you touched his cheek, brushed your palm, staring, before you whispered:

Lemme guess, a pilot?

Eyes widening, hand on your chin as he made you look at him, silently asking, how do’y know, how d’you see me? You kissed him instead of answering.

It's why it would be easy to go—to leave in the mid-morning, disappear, vanish.

But his feet are taking him to the bathroom door, pushing it open with two fingers—the same two that tipped your chin up, made you look him in the eye as you came on his cock—steam greeting him before it clears. Before he sees your back to him, half-covered by droplets and glass until he’s padding across tiles, remembering your words the last time when you’d been shimmering with sweat—

“I can’t do serious, Morales. So if you have a taste of me, don’t fall in love with me.”

He’d snorted, sliding his mouth down your stomach, thighs twitching against his palm as it remembered the other ways he’d already made it shake. “It’ll be you falling when I’ve done with you.”

Your fingers slide the glass open now, that conversation there, hanging like fairy lights that you both ignore as water cascades down your skin—and he steps in, welcomed, lips finding yours as the glass shakes when it slams back into place.

It’s a few more hours until he’s dressing, until he’s drinking a cup of coffee and finding himself having trouble making an excuse to leave.

Because these things aren’t easy, comfortable. Yet this is.

Opening the door, the scent of coffee from the pot you made still filling your place, you let him pass—hovering, lingering.

“Hey?”

Glancing at you, how you’re biting the nail on your thumb, one foot on the other. “Maybe, call me—when you’re next in town? If you want.”

“Thought you didn’t do strings.”

“We can be friends… can’t we? Friends who…”

“Fuck?”

He watches you nod, laughing, before he mumbles friends into the air as he lags. Swallowing. Fingers lightly tapping against his jeans before he rests his arm against the door. “Blue?”

“Hm.”

“What if I said I’m not expected anywhere for two more days.”

Your teeth bite your lower lip, scratching at the back of your head, before that same hand grabs a fistful of his shirt, moving closer, chin tilted up. “I’d say, I think I could handle a bit more of you, Morales. If you want?”

an: a huge thank you to @luxurychristmaspudding for reading this and helping me spot the hilarious typos (you're a real one). to @pedgito for holding my hand so tight since i said "i think i want to do a kink list" and then spinning a wheel which unveils the kinks in the next few pieces. i'd be lost.

[moonpascal]

LESSONS IN HUMILITY

summary: Remus can’t help but embarrass himself time and time again in front of the twins teacher. pairing: single dad!remus x teacher!reader au. warnings: fluff, remus is a stumbling idiot, fem!reader. use of y/n wc: 850

a/n: still new at writing but @amiableness gave me the idea and just had to write this. also i totally forgot about luna lovegood and theodore nott, when naming the kids so ignore the similarity. (i loved the names too much and didn’t feel like going back and changing them). i’m american so beware some errors. gif from @/ewans-mitchell

Remus Lupin had never been particularly good at this sort of thing. Parenting, yes -at least he thought so. He was pretty sure he had that down, thanks to years of patience and the help of his friends. But the whole navigating Theo and Luna’s school life, especially the interactions with the teachers—one teacher in particular—was an entirely different subject.

Every time he went to the twins school, he felt a mix of anxiety and excitement. Most of that excitement could be attributed to seeing Miss Lovey. A name picked out from the students on account of being their save space. She was always kind, never without a warm smile that made Remus’s heart race and his palms sweat.

Today was no different.

As he arrived at the school and signed in for a visitor’s pass, his heart raced with anticipation. Remus stood awkwardly in the hallway, holding two slightly crumpled permission slips for the upcoming museum trip. He had meant to get it signed yesterday but had completely spaced till this morning. Now, he was faced with the prospect of another conversation with her, which simultaneously thrilled and terrified him.

As he approached the classroom, he could hear her soft voice reading aloud to the students. Waiting until she finished, then knocked gently on the open door. Miss Lovey looked up and smiled, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.

“Mr. Lupin, how can I help you today?” she asked. No doubt wondering what brought in today’s visit.

Remus felt his face heat up. “I, uh, I forgot to turn in the twins permission slips for the upcoming museum trip. I’m really sorry about that. I know having things late isn’t helpful and I don’t mean to add to your plate I-”

She cuts off his rambling, and gently takes the slips from his hand, their fingers brushing briefly. “Mr. Lupin, it’s no problem at all. I’ll make sure it’s added to the others.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, feeling foolish that he couldn’t stop rambling. He always seem to turn into a blithering idiot around her.

Just then, the bell rang signaling time for play-time, and students began to file out of the classroom. Theo and Luna saw their dad and immediately ran over, giving him a big hug.

“Dad! Did you remember my permission slip?” Luna beams looking up at her father, while Theo hung off his leg.

Remus ruffled Theo’s hair before answering Lu. “Yes, I did. Miss Lovey has them now.”

She smiles softly as she hears her name. “Luna, your dad is very responsible. You guys are lucky to have him.”

“I know! He’s the best dad ever!”

“The bestest!” Theo countered back.

Remus felt a lump in his throat. He was never quite sure if he was doing enough for them, but hearing those words from them meant the world to him. He glanced at Miss. Lovey, who was watching the interaction with a soft smile.

“Well, I should get going. Only have so long of a break myself,” Remus said awkwardly. “Thank you again, Miss”

As he turned to leave, Remus stumbled over a chair leg, nearly losing his balance. He managed to catch himself, but not without looking like a complete fool. Adjusting his glasses, Theo started wheezing and Luna giggled, Remus felt his face turn crimson.

Miss Y/L/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Careful, Mr. Lupin there’s a chair right there.”

“Yes, right. Thank you. Bye!” he said hastily, nearly bumping into the door as well.

As if he couldn’t be more embarrassed, Y/N poked her head out and shouted, “Have a good rest of your day, see you at pick-up.”

Despite always making himself a fool he couldn’t wait.

The rest of Remus’s day dragged on. He tried to focus on his work at the Ministry, but his mind kept drifting back to the school, to the warm smile of Miss Lovey, and the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke to him. He wondered if she noticed his awkwardness, or if she just found it endearing.

Finally, the clock struck three, and he gathered his things, eager to see Theo and Luna again—and, of course, Miss Lovey. As he arrived at the school, he saw her standing at the gate, chatting with another parent. She looked up as he approached and gave him that heart-stopping smile.

“Hello again, Mr. Lupin,” she said warmly. “Bump into anything else today?” A small smirk adorning her face.

“I- I uh, managed to stay upright with no more incidents,” he replied, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Before further embarrassment, the twins ran up to him, chattering excitedly about their day. Miss Lovey handed him their backpacks and gave Theo and Luna a gentle pat on the head.

“You two behave for your dad, alright?”

“We will, Miss Lovey!” they chorused.

As they walked away, Theo and Luna talking a mile a minute, Remus glanced back and saw her watching them with that same soft smile. He knew he was hopelessly smitten, and for once, he didn’t mind.

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (2/?)

Part summary: Leigh goes on a double date with Jules. You reach a tipping point with Leigh's relentless hostility towards you.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5,072 | Warnings/Tags: None for now... smut eventually, enemies to lovers A/N: So... this turned into more than a two-shot. But it will still be a mini-series. It's also kinda slow burn for a mini series (lol). Also, this isn't canon compliant at all. Meaning, I took a lot of liberties and added stuff to Leigh and Matt's relationship, and it doesn't follow the timeline of the show. With that said, enjoy!

Masterlist | Part I | Next Part

-

The vet bills hit Leigh's bank account way harder than she’s willing to admit. 

She knew taking care of pets could get pricey, but she thought that was just for those on their last leg, like Matt's dog, Rogue. Facing those steep costs made her think twice about turning down Drew's offer a while back to bring back her advice column. So, she calls him up as soon as she pays up a quarter of the charges on her credit card for Visitor's medical expenses.

Drew answers on the second ring. “Hey Leigh, what's up?”

Leigh doesn’t beat around the bush. She never has to with her best friend. “Can we meet at the cafe? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure. Be there in 20,” Drew replies right away.

The coffee shop they frequent is a small local business that specializes in cold brews. Leigh’s favorite thing about it is not the coffee though, but its interior: mismatched chairs, bookshelves lining the wall, and the temperature that’s always just right. Leigh arrives first, securing their favorite table near the window. Drew walks in a few minutes later, coffee already in hand, and greets her with a warm smile.

“Okay, spill. What's going on?” Drew asks as he takes a seat.

“I've been thinking... about the column. I was wrong to turn it down. I want back in.”

The look of utter surprise on his face tells Leigh this was the last thing he expected. She senses his response won't be a straightforward yes.

“I'd be thrilled to have you back, Leigh, I really would—”

“But?” Leigh cuts in. She doesn’t need to hear a bullshit ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse. She wishes Drew would just be as direct with her as she is with him.

Drew lets out a sigh. Under different circumstances, saying no to Leigh would be as easy as declining an upsell from a McDonald's cashier. However, ever since Leigh became a widow, rejecting her feels significantly harder, even though he's well aware that Leigh values honesty over pity.

“But the thing is, the new writer’s really hitting it off with our audience. She's had a string of articles go viral lately.”

Leigh doesn’t look at all impressed by that. “Yeah, I heard.”

Personally, Drew’s not a fan of the new writer's style, and honestly, he still prefers Leigh. It would just be a hard sell if he brought this up to management. As the saying goes: if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

“Look, I still think you have a unique voice. You know I’d still take advice from you over the new girl.”

Leigh scoffs a little at that, shaking her head. Drew rolls his eyes; it’s typical of Leigh to never know how to take a compliment. He continues, “How would you feel about guest writing? Maybe for the first couple of weeks, we could find a way to incorporate your insights into a series or a special feature.”

It’s not what she hoped for, but she recognizes the olive branch for what it is.

And she’ll take it. 

“I... yeah, I think that could work, Drew. I've got a ton of new ideas, and this... this could be great,” Leigh says. “Uhm, thanks.”

Drew grins. “I thought you'd like that. Let's kick off with a couple of guest pieces, see how it goes.”

Leigh half-heartedly returns his enthusiasm just as her order of cheeseburger and affogato are served.

“Anything new with you?” Drew asks, his voice taking on that tone he reserves for the really good gossip. Knowing Drew's helping her out, Leigh figures a little life update wouldn't hurt as a form of thanks.

That update is about you. And the moment Leigh spills the beans, Drew's face lights up like a Christmas tree. But his excitement fizzles out just as fast when he figures out Leigh's got nothing scandalous to say. All she mentions is how you might've missed the mark by not doing your homework on the guy you were seeing.

“What’s your plan then?”

“Seems like everyone’s asking me that,” Leigh says flatly.

“You took your stray to her place, right? So, there must be some sort of plan. I mean, you could've gone to any other vet if you wanted to avoid her.”

“Yeah, but her clinic's location is so convenient, and I didn't want to shrink my world just for her.”

Drew hums in response. Leigh admits she’s been unusually passive with you. Normally, she'd confront issues head-on, but even almost half a year later, she still hasn’t fully processed Matt’s death, let alone his cheating. She's been trying a new tactic, almost as if by ignoring her problems, she hopes they'll fade away on their own. She seems to be betting on the idea that if she pretends long enough, maybe one day she'll wake up and find those issues have lost their grip on her. 

“I don’t know Leigh, the whole thing’s weird,” Drew says, scrunching up his face a bit.

“It’s not like I’m trying to make a friend or enemy out of her,” Leigh replies with a shrug. “I’m just using her services as a doctor, and she’s getting paid for it. That’s all there is to it.”

“Oh, so that’s why you need your old job back. She’s draining your purse,” he says, smirking as he adds, “Bitch.”

“You don’t have to call her that,” Leigh chides, though the corner of her mouth twitches in amusement. Deep down, she understands the twisted satisfaction in disliking someone without having to justify it.

“The funniest thing that can happen is if you two actually end up being friends,” Drew quips, picking up an accidental curly from Leigh’s plate.

Leigh finds that scenario hard to imagine, almost impossible. She doesn’t think she can be friends with someone Matt liked more than her.

-

Leigh is hunched over her laptop, with sheets of paper and colorful markers spread out on the table, meticulously designing missing dog posters for Visitor.

Jules, leaning against the doorframe with a mug of coffee in hand, watches Leigh for a moment before speaking up. “You know, you should've done that the second you decided to take Visitor in.”

Leigh doesn't look up from her screen. “His leg needed to be taken care of first,” she reasons.

Jules rolls her eyes, pushing off from the doorframe to come closer. “And? How did it go at the clinic?”

Leigh pauses, then lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I already told you about the tests Visitor had to go through. They said he’ll be fine.”

“I mean with the doctor, not the patient,” Jules clarifies with a smirk.

There's a beat of silence before Leigh quips, “No cat fights happened, I promise,” her eyes going back to her laptop.

“Any chance she knocked off a bit of the bill?” Jules asks, moving to sit behind Leigh to take a peek of her work. It looks like an 8th grader’s art project, but she bites back any criticisms.

“Nope.”

“Told you she’s a bitch,” Jules murmurs under her breath.

“It's not like anyone's doing charity work these days, especially not in this economy,” Leigh argues weakly.

“Yeah, right. Like she needs your money, Leigh. Veterinarians are loaded, if you didn’t know.”

“If you say so.”

Jules decides to drop the subject, and Leigh can hear her shuffling and thinking behind her.  

“Hey, there's something I've been wanting to ask you. Don't get mad, okay?”

“Prefacing like that? I'm bracing myself to be utterly scandalized,” Leigh says before smiling and sneaking a glance at Jules.

“Great, you’re cracking jokes again. That’s a good sign,” Jules deadpans but a second later, she’s smiling too. 

“Ask away,” Leigh prods.

Jules takes a deep breath, and then:

“Do you think you’re ready to meet someone new?”

Leigh suddenly stops, her fingers just hanging there above the keyboard, unsure of what to do next. What’s the protocol here? If three months is usually the cooling period after a break-up before one can start dating other people, then what's the deal when it's about a husband who's not only passed away but was also cheating? How does that work?

Before Leigh can come up with an answer, she realizes she's already saying no.

Jules groans. “Come on, it's just a double date. It'll be fun. You and me and—”

“I’m really not in the mood to meet other people, Jules.”

Jules cuts in, laying it on thick. “Leigh, seriously, when was the last time you went out and had a little fun? You're practically turning into a recluse. I won't stand by and watch my sister morph into the neighborhood's infamous dog lady.”

“Dog lady? Really?”

“I'm just saying, it's either try something new or start knitting dog sweaters for fun. Your choice.”

Jules can be a real pest sometimes; it’s an endearing quality except when they seem ready to go for each other's throats.

“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” Leigh rests her chin on her hand, seriously considering the invitation for a second. “I don’t know how to meet people, Jules. I stopped meeting people when I met Matt. He was my entire world, you know?”

Jules softens, throwing her arms around Leigh’s shoulders. “I know. And I wouldn't push if I didn't think it could be good for you. Plus, I promise, if it's awful, I'll personally escort you out and we can ditch them for ice cream. How's that?”

Leigh senses that Jules won't give up until she gets a yes, so she decides to concede just this time and get it over with.

“Okay, okay, you win. I'll go on your stupid double date. But if this ends in disaster, you're buying me the biggest tub of ice cream you can find,” Leigh says, shrugging her sister off her.

Jules pumps her fist in victory. “Deal! You won't regret this, Leigh. And who knows? It might actually be fun.”

-

The double date goes surprisingly smoothly, except for the occasional touches coming from her date. To be fair, they are typical for a date and are executed with respect. However, for some reason, Leigh finds herself unusually conscious of every physical contact, making her anxious to move things along and call it a night.

As they step out of the restaurant, Leigh mentally scrambles to remember her date's name. She's bracing for the goodbyes, ready to retreat into the comfort of her room, when Tommy, Jules' girlfriend, suggests they cap the night off at a new bar. It turns out Leigh's date has an investment in the place. He jumps at the suggestion, clearly eager to flaunt this detail, perhaps hoping to impress her.

He does earn a sincere, “That’s cool,” from Leigh, just before she slides into the backseat of his car. Tommy quickly calls dibs on the front seat, leaving the siblings sitting next to each other in the back.

The new bar clearly wants to be the town’s next hotspot, but it seems to be trying too hard. It's got this odd vibe where you're not sure if you should be dancing or just looking around, wondering what it really wants you to do. But Leigh agreed to this, and she won’t embarrass Jules by ditching. 

“Can I get you something to drink?”

She stiffens a bit as he draws near, the heat of Patrick's breath—Jules had reminded her of his name during the car ride—making her uncomfortably aware of how close he is. She shifts, trying to put a polite distance between them without seeming too obvious about it. “Um, just a gin and tonic, please,” she says.

She practically sighs in relief as Patrick heads off to order, her eyes darting around the bar. The 90s R&B background gets her head bopping, but all she’s thinking about is her couch and an episode of Parks and Recreation waiting for her at home. Jules and Tommy are in their own little world, giggling and looking all cozy. Leigh never thought she could feel like a third wheel on a double date.

Patrick is taking his time, and when Leigh cranes her neck to peer over the bar, she catches him striking up a conversation with a blonde. Her eyes narrow into slits as she watches, both of them obviously charmed by the other as Patrick laughs at something she said, enjoying himself in a way he hadn’t all night. 

Leigh feels a prick of irritation. Sure, she hasn’t been giving him the time of his life, but they’re still on a date. Isn’t there some unwritten rule about not flirting with other people when you're supposed to be with someone?

She waits a bit longer, hoping Patrick would remember he was supposed to be getting her a drink and come back. However, he hasn't moved an inch from his spot and is even passing Leigh's drink to the woman as they keep chatting. Leigh’s mind races. She knows she isn’t into Patrick, has been giving him nothing but the bare minimum, yet she can't shake off the feeling of being slighted. It's not like she wanted his undivided attention, but this... this just seems rude.

She catches Jules looking at her, a questioning eyebrow raised. Leigh just shrugs, not sure how to explain the jumble of feelings she's experiencing without sounding petty or jealous. 

When Patrick finally comes back with her drink, the mood has already turned sour for Leigh. She musters a polite smile, accepts the gin and tonic with a thank you, but then heads to the bar on her own without saying anything more. At this point, she's indifferent to what Patrick, Tommy, or Jules might think or say of her; she's finished playing nice for the day. 

Leigh slams her gin and tonic like it's water, the sting barely registering. She signals for another without missing a beat and strangers start sliding over drinks with cheeky grins. She toasts to nothing, to no one, letting the conversations slip away before they can get even one word out.

By drink number six—or was it seven?—everything's spinning, laughter too loud, lights too bright. Leigh’s clinging to the bar for dear life when she thinks she sees you. But as quickly as the figure appears, it's lost again, leaving her questioning her ability to handle her alcohol. Back in her college days, Leigh could hold her liquor like a champ, thanks to endless nights of partying. But now, staring down at her drink, she realizes she might've overestimated her current tolerance. The alcohol hits harder than she remembers, making her head swim more than she'd like to admit. It's been a while since she's gone this hard, and her body isn't shy about reminding her.

The worst part of it though is why, of all the faces her mind could conjure up, it's choosing yours.

Just as she tries to shake off the bizarre vision, your face appears again, this time on the dance floor, writhing in a sea of thick, sweating bodies. You're dancing closely with a man, and it’s—

It’s Matt. 

Leigh blinks rapidly, attempting to dispel the hallucination because it's impossible; Matt is dead—this can't be real. 

But the image of you and Matt refuses to go away. She continues to see the way your grind against him, the way you caress his face as you pull it further into your neck. Anger surges through her, hot and uncontrollable, and before she knows it, her last shot of tequila crashes to the floor. Before the bartender or anyone else can even figure out what's happening, Leigh storms through the crowd, pushing her way to what she believes is you and her husband, and shoves the couple hard. The moment she does it, the fog in her brain finally clears.

She saw wrong. They’re just a random couple, looking as shocked as she feels mortified.

Humiliated and more drunk than she's willing to admit, Leigh doesn't stick around to apologize. Tears start to well up as she pushes through the crowd, dodging empty faces while Jules' calls fade into the background. She shoves through the last of the mob, bursts through the doors into the night, and freedom feels just a breath away. But that breath catches, twists into a violent churn in her gut, and she can barely stagger a few desperate steps away from the entrance before her knees are on the cold pavement, and she’s spilling out onto the ground in front of her. A few groans of disgusts from the people around her doesn’t register as she succumbs to the consequences of her indulgence. Shortly after, she remembers why she’s cut back on alcohol, apart from the fact that Matt abhors it, turns him off more than anything.

“Leigh?”

The voice is familiar, even if she’s heard it only a few times. Her head's spinning as she looks up, the chilly air slapping her face after the stuffiness of the club. She blinks, trying to clear the blur of tears and the aftereffects of one too many drinks, squinting at the figure stepping out from under the streetlights.

Your face, more clearly now under the lamp post is kind of sobering her up a bit.

So, were you actually there in the club, or is Leigh so haunted by thoughts of you and Matt—thoughts she's tried so hard to ignore and bury—that she managed to conjure you as a way to finally confront her true feelings about the entire situation? It’s always the battles with herself she never wins.

“Hey, you alright?” you ask, lowering yourself to get a better look at her but keeping back a bit—just enough space for her to catch her breath or in case she needs to throw up again.

Leigh doesn't respond, doesn't even seem to see you're there. You rummage through your crossbody bag, pulling out some wet wipes and offering them to her. She still doesn't look up, but grabs what you’re offering with a little force. 

She proceeds to wipe her mouth and then her entire face as you continue talking, words tumbling out in a nervous stream.

“I saw you back there, in the club. I wasn't sure if I should come up to you, you know, with everything that's happened... with me being... well, the person I am in all of this,” you explain softly. “And then I saw what happened, how upset you got. Sorry I followed you here, I…I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Leigh abruptly gets to her feet, and you instinctively step back, giving her more room than probably needed.

“Why?” Leigh fires at you, her tone so icy it almost makes you regret coming after her. You're taken aback, eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. 

Why what?

“Why do you even care?” she clarifies, eyeing you as if you're the densest person on the planet.

You grasp for something, anything that sounds like you're not just here out of guilt. “Anyone who knows you would be worried,” you say before you can think twice about what it could mean.

Leigh's laugh is sharp, cutting. “You don't know me,” she throws back.

“Yeah, I don’t,” you mumble to yourself. You wish you did, so you could fix this.

Leigh’s anger doesn’t let up. “You know what I think? You're playing the good Samaritan to scrub off your guilt. But not knowing Matt was married? That's on you. I bet you never asked too many questions because you wanted him to be Mr. Perfect—single, ready to mingle, the dream guy.”

Opening your mouth to argue, you find yourself at a loss. Leigh’s not entirely wrong. With Matt, you were in a bubble, caught up in the thrill of meeting someone who seemed so right, so honest. You clung to his every word, wanting to believe in this image of him you'd built up. 

The truth is, you never wanted to meet Leigh Shaw; you wanted to believe Matt's only fault was how he ended things with you, by disappearing.

But before you can admit to all of that, Leigh is already storming off. You think about chasing after her, but she spins around so fast at your footsteps, shooting you a threatening look and a low, “Stop following me,” that nails you to the ground. 

You keep staring at the spot she disappeared from, long after she's gone, wondering why Matt felt the need to find love elsewhere.

-

Leigh goes home, but not to an empty house. The second she opens the door, Visitor bounds into her arms, full of wiggles and wet nose kisses. Her mom's off somewhere, doing who knows what—Leigh's stopped trying to figure out where or why. Meanwhile, her phone buzzes with a string of voicemails from Jules, but Leigh's not in the mood to dive into those just yet. She decides they can wait till morning, along with the other missed calls and unread messages from strangers, asking for more information on Visitor.

For now, she peels off her socks and pants, leaving them scattered carelessly up the stairs before passing out on her bed.

-

Visitor’s follow-up check-up rolls around way too quickly for comfort. The moment Leigh steps through the clinic door with the dog in tow, you can practically cut the tension with a knife. Leigh's trying to keep it together, but her attempts at civility are imbued with a coldness that can’t be ignored.

With only a small ‘good morning’ from you and a nod from Leigh, you start the consultation, knowing you’d be doing her a favor if you just get right to it.

“How's Visitor been eating?” you ask as you work your stethoscope. 

“He eats fine,” Leigh drawls.

You nod, jotting down a note before moving on, “And his activity levels? Any changes there?”

Leigh’s response comes laced with sarcasm. 

“Oh, he's just peachy. Running marathons every morning.”

You clear your throat, trying to rein in your mounting annoyance at her childish behavior. “I'm just trying to get a complete picture,” you say.

But Leigh's not having any of it. Her comments grow sharper, her patience thinning, and it's clear she's more interested in taking jabs at you than discussing her dog's health.

Her last sarcastic remark has you drawing the line. “Leigh, you can be upset with me all you want outside of this clinic, but I won't tolerate disrespect while I'm trying to do my job,” you say evenly. “You're welcome to find another vet if you can't keep this professional. I have every right to refuse service if this continues. It's not what I want, but I'm not about to let you treat me any less professionally.”

Leigh goes quiet, yet she keeps her eyes locked on yours, decidedly not backing down. Then, after a tense moment, she mutters a single word, “Sorry.” It's not much, but it's something, and you decide to take it and move on.

“You mentioned something about a blood sample?” Leigh says, steering the conversation back to the reason she came in, and you're all for following her lead on this.

“Yeah, we need to check if his platelets are up and his infections are down, see if the meds are doing their job,” you explain. Then, veering a bit from standard procedure, you add, “Since this is a follow-up visit, I'm going to cut the lab test price in half for you.”

The discount evidently lifts her mood. It's not a perfect truce, but it's enough to get through the examination without any more barbs.

A while later, you're back with Visitor's CBC results in hand. “The infection's gone down, but it's still borderline,” you report, showing her the numbers. “We'll need to keep him on the medication for another week. And I'm adding some multivitamins and a specific diet to his regimen.” 

You scribble down the details, then note at the bottom of the pad about the discount—not just for the lab test, but for the prescriptions too.

Leigh takes the paper, scanning the details before her eyes finally meet yours. “Thank you,” she says, her voice softer than it's been.

“You’re welcome,” you reply with a smile before going back to your notebook, looking deep in thought. 

Leigh feels like you're back to your usual, friendly self. Yet she thinks she prefers the more raw, unfiltered version of you. The version that called her out earlier. These days, she's starving for that kind of honesty. Because having her as your client can’t be all that pleasurable. She's aware of how challenging she's been, and the straightforwardness somehow makes her feel more understood, more seen.

She wishes people would stop seeing her as Leigh: the one with the dead husband.

Then, out of nowhere, she asks, “When did you start working here?”

It's a seemingly insignificant question, yet coming from Leigh, it prompts you to close your notebook and focus entirely on her.

“I—”

“Because a year ago, I remember meeting a different doctor,” Leigh adds, absentmindedly running her fingers through Visitor’s coarse hair as he sleeps on her lap.

“You’ve been here before?”

It’s a painful memory—one that still sometimes brings tears to her eyes whenever it crosses her mind. Back then, the clinic bore a different name, and she and Matt had come together to say goodbye to Rogue.

“I have when it was still called Palm Coast,” she says.

You nod, understanding the context now. “Yeah, that was before my time. I bought this clinic on a whim after spending a few years practicing in Dubai.”

While most would latch onto the tidbit about your intriguing career history, Leigh zeros in on something else entirely, asking directly, “When did Matt start coming here?”

You shift uncomfortably at her question, and Leigh immediately regrets pushing too hard. She’s about to backtrack when you halt her apologies. “It’s okay. I’m open to talking about it, just not here,” you suggest. “How about over coffee?”

Leigh hesitates, then says, “Okay, let me just text my boss that I won't be able to lead the yoga class this morning.”

“It doesn’t have to be now. Tomorrow works,” you say.

Realizing her assumption, Leigh’s cheeks color slightly. “What time?”

Now it's your turn to feel a bit awkward. “Would 7 work? It's the only time I have before the clinic opens.”

“In the morning?” Leigh says again, making sure she heard you right.

You nod sheepishly in reply. 

“Or we could maybe—”

“No, it's okay,” Leigh interrupts quickly. She's usually up before sunrise anyway; the only change would be trimming her morning run a bit. And for a one-time chat to get the answers she's after, she figures she can make such a small sacrifice.

–

“Are you sure you want to return Visitor to his real family?”

True to form, it's Jules who breaks the two-day-long sibling spat. It's usually her who tries to smooth things over with an apology, even on days when Leigh isn't exactly the easiest person to deal with. Her therapist keeps telling her not to always be the one to buckle, especially when she's the one who's been hurt, that Leigh should be the one to step up and make things right for a change. 

But here she is, reaching out first, just like always—because waiting for Leigh to make the first move feels like waiting for snow in July.

“Oh, so you’re talking to me again?” Leigh says as if she's gearing up for another round of conflict rather than welcoming peace.

Jules ignores her and continues, “Have you actually tried to find Visitor's owners, or have you just kinda... kept him because it feels good to have him around?”

“So what if it feels good to have a dog who loves you and is loyal to you?”

Jules shakes her head in a condescending manner, which only serves to irritate Leigh further. As soon as her popcorn is done, she heads out of the kitchen, flops onto the couch, flips on the TV, and kicks her feet up on the coffee table. Jules follows her, opting to stand next to the TV, poised to yank the plug out if necessary.

“Leigh, you do understand that taking care of a dog isn't something to take lightly, right?” Jules starts, but she breaks off when the dog in question trots over, tail wagging, trying to coax Jules into picking him up.

Leigh acts like she hasn't heard a word, her eyes glued to the TV screen.

“I thought you'd learned something from what happened with Rogue—”

That hits a nerve. Leigh's quick to fire back, “Oh, and jumping into a serious relationship is super responsible, right? Especially when staying sober is part of the deal.”

Right after the words leave her mouth, Leigh regrets them deeply. She's painfully aware of Jules' long battle with alcoholism, a struggle that began in college and required more than a couple of tries before Jules could claim any sort of victory over her addiction. Leigh knows it's still a sore subject for Jules, still fighting her demons, making her comment unfairly harsh.

Though the retaliation didn’t come out of nowhere. Leigh caught Jules at the club, discreetly sipping a drink she swore off, and chose to keep quiet then to avoid causing a scene in front of Tommy. She had plans to bring it up later, but then her own slip-up with drinking, bailing on her date, and the fallout with Jules spiraled into one of their nastiest rows in a long while.

“Jules, I’m sorr—”

“Just save it, Leigh.”

Jules heads for the door, her hand clenched tight, barely hanging onto her emotions. Leigh feels the situation slipping further downhill, and she can't just stand back and watch things crumble even more. She's about to chase after Jules when the doorbell rings, stopping both of them cold.

But Jules doesn’t even bother with the door; instead, she veers off, storming upstairs with that telltale slam of her bedroom door echoing down. Leigh sighs, stuck in the aftermath, while Visitor starts barking at the door. Dragging her feet, Leigh heads over to open it, half-expecting another problem but hoping for a distraction.

Leigh definitely wasn't expecting Danny, and seeing him there, she gets the sinking feeling that this storm swirling around her isn’t going to blow over just yet.

[randombush3]

too sweet

alexia putellas x reader

it's based on the hozier song and i just got bored during my break

icl this might not make sense x

[...]

You aren’t sure how you ended up here. 

There was a path, there was a brick lane painted yellow and filled with singing and dancing, and, what? Did you spiral off it? Were you the hurricane, were you the destroyer? 

Maybe you are The Destroyed. 

It’s too late to think about it. 

Not because you are past repair, but because it really is late – later than usual. 

The door has been locked twice, meaning Alexia has given in and gone to bed. “Fuck,” you swear as your keys clatter to the floor, typical for you to be the one to break the peaceful silence. A rustle comes from the bedroom; a sigh, a muffled sob. “Ale?”

And it’s instinctive, the way you run to her. Once upon a time, that was all you ever did, back when you played, back when the path was good and smooth and clear.

Alexia doesn’t want to see you. She hates the smell of whiskey, she hates the gruffness of your voice. There comes a point where a person can no longer bear it. No matter how much love she wraps around you, weaving the thinning strings together to form a rope and begging you to let her pull you up from this, there comes a point where Alexia, perhaps blinded too much by her love, is destroying herself just so that you don’t go down alone. 

She’s tired. 

When you arrive at the bedroom door, she has turned over, the duvet slightly too cold and the bed slightly too empty. “Ale, are you awake?” you ask, drunken foolishness clouding your sense as the lump under the covers does not respond, does not feel she can. “Baby?” 

The bed doesn’t look inviting, and you feel unwelcome. 

You roll your shoulders back. 

“Alexia, don’t pretend.” 

The silence is haunting and you try to escape it as soon as possible, letting out a viscous laugh, directing it towards her back. The noise slashes welts in her skin, your tongue a whip, you her mistress and she, your slave. Alexia closes her eyes.

An alarm rings through the apartment. The sun is not quite up, so it would be dark if you hadn’t been staring at the soft glow of the lamp beside the TV for the past hour. 

The screen isn’t on. 

You don’t quite feel escaping this life just yet. 

“Bon dia.” Soft feet pad into the kitchen, face washed, training kit pulled on. Her nose wrinkles as the bitterness of coffee hurtles towards her, and she doesn’t make an effort to conceal her frown at the empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside you. “Are you planning to get some rest?” 

“Are you making coffee?”

“I read a study that says it negatively affects performance.” 

“Are you making me a coffee?” you amend with a smirk, sitting up and staring her down. Through the redness of your eyes shines what first attracted her to you, the devilish spark, the clearly set out intention of doing something stupid. 

She watches you haul yourself up, staggering towards her. Your hands are cold and clammy, but their grip on her waist feels just as good as it always does. She leans back into you. 

“The sun’s not up yet but Alexia Putellas is ready to train,” you murmur into her ear, kissing the skin of her neck as though to soothe where the dig must have sliced her. “No journalist tracks your morning routine, baby. You could’ve stayed in bed a bit longer, let yourself wake up later. Don’t you ever wanna?” 

Her body relaxes, choosing to hear your voice but not what you are saying. She lets herself fall into the pit you rot in; your most frequent visitor. “I am drunk on life,” she replies with a forgiving smile. 

You step back, Alexia stumbling with you, having been leaning on your body. 

“I’m not drunk.” It is far from a new lie. “Have fun at training,” you grit out. She sees the back of you as you lurch towards the bedroom door. Her tears try to fall, but she wipes her face with her knuckles and collects herself before she heads out into the real world. Her home feels like a dungeon, but one that is not meant for her. 

The girls undergo the usual ritual of asking after you. Your retirement was forced, but they all saw it coming. 

You were not sculpted from the same heroic marble, withstanding heat and terror. Nothing about you fit into training regimes and early mornings, sweetened energy drinks on promotion, discipline and determination. You got by on talent, rough and raw, and listening to your beloved prison warden on occasion. 

If Alexia is the Greek hero, you were, perhaps, the weapon she used. Deadly, yes. Sought-after. But, if dropped, clattering towards the ground lifelessly. 

She crouches down to pick you up, but your metal burns so hot that she is not sure she can touch you. 

When Alexia comes home, you are asleep. She opens the windows, self-consciously airing out the stench of alcohol before a few of her teammates come over for dinner, and she cleans the stickiness from the worktops. She lights a candle. She wishes it were an altar, a conduit to her saviour, and she prays, for a moment, that this will end soon. 

When she opens her eyes, she realises the only saviour she has been thinking of has been you. 

She crawls into the bed beside you. 

You stir at the feeling of fingers combing through your hair. 

Alexia is as bright as the morning sun, blazing above Barcelona. She is untouchable. 

The distance that has grown between you has grown because she is the zenith and you are the nadir. It is just too far to overcome. 

You are real. You suffer, you cry, you poison yourself and enjoy it. You like how you live, you like how free you are. 

Alexia’s gentle rousing – but rousing, nonetheless – sends you tumbling past your limit. 

This is not how she wants you to be, but you cannot be something you are not. 

“You’re too sweet for me.” 

She hears the rejection, but she shakes her head. 

“No, no,” she whispers desperately, pleading for it to not mean what it does, begging you to swallow it back inside. “No, I’m not. Remember?” 

She means her ACL, she means the venomous arguments and the early days where you’d watch her carefully as she inhaled your second-hand smoke. She means now, where she lets you live the way you do because she understands how life works and she gets it, she does, and she really only just wants you to be happy. 

You blink slowly. “Ale.” 

“No, I’m… I’m just still playing! I have to take my career seriously, but, but, the off-season! You know how I am in the off-season?” 

“Baby, you don’t give yourself an off-season.” 

“I can!” she vows. “I can, and we’ll go on holiday with the girls, and we’ll wake up dark as lakes and you can make me smell like a fucking bonfire, if you’d like.” 

“Ale…” 

“Please,” she asks. 

You wish you could go along with the farce. In all honesty, you’re a bit surprised that is has lasted up to now. 

You cannot do this anymore. Maybe one day, when she is done playing and training and conforming to the intense regimes the club upholds them to, you will come back to her. Maybe one day, she will have sat in the barrel long enough to have soured, bitter, now, and much more palatable. 

But you are certain about the present, about the woman lying beside you with tears running down her cheeks. You decide that if you were to taste the liquid, what is supposed to be salty would be sweet, and, with that, you have convinced yourself. 

“Alexia, baby, you’re too sweet for me.” 

[insomniumstella]

spice & honey

bucky x baker!reader

summary: cinnamon buns and wickedly strong coffee must be the only reasons James Buchanan Barnes visits your bakery daily, despite the inconvenience of driving to a small town on the outskirts of Upstate New York. right?

warnings: first dates and crushes (absolutely classified as warnings), mead consumption, a curse word or two, soft!bucky

word count: 4,565

author's note: i've been watching Gilmore Girls a little too much lately (hence the little easter egg). on another note, autumn is my favourite season, so prepared to be sick of James attending harvest festivals and drinking apple cider 🍂🥧🎃

all the stories i've written

September 21st marks the official arrival of Autumn. Though the weather has been rather cheerful lately, today’s air is much crisper and heavier with the promise of looming rain. The streets of Eldermont remain far too green to your dismay, but Spice & Honey—the bakery you’ve owned for the past five years—is rich in shades of marigold and copper. A wide assortment of mugs, mostly in various shapes of pumpkins, and spiced teas, line the shelves, while the fresh jars of apple butter are neatly stacked alongside the register. Besides the usual treats, the glass display teems with seasonal favourite pumpkin tarts and apple cider donuts. 

The everlasting chatter of customers and soft sounds of a vintage record you scored at a neighbour’s garage sale just last month saturate the space as you place the second batch of cinnamon rolls on the counter. The clock reads 10:57 AM, and though you’ve been attempting to conceal your excitement, Vivienne could sense it the second you stepped through the door, teasing you about the very special visitor who’s always in need of sugary buns and black coffee at exactly five past eleven. 

James Buchanan Barnes is a regular customer, you often argue. The nervous babble, flustered movements, and beaming smiles convey otherwise. And so yes, you might have a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on the freakishly tall, muscular brunette who brings in the latest editions of The Culinary Canvas magazine each Monday and notices the smallest of changes in your recipes. Just maybe, you reluctantly ponder when your thoughts inadvertently wander to that charming grin and baby blue eyes every time you knead the dough for his adored treat — a dessert once reserved for Autumn suddenly available year around. 

“Staring at the entrance won’t make time pass quicker,” Vivienne whispers, arranging butterscotch cupcakes by the pumpkin tarts. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper back, covering the pans with aluminum foil. 

Perhaps hiding the pastries, a favourite amongst Spice & Honey shoppers, is not the best business decision, but Eldermont is merely a small town in Upstate New York. If it wasn’t located a thirty minute drive south of the Avengers compound, most people wouldn’t be aware of its presence in the first place. And besides, everybody in Eldermont is connected to everybody — the town holds no secrets, including the pastries you keep warm and frost fresh. 

“The tall, dark, and handsome man,” she points out, “still has a few minutes. Perchance the preparations of Eldermont’s Annual Harvest Festival made it trickier to find parking.” Vivienne turns to you with a mirthful grin, the cupcakes resting perfectly positioned in the glass case. “You should invite him. Heard Brad brewed an incredible batch of apple cider mead this year.”

You sigh, snatching the golden tray out of her grasp. “I’m not asking Bucky out.” 

“Ah! Bucky!” The woman’s grin widens. “Forgot his name for a second.” Shades of mischief dance in her tone as she marks Elijah’s, the eccentric owner of Marigold Meadows flower shop across the street, special order of fifty maple bacon BLTs as completed. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Only that you mention Bucky at least seven times a day.” 

“Seven’s oddly specific,” you note and swiftly, “also I do not,” disagree.

“Bucky smelled great today,” Vivienne mocks your voice, the grin you’ve come to love—and hate—remaining on her features. “Should I add apple to the cinnamon rolls? I wonder if Bucky would enjoy apple cinnamon rolls with brown butter and maple icing unless he’s a creature of habit. Maybe I should suggest a sprinkle of nutmeg in his coffee to test the waters first—“

“Vivienne,” you groan, yet she persists.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Bucky could say no. Bucky could also choose The Sugared Whisk. Bucky wouldn’t. I adore their croissants, but the coffee is terribly weak, and even their tea selection is mediocre. Indigo should include spiced teas. And sure, Luke's doesn't offer spiced teas, but Luke’s sells great coffee and danishes, except the danishes are only available on Wednesdays.” She recites a recent monologue of yours, and if you weren’t mortified, you’d actually be quite surprised at Vivienne’s ability to remember conversations as if they happened minutes ago. 

The doorbell chimes before she has the chance to finish, and you’re highly unsure of whether it’s a saved by the bell kind of situation or if you’d rather the floor magically swallow you whole. 

“Good morning.” James smiles, and it’s then that you decide you’d rather the floor split open because you’re awfully flustered by his entrance despite secretly anticipating the moment since the sun arose. 

“Hiya, Bucky,” she returns the favour, secretly nudging your side. “Have you ever been to the annual Eldermont’s Harvest Festival?” 

“Cannot say I have,” he chuckles, breaking eye contact between the two for just a second to glance at her. 

Though you’d never admit it aloud, those eyes, baby blue on sunny days and resembling the ocean on the ones of rain, cross your mind more than a pair of eyes should. This infatuation borders on obsessive, you often contemplate. James Buchanan Barnes is an Avenger for heaven’s sake, and you’re almost sure a man of his maturity and composure wouldn’t agree to a date with a baker, a clutz one at that. It’s not that you’d want to, nevertheless. The two of you have a great thing together — you serve coffee, he survives on coffee, and if time allows, the lighthearted conversations you have bring colours to otherwise monotone days. 

“The decorations, the food, the people are phenomenal.” You might have to assign the redhead to kneading duty if she’s heading to that territory. “This beauty right here could take you on a real good tour. Eldermont is gorgeous this time of year.” Enjoy kneading bread, Vivi. 

“Is it?” James grins, his stare flicking between you and Vivienne.

“Drop dead,” she reiterates, “much like the women.” 

“Vivienne,” you suddenly cut in, “the coffee station is out of paper cups. Could you bring some from the back?” 

She gives you another grin, less mischievous and more understanding, nodding at Bucky before she disappears into the kitchen. The heavy wooden doors create a boisterous sound once they close, and you couldn’t be happier for a distraction because you cannot look at the brunette just yet. The bakery is sweltering, and your hands are sweaty, and, if it wasn’t evident you’ve been nurturing a crush on James, Vivienne practically plastered a HEAD BAKER IN LOVE WITH SERGEANT BARNES sign out front. 

“The station’s out of cups?”

“Yes!” You glimpse behind the shoulder, deciding to keep the lie alive. “Spice & Honey gets busy during the afternoons, and we run out quickly.” The words leave your mouth rushed and a bit muttered, but the effort is there. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”

“It’s a habit,” his smile is as charming as always. James hesitates for a beat, observing you locate the plastic to-go containers. “The festival Vivienne touched on, have you ever been?”

The atmosphere stills for an awkward second as you gawk at him. “Oh, sure,” you answer at last, praying her babbling wasn’t too obvious because you couldn’t fathom Bucky choosing The Sugared Whisk. “Every year since I was four. The festival’s great. Brad brews the best mead, and Johnny, the mayor, is comically strict about the decorations, so it’s all pumpkins, and string lights, and festive garlands,” you mumble, scrambling for the pan and cream cheese frosting. “I’ve even heard whispers of fireworks this year. It’s next Saturday if you want to drop by. Cassie bakes the best apple pies.” 

“Better than yours?”

“I don’t serve apple pies,” averting your eyes to study the grinder seems like the best decision to avoid his piercing gaze. 

“I’m sure they’d be the best if you did.” Bucky beams, leaning against the counter as he observes you make coffee. 

“Thank you,” the expression of gratitude melts into somewhat of a question despite your best attempts at keeping your voice level, “but the pies I bake often turn out horribly wrong. The apples were overcooked, and the dough raw last time I tried.” 

“How undercooked?” 

“The trash can enjoyed most of it.”

James laughs at that, the sound of it hearty and endearing. “I’m sure it found the pie delicious.” If he’s flirting with you, you can’t tell, and you don’t exactly want to, for expectations are the fool’s hope. “If you’re not terribly busy during the festival,” he speaks after a protracted moment of doubt, “I’d love to take you up on that tour Vivienne mentioned.”

“Tour?” The man in front of you must almost all but hear your heart pounding rapidly inside your chest.

“The tour of mead, pies, and decorations.” 

“Oh?” You tinker with a couple napkins, peering at him. “I’m not sure I could give you a real good tour, I’m barely a guide, believe me. I got lost in that new Target on Cedar Lane, and I cannot understand maps, and—“

“I’m asking you out on a date.” Bucky chuckles at your flustered visage, baby blues never once breaking the eye contact. 

“Shit,” the curse word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you silently reprimand yourself for the rash impulse of colourful words. “Alright.” 

The sergeant titters at your sudden reaction, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable. I just thought we might have something between us, chemistry of sorts, and that it might’ve been fun,” he briefly pauses, eyes wild and roaming around your face. “It’s just that Vivienne mentioned Eldermont being gorgeous in the fall, and it got me thinking that I’ve never truly experienced it, because the only thing I visit in this town is your bakery, not that it’s the only place worth visiting—“

“Bucky—“

“There are many stores I should probably check out, and Samuel’s birthday is in a couple of days, which is convenient. I wouldn’t describe Sam and I as the best of pals, but Steve likes him, so I should probably get him a gift.” 

“Who’s Samuel?” You ask puzzled, but the flustered soldier standing before you continues to ramble.

“Something small to indicate I remembered but not necessarily care. Something that screams I’m not a total jerk, but you are for reminding the whole compound that your birthday’s on the twenty third. A wooden statue of a bird. Sam likes birds, particularly Redwing, though Redwing’s not technically a bird. A wooden bird statue would certainly insult him, so it’s settled — the plan is to visit Artists & Wood on Land.” 

“The shop’s name is Woodland Artistry,” you correct with a gentle smile. 

“Right!” James clicks his tongue, studying your softly amused features. “We should probably forget this conversation happened. It was a stupid idea too—“

“Yes,” you interject. “I mean no.” Surely, this scenario is a strange dream that wicked mind of yours created to punish you for the sins you assumably committed in every single one of your previous lives. It’s the only possible explanation for the sergeant’s flustered behaviour. “I would absolutely love to go on a date,” you say and pinch the flesh of your thigh for reassurance, but the scene remains as it was, “with you.”

Gently placing a twenty on the counter, James gleams at you. “I’ve never actually given you my number, have I?” 

"No," you shake your head to indicate disagreement, pinching the flesh of your thighs once more. “Only the pleasure of our little chats,” the response makes you wince. The pleasure of our little chats? Something’s definitely wrong with me.

Chuckling, James grasps one of the pens you keep by the cash register and scribbles down a series of numbers on his receipt. "If I don't reply, Steve must be holding me hostage.”

"Duly noted," you grin, folding the piece of paper to tuck it into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

He stands there for a second as if absorbing the situation. “Good. It’s a date, then.” he smiles in the end, taking the coffee and the plastic box, and peeks at you behind his shoulder. “And keep the change, please. These treats of yours are more than worth it.”

A timid smile spreads across your lips at the compliment before you sink your teeth into the soft of your bottom lip, observing the soldier scramble out of the bakery, the phone in his flannel jacket ringing for attention.

“Next time,” the redhead appears beside you once James disappears out of sight with a final wave goodbye, “you should give the man coffee and buns on the house," Vivienne nudges you, "both of them." 

A surge of warmth rushes to your cheeks at her innuendo. “It’s great you suddenly possessed the ability to teleport and all, but the dough back there won’t knead itself.” 

“No,” she gasps, and you only laugh at her realisation, turning to help the next customer. 

It’s a date.

The evening of Eldermont’s harvest festival is pleasant, neither too blazing nor cold, but despite the temperature and the appropriate sundress you’ve chosen for it, you’re on the verge of fainting. I cannot faint on our first date, you think and decide it’s the man next to you’s fault, really. The smell of his cologne is too addicting, the hints of pine and cinnamon in his aftershave too intoxicating. James is a gentleman, which you expected and appreciate, but it’s overwhelming, the way he holds your hand to lead you through crowds and attentively listens to your overdrawn stories about the origins of pumpkin carving. Heavens help me.

“Have you checked out the corn maze yet?” Brad asks cheerfully. He’s surrounded by large beverage urns and stacks of disposable drinkware. “Mary mentioned Elijah’s still in there,” he chuckles, pouring two paper cups full of steaming apple cider mead. “The fool must’ve gotten lost or something.” 

“Must’ve,” you glance at him, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Happens every year.”

“The two of you should go,” Brad speaks once again before smiling at Bucky. “It’s a great first date activity.”

James chuckles, and you wonder if he regrets asking you on a date. The small town you call home is ludicrously close, and if Vivienne didn’t spill the beans to Mary as she promised, Mary must’ve spread the ‘rumours’ around herself. The town’s beloved bookshop owner is an incredible woman, but she loves to gossip, and you should’ve expected the second person after Vivienne to consistently insert themselves into your dating life to jump to conclusions. Though the situation isn’t precisely comfortable for you, it must be worse for James. Whilst he has never outright mentioned, the soldier has important reasons to stay under the radar. Bucky has witnessed a lot, horrors you’ve even heard about on the TV, and currently, every resident of Eldermont is aware that James Buchanan Barnes is on a date. With a local baker, nonetheless. Participating in acorn tossing and harvest bingo and conversing with Brad Monty about all kinds of sneaky activities couples get up to in the corn maze. You're certain that James is bound to vanish without a trace due to the town's antics if your diffident and often rather awkward behavior hasn't already scared him away. The anxious parts of your brain have even compiled a mental list of today's disasters: 

Johnny wiped his sweaty hands on Bucky’s jacket, realising the blunder only to mumble “I love this jacket, Sergeant Barnes”, and pretending he wanted to initiate a hug before he disappeared.

Cassie offered you a sample of pecan pie, which you eagerly tasted due to Bucky’s “If I had to choose the second best pie after apple, it would be pecan” comment, and completely choked on. 

Vivienne located you in the farmer’s market to say “hello”, and persuaded James to purchase a pair of beaded bracelets, the two of you had ridiculed moments earlier, for “every first date needs a souvenir to remember it by”. 

James guided you to Mary’s bookstore because you conferred a series of rare hardbacks Mary hides in the back for special customers, and the older woman steered you towards a selection of intimacy guides. 

Indigo, The Sugared Whisk owner, pleaded with James for Captain America’s number in the middle of a busy intersection and discussed his “timeless looks” for the next couple of minutes until a car almost struck the three of you. 

Elijah phoned you in distress, panicking about “having to live out his best years in a smelly corn maze”, which disturbed the sergeant and resulted in an “Elijah will find the exit eventually” monologue on your side. 

You accepted to take a photo of a tourist couple, accidentally dropping the wife’s phone and shattering the screen because James stood so close, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

“Thanks, Brad,” you fumble with your wallet, hastily placing a ten on the stand. “See you around.”

“Doll,” Bucky doesn’t move once you attempt to remove him from the nightmare that is the situation the two of you found yourselves in. It gives you a second to evaluate his expression, and much to your surprise, his features are as soft as ever. James is blushing, too. “I wanted to pay for that.”

“You paid for the apple pie,” the words slip past your lips mumbled because the only thing you can truly concentrate on is the fact James is blushing. Blushing as a result of Brad’s stories about couples so in love they simply cannot be bothered to locate the labyrinth’s exit before proving their emotions to the world. Couples that could be the two of you. Possibly. A sane person shouldn’t rush to assumptions unless they earned the sweetest nickname from a dream of a man. You’ve never paid much thought to whether you would enjoy being called a ‘doll’—you do, but you would probably adore every label he’d choose. The notion steers your head toward unexpected and dirty waters, and you couldn’t be happier for Brad’s decision to chime in.

“Cassie outdid herself this year,” he nods. “I’m most definitely going to dream about that blackberry pie tonight.” 

“Yes,” James agrees never once breaking the eye contact with you. “The pies were delicious, and it was my pleasure to pay. It was me who demanded a tour.”

“You may pay for the maze then,” you smile at him, “but leave the ten — I’m not that great of a tour guide, and I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Dates should be fun,” James suddenly speaks. “We could’ve skipped the labyrinth.”

The corn maze is high and intimidating, but Bucky’s presence and the soft glow of an orange sunset manage to silence your fears a bit. The passages are almost entirely empty except for the two of you, and each corner you take makes your heart jump at the possibility of encountering spooky surprises. 

“This is fun,” you reassure, taking a sip of mead. James shoots you a look you cannot truly decipher, but you decide the meaning is somewhere between worried and teasing. “It is,” you hesitate for a beat. “I just keep remembering the haunted corn maze in Greenwood. They have scare actors there, who jump out of the bushes when you least expect it and completely startle you. Vivienne took me there last year, and I cannot shake the memories.” 

The expression on his face melts into sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, I would protect you against all the zombies and monsters this maze might throw at us,” he speaks before, “not that it has any,” adding. 

“If theme’s anything to go by, I think we’re OK,” you chuckle at his offer, referring to the cutesy signs and charmingly painted pumpkins scattered throughout the labyrinth, “unless Johnny decided to include a couple gory scenes at the end, though it’d end worse for him than it would for me.”

“Johnny The Mayor?” 

“Johnny The Mayor,” you take yet another sip, nodding. The beverage is barely warm twenty minutes into the attraction, providing only the comfort of a soft alcohol tipsiness. 

“He’s a charming little fella,” Bucky notes, and you don’t have it in yourself to deny the statement. “I’ve never experienced someone initiating a hug by wiping their hands on my jacket.” 

“Sorry,” you offer sheepishly because what could you say after an occurrence so bizarre. Everyone in this town is strange? James must’ve caught on to the fact by this time. 

“It’s alright, and besides, I now have a humorous story to recount at parties, which is a first,” he gleams at you. “It may come as a surprise, but I’m not usually the life of it.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You shift to gaze at him before emptying the cup of mead to steady your nerves. 

“I don’t promise to answer,” James grins, fiddling with the beaded bracelet, “but yes.” 

“Who’s Samuel?” 

“That’s your question?” He laughs as his flesh arm slithers to rest upon your waist. At least you think it’s his flesh arm. The man wears gloves whether the sun shines or the rain pours. You’ve seen pictures, though, and read stories of The Winter Soldier in possession of a metal arm. Neither raise concern, not for the reason you’re smitten with Bucky. Rather, because James was manipulated and stripped of free will, and if heaven would descend, perhaps because that metal arm is sinfully attractive. It’s a thought forbidden to be mentioned aloud, for the gloves are a large indicator he’d enjoy staying silent about the matter. “Who’s Samuel?” 

“Yes,” you sputter. The butterflies his simple action caused you don’t mention. “I want to hear about this Samuel. I’ve been informed he likes birds, especially Redwing, who’s not technically a bird?”

“The Samuel I was babbling about is Sam Wilson. The Falcon, if you’re a fan of CNN,” James teases, steering you into the left pathway of the maze. Despite your instinct to choose right, you stay silent. “Redwing’s a drone of sorts Sam uses on missions, and, this is a direct quote, for surveillance. I despise the thing.”

“If we get lost, forget the second date,” you playfully threaten. Though the coziness of his body pressed to yours is intoxicating, it does nothing to ease the goosebumps painted on your skin, and as the sky bleeds in shades of crimson and purple, the sun melts into the horizon, teasing you for forgetting a sweater. “I would’ve categorised holding a grudge against an object as below you.” 

“If the shoe fits,” he chortles, leading you down a long passage before abruptly stopping. Hesitating for a beat, he drapes the flannel jacket you’ve come to love on the man around your body. The garment is red and weighty, and it smells of James. The gesture makes your heart swell with admiration, but you ignore it. Dates should be approached with a blank slate because expectations are easily shattered. “I shouldn’t deliver Steve that woman’s phone number, should I?” Bucky’s arm finds your waist again. 

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “on the bright side, Indigo is quite a pleasant woman,” you verbalise the thought. James observes your expression, baby blues studying the same features he cannot resist thinking about at nightfall. Blood rushes to his cheeks at the notice of your fingers on his lower back, the heat of your skin piercing through his charcoal henley. “She’d certainly treat Captain America right. On the downside,” you pause, “Indigo is the exact opposite of Steve as the media portrays him. Come to think about it, both of us are.”

“How so?”

“The media portrays supersoldiers as courageous, but Indigo and I once had to call Luke to get rid of a teeny spider. Steve’s active in politics, whilst we often skip the town’s meetings—“

“Eldermont holds town meetings?” James chuckles, subconsciously drawing you in closer.

“Once a month, always on the first Tuesday,” you gleam at him before drawing in a deep breath to calm your violently beating heart. “Last time, we discussed the very pressing issue of Halloween decorations. Johnny insists every business on the main street must participate in the festivities. Indigo and I escaped out the back before the mayor could finish his speech. At the least, Steve would’ve stayed in that meeting, and at the most, he would’ve managed it.”  

“People do say opposites attract.” 

“Heard that before,” you agree. The loose strand of Bucky’s auburn hair tempts you to tuck it behind his ear, but you halt the impulse of committing such a ludicrous decision. “It must be true because you drink coffee black, and I prefer lattes. You have cinnamon buns for breakfast, and I, if time would be gracious enough for breakfast, would choose danishes.” 

“The jury’s decided, then.” The corners of his mouth quirk up into a lazy and wickedly attractive smile, and, you almost wonder if Bucky’s aware of the effect he has on your body because if he isn't, your buckling knees must’ve given it away. “Opposites do attract.” His wildly confident attitude is a new discovery, but you decide you like it. “It would be a shame to ignore matters of the universe.” Confidence is a good shade on him. 

“Is this your way of asking me on a second date?” You tease the man, memorising the pink hues veiling his cheekbones. 

James guides you around the corner, observing the corn maze’s exit, and halts his movements. “Only if the lady agrees,” he shifts to stand before you, catching your forearms in his gloved hands, “which I’m sincerely hoping she does.” 

Resting your arms on his shoulders, you gift yourself a quick moment to explore his features — the stubble gently lining his sharp jaw, the little scar above his eyebrow, and the red lips you, despite hiding it, wanted to kiss since he first visited Spice & Honey. “The lady would love to go on a second date.” 

“Good,” an emotion you cannot comprehend waltzes in his eyes, but, for the sake of your composure, you abstain from thinking it could possibly be lust. “The gentleman is looking forward to it.” There's an argument happening inside him, you can sense it by the way he keeps drawing you closer until the space between your bodies is virtually erased, but retains his posture straight and almost rigid. The weight of should he or should he not lingers in the air around you before James catches your stare and smiles timidly, shattering the flicker of hope you have for him to kiss you. You don’t exactly yearn for him to kiss you. In theory, kiss-less first dates are a great idea, paving the way for deeper conversations and a closer bond. They build anticipation. Anticipation is good, you ponder for a second, but all you can truly focus on is whether James would taste like apple cider mead or the sugary desserts you two savoured earlier. “The night is still young," he speaks, the tone of his voice light and reticent. "It would be a shame to end the date this early." 

“Luke’s open if you want to grab a quick dinner,” you say with a grin, stepping away from him. “Though we should probably exit the maze first.” 

“Yes,” Bucky laughs and extends his arm towards the light at the end of the passage. “Lead the way, pretty lady.” 

[iandarling]

The universe is funny when it comes to timing.

Because of course it happens the one day a month Lip and Tami go to couples therapy, which happens to coincide perfectly with Ian’s new wish of doing a cycling class once a week. Somehow the fucking stars aligned perfectly or whatever, and none of them have their phones turned on. So Mickey gets the call.

Freddie fell from the monkey bars and broke his arm.

He’s at home when the phone rings. A frantic teacher is in the ambulance with the crying five year old. She couldn’t get a hold of his parents, so she tried his other emergency contacts. Ian didn’t pick up, but Mickey was listed at his spouse so she tried him.

“Can you meet us at the hospital?” She asks, while trying to soothe the crying child. Freddie seemed to be hysterical.

“Yeah, course- hey put him on so I can talk to him” Mickey answers, already outta the door and on his way down to the garage. He’s no baby talker like Ian, but he sure knows something about broken bones.

“Uh hey Fredster, it’s me -“

“Uncle Mickey?!” Fred interrupts him with a hiccup, crying.

“Yeah, look you’re safe in the ambulance bud and I’m on my to the hospital now. Just…sit tight and listen to the grown ups ok? Hand the phone to your teacher, I need t’know what hospital you’re going to”

Getting to the car to drive to the emergency room, Mickey tried once again to call Ian. Maybe he just didn’t pick up because he didn’t recognise the teacher lady’s phone number. Ian doesn’t fucking pick up.

That means he’s doing this alone. Fuck.

Mickey considers calling Debbie, but he also knows she’s been busy lately with the Rich-And-Definitely-Closeted-Housewife wanting her bathroom tiles replaced, and if he calls to interrupt Debbie now she will skin him alive. She needs the money and he can respect that. Even if that means tackling a crying five year old on his own. Fuck.

Traffic is not bad today so he gets to the emergency room a few minutes after the ambulance. White overhead lights shine bright, the sterile chemical scent is overwhelming, and he walks past several bloody teens on his way to the receptionist, who smiles at him “Hi, how may I help you today?”

“Got a call about my nephew coming in with a broken arm. Fred Gallagher, five years old and uhh” Mickey stammers out, suddenly a little nervous. He fucking hates hospitals, and he especially hates talking to strangers.

“Uncle Mickey!!” A little voice shouts from across the room. Mickey looks up and to the left where he sees his nephew in a chair inside a cubicle looking room. A woman is sitting with him. Probably his teacher.

Without explaining to the (probably perfectly lovely) receptionist, Mickey walks away and hurries towards the crying boy. Freddie is getting out of the chair to meet him halfway, hot tears running down his red face, his arm is in a sling.

“Hey kiddo” He says as he picks him up. Suddenly he’s struck by how tiny he seems compared to his usual self- shit has Freddie always been this small? His legs wrap around Mickeys waist as he hides his face in his uncles chest. Gently rubbing his back like he’s seen Ian do so many times, Mickey tries to shush him.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.” The teacher is thankful, and looks to be calming down now that Mickey has arrived. She’s young, probably fresh outta teacher school or something, and it’s clearly her first broken bone incident. Mickey smiles at her “No worries, I had nothing better to do today”

A nurse enters their room as well as the receptionist. He didn’t fill out the visitors form, and since he’s here maybe he can help fill out the intake form for little Freddie too? The receptionist hold the papers as he fills out the information with one hand.

“Name, age, address yeah yeah, relationship to the patient - uncle”

“Favourite uncle” Freddie whispers.

Smirking, Mickey adds it to the form “relationship to the patient- favourite uncle”. The receptionist giggles.

Ok, so maybe this isn’t as bad as he feared. He can do this.

After the forms are all filled out he sits down on the bed, Freddie now in his lap. The child is still crying but quieter now. Tiny hands grip at his jacket. “He get any painkillers or something?” He asks the teacher, whose name he still didn’t know.

They gave him something in the ambulance she tells him, but the shock is still there so he’s not entirely calm yet. They will give him more meds now that a family member is there to approve it. “Hear that kid? You’re gonna get the good stuff” Mickey tries to joke with him. Freddie doesn’t get it but he seems to be calming down now that his uncle is here.

The same nurse comes back in telling him they need to take pictures of the arm to ascertain the break and how bad it is. Mickey carries him down the hallway to a new room further down the hallway. Freddie is no longer crying hysterically, but he’s clearly in pain and scared. Mickey keeps rubbing his back as it seems to help.

The arm is definitely broken. Apparently it’s a small break so it will be easier to heal. They’re taken into another room where Freddie will get his arm set in a cast. A second nurse comes and gives him more painkillers. He starts to smile now. He’s excited about getting a cast.

“And we can draw on it!” Freddie tells his uncle excitingly. The pain is long forgotten and he’s talking happily to everyone now. “Can you draw me a lion uncle Mickey?”

Mickey has never drawn a lion before but sure how fucking hard can it be. It’s just a big cat right? “Sure bud, but uh we should wait until the cast is dry before I can draw on it”

The nurse smiles as she continues to work on the little boys arm.

Mickey snaps a picture of Freddie, sitting pretty on the hospital bed with his arm on the table. The nurse working on his cast smiles for the picture too. He sends it to the family group chat- hopefully someone else can show up soon. “Kids first broken bone” he texts.

Liam sends a flurry of texts back asking if Freddie is okay. Carl responds with a thumbs up.

Finally, after almost an hour at the emergency room, Tami calls him. They have to turn their phones off at the therapist, something about being fully tuned in or whatever. She’s almost more hysterical than Freddie was an hour ago.

“Ey ey; listen Tams I got him ‘alright? He’s good, getting his cast done as we speak. He’s fucking smiling and all” Mickey tries to calm her down, but it’s not easy. Lip takes over the phone.

“We’re on our way now, Mick. Please let him know and uh, maybe send another picture of him, Tami is really freaked out”. Mickey can tell Lip is just as freaked out as his girlfriend but decided this is not the time to make fun of him.

Mickey turns to Freddie, camera ready. “Hey little man, smile for me. Your mom wants proof of life”. Freddie smiles brighter than the sun. He looks so much like Lip it’s uncanny. The same crooked nose, those damn cheekbones and dirty blond curls. If he hadn’t been so damn cute Mickey would’ve almost felt sorry for him.

“So your mom and dad will be here soon, kid”

As they wait for the kids parents to show up, Fred compiles a whole laundry list of things he wants his uncle to draw on his cast. A lion, a monster truck, a dinosaur, and his house. Mickey has no idea how to draw any of those things, but he’s sure as fuck gonna try. He nods and promises to do his best.

Mickey feels like he is fucking nailing this uncle thing. Who knew?

Liam arrives at the same time as Lip and Tami. He had hopped on the L once he heard of Freddie’s accident.

Tami runs in looking frantically around for her son, Lip right behind her. “Oh thank god!” She screams as she lays eyes on him, kissing every square inch of his face. Fred giggles and Lip lets out a heavy sigh. His son is fine.

“Hey, thanks Mick” Lip claps him on the shoulder in that brotherly way he’s come to expect from him.

“Course, no problem”

It’s not until an hour and a half later that Ian finally turns on his phone.

Asshole