#ANYTHING DEEP SPACE NINE PLEASE

[maximumwitchnight]

I’m just gonna put this out there if somebody knows. Does anybody know where i can get good quality clips of Kira Nerys from deep space nine? I have an edit idea.

[cbeargyu]

marry me, mr. jeong

summary: while everyone around you is getting married, you're left behind—no ring, no lover, just silence waiting at home. but one night, your boss, mr. jeong, makes an unexpected proposal: "marry me." and suddenly, your quiet world begins to burn.

pairing: boss!jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: romance, slow burn, fluff, emotional smut, domestic married life, eventual pregnancy, emotional growth, healing.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), strong language, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy mention (later), minor angst, lots of kissing, crying, soft husband jaehyun, tooth-rotting fluff, crying-in-the-club type of love.

wc: 19,7K

notes: i’m obsessed with jaehyun as a boss, boyfriend, hubby, and daddy lmao. man’s got range 😮‍💨💍🖤 i swear i try to keep it short but my brain goes rogue every time 😭 like girl be fr, when’s the day i finally drop a short fic??? bye lmao 💀

you’re twenty-nine, and the number feels heavier than you thought it would. not because it’s old—not really—but because thirty is close. and thirty means expectations. by now, you were supposed to have it all figured out. at least, that’s what they say. your friends certainly make it seem that way with their photo-perfect marriages, toddlers learning to walk, houses in peaceful neighborhoods. meanwhile, you still live in a quiet apartment with plants you often forget to water and a fridge that holds more takeout containers than groceries.

you work at an architecture firm—clean lines, big ideas, and even bigger egos. the kind of place where late nights are common and recognition is rare. you’ve built a name for yourself, though. you lead your team well, your ideas consistently get approved, and your work ethic has never been in question. the other women whisper that you’re just trying to impress the boss, that your dedication is nothing but a strategic flirtation. they don't know that your passion isn’t about pleasing anyone but yourself. well, mostly. maybe part of you does want to be seen. to be acknowledged by him.

jeong jaehyun.

your department lead. two years younger than you, but somehow always carrying himself like he’s lived three lives already. he doesn’t talk much. doesn’t engage in the small talk that fills the office kitchen or the empty flattery some of your coworkers throw his way. he’s serious, focused, almost too calm. the kind of man who’s unreadable, and yet somehow always watching. you’re not close, not really, but there’s a quiet understanding between you. he trusts you. you can feel it in the way he gives you space to lead, the way he nods subtly in meetings when you speak, the way his eyes linger sometimes—not in a way that feels invasive, but like he’s... thinking.

you’ve never seen him flirt with anyone. never seen him talk about his personal life. no ring, no photos on his desk, not even vague mentions of a girlfriend or family. and while no one dares to say anything to his face, everyone wonders. he's a man, though—no one criticizes him for being single. no one asks him what he's waiting for.

you, on the other hand, can barely go a week without someone making a comment. still not married? you’re so pretty, what a shame. your mother means well, but every call ends with a variation of you’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.you smile through it. you tell them you're happy. you tell yourself that, too. but deep down, there's a quiet ache. because you’ve always wanted a family. always dreamed of being a mother, of coming home to someone who knows you—not just your schedule or your favorite takeout order, but the way you think, the way you feel things deeply and try to hide it. but love hasn’t knocked in years. not since your last relationship ended at twenty-two, before the world hardened your heart. since then, you’ve been too busy, too careful, too tired.

tonight, you're staying late again. the office is nearly empty, save for a few flickering lights and the buzz of a vending machine down the hall. you're finessing the last pieces of a major project, making sure every detail is just right. you're in the zone when you hear soft footsteps approaching, and then his voice—low, familiar, closer than expected.

“you’re still here, byun?”

you glance up to find jaehyun standing by your desk, hands in his pockets, that usual unreadable expression on his face. there’s no judgment in his voice, just quiet curiosity.

you offer a tired smile, leaning back in your chair. “oh, mr. jeong, i just wanted to polish a few things before the presentation. i figured if i leave anything messy, the senior managers will rip it apart. and then you’ll take the heat for it.”

he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that almost looks like a smile. “you care that much about how i look to the execs?”

you shrug, turning back to your screen. “you’re my boss. if you look bad, i look bad.”

he lets out a soft exhale, a sound that's dangerously close to a chuckle. then he leans against your desk, his body relaxed but his eyes still sharp as ever. “you’re too committed.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he shakes his head. “not bad. just... rare.”

a brief silence settles between you, not awkward, but weighted. it feels like he’s about to say something else, and when he does, it’s not what you expect.

“doesn’t your family mind that you stay this late?” his gaze holds yours. “your husband? kids?”

you blink, the question catching you off guard. your smile falters just slightly, and you look down at your hands before answering.

“no husband. no kids. no one waiting at home.” you try to sound casual, even throw in a little laugh. “i guess i’m just married to the job.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t look away. “i didn’t know.”

you nod, suddenly very aware of the silence around you. “most people assume. but... yeah. i live alone.”

another pause. then, gently, you ask, “what about you, mr. jeong? i mean, you’re always here late too. no one waiting on you?”

he looks away for the first time, his jaw tightening slightly before he answers. “no one yet.”

and there it is again—that silence between you. but this time, it’s different. it hums with something unspoken. curiosity. surprise. maybe even recognition.

you return your gaze to the screen, not really seeing it. he’s still standing there, close enough to feel but not close enough to touch. something in the air shifts, and for the first time in a long time, your chest feels... not heavy, but full.

the next morning, you arrived a few minutes early—just like always. being punctual wasn’t about impressing anyone; it was about control, about proving—at least to yourself—that you had your life together. it made you feel reliable. consistent. in a workplace full of half-assed excuses and people who couldn’t meet a deadline to save their lives, your discipline was something you wore like armor. something no one could take from you.

your outfit was soft, delicate even—rose-pink skirt brushing just above your knees, a crisp white button-up tucked in neatly, the blazer matching your skirt in a subtle pastel tone. your heels clicked softly against the tile floor as you made your way to your desk, and as you passed the reflection on one of the glass panels, you couldn’t help but think: i look good today.

you did. your hair was in place, makeup light but elegant, lips tinted a faint nude-pink. polished. pretty. professional. but beneath all that... you also looked a little alone. not that anyone would say it to your face—but you could see it sometimes, in the glances people gave you. admiration, maybe. pity, sometimes. curiosity always.

you sat down, smoothing your skirt and adjusting your chair, reaching for the little yellow post-it you’d stuck to the side of your monitor the day before. your handwriting was neat, methodical. a short list of pending tasks, each one already being mentally checked off as you booted up your computer. you didn’t waste time—your fingers flew across the keyboard, and within minutes the familiar sounds of productivity filled your small corner of the office: the rhythmic clack of keys, the soft hum and spit of the printer warming up to spit out proposals and reports.

you didn’t hear him come in.

you were too deep in the flow, too focused on aligning the final report with the visual standards the company demanded. your eyes scanned the document line by line, searching for typos, ensuring everything was clean, sharp, presentable. the sound of footsteps behind you didn’t register until you felt it—that subtle, electric awareness that comes when someone is watching.

“good morning, byun. please leave the project report on my desk once it’s ready.”

he didn’t look at you. just passed by, smooth and quick, his voice calm and firm, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, the familiar scent of roast beans and expensive cologne trailing behind him like a silent presence. his stride didn’t falter, his gaze fixed ahead, like he’d already moved on to the next ten things in his mind. you barely had time to nod, mouth parted to respond, but he was already disappearing behind his office door.

you blinked.

right. the report.

you gathered the last printed pages, slid them into the presentation folder, double-checked the order, smoothed the cover with your palm before rising from your seat. your heels clicked softly against the floor as you made your way down the short corridor, your fingers lightly tapping the edge of the folder, nerves tightening with each step even if there was nothing to be nervous about. it was just work. just jaehyun. just another report.

you knocked once and entered when he answered. he was seated behind his desk, sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, the dark veins of his forearms visible as he typed something on his laptop. he glanced up, briefly, then reached for the report when you held it out.

“thank you,” he said, flipping it open with precision, already scanning the contents. “at two p.m. we have the meeting with upper management. you’ll be joining me at the table. along with choi and hwang.”

you nodded. “understood.”

“good. go over the numbers one more time before then. they’re likely to ask.”

“yes, mr. jeong.”

and that was it. no warm smile. no thank you. just professional, cold efficiency. you turned and left, closing the door gently behind you before returning to your desk, the weight of the upcoming meeting settling on your shoulders like a familiar cloak. you’d been through this before. plenty of times. but it never got easier. not when the room was full of men in suits who barely hid their condescension, who chewed through ideas like tasteless gum until someone—usually jaehyun—said something smart enough to catch their interest.

you spent the next few hours fine-tuning the financial section, making sure your data was clean, graphs properly labeled, estimates realistic but still ambitious. it was a delicate game—making things sound innovative without actually suggesting anything too risky. they didn’t want bold. they wanted impressive illusions of boldness packaged in safe wrapping.

the meeting room was as bland as ever. too much glass, too much beige. you sat at the long table beside jaehyun, your laptop open, presentation ready. the managers arrived first, already complaining about another team’s failed prototype. the director entered last, stone-faced as always, his tie perfect, his opinion impossible to read.

as expected, the meeting dragged. they picked apart the proposal, paragraph by paragraph, expressionless until one of them grimaced like the very concept of originality offended them. you watched them, these men who nodded at each other but rarely smiled, who offered feedback that wasn’t feedback, just empty phrases like “it needs more punch” or “is this trend even scalable?”

then jaehyun spoke.

his voice was calm, slow, measured. and yet he made every single line sound convincing. powerful. like there was no other way forward but the one he was laying out. the room shifted around him. the tension eased. eyes narrowed—not in skepticism now, but interest. he wasn’t just presenting; he was selling a vision, and you felt yourself straightening with pride even if the credit wasn’t yours.

until he said your name.

“y/n,” he said, still facing the director. “if you could present the budget projections.”

you froze for a half second. not out of fear—just... surprise. you hadn’t expected him to call on you so soon.

you stood, smoothed your skirt unconsciously, and took a breath before switching slides. your voice was steady, even if your palms were clammy.

“these are the projections for the next two quarters,” you began, pointing at the chart. “we’ve estimated a moderate increase in cost during the development phase, with a break-even point projected for the beginning of q3. depending on the approved budget, we’re looking at a return on investment of approximately—”

you kept going, explaining the graphs, walking them through the numbers with careful clarity. no embellishments, no guesswork. facts. you swallowed once, clearing your throat before the final slide, then ended with a nod.

when you sat back down, jaehyun glanced at you. just a moment. a flicker of something almost soft in his expression.

like you’d done well. like you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.

the rest of the meeting blurred. the managers began tossing in extra suggestions—small changes, tweaks they hoped would impress the director. the man nodded, offered vague praise, and you remained at your seat, listening to it all with a practiced, patient expression.

when the meeting finally ended, you stood beside jaehyun again. he didn’t say much—he never did—but as he packed his laptop, he looked at you.

“good work today,” he said. “you’re an essential part of the team. if you keep this up, i’ll make sure your name’s considered for the upcoming promotions.”

you stared at him, momentarily stunned. the words hit harder than you expected. you’d worked for five years, given everything to this company, and this—this was the first time someone above you had said something that felt... real.

“thank you,” you said softly, trying not to let your smile get too big. “really.”

he nodded. “you earned it.”

later, when the director extended the dinner invitation, you didn’t hesitate. it wasn’t optional. the team needed to show up, needed to mingle, to pretend everything was a celebration and not an endless cycle of office politics masked with clinking glasses.

the bar was upscale but casual enough to loosen people’s ties. smoke from grilled meats hung faintly in the air, the tang of sweet sauces and roasted garlic filling the space. you sat between your supervisor and jaehyun, trying not to feel too stiff in your work clothes. everyone was drinking, toasting, laughing louder than they had all day.

the supervisor leaned forward, voice slightly slurred. “you know,” he said to the director, “the whole prototype? the mockup? the execution timeline? all her. y/n practically carried the whole thing.”

the director turned to you, surprised. “really? how long have you been here?”

“five years,” you replied, sipping from your glass.

he raised a brow. “how is it possible i haven’t noticed you until now?”

jaehyun, still beside you, said nothing—but you felt the subtle tension in his posture.

“you’ve got a good employee,” the director told him. “it’s your job to shape her. teach her. sounds like she’s already on the right path. with the right guidance... she’ll move up in no time.”

he raised his glass. “to y/n.”

“to y/n,” echoed around the table.

you lifted your glass, cheeks warm—not just from the alcohol but from the unfamiliar sensation of being seen. you smiled, surrounded by coworkers and approval and good food, and for a moment, just one moment, everything felt like it was finally going somewhere.

you were finally going somewhere.

the dinner had blurred into noise.

conversations overlapping, laughter rising and falling like tides. glasses clinked, meat sizzled on the grill, the warm lighting softening everyone's expressions into something hazy and unguarded. you sat at the long table, just a bit to the side, the smoky scent of barbecued meat in your hair and the echo of compliments still lingering in your chest. across from you, your supervisor had long since slipped into a drunken retelling of his glory days. to your left, jaehyun sat quietly, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. his arms were strong, veins defined even in the low light, and on his left wrist, a sleek, expensive watch glinted every time he reached for his glass. he hadn’t touched his soju in a while, though. he just held the rim between his fingers and occasionally let his gaze wander across the room.

when your eyes met, it was casual, almost accidental. but you didn’t look away.

“you’re not drinking,” you said, quietly enough that only he could hear.

he offered the ghost of a smirk, the kind that barely pulled at one corner of his mouth. “someone has to remember what was actually said tonight.”

you laughed, a soft breathy sound, grateful for his clarity amidst the chaos.

a silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. rather, it felt like a small space carved out just for the two of you—unbothered, untouched, a bubble where you didn’t have to keep smiling or pretending. you let out a quiet sigh, swirling your untouched drink in your hand.

“do you ever feel like you're running out of time?” you asked, voice low, not even sure why you were asking him of all people.

jaehyun looked at you, brows drawn slightly, intrigued but still calm. “time for what?”

you hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass. the alcohol was warm in your chest, but not enough to numb this confession.

“for everything,” you admitted. “i mean, professionally… things are going great. i can’t complain. i’ve worked hard, and it’s starting to pay off. but…” you looked down, lips pressing together. “sometimes i feel like i’m trapped inside a giant hourglass, watching the sand fall, grain by grain. i’ll be thirty in a few months. and i know that shouldn't mean anything, but in a world where people expect you to have everything figured out by now—marriage, kids, some picture-perfect life—i feel like i’m falling behind. like my dreams are moving farther and farther away.”

you took a breath, not daring to look at him.

“it’s just… sad,” you continued. “when you achieve something big and there’s no one waiting at home to celebrate it with you. no partner, no family. no one to say, ‘i’m proud of you.’”

jaehyun was quiet for a moment. then his voice came, soft and even.

“i can celebrate with you.”

you looked up, surprised, blinking at him. “thank you, but… that’s not what i meant. it’s not the same.”

he held your gaze. then, calmly, like he was offering a solution to a logistics problem, he said it.

“then marry me.”

your brain stalled.

you didn’t understand at first. maybe you misheard him. maybe he was joking, or drunk—except his voice hadn’t changed. his tone hadn’t wavered. your stomach dropped.

“…what?” you whispered.

“you want a family. you want someone to come home to. marry me.”

the words hung between you like smoke. absurd. unreal. your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. you glanced around—everyone else was too busy laughing or slurring their next toast to notice what had just happened.

you leaned in slightly, voice tense and hushed. “mr.—jeong—what are you talking about? we don’t even know each other like that.”

“we know enough,” he said without blinking.

“we’ve never even had a real conversation outside of work until now.”

“so let’s have more,” he replied, as steady as always.

you felt like your heart was beating too loudly. “are you… are you seriously suggesting we get married?”

“i’m not suggesting it. i’m telling you i’d do it. if you said yes.”

you stared at him, at the cool detachment on his face, the quiet certainty in his voice, and felt your world tip on its axis.

he shrugged. “how long until you turn thirty?”

“…my birthday’s in november,” you muttered, the words escaping before you could even process them. “it’s april now. that’s seven months.”

jaehyun nodded slowly. “then you have seven months to decide.”

he finished his beer in one slow, final gulp. then he stood up, reaching into his wallet and placing a few bills under his empty glass. you were still frozen when he stepped beside you.

“i’ll take you home,” he said.

you tried to protest, voice stumbling over half-formed refusals. “you don’t have to—i can call a cab, really—”

he looked down at you, expression unreadable.

“that wasn’t a request. it’s your boss giving you a ride.”

and with that, he turned, waiting for you to follow. your legs felt heavy as you stood, your mind racing, still reeling from what had just happened. marry him? seven months? he was serious. he was actually serious.

you had no answers. only questions. and one man who had just offered you everything you’d spent your life pretending you didn’t need.

you didn’t sleep.

not really. you tossed and turned, arms flung across the bed one minute and buried under the covers the next. jaehyun’s words echoed in your skull like an intrusive melody, looping over and over again.

then marry me.

you have seven months to decide.

like some sort of countdown had been triggered.

you must have stared at your ceiling for hours, trying to make sense of what he meant—what it meant for you—and whether he’d been serious. but the worst part wasn’t the proposal. the worst part was how calm he’d been, how effortlessly he’d said it, and how easily he’d walked away afterward like it hadn’t upended your entire sense of self.

your alarm went off at seven, and you hit snooze five times. by the time you dragged yourself out of bed, you felt like your bones had aged a decade overnight. you put on your makeup with the heaviness of someone trying to erase exhaustion from the inside out—concealer, color corrector, foundation. you went over your under-eyes twice, then a third time. you looked like yourself, but blurry. off.

you arrived to work twenty minutes later than usual, which was already enough to earn a few raised brows. no one said anything, but they noticed. you noticed them noticing.

you sat at your desk and stared at your drawers, forgetting which one you kept the monthly reports in. your fingers shook slightly as you shuffled through folders, trying to find the stupid paperwork you'd seen a million times. a stack of them slipped from your grasp and scattered onto the floor like a metaphor. you groaned and crouched down to collect them, muttering under your breath. your brain still felt like it was swimming through molasses.

then—

“good morning.”

his voice. that casual, bored tone he always used in the office. neutral, even, no trace of anything buried beneath it. no sign that he’d ever said something as life-altering as what he’d said last night.

you startled so hard you hit your head on the underside of your desk.

“good—ouch!” you winced, clutching your scalp with one hand and your pride with the other. “good morning, mr. jeong.”

he kept walking. didn’t glance down at you. didn’t smirk. didn’t check if you were okay. he passed your desk like any other morning, like he hadn’t proposed to you over beer and smoke and shared loneliness.

a few coworkers peeked over their partitions, concerned. you gave a shaky thumbs-up and a whispered, “i’m fine,” even though you felt anything but fine.

you weren’t like this. not at work. not ever. your name was synonymous with precision. discipline. control. and here you were, dropping papers and bumping into furniture like your brain had short-circuited.

you finally gathered the reports and brought them to his office.

he was seated at his desk, focused on his screen, the sleeves of his dress shirt still rolled to his elbows. your eyes caught briefly on the line of his forearm, the watch still there, still ticking.

“these are the reports from last month,” you said, setting the folder down.

“thanks,” he replied without looking at you.

you lingered.

“mr. jeong.”

he finally looked up.

his eyes were calm. cool. like nothing was wrong. like he hadn’t detonated a bomb and walked away from the wreckage.

you hesitated, your throat dry. “about what you said last night—”

his expression didn’t change.

“we’re at work,” he said simply. “i’m being professional.”

you blinked, almost offended. “so that’s it? you say something that insane and then just—go back to normal?”

“we’ll talk after work,” he said, returning to his screen. “if you want to.”

you stood there, gripping the folder even though it was already out of your hands, heart thudding with something sour and hot and unnamable. frustration? humiliation? confusion? all of it?

he was treating you like you were the one out of line. like you were being inappropriate for even bringing it up.

you turned around without saying anything else and walked out of his office, pulse hammering in your ears. the rest of the day dragged like wet cement. you couldn’t concentrate. you couldn’t remember what you were supposed to be doing half the time. you reread emails four times before hitting send. and every time someone walked past your desk, you wondered if it was him, if he’d say anything, if he’d look at you, if he even remembered what he said or if the memory of it belonged to you alone now.

you’d never felt so out of control.

you didn’t know what was worse—his silence or the fact that you wanted him to break it.

you tried to focus. god, you really did. you stared at spreadsheets until the numbers blurred into static. you answered emails with words you didn’t remember typing. every time the phone rang, your heart jumped, irrationally convinced it might be him—even though you were in the same building, separated by maybe thirty feet of glass, air, and unspoken tension. it felt like the longest day of your life. your temples throbbed with a slow, building ache, like your thoughts were pressing too hard against the inside of your skull.

you popped two painkillers around lunchtime, washed them down with lukewarm water from your reusable bottle, but they didn’t help. not really. because the pain wasn’t just physical—it was mental. emotional. a kind of pressure that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

your mind wouldn’t shut up.

you kept looping the same questions, over and over again, like your brain was stuck on a carousel with no exit.

why would he say that? why now? why you?

he already told you he'd wait. seven months. seven impossibly long, slow-burning months.

so why talk? why meet? it wasn’t for him. it didn’t serve him. he’d been clear. he had time, he had patience. this conversation—it was for you. you were the one desperate to make sense of it. to understand his motives. to justify the insanity of it all.

but how were you supposed to justify something that made no sense?

he’s twenty-seven. handsome. polished. wealthy. he could have anyone—literally anyone. girls younger than you, brighter than you, women who weren’t crawling toward their thirties with a fading list of half-achieved dreams and a fridge full of takeout leftovers. why you?

a mid-level employee in a department no one paid much attention to. someone who had to fight tooth and nail just to be noticed in board meetings. someone who had accomplishments but no one to toast with. someone who fell asleep most nights with their phone face-down and on silent because no one was texting anyway.

why you?

you didn’t have an answer.

you finished your tasks—barely—and the moment the clock hit the end of your shift, you shut your computer down with shaky fingers and grabbed your bag. your steps felt heavy, reluctant, as you made your way through the hall toward the entrance. part of you wanted to bolt, to pretend nothing had ever been said, to go home and crawl into bed and put on a show you wouldn’t really watch. to sleep off the confusion like a bad hangover.

but the doors opened before you could entertain the thought. those clean, automatic glass doors slid apart with a hiss, and there he was.

leaning casually against one of the white pillars just outside, his suit jacket draped neatly over his forearm, his other hand gripping his sleek black briefcase like it weighed nothing. he looked like something out of a commercial—well-dressed, composed, the perfect image of success. but when his eyes met yours, something flickered beneath the surface. maybe restraint. maybe tension. maybe nothing.

he walked toward you calmly, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the smooth tile.

“get in the car,” he said, voice even. “we’re going to talk. like you wanted.”

not a question. not a request.

he turned without waiting for your answer and made his way to a parked luxury sedan—shiny, deep black, windows tinted so dark you could barely see the interior. he opened the passenger door for you, as if the conversation that waited inside was just another part of his routine.

you hesitated, only for a second.

but then you followed.

because no matter how messy your thoughts were, no matter how terrified or confused or unworthy you felt, one truth cut through the noise:

you wanted to know.

you slid into the passenger seat, trying to calm the way your heart was sprinting inside your chest. the door closed beside you with a quiet thunk, sealing you into a space you weren’t sure you were ready for.

he walked around the front of the car and got in behind the wheel, smooth and unhurried.

you stared straight ahead.

ready—or not—to finally ask the questions that wouldn’t leave you alone.

the silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable. not exactly. but it was dense—like fog inside your chest, heavy and silent and there to stay.

you stared out the window as the city drifted past, familiar buildings made foreign by the storm in your head. beside you, jaehyun drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. there was music playing—low, jazzy, old—but he didn’t speak. not until you passed a traffic light and he tilted his head, casually.

“did you get enough sleep last night?” he asked, like he was commenting on the weather.

you didn’t look at him. “not really.”

“figured,” he said, turning smoothly into another avenue. “you looked like hell.”

you gave a humorless chuckle, resting your elbow against the door and propping your chin in your hand. “thanks for the compliment, sir.”

“anytime,” he said dryly.

and that was it. that was all the small talk he offered. nothing personal. nothing intimate. just an acknowledgment that he saw you. that he’d noticed.

the drive was short, and before you could make sense of anything, you were already parking in front of a modest little korean restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore. it smelled like steam, garlic, and simmered bone broth. a place where people went for real food and no-frills comfort.

“this place has the best gomguk in the city,” jaehyun said, grabbing his briefcase from the back. “been coming here since i was a teenager.”

you hesitated at the door. “you like bone soup?”

“love it.”

you wrinkled your nose. “i can’t stand that stuff. never could. not even as a kid.”

he paused mid-step and gave you a look, slightly amused. “well,” he said, “there’s our first disagreement as a couple.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “what?”

“now i know you don’t like gomguk. guess i’ll have to avoid cooking it for you.”

you said nothing.

because he wasn’t joking. not really. not entirely. and that was the part that made your mouth dry.

how could he say things like that so easily? so naturally? as if you hadn’t spent the entire day unraveling at the seams while he strutted through the office like nothing had happened?

he sat across from you at the table, unbothered, scanning the menu like it wasn’t even necessary. he already knew what he wanted. meanwhile, you still didn’t know why you were there.

you picked something else. kimchi jjigae, maybe—safe, familiar, strong enough to mask the taste of your confusion.

once the server took your orders and disappeared behind the curtain, you leaned forward, folding your hands together to stop them from trembling.

“why me?”

his eyes lifted slowly from the empty table to your face. “there’s no reason,” he said. “i just want to give you what you want.”

“do you say that to all women?”

he smirked. “if i did, i’d probably be married to half the city by now.”

you shook your head. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“don’t treat this like a mission,” you snapped, trying not to raise your voice. “i don’t need your pity. i shared something vulnerable with you, yeah. but that doesn’t mean you have to swoop in and rescue me from a miserable life of solitude by offering a ring. this isn’t some fairytale. i don’t need a man to save me.”

“i never said you did.”

you exhaled slowly. “i want to love and be loved. to build something. something real. not this... whatever this is. a contract. a deal. a deadline to escape loneliness.”

his expression didn’t shift. not a single flicker. but his voice softened.

“then let’s say this. if in seven months, you still haven’t found someone—someone who makes you feel like you can build something... try it with me.”

you stared at him. hard. trying to read every intention in the lines of his face.

“just like that?”

“just like that.”

you couldn’t look away.

and then he said it. the words that settled into the cracks of your resolve like warm rain after a drought.

“we can love. i can love you. you can love me, if you want to. if you want to date, we can date. you don’t have to feel pressured. i just think... you’re worth the risk. and i don’t think you should torture yourself every day that passes just because you haven’t ‘settled down.’ opportunities don’t always come twice. sometimes you have to grab them while they’re here. or regret it forever.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

you looked at him then—not as the cold, polished man who walked the halls like a ghost in tailored suits. not as your boss. not as someone who confused and overwhelmed you.

you saw him as a man.

a man who knew what he wanted. who wasn’t afraid to take action. who looked you in the eye and offered you something you weren’t even sure you deserved.

his jawline. his eyes. the little wrinkle between his brows when he got serious. the calm way he listened. the confidence. the clarity.

you saw him differently.

you weren’t ready to give him an answer. not yet.

but something inside you had shifted.

you just didn’t know what to call it.

he didn’t rush you.

he didn’t push.

he just sat there across from you in that tiny booth, his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened, waiting with the kind of quiet confidence that only made your heart beat louder. he stirred his soup gently, letting it cool, occasionally taking a sip without ever looking away from you for too long.

and then he said it—casually, as if proposing something as simple as lunch next week.

“let’s do this. i’ll pick you up after work from now on. we’ll go out. have dinner. spend time together. see what happens. let it unfold naturally.”

just like that.

your breath caught. “i… i have doubts,” you admitted, almost in a whisper. “i don’t know what to say. i don’t know what to feel. this is all so sudden, so... fast.”

he nodded, unbothered. “that’s okay.”

you blinked. “that’s okay?”

“yes. it’s not a race. but you heard what i said—opportunities don’t always knock twice. you don’t have to say yes right now. just think about it.”

but you were thinking. too much.

his voice played on repeat in your mind: we can love. i can love you. you can love me. and god, wasn’t that the exact thing you’d been terrified of never having?

your fingers trembled under the table. your palms clammy, your mouth dry. you rubbed your hands together slowly, grounding yourself in that simple motion, trying to breathe.

he didn’t flinch. didn’t ask again. just kept sipping his soup, patient as stone, like he’d already accepted whatever answer you’d give him.

you stared at your food, at the steam rising, the way the aroma filled the space between you and him like something sacred. you still couldn’t stand bone soup. but somehow, being across from him made it smell less... offensive. less like something to run from.

and you remembered.

all those nights crying in silence.

all those mornings brushing your teeth with tears stuck in your throat because you didn’t know if ever would come.

ever finding someone.

ever being enough.

ever being loved without begging for it.

maybe he wasn’t what you imagined.

maybe he was better.

you looked up at him.

“okay,” you said, softly. then stronger. “okay. i’ll try. i’ll let you pick me up. we’ll go on these dates. maybe… maybe i can love you. maybe i can let myself be loved by you.”

he paused mid-sip, eyes lifting.

your voice cracked slightly when you added, “maybe i can stay with you.”

for a beat, the world went still.

he didn’t smile wide. didn’t gloat or tease.

he just gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. his eyes warm, deep, but controlled—like someone who’d been expecting this moment and didn’t want to scare it off.

“good,” he said. “that’s all i needed.”

you swallowed hard.

and for the first time since that strange proposal, something in your chest loosened.

you weren’t sure if this was love.

but it was a beginning.

the next morning. everything is different.

you walk into the building like you own the damn place—heels sharp, suit immaculate, makeup clean and fierce, ponytail slicked high like a crown. the memory of yesterday—your stumble, your throbbing head, your wandering thoughts—now felt like a distant, irrelevant dream. that wasn’t you. this was.

a woman who knew what she wanted.

a woman who said yes.

you smiled to yourself in the elevator. not just any smile—that kind. the kind that curled at the corners, the kind that held secrets, the kind that felt like sin dressed in silk. the kind that belonged to someone with a man waiting outside a restaurant, ordering bone broth, and talking about love like it was something simple. doable. inevitable.

you were early. again. not by accident this time, but by choice.

you slid into your desk, organized, efficient, present. the hum of the office hadn’t started yet, and you took advantage of the calm, catching up on reports and scheduling the week like the good girl you were trained to be. but this time, it was different. you weren’t surviving the day. you were anticipating it.

and then—at exactly the hour—he walked in.

jung jaehyun.

same black suit. same silver watch. same air of cool detachment.

but today, when he passed by your desk and muttered his usual, “good morning,” you didn’t just nod like before.

you stood up—too fast.

too happy.

“good morning, mr. jeong!” you sang, voice lilting and almost musical, like you’d just won the lottery.

it was instinctual. not calculated. just... you.

the entire floor stopped.

heads turned.

some eyebrows shot up. a few eyes narrowed.

jaehyun himself halted in his tracks, looking back at you slowly, his brows drawn together in the tiniest frown. he cleared his throat.

“everyone, back to work,” he said, voice firm. and then, after one last look—eyes narrowed at you in something between confusion and amusement—he turned and walked away.

you bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, barely suppressing the giggle building in your throat.

the memory of last night echoed in your mind, maybe i can love you, maybe i can stay with you—and now here you were, trying not to beam like a teenager with a crush. you watched his back disappear into his office, and your lips curled up, despite yourself.

you could still feel his eyes on you. even if he wasn’t looking.

after work, you waited by the entrance as the glass doors slid open.

he was already there—like he promised. leaning casually against his car, black coat folded over one arm, briefcase in hand, gaze scanning the horizon like the perfect ceo out of a drama. but as soon as his eyes met yours, they softened—barely, subtly—but you noticed.

“get in,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.

you slipped in without protest, heart beating faster than it had any right to.

once the car pulled away from the curb, the silence settled—but it didn’t last long.

“you can’t do that,” he said, not harshly, just... firm.

“do what?” you asked, knowing damn well.

“greet me like that. like that.” he glanced at you sideways. “at work.”

you shrugged. “what? we’re dating now. aren’t we?”

“we’re seeing where this goes,” he corrected. “but we still have to be professional. people talk. your position can be affected. and mine—”

you cut in, not harshly but with a certain fire. “i’m not going to apologize for being happy.”

“i’m not asking you to apologize.”

“then don’t ask me to pretend. i’ll dial it down, sure. but i’m not going to act like you don’t mean something to me when we’re under the same roof eight hours a day.”

he stayed quiet for a beat, tapping the wheel with one hand, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile.

“is this how you are with all your boyfriends?”

you grinned. “i’m worse.”

he laughed. actually laughed. that deep, velvet sound you hadn’t heard much outside of formalities.

“well, i’ll brace myself,” he said. “i might enjoy it.”

you turned to the window, hiding your smile. this was really happening.

the drive back was quiet at first—a comfortable silence that didn’t demand immediate conversation. the kind of quiet that says: you don’t need to perform, just exist here with me.

the radio was on. a soft playlist of english ballads played in the background—songs about longing, beginnings, maybe even second chances. you doubted jaehyun picked them himself. it was probably just the algorithm. still, the timing felt so precise… so intentional, that you wondered if the universe was helping him out tonight.

you played with your fingers over your thighs, crossing and uncrossing your legs slowly, watching the night pass outside the window. city lights in the distance. trees swaying softly in the wind. you tried to guess where he was taking you next, but the truth was… you didn’t really care.

not knowing was part of the charm.

“where are we going?” you finally asked, unable to resist the curiosity.

he smiled without turning to look at you, eyes steady on the road ahead.

“it’s a secret,” he said. “you’ll have to wait and see.”

you squinted at him with mock suspicion, amused—and yet, inside, your heart started to thump a little faster with every mile.

there was something strangely beautiful about not being in control this time. about letting yourself be taken somewhere, not out of submission, but out of trust. you weren’t used to that. you weren’t used to letting anyone drive. but tonight, you wanted to believe you could lean back and just... be.

and then… the car turned down a dark, barely lit road, and you saw it.

a wide, open lot. a giant projector screen glowing at the far end. dozens of cars parked in neat rows, some with trunks open, fairy lights, blankets, snacks. couples curled together under the stars.

it was a drive-in movie. like something out of an old romance film.

you gasped, both hands flying to your mouth as you turned to him.

“oh my god. no way. are you serious?! i love the movies—but i've never done this. i’ve always wanted to, but… i don’t know. it just never happened.”

jaehyun glanced at you sideways. and this time, he smiled. really smiled. not the polite, composed smile he wore in the hallways or meetings—but something warm. something real.

“then it was a good idea,” he said simply.

he parked in the middle row. good view of the screen, but far enough for privacy. you were already melting—and then he popped the trunk.

a thick blanket. two small pillows. a tote bag with snacks—popcorn, a big soda bottle, even the exact chocolate bars you’d once said you liked during a random, probably drunk, late-night conversation. you didn’t even remember mentioning it.

he did.

“did you plan all of this?” you asked, curled slightly sideways in the passenger seat while he arranged everything with care between you.

“i just wanted you to be comfortable,” he said. “i wanted it to be... special.”

no posturing. no hidden motive. just sincerity. you felt it in the way he unfolded the blanket and draped it gently over your lap. in how he checked the window—cracked just enough to let in the breeze, not enough to let in the cold. In how he handed you the soda first, before even opening his own drink.

the movie started. some lighthearted rom-com with ridiculous dialogue and cheesy plot points, but it didn’t matter. it was perfect. low-stakes. no pressure. you curled your legs under you, blanket snug, the flickering light from the screen dancing across your skin.

every once in a while, you’d glance at jaehyun. and more than once, you caught him watching you instead of the film.

“are you bored?” you whispered.

“not even close.”

“you haven’t laughed once.”

he turned to you, that sarcastic little smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed just slightly.

“you’re already making enough noise for the both of us.”

you gave him a playful slap on the arm, pretending to be offended.

“that was a compliment,” he added, amused.

you rolled your eyes—but smiled. god, you smiled so much that night.

as the credits rolled, something shifted in the silence. the mood thickened—not heavy, just… deeper. weighted with something. a moment hanging on the edge of change. your head leaned against the window as the screen dimmed, your eyes distant but your heart so very full.

he still didn’t touch you.

he didn’t grab your hand. didn’t lean in.

but his presence wrapped around you all the same—solid, patient, waiting. not pushing, just there. learning how to be near you without demanding anything in return.

“thank you,” you said softly, voice almost too quiet to hear. “for this. for everything.”

“you don’t have to thank me.”

“yes, i do. it’s not every day someone goes out of their way like this.”

he paused before answering. his tone was steady, but low.

“i want this to work,” he said. “and if that means planning teenage-level dates with blankets and popcorn, then… yeah. i’ll do that.”

you laughed, eyes dropping to your lap.

“you’re doing well so far.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

and then you looked at each other. just looked. no words needed.

but inside… you felt it.

your shoulders, usually tense, were light. your heart, bruised and cautious for so long, was opening again. quietly, but surely. as if whispering, i’m still here. i still want to believe.

you weren’t sure where this would go. if it would last. if it would end in tears or something worse.

but right now, in his car, under the stars, with the last notes of the film still echoing through your skin…

you wanted to find out.

you wanted to try.

the next morning at the office felt different—less chaotic, more grounded. you greeted the receptionist with a small smile, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor as you made your way in, clutching your coffee cup like a security blanket. you weren't glowing, exactly, but something about you was… softer. less guarded. like a petal finally relaxing in the warmth of spring after a too-long winter.

jaehyun noticed immediately.

you caught him watching you from the glass-walled conference room as you entered the bullpen. he didn't stare, not in a way that would make it obvious to others—but his eyes followed you, just long enough to clock the change. your navy blue pencil skirt hugged your hips, the slit in the back offering just the right amount of grace as you walked. the cream blouse you wore was modest but elegant, the top button left undone, showing the delicate line of your collarbone. your hair was half-up, your makeup minimal, professional—but the gloss on your lips and the quiet shimmer on your eyelids betrayed a whisper of mischief. not overt. just enough for someone paying attention.

you met his gaze briefly through the glass and raised your brows in a silent hello before looking away, sipping your coffee with forced nonchalance.

by the time you crossed paths an hour later—both of you heading into a smaller briefing room—he gave you that look again. the one that asked, really? amused, but faintly disbelieving.

"good morning, mr. jeong," you greeted him politely, eyes straight ahead as if you hadn't spent the last night wrapped in his blanket, watching a movie with your legs tangled under it.

"miss y/l/n," he replied, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he held the door open for you. “very formal today.”

you didn’t rise to the bait. just gave him a brief, professional smile and walked past, heels clicking, not looking back. you were committed to the bit.

the meeting was brief, technical—a review of deliverables, some feedback loops, nothing out of the ordinary. you contributed where you needed to, kept your tone measured, avoided lingering glances. even when he made a rare joke and the room chuckled, you only allowed yourself a small, polite laugh, hands folded neatly on the table.

he didn’t push. but when you passed each other near the coffee station later, his voice dropped low, just enough for you to hear.

“you’re really leaning into the whole executive assistant with boundaries thing, huh?”

you smirked as you refilled your mug, still not looking at him. “just trying to keep things professional, mr. jeong.”

“of course.” he nodded once, pretending to adjust his tie. “wouldn’t want to cross any lines.”

you bit your lip to suppress your grin. the game was on.

at 3:47 PM, your phone lit up with a text from his office number: meeting with the department heads in fifteen. boardroom. don’t be late. signed J.J.

you rolled your eyes but your stomach did a little flip.

the 4 PM meeting dragged—there was a lot of back and forth over campaign numbers and rollout schedules, but you held your own, taking notes, speaking clearly when your insight was needed. you could feel jaehyun watching you when others weren’t—his gaze warm, grounding—but he didn’t speak to you directly unless it was related to the discussion. you appreciated that. It let you stay in control, let you breathe.

after everyone had trickled out and the room was quiet, you stayed behind a moment, closing your laptop and straightening the chairs without a word. he didn’t move from his seat at the head of the table, just watched you as you moved, his fingers idly spinning a pen.

“dinner?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.

you didn’t look up right away. “are you asking as mr. jeong or...?”

he tilted his head, eyes playful. “just jaehyun.”

you looked up, meeting his eyes. something flickered between you—recognition. of the past few days, the softness in your chest, the way your shoulders had finally stopped bracing for disappointment.

“okay,” you said quietly. “dinner.”

he didn’t take you to a fancy restaurant or anywhere showy. just a quiet little rooftop place downtown, dim lights and mellow music, open air and the sound of the city below. you sat across from him at a small table, knees brushing under the surface. you shared dishes, laughed softly, talked about nothing and everything. he asked about your childhood; you asked about his first heartbreak. there was no rush to get anywhere. just being there—together—was enough.

at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you.

at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you with that open expression he reserved for moments like this—unguarded, gently curious.

“you said you grew up outside the city,” he said, casually swirling the remnants of his drink. “what about your parents?”

you set your fork down and rested your elbows lightly on the table, exhaling. “they still live in the same town. a couple hours from here.”

he nodded. “siblings?”

“one,” you replied. “older brother. married. two little boys.”

jaehyun smiled at that. “you’re the cool aunt.”

you laughed softly, the sound bittersweet. “i try. i send them stickers and weird snacks from the city. but i think i’m mostly the mysterious aunt who lives alone in seoul and doesn’t have a husband, which is a major point of concern for my parents.”

jaehyun raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “concern?”

“oh, huge.” you leaned back, crossing your arms with a mock-serious nod. “they think i’m one heartbreak away from crawling back into my childhood bedroom with a suitcase and giving up entirely. i get the same call every weekend—‘have you met someone yet?’ and ‘when are you coming home, sweetheart?’ like my single status is a national emergency.”

you smiled, tried to make it sound light. funny. but the knot in your chest tugged a little tighter with each word. because underneath the teasing tone, it hurt. the weight of expectation, of having let them down without really meaning to. you’d always thought, by now, you’d have that picture-perfect family. a husband. maybe a child. but life had taken its own sharp turns, and somewhere along the way, you'd lost the map.

before your thoughts could spiral too far inward, you turned your eyes toward him and asked, “what about you? any siblings?”

he shook his head. “only child.”

“wow. that explains the drama,” you teased.

he grinned, playing along. “what drama?”

you shrugged, playful. “the perfectly tousled hair. the quiet confidence. the whole mysterious boss with a tragic past vibe.”

jaehyun laughed, the sound low and warm. “nothing tragic, thankfully. my parents own a condo complex back in busan. they keep to themselves. ever since i moved out, they’ve stayed out of my decisions. no guilt trips. no blind dates.”

he smirked a little, taking another sip. “which is great for me.”

you smiled at that, but there was something about the way he said it—casual, yes, but laced with a kind of loneliness you recognized. the kind that came with being left alone a little too much. with being successful but still carrying a shadow no one quite asked about.

you watched him for a second longer than necessary. then nodded slowly. “that does sound kind of great.”

he looked at you then, really looked, and the silence between you shifted—deeper now. heavy with things not said.

the city hummed around you. glasses clinked from other tables. somewhere, a violinist was playing faintly near the street below. but you only heard the soft cadence of his breath, the way it matched your own.

and then he stood and offered you his hand.

you didn’t hesitate this time. you let him lead you to the edge of the rooftop, where the view was clearer, the air colder. your arms brushed as you looked out together, shoulder to shoulder, warm skin against cool wind.

he turned to you first, eyes darker now, thoughtful. “you don’t need to rush anything. marriage, or whatever they want from you. you’re… okay. just as you are.”

you looked at him slowly, your heart caught somewhere between gratitude and ache. “thanks,” you whispered. “sometimes i forget.”

he stepped closer—barely—but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

you met his gaze, and something shifted between you again. tighter. stronger. the kind of tension that doesn’t demand to be broken, only… felt.

he leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn’t.

your lips met his softly, a single, tentative kiss that carried the full weight of everything left unspoken. sweet, searching, the kind of kiss that says i see you. that says stay.

and when you pulled back, your eyes didn’t dart away.

they lingered.

because something had begun. and neither of you was pretending anymore.

there was no big speech. no sudden declarations.

just the quiet gravity of this moment. the closeness. the way his eyes searched yours with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

april melted into may in soft, golden increments—like a candle burning slow at both ends. the weather grew gentler, the evenings warmer, and with each passing day, your relationship with jaehyun unraveled in small, tender pieces that neither of you rushed to name.

you had more dinners together. nothing extravagant—he wasn’t the kind to impress with grand gestures—but always thoughtful. ramen tucked away in a quiet corner shop with mismatched stools. a spontaneous detour after a work meeting that led to an art gallery’s closing hour. coffee at a tiny cafe with mismatched mugs and jazz playing softly from a dusty speaker. with every outing, something softened between you. the way you spoke to each other, the way you lingered a second longer when saying goodbye, the way your eyes found his in a crowded room and stayed there.

still, at work, everything remained perfectly composed. restrained. you never touched, never called him anything but mr. jeong. no one suspected a thing—and that secrecy gave it all the thrill of something sacred. childish almost. like passing notes under a desk. a shared joke disguised in a spreadsheet. your fingers grazing when you exchanged documents. a glance too long in the breakroom when he poured your coffee before you even asked. you could feel it in the air, that charged silence of two people pretending to be just colleagues, and failing quietly, deliciously.

the project itself was moving well—smooth timelines, promising data. it gave you an excuse to spend more time in his office, laptop open across from his, sometimes both of you too focused to speak for long stretches. sometimes one of you talking while the other typed, nodding with half-listening affection. sometimes, on the slow days, the lines between work and personal conversation blurred gently, like ink on damp paper.

today was one of those days.

you sat across from him, legs crossed under the conference table, scrolling through performance reports while he adjusted a chart on his screen. outside the windows, the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting pale lines across the carpet and the sleeves of his shirt. he leaned back, stretching slightly, then caught your gaze with a small smile.

“so…” he said, voice lower than usual, “what are you doing this weekend?”

you glanced up, biting your lip to hide a smile. “why? do you need me to run more numbers?”

“maybe,” he said, teasing. “but i was thinking something less tragic. maybe the museum? or that poetry cafe you mentioned.”

you shrugged, trying to sound casual. “depends. are you asking as mr. jeong or as… jaehyun?”

he smirked, eyes playful. “i guess that depends on your answer.”

you were about to respond when the door opened without a knock. both of you sat up straighter instinctively, like students caught passing notes. the supervisor from the analytics division stepped in, scanning the room with barely concealed curiosity.

“mr. jeong,” he said, tone clipped, “the director wants to see you.”

jaehyun stood immediately, buttoning his jacket with an easy nod. “i’ll be there in a moment.”

the supervisor looked at you then. his eyes lingered—not long, but long enough. something unreadable passed over his face. “you’ve been spending a lot of time here,” he said, like it wasn’t a question.

you gave him your most neutral smile. “just supporting the project. we’re on a tight schedule.”

“mm.” he said nothing more, just nodded once and stepped out.

jaehyun glanced at you before leaving, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. or quiet warning. you went back to your laptop, fingers pretending to type while your heart tried to calm its sudden gallop.

the evening found you both in his car again. the sun had already begun its descent, turning the sky a soft shade of apricot. you slid into the passenger seat, closed the door behind you, and without thinking too much, leaned over to kiss his cheek.

his skin was warm under your lips.

he blinked, clearly caught off guard, and for a second, he forgot to hide it. the tips of his ears flushed red. he cleared his throat and reached for the ignition, like nothing happened, but his smile lingered, crooked and faint.

“you keep doing that,” he murmured, not looking at you.

“doing what?” you asked innocently.

he shook his head, eyes on the road. “making it hard to pretend we’re not dating.”

you grinned and didn’t answer.

he drove you to the han river, where the breeze was cool and kind, and the crowds were light enough to feel private. you sat cross-legged on the grass, sharing tteokbokki and fried dumplings from paper trays, watching cyclists blur past under the lamplights. a small speaker nearby played an old ballad, sweet and melancholic, and you leaned into his shoulder without needing permission.

“i like this,” you said softly.

“what part?” he asked.

“this part. where everything’s… quiet.”

he didn’t speak immediately. just reached over and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“me too.”

you looked at him, really looked—and it hit you in that moment how far you’d come. from formal greetings and polite distance to soft laughter and shared silence. from stolen glances to kisses on the cheek that left him blushing.

and somehow, without realizing it, you’d stopped keeping count of how many times you thought about him during the day. because now he was part of your days.

and you didn’t want to imagine them without him anymore.

june arrived with a subtle shift in rhythm—projects moved faster, deadlines drew closer, and the sun stayed longer in the sky. the office felt heavier in the afternoons, warm with late spring air and the quiet hum of new beginnings.

one of those beginnings came in the form of kim jungwoo.

he was transferred from the incheon branch—a bright-eyed analyst with quick wit and a laugh that filled corners. you were told he'd be supporting the data team, and since your department handled most of the projections, he was placed right in front of your desk, where your eyes met every time you looked up. your first impression of him was that he was disarmingly charming—too friendly, too easygoing for the stiff, quiet culture of the office—but undeniably efficient. he asked questions that made sense, learned fast, and had a way of easing tension with a joke delivered just under his breath.

you kept things professional, as always. showed him how you sorted the quarterly metrics, how to navigate the company’s outdated database system without crashing it, how to color-code your sheets for easier reading. he listened, smiled, nodded. and eventually, he joked. made you laugh when you’d been staring at the same budget chart for hours. brought you coffee with your name scribbled on the lid in dramatic calligraphy. sometimes too much, sometimes exactly what you needed.

you liked him. platonically. comfortably. it was easy to like jungwoo.

but jaehyun noticed. of course he did.

at first, it was subtle. he’d call you into his office more frequently, asking for reports he usually didn’t request until later in the week. you didn’t think much of it—until you realized he was keeping you in there for hours. even when the topic had already run dry, even when both of you were silently pretending to still be discussing something relevant. you’d glance at your watch, mumble about needing to check on jungwoo’s progress, and jaehyun would give you this look—tight-lipped, unreadable, almost irritated.

the third time it happened, you couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“are you seriously going to keep me hostage in your office every time jungwoo asks me a question?” you asked, laptop balanced on your knees, arms crossed.

jaehyun didn’t answer right away. he leaned back in his chair, one hand draped lazily over the armrest, watching you. but there was tension under his cool expression, the kind that coiled in his jaw.

“you’re my girlfriend” he said, voice low, measured. “even if we have to act like colleagues in this building, you’re not just anyone to me.”

your breath caught. not because of what he said—because of the way he said it. with that sharp, quiet certainty, like it wasn’t up for debate.

“you’re jealous,” you muttered, trying to smile, to turn it into something lighter.

“of course i’m jealous,” he said, leaning forward. “he’s new, he’s charming, and he’s looking at you like he already knows what you taste like.”

your face flushed.

you looked away, but only for a second.

because when you met his eyes again, he stood.

in two strides he was in front of you, taking the laptop gently from your knees and setting it on the coffee table without a word. then he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you—deep, slow, and hungry. there was nothing tentative about it. it wasn’t sweet or shy. it was possession, poured soft and molten through the shape of his mouth on yours. you sighed into it, hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulse thudding in your throat.

he pulled away just enough to speak, voice rough. “don’t tease me about this.”

you nodded, breathless. “okay.”

and then he kissed you again.

the kiss tasted like all the things you weren’t allowed to say out loud. frustration. longing. the ache of pretending, day after day, that you were only what the world let you be. his thumb stroked your jaw as his mouth opened against yours, deeper now, slower. you felt your knees weaken and your thoughts scatter, all logic melting into the heat of the moment.

that night, like every night since the start of your secret, you met him outside the office. his car waited at the edge of the lot, tinted windows and the soft thump of quiet music playing through the speakers. you slid into the passenger seat, your heart already dancing.

this time, he didn’t say hello.

he reached over and kissed you—harder than before, lips parting yours in a way that made your body sing. the car wasn’t moving. neither of you were thinking. you kissed like it was all you knew how to do. mouths hungry, breath shallow, his hand tracing the edge of your thigh just enough to make you gasp. every time you pulled away for air, he followed. every time he groaned into your kiss, you shivered.

he never rushed.

never crossed that line you hadn’t yet spoken about.

but you felt how close it hovered. just under the skin.

and as your lips brushed his one last time before pulling back, your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “i like it when you get jealous.”

his smile was crooked. dangerous.

“you better not like it too much,” he said, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, “because next time… i might not let you leave so easily.”

thursday crept in quietly, with no big plans or messages of anticipation. the city, usually loud and hungry for excitement, felt unusually tame that week—like it had spent itself on too many events, too many evenings out, too many people chasing novelty in crowded cafés and rooftop bars. maybe it was just you, though. maybe everything had started to feel dull because your world had shifted to revolve around something—someone—entirely new. and nothing outside of that circle could compare anymore.

you barely spent time in your apartment lately. always out. always in his car, in places that weren’t quite home but felt more real because he was there. so on that afternoon, with your head tilted against the cold surface of your desk and your brain spinning from spreadsheets, you blurted it out between quiet keyboard taps.

“don’t make any plans tomorrow night.”

jaehyun glanced at you from across his office, pen in hand, eyebrows drawn. “should i be worried?”

you smiled without looking up. “you’re staying over. the weekend. at my place.”

the pause was heavy. not uncomfortable, but... loaded. you didn’t dare lift your head until he spoke.

“wait—what?”

and there it was. you looked at him finally, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide. he looked stunned. genuinely caught off guard.

“you heard me. pack a bag. pajamas. toothbrush. snacks. i don’t know. whatever you need to survive two days with me.”

his face went red. a deep, rich pink that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. you laughed. he was thinking things.

“ya, what were you imagining?” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk.

“nothing!” he defended too fast. “i just... i didn’t expect we’d be spending the weekend... alone like that. it’s not a bad thing. i like it. i like the idea. i just—i mean, we’ve been doing great. this relationship. it feels good. real. and... if it keeps going like this, who knows—maybe one day we’ll get married.”

you froze.

he didn’t say it as a joke. it was quiet. casual. but he meant it.

married.

you hadn’t thought about that in weeks. you’d been so swept up in the rush of the new—new glances, new kisses, new secret dates and stolen evenings. but that word made your heart skip, stumble, leap. it opened a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

married to jeong jaehyun. walking down an aisle. your coworkers gasping. your parents trying to stay calm. him lifting your veil. kissing you like it was the beginning of forever. sunday mornings with kids and cartoons and coffee. vacations. shared bookshelves. him waiting at the door when you got home.

you shook the image out of your head.

“you can’t just say things like that,” you whispered, barely breathing.

“why not?” he asked softly, his eyes sincere. “it’s where we’re going, right?”

friday night came like a slow exhale.

he arrived with a small black duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a sheepish grin. you wore mismatched pajamas—striped pants and a faded hoodie from a school club you barely remembered joining. the sight of you like that made him laugh, and the sound was so unguarded it made your chest ache with affection.

you stayed in. ordered too much food. picked a cheesy rom-com that made you cry halfway through. he kept making sarcastic comments at first, trying to pretend he didn’t care, until somewhere in the middle he got quiet. his hand found yours under the blanket, warm and steady. when the credits rolled, your head was on his shoulder and your eyes were puffy.

“i hate that you made me cry,” you sniffled, wiping your face.

“i didn’t make you cry. blame julia roberts,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

the rest of the night blurred. an improvised dinner of instant noodles and wine, soft music from your phone speaker, him dancing stupidly in the kitchen with a wooden spoon, trying to make you laugh. and you did. hard. the kind of laugh that made you forget to be careful.

when it got late, and the lights dimmed, the kisses came back. slow. long. searching. his hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, breathing each other in like you were afraid to stop. the heat built, like always, but neither of you pushed further. it wasn’t time. not yet. but god, it was close.

saturday was lazy and warm and beautiful.

you woke up tangled in the blankets, his arm draped over your stomach, his breath soft against your neck. the kind of morning you never thought you’d get to have—where nothing was urgent, and everything felt right.

you took turns in the shower, argued over who finished the milk, and spent an hour sitting on the floor flipping through old photo albums you’d forgotten you had. you didn’t plan to show him—but he insisted. and once he started looking, he didn’t stop.

“wait... this is you in high school?” he asked, pointing at a photo.

“yeah,” you said, embarrassed. “why?”

“you were so cute.”

you rolled your eyes. “i wasn’t popular or anything. i had one boyfriend. lasted a week.”

he stared. “a week?”

“he said i was too uptight and boring.”

jaehyun’s mouth dropped open. “that guy was an idiot.”

you laughed. “no, he was probably right. i’ve always been... structured. controlled. even back then. guess that’s why i’m like this now—such a workaholic.”

he didn’t laugh. instead, he kept looking at your photo—finger brushing over the glossy paper like it meant something.

“if i had met you back then,” he said quietly, “i would’ve fallen in love with you. no doubt.”

your breath caught.

he didn’t look away. “i wouldn’t have let you go. not for a second.”

“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, unsure what else to say.

“i do,” he said, firm. “you’re not boring. you’re brilliant. you’re thoughtful. you see things no one else sees. you work harder than anyone i know. and... you make me want to be better.”

tears pricked your eyes again. not from sadness. just—too much emotion. too much truth.

“you’re going to make me cry again,” you whispered.

“then cry,” he said, pulling you close. “but only if you let me hold you through it.”

the rest of the weekend passed like a dream.

grocery runs in sweatpants. a half-burnt attempt at making pancakes. arguments over which playlist was better for cleaning the kitchen. you wore ridiculous socks with cartoons on them. he made fun of you until you found his even worse ones.

you kissed between chores. kissed while brushing your teeth. kissed while folding laundry.

it wasn’t glamorous.

but it felt like home.

and when sunday night came, and he packed his bag again, you didn’t want him to go. not because of the sex, or the thrill, or the high of newness. but because somewhere between instant noodles and high school photos, you realized something terrifying and beautiful—

you were falling in love.

for real.

for the first time.

towards the end of the month, your phone rings. you’re in your apartment, folding laundry with the window cracked open to let in the soft breeze of early summer. the sunlight filters through sheer curtains, painting everything in golden hues. you glance at the caller id and feel a knot tighten in your stomach. mom.

you answer.

“it’s your father’s birthday this weekend,” she says, skipping greetings as always, her voice a mix of cheerful anticipation and subtle reprimand. “you should come visit. he’s been asking if we’ll see you.”

you agree, almost without thinking, but then comes the dreaded question.

“and? have you found a boyfriend yet or do i need to talk to mrs. lee again?”

you rub your temple. “mom—”

“her son is still single, you know. owns a good piece of land. sells vegetables to that big food corporation. you’d be set for life.”

you exhale deeply, eyes closing in frustration.

“i’m… i’m seeing someone.”

a pause. then her voice lights up like fireworks. “you are? oh, this is wonderful! finally, you’re not wasting away alone up there in that office job.”

“mom, we’ve just started seeing each other,” you say, hesitating. “it’s too soon to—”

“no,” she cuts in firmly. “you don’t have time to be unsure. the train is about to leave the station, sweetheart. you either get on or it’s gone. bring him. we want to meet him.”

before you can argue, the call ends with a clipped goodbye, and you’re left staring at your phone, pulse racing and chest tight.

the rest of the week, you feel like a ghost of yourself. distracted at work, distant on your dates with jaehyun, your mind spinning in loops. he notices immediately—of course he does—and it only takes one missed joke and a quiet dinner for him to call you out on it.

you’re sitting across from him, poking at your food. the restaurant is softly lit, cozy, but there’s a distance in your eyes.

“y/n,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. “what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you mutter, but he leans in.

“don’t give me that. we’re together now, remember? you can talk to me. or… if you’re second guessing this… if i’m moving too fast, just tell me. i can handle it.”

your heart aches at his words. you reach across the table, grabbing his hand.

“it’s not that. i’m not doubting us,” you say quietly. “it’s just… my mom called. she wants me to visit this weekend for my dad’s birthday. and she… kind of expects me to bring you.”

he blinks. then, without hesitation, he says, “okay. then i’ll come.”

you blink right back. “wait, seriously?”

“yes. if it means that much to them—and to you—I want to go. i want to meet your family, y/n. it feels right.”

your chest swells with something warm and terrifying. you nod, silently.

friday comes and your suitcase is zipped and ready by the door. you’re wearing a floral summer dress, light and breezy, with your favorite pair of nude heels that make your legs look longer than they are. your hair is pinned loosely, lip tint soft and rosy. there’s a nervous flutter in your chest when you step outside.

jaehyun is already waiting beside his car, leaning casually against it like he belongs in a photoshoot. he’s in cream linen pants and a sage green button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open at the throat. his sunglasses reflect the afternoon sun, and he looks, frankly, too good to be standing in your quiet little street. you gulp.

“need help with those?” he says with a grin, reaching for your bags before you can answer.

the ride is filled with music, laughter, and long, thoughtful silences. the kind that don't feel awkward, but full. pregnant with meaning. he holds your hand on the highway, thumb stroking the back of it lazily, his warmth anchoring you through your nerves.

when you pull up to your parents' house—a modest home with stone finishings and a neat little front garden—your heart thunders. everything feels smaller, more fragile, like stepping back in time. your mom rushes out first, apron still tied around her waist, eyes wide and wet with excitement.

and when she sees jaehyun? she nearly cries. “you’re real,” she says, pressing her hands together like she’s witnessing a miracle. your dad comes out next, chuckling as he wipes his hands on a dish towel.

“so this is the young man,” he says with a knowing nod, clapping jaehyun on the back. “your mother hasn’t shut up about you since she found out.”

inside, the dining table is set with your dad’s favorite dishes. everything smells like memory. you sit in the living room afterward, your parents across from you, jaehyun beside you on the couch, close enough to feel his knee brushing yours.

he speaks up first, voice calm and clear.

“i just want to say that i’m very serious about your daughter,” he says. “i have genuine intentions. we’re still getting to know each other, but… if things keep going the way they are, i’d like to build a future with her.”

your mother gasps, reaching for a tissue. your father nods slowly, visibly moved.

“this… this is the best birthday gift i could ask for,” he says.

you shrink into the couch, cheeks burning, while jaehyun’s hand finds yours again and squeezes gently.

then comes the chaos.

your older brother, baekhyun, bursts through the door with his wife and two kids in tow. he takes one look at you and smirks.

“who’s the guy and what have you done with my perpetually single little sister?”

you groan. “shut up, baek.”

the two of you bicker like teenagers, tossing playful insults back and forth while your nephews cling to your legs, shouting your name with delight. you hand them the toys you brought and their eyes light up like it’s christmas.

jaehyun watches it all, amused, until one of the boys climbs into his lap and hands him a toy too.

he freezes.

and in that moment, something shifts in him. the sound of children’s laughter, the image of you with a soft smile, cradling one of your nephews in your arms. the warmth of this home, the love in every corner. he imagines it—having this with you. kids with your eyes. a house that’s yours. your framed wedding photo on the wall. vacations. birthdays. late-night talks in bed. wrinkles and silver hair, but still loving you with the same fire.

he blushes.

and you notice.

“what?” you whisper as you lean close.

he shakes his head, smiling to himself. “nothing. just… i really, really like this. all of it.”

the night unfolds gently. dinner turns into stories, stories into laughter, and soon the sun has long set and the house is lit with warm yellow lights. you and jaehyun sit outside for a moment, watching the stars.

he wraps an arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“you feel like home,” you whisper, not even realizing the words have slipped out.

he turns to look at you, eyes soft. “so do you.”

and in the quiet, with the cicadas singing and the echo of your family’s voices drifting from inside, you know.

this might just be the beginning of everything.

the month of july passed by with little to no complications. your parents were pleased with jaehyun, and you could tell that their approval meant the world to him. jungwoo, on the other hand, was playful and teasing, but with a newfound sense of respect, especially as jaehyun started to show more signs of being protective, making sure that jungwoo didn’t cross any boundaries. you were still professional with everyone at work, but the chemistry between you and jaehyun was undeniable. nights together were spent laughing, and weekends were filled with stolen moments of joy, where you both shared something more than just professional courtesy.

jaehyun had made a habit of calling you during the day, just to check on you, and you found yourself doing the same. the conversations were simple, but they felt important. visits to his office became more frequent, sometimes just for work, but other times, it was an excuse to sneak in a kiss or two. the passion between you two continued to build, a slow, steady fire that became increasingly hard to ignore.

one night, a wednesday, you both ignored the weather forecast and decided to take your date out in the city. the air was warm, and the lights of the city sparkled as you walked the streets together. the mood was light, but as midnight approached, the weather took a sharp turn. dark clouds rolled in, and soon, rain began to pour, turning into a violent storm. the wind howled, and the streets quickly flooded. jaehyun’s car struggled against the force of the water, and you couldn’t help but grip the seat, anxious.

jaehyun tried to keep calm, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. “it’s okay, nothing’s going to happen,” he said, though you could tell he was also feeling the weight of the storm.

the rain pounded against the windows, and the car barely moved as the currents began to grow stronger. after what felt like an eternity, you both agreed that waiting in the car wasn’t safe anymore. as you both discussed where to go, a motel appeared in front of you. it seemed like an odd choice, but the parking lot was dry, and there were few other options at that hour. both of you hesitated, unsure of what to do. it was a strange situation—neither of you wanted to suggest anything that could be misinterpreted.

jaehyun was the one to break the silence. “let’s just use the parking lot, at least we’ll have shelter from the rain,” he said. “and if it lasts all night, we’ll have a warm place to stay.”

you nodded, a little nervous. “yeah, i mean, we’re not going to do anything else, right? just sleep, then in the morning, we’ll head back to our places and go to work, right?”

jaehyun smiled at you, trying to ease your nerves. “of course, just a safe place to wait out the storm. no pressure.”

you both parked and got out of the car, a little stiff from the tension, but the moment you entered the motel, things started to feel different. jaehyun took the lead, making sure you were comfortable and settled in, giving you space to breathe. He didn’t rush you, always checking to see how you felt.

both of you were tired from the day, and the weather didn’t help the situation, so after some brief, awkward glances, you both decided to take separate showers to unwind. you both changed into something more comfortable, but since it was summer and it was warm, you decided to just sleep in your underwear. when you looked at jaehyun in his, the moment felt almost surreal. his gaze lingered for a moment before he quickly turned away, as if both of you were still trying to adjust to how close you had become.

“you know,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence, “you don’t have to feel awkward. we’re taking things at our own pace.”

you smiled, feeling your heartbeat quicken at the sound of his voice. “what if i want to go faster?” you said, your words surprising even yourself.

jaehyun looks at you, eyes widening slightly before they darken with something deeper—something he’s clearly been holding back. “are you sure?” he asks, voice low, almost trembling with restraint.

you nod, stepping closer, your fingers brushing against his bare chest. “i’m sure.”

his hands find your waist gently at first, testing the waters, but when you lean into him, he pulls you in like he’s been waiting forever to hold you like this. his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft, exploratory, but quickly deepens, hungry and needing. he walks you backwards slowly until the back of your knees hit the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp, taking him with you.

his hands roam your body, reverent and slow, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. he whispers your name against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, and lower still. your breath hitches when his mouth lingers between your thighs, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for any sign to stop—but you nod again, your fingers threading into his hair, guiding him closer.

what he gives you isn’t rushed. it’s worship. like he’s been dreaming of this moment for too long to waste it. you lose yourself in the rhythm of his mouth, the way he listens to your body, adjusting, teasing, giving. he doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking and your voice is broken with moans you couldn’t hold back.

when he finally crawls back up your body, his lips kiss yours again, slower this time, tasting you. he whispers, “still okay?” and you nod, pulling him closer.

when he slides into you, it’s not hurried or careless. it’s deep, slow, and overwhelming in the best way. you cling to him, breathless, as your bodies move together like they were made to. he holds your gaze, foreheads pressed together, sweat-damp skin sticking in the summer heat, but neither of you care.

you whisper his name like a prayer, and he answers with yours, over and over, like he’s trying to brand it into the moment.

you fall apart in his arms, not once, but twice, and he follows soon after, burying his face in your neck as he trembles against you. 

his lips are still on yours when he pushes deeper inside you, and this time, there’s no hesitation. your body arches under him, the stretch of him delicious and overwhelming all at once. he fills you slowly, inch by inch, like he wants to feel every reaction he pulls from you.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes out, forehead resting against yours. “been thinking about this for so long.”

you moan softly, nails dragging down his back as he starts to move, slow at first, rolling his hips into you with precision that makes your legs tremble. he kisses down your throat, biting softly at your skin as he picks up the pace, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. the headboard taps gently against the wall, a quiet rhythm that matches the sound of your breathy moans and his soft, low groans.

your fingers clutch the sheets, the pleasure building with every thrust. jaehyun’s hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider for him, and the new angle has you gasping his name, your voice breaking. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—lost in the feel of you, the sounds you make, the way your body clings to his like it’s the only place it belongs.

he pulls out just enough to see the way you take him, watching your slick coat his length before sliding back in with a filthy, wet sound that makes your toes curl. “look at you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip, eyes locked on yours. “so fucking beautiful like this.”

when he shifts, propping one of your legs over his shoulder, the angle has you crying out, your whole body shuddering. “you’re so deep,” you whimper, and he groans, hips snapping faster, harder, chasing both your highs like a man starved.

your climax hits hard—white-hot and blinding—as your walls clamp down around him, dragging him over the edge with you. he cums with a strangled moan, burying himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering as he spills into you. he stays there, chest pressed to yours, breathing heavy, hearts pounding in sync.

after a few moments, he pulls out slowly, carefully, kissing your shoulder as he lies beside you and pulls you into his arms.

your body’s still trembling when he runs a hand down your spine, voice low and thick with affection. “think we’re still just sleeping?”

you laugh softly against his chest, lazy fingers tracing circles on his skin. “not a chance.”

he kisses the top of your head. “then let’s not sleep yet.”

and before you can even respond, he’s already kissing down your body again—because one round clearly wasn’t enough.

you barely have time to catch your breath before jaehyun’s mouth is back on your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, over your stomach. his hands roam your thighs with greedy fingers, and even though you’re still sensitive, your body responds instantly—needy, aching, already ready for him again.

“you’re still so wet,” he murmurs, spreading you open with his fingers, dragging two of them slowly through your folds. “fuck, baby… you’re dripping.”

your hips jerk when he circles your clit, light and teasing, and you whine, fingers gripping the sheets. “j-jaehyun…”

he smirks, dark eyes meeting yours as he sinks his fingers into you—slow, deep, curling just right. “you can take it, can’t you?” he says, voice thick with lust. “you want it again.”

you nod helplessly, mouth parted as your back arches off the bed. he fucks you with his fingers until you’re trembling again, begging for him, grinding down onto his hand like you can’t get enough—and you can’t.

when he pulls his fingers out and lines himself up again, there’s no patience this time. he pushes in all at once, rougher, deeper, making your breath catch in your throat. the stretch, the pressure, the heat—it’s almost too much, but you crave every second of it.

he fucks you like he owns you now, one hand on your hip, the other pressing down on your stomach so he can feel himself inside you. “you feel that?” he groans. “you’re taking all of me.”

your moans turn shameless, high-pitched and raw, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with every thrust. the bed creaks, the headboard pounds against the wall, and you don’t care who hears. he flips you onto your stomach without warning, pulling your hips up, and slides back into you from behind.

you cry out at the new angle, your hands clawing at the sheets as he drives into you, deeper than before. “god—jaehyun, i’m gonna—”

“cum for me,” he growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back to kiss the side of your neck. “cum all over my cock, baby.”

your orgasm hits like a shockwave, blinding and hot and overwhelming. your whole body shakes, legs giving out beneath you as he keeps fucking you through it. he follows moments later, groaning your name as he fills you again, hips jerking against your ass, the sound of it all so filthy and perfect.

this time, when you collapse together on the bed, everything is soaked in sweat and heat and the scent of sex. your body is limp, your mind dazed, and he just pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he’s never letting go.

“okay,” you whisper, laughing breathlessly. “now we might need to sleep.”

he chuckles against your hair, voice rough. “maybe. after round three.”

that night at the motel changed everything.

it wasn’t just the sex—though, god, it was incredible. it was the way his hands learned your body like a second language, the way he whispered your name like a secret, the way you both let yourselves fall without fear. that night was messy, breathless, and soaked in want. but more than anything, it was a turning point—a quiet, unspoken agreement that this was no longer just something casual. not for either of you.

after that, the line between love and lust blurred beautifully. sex became part of your rhythm, part of how you communicated. stolen glances in the office turned into stolen kisses in the elevator. late nights became sleepovers, and every morning-after was filled with lazy touches and knowing smiles. you memorized each other’s moans like favorite songs, found new ways to say i want you, even when the words themselves weren’t spoken.

but there was one night that stood out. the one you still think about more than any other.

it was the night you stayed over at his apartment—just the two of you, no distractions, no storms outside, only the slow burn between your bodies. dinner turned into kisses. kisses turned into the first round on his kitchen counter, then the second in the shower, steam fogging up the mirror as your bodies tangled and slipped together like water and flame.

by the third round, it was past midnight. you were already sore, breathless, but insatiable. he pulled you back into bed, whispering things in your ear that made your skin burn. he was rougher that time—hungrier—gripping your hips as he fucked you deep and slow, drawing out every moan until your voice was hoarse and your mind was gone.

you were on top, riding him with lazy, desperate rhythm, your head thrown back, your nails digging into his chest. he looked up at you like you were something divine, his hands guiding your pace, eyes locked on the place where your bodies met.

and just when your orgasm started to hit—when everything went hot and tight and unbearably good—the words slipped out of you.

“i love you.”

your voice cracked around it, high and trembling, your body still grinding against his, your climax crashing over you like a wave. for a split second, everything stopped. you felt him freeze beneath you, heard the sharp intake of breath, saw the shock in his eyes.

you hadn’t meant to say it like that. not in the middle of fucking. not when you were bare in every sense of the word.

it was reckless. vulnerable. raw.

but not wrong.

his hands gripped your waist tighter, and then he was sitting up, arms wrapping around you, thrusting up into you so hard and deep that you sobbed out his name.

“i love you too,” he groaned against your neck. “fuck, i love you so much—too much.”

and then he came—hard and fast, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

afterward, you just lay there on top of him, chest to chest, skin to skin, hearts pounding in unison. there was no awkwardness. no regret. only this strange, beautiful calm that settled over the room like dawn.

it was in that moment you realized just how deep your feelings for him ran.

what had started as a simple plan—just something to avoid growing old alone—had become the best part of your life. somewhere along the way, between the office visits and shared glances, motel rooms and quiet mornings, you had fallen hopelessly, madly in love with jaehyun.

and the craziest part?

you couldn’t imagine ever thinking of anything—or anyone—else but him.

august wrapped around you like a golden ribbon, thick with heat and filled with the kind of breathless anticipation that only comes after months of hard work. the project was done—finally—after weeks of stress, endless reports, last-minute corrections and late nights. but it was done. and not just done, but successful. glowing feedback, client satisfaction, numbers that sang. it was more than you had dared to hope for.

and then—the email.

subject line: promotion confirmation.

you stared at it for a full minute before opening it. and when you read the words “congratulations, supervisor,” your breath hitched. you covered your mouth. you gasped. and then you ran.

jaehyun wasn’t even at his desk anymore, he was just walking into the hallway when you caught him. “jaehyun!” you called, your voice trembling with a kind of joy that had nowhere to go.

he turned, concerned for half a second—until he saw your face. and then you said it.

“i got it.”

“you got what?” he blinked, confused.

“the promotion.”

his eyes widened. he froze for a second. and then—his arms were around you before you could even finish breathing. he lifted you, spinning you once, twice, both of you laughing as you clutched his shoulders and buried your face in his neck.

“oh my god, baby—you did it! i knew it, i knew you would!”

you were dizzy, and not just from the spinning. he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips. everything was warm and golden and right.

he took you out that night.

you didn’t go anywhere fancy—jaehyun insisted that celebrations should be personal, not performative. so he drove you to that one little pizzeria you loved, the one that made the potato crust just the way you liked it. he ordered your usual without asking, and when the wine came, he raised his glass first.

“to you,” he said, his eyes soft and gleaming under the low light. “my brilliant, unstoppable, incredible woman.”

your heart swelled so fast it almost ached. the clink of your glasses felt like the sound of a new chapter opening.

“i’ve never had this before,” you confessed, fingers curling around the stem of your glass. “celebrating something this big. with someone i love. it feels…” you laughed, shy and overwhelmed. “it feels like everything’s different now.”

jaehyun reached for your hand, his thumb stroking the back of it slowly.

“it is different,” he said. “because now, every good thing that happens to you—we get to celebrate it. together.”

you stared at him, your chest tight with emotion, with the kind of love that had no bottom, no edge. just more.

you leaned across the table, kissing him slow, deep, grateful. pizza between you, wine in your veins, your laughter echoing off the walls of that tiny booth.

you didn’t need fireworks.

this was better.

this was yours.

mid-september arrived with a softness that clung to the air—warm enough to feel like summer still lingered, but mellowed by the early hints of fall. the leaves hadn’t turned yet, but something in the wind carried change. maybe that’s what had been stirring inside you all week—a restless certainty that had taken root in your chest and bloomed with every kiss, every sleepy morning wrapped around each other, every whispered i love you that escaped your lips without hesitation. it had been five months, five months of chaos and clarity, of fire and softness, and you knew now—you didn’t want to wait anymore.

you wanted jaehyun. not in a month. not after careful plans. now.

so you climbed the steps to his office, heart thudding like a war drum, nerves tangled with determination. you paused outside the door, breathed once, twice, and knocked.

“come in,” his voice called, muffled behind the heavy door.

you stepped in and found him at his desk, back slightly hunched, focused on the glow of his screen. he looked up, and the moment he saw you, he smiled—that slow, dazzling smile that always made your knees feel like melted wax—and stood immediately, walking toward you without hesitation. he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you like he’d been waiting to do it all day.

“jaehyun,” you said, voice almost trembling, more from the gravity of what you were about to say than nerves. he pulled back slightly, tilting his head.

“yeah?”

you met his eyes and, without giving yourself the chance to second-guess it, you let it fall from your lips.

“i want to marry you.”

his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his features. he blinked, as if trying to be sure he heard you right.

“i know, baby,” he said, a soft chuckle lacing his words. “that was the whole deal, right? but remember—we said after november. we’d have more time to plan, get everything ready—”

“no,” you interrupted, stepping forward, clutching his hands tightly. “i don’t want to wait till november. i mean it. i want to marry you now. today, tomorrow, next week—i don’t care when or how. i just want to be yours. forever.”

he stared at you, quiet. processing. his brows drew together, and then lifted again like the meaning had just landed fully. his hands gripped yours tighter.

“but—what about the wedding? your parents, mine—”

“we’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “but this... this love we have, i don’t want to keep treating it like something that needs to be scheduled. it’s real. it’s now.”

he took a breath, deep and full. and then, his expression softened into something vulnerable and glowing—his eyes shone with something deeper than just affection. he leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “you want to be my wife.”

you nodded, lips brushing his as you breathed, “more than anything.”

his thumbs brushed over your cheeks, as if committing this moment to memory. “then we’ll do it. not because it’s rushed, but because we know. we’ve known. and if you want to be my wife now... then i’ll make it happen. we’ll get married. i promise.”

and he kissed you again, this time slower, as if sealing an oath between your mouths.

the proposal happened three days later.

he told you it was just a normal date—dinner, then a walk somewhere scenic. no pressure. he even played it off by wearing something casual: a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled, soft beige slacks, and the cleanest pair of loafers you’d ever seen. he looked devastatingly handsome without trying.

he picked you up and drove toward the edge of the city, toward the river trail where the summer festivals were usually held. the area was quiet now, early autumn having driven the crowds away. but fairy lights still dangled from the trees, twinkling faintly as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a warm, honeyed hue over everything.

he walked with you along the wooden path, your fingers tangled. his hand was slightly clammy. you noticed, and your heart fluttered, thinking—he’s nervous. the realization made you giddy.

and then, just as you reached the little bridge that overlooked the water, he stopped.

“wait here,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “don’t move.”

he jogged a few steps ahead, ducked behind a low fence near a cluster of trees, and returned with a bouquet of peonies—your favorite. you hadn’t told him that. he remembered.

your eyes began to water.

he handed them to you, smiling shyly, and then pulled something out of his pocket.

a velvet box.

he opened it without a speech, without fanfare. his voice was soft, his eyes locked on yours like the world outside didn’t exist.

“you already said yes,” he whispered. “but i want to do this right.”

he got down on one knee, the gravel crunching beneath him, and held the ring up.

“y/n, will you marry me—not next month, not in theory, not in some future we’re still trying to picture... but now. for real. because i’m yours. and you’re mine.”

you didn’t cry. you sobbed. like an idiot. like a girl who had waited her whole life for someone like him. you nodded so fast your vision blurred and fell into his arms, and he kissed you like he was promising you the rest of forever.

in that moment, september never felt sweeter.

telling the company was a whole thing.

it started with a scheduled meeting—a weekly operations check-in with the usual suspects: team leads, upper management, the supervisor, and a couple of sharp-eyed executives who never missed a detail. it was jaehyun’s idea to make it official at work, to do it clean and direct and proudly. no rumors. no hiding. just the truth, glowing and solid like the ring that now lived permanently on your finger.

you both walked into the meeting room together, which wasn’t unusual, but something in the way your hands brushed as you took your seat already had jungwoo giving you the side-eye.

the presentation started, charts and projections lighting up the screen behind jaehyun as he stood with calm confidence. it was business as usual—until the last slide.

"before we wrap up," he said, glancing back at the room, his eyes finding yours briefly before turning to the group again, "i have one personal announcement to make."

you swallowed. jungwoo leaned forward like a damn hawk. mr. choi narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if he'd been waiting for this moment since spring.

jaehyun smiled—soft, boyish, unbothered. “as some of you may know… or have guessed," he said, and gave jungwoo a teasing look that made him gasp, "i knew it," he muttered dramatically—"y/n and i have been seeing each other for a while.”

the room exploded. a gasp from the secretary and the supervisor actually choked on his coffee. someone in the back whispered “what the fuck” under their breath.

jaehyun held up a hand, a little smug, a little amused.

“and, as of last weekend… we’re engaged.”

your cheeks were burning. your heart thundered. you expected chaos, maybe disapproval, but what followed was—

cheering. clapping. wide eyes and stunned smiles. even mr. choi looked like he was trying very hard not to grin.

“you’re marrying jaehyun? our jaehyun?” he blinked at her, then looked at jaehyun like he’d just discovered a double life. “okay, i knew something was going on. i’m not blind. but marriage? dude, that’s insane. like, insane in the good way, but—holy shit.”

you stood up, feeling brave. “we just didn’t want to hide it anymore,” you said. “we’re really happy. and we hope you’ll be happy for us too.”

the room burst into applause again. someone shouted, “wedding invites or we riot!”

the parents came next.

you visited your family first. your mom opened the door and immediately noticed the ring. she gasped, dropped the dish towel she was holding, and squealed in that way only mothers can. within seconds, your dad was there too, grinning, eyes glossy, holding jaehyun’s shoulder like he was already part of the family.

"are you kidding me," your mom kept saying. "you're engaged? oh my god, you're engaged!"

you nodded, trying not to cry as she hugged you so tight it hurt.

“he’s everything i ever wanted for you,” your dad told you quietly, before giving jaehyun a very serious handshake. “you take care of her.”

“always,” jaehyun promised, voice thick with sincerity.

then it was his parents' turn.

you were more nervous, but you shouldn’t have been. the moment jaehyun’s mom saw you, she pulled you into a hug, muttering in korean how beautiful you were, how she’d been praying her son would be smart enough to not let you go. his dad was more reserved, but the sparkle in his eye said everything. when jaehyun said, “we’re getting married,” his mother clapped her hands and screamed like she’d just won the lottery.

“we’re so happy,” she said, eyes shining. “you are already family.”

they brought out food, wine, photos from jaehyun’s childhood. his mom made you take home a tupperware of kimchi and a crocheted doily she claimed she made for whoever he married one day. she said she just had a feeling it was going to be you, and jaehyun turned red.

it turned out that weddings—real weddings—took a lot more time to plan than y/n had expected. even with jaehyun’s calming presence and the help of a surprisingly competent wedding planner, the months passed like petals falling from a tree: softly, quickly, too beautifully to hold onto.

they settled on march 28. it gave them just enough time to breathe, to build, to dream together.

from the moment they told everyone—first their friends, then their families, and finally, in a hilariously formal email, the entire company—the whirlwind began. the announcement caused a stir so loud in the office that y/n had to leave her desk just to get some peace.

the directivos were equally shocked, though mostly amused. her supervisor just nodded sagely, like he’d been betting on this since the beginning.

“you two were always ‘too in sync’,” he said, raising his coffee mug in mock toast. “i give it six months before one of you becomes the other's boss at home too.”

and then came the parents.

jaehyun’s mother cried when she met y/n, tears slipping down her cheeks as she hugged her tight and whispered in korean, “you’re even more beautiful than he said. and i knew he was in love the first time he said your name.”

her own parents, after recovering from the initial shock, became obsessively involved in the planning, sending flower samples, playlist suggestions, and opinions on wedding favors at all hours of the day. but none of it was overwhelming. not with jaehyun there, always pulling her back into calm. always making sure this was their wedding, not anyone else’s.

they chose a venue outside the city—a small vineyard with soft hills, blooming wisteria, and golden light that melted everything it touched. march 28 arrived with the scent of earth and lilac, a warm wind, and the sky so blue it almost hurt to look at.

y/n stood before a mirror in a white gown that made her feel like everything good in the world had been sewn together just for her. she could hear the quiet rustle of guests arriving, the soft music playing in the distance, the laughter of children running between the rows of flowers.

and then, jaehyun.

when she saw him waiting at the altar, dressed in a suit that fit like second skin, with his hair slightly tousled and a look in his eyes that could undo galaxies—she forgot how to breathe.

he mouthed “you’re perfect” as she walked down the aisle.

she mouthed “you’re mine.”

the ceremony was intimate, emotional, wrapped in vows that made everyone cry—even jungwoo, who tried to play it off by pretending he had allergies.

“i promise to protect your dreams as fiercely as my own,” jaehyun said, voice trembling slightly, “and to always make sure your pizza has the right amount of potato crust, even when we’re eighty.”

“i promise to choose you, even on the days we forget how lucky we are,” y/n replied, tears in her eyes. “and to never let the fire between us die, even when we’re old and gray.”

they kissed.

and the world felt new again.

their first dance was under strings of fairy lights, barefoot on the grass. the song was soft, a slow jazz tune that jaehyun had played for her once in the car when she’d been crying. now, with her head against his chest, they swayed like the wind had been made just for them.

“we did it,” she whispered.

“we did,” he said. “and i’d marry you again tomorrow if i could.”

the honeymoon came a few days later. they chose santorini, greece, not for the postcard beauty or luxury, but because y/n had once told him, offhandedly, that she always dreamed of watching the sun melt into the sea from a white rooftop. he remembered.

their suite was perched on a cliff, overlooking the caldera, with white walls and blue domes and windows that opened to eternity. the first night, they sat on the balcony with a bottle of wine, their feet touching, their hands always searching for each other.

they kissed under sunsets and made love under stars. they danced in narrow streets, shared kisses between sips of ouzo, fed each other olives and sweet baklava. they were ridiculous. and in love. and utterly themselves.

“this is the life i want,” y/n whispered one night, tangled in cotton sheets, her cheek against his chest.

“then it’s the life we’ll have,” jaehyun said. “forever.”

and this time, forever didn’t sound like a fairytale.

it sounded like a promise.

three years passed like chapters in a love letter—written slowly, lived fully.

you and jaehyun made a home out of a sleek little apartment tucked into the rhythm of the city. it was all black wood and soft gray, velvet cushions and open windows where sunlight poured in like gold. it wasn’t big, but it held your whole world. your toothbrushes leaned against each other. your shoes tangled by the door. your laughter lived in the walls.

mornings were sleepy and soft—coffee mugs clinking, your legs wrapped around his under the kitchen table, newspaper pages ignored in favor of each other’s eyes. nights were even softer—blankets twisted around you, movie soundtracks playing in the background while your fingers danced across his skin. the kind of love that didn’t need grand gestures—just the warmth of his palm on your thigh and the way he said “come here” like home itself.

but then, one evening, the quiet changed.

you were in the bathroom. pacing. heart in your throat. your phone timer ticked like thunder in the silence. the test rested on the sink, small and still—like it held the weight of the universe. you sat on the edge of the tub, knees pulled up, trying to breathe.

when the timer stopped, you moved like you were underwater. slow. hesitant. scared.

two pink lines.

you stared. blinked. stared again.

your lips parted, the shape of a whisper you couldn’t form. your hands trembled, and for a moment, the whole world tilted—just you and that tiny piece of plastic and everything it now meant.

you stepped out of the bathroom, barefoot, holding the test like it might shatter.

jaehyun was on the couch, lounging with his phone, one leg bent lazily, hair tousled from running his hand through it too many times. he looked up. paused. frowned softly. “baby… what is it?”

you didn’t answer right away. just walked toward him—slow, like the floor might disappear—and placed the test in his hand.

“we’re gonna be parents!!”

the silence cracked. and then—

jaehyun surged forward, arms wrapping around you so tight you gasped. he lifted you off the ground, spinning you around the living room like a kid on christmas morning, laughter bursting from his chest, from yours, from some place deep inside where all the hope had been hiding.

you were both crying. laughing. kissing. saying “we did it!” over and over again like a prayer you never thought you’d get to say out loud. he pressed his forehead to yours, voice shaking, “we’re having a baby.”

“we’re having our baby,” you whispered.

months passed like petals falling from a blooming tree.

you were glowing. exhausted, but glowing.

your blush-pink maternity dress clung gently to your growing belly, printed with tiny white florals that made jaehyun smile every time he saw you in it. your feet were bare, your ankles swollen, your back ached constantly—but he was always there, hands rubbing your spine, lips on your shoulder, whispering, “you’re magic, you know that?”

the nursery was nearly finished—lavender walls painted with care, gold stars twinkling on the ceiling, and a soft mobile that played lullabies like stardust. the crib waited, delicate and perfect, with a plush bunny nestled in the corner.

jaehyun was kneeling by the dresser, sweat on his brow, tongue between his teeth as he finished the final drawer. he looked up, eyes finding you immediately, and god—he looked at you like the whole sky lived inside your smile.

“she’s gonna love this room,” he said, standing to press a hand to your belly. his palm warm. grounding. full of quiet awe. “our little moon.”

you leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “i hope she gets your eyes,” you whispered.

he smiled, eyes soft with wonder. “and your heart,” he murmured. “especially your heart.”

the room went quiet again—except for the soft hum of the mobile spinning slowly above the crib. gold stars turned, catching the light.

and in that moment, just one suspended, breathless moment, everything was still.

you. him. her.

and the love that built it all.

finally. completely.

beautifully yours.

[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend (part three)

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns, sexual themes, fighting (verbal).

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. I do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything!! <3

authors note: idk yall, this kinda ate ngl. I’m so proud of this and I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I did! <3 also I’m sorry to all the Pedro girlies…I had to. 

part three: uninvited

The past few days seemed to drag on slower than you wished they had. The rest of your time in London was spent doing various interviews centered around your upcoming album release and Ashley dragged you around to every possible tourist attraction around. It was all rather mundane- every interview was the same and every attraction too crowded for your liking. You were being a grump but you were tired and anxious. All the hype around your sophomore album delighted you, truly it did, but the doubts always took up more space in your mind than you cared to admit. With this album, you took a lot of inspiration from the pop girlies of the early 2000s, Britney being the biggest influence. You allowed yourself to explore your sexuality and true self. The songs were erotic in the best way and in just a few weeks, everyone would have access to that side of you. The image you’d been portraying wasn’t that of a ‘soft good girl’ per say but you hadn’t been this open and honest before. It was terrifying. 

You landed at LAX around two in the morning, giving you a few hours of sleep before your 11am meeting. This was one of those times you didn’t mind using the perks of your fame. You had a car waiting to pick Ashley and yourself  up to take you straight home, allowing both of you to get some sleep as the driver fought through the airport traffic. The moment you reached your small house, you threw your luggage across the living room and dropped face down into the couch, falling back into a deep sleep with Ashley right next to you. When your alarms go off at nine am, you’re banging your head into the couch cushions, the seven hours of sleep feeling like a blink. You roll slightly allowing yourself to fall the short distance from the couch onto the floor. “Ow…” You mumble, rubbing the back of your head. Dragging yourself up, you sluggishly made your way to the bathroom to take a quick shower. It was something you should have done last night. Just thinking about all the germs sitting on your body right now made a quick chill of disgust roll down your spine. You heavily disliked sleeping in your ‘outside clothes’ but the tiredness beat the cleanliness last night. 

Sweat pants and a hoodie weren’t exactly meeting appropriate but it wasn’t anything serious, just a little gathering to figure out some last minute details for the album listening party being thrown for your friends and family. You didn’t want it to be a huge deal but your label saw it as a marketing opportunity. If it were up to you, it would be a simple get together at your house but they insisted on it being at some club that would have paparazzi waiting to take pictures. You aren’t even sure why you're needed at the meeting because your input wasn’t even being considered, you just sat and gave the ‘stamp of approval’. Ashley was still knocked out when you walked to your kitchen to grab a small breakfast- a protein yogurt and some apple slices. You’d much prefer french toast but your trainer has been onto you about your diet with a tour coming up. You needed to be in good shape to dance and sing at the same time, it was ridiculous how hard it was. 

“Hey Ash, imma head out, i’ll be back soon.” You shake her shoulder lighty. She opens her eyes to some degree and mutters, what sounded like, an ‘okay’. You sighed as you started the engine to your 2000 green Toyota Corolla. It had been making a funny noise before your trip overseas that you had forgotten all about it. A lot of your newer, richer, friends have made fun of your car but you couldn’t find reason to part with it. It still ran and got you where you needed to be. You loved your fugly little car. The car ride was surprisingly short, traffic light. Pulling into the office parking lot, you sent a quick text to Stacy. 

You: please tell me you’re here already 😭

Stacypoo <33: I am. 4th floor, take a right. I’ll wait in the hall for you. 

You sent a thumbs up and made your way to the front doors. The elevator ride was quick, luckily you were the only one in there, saving you from making any awkward small talk with some random person. You were too tired to keep up your friendly demeanor. Stacy was standing outside of an office door when you first saw her. Giving quick hellos, she motioned you into the room. 

“How long do you think they’ll have us sitting here this time?” You ask jokingly. You’ve made yourself as comfortable as possible in the cheap plastic chair with a thin cushion on the seat. With your elbows propped up on the table, your head sat heavy with both hands holding up your cheeks. 

She lets out a snort before responding. “Who knows. I swear these people make us wait on purpose as some kind of power move.” 

Stacy had left London a day before you had. The moment your last interview was over, she was jumping on the first flight back home. She looked well rested and put together. You envied her ability to bounce back into routine so quickly. The two of you filled the small room with back and forth conversation about the day in London she had missed. Three people from your management/ label came tumbling in fifteen minutes later. As you suspected, you were doing a whole lot of nothing. 

“The team we hired are allowed to go into the club at noon to start decorating and the party will start at 10pm.” One of the people spoke, you think his name is Mark, but you aren’t completely sure. 

“Will y/n need to be there at a certain time or is 10 fine?” Stacy asks. 

“She can show up at ten but she won’t be in the main room until 10:30 so she can give a speech and introduce the album.” Stacy gives a nod and types that into her laptop. You didn’t like the idea of giving a speech. 

“Okay, let's go over the guest list one more time and then we can wrap this up.” Mark, you think, says. You’re paying closer attention now, they hand you a list and you skim it. There's a lot of names of people who you consider more of an acquaintance than a friend but you can’t really uninvite them. 

“Um, can I actually add two more people to this list?” You ask and Mark nods. Stacy is giving you a questioning look. 

“Can you add Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman? I um.. I met them the other day and they said they were fans. It would be cool to have them there.” You smile and from the corner of your eye, you can see Stacy pursing her lips, trying to hold back a laugh. One of the other people in the room, not Mark, adds their names to the guest list. Stacy and Mark talk for a few more minutes before the meeting is coming to a close. Once Stacy and yourself are enclosed in the elevator, she’s looking over at you with a lopsided grin, shaking her head slowly. 

“What?” You give her a small chuckle, feeling extra giddy. 

“You're unbelievable. Why even extend the invite to Mr. Reynolds when all you want is to see Huge Jackman.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at the play on Hugh’s name. 

“So not true. They like my music, why not invite them to hear the album before anyone else?” You deny her accusations. 

“Whatever you say y/n.” She drags out the ‘ever’ a little too long to emphasize just how much she doesn’t believe a word you say. The elevator is opening and the walk to the parking lot is silent. Stacy bids you goodbye and says that she would be in touch soon before she’s walking away. 

“Wait! Stacy!” You call out to her and she’s turning back to you.  “I need you to track down Hugh’s number, I want to personally invite him.” You smirk and she’s just shaking her head in a joking manner. 

“Byeee Stacypoooo!” 

—

When you got home, Ashley was awake and watching tv on your couch. You sat with her and talked about everything you had learned at the meeting. She was more excited for the event than you were, it was her type of scene. You knew you'd end up having fun once you were there but you were nervous. You might have left out the fact that you had invited Ryan and Hugh as last minute guests- it was something she could find out the day of if they showed up. She left not too long after, leaving you to pick up your home a little bit. You cleaned it pretty thoroughly before leaving the country but you felt a little overwhelmed by the unpacked luggage that sat in the middle of your living room floor. You packed too much clothing for the short trip, a lot of what was in the suitcase never even got worn. You decided to throw it all in the washer anyway. Dirtys clothes touching clean clothes makes them all dirty in your mind. In the middle of moving your laundry into the washing machine, your phone quacked signaling that Stacy had messaged you. She earned her own notification sound after the endless mixed texts and calls over the first few months of her working for you. It was a terrible habit you had, not answering your phone, but you usually paid attention to it when you were expecting contact. You pressed start on the machine and sauntered over to the kitchen counter your phone sat on. 

Stacypoo <33: the deed is done…have fun loser 

There was a second text that contained a number to which you assumed was Hugh’s. You smiled brightly as you texted Stacy a quick ‘thank you, love you’ text with a million heart emojis. You wasted no time, immediately creating contact for the man you were so eager to see again. 

You: hey hugh, it’s y/n! my label is throwing a listening party for my album that’s coming out soon and I thought it would be really cool if you were there. no pressure to come if you don’t want to but it’s on september 14th at Disco Lights at 10pm. 😊💕

You hit send, put your phone back on the counter, and ran across your house, needing to be as far away from the device as possible. Keeping yourself busy was probably your best option right now, so that’s what you did. You continued where you left off by putting your suitcases back into the storage closet in your hallway. Living alone made you realize how neat of a person you were. Back home it felt like you were constantly cleaning but you didn’t have to do as much in your own home. It was a simple three bedroom with one and a half bathrooms. Two of the three rooms weren’t used that frequently- one being a guest bed and the other being an at home studio/ office. The most you had to do was an occasional dust and sweep. You ran out of things to do too quickly. It had maybe been an hour since you sent the text and you were too nervous to even take a peek at your phone yet. You walked over to the counter comically slow and stared down at the phone screen, too afraid to look at the notifications. There were only three outcomes to this situation- one he doesn’t respond, two he can’t come, or three he agrees to come. You were hoping it was the latter option. The worst outcome was him ignoring you, you hated being ignored. It would also overall be the awkwardest outcome because his team will more than likely extend the invite to him as well. Maybe it would have been easier that way but you really wanted an excuse to get his number and talk to him. 

It felt like eternity had passed before you finally grabbed your phone, but in reality it was probably only a minute, you’ve never had the best self restraint. You unlocked it, opening the home screen, not even bothering to look at the pile of notifications, instead opting to go straight into the message app. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Hey y/n. I’d be delighted to come. 😁

You let out a loud screech after reading the message. If you were laying down, you’d be kicking your feet in the air and twirling your hair. You knew he was old but the way he texted did something to you. It was weird but the simplicity in his words was such a turn on. Everything about him turned you on, he was sex on legs, and he was coming to your party. You checked the time he sent the message to see that he responded only ten minutes after you had sent yours. You felt bad for leaving him hanging for so long. 

You: YAY!! I’ll see you there 😘

The added kiss was bold and flirty, you’d hope he would see it as such. You wanted to continue texting him but didn’t want to bother him, so you left it up for him to decide to text you back or not. Just as you were about to swipe out of the app, three little dots popped up at the bottom of the screen. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: What should I wear? I haven’t been to a club in awhile. 

You: wear whatever you want. I'm sure you’d look good in anything ;)

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Thank you sweetheart. I genuinely do need help though. I’m too old to pick out club clothes. 😂

You: hmmm.. if it would help I could send you a picture of my outfit? maybe it will inspire you 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Yeah we can try that. 

Ashley begged you to go shopping with her the moment you told her about the event and you both have had outfits picked out for a few weeks. When you got home that day, you put on the outfit, snapping a quick mirror picture to send to your hair and makeup artist so she could start brainstorming. You opted to send the same picture to Hugh. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Oh! That’s nice. 

You laughed at that. The picture of you wasn’t the best quality but you still looked hot. You were wearing a silver mini skirt that was lined with large sequins, ones that reminded you of a purse you had when you were younger. The top was a silver latex halter top that made your cleavage look devine. To top the look off, you wore a pair of shiny silver heels that could almost be classified as stilettos, but you wanted to be able to move around comfortably. You could have easily pulled the outfit out of your closet and snapped a picture of it but you wanted to tease him.

You: thank you! did that help at all? 😊

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Yeah, it did... Thank you sweetheart. 

You: no problem! 

He didn’t respond right away this time and being the menace you are, you were hoping it was because you made him flustered. 

—

The two and half weeks leading up to the listening party seemed to drag on now that you were more excited for it. Now that Hugh was coming, you were also extra nervous. While you got your hair and makeup done, all you could think about was how everyone was about to hear about your sex fantasies for almost an hour straight. You were counting on the beat of the music and the fact that this was everyone's first listening to distract them from processing the lyrics right away. You hadn’t heard much from Hugh and you were scared that you might have offended him with the picture you had sent. You decided to send a text two days ago asking if he was still planning on coming, to which he replied positively. 

Butterflies danced around your tummy as you posed for a few pictures before you went out to join the party. You could hear it in full swing, a playlist that you had curated playing in the background. Breathing in and out slowly, someone handed you a microphone and you were being ushered to a small stage that sat in the back of the club. The music got turned down and the lights centered towards you, a wave of quiet flooded the room. 

“Hi everyone! I’m beyond thankful for everyone here tonight. This album has been so much fun to make and I feel like it really represents me as an artist. It pays tribute to the amazing women of the late 90s and early 2000s who changed the pop game and who inspired me to make music. I really hope y’all like it! Without further ado, here is ‘Secret Sounds’!” The gathering of your friends, family, and acquaintances cheer as the first song starts to play. You rush over to the side to hand the mic back to the crew member and you begin to make your rounds. You stop here and there, speaking to people you hardly know, thanking them for being here. The club was packed, making it hard to move around without stopping to talk every step you took. There were only a few people you really wanted to see right now. A smile is glued to your face, soaking in all the love in the room, with it only being partially forced. You can see Ashley across the crowd and you start making your way towards her. You don’t make it far before there's a hand on your shoulder stopping you. 

“Hey baby.” A familiar voice comes from behind you causing your smile to drop as you turn around. 

“Pedro…what are you doing here?” You ask with a mix of shock and irritation in your voice. 

“You invited me, remember?” He’s smiling as if he hadn’t broken up with you in the cruelest way almost two months ago. 

“I thought you’d be smart enough to take the breakup and me ignoring you as being uninvited.” You roll your eyes. 

“Don’t be like that baby.” He’s smiling down at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes. He reaches down to grab your waist but you step back before he can. 

“Don’t touch me!” You say louder than anticipated but no one’s paying attention to you over the loud music. “You broke up with me, remember?” You’re thoroughly pissed off. 

“I know, baby and  I regret it everyday. I want you back y/n. I need you back…” He’s reaching for you again, you step back again. 

“I said don’t touch me..” You don’t yell this time. You need to get away from him. This was supposed to be your night and he’s ruining it. You go to turn around but you’re stopped by a very hard object.

“Is everything okay over here?” A gruff voice asks and you feel two hands grab either side of your arms. “Are you okay?” You look up to see Hugh looking down at you, concern in his eyes. 

“Hugh..” Your voice is weak and breathless. 

“Oh don’t tell me you already moved on?” Pedro lets out, anger lining his words. “What is he, your boyfriend? I wasn’t old enough for you y/n? You had to run and fuck my friend?” His voice grows louder and louder but miraculously no one seems to notice the commotion. 

“He’s not my boyfriend…” You mumble, too embarrassed by the situation. 

“What’s it to you? Huh? Why don’t you mind your business and leave.” Hugh’s voice matches Pedro’s energy effortlessly. He lets go of your arms and instead points an angry finger at Pedro. 

“You know what, I don't need this and I don’t need you.” Pedro says looking into your eyes with a malicious stare. “Good luck with her, she’s nothing but a good fuck and trouble.” He’s walking away before either of you could answer. You felt Hugh go to move towards the directions Pedro went but you stop him by putting your hand on his chest. 

“Don’t…” You whisper and you weren’t sure if he could hear you over the music. Tears were starting to pool at the bottom of your eyes, threatening to escape. 

“Are you okay y/n?” Hugh asks and that’s all it takes before you let out a soft sob. He puts his hand under your chin and is lifting your head. “Let's get you out of here, is that okay?” All you can do is nod. You grab his hand and walk towards the hallway that leads to the room you got ready in. You open the door and make your way to the couch that sits along the wall. Hugh follows behind, closing the door and takes a seat close to you but not too close. He doesn’t say anything, what could he say?

“I’m sorry.” You let out, tears still falling. You pull your knees up, trying to hide the tears from Hugh, even if he already knew they were there. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.” He cautiously places a hand on your back and rubs it in soft circles, soothing you. You untuck your head for a moment. 

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” You frown at him. 

“What he did is not your fault. Okay?” You can’t find the energy to answer him right away, not sure if you truly believe his words, but you nod anyway. 

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come.” Sadness fills your voice.

“What? Why not?” He asks confusingly. 

“Everyone is going to think what Pedro thought, that you’re my boyfriend. We shouldn’t be seen together. It won’t be good for you.” 

“Hey, don’t think like that sweetheart. Whatever we are is our business, nobody else's. I want to be seen with you, I'm here to support you. I don’t care what people have to say. I’m not him.” His hand stopped moving around your back, eyes filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

I’m not him

You don’t respond but you do feel better about the whole situation. You can hear the fourth song of your album playing and you get hit with another rush of sadness. 

“I should probably go back out there, people will start to wonder where I am.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. 

“Let's get you cleaned up. Stay right here.” Hugh stands up and grabs a tissue, wetting it slightly by pouring a few drops of water from a water bottle onto it. He walks over and bends down, sitting on his knees right in front of you. Even at this angle, his head is still resting above yours. Hugh grabs your chin lightly and begins to dab the tissue, wiping your tears away. You can feel the heat from the air leaving his nose hitting your face. It’s comforting in a way.

“There we go, good as new.” He says with a big smile. Your faces are inches away from each other and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull him in. 

“Thank you Hugh. For everything.” You return his smile, eyes locked onto his. You took a moment to appreciate his appearance. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a gray, almost silver button up, as if he tried to match with you. 

“Don’t mention it sweetheart” He stands up and offers his hand to you. “Now let’s get the star of the show back out there, yea?” 

You grab his hand and smile. “Do I look okay?” You ask, afraid that your disheveled state might have ruined your hair or outfit somehow. You pull him towards a mirror to check your full appearance, a firm grip still on his hand. It engulfed yours beautifully. 

“You look gorgeous.” You can tell he means it by the look in his eyes and the small smile that sits on his face. You see a flicker of something in his eyes, you don't fully catch it, but before you can think it over, he’s leaning down to leave a soft kiss on the crown of your head. 

“Let’s go.” He says pulling you out of the room and back into the sea of people, never letting go of your hand.

Thank you for reading!!

part four

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[vintagetvstars]

Leonard Nimoy Vs. Avery Brooks

Propaganda

Leonard Nimoy - (Star Trek, Mission: Impossible) - actor, director, musician, writer, photographer and mensch whose hotness as spock CHANGED THE WORLD

Avery Brooks - (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Spenser: For Hire) - ben sisko absolute all time tv dilf and have you heard him SPEAK... the stage background absolutely shows and it truly makes him a standout in a legacy franchise *full* of incredibly talented people. also frankly top 3 all time sexy bald guy

- No Negative Propaganda Please -

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

Leonard Nimoy:

This is the Spock website, come on

its leonard nimoy......

Avery Brooks:

Avery is a certified TV sci-fi hottie as Benjamin Sisko in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. The first black star trek Captain, he also negotiated his signature look - the bald head and goatee - against haters who thought a Captain should always be clean-shaven. Thank God for that, because he looks devastatingly hot in a a goatee (a phrase never before uttered). He went on to direct several episodes of DS9, use his pleasant voice to record music and multiple host documentaries, and mostly retire from acting to teach as a professor.

TW: Flashing Lights

with that wonderful stentorian baritone voice he could move from intimidating commander to gentle and compassionate space dad...benjamin sisko is a man of many qualities, thoughtful, morally complex, understatedly hilarious, a lil unhinged, really really excited about baseball, and avery brooks never fails to breathe life, depth and dimension into the character and also did i mention his voice. fun fact he was a professor of theater arts at rutgers while filming deep space nine and would occasionally teach classes via vhs tapes recorded on set, complete with starfleet uniform. he also directed a number of ds9 episodes including notable ones like "rejoined" and "far beyond the stars", and performed many of his own stunts as sisko. stunt coordinator dennis madalone said, "of all the stars that I've worked with on all the Star Treks, and all the other shows that I've been on other than Star Trek, I've never seen an actor so physically capable of just doing everything...every time I'd bring in a stunt double, he'd be angry, sitting on a bench, because Avery was doing so great." he's also a distinguished stage actor and an accomplished musician and singer who's performed everything from jazz to opera. science has yet to discover whether there's anything this man can't do.

[live-laugh-lenney]

LOCKED IN | ARTHUR FREDERICK

chapter two is all yours! a bit of a messy chapter to squeeze a lot in but i'm happy to get it out! so much love from chapter one and i'm so glad you're enjoying it so far. feedback is always welcomed and my inbox is always open so please, please, please don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts on the story. enjoy! <33

CHAPTER ONE

- C H A P T E R T W O -

YN was tired.

Oh boy, was she tired.

She knew that being in a bed that wasn’t her own, that didn’t have her knitted blanket or had the indent of her body arching the mattress or her multiple stuffed teddies that all held such sentimental value, was going to be a struggle. And she knew it was going to be tough for the first night, and maybe the second, but it was something she knew that she would overcome as the days went on… she was a grown woman after all. 

As her eyes opened and adjusted to the brightness of the natural light slipping through the gaps in the blinds of the window, she felt the stiffness of her back upon the mattress and the curled up position she’d found herself in clearly hadn’t been the most ideal position to fall asleep in but she felt safe, almost, as she closed her limbs in upon herself and closed herself off to the world. A way to protect herself in a foreign building. 

She craned her neck up and took a glance around the room to see if she was the first one to wake up - but when she met the eyes of Anisa in the far corner of the bedroom, she grinned tiredly and waved half-heartedly, being quiet enough to not wake any of those who were still deep in their slumber. Johnny. Jemel. Jamie. Their bodies still forming human-shaped lumps under their covers, all still upon their mattresses with their eyes closed, breathing slowly as they enjoyed their last few minutes of peaceful sleep before the day tore them away from the comforts of serenity. She panned her vision over the row of beds before her, seeing empty and unmade beds, taking a guess that they had either decided to take a proper look around the house now that it was morning and a brand-new day or had either chosen to get ready for the day. Looking to her left, Anastasia had clearly risen for the day because her bed was empty and made up for when she was ready to clamber back at the end of the day… but to her right, Arthur was in the midst of waking up himself. A tired and crooked smile on his mouth once he made eye contact with YN.

“Good morning,” he greeted her, “did you sleep okay?”

“Eh, so-so,” she hummed, stretching her arms up and curling her fingertips into her palms, feeling the air between her bones crack from movement and, truthfully, she would have been lying if she didn’t find the sound (and the feeling) quite satisfying, “just strange not being in the sanctum of my own bedroom. Being in my own bed. Sharing a space with nine other people is still a bit weird for me.”

“Yeah, it’s a strange concept,” he nodded in agreement, leaning up on the palms of his hands and sitting up, leaning against the headboard and smushing the pillow between his back and the fabric of the headboard behind him; his bare torso which her eyes dropped down to when the duvet had slipped from his upper body, revealing a small indication that he was, in fact, well kept and looked after himself. Cheeks flushing but her vision almost immediately diverted back to his face. “Jokeman snores, too. In fact, so many people snore. More than I thought there would be.”

YN snorted in amusement and propped herself up, a little more upright, against her own headboard. 

The snoring was something she could handle.

Days before she entered the house and moments before she thought too in depth about the possibility of anything bad happening, she’d already guessed at the high likelihood that a handful of those in the group of ten were those that snored in their sleep… or talked in their sleep… it wasn’t going to be smooth-sailing each night with peace and tranquility. She wasn’t that much of a light sleeper so bumps in the night and noises, that could scare anyone awake, never seemed to phase her or rip her from her slumber so she knew she’d have been fine dealing with the sounds that came with nighttime.

Moments before she lulled off into her sleep, she’d heard footsteps quietly creeping down the alley of the columns of beds. Followed by a few hushed voices, the muffled laughter and then gentle giggles of those who slipped out of the room because they weren’t quite ready to call it a night and didn’t want to keep anyone else from getting some well-earned sleep themselves, and she probably would have joined them if her eyeballs hadn’t felt like they’d been slit with the edges of paper. Aching and almost crying to have a rest, almost watering at the mere temptation of laying down, barely able to open back up once they’d closed for the night. 

“I was exhausted,” she sighed and dug the palms of her hands into her eyes, “once my head hit that pillow and my eyes closed and I fell asleep, there was no way I was waking up. Which is weird because I felt like I was up almost every other hour to change sleeping positions.”

“I’m such a light sleeper so any noise kept me awake,” he frowned, eyebrows furrowing on his browline, “it sucks really. Hoping it gets a bit easier to deal with, to be honest. It’s all brand new when you’ve never really slept in the same room with anyone else for a while.”

“It’s like a huge sleepover,” YN gushed, the smile on her lips widening, “I love sleepovers.”

“We should definitely plan a sleepover outside of this place when it's all over,” he suggested, eyes widening when he’d realised just what he had suggested, stumbling over his words as he tried to find a way to dig himself out of the hole he’d plopped himself into, “obviously, with everyone else. Like a reunion kind of thing once this is all over.”

“That would be amazing,” YN agreed.

“I, too, think that would be amazing,” Jemel chimed in from his bed, having rolled over to see who he had woken up with, “good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Morning, Jemel.”

Both came out simultaneously, almost drowning the other out, the bedroom falling into a silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable as everyone seemingly kept to themselves as they prepared for the day ahead. Sheets were rustling as others roused from their slumbers, announcing themselves with gentle greetings and waves before rubbing the sleep from their eyes, taking in the room now they’d spent the night there. How clothes had been chucked on the floor, shoes left strewn across the galley between the beds, how people had already made themselves at home. 

“I’m gonna start getting myself ready for the day otherwise I will stay in this bed all day,” YN stated, preparing for the chill in the air to hit at her bare legs showing from the cycling shorts she’d chosen as her sleeping attire for her time in there, “I almost have dread in my stomach for what they have in store for us today.”

She internally groaned as she kicked the duvet from her body and twisted around, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, toes touching the ground as she stood to her feet. 

“Hopefully something fun,” Arthur said, “I can't imagine they’ll be too harsh and throw us in the deep end from the first day.”

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YN nursed the cup of tea in her hands, bringing the rim to her lips and taking a sip of the warm liquid, letting it slide down her throat and feeling it warm her up ever so slightly more than before. Legs swinging from the stool she was perched upon at the island counter in the middle of he room, watching Spuddz and Steph flit around the kitchen as they dried up the dirty plates and cutlery from those that had just eaten breakfast not too long ago; YN being one of those who had scoffed down a plate of scrambled eggs on toast, smothered in tomato ketchup, and covered in salt and pepper. Her favourite way to demolish a meal at breakfast.

She saw a pair of male legs trot down the stairs, bare feet padding down the wooden steps, and she hadn’t a clue who it was until they reached the lower floor of the house, thinking they must have been feeling brave to step foot on the cold kitchen tiles. 

Arthur. 

A white towel wrapped around his sodden lower half and hanging low on his hips, water still trickling down his shoulders and down to his elbows from the wet hair at the nape of his neck, hair swept to the side and showing more of his forehead that he’d keep hidden behind a fringe when it was dry and styled how he liked it to look. 

She wasn’t looking but… she was looking. 

Respectfully.

He hadn’t seen her sat at the kitchen island, briskly walking past in a haste to get somewhere more private to get himself dressed, and she was thankful he didn’t lock eyes and notice her as she watched him walk through the kitchen - she knew the cameras would have picked that up and she knew those at home would have picked up how her demeanour had changed. Maybe not the way her face deadpanned to the naked chest before her. Maybe not the missed breath that caught in her throat and almost caused her to choke on her cup of tea. Maybe not the skip of her heart that she felt happen behind her chest, that she was surprised was still intact after the heavy thumping of her heart muscle. But she knew the cameras would have picked up that moment, itself, and that was enough for people to pick apart. 

She would have wanted the ground to swallow her whole if she made eye contact with his brown eyes… but would she have regretted getting caught? She’d be lying if she said yes. 

“What do you reckon the plans are for the day?”

Steph tore YN from the distant gaze she had fallen into, sitting beside her with her own cup of tea, the stool twirling on its spot as she set her legs beneath the countertop. The sleeves of her long-sleeved bodysuit damp from the water in the kitchen sink but she didn’t seem to care at the uncomfortable feeling it must have emitted. 

“Something fun,” YN hummed, setting her mug down on the coaster before her and clasping her hands together, resting them on her thighs, “given what last year was like, they’re gonna keep us on our toes. For sure.”

“You reckon? I was hoping for a day full of getting to know one another,” Steph laughed into her cup, placing the rim against her bottom lip and taking a good sip of her tea, or coffee; YN couldn’t figure it out, “no, definitely something fun. We’re a fun bunch already, I can tell. So I hope they give us a challenge that gets us all laughing.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Silence followed.

In the distance, you could hear the chaos unfold from the bellowing laughter and the shouting that bounced around the walls and, usually, she’d had been out of her seat to find out what the commotion was all about… being nosey; a flaw that she’d say she hated about herself but she just couldn’t help wanting to be a part of everything happening around her. Especially if it was something they’d be speaking about throughout the day, referring back to with inside jokes, insisting it was the ‘funniest thing to have witnessed’. 

Except she was content sitting with Steph as she gave an aura that felt comforting, like they could sit together without needing to speak, and they’d still have a lovely time together.

“You’re looking real cute today,” Steph admitted, “that activewear co-ord is a must buy when I’m out of this place.”

“You think so? I figured we never really know what’s gonna happen in this place so it’s always good to go practical but also comfy,” YN stated, looking down at the shorts adorning her legs, enough to show off a little thigh but not too scandalous enough to show anything more, and a matching jumper sitting loose and baggy on her upper body that hid her curves away from the cameras and felt too soft to take off, “comfy and casual.”

“And gorgeous,” she winked, sliding off her chair and holding out her hand in YN’s direction, wiggling her fingers and awaiting the warmth of her hand before pulling her from the stool she was perched upon, “come on, let's go and sit with the others on the sofas. Feel like we’re missing all the good stuff going on in there.”

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Time to herself.

YN found that was something that she was going to lack having in a house full of ten people for the next two weeks. 

She lived alone back in London so she was used to her own company in her own living space, she was used to being alone with her own thoughts, and she was used to talking to herself (and sometimes answering herself), so it felt weird not being able to enter a room and be by herself for just a couple of minutes. She loved being around other people, she loved her friends, and she loved the conversation that came with being around more people but she thrived more by being by herself; she could get more done, she felt productive, she could think about things in more depth and she could enjoy the peace and quiet that she gave herself. She knew she was throwing that away once she agreed to be a part of the show during this season and she thought she’d have been okay… but she was struggling being a people-person when she really wasn’t, not one hundred percent.

Anytime the group came together and she saw it as an open opportunity to dash away and hide, she took it… 

… and right now, that solace space was the make-up area outside the bathroom. 

Where everyone had taken refuge in the downstairs lounge area, she had dipped away and disappeared up the stairs for a moment where she didn’t need to talk about her life or how she expected the rest of her time in the house to go. Using the excuse of needing to use the toilet so no one would follow her, not that it would have bothered her if someone wanted to check on her and make sure she was okay, in hopes she could have a ten minute break to recuperate with herself and herself only. 

“You didn’t do any of that in the bathroom, did you? Did you do your make-up before you went in there?”

“What?”

A weird question, YN thought. Random and completely out of the blue, unsure as to why he’d even need to ask that question as well as to why he did ask the question. And his presence along with the sound of his footsteps jogging up the stairs, her name rolling off his tongue, and the break in the quiet had startled her because he wasn’t the first person on her list that she expected to come and find her. Although, in the pits of her stomach, there was a butterfly that tickled at her insides once she looked at him..

She stopped applying the lipgloss to her lips so she could reply to the question Arthur had shot in her direction, his figure coming to a halt in the open doorway of the bathroom, hands hesitant to touch anything that she may have touched with her fingertips.

“Your make-up. Did you do it before you went into the bathroom?”

“No, I just came out of there. I’m just applying a touch-up now. Why?”

“I’m just, I’m highly allergic to make-up. Something to do with the ingredients. I’m allergic to almost all of it, weirdly. I don’t know what specifically but whenever I’ve been with a girl who was wearing make-up, I would come out in hives and get rashes across my neck so I really don’t want a flare up to happen on camera,” he waffled on, nervously laughing as he lingered in front of the door, “I’m severely allergic.”

“Well, I won’t be giving you a kiss then,” YN teased softly, her face brightening with a deep pink shade that kept creeping across the expanse of her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose, “just in case.”

His own cheeks started heating up. Flirting or… banter? He was unsure, as someone who was terrible at reading social cues, but whatever it was and whatever made them feel so comfortable around each other, he felt okay with whatever was happening. 

“No, seriously, did you apply it just now? Because I’m allergic to so much stuff in it. If I touch it, I’m in need of medical assistance straight away.”

“I’m just using lipgloss, no powders or anything. Just touching up,” she told him, “I promise. I’ve not touched it. You’re safe to go in.”

“You’re serious?”

“I’m a hundred percent serious. I never touched anything but this lipgloss,” YN admitted, holding her hands up in the air, “you can trust me, Arthur. I wouldn’t lie about something this serious. I’d be made a villain if I did that to you.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and she looked at her appearance in the mirror and, through the reflection, her eyes dipped to the cotton-wool pads sitting in a packet on a stool behind her. 

Maybe she could go make-up less for the rest of the day… 

… yet Arthur felt terrible.

With a secret challenge being given to him that morning, of lying to his fellow housemates throughout the day for bonus points, he had dread sitting low in his stomach that made him nervous to think about let alone attempt a little white lie. Given that the majority of the people around him didn’t know much about him privately, he knew that he could spew a lot of make-believe in their direction and insist it was the truth. His only query was whether he was believable enough for them to not question anything about it. 

“Thank you,” his voice echoed from the bathroom, muffled by the closed door that hid away his privacy, and she smiled softly at the sincerity of his voice. A cotton-wool pad soaked in make-up remover collecting the foundation and the concealer that was coating her cheeks, smearing moisture across her skin that she used a dry pad to soak it up, “the last thing I wanted to do was scare you with a reaction on the second day.”

“Yeah, I’d have walked out if that happened,” she admitted, “moved country, changed my name, deleted myself off the internet and gaslighted people into believing I never existed. One mention of myself and I’d deny everything,” she diverted her attention from her reflection in the mirror and to the man standing in the doorway of the bathroom, “seriously.”

“I’d still come and find you.”

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The last hour was playing on her mind.

Arthur’s admission confused her; she hadn’t felt a lot of them in the house were at the stage where they were sharing facts and secrets so private and so confidential about themselves that no one really needed to know about them. She thought it was sweet, because he felt comfortable enough to tell her bits about his life that he’d never shared with anyone before, but she also thought it to be inessential. 

And in a daze, zoning out and forgetting where she was, with her eyes focusing on the far distance of the garden where the sun kissed the grass where the grass met the fence guarding the perimeter of the house, completely unaware of what was happening around her and how everyone was treating the moment as a karaoke session. The chill in the air was bitter and it covered her exposed skin in goosebumps, her legs still bare as she’d not yet changed from the shorts she’d worn for breakfast that morning, the jumper being the only article of clothing to give her a sense of warmth.

“Grant my last request and just let me hold you..”

She situated herself on the padded garden chair she found herself on, listening to the chorus of voices singing Paolo Nutini before her, all in different pitches and octaves and it sounded like a complete mess yet she couldn’t help but join in.  

“Lay down beside me..”

She found herself swaying beside Johnny with mirrored movements, hands following in suit, and their small chorus came to a quick end once Arthur had stepped foot out the patio doors with a football, gaining interest from the boys who she was sat with, involuntarily positioning themselves in a semi-circle so they could kick and pass the ball amongst themselves.  

“I was saying to these guys here,” Arthur started, looking to his left and indicating to Anisa and Anastasia, juggling the football between his hands as he stood before everyone in the huddle they’d all chosen to stand in, “you know that I do reaction and commentary videos? Well, I actually started on a singing channel-”

There’s a chorus of ‘oooh’s and ‘aaah’s that sounded around the group.

“-and I started off doing covers but… this is actually a bit of a sad story, to be fair,” he took a pause and looked around the group before him. All eyes on him as they awaited to hear the next sentence out of his mouth, “I did it for the longest time but the dislike to like ratio was through the roof. My family were literally just like ‘you’ve got to stop, you’re honestly wasting so much of your time, you’ve got to give it up.’”

A chorus of gentle and sympathetic sounds came from various members of the very few of them listening to him, unknowingly frowning like they were part of this story, and he continued without a query.

“Like, I think my family just thought I was so tone deaf that they were like, ‘if we invested money in singing lessons then it would just-’ like, they didn’t want to entertain the full stream of becoming a singing talent on Youtube,” he feigned a smile and nodded slowly, “it hurt. It crushed me.”

“Did you want to pursue it?” 

“Yeah, of course, but they just drummed into me that it wasn’t worth it so I carried on posting them and hoped that over time I’d just get better and better from practising and I’d progress without the need for lessons and such. No need for a tutor or whatever,” Arthur explained, shrugging nonchalantly and chucking the ball to Jamie, who had silently beckoned for the ball in his hands, “I finally realised that maybe it was just not doing well so I stopped. Deleted the channel. Never spoke of it again… until today and I’m hoping it doesn’t come back to bite me on the arse now I’ve brought it up again.”

“The internet is a cruel place sometimes,” Spuddz stated, hums of agreement following suit, “brutal.”

“That I now know,” Arthur gave a tight-lipped and sympathetic smile, “not that anyone has recognised me for it yet or anything.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Arthur and YN to the Store Room.”

As YN stood to her feet, Arthur felt the tug on his wrist from the cold restraint of the handcuffs clipped together, prompting him to stand on his own two feet, following her in suit as they trudged through the bedroom. Their shoes squeaked on the floor beneath them with each step they took, descending the couple of stairs outside the bedroom and entering the store room, closing the door behind them in case Sugarlips went on the topic of gameplans for the challenge they were all partaking in that day.

The handcuffs suddenly felt heavier to her. 

Every so often, throughout the afternoon, YN would forget she was attached to Arthur by their wrists and it would be in moments like that, where they were sitting together and talking about the metal elephants in the room, that she was reminded of the challenge they’d all been set. She enjoyed the feeling of having Arthur close to her side, it gave them more of an opportunity to get to know one another because they had no choice but to talk to each other… and Arthur would very much agree to that. 

“How do you feel having zero points?”

“Sugarlips, I don’t like the assumption in your voice there,” YN playfully frowned at the camera, standing high on the tripod before her and Arthur, “you’re assuming we’re not going to get any points for this challenge.”

“The challenge is almost over. The day, too.”

“We’ve still got time,” Arthur stated, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, “have some faith in us. We’re a dream team.”

“A dream team you are,” Sugarlips said, “everyone is loving you two together.”

“It’s because we bring the content,” YN teased the camera, “we might not be winning but we’re having fun and that’s all that matters. Because it’s not all about winning, it’s about the fun times we had and the friends we made along the way.”

“Great friends,” Arthur grinned widely, lifting their locked-up hands up and sticking out his little finger in hopes that YN would latch hers around it. To which she obeyed. And they shook their hands in a polite way, “see?”

“Friends,” Sugarlips reiterated and a smirk appeared on YN’s lips at the insinuation, her eyes diverting from the camera and to her lap, head dipping down to her chest in an attempt to hide to desire in her eyes that she know would never go ignored, “you’re definitely more friendly than everyone else, Footasylum is loving the attention you’re bringing to the brand.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” YN jeered and, beside her, Arthur gave out a snort in the form of a laugh, “we better be getting some proper recognition for this, Footasylum.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

If there was one thing Arthur found complete comfortability in, it was chess.

Seeing the chessboard in one of the cupboards in the house, he felt a little more at home because it was something he was used to playing on the outside to pass the time or to keep himself busy. 

At home, he had a board set up that he would test out different matches on and play against pretend partners to try and better his approach whenever he did play someone with a good ability to the game. On his phone, he had apps that allowed him to play games against people from all across the globe, some taking their time and allowing him one move a day and some taking just mere minutes before the game was over because it was a challenging game for those who didn’t understand the thought behind each and every move. Whenever he was with his friends, he was testing them on what each piece was and how they could move on the board, explaining what checkmate meant and the easiest ways to win each match they played. It was his hobby outside of work and it brought him immense pleasure in winning every game, an accomplishment in his eyes.

“You’ve been spending a bit of time with YN, haven’t you?” Jemel questioned Arthur, coming to his rest period of his workout and asking almost completely out of the blue, into the silence as Arthur taught Spuddz the rules of chess, “in fact, a lot of time. Not that it’s a bad thing. She’s lovely from what we know of her.”

“It shouldn’t be a bad thing,” Arthur laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he leant back on the beanbag beneath him and watched as Spuddz thought about his next move on the board in the middle of the table between them, “she’s lovely. She looked a bit nervous walking in yesterday and I was just being a nice person, I guess. That’s who I am.”

Jemel smirked at Arthur's admission and Spuddz cackled before making a move with one of his pawns on the board.

“Just give us a go to get to know her,” Spuddz smacked Arthur on the knee closest to him, heat rising up the back of the boy’s neck, “don’t keep her all to yourself.”

“We’re just becoming friends, that’s all,” Arthur held his hands up in admittance, slight panic coursing his veins because he wasn’t searching for love or treating Locked In like a reality TV show based on finding love within the two weeks, and he didn’t want to seem desperate enough and make it seem he was giving his undivided attention to one person, “she’s easy to talk to. And we’ve only been here less than twenty-four hours.”

“It only takes twenty-four hours, buddy,” Spuddz teased him, standing to his feet and playing on the red blush that covered Arthur’s cheeks, “she’s a lovely girl though. Never really heard of her before her name was mentioned in the line-up. She must be new on the scene outside but she’s got something good going for her.”

“She’ll make it on the outside because of how nice she is and how she gels with everyone so quickly,” Jemel said, wrapping his hands around the bar of the weights he was lifting, flexing his arms as he pulled each one close to his chest before releasing the muscles, “she’s definitely going to become a known person from this, regardless of whether she wins or not. I think she’s a gem.”

“Yeah,” Arthur nodded, eyes still attached to the chequerboard on the table, “me too. Besides, we’ve been handcuffed together all afternoon so of course, we’ve spent a lot of time together today.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Jemel said, placing the weights down by his feet and leaning back on the seat of the piece of gym equipment he was perched upon, “to be fair, me and Steph had some in depth conversations today whilst being handcuffed together so I definitely think that challenge was to help us figure out who we’re able to get close to here. Some of us have gelled together really quickly.”

Spuddz and Arthur nodded in agreement, their attention going back to thinking about the moves they could make on the chessboard between them, Arthur’s hand hovering over one of his pieces as he thought carefully about what his next move would allow and whether he could get himself into a position that would give him a pretty good chance at winning.

“It has me excited though,” Spuddz claimed, “like, the next two weeks are going to be great fun getting to know each other and what we’re all truly like.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Why is Arthur on-”

“Arthur, why do you have 4 points?”

“Well,” he laughed and clapped his hands, rubbing them together in a mocking manner, “I was given a secret challenge to do, throughout the day today, where I had to lie to you guys.”

“Lie to us?”

“Arthur-”

“So, I told you guys I started out posting singing covers on a Youtube channel that didn’t take off…” he paused as everyone remembered the conversation from earlier that morning, “yeah, that one was a lie.”

He watched as mouths fell gaped open.

“I also had convinced YN that I was highly allergic to make-up and that I’d swell up really badly if I came in contact with it,” he slowly looked up and made eye contact with YN and she stood there in shock, her eyes widening, “I lied about that. I’m not allergic. If you take a closer look, you’ll see I’ve got a really spotty forehead and I’ve got concealer covering them up…”

“You sneaky git!” She screeched, laughter emitting from the group and she took long strides in his direction and gave his shoulder a smack with her palm, “you really had me worried. I kept thinking I’d accidentally smeared foundation or setting spray on the door handle of the toilet or something and that you were gonna stumble in with a face so swollen up that it could have killed you.”

She frowned and he placed his arm over her shoulder and pulled her into his side, her face disappearing under his arm and into his armpit, hiding the blush that made come over all hot and bothered yet she could feel him laughing, “I’m so sorry.”

“What was the third?” Jemel asked, leaning on the back of the sofa, “you’ve done well so far.”

“So the third was that I had to tell Jamie I was part of an academy as I grew up. I wasn’t. The guy I told you about was just great at football in university, played for the football team, but he didn’t step foot in an academy in Jersey to my knowledge,” he admitted and Jamie just stared at him in shock, “that one wasn’t so difficult to play along with.”

“Nah, but, I actually believed you. I actually believed you,” Jamie stated, “I know you’re from Jersey. I know you play football. I know you’re good at football. I saw you at Clash of Creators, bro.”

“That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I thought, for sure, you’d have caught on,” Arthur laughed, his arm squeezing YN tighter to his side as she stood with her arm wrapped around his waist, “but oh my god, that was so fun. And so worth the four points.”

“You’re a bloody good liar, Arthur Television,” Steph cackled, reaching towards him and squeezing his shoulders, “that was scary good.”

“I studied law for good reason,” Arthur smirked, “it can come in handy sometimes.”

[translatemunson]

can i have a cuddle, please?

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader blurb cw: i believe it can be read as gn!reader, but it was written with a female reader in mind (since i mention reader being smaller than rooster and wearing his clothes); overall fluff, a bit of sadness (but nothing major); lmk if i forgot anything.

You’ve been quiet. Ever since you arrived from your job, you haven't said much. A “hello” when you walked in, a “sure” when Bradley asked if you wanted pizza for dinner, a “thank you” when he served you a slice, and a “be right back” when your best friend called you in the middle of your Footloose rewatch.

He made himself comfortable, because, by the tone of your voice, it was gonna take a while. And he wasn’t gonna finish Footloose without you. So he reached for his phone, laid on the couch — taking the whole thing for himself —, checked the group chat with the Daggers, and started scrolling on social media. Ten minutes went by before you said your goodbyes to your friend, but it took you longer to come back to the living room. He picked up the book he was reading for a few weeks now — something about productivity or whatever coaching talk was there.

At one point, you were back. You looked so small wearing sweatpants and a sweater that was definitely his. Your shoulders were slumped forward, and your face was so blank he was wondering if there was some kind of soulsucking monster wandering around in the dark. It wasn’t like you to be this quiet, this distant.

“Hi, there.” He set the book aside.

“Can I have a cuddle, please?”

“Sure. Let’s make sure you are comfortable,” he said as you reached for him, throwing your legs over his, and laying on top of him. There was enough space for the two of you on the couch, but you still found him more comfortable than any pillow.

Bradley made sure his arms held you steady, one hand resting on your lower back, another one caressing your face. He could hold your weight, your sadness, your silence, because for him, you were everything. His everything. You nestled your head on the curve of his neck, low enough to hear his heartbeat.

“Do you wanna watch something else?” He pulled you closer, adjusting himself under you. Every little movement, and you clinged to his side more and more. “We can play the version where you always say one of the actors looks like me. Hm?”

He tried to get a reply. He gently removed the hair from your face, but your position made it harder for him to see if you’re paying attention.

“Are you asleep, kid?” You hid deeper into his body. “How did you fall asleep so fast? I swear, the only time I pass out this quickly is when I come back from a deployment and all I wanna do is be with you.”

He checked the time, just a little past eight. You looked so comfortable he was afraid the simple motion to move you to the bed would disrupt your peace. “You’re really sleeping, aren’t you?”

Bradley stretched his arm and got hold of his phone. His right hand held you firmly by your waist, feeling you pushing your legs higher. “Wanna go to bed? Make any sound and I’ll take you there.”

You were silent as you’ve been since you got home. He kissed your forehead, and promised “Thirty minutes. After that, I’m waking you up and we are finishing the movie.” He proceeded to spend his time on his phone, texting Nat to check if she knew what caused your bad mood, and then having to deal with the group chat making plans for the weekend. If things stayed the same, he was definitely taking the rain check because you would require his full attention.

“Roo? Bradley?” The words were rolling out of your tongue just like you were leaving a deep state of sleep, slowly.

“Hey.” He pressed his lips on your temple. “Feeling better?”

“A little. What time is it?”

“Nine thirty.”

“Really?” You rubbed your eyes. “Did you—”

“Waiting for you, kid.” He didn’t want to let you go from his reach, but you seemed better after a power cuddle.

You stood up and stretched out your limbs, yawning loudly. Bradley sat down, putting his arms around your middle and resting his chin against you, looking up. “Wanna finish the movie?”

“Yeah, just gonna brush my teeth and get us some blankets.” You ran your fingers through his hair. “Need something?”

“Just for you to feel better.”

“I’ll tell you about it in the morning, ok?”

“Ok.”

Bradley had a feeling you weren’t gonna finish the movie. You came back from your room with blankets and pillows, and you snugged your way into his arms again, covering you both with the biggest blanket. Even if you knew Bradley ran hot, you wanted extra comfort. He pressed play, and while he ran his fingers through your hair, he could tell you were falling asleep again. Slowly rolling into the deep state of resting.

He held the promise you would tell him everything in the morning. He would do anything to make you feel better.

Not much later, he was also asleep on the couch. Footloose playing in the background until the end credits. Somewhere into the night, you woke up, but seeing Bradley peacefully sleeping, you just decided the couch and his body were more comfortable than the bed.

a/n: the people voted, and they shall recieve! small blurb inspired by a tiktok @live-love-be-unique sent me a few weeks ago. i have an ongoing bradley bradshaw x reader fic, it's called death defying acts and you can read it HERE. hope you liked this blurb! i'll post the other blurb/oneshot before the new year! see ya soon

[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 9

Part nine of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: anxiety, panic attack, angst

You could feel the first tickles of a panic attack, heart rate rising, breathing getting a little more difficult and the tell tale pain in your chest like it’s caving in on itself. You knew this gala was going to be a bad idea. 

Snatching another glass from a passing tray, you knocked back the entire thing and looked for your boss. You weren’t getting paid for this and it wasn’t worth the pain in your feet or the way your chest was tightening further. Finding him, you quickly informed him you were leaving and began stumbling towards the door.

Digging through your bag, you yanked out your phone and began ordering an Uber, not looking where you’re going. It’s this trek between your boss and the door where they see you. Or rather, you smacked right into Johnny’s chest, distracted by your phone. 

When you looked up, your eyes narrowed and you dodged around him, beelining for the door. The cool breeze that wafted over your face as you stepped outside helped soothe your overrun nerves, breathing it in and letting it take the rest of the anxiety away. Of course, that didn’t last long when Johnny was calling your name just as your ride pulled up. 

Leaning through the passenger window, you confirmed the ride and the driver before stepping back to get in the back seat. With the door open and a foot inside, Johnny finally caught up to you, gripping the frame of the door. 

“Please, bonnie. We can’t leave, but let us explain later, please,” he pleaded with you and you almost fell into the sea of blue staring at you. “It’s fine, Johnny. Go have fun with your date. I’m sure she’s missing you.” At that, you slipped into the car and tugged the door shut, leaving Johnny standing on the sidewalk with a broken look on his face. 

You weren’t sure why you thought they’d be any different than the rest, you thought to yourself as you fought the urge to sob in this random person’s back seat. Luckily for you, the event had been held close to your home so only ten minutes later you were unlocking your door and bolting all of the locks. 

You all but tore the dress from your body, leaving it in a heap as you stripped off the spanx and strapless bra you’d had to get specifically for said dress. You left all discarded on the floor as you started to turn the tub on for a bath, abandoning the idea when memories of spending time with Kyle flashed through your head. A hot shower it was then as you turned it on and stepped in, washing the hairspray away and the perfume you’d spritzed on your body. 

Hours later, a knock rattled you from your cozy place on the couch. Standing from your nest of blankets and pillows, neck of a bottle of wine still in your hand as you cracked the door open, chains crossing the space.

On the other side stood all four of them, still donning their suits as Price stepped up, the default spokesperson for the team. “Please let us explain.” You wanted to. Really. But you were so tired of being thrown around and used and forgotten. Not this time. “No. It’s-It’s okay, really. I hope you guys have a good life,” you murmured back before shutting the door and locking it again. 

Pressing your back to the door, you took a deep breath before letting the tears flow again. How stupid could I have been? Four gorgeous men wanting anything to do with me? It’s a fucking fantasy. Too good to be true. 

Or was it?

The muse is flowing today, I guess. Have another part! Enjoy!

<- Part 8 Part 10 ->

[kellykadesperate]

#27 please

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” 

The reservation is for five for a reason. Robert hasn’t said anything to Aaron for a reason. He doesn’t want to point out the fact that it’s the time he’s been have tea for the last six years and he isn’t too keen on changing things. 

It all goes wrong when the restaurant says they’ve had to push their booking back until six instead. Aaron says it so casually. He smiles and says they can go and grab a drink somewhere beforehand but Robert feels like his brain just sort of shuts off.

Six is too late. It means they’ll finish eating at around eight. He needs to be home and safe by nine. He knows Aaron though, he’ll want to stroll around and look at the high street for somewhere to get dessert. He’ll offer that. Aaron will be being thoughtful, thinking of Robert’s sweet tooth. 

“Aaron I –” Robert gulps thickly. “I actually don’t feel too great.” He lies. It comes so easily that he feels sick.

Aaron instantly has a hand on Robert’s stomach, another on his side. He runs small circles and Robert feels a little dizzy over the tenderness Aaron can show him so easily now.

“OK, we can go back to mine or – are you going to Vic’s?” Aaron asks. 

There’s too many questions. 

“You can come to mine.” Aaron says easily.

His. The Mill flat. 

Not theirs. That was before this. It was before prison kicked everthing good out of him. 

“We can order something later if you’re up to it. I’ve got painkillers and –”

There’s this fizzy sensation in his head and it won’t stop.

“Just – just leave it Aaron.” Robert pushes Aaron away, his hand goes right into the center of Aaron’s chest and he can’t quite believe what his body is doing but suddenly there’s this space between them.

Aaron looks devastated.

“I’m just trying to –” Robert doesn’t give Aaron the chance to say anything. He can’t hear the fact that Aaron is doing everything he can to make them better, whole and good again. Slower and more perfected this time. 

Robert has trampled all over it.

Later, it’s half seven at night and Vic is still working. Robert has the place to himself and it’s so eerily quiet. 

He hasn’t been alone in a while. Aaron won’t let him. It’s either Aaron draped over him, or Harry knocking his tablet near Robert’s face or Vic talking about The Hide or Matty and Mack talking about the farm.

It’s been a constant. It’s been too much. It’s been everything he’s wanted for years and yet something he is completely unworthy of indulging in like a normal person.

The door goes and it’s Aaron. Robert feels it deep down in his bones.

Aaron always looks a little nervous when there’s silence between them now. He has that same expression on his face when Robert opens the door to him. Robert’s brain suddenly kicks back to all those years ago, Aaron standing there in the dead of night telling him to come home with him. 

The thought makes Robert a little unsteady on his feet.

“I’m sorry.” Robert whispers.

Aaron isn’t angry. That’s another new thing. “How are you feeling?”

“I wasn’t ill.” Robert decides to say. Aaron frowns a little. “I –” He feels like an idiot.

“You can tell me anything.” Aaron says, and yes, Robert knows that’s true in theory. Aaron is everything. He deserves to know everything. It doesn’t make any of this harder though.

When they decided to do this properly, together forever sort of thing now that John was gone and Aaron was in a better place, they agreed that they’d be honest even if it hurt.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Robert says quietly, one last push. He can’t fucking help himself.

Aaron completely ignores the question and storms into the cottage, then he plants himself on the sofa and waits until Robert is in the same room before he looks right at him.

“I love you.” Aaron says.

It takes Robet by surprise. They’ve said it plenty of times since being together again but this feels like telling Robert a certainty he can’t argue against. 

“What happened tonight?” Aaron asks.

Robert sits next to Aaron. “I um. I freaked out.”

“I gathered.”

“The reservation should be for five. We said five. I wanted it to be five.” Robert tries to explain and realises he sounds mad.

Aaron pulls a hand over Robert’s knee. “Oh.” He whispers and Robert watches him understand. He sees the flicker of pain race across Aaron’s face. “That’s – that’s routine right. Prison routine?”

Robert gulps hard. He’s been keeping it up since he got back. It’s not been a big deal until right now.

“I don’t want it to be.” Robert hears the pleading in his voice. “I promise I’m not trying to be difficult.”

Aaron wipes tears from his face and suddenly holds Robert’s face in his hands. He looks sad and yet determined at the same time. “I know that idiot.” He says gently. Then his hands start stroking the sides of Robert’s face.

“Can I try to cook for you tomorrow?” Aaron suddenly asks.

Robert frowns. “I thought you were trying to make me feel better not worse?”

Aaron slaps Robert’s cheek playfully and then pulls his hands over Robert’s. He keeps doing that, Robert has noticed. Aaron can’t stand not holding on to Robert lately. A shed load of denial and longing would do that, Robert suppposes.

“I’d love that.” Robert whispers.

Aaron smiles gently. He looks so beautiful. “Then every night, we can … well we can push it back a bit. See how you do.”

Robert tenses just slightly. 

“It’ll feel weird at first but it’ll be OK.” Aaron insists, starts pawing at Robert's arm and shoulder a little as he speaks.

Robert knows it will be, Aaron’s here with him.

[appleblueberry-pie]

Please 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 do a yandere miles morales scenario if reader runs away from him

Pain Isn't Strong Enough

A/n: I'll get as close as I possibly can to "running" away as I can. If nearly spinting almost counts, then absolutely.

Miles didn't know what went wrong. You two were fine with each other the entire time. You often came over to eat dinner. Paid attention to his jokes. You made jokes back. You seemed comfortable when you came over to his place, and vice-versa seemed comfortable when he pulled up at yours. You stole hoodies from him like he wished for you to do. You often texted and called, and everything. You two had great communication skills, the whole fucking nine. So why....? Why are you not...being you??

He knew something was up when you gave him weird strained smiles all throughout the school day. Only would greet back when you two ran into each other again during passing period, and never said anything past that, especially when you two had physics together. He spoke the whole time. You best understand that he definitely checked up on you. Multiple times.

"...baby, are you okay? You've been kind of....kind of quiet lately. Did you eat? How'd you sleep last night?" "I'm fine. Nothing's wrong. I'm good." You'd say, nodding at him. He'd stare at you for a few seconds. Waiting for your face to crack or anything. But nothing. So he let it go for now.

At the end of the day, he offered to walk you home. He asked every single time you two walked back to your place, and you always told him to stop asking since you both always would go, no matter what happened. "Lemme you home, ma." He mutters it softly like every other time. "No." Miles stopped in his tracks and snapped his head toward you. "No?" He nearly shouts it. The confusion he felt was embedded deep into his voice when he repeated that word. The fact that you felt, he assumed, uncomfortable enough to openly decline him walking you home just rubbed him the wrong way entirely.

But he didn't mean to respond so abruptly. He collected himself as soon as he said it to not alarm you. He gives you a concerned stare, making sure to watch your eyes. "You sure?" He steps closer to you, getting rid of the space that he felt like was separating the two of you. "Yeah. I just want to go home." You made up some phony excuse to get him off of your back, but of course, it didn't work. "Then let me take you." "I just said no. Is it wrong that I don't want you to come with me this time?" You slip on your wording, wanting it to sound nicer to not be suspicious. And it just left Miles with more questions.

The undertones on your phrasing made him frown. He stays silent and you regret opening your mouth for every second he doesn't respond. You avoid his gaze, staring down your designated block. "No. Go 'head. My mom prolly need help with the chores anyway. I'll see you later, Mi Corazon." He softly whispers the nickname to you, pecking your cheek. You cheese every time he does it. Giving that laugh he loves and saying that you love him back. Now, you don't even flinch, not meeting his gaze once. "Hm." And you walk off.

His initial thought was that you're cheating. But he would know. So, he lets his heart and bones ache for the rest of the day as he waits for you to talk to him. He lets his mom bother him about where her "step-daughter" is and tries to stay chill the entire time he does his homework. His mind was loud and quiet at the same time. He couldn't seem to focus on one thing at a time until he knew the two of you were good. But he didn't want to press you, he didn't want to stress you out. He wanted you to take your time in reaching out to him. So, he stays patient.

By 9 o'clock, he was done with all possible things he could've done to pass the time. Did the laundry, made dinner, cleaned his mom's car, spoke with a neighbor, he even fixed the fucked up cable wires that had been preventing everyone from watching TV this past week. And it was until then, that Miles finally gets a text message from you. He was practically staring at his phone as if he knew you would answer and immediately swiped it off of his desk to see what you finally said. But nothing in the world could've prepared him for what he saw on his screen and he felt his heart drop as he read the message.

Baby - [Are you the prowler?]

He was ready. He was ready for any response you could've given him. I need space, I'm sorry, how are you, what are you doing, can you come over, hey, i miss you, i love you, fuck you, don't talk to me ever again, lose my number. "Is he the prowler"?? Is that what he's seeing on his screen right now?? Miles firmly believes he's hallucinating that message you sent, but the other ones above it that he had read a million times over are still the same, so it has to be real. Miles thinks of all of the hiding places for his gear, his other computer, his hidden weapons, his other bunch of keys, the paperwork for the deals he made, fuck, he couldn't think of what you possibly could've found that made you draw that conclusion. He cursed aloud and watched his hands begin to shake.

It wasn't the end. You wouldn't end the relationship over something as small as this, right? I mean, he would never hurt you, he knew that you knew this. But on the inside, he knew that this was the end of something. And he didn't know if he wanted to know what. Another message came up. You knew he saw it.

Baby - [Answer me.]

Miles - [I'm coming over.]

Baby - [No, don't.]

He shoved his phone into his pocket and rushed to put on a jacket and some shoes. Sneaking out to the fire escape, he rushed down to the street to speed walk over to your place.

You were scared. You didn't want to admit it to yourself, but in the back of your mind, you knew the truth and just couldn't help but feel real fear in your heart. He really was the prowler. You saw everything. That hyper-realistic metal mask you found under his pillow, it couldn't be for just nothing. For fucks sake, it even had the same holographic colors and shape. You found the claws and couldn't bring yourself to see anymore than you already did. And what made it worse is that when you spent the night the same time that you found his gear, he snuck out of the bed....not returning until the early hours of the morning. It made you sick to your stomach.

He was supposed to just be your boyfriend. Not a killer and a fucking robber and whatever else he was. Secrets as big as these just made you question everything else about the relationship you two had. What if he also had bitches on the side? What if you weren't the only one? What if he was using you? Would he......would he kill you...? You were gonna vomit.

Your body felt numb as you put on his hoodie and a pair of shoes he had gifted you. Everything that reminded you of him, you couldn't get rid of. You love him too much. The more you try to shove him away, the more he surrounds your everyday life and mind. And now he was going to find you. You weren't ready to talk at all.

You turned off your location on your phone and left. Maybe you can stay at one of your girl's houses tonight. But she lives in the direction of Miles's place, and you'd probably run into him on the way there. Maybe your cousin that lives like 30 minutes away? It's dark and....the walk would be so fucking dangerous, but it's safer than literally talking with a killer who you slept in the same bed with who-knows-how-many times. What were you going to tell your mom? Your family? His family?? Did his family know? How can you break up with him without causing an uprise? It almost seemed impossible because everyone loved you two being together. And the ones that hated it wanted it more than the two of you did. Too many people had hope in your relationship, it was horrible. It shouldn't have come to this. Maybe you should've just minded your own business.

You round one, two corners. It's dead silent and there's no one on the streets, which somehow feels worse than actual people being there stalking the streets. You hate that you can hear your own heartbeat and breath. On your third corner, you crash into a chest and rough hands grab you before you can fall. "No! No, get off of me!" You thrash in his arms and he seems to almost yell in your face. "Y/n, can you calm down? What the hell is you screaming for??"

"You know why I'm screaming at you, nigga!" "No, I don't I actually don't. So instead of running from me, can you talk to me?" You huff and go silent, pulling yourself out of his grasp to try and breathe. Miles's face falls when he sees how stressed you look. Your veins almost seemed to pop out of your neck. Did you really not want him there? He didn't know what to do. "Please, cariño, I just want to understand..."

You didn't want to start the waterworks and looked up to keep tears from falling down your face. You struggle to croak out the words, gesturing to help yourself cope. "The stuff...t-the stuff under your pillows and bed." Miles looks off to the side. "What is that stuff you got, Miles?" Suddenly it was quiet again. He didn't want to tell you. You didn't want it to be true. Why wasn't he denying it? Why wasn't he hugging you and telling you it was all fake? A science class experiment? Something? Anything but this?? He looks back at you and gains the courage to step closer, bringing a hand up to wipe away your hot tears on your face, like he promised he'd always do for you. He shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, baby."

You just seemed to cry harder at his words and pulled his hand from your face. Your throat was beginning to close up, the truth showing in what wasn't said. "I hate when you lie to me. I know you know that I hate when you lie to me. Don't lie....don't lie.." Miles wanted you in his arms again, not far away, distancing the two of you in your mind like he knows you're doing. You're great at disappearing when feeling stressed, but to leave him alone? He doesn't think he can take that. He gave his heart to very few people in his life, and somehow it can never fix his problems. His mom's stressed, Aaron wants more from him, and his Dad.... You're the only one that's given him what he didn't know he needed. You're his salvation. And for you to slip out of his fingers is something he can't allow. His only option left is to tell the truth that he has been hiding for so long.

"I am." You sniffle and wipe your eyes. He can't seem to look at them, instead he stares at the necklace he gifted you when you first got together. Knowing that you kept it on was all he needed to keep speaking. "I am the Prowler."

Your face shifts from sadness into one of frustration as he explains. "I've been the Prowler for 2 years now. I go out almost every night. It helps my mama pay the bills, it keeps Brooklyn safe, and it keeps my close family safe as well. I don't do this for nothing." He whispers the words so quietly, as if he was whispering a taboo to you. Never slipped out of his lips before until this one moment with you. You turn your face the other direction. Miles watches you clench your jaw and rushes to take your hands into his, kissing them lightly.

"And I know that's a long time. And I know I was hiding it from you, baby. Pero tienes que confiar en mí. You're on my mind every single night when I'm out. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I couldn't come back to you one night because I wasn't careful. So I stay careful."(But you have to trust me)

Both of his knees hit the hard concrete as he stares up into your glossy eyes, not daring to look away. "You can do anything, anything to me. I don't care. You can beat me the fuck up, mami. But, por favor, no me dejes. I need you! I need you to live, baby. I can't be without you. I don't wanna see you walk away from me. Please." (Please, don't leave me)

Miles whispered the words only for you to hear. All you wanted was that apology and you wished to give in so bad. You wanted him to stay. Miles stood when you looked the other way to catch your eyes again. "Just let me walk you home, mi vida, and we can talk about this in the morning, okay? Or even tonight, if you want to. Just don't give up on me, not like this." Miles's heart was racing a mile a minute. He really didn't know if he could convince you in this moment. Your face seemed to be stone cold. But when he grabbed your hand, you seemed to tighten your fingers around his. His eyes told you what his mouth couldn't say. And by communicating through silence, you let him pull you in the direction of your home.(My dear)

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #27 – Service Model by Adrian Tchaikovsky

I am quite a big fan of Tchaikovsky’s – I’m on record as saying the Children of Time trilogy is the best star trek since at least Deep Space Nine – and generally try to keep an eye out for his new releases. However, the man writes a truly obscene pace, and this is one of the books which just entirely fell through the cracks for me until it picked up a hugo nomination. Along with everything else he wrote in 20244, apparently. It actually is a really very excellent book and deserves the nomination entirely, even if on a deep and fundamental level I feel like an author getting multiple nominations for the same category is cheating somehow.

The book follows (initially) Charles, an incredibly advanced valet-bot designed and engineered to perfection to act as the human-oriented interface and chief servant managing his master’s life and relationship with his sprawling automated household. Despite his master’s lack of complex social calendar, disinterest in excursions or complex engagements, or really activity of any sort, he serves him for years, diligently and efficiently. All until one day when, for no reason and for no purpose he is able to understand despite extensive self-examination, he slits his master’s throat while shaving him. This sudden break in routine – despite his best efforts – requires reaching out to life outside the manicured manorial estate upon which he has been employed. That world quickly proves to be in a bit of a bad state itself, with robotic police inspectors and medical examiners trapped into Kafkesque bureaucratic loops after all the humans their program requires performing for and reporting to were retired for reasons of efficiency. Generously interpreting what he was told as an injunction to report to Central Diagnostics and discover went wrong, the no-longer-Charles (the name was part of his employment at the manor) journeys out into the shockingly desolate world trying to get himself repaired and (or, failing that) given new employment where he might again fulfill his purpose.

The story from that point on consists of a few different episodes involving Uncharles (and his accidental companion, the shockingly idiosyncratic and defective robot and absolutely not a human in a metal suit, who goes by ‘the Wonk’) arriving at a new location where he hopes to find potential employment as a gentleman’s valet (though his standards rapidly start slipping). Each set piece is separated from the others by a short vignette explaining the travel between them and there are, besides those two, many connections but exceptionally few recurring characters of any kind. The episodes each work quite well as short stories in their own right, and each does a decent-to-amazing job expanding on the characters and the themes Tchaikovsky is aiming at. The ending is, I think, a bit dissonant with the first acts of the book and in a way that weakens the whole – but then I have at this point just accepted that I’m basically impossible to please as far as endings for big theme-first stories like this go.

And this is very much a theme-first story – an entry in the proud tradition of dystopian sci fi satire, and far more open about it than most. The connective tissue between episodes is very clearly there to facilitate getting from one setpiece to another, with the plot itself coming a distant fourth between deep themes, character study and setting exploration in terms of the book’s priorities. While there is action and physical danger, Uncharles’ Jeevesish sensibility and distorted narration prevents tension or a sense of threat are ever really prominent. The actual conflicts in the book are solved by cleverness, understanding and word games – combined with the sense of farce and absurdity running through the entire thing it really felt like an old adventure game as much as anything (I mean this as high praise). It helps that is was often very funny – especially for as serious and philosophical a book as this, it’s just about the only thing keeping it from becoming unbearably didactic at points.

Not necessarily the most important theme to the book, but certainly the most prominent and obvious throughout it is a deep concern with the automation of complex systems, the insulation of human decision-makers from any sign things are going wrong until its far too late, and the social collapse that might result from the two. Humanity has, for most of the book, more or less vanished from the scene – something that the dizzyingly complex arrays of robotic systems that comprised most of actual civilization are not at all designed to deal with, as they’re increasingly trapped in absurd loops or simply freeze without anyone with the privileges and authority to resolve the issues they encounter. This is one of the book’s main sources of humour – both through Uncharles’ increasingly strained attempts to find some existence he can squint and say is like being a gentleman’s gentlebot, and all the Brazil-esque absurdity of things like a police-bot doing a drawing room reveal of an investigation that took two minutes to an audience of other robots who all already know what happened.

The other big theme running through the book is exactly how a society might respond to true automation, to human labour becoming (outside of high-level programming and administration) basically superfluous to a society that is so rich and powerful it can provide comfort and plenty to every one of its citizens. Badly, as it turns out! It’s not a subject Uncharles’ ever considers consciously until the end, but this is a book that takes an incredibly cynical view of – a lot of things, really, but the charity and benevolence extended by the winners of an economy that now has immense amounts of structural unemployment especially.

This became much, much more explicit in the ending – to, I think, the detriment of the book as a whole. Or better to say it became a much more on-the-nose parable, once it’s revealed that spiralling structural failures and various intersecting forms of eco-social collapse were important, sure, but the actual big finish really was because of one evil robot who clicked the ‘kill all humans’ button. It also really draws the eye to how much the unstated timeline of things doesn’t really cohere, but again – parable, not hard futurism. As cackling evil masterminds go, God is at least a fun one, and the sermonizing about justice and mercy and anti-homeless architecture and all that is at least both well-written and not overlong.

Though God is actually unusually complex and nuances as the book’s supporting characters go – most are on some level caricatures there to support the satirical point being made (if not just amusing set dressing who expand the setting a bit). The only two people in the story with any sort of nuance or depth – let alone an arc – are Uncharles and The Wonk (who also sound like some truly terrible indie band, put like that). Which is hardly a complaint – the supporting cast does its job very well, and the two of them are both pretty excellent characters (even if Wonk’s verbal tics get a bit grating at times).

Uncharles’ arc is the final real theme running through the whole book, and really only marginally less subtle than the collapse of society. The question of when exactly a complex, humanlike robot gains free will or becomes a person is one a lot of science fiction over the ages has spent a lot of time on, so I can’t say the book is actually doing anything new here – but his stubborn refusal to accept he’s a person and simultaneous rules-lawyering and contorting his ostensible task list as the book goes on is both well-done and very touching at points. The recurring note – with Charles, with God, and with quite a few less advanced and autonomous robots throughout the story – the there’s absolutely no contradiction between having a degree of free will and with having desires or psychological needs imprinted in you by your creators (or evolution) actually is something that a lot of fiction working in the same space often has trouble with, too.

Not at all sure how it’ll rank compared to some of the other finalists this year, but it is at least fun and fairly meaty sci-fi. Tchaikovsky continues to not disappoint.

[broidobe]

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔭𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔩𝔲𝔡𝔢

requested! reader is dating ALL OF THEM AT ONCE!

⁎⁺˳✧༚nu metal masterlist

okay soooo

this is gonna be…long

cause i mean NINE FUCKING BOYFRIENDS??

WHEW

I COULD NEVER

each member has their unique way of looking out for you, from joey’s quiet, observant care to shawn’s more intimidating "don’t mess with them" stance.

group outings are pure chaos—picture nine masked men vying for your attention at once. it’s loud, messy, and hilarious, but you secretly love it.

no matter how intimidating they might seem onstage, they all have moments of softness reserved just for you—whether it’s paul writing you a heartfelt note or craig letting you play with his gear.

they’re a loud and chaotic family, but they all respect your boundaries and each other’s space when it comes to your time and affection.

you’re their grounding force, the one who can diffuse tensions when things get heated and make even their darkest days brighter.

there are pretty specific interactions with each of them

joey: joey’s the romantic one, slipping you mixtapes with songs that remind him of you. he’s also fiercely loyal, often standing up for you during any disagreements among the group.

corey: corey’s the go-to for deep conversations and random adventures. he writes lyrics inspired by your connection, though he pretends they’re not about you when asked.

shawn (clown): shawn’s all about making you laugh. he loves pulling pranks with your help, but if someone crosses you, he switches to dad mode instantly.

paul: paul’s the quiet but affectionate type. he’s the one who’ll make sure you’ve eaten and bring you coffee during late nights.

jim: jim’s surprisingly shy but shows his affection in subtle ways, like tuning your guitar or sharing his favorite riffs with you.

chris: chris is the one who’s always up for silly jokes and lighthearted fun. he’ll do anything to make you smile, even if it means making a fool of himself.

sid: sid’s energy is unmatched, and he often drags you into his wild stunts. he also has a habit of surprising you with random gifts, like cool masks or rare vinyl records.

craig: craig doesn’t say much, but his actions speak louder than words. he’ll always make sure you’re comfortable and safe, even in the craziest of situations.

mick: mick might seem aloof, but he has a tender side that only comes out around you. he loves teaching you about his music gear and will fiercely defend you against any negativity.

they make sure you’re front and center for each show

and they ALL make sure to do something to impress you

now i don't know if you’ve seen THAT video of sid

where his finger are moving SO FUCKING FAST on that record

and his spit is DRIPPING

BUT HE WOULD TOTALLY DO THAT WHILE STARING RIGHT AT YOU

there’s a constant (but playful) competition to impress you. whether it’s mick playing the most insane guitar solo or joey showing off his double-bass drumming, you always end up cheering for all of them.

cause i mean how could you not?

corey loves dedicating shit to you

THIS ONE’S FOR Y/N, LOVE YOUR FAVOURITE BOYFRIEND!

mornings are WILD

waking up with nine band members around is… an experience.

sid is bouncing off the walls with energy, joey is groggy and in desperate need of coffee, and mick just grunts at everyone until he’s fully awake.

you’ve learned to navigate this chaos like a pro.

by sitting on the couch and doing really nothing about it

i mean you’ll get dragged into SOMETHING by sid

when fans recognize you, the guys are split between playfully teasing you about your “fame” and keeping a protective eye on the interaction.

everything okay here?

let me know if you need me

sid once pretended to be your bodyguard when a fan got a little too enthusiastic.

he wore sunglasses and kept saying, “no photos, please,” even though no one asked.

when someone once flirted with you, corey leaned over and said,

oh yeah, she’s totally into you. that’s why she’s hanging out with nine masked maniacs instead of you.

and if you don’t make it on tour (which is very rare)

they rotate who gets to call you. sid always insists on doing something wild to make you laugh.

they send you care packages filled with notes, trinkets, and random souvenirs they’ve picked up along the way. paul’s gifts are thoughtful, while sid’s are borderline ridiculous.

corey and jim send you postcards from every city, each one scribbled with inside jokes or sweet messages. mick signs them with a simple “wish you were here.”

they plan spontaneous road trips to random places, like a quiet beach or a weird roadside attraction, just to see you smile

they all contribute to a scrapbook filled with photos, ticket stubs, and little notes from their time with you. craig, surprisingly, is the one who organizes it all perfectly.

[mayajadewrites]

could've been you - shouta aizawa, keigo takami

✦ synopsis: You're the new teacher at UA with a rocky past with one of their beloved teachers, Shouta Aizawa aka Eraserhead. You'd rather never see him again but alas, such is life. You also meet Keigo, aka Hawks, who is the opposite of Aizawa. Smiley, golden retriever energy.

✦ chapter content warnings: angst hehe

✦ relationships: aizawa x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader

ao3

TAG LIST:

@come-away-with-me87, @kxshdoll, @evilsanzu, @friendly-neighborhood-turtle, @lili-pond,

@the-unhinged-raccoon @falling4fandoms @cherry-cosmoz @kkgraham @big-denki-energy @aphrodite-xoxo @keiweeny @minminroie

chapter nine

Your heart starts to race.

The space where Keigo once was is now empty. His duffle bag - gone. You stand up so quick you almost fall over.

You check your phone. No text.

2:45 AM.

You press his contact and call 1, 2, 3, then 10 times.

No answer.

Tears well up in your eyes as you accept this fate - that Keigo snuck out. Left you.

You tried climbing back into bed but you can't sleep.

You put your softed robe on and pad to Aizawa's door. It's late, sure, but he's probably awake.

And you still don't have his number so this is how you communicate.

You knock on the door as quietly as you can, careful not to wake up anyone else on your floor.

After a few knocks, the door opens.

Aizawa rubs his eye before finally looking at you. He can tell you've been crying.

"What happened?" He grabbed you by your shoulders and brought you into his place.

You didn't answer - you couldn't. How could you explain that you just let a man fuck you and he left?

"Please talk to me." Aizawa's voice was soft now as he set next to you on the couch.

"Keigo left." You sniffle.

"Left? Left to where? What do you mean?"

"We had sex, fell asleep and then he left. He didn't leave a note or anything! I called, no answer."

Aizawa's eyebrows almost reached the top of his forehead. "He didn't say goodbye? No explanation?"

"No. His bag is gone. He's gone."

Shouta's face was full of anger. You observed his body language - he was tense.

But then he held you. No words were exchanged. His body heat was against yours as his body mended into yours.

His hair was pulled back into a low bun - your favorite. He pulled you on top of him so your back was on his chest.

You took a deep breath as his arms tightened around you, almost like a weighted blanket. He kissed the top of your head as your eyes started to feel heavy.

"I'm sorry, Shouta." You murmured as your eyes began to close.

"For what?" His calloused hand caressed the soft skin on your cheek.

You mouth parted as a quiet snore left your lips.

-

When you woke up the next morning, you were in a bed.

Not your bed.

Your face is buried in a large, soft pillow with a dark gray pillowcase. The blankets are shades of gray and black, the fabric so soft against your skin.

You heard the sizzling of oil in a pan, along with soft music playing through the apartment.

"Good morning." You emerged from the bedroom, watching Shouta cook breakfast. "Hope I didn't wake you."

He was shirtless, his hair up again, flipping a pancake with a spatula.

You shook your head as you yawned, padding towards the kitchen. Shouta half-smiled as you approached him. He wanted to kiss you so bad. He wanted to take you on the counter, pulling your hair as he watched your ass cheeks jiggle against his cock.

"You didn't." You looked down at your robe that you were still wearing. "I'm gonna grab clothes from my place quick, I don't want to wear this robe anymore."

"You can wear something of mine." Shouta walked to his room, opening a drawer with crewnecks folded perfectly, then another drawer with sweatpants.

He handed you the clothing, your nose instantly recognizing the scent of Shouta.

"I'll leave you to it." He turned around and went back to cooking.

As you changed into his clothes you couldn't help but notice the feeling in your stomach. Butterflies fluttering.

A feeling you haven't really felt with Keigo. Especially with the shit he pulled.

Speaking of Keigo, you checked your phone to see if he text you.

You had 40 missed calls from him, 55 texts.

Why even bother reading them? He left you with no communication. It takes 4 seconds to say goodbye.

You make Shouta's bed for him, laying the pillows nicely along the headboard. You left your phone on his nightstand to join him in the kitchen.

Shouta served you your breakfast with an iced coffee - he remembered from when you were observing his class how you liked it.

"Thank you." You dug your fork into your pancakes, letting the sweet taste hit your tongue. "I didn't take you for a cook, Eraser."

"I'm full of surprises." He smirked, his half lidded eyes finding yours.

You heard a hand banging on a door a couple doors down from Shouta.

Your room.

Both you and Shouta walk to the door, him opening it as his body rested against your back.

And there you saw a peek of red feathers.

"Leave." You stepped out of the doorway. "You took all your stuff already, so you're free to go."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything to you, that was a mistake. I-"

"She said to leave." Shouta emerged from the doorway, standing behind you again. "You didn't have the decency to say goodbye, it's embarrassing that you even try to show your face here again."

"I was on call, there was an attack, I had to-"

"All of which I would have understood if you used your words and told me. You may be a grown man but you act like a child." You press your back to Shouta's muscular chest for comfort. "Only an absolute asshole fucks someone and dips in the middle of the night. That will be the last time you're ever inside of me." You turned on your heel to walk back into Shouta's place.

"Baby bird, I-"

"She was pretty clear on what she wanted. If I see you here again, you will have hell to pay."

After a few minutes, Keigo left. You heard his heavy footsteps walk out of the building, then he took flight into the air. You watched from the window, but he didn't look back.

"Stupid fucking bird." Shouta sucked his teeth as he took a sip of his coffee. "You're gonna stay with me today. He's probably gonna try to come back later."

You didn't bother to argue. "Okay."

It really bothered Shouta that Keigo left you at such a vulnerable time. It's scary giving yourself to someone and then they leave. It fucks with the psyche.

"You know, I never got your number." You looked at Shouta as he cleaned the kitchen.

"Because you told me I was never getting yours."

"Well, I changed my mind." You crossed your awms over your chest.

"Hm, what makes you think I want your number?"

"Come on, Eraser." You grab his muscular arm, wrapping both of your arms around it. "You know you can't resist me."

"Tch." He rolled his eyes, but still smiled. "You just like my place more than yours."

"It's cozy, unlike you. You have these hard muscles that are terrible to lay on." You looked up at him with your doe, Disney princess eyes.

"They're good for other things." He smirked as he picked you up by your waist, sitting you on the counter.

You can't help but smile as he cages your hips with his forearms, his chocolate eyes boring into yours.

"You're cute from up here." You tuck a piece of his hair behind your ear.

"You're cute in my clothes." Shouta's thumb traced circles on your plush thigh. "Your ass looks way better in them than mine does."

You playfully slap his arm, hooking your ankles together to pull him closer to you.

The feeling of Shouta being so close to you makes your stomach flip with a mixture of butterflies and anxiety.

It was so easy to kiss Keigo, but you're more excited when you're around Shouta.

You were expecting him to go in for a kiss, but instead he rubbed his nose on yours, interlacing his fingers around your ass.

It was an intimate moment. No pressure, no fear of him leaving.

Your memories with Shouta begin to flood your mind, how he betrayed you. How he didn't listen to you. How he assisted in putting you in a coma.

Can the past truly stay in the past? Can you look beyond what was done?

You sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, letting your body fall into him.

You will try.

[hawkiest]

The Space Eurovision episode had such potential. Imagine if instead of this tone deaf shit show of the week we had an actual deep exploration of it's themes and satisfying emotional arks that tied up all the loose threads from the season and got us ready for the finale. And the thing is, all the parts were there.

Here is how I would fix this episode:

* if you're going to introduce this many story elements, make this a two-parter

* the last episode is when Belinda started truly trusting the Doctor. Have Belinda address this growth so it makes it even more devastating later in the episode when the Doctor goes off the rails. The Doctor can go on his sphiel on how alone he is, no family anymore, no Gallifrey

* Spend more time exploring the contest. There was so much potential for lore and we were given NONE of it

* Add more instances of demonising the Hellians instead of one throwaway line. By the time Kid gets there, we should be wanting to have him shot on sight

* Ms Flood? I know it's not her episode but make her do something. Have her steal popcorn from a kid, make bets of whose going to win, idc. Make her interact with the world. This is how we're going to remember her before the straight cop Rani enters the show. Let Her Be Wacky!

* Before Kid enters the picture, make the control center sweat a little bit from fear of this Demonic Evil Hellian Boy on their genocide supporting space station. And make Kid be actually scary, idk why he is giving off such Conrad vibes. Can we also please style him better, he looks like 80s movies mean highschool bully, absolutely abysmal

* People get sucked off ( ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ ) into space. And we didn't care, because we knew none of them! This is why we needed more time just exploring this setting. What are the people like? Such a mixed pot of different aliens and we see none of their interactions. We were robbed. ROBBED.

* I'm sorry but this episode Belinda doesn't hold a candle to E1!Belinda. Show her be anything else than a personification of a wet blanket. What is she like after travelling with the Doctor? Still kind and brave? Still a hater at heart? What if she has learned to refuse the fear and selfishness that comes from scary situations and takes charge, like we saw in glimpses in E1?

* Instead of Doctor being jumpscared by Susan let's make this more emotionally impactful and show how even when actively dying his heart is with his granddaughter. A glimpse of his grief of losing his family and Gallifray and everyone close to him while he is dying in space cold and alone after all this time, unable to hold on to the most important people in his long and tragic life. And then the Susan vision. Find me <\3

* Flying through space with a confetti cannon Time

* Gasp! The Delta wave! And actively make parallels with the last time at the end of Nine's era where the Doctor was struggling to make decision whether or not to send the Delta wave to defeat the Daleks if it's going to kill an entire planet. Make him think of Kid as the stand in for every Big Bad that has taken his family away from him, the Daleks, the Cyberman, the Angels, the Rani, and his promise that while he is still alive he will not let them win.

* Enter dark!Doctor. And make him scary angry as he hunts down Kid, taunting and mocking all the way. "Ice in my heart" my ass. What even was that. He is Time Lord Victorious and he is going to kill this man with his bare hands

* Time for the emotional switch up. Let Belinda get the backstory, the in depth dehumanisation and genocide of the Hellian people, how literally no other efforts to be heard worked and how evil the Cooperation really is with all this propaganda. Make it hurt, make us understand why there are no other options for the Hellian people except voilence. How this has affected Cora. We do not get in the slightest of her feelings of this situation as a Hellian who has escaped her past. She's the heart of the Hellians and make us believe it.

* The Doctor becomes more cruel, and it becomes clear he is also projecting his own past trauma and experiences onto Kid.

* Make Kid's girlfriend do something other that stand around useless. I don't even remember her name, that's how underused in this story she was! Make her beg and try to explain and be scared to death from the Doctor. What was done to her to make her radicalised and ready to kill Show her struggling with this decision, not as ready to kill people as Kid was. Not to make her and Kid's actions justified, but to at least explain them?? She could've been replaced as a sexy lamp with horns this episode and we wouldn't have noticed. Like why go all the trouble of introducing the character if you're not even going to use her this episode?

* Make Belinda in denial of the Doctor's dark side as she races to the command center, show her telling her new friends how just and kind the Doctor is from the past episodes and how she trusts him with her life only for it all to be shattered the moment the reaches it.

* Fuck the stupid ass taser hollagram, give us something more disturbing from the Doctor. Make him fully buy into the propaganda that the Corporation has been telling everyone, make him a stand in for the oppressors. Make him feel righteous as prepares for the killing blow only for him to hear 'Stop!' coming from the enterance where he sees Belinda looking at him with horror, and make him for a moment see Susan's face instead of hers

* Belinda rushes to Kid, so does the the guy with the medical bag. There is moment where they think Kid is dead but they get his heart to beat at least

* While they are trying to save Kid's life, the Doctor gets clued in about the Hellian people, and with every revelation his horror about his actions grows. He realises again once more that in every group of individuals there are those who will hurt and kill people for their own gain, but just like the Zygons, the Hellians should not be blamed for the actions of few extremist individuals. And he is horrified to learn about the genocide of the Hellians and the destruction of their planet, and how for a moment he was on the oppressors side

* Kid and his girlfriend get arrested because they very much did intend to kill a shit load of people.

* He has a good talk with Cora about the state of the Hellians, and she tells her about the complicated feelings she has as a Hellian contestent that performs in a competition that is backed by the Corporation and about all the people who watch it that are knowingly or unknowingly participating in the dehumanisation of her people. But she does not agree with Kid and doesn't believe killing trillion people will help or heal the Hellian people. Only truth and humanity can.

* The Doctor gets the idea on how to bring back all the people in the Mavity field and gets to work

* Everyone is shaken up understandably, but the show must go on. Except this time, the truth is told

* Cora is the reluctant representative of her people, and for the first time, a Hellian has an audience of all these people both in the competition and those watching the broadcasts. She uses this platform to destroy the Corporations lies and shines light on the issues her people are facing. And only then does she sing the song of planet. And in the true spirit of the International Song Competition, all different races of aliens come together and sing as one. Celebration, sparkles and the stars above the space station, as it was always meant to be.

* The episode could end there but it would also be nice if we got to see some reactions that this performance is causing, the news anchors debating, the forest for and against the message, all the action that this should cause

* and now for Belinda and the Doctor. I refuse to believe Belinda was like I know you just tortured a guy and sided with the corporation that caused a genocide but I really wanted to take this opportunity to say how great you are . Because what was that, that's not Belinda, that's not who we met in e1 where she was basically about to slap the shit out of the Doctor every time he opened his mouth. No. I want the first time they're alone again and the Doctor turns on his charming personality again for Belinda to shut him down just as she did when she first met him, but now she hates him. So much. And she's also terrified, because for the first time she knows exactly who she is dealing with.

* And the Doctor tries to manipulate her again with fun, space, adventure ™️ ✨ but Belinda wants nothing to do with him anymore, leaving the Doctor with the same empty smile as he had in E1, but this time he knows she is right to be scared of him

* Now that the Vindicator is all charged up, she can go home to May 24, 2025. The atmosphere is tense and quiet as the Doctor pushes down the Take Off Switch.

Everything is set up for the finale now - Belinda has gone through her emotional journey, the Doctor has come to some realisations about his current incarnation, and all the pieces of our two seasons long journey are finally on the board!

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

Im going to recommend a very whumpable character to you- Julian Bashir from Star Trek: Deep Space 9.

Why he's whumpable-

He's genetically augmented (in a society where genetic modification is illegal and people with it are basically banned from participating in society), which leaves some very good whump possibilities.

He canonically hates himself and thinks of himself as, and I quote, "unnatural, or perhaps a freak or monster".

He's a twink with a British accent

He's extremely pathetic, and he's got this gayass situationship with a 50 y/o lizard man/former spy.

He looks like this-

Hmm he would look aesthetically pleasing covered in blood…

Also crying. I want to see him cry…

And his smile dropped very quickly good good

Plus the bullet points are👀👀👀

I obv. don’t know anything about the show or his relationship with the other characters; but it’d be fun if he were kidnapped and tortured, and convinced himself no one would come for him (prolly out of the self hatred, but also fun if influenced by the whumper/s)— only for him to be rescued by the situationship and maybe the rest of Deep Space Nine crew. Cue comfort.

A little basic but kidnapping’s my favorite whump method and it’s what I’m feeling for this one (would need to watch the show myself to get something more specific yk).

Thanks for the recommendation :)! I love learning of new whumpable characters

[gullemec]

Light Me Up

Golden Cage - Chapter Nine

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: After living in the throes of grief for over a year, your world is turned upside down in the space of a few hours.

Warnings: violence against reader (not Butcher), description of injuries, canon-typical violence, language, allusions to previous smut/masturbation, explosions, fires, reader experiences third man syndrome, happily ever after <3

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

A/N: I kind of can't believe it's finally here!! Keep in mind there is an epilogue after this as well! Thanks so much for reading <3

You were in an airport the last time you saw your mother. Heading to Departures, ironically. 

Christmas had just passed, and the two of you had spent it curled up before the fireplace at the Lakehouse, just the two of you. Your father had sent his regards and several large boxes of new clothes and electronics. You barely noticed.

It was time to head back to Cambridge for your final semester. All of  the anxiety you’d held surrounding your life post-grad, finding work, saying goodbye to your friends, and avoiding the ever-present pressure to follow in your father’s footsteps that had disappeared in the wintertime coziness was now resurging at full force. 

You grabbed your mother’s hand, pulling her in close beside you, stalling at the security gate.

“What’s wrong?” she laughed. 

You took a deep breath, one hand picking at the handle of your carry-on, the other squeezing her fingers. You felt like a little girl on the first day of preschool again, desperately wishing she could just go with you. 

“I don’t want to go,” you admit. “I’m scared.”

“Baby, what are you scared of?”

She turns to you, searching your face, eyes warm and empathetic. She catches the tears forming on your waterline, pulling you into a hug. In the comfort of her embrace, hidden from the bustling airport around you, you let yourself cry. 

“I’m scared of what comes next,” you manage between small sobs. “After I finish school, I mean. I don’t know what I want to do, where I want to go. I don’t want to work for dad but I don’t know what else to do and I don’t know anyone in New York anymore and I‒”

“Shh,” she whispered into your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Her hands rubbed up and down your back, just the right amount of pressure to keep you grounded. “You’re going to be just fine, baby girl. You know how I know?”

You pulled your head back to look at her quizzically. No, you really didn’t know. At the moment you didn’t feel like you knew anything.

“Because you’re smart, and you’re capable, and you’ve gotten yourself this far. You just need to learn to trust yourself.”

You didn’t necessarily believe these things about yourself, but when she said them they felt true. She spoke with a certainty, a wisdom that had you nodding your head, a soft smile emerging in the wake of your tears. 

She walked you to security, giving you a final squeeze and a kiss. You turned to look at her one last time, not knowing it would be the very last time. You raised your eyebrows, silently asking for one last offer of reassurance. She laughed, her voice carrying over to you.

“Trust your intuition, baby.”

You have to try.

~~~

2:45am. 

The elevator hums softly as it ascends your father’s high-rise, a box of glass and steel cutting through the Manhattan skyline. Below, the city sprawls out in a patchwork of light, beautiful and indifferent, like a galaxy trapped underfoot. For a moment, you are Godzilla-sized, towering over the world. Then the weight of the night crushes you back into something small and breakable. Just another pawn on the board. You are both beast and prey. All at once calm and trembling.

You steady your breath, though your pulse beats like a war drum. Boxer on the ropes. Sniper before the trigger squeeze.

The elevator doors slide open.

You’re ready to pounce.

But you're met with darkness, stillness. Silence. The only sound is the faint hum of the city thirty floors below. If the trackers are correct, they arrived here hours ago. And if your plan has succeeded, they're knocked out cold from the three bottles of wine you'd graciously poured at dinner. 

The room is awash in an eerie glow, cold blue light reflecting off polished mahogany and dark glass. 

You step lightly, your sneakers barely whispering across the hardwood.

Earlier, wine buzzed through your veins as the limo whisked you home from dinner, quieting the gnawing anxiety. Your limbs felt loose as you tore off your chiffon dress, trading it for a black turtleneck and tights. Sleek. Practical. Like a cat burglar.

You move through the space methodically, pulling open doors, skimming shelves, feeling beneath tables.

Nothing. 

You try not to panic. You're almost certain the vials are here. It makes the most sense. They're just… Somewhere not obvious to you. 

Somewhere very not obvious. 

The panic starts as a whisper, then a roar. Your hands quicken, rifling through folders and documents. Words blur, meaningless shapes swimming in your vision.

MM’s words ring through your ears as your vision blurs. 

Focus. Don't rush. You'll know it when you feel it. 

But you don't feel anything other than your heart drumming in your ears. The deafening silence in the barren room is practically an entity in and of itself. You creep over to the massive mahogany desk in the center of the room. The pads of your fingers scratch across the underside. The polished wood feels cold and unforgiving.

Your heart sinks. 

It's gone. 

Was it realistic to think that it would go unnoticed all this time?

The thought only gets a half second to cross your mind before the groan of a door closing reaches your ear, interrupting your movements. You freeze, ear pricking up to catch the flutters of movement in the periphery. 

Footsteps pad softly behind you, quiet, almost delicate.

Not your father. 

“You stupid bitch,” comes the voice, soft and venomous, slicing through the dark like a knife.

You straighten, hands flat on the desk, every muscle coiled tight.

You stand up straight, back to her. You don't dare spin around now, certain her shark-like black eyes would only serve to psych you out now. 

“H–hey Monica,” you stammer, your voice barely holding. “I didn’t think you’d be up so late.”

She emerges from the shadows, strutting like a predator. Her sheer lace robe and matching teddy seem to glow faintly in the city light.

Her presence chills the room, her breathing inhumanly relaxed. 

You feel the air around you crackle with tension.

“I'm just dropping off some files for my dad,” you offer, words falling flat in the tense air. 

She chuckles, a soft, disbelieving sound that sends a shiver down your spine.. “Don't bullshit me, sweetie. That's not why you're here.”

You turn to face her, indignant, but her expression is cool and unfeeling. She's got a dark round button pressed between her thumb and pointer. 

“You didn’t actually think we wouldn’t find these, did you?” she purrs, crushing it effortlessly in her hand. Her sneer cuts deeper than any blade. “Oh, honey. You really thought you pulled a fast one on me?”

The ground beneath you feels unsteady. You lean back against the desk, struggling to stay upright.

Monica’s voice drips with mockery. “Bugs in the car, in the office… You must’ve heard some juicy stuff, huh?” Her voice is saccharine and facetious. She’s teasing you. 

The first wave of tears fall down your cheeks unbidden. Her grin widens as your first tear slips free. You swipe at it, but it’s too late. She’s seen it. She relishes it.

“I watched the footage of you and your little friend snooping around our lab,” she says, her tone laced with false pity. “I let it go because, honestly? I felt sorry for you. Poor little rich girl, desperate for a purpose.”

Her lips curl. The pity turns to venom.

“But then you cost me two fucking billion. Then you pissed me off.”

You find your voice, finally, willing it to stay even. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you spit, your voice sharper now, though your courage feels as flimsy as glass. “And I’m sure my father wouldn’t be thrilled about you making accusations you can’t prove.”

Her laugh is harsh and humorless. “Oh, sweetie, don’t start with the daddy threats. You’re out of your depth.”

You shoot a look toward the doorway to the bedroom, afraid the commotion might wake your father. 

She steps closer, her shark-like eyes unblinking. “You thought you were clever, didn’t you? Sneaking off to Hunts Point like no one would notice. Your precious daddy’s little rebel. I’ve been tracking you the whole time.”

Your stomach twists. There's a terrific thumping growing from deep in your chest, threatening to swallow you whole. You feel like you're at the edge of a crumbling cliff, dangerously close to the ever approaching edge. 

“Homelander was right, getting involved with your dad was not worth the  hassle. You know, for a crooked businessman you'd think he'd be a little smarter, huh? Maybe protect his assets a little better, not let his own kid stage a fucking coup.”

“You started an affair with my dad… for Vought?”

“No,” she says, laughing bitterly. “I started an affair with your dad because I have an affinity for older men. Of fucking course it was for Vought!” Her voice is dripping in sarcasm. 

She takes several long strides toward you. You walk backward until you hit one of the heavy mahogany bookshelves. 

“You must take after your mother,” she hisses, and you drop every pretense, nothing but hate filling your stare. You shoot daggers at her in your mind for even daring to mention your mother. 

“She wasn’t too smart, was she?” Monica whispers, leaning in so close her breath brushes your ear. “Didn’t even look into who her husband was screwing.” Her voice is hot on your face as she closes in on you, caging you against the bookshelf. She ducks her head into the crook of your neck, like she might endeavour to give you a hickey. Instead, she breathes into your ear. 

You stiffen, the air punched from your lungs as she says the next words softly, almost tenderly.

“Because if she did, she might have seen it coming when I fucking liquefied her.” 

No. 

No. No. No, no, no, no.

You can’t breathe. The room tilts, your last tethers to reality strain

All this time, all this grief, all this wondering. For nothing. The person you sought, whose death you fantasized about, whose suffering you'd prayed for. The nights spent praying to any deity that would listen to just give you a sign. 

And here you were, eating dinner and taking fashion advice from her. 

Monica is a fucking Supe. 

And she's been right in front of you this entire time. 

She chuckles as the realization crosses your face, your breathing stuttering as you choke down a wet sob. 

Monica steps back, watching your reaction with a predator’s satisfaction. “Oh, you should’ve seen her. She jiggled like a water balloon.”

The rage is instant, white-hot. You lunge, hands aiming for her throat.

“Oh, little girl, you don't want to do that,” she chirps. She catches you effortlessly, flinging you across the room like a ragdoll. A string of curses fly from your mouth as you fly across the room, crashing into a wood-panelled wall. You bounce off of it, hitting the floor with a  sickening thud, pain flaring through your back.

Fuck, she's strong. 

Her voice echoes in your ears as you pull yourself to your knees.

“They called me Liquefy,” she says, her tone mockingly grand. “But you probably didn’t find that in your research, did you? Vought’s very good at making inconvenient things disappear.” Her voice is so condescending, so soaked in fake sweetness that you'd try to throttle her again if you weren't already indisposed. 

Your lip curls. “Liquefy? How original.” You’re unable to hold in a hoarse cough, wiping a dribble of blood from the corner of your mouth. 

Her smile vanishes, eyes hooded and squared on you. “Enough with the commentary, you little slut.”

You begin a retort, but you're interrupted by the opening of a heavy wooden door. The creaking draws both your and Monica's gaze toward the office bedroom.  

Your father stumbles out. His face is drawn, left hand clutching his chest. 

You don't know whether to feel relief or fear.

“I–I think I'm having a heart attack,” he strains, lurching forward. Monica reaches for him, gathering him in her arms. He collapses as she reaches him, both of them falling to the floor. 

“Y–you killed her?” he asks, his voice low and small, like a child. A fragment of your heart shatters seeing your father like this, so feeble and vulnerable.

… He didn't know?

She sputters, her voice faltering as she grasps for his face. No, no, baby, no. Her whispers meet his ears. “Honey, just relax, you're alright.”

You cough, pulling your body up off the ground, inching toward their hunched forms. “Dad! Dad, please, you heard her! She killed mom!”

You meet his eyes, crazed and wild. For a split second, you see the cognizance in his vision. 

“Stay the fuck back!” Monica screams at you. 

Then, she's on the move, reaching for a portrait of lilies above his record player. She rips the velvet painting off the wall, hands splayed as the frame ricochets off the thick mahogany desk. A wall safe is exposed in the shadow of the painting,  Monica's frenzied hands unlocking it. Within moments you're once again met with the unnatural blue glow of V2 vials, the luminescence too familiar to ever forget. She grabs at the vials, taking one out of the safe and pulling the plunger back, ripping open his sleep shirt. 

“No!” you scream, reaching forward to grab at the syringe. 

Monica kicks at you, pushing your hand away. 

You stare into your father's eyes, watch the life drain out of them. His pupils dilate, lids drooping. 

This can't be the last moment you have with him. You can't lose another parent like this. 

She plunges the syringe into your father's heart.

Hoarse screams tear from your chest as you weakly crawl forward, your outstretched hand falling short of the pair. You don't have a second to think, to absorb what's happening in front of you. You silently will him to open his eyes, to throw Monica aside and take you far away from all of this. 

Your tether to reality severs, your body wholly separate from your mind now. You're only vaguely aware of the continued screams echoing out of your body, your cheeks wet with hot tears.

He lays still in her arms, chest unmoving. 

He can't be dead. This can't be happening. 

The word ‘orphan’ crosses your mind for a moment. You reject its heavy finality. You held so much anger over your father, so much resentment. Yet, you'd never once imagined a showdown, some final interrogation. You always figured in some far away manner that you'd receive your answers, folded and neatly piled away. This was too messy, too disorganized. 

You stare at his pale skin, the blue and purple veins criss-crossing his skin laying still. The color falls from his face as his life force fades away. Monica cradles his lifeless body, rocking him back and forth as sobs wrack her body. You blink against the tears, vision blurring. 

Abruptly, your father's body goes rigid, his limbs locking up as his entire body jolts forward. His eyes fly open, searching around wildly, only seeing the woman directly in front of him. His brows knit and you can't tell if it's in pain or anger. 

You're suddenly aware of a heavy thumping sound filling the room. Both you and Monica lift your heads, searching for the source, before your eyes fall back on your father. 

Is that… his heartbeat?

Then his skin begins to… glow. Like a bright red pulse growing from deep inside him, the glow grows brighter with each roaring heartbeat until he's casting a crimson sheen on the entire room. 

His arms shoot up, hands grasping onto Monica. She cries out at his touch.

“Wait, no, let me go!” She shouts, trying unsuccessfully to pull away from him. You know she's strong, strong enough to throw you across a room like a ragdoll. But she seems so weak now in his grasp. 

Screeches fall from her mouth as he digs into her skin. Her skin bubbles under his touch as his fingers twist around her wrist, her waist. Steam emanates from their union, spreading vapors into the air. 

Monica screams for him to let her go but his eyes are wild and he pulls her in tighter. You feel the room heating up as she screams in pain. You smell the bizarrely sweet smell of skin melting, your train of thought ping-ponging between your hatred of Monica and love of your father. 

You hate him and you love him and you hate her and you miss your mom and you miss yourself. 

As your father's skin crispens with fiery heat you allow your brain to spiral back into the days of nature walks and Barbie dreamhouses. Into Christmas mornings and birthday cards. Disappointments and missed birthday parties peppered with intermittent extravagant shows of adoration and apology. You wonder where the hell things went this goddamn wrong. 

The smell of burning flesh is overwhelming now. 

And then there's Butcher invading your mind, him and his half-cocked confidence, his brash belief in whatever you set out to do. You long to lock eyes with him and wait for the curt little nod he offers you before you run headfirst into something uncertain. 

Where is he now? Does he know what you're doing right now? Does he even care?

You're still angry with him, you still have a million things you want to say to him, throw in his face, make him answer for. But you're struck by the realization that you want to see him again. You wish you'd just talked to him before you walked in here tonight, asked him what he thought. Maybe he would have told you it was a fool's errand. Maybe he would have insisted he came with you. Maybe you would have let him. 

You miss him. Your body calls for him, a homing beacon for his soul. You need his cells against yours like you need water and air and open fields to run. You need his very being to crash against yours. To protect you from whatever comes next. 

You think that, if he were to materialize before you, you might forgive him. You might fall into his arms and swear your allegiance. You might kiss him directly on the lips. 

You need to get out of here, if only for the chance to kiss that cocky motherfucker one more time. 

The entire room is glowing red now. You feel waves of heat coming off your father.

His expression is one of discomfort and pain. He holds your gaze deeply, like he's trying to communicate with you without words. 

Trust your intuition, baby. 

Your mother's final words to you ring about your head. The last remaining threads of your consciousness cling to her words, hoping against hope to glean some extraneous meaning from the words. 

“Run,” he says, his lips pulling painfully around the word. Tears in his eyes glint light in the cool light. He glows in a way that's painful. The audible thumping of his heart transforms, morphing into something more mechanical. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Like a bomb. 

You don't hesitate this time, your body falling backward, crawling toward the fire exit. 

As you crawl back, arm over leg, you watch his skin reach a fever pitch. It's like staring into the sun. The heat falls off of him like sparks, causing you to pull back, grimacing in pain. Monica wails, begging you to help her, to do something. You don't even look her in the eye. 

You lurch backward, taking one last look backward, flames licking off his skin, luminescence radiating from within him. 

Not the father you'd ever known. Not a man at all now. 

You find your back pushing against a stairwell exit, hand grasping the handle, pulling downward to let you in. The heat pouring off him is skin melting now. Monica's screams echo in your ears. 

You find your footing, dashing desperately down flight after flight of stairs, moving like air over each step. You make it ten storeys down before the entire building is rocked with a blast from above. You're sent careening down the flights of stairs, slamming into a wall of concrete. White-hot pain radiates up your left arm, as a sick, wet crack sounds out. 

The pain only lasts a second before your vision blacks out. 

~~~

He's been watching the top floor like he has super vision, like he can tell from all the way down on the sidewalk what's going on. 

Like he can keep you safe as long as he keeps his eyes on you. 

The delusion of control keeps him from barging into the office himself, fucking up the mission he knows means so much to you. 

And wasn’t it his half-cocked desire to keep you safe that had put him in this very position?

From the moment the hood was torn from your head and your eyes met his, your face so much softer and kinder than the one he’d been expecting, a long-dormant instinct had awoken. Protect her, keep her safe. Sure, he had a healthy dose of distrust toward you at the start, he wasn’t a complete fool. He had told himself he was placing those bugs to make sure you weren’t double-crossing the Boys, letting your father in on their schemes. Then, when he was satisfied you were as anti-Vought as the rest of them, he convinced himself he was listening in case something happened and you needed him. What, exactly, you would need him for he was unsure of, but he liked the idea of being needed by you. 

Then he heard the unmistakable and unabashed sounds of pleasure flood through his speakers late one night. His blood ran cold at the mental image of your body entwined with another. He was far too ashamed to admit just how many times he’d imagined himself in that exact situation with you. He knew he didn’t deserve you, could never really have you in the way he wanted. He’d let his defenses slip when he’d kissed you, drunk on whiskey and your scent. He knew you didn’t want him like that, so he’d pulled away. He almost turned the speaker off, unable to listen any longer, when your voice rang out clear as a bell.

Butcher.

If he hadn’t been a goner before, he certainly was then.

Now, two months out from the last time he’d seen your face, heard your voice, he wasn’t sure he was human at all anymore.

MM told him to stay far away from this mission, that you didn't want him to have anything to do with it. So, naturally, he had waited in the alleyway until you'd gone inside the building, listening through an earpiece to your voice instructing MM on what to listen for, admonishing Frenchie against being a hero. Hearing your voice again, even if it was distorted through an earpiece, calmed him. Clearly he'd learned nothing. 

He’d give anything to hear that voice taunt him now, teasing him for not saying anything sooner about his feelings. He imagines your triumphant expression when you saunter out the front doors of CytoGenix headquarters, the remaining vials of V2 rolling between your fingers. He wonders if he might find the courage to apologize to you when you emerge, if you might just be overwhelmed enough to agree to give him a second or third chance. His brain conjures up the sensation your lips create when they press against his, the relaxing of his very atoms when you melt under his touch. 

MM interrupts his stargazing, calling him into the van, telling him he's going to want to hear what's going on. He ducks in, heart slamming in his chest. Whatever's happening, he knows he'll be helpless to do anything about it. 

And then he hears Monica admit that she killed your mother, the crash of your body across the room, your heavy breathing after she hurts you… 

He's cursing under his breath and clenching his fists without even realizing it. 

MM shoots him a warning glance. He settles. 

But then your father has a heart attack and everything grows frenzied. Your cries break him. Monica screams and you scream and he knows something has gone horribly wrong.

You need him. 

Before anyone can stop him he dashes out of the van, making it as far as the front doors when a deep boom shakes him. 

The top floor of CytoGenix explodes. 

Yellow and orange flames shoot out from the building, molten shards of glass falling to the ground like a hail storm. 

His knees buckle beneath him, falling down against the ground. He screams, his words unintelligible save for your name interspersed amongst his ramblings. 

MM falls to his side, Hughie grasping his shoulder. They offer soft condolences, their own voices choking as they speak. He hears Frenchie sob behind him. 

A cry tears loose from somewhere dangerously deep inside him. 

For the second time in his life, he is too late. 

~~~

Wake up, baby. You have to keep moving. 

You come to in a smoky stairwell, crumpled like a ball of paper. 

Your legs kick out before you can fully absorb the situation around you, half-consciously pulling yourself down flights of staircases. Pain radiates up your left arm and you pull it close to your body protectively. 

You duck your nose into your shirt to shield yourself from the smoke and airborne debris. You find some small solace in the fact that you encounter no other humans on your descent, promising yourself that no one else would be so dedicated as to busy themselves in their office this late on a Saturday night. No other casualties. 

You're so strong. I know you can do this. 

You swivel around, searching for a companion. You can barely see a foot in front of you in the smoky haze, but you know you're alone. 

“Hello?”

Silence. 

You continue your descent, taking care to dodge stray rubble in your path. Somewhere around the 13th floor pinpricks of black grow in your line of vision, your center of balance listing to the side. You hit a concrete wall, your bad arm taking the brunt of the hit as you stumble down another set of stairs. You hiss against the pulsating pain, falling down directly onto your ass, knocking the air out of your lungs. 

Your head falls back, heels digging into the ground as the screeching white hot pain hurtles through your bloodstream. You don't even have the capacity to cry, lungs refusing to move. You feel your tether to reality slipping again. 

Baby girl, stay with me. 

Your eyes fly open, vision still blacked out at the edges. 

Wake up, please. I need you to stay awake. 

And then the tether tying you to reality comes alive. 

“Mom?”

Her voice filters into your mind, her warmth surrounding you, touch sapping the pain from your body.

You need to get up now, okay? You need to keep going. 

You're pulled to your feet, imbued with a renewed well of energy. It's supernatural, the forces guiding you down the seemingly never-ending stairwell. But you fall into it, resting on the energy supporting you to stay upright. The voice in your heart whispers in your ear, relieving your pain, encouraging you. 

You've got this. 

I'm so proud of you, you're doing so good. 

You're so close!

You reach the ground floor, neon exit sign glowing a red that, given recent events, you're not overly pleased to see. Your hand hesitates on the door’s push bar, lingering in the smoky air. 

Freedom is ahead of you, but your mother is behind you. You haven't been able to let go of her yet, why would you now?

“I miss you, mom,” you whisper, your lips turning around the words in a silent cry. “I don't want you to go.”

I'm right here baby. I'll always be right here. 

Because she never left. Because she's in you. Because she believes in you and you should, too. 

Because if you stay here right now in this smoky hallway, air laden with grief and regret and numbness, you'll never get the chance to make her proud. 

“I love you,” you mouth, and you fall out into the cold New York night. 

~~~

Butcher sits on the curb across from the burning building, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, the orange glow barely visible against the inferno raging behind him. He’s utterly drained - hair disheveled, shoulders slumped, wearing an expression that would scare the devil himself. Smoke curls around him like a ghastly reminder of everything that’s gone wrong tonight.

Then, through the haze of ash and chaos, you appear.

Stumbling out of the wreckage like some tragic phoenix, grey smoke clinging to you like a shroud, you shuffle forward. Your steps are uneven, your body battered and barely held together, but you keep moving, broken glass crunching underfoot. It's a miracle you're upright at all.

Hughie spots you first, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. His hand flies to MM’s shoulder, gripping it hard enough to leave bruises.

“Is that—? Holy shit, it’s her!” Hughie's voice cracks as he points in your direction.

MM, still caught in his own haze, snaps to attention. His sharp, calculating gaze flicks between you and Butcher, piecing together the broken puzzle. He doesn’t hesitate.

“Hey, Butcher!” MM barks, his deep voice cutting through the chaos like a gunshot. “Look alive, man—she’s here!”

Butcher’s head jerks up so fast you’d think someone fired a shot. His bloodshot eyes dart around, scanning, searching. When he sees you, it’s like the world stops spinning. The ice in his expression melts instantly, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

He doesn’t think—he just moves.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” he mutters under his breath as he bolts across the street, cigarette forgotten.

He’s on you in seconds, his heavy boots crunching over glass as he closes the distance. Before you can even register what’s happening, he scoops you into his arms, his grip firm but careful, mindful of your injured arm hanging limply at your side. His strength is a steadying force against the chaos surrounding you.

He holds you like you’re made of glass, cradling you to his chest as if shielding you from the world. Somewhere in your haze, a delirious thought bubbles up: he’s holding you like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. The mental image is absurd, but it coaxes the faintest smile to your cracked lips.

“You came,” you murmur weakly, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. It’s not quite a question, but the disbelief is there in your tone. “You’re here.”

Butcher tilts his head down, his gaze locking with yours. His eyes are uncharacteristically soft, shiny, even, and there’s an edge of desperation in the way his brows knit together.

“‘Course I came, you daft bloody idiot,” he growls, but his voice lacks all of its usual bite. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, y’hear? Ever.” His voice wavers on the last word, betraying just how shaken he really is.

You nod faintly, too exhausted to say much more, but the corners of your lips tug upward. “Noted,” you whisper, though there’s a teasing lilt buried in your exhaustion.

Your eyes flicker toward the familiar shape of the white van parked haphazardly down the street. Through the smoky air, you spot them—Hughie, Annie, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko—all gathered by the open doors. Their faces are streaked with soot and sweat, but their expressions are a mix of elation and relief. Hughie’s hands are clasped together, his knuckles white as he mouths, Thank God. Annie’s wiping tears from her cheeks. Frenchie’s arm is slung around Kimiko, who smiles faintly, her usually guarded expression softening for you. Even MM, ever the stoic, allows himself a small, relieved grin.

Butcher notices your wandering gaze and shifts you slightly so you can see them more clearly. “They’re here too, love,” he mutters, his voice quieter now. “All of us. Together.”

Your heart swells at the sight, and despite everything—the pain, the chaos, the sheer exhaustion threatening to pull you under—you think, This is my family. These are my people.

Butcher tightens his grip just slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on. You feel the warmth of his chest through his jacket, his heartbeat steady against your ear. For a brief, blissful moment, it feels like crossing a threshold—not into a house or a new beginning, but into the arms of the people who will always have your back.

And you think, maybe you’ve been carried home after all.

End.

Taglist:

@bluemerakis

@mystic-writings

@imherefordeanandbones

[pandalandalopalis]

Devil May Cry Wolf - Matt Murdock x Mutant Reader [Chapter Eighteen]

Masterlist Previous Chapter

Story Synopsis: The first time you jumped, it was 2014 and you were nine years old. You were in the back of your parents’ car — then you were in New York, standing on the street … and it was 1992.

The second time you jumped, it was 1998 and you were fifteen years old. You were heading back home to Saint Agnes after school had ended — and then you were knee-deep in snow, in Russia, in 1970. Outside a Red Room facility.

The third time you jumped, you were twenty-five and had spent ten years training as a Red Room agent. Ten years training your body to use your mutation. Jumping in space was easy — jumping in time was not. But you did it. After ten years, you did it. Now you have to live with the trauma.

Five years later, killing is still the only thing you know how to do, and the only thing you do best. In 2016, a vigilante named Daredevil stops you from killing a man who attacked you. He tells you that you can do better. You think maybe he’s right. But in 2017, Matt Murdock is in the darkest place in his life. When you show up to save him, he’s not exactly grateful. And when he finds out that you’re the best friend he grew up with in Saint Agnes that disappeared almost 20 years ago — things get even more complicated.

You’ll have to drag Matt out of the dark while being jaw-deep in it yourself. And you’ll have to try your best to do better — when Matt is trying his best to do worse.

Chapter Synopsis: The Avengers ask you to go undercover. Matt finally questions why you’re still with the Avengers when you’re no longer planning on killing Bucky.

Part 2 - Chapter Eighteen: Miss Congeniality A/N: Hey it turns out I have no idea how to write normal-length chapters anymore I just keep on talking until suddenly I’m in an 11k word fucking swamp Editing this felt like smashing my face against a brick wall 👍 Happy Daredevil Born Again Day!!!!!!!!!! A/N 2: I think in comic canon Steve and Clint speak Russian but just for plot sake let’s pretend the only Avengers who speak Russian are Bucky and Natasha.

You had a briefing meeting with the Avengers this morning, which was not unusual — but what was unusual was the tenseness of the room when you entered. 

The meeting table consisted of Fury, Steve, Bucky, and Clint. It was normal to have a mission that didn’t involve all the members of the team — different missions required different skills and sometimes multiple missions transpired at a time. Whether you tagged along on these missions depended on level of danger and security clearance. Some missions you flew in the jet with them and then waited for them to come back; others you stayed at the Tower and patched them up there. You were aware that Natasha was on a solo mission at the moment; Thor was on Asgard; and perhaps Tony and Bruce just weren’t needed for whatever this mission briefing was about.

The tenseness in the room was coming from Steve, who had his arms crossed and looked very unhappy. His eyes raised when you entered, and he gave you a tight smile.

“Please sit, Y/N,” Fury offered.

You got the feeling that a discussion had taken place before you got there. “I’m sorry, am I late? The notification said 9:15am.”

“No, you’re right on time,” Fury said. “But it just so happens that this briefing has to do with you.”

You willed your expression to remain calm. There was no way they could have found out the truth. You had covered all your tracks. You had been careful getting into this job, scrubbing your public background; you hadn’t made any slip-ups— This couldn’t be about that. There was no way. No way.

“Legally, I have to remind you that your job here is as the Avengers’ medic and you are not obligated to do anything further than that job description,” Fury began.

What the fuck? “Right. . .” you agreed, wanting him to get to the point.

Fury opened the folder in front of him and spun it around so you could see it. There was a picture of a man, clearly taken from far away. “You see this guy? He’s an underground arm’s dealer who we suspect has ties to Hydra. We need someone to go undercover and pose as a buyer who can get him to admit his less than savoury affiliations so we can arrest him.”

You internally loosed a breath of relief. It’s just a fucking sting operation. 

Wait. But what the fuck does that have to do with me?

“Right,” you said again. “That’s, uh, what is that, a ‘sting’ operation, right? They do that in cop shows.” Psh. Like you’d ever seen a procedural cop drama before. Although Foggy got you to watch some episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and that one was pretty good.

“The problem is, we need someone that he doesn’t know,” Fury continued.

Ah. That’s what this was about. “You want me to go undercover,” you concluded.

“You don’t have to,” Steve interjected. 

“That’s up to her,” Fury said.

Steve’s voice was firm as he continued, “She doesn’t need to be involved in this. She’s still recovering from what happened to her.”

Oh. That’s why he was so unhappy. He was thinking of when you were kidnapped and tortured.

Aw. That’s kind of sweet.

“And the three of you will be there to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Fury directed to Steve, Bucky, and Clint as if they’d already had this conversation and this was an exhausted reminder. He turned back to you. “No mission is without risks, and you are an untrained civilian. But I can’t understate the importance of this mission. If this guy is who we think he is, and we do, then we’ll be taking out a major player in Hydra’s operation. I can’t tell you anymore than that, but know that if we can arrest this guy, we’ll be saving a lot of people.”

“It doesn’t need to be her,” came Steve’s annoyed voice.

“It’ll be difficult to get anyone else on such short notice,” Fury said. “We have a small window of opportunity. Y/N, like I said before, you’re not obligated to do this, and it won’t affect your job if you say no. But. . .”

“Can I have some time to think about it?” Truthfully, you were giddy. A sting operation sounded really fun. Despite many of the Red Room’s more unsavoury missions, you did like going undercover. It was fun to play pretend. To trick people. But here you weren’t Y/N the ex-Red Room agent. You were Y/N the medic who had no formal undercover training. So you had to pretend like you needed time to think it over.

Steve nodded. “You can have as much time as you need.”

“You can have twelve hours,” Fury corrected. “Take the day off. Think it through.”

You nodded and stood.

Leaving the room, you noticed Steve catching up with you, and you paused walking down the hall. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You brought forth a mix of complicated feelings onto your face. “It does sound kind of scary.”

He nodded. “This kind of work isn’t easy.”

“But . . . you’ll be there, right?” you asked. “If something goes wrong. . .”

Steve rested his hands on your shoulders and looked you in the eyes. “If you do decide you want to do this, we won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

‘We’. The ‘we’ included Bucky Barnes.

The Winter Soldier.

Only bad things happened when he would come to the Red Room. 

Something . . . annoyed twinged in you. Crawled in your skin. 

The Doc’s words echoed in your mind: “You don’t like that the Avengers trust him to be in their group. How do you reconcile that with Steve’s ‘unshakeable morals’?”

You pushed at the memory. Tried to ignore it. 

You made yourself smile at Steve. “If you’re there, then I think it’ll be okay.”

Steve returned your smile, though still tinged with concern. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I’m sure.”

As it turned out, you were a quick study on the blind hand-to-hand combat.

Matt was a good teacher, and over time he got you to understand what it meant to fight with your body and not your eyes. 

And today, for the first time since you started, you won the fight.

You were sweating and exhausted but you kept it up, found the energy to keep going and concentrate and anticipate his moves the way you would if you could see them. It wasn’t perfect, and you still got hit a lot, but finally, finally , you managed to get Matt pinned in a Half Nelson — your body was under his with your legs wrapped around his waist and you had his head and one of his arms trapped in the hold. You kept the hold tight, not worried about hurting him (you wouldn’t want him to go easy on you, either), and after a few agonizing moments of keeping him pinned like that, he finally tapped out.

You let go with a rushed exhale. You both laid there for a moment, breathing laboured, Matt a heavy but not uncomfortable weight on top of you.

“Not bad,” came Matt’s voice.

“Not bad? Fuck you.”

You heard him chuckle, then felt his arm reach up and pull the blindfold off your eyes. Hallelujah, your sight had returned.

You remained lying on the mat, catching your breath, as Matt got up and off of you. After a moment, he came back into your line of sight and handed you a water bottle, which you took gratefully.

“You’re getting better,” Matt said as you drank. You handed him back the water bottle, and he took a swig himself. “What about trying blind teleporting?”

“Slow down there, cowboy,” you replied, unsure about the suggestion. 

“You’re a fast learner, Y/N. You pick things up like that.” He snapped his fingers. “You could do it if you tried; I know you could. And the way you incorporate teleporting into your fighting, it’s all instinct; all body. Everything we’ve been doing. Am I wrong?”

You had to be a fast learner. Learning quickly and your teleportation skill, those were the things that kept you alive. You were fifteen when you ended up at the Red Room — much older than they liked. The teleporting made you interesting enough to keep; and being a fast learner made you good enough to find your place there. They wouldn’t have just let you go if you were untrainable — they would have killed you. 

And so this new training, what you’d been doing with Matt. . . Since getting sober, it had been raising more of that fight-or-flight survival mode within you. More than once, you had to pause what you were doing to fight through a panic attack, which Matt patiently helped you through every time. Because with every wrong move, your body felt the memory, the sting of metal across your cheek. The threat of death that hung over your head should you make a mistake. 

The Winter Soldier was not as forgiving an instructor as Matt was. 

But . . . there was something about Matt’s encouragement that gave you . . . drive? Hope? It made you want to fight against the fear and keep going. If he believed in you . . . maybe you could believe in you, too.

Eugh. Cheesy.

He was also right. Teleporting large distances required concentration but you did learn to teleport on instinct in close-quarters hand-to-hand combat. Your body knew when to disappear and where to reappear the same way it knew when and where to land a punch or a kick. If you could fight on muscle memory alone, maybe you could do it with teleportation, too.

“Fine. Next time.” You took the water bottle back from his hand and took a large drink. Then, “Fury asked me to go on an undercover mission and I said yes.”

Panic rose sharply in Matt, like a knee-jerk reaction he couldn’t control. “ What? You’re a civilian, why the hell would they ask you to do that?” He thought of her, tortured and bloody in that abandoned parking lot, there because the Avengers didn’t have enough safeguards to protect her. 

There was something pleased in you over Matt’s worried reaction. You held up your hands, giving him a half-amused look. “Okay, breathe, and remember that I’m not actually a civilian. I would be fine. That being said . . . I could use Daredevil’s help on this. I’d like to keep my cover as a civilian and if things get sticky then I’d like you there to watch my back.”

Matt nodded, not hesitating to say, “Of course.” It would make him feel better if he was there, anyway. Not that he didn’t trust the Avengers to keep her safe, but it was easier to be reassured if he had control over the outcome. That being said, he wondered why she was asking for back-up in the first place. Wasn’t the Avenger she was dating going to be watching her back? “But isn’t Steve going to be there?”

Y/N gave a half-sigh. “I like Steve. He’s kind and honest. And also a great kisser. I have no doubt that he will do everything in his power to keep me safe. . . . But I’m also a realist. I don’t like taking chances. And you are still the only person I trust to keep me safe.”

Matt felt honoured every time she reaffirmed her trust in him, knowing how deeply it meant to her. But at the same time . . . something about it made him feel sad. That it was only him she trusted. “Y’know, I’m flattered every time you tell me that, but . . . shouldn’t that change at some point? Expand your circle of trust? If you could call one person a circle.”

She huffed. “Oh don’t you worry, that is a reoccurring conversation in the ole therapist’s office.”

He gave her a smile. There was some relief in that knowledge, at least. “Well, good.” Maybe the Doc could convince her that trusting people could be a good thing. “So. When and where do you need Daredevil?”

They prepped you as best they could without Natasha (the undercover expert, trained in the same place you were) there to give you pointers. Stay calm. We’ll be speaking to you through the comm in your ear. Touch your mouth if you need help with what to say next. We’ll be listening and watching the whole time. If you don’t think you can do it and want to end the conversation, thank him for hosting you and get up to leave. We’ll pull you out if there’s resistance. Remember that you’re a buyer — as far as he knows, he has no reason to hurt you. 

You were given some information and talking points to try to suss out his identity as Hydra, but other than that, you weren’t given much. They told you his alias was Alexander Smith, but couldn’t give you his real name for security reasons. 

They allowed you to pick an outfit you would be comfortable in, with the instructions that the dress code was business formal. So you chose a black dress that in the front appeared rather conservative, but was backless — you knew it would be sultry enough to catch the attention of any man and lower his guard.

The four of you (you, Steve, Bucky, Clint), were sitting in the sleek car with blacked-out windows as it pulled up to the meeting spot. You feigned nervous energy as the car came to a stop.

“Do you need me to go over it with you again, one more time?” Steve asked.

You took his hand in yours and shook your head, as if you were putting on a brave front. “I can do this.”

“Remember, we’ll be listening the whole time, and we have access to the security cameras so we’ll always have eyes on you,” Clint reassured you.

You gave him a nod. Then you squeezed Steve’s hand, kissed his cheek, and got out of the car.

As soon as you were out of sight of the Avengers, your expression dropped. This was what you were made to do.

Time to go to work.

You gave the security guards your alias (“Anastasia Lockhart”), and they led you inside. It was a fancy restaurant with many rich patrons enjoying their food as you were escorted by. You were not sat at any table in the restaurant itself, oh no. You were taken past the kitchens, to a secluded room at the very back, where you knew no restaurant goers would be able to hear any meeting mishaps. Like gunshots or screaming.

You knew Daredevil would already be in the building, listening for you and following your progress to the backroom. He’d be somewhere nearby, overhearing the conversation and ready to step in on a moment’s notice.

The man sitting at the table stood when you entered the room. “Ah, Miss Lockhart. Welcome.”

His face was familiar to you.

It nagged on the edge of your eidetic memory. You could usually place faces so easily, but for some reason you couldn’t place this one.

Putting a pin in that for now, you turned your back to Smith and took off your wrap, letting him get an eyeful of your bare back. You handed your wrap to an attendant, then turned back as Smith approached. 

You could see from the look in his eyes that the backless dress had the intended effect. He kissed your hand to greet you, then put a hand on your bare back and gestured to the table. “Please, sit.”

You approached the table and he pulled back the chair for you and pushed it in once you sat down. 

Dark crimson filling your glass caught your eye, the waiter pouring a glass of wine for you. With some effort, you peeled your eyes away and kept your hands very still on the table. 

Smith headed back to his seat at the other end. “[Maybe if I’m lucky she’ll let me fuck her after I close this deal],” he directed to the man standing at his right. “[Did you see her back? I’d pay her to let me come on that.]”

It wasn’t the vulgar words that bothered you — it wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard a hundred times before. 

It was the language.

Russian.

Outwardly, your expression never changed. But inside, you were being bombarded by memories — The ten years you lived where you only spoke Russian, the language of the Red Room. In your mind, Russian and the Red Room were one and the same. You couldn’t hear it without thinking of the other. That language could never be untangled from the horrors you suffered.

Your hand twitched to take the wine and down it. To calm down a little.

Hidden in the other room, Matt could hear Y/N’s heartbeat picking up. He couldn’t tell if it was the Russian that was bothering her or what they were saying — Unfortunately for Matt, he still didn’t speak asshole.

Hidden in the other, other room, Bucky grimaced at Smith’s derogatory words. He was thankful that Y/N didn’t speak Russian, because she didn’t deserve to be spoken about that way.

But Bucky was here to translate, and so Steve looked to him and asked, “What did he say?”

Bucky just gave his friend an uncomfortable look. “You really don’t want to know.”

Steve’s lips pressed in a tight line as he understood what Bucky was getting at. He looked back at the screen, tenser than he was before.

Your fingers traced the stem of the wine glass. Then you took a breath, slid your hand away, and said, “I’m sorry I don’t speak Russian. Although I hear Russia is beautiful this time of year. I regret I’ve never been.”

His eyes looked you up and down as he brought his wine glass to his lips. You clocked his age somewhere in his sixties. “Maybe one day I will take you.”

You gave him a coy smile. “Perhaps I would like that.” On to business. “So. You’re a salesman. Sell me something.” The way you spoke, your tone made it sound like you were asking him to go to bed with you.

“Oh come now. The night is young! I’d rather speak of other things first.” Now his tone was— You get the gist.

“I came here for a reason you know.” Your tone remained light and seductive, but firm. Like a game of push and pull. You were good at reading people — you had to be for your job. Former job. It was life or death. And this was the kind of man who liked being pushed. The kind of man who wanted a challenge. 

“You haven’t even touched your wine yet,” he pointed out. “Please; you’ll insult this poor man’s pride. I bring only the best and most expensive for my beautiful clients. At least a sip, hm?”

Matt’s hands tightened into fists. He was aware of the precarious situation Y/N was in — this guy was dangerous. And it was never a good idea to anger a dangerous man.

But . . . she had made so much progress. Matt knew what Y/N’s sobriety had done for her — and although the past two months had been really fucking difficult, Y/N had been more alive and herself lately than he’d seen. . . 

Since she disappeared. And maybe she wasn’t . . . happy, yet, but she was getting there.

And this one moment could undo all of that progress.

“Just take a sip, it’s okay,” you heard Clint’s voice in your ear. “He wouldn’t poison a potential client. Bad for business.”

You could take a sip. Just a sip. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? Just one sip. One little, little sip. You’d earned it, right? Two months of sobriety deserved a celebration. And you don’t want to piss off the scary Hydra arms dealer, right? Go on. 

Take a sip.

You picked up the glass of wine. Held the stem between your fingers, allowed the bowl to rest on your palm. Swirled the deep red inside. Once. Twice. Took a deep inhale. You were never a wine connoisseur so you couldn’t say what notes you were smelling, but it smelled good. Really good.

Then you took the glass of wine, and poured it out onto the floor next to you.

A look of shock crossed Smith’s face. You brought the wine glass back to sit on the table, then neatly folded your hands into your lap. “I don’t drink when I’m discussing business.”

Drinking the wine wouldn’t make you a challenge. If you wanted this sting to work, you needed to be a challenge.

There was a thick tension in the room, like the men around Smith and the waiters were holding their breath. Fearful of what would come next. 

Then he laughed. “I like you. You don’t let a man push you around. I prefer that in a woman.”

Translation: I like breaking my women in.

Hearing the wine spill onto the floor, Matt smiled to himself.

Good girl.

Steve exhaled sharply. That was a risky move that Y/N pulled off. He’d be proud if he wasn’t so tense.

“That was definitely one of the most insane things I’ve ever seen,” Clint commented. “But I respect the hell out of it.”

Steve felt Bucky’s hand on his shoulder. “She’s good at this,” he said, like a reassurance.

Steve nodded, his eyes glued to the screen. To Y/N. “Let’s hope she can keep being good at this.”

Smith snapped and gestured to one of his men. “Bring her the catalogue.”

A book was placed in front of you. You opened it to find pages of weapons and weapons and even more weapons. Now you were getting somewhere.

Smith leaned back as you perused. Turned to make another snide comment to his men. “[She looks just like a ballerina I used to know in Moskva].”

Your whole body locked up.

Ten years of Red Room training kept any expression off your face. You knew how to keep your appearance calm while everything screamed on the inside.

Slowly, you looked up.

You understood why he looked familiar now.

Alexei.

You couldn’t place him before because his face had aged too much. But you could see it now. The resemblance to the young man you knew.

The young KGB agent you knew.

1975. Twenty years old. KGB liked pairing Red Room agents with their own officers. They made for an effective team. 

First time you were spending hours of one on one time with someone who wasn’t another Widow, Madam Ilyukhina, the Winter Soldier, or a mark. 

You had five years of Red Room training then but you were still young and stupid. Alexei was dangerous. His special skill was torture. But he was nice to you. He saved you from one or two close calls. He had your back.

He was handsome.

And you were chasing a high you’d not had since you got to the Red Room: the ability to make your own choices. To choose who had access to your body. To choose who could touch you and kiss you. Sex had never felt like that before. As something to be enjoyed rather than as a tool to be used. 

And the other thing.

“Did you love him?”

“ Fuck. God, no. I may have been wrong about him but I wasn’t that wrong. For that I think I would have killed him.”

Alexei was not Russo. It was not just sex for you.

But he betrayed you.

You should have seen it coming. But you were young and naive and blinded by love and the taste of freedom. The thought that you could get out, the two of you, and live some kind of happily ever after with the parts of your soul you still had left.

He was not your Prince Charming. He was a KGB agent. He worked for the Russian government. He worked for the Red Room. 

But what did kindness taste like to someone who had only known blood in their mouth for the past five years? You couldn’t taste the danger. You should have known better, but there was sweet in the bitter and you’d been starving for it for so long.

You had asked him to run away with you and he turned you into the Red Room.

It took everything you had in this moment to remember the promise you’d made to Matt, to yourself — the reason you didn’t kill anymore. It would be so easy. It would be so easy to teleport over to him and stick a knife in his neck. So so easy. 

Y/N’s heart rate spiked up, hard. Matt couldn’t understand the Russian but whatever Smith said hit something deep in her.

Matt prepared himself for a fight. If things were about to get dicey, he’d be ready.

You struggled harder to compartmentalize without the alcohol. Without the drugs. The promise you made was there, pushing, reminding, but fuck you wished there was a caveat. An asterisk. An addendum, an exception — no killing except for him . No killing except for this man who betrayed and broke your trust worse than Billy Russo. Who stole your one chance at freedom and threw you back into the shackles of the Red Room. 

The torture had been so bad. When you got back.

However.

You knew the one person you wanted to be your exception, and it wasn’t Alexei Matorin.

It was always in the back of your thoughts, ever since you got sober. That maybe you could change your mind. That maybe you could still kill him and move on with your life.

Bucky.

“Matt would forgive you. But would you forgive yourself?”

You didn’t have an answer for that yet. But now was not the time to make that choice.

Alexei Matorin was sitting in front of you, and you had a mission to fulfill for the Avengers. 

Or you were going to kill him. Hm.

The memories were flaring vivid and unsuppressed and he was right there — right here, right within arms length, and you never got your chance at revenge before. 

Kill him; don’t kill him; kill him; don’t kill him; this is like the most fucked up version of ‘He loves me he loves me not’ I’ve ever played.

For now, at least, it was outside of everyone’s best interests to make a scene. Maybe you could fulfill the Avengers’ mission and still kill-him-not-kill-him.

You returned your attention to the catalogue of weapons. “These are impressive,” you conceded, like you weren’t talking about his weapons. “But.” You leaned back in your chair, leveling his gaze with your own. “I was hoping for something a little more . . . advanced than this.”

“I promise you, Malishka, these are the most advanced on the market,” Alexei said with a hand over his heart. 

Baby girl. The Russian term turned your stomach, too many bad memories associated with it to count — but you refused to let it distract you. “Ah, but I heard a rumour,” you continued. “That you have tech. From Dr Arnim Zola.” 

Alexei’s friendly expression faded. “And where did you hear such a rumour?”

You didn’t answer his question. “Is it true?”

“If it was, I’d be a very rich man indeed.”

You didn’t blink. “Aren’t you? Alexe-ander?” You pushed the pronunciation of the first half of his alias name, beginning with just a hint of Russian accent and ending with your regular American accent. 

He stood suddenly. Walked to your side of the table. Towered over you.

Maybe the name was pushing it too far.

“[Do you know something you shouldn’t, Malishka?]” Alexei asked you in Russian.

You gave him no indication that you understood what he said. “Is that Russian for, ‘Yes, of course, Pretty Face, I’ll give you anything you want?” you asked sweetly, keeping up the ruse.

Alexei was unamused. “[Kill her.]”

Your expression did not change. You knew this was a test — he wanted to know if you spoke Russian. If you were a bigger threat than he first observed. If you really spoke Russian, and if you were really stupid, you’d flinch at his command and move to protect yourself.

You did speak Russian but you were not stupid. You blinked at him like you still didn’t understand, then gave an annoyed sigh. “Look, if you don’t want to sell me the Hydra tech, there are others I can buy it from.” You stood, one hand still resting on the table. It was inches from the steak knife. Your fingers itched to move, but you kept them still. “Though I’m sure they won’t be as sweet to me as you are.” You gave him that flirtatious smile once again.

Finally, his suspicious look melted. “Perhaps I could make an exception. If you made it worth my while, of course.”

The insinuation was clear. You laid a hand on his chest. “I’m sure we could come to some kind of agreement.”

“Sergei,” he said with a snap of his fingers, “bring Miss Lockhart the red catalogue.”

Finally. Now you were getting somewhere.

“[Kill her.]”

Bucky stood in an immediate panic as he watched the screen, the Russian crystal clear in his ears. 

“We have to get her out, now — Now!”

You were seconds away from the Hydra weapons catalogue being placed in your hands — when suddenly Steve, Bucky, and Clint burst into the room with their weapons up.

Alexei’s arm snatched around your waist, pulling your back to his chest. You felt him dig painfully deep in your ear, pulling out the comm.

“Suka,” he hissed. Not the first time someone called you a bitch in Russian. Alexei threw the comm on the ground and stepped on it.

The next second, sharp metal pressed to your neck under your jaw. The fucking steak knife.

“Put your weapons down,” Alexei said slowly. “Or I’ll spill her blood all over this floor.”

You knew he’d do it. You’d seen him do it many times.

Steve, expression tight, waved his hand and Bucky and Clint lowered their weapons. “You can go. Just don’t hurt her.”

Alexei slowly moved backwards, keeping you bound to him. Back and back, you passed his goons who all had their guns out, now. Further, you went through the door at the back of the room, where even more goons were assembling in the hallway behind.

Matt, you’ve got your goddamn work cut out for you.

The door closed with Steve’s face being the last thing you saw — And then all the lights went out.

Very suddenly there was another presence in front of you — you felt the knife leave your neck, felt Alexei get knocked back behind you as you were snatched into the arms of the other.

The grooves of the suit were familiar under your hands as you steadied yourself on Matt’s shoulders, his hands secure on your waist.

“My hero~” you crooned with a smile you knew he could sense.

You could hear the shouting of the blinded, disoriented men around you. “Are you going to help or are you just going to stand and look pretty?” Matt asked.

“You don’t know what I look like,” you teased. “Maybe I’ll stand and look ugly.”

“I know what you look like,” he threw back. “I can hear the accelerated heartbeat of every man that can see you.”

This promoted a strangely satisfied feeling in your chest. “Well maybe I’m just that ugly.”

You suddenly felt Matt’s arms band around your middle and bring you flush against him, picking you up and moving you to his other side where your back pressed against the wall. A few months of blind combat training told you he just narrowly saved you from a goon slashing blindly in the dark. 

Matt was so close to you in the dark that his breath fanned your face when he spoke. “In thirty seconds the back-up lights are going to turn on,” he said. “If you’re going to disappear, you better do it now.”

You nodded, and let yourself vanish.

By the time you returned after swapping your undercover look for fighting clothes and the wolf mask, the hallway was bathed in red backup lights and the fighting was in full swing. 

You teleported to Daredevil’s back, offering support as he was fighting off at least fifteen guys on his own.

“Didn’t think you could fight in the dress, huh?” Matt teased as you were busy smashing your elbow into a goon’s face. Matt parried himself and gave a goon a sharp right hook. “Y’know, you once said you could fight me in just your heels.”

“You want me to fight you naked in heels? Bring back the black suit, Mr Practicality.”

You disarmed one of the men and smashed the gun into his face — but movement at the end of the hall caught your attention.

Alexei.

You are not getting away this time, fuckface.

You teleported to him and slammed your body into his, knocking him to the ground. Surprise and the blow disoriented him — he reached for the gun at his belt but you easily kicked it out of his hand. 

Alexei was once a skilled KGB agent. Fighter. Torturer. But he was no longer as young as he once was, and you had only gotten stronger since the last time you saw him.

You kneeled on his chest and hit him. 

Over. 

And over. 

And over. 

And over.

And over.

The blood on Alexei’s face looked almost black under the red light.

You’d always thought he bled that colour, anyway.

“[Did you miss me, Alexei?]” you asked him in Russian, pressing one of your knives against his throat. “[Because I missed you. So much.]”

Even under the red light, you could see the gears turning in his mind. He watched you teleport. You doubted he knew anyone else who could do that. It was your most prized skill in the Red Room. 

His eyes were wide and his mouth was full of blood and disbelief. “[Little Wolf?]”

You pressed the knife harder against his throat, drawing blood. “[You left me in the Red Room to die. Did you think I would not come for you?]”

And you relished the fear in his eyes.

It was Y/N speaking in Russian that caught Matt’s attention. He’d sensed her go after Smith, expected her to rough him up a bit (or a lot), and then tie him up for the Avengers. But she wasn’t. 

Matt couldn’t understand what she was saying but he could understand everything else — Her heart hammering against her ribcage, her hissed words, the tension in her body, and the knife against Smith’s throat.

There was something very personal about this.

Was she— 

Was she about to cross that line?

You wanted to. You wanted to more than anything else here, in this moment, right here, with Alexei underneath you, with your knife right where you wanted it, where you only needed to press a little harder and it could be done with. You could finally be done with him. Show him that there were consequences for hurting you. And let him rot in Hell where he belonged.

But.

Your hand stayed frozen in place. Kept the knife at his throat but not in his throat. 

It was Matt’s words that echoed in your mind.

You shouldn’t have to give up a part of your soul for him.

You were angrier that you had ever felt and you were that hot, burning pyre again, destroying and purifying everything in your path and you wanted this chapter of your life over and done with and you wanted him dead and he deserved to be dead and buried and rotting—

But you did not deserve to lose more pieces of your soul. 

You wouldn’t let him take another piece.

So as much as you wanted to, you wouldn’t kill him.

But you would make him suffer.

Bucky, Steve, and Clint finally burst through the doors in the hallway after taking down the men in the small dining room— And there was a man in the hallway who seemed to be fighting Smith’s goons and doing a good job of it.

Not any man, Bucky realized as the three of them began helping take the goons down — Daredevil. He was surprised to see the vigilante again, here of all places, but that was lower on the list of priorities than finding Y/N and making sure she was okay.

Bucky’s eyes scanned the hallway, looking for Y/N, looking for Smith—

And a terrible yowling filled all their ears, coming from the back, as a second vigilante figure with a wolf mask began stabbing her knife into Smith’s eyes.

Bucky watched her as she finished, methodically wiping the blood from her knife and replacing it in her sheath. And next—

She suddenly disappeared and reappeared before his eyes, joining the four of them in the fighting. 

And watching her fight. . .

He knew that fighting style anywhere. 

He’d seen it in Nat.

In his own memories.

Widow.

By the time all the men were either unconscious or groaning in pain, the power system in the building had finally rebooted and the lights were back on.

You stalked back to Alexei, where he was still shouting and crying over the bloody mess that was once his eyes. He wasn’t dead, but . . . you found there was something so much more satisfying about this. His blood on your hands, the eyes you had taken, the prison he’d rot in until his natural death — It was better than ending it quick. Let him suffer long and painfully until the true end.

“Y/N — Where is she?” Captain America asked Daredevil.

“Don’t worry; she’s safe,” Matt answered, then continued with the lie, “I hid her in a storage room down the hall. She’s uninjured.” He tilted his head as he listened to Y/N tie up Smith and then drag his body over to the Avengers.

She didn’t kill him. He didn’t know who this person was to her, but he felt proud of her for not doing it. To continue to uphold the promise she made to him.

“Thank you, for helping,” Steve said. “But . . . what are you doing here?”

“We’re here on our own business,” Daredevil answered vaguely. “We’d been tracking this guy for a while. I didn’t know Y/N was going to be here.”

“You brought a Widow here?” said the archer Matt hadn’t met before. He wasn’t one of the Avengers that was there when Y/N was kidnapped. Hawkeye, Matt remembered. Clint Barton. Y/N mentioned him before. He was close with Natasha Romanoff, so it made sense that he recognized a Widow’s fighting style. “Widows are not good company to keep.”

Anger itched within Matt. He gave Hawkeye a tight smile and kept his voice cold. “Pot. Kettle.”

“Natasha has proven herself to SHIELD and to us,” Hawkeye replied with arms crossed. “She’s reformed.” He gestured to Y/N. “I don’t know this person.”

“You don’t have to know her. I do.”

Hawkeye gestured to Smith, tied up and bleeding on the floor in front of them. “She stabbed out his eyes!” 

“Maybe he deserved it.” The approval and satisfaction was clear in Matt’s voice. “Look, we’re done here, so it really doesn’t matter what you think.”

But Hawkeye wasn’t letting up. “It matters because you brought a Black Widow assassin to help save our friend. I don’t trust a Widow with that, not one that Natasha hasn’t vetted first.”

“I told you, we didn’t come here to save your medic, we came here on our own business,” Matt continued to lie.

Hawkeye shook his head. “Pretty big coincidence you show up twice to help her. Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe. And for the record, this Widow saved your friend’s life. You should thank her.”

As you stood there and took all of this, let Matt defend you, you grew angrier.

And angrier.

Trust? He wanted to talk about trust? Look who was standing right next to him. Look who they were fucking trusting. Your skin was crawling. How was this fair? 

(You didn’t get to kill Alexei. And although you were ultimately happy with your decision, there was still a lot of unspent rage within you. Retribution with nowhere to put it. You tore out Alexei’s eyes and that was good, that felt good and bloody and angry but it wasn’t enough. And now? Now you had to stand in front of the Avengers, in front of the Winter Soldier, and listen to them talk about not trusting you?)

“Could have done without the mutilation,” Bucky said under his breath. He was honestly sympathetic to her. He could relate to being raised and honed as a weapon — and then getting out. But it wasn’t without its adjustment periods. Learning how much violence was socially acceptable was one of those adjustments. 

He felt the attention shift to him and his comment.

Bucky sighed. “Look, I would have liked to have stabbed his eyes out myself,” he admitted, thinking of Y/N, thinking of the dirty words Smith said about her and the knife he pressed to her neck, “but that’s just not how things are done here.”

Something snapped in you. “[I didn’t kill him; that’s good enough],” you seethed to him in Russian.

He blinked at you, like he didn’t expect you to speak, or he didn’t expect you to address him in Russian. “[There’s due process here. That’s how justice is served.]”

“Justice?” The word shocked you enough to switch back to English. You barked a laugh, something that was not funny or amused. It was dark. Heavy. A cold frustration seeped into your bones. “Justice. Trust. You want to talk about trust? How about the Avengers trusting Hydra’s attack dog not to bite them or anyone else?” (You were trusting that your tone was different enough from your fakey medic voice that none of the Avengers recognized it. Or maybe, you simply didn’t care.)

Steve moved between you and Bucky, taking a step toward you. “Bucky was brainwashed by Hydra. None of what he did was his fault.”

Hot hot rage burned up and up and up— Hot and uncomfortable, like a broken furnace you couldn’t turn off. Tears ran down your face behind your mask. “Yeah?” How ignorant. How dismissive. Was he there for any of it? Did he deal with bruises and broken bones and scars that wouldn’t go away? Felt the hauntings of the mindless, emotionless monster who stalked the corner of the room? Felt the fear? The terror that only a child could feel? A snarl entered your voice in a way you’d never spoken to Steve before. “Tell that to all the little girls he hurt in the Red Room.”

A heavy silence followed your words. Then, “What are you talking about?”

You teleported past Steve so you could face Bucky again, so you could point your finger in his chest and make him get it. “ You should watch your back.” There was so much malice in your tone, like saliva dripping from the maw of a snarling wolf. “Because so many of those little girls you beat and you broke are not little girls anymore. They’re highly trained and out for blood and they don’t care if you’ve been absolved for the things you’ve done.”

Bucky stared at the Widow with wide eyes. 

He searched his memories.

And he came up with things he wished he could forget. He wished he could forget yet knew he could not allow himself to.

He knew she wasn’t lying. Not only from his own memories, but by the anger — the pain in her voice.

Little girls.

Something was very very broken inside him.

You felt Steve grab your arm and rip your attention back to him.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning,” you growled. “You’re lucky I made a promise not to kill anymore. Or I would have put him down myself.” And then, because you knew Matt wouldn’t understand, you added, “[Maybe I still will.]”

“I’m sorry.”

You slowly looked back to Bucky. He looked. . .

The Winter Soldier never showed any emotion. 

But Bucky, he looked. . .

His eyes. . . 

(Sad. Guilty. Broken.)

(His eyes had tears in them.)

A symphony of cognitive dissonance rang through your head but you refused, you refused to feel . . . to feel . . . anything, any sympathy or empathy or . . . or . . . No. There was too much fear and pain and anger — He had hurt you, and when you looked at him all you could see was everything the Red Room had done to you, everything that— All of it— And one little apology wasn’t going to—

You could still feel the bruises. Still taste the metal. No. No. “Tell it to your God. You won’t find any forgiveness here.”

You turned and walked away, walked down the hallway and through the next door, and you could feel Matt on your heels but you just kept walking, until you were out of sight and out of mind of the Avengers and him.

Why did the Avengers blindly trust him? Call him friend? Let him go on missions with them? Why wasn’t he punished for what he did? Why did Steve protect him? Wasn’t he good? Wasn’t he kind and pure and a better man than you believed even existed— Why was he doing this? Didn’t he care? About you, about anyone else that the Winter Soldier had hurt?

IT WASN’T FAIR

COULDN’T THEY SEE IT?

HOW COULD THEY LOOK PAST ALL OF IT?

LIKE IT DIDN’T MATTER?

LIKE NONE OF IT—

ANY OF IT—

ALL THAT YOU—

EVERYTHING THAT YOU—

THE PAIN AND THE BLOOD AND EVERYTHING ELSE—

HOW COULD THEY JUST PRETEND LIKE NONE OF IT MATTERED

HOW COULD THEY

HOW COULD THEY?!

You screamed and slammed your fist into the wall, all your frustration and anger oozing out of everything and turning the world red and you just needed to hurt something—

But that something was only you as the contact spiked sharp pain through your hand. You hissed and took it back, cradling it as you leaned against the wall and breathed.

And breathed.

Matt stood by, waiting. He knew Y/N was an explosive pyre right now, he knew because he’d felt it for himself too many times before. He’d give her a moment if she needed it. And he’d step in once she needed him, too.

But she didn’t ask him for comfort. “Go home.” Matt recognized the post-anger coldness in her voice. Had used that tone himself. “I have to go back as the civilian or they’ll wonder where I am.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea right now?”

“If I don’t go back now, then—”

“Why go back at all?” Matt interrupted her, incredulous. He didn’t bother masking his frustration with her this time. He needed answers and she was just going to have to take it. “Why are you doing this? You’re not doing it to kill Bucky Barnes anymore, and I don’t believe that you’re doing it just because you’re bored.”

You knew Matt was getting at something that you hadn’t quite reconciled with even yourself yet. 

You were tired.

“I don’t have an answer for you right now. I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

You didn’t give Matt a chance to respond to you as you disappeared. Got yourself dressed back up. Headed back to that hallway. 

You didn’t bother to mask the tears or the vacant expression on your face as you found your way back to the Avengers. 

Steve rushed to you when he spotted you. He checked you over for injuries, then brought you into his arms.

And as you stared over his shoulder, your empty look was reflected in Bucky’s eyes.

When Matt didn’t hear from Y/N after the mission, he left her a voicemail inviting her to go out with him and Foggy and Karen after work the next night. He worried about her throughout the work day, and was just finishing at his desk when Y/N finally showed.

He felt relief for a moment, but confusion the next — His head tilted as he took in her attire. She seemed somewhat overdressed for going to Josie’s with friends.

“I appreciate the invite, Murdock, but I’m gonna have to rain-check you,” Y/N said, with a sort of forced casualness. “I’ve got a date with the Captain.”

Frustration flared within him. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Matt sensed Karen and Foggy exchange looks. “We’re gonna wait outside,” Foggy said, and the two headed out.

Y/N crossed her arms. “I never kid about going on dates with hot people.”

“Yesterday you were in an argument with him.” He couldn’t believe she was going on a date with him only a day after she’d yelled at him, her heart beating loudly in her chest, tears running down her face, the anger practically spilling out of every part of her. Going on a date with him like it never even happened.

“No, the Wolf of Hell’s Kitchen was in an argument with him. You should understand, you practically invented compartmentalization.”

Matt stood from his desk to walk over to her. To speak to her face-to-face and give her a reality check. 

It was concern that was at the forefront, but . . . there was also . . . an anger there, sitting on Matt’s chest. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge. It was ugly. Unfair.

Possessive.

So he ignored it, refused to reflect on it, and continued with what really mattered. “His best friend is the man who hurt you. Who you were planning on killing. Tell me how this makes sense.”

You felt yourself getting worked up again. You knew coming here that Matt wouldn’t approve but you needed him to understand. Needed him to look at it from your perspective. “He’s good, Matt,” you said. “Like genuinely good and kind. And safe. Do you know how rare that is? Do you know how many men out there are like that? They aren’t.” You took a breath, the anger starting to spill out again. You needed him to understand. You needed someone to understand. So you would give him an example. “Do you know who it is that we fought last night? I knew him. We used to run missions for the Red Room together. I used to watch him torture people. Strip skin off their bodies. And still I thought I could trust him. Hell, I let him fuck me — I didn’t have a lot of choices in the Red Room but that one was mine. I thought I was in love with him. I wanted to run away with him. I asked him to. And do you know what he did? He turned me in to the Red Room as soon as the mission was over. ‘Cause he was a fucking KGB agent and I was an idiot for trusting him. And after everything—”

Here your voice broke. Here the emotion, the everything that was not anger, creeped in and you could not stop it. Could not stop your eidetic memory from bringing everything to the forefront.

The red room.

“After all that I—” you tried again, but your voice cut out. Your breath came out as unstable as your mind, and you scrambled to shove the pieces of yourself back together in something that at least resembled a person. “I just need this one thing. This one thing in my life that is unstained with blood. And maybe even I don’t get it.” A small laugh left your mouth, though none of this was funny. “Maybe even I don’t know why I’m doing this.” 

That was the real confession. Did you even know what you were doing with your life now? Did you even know how to live a real life after the Red Room? Maybe not. Maybe you were trying. Maybe you were doing a bad job of it.

You were just trying to keep yourself alive.

“But I know that I like him,” you continued. “He’s nice.” The word hurt. It hurt because so much of your life had not been synonymous with it. “Maybe that’s just what I need right now.”

It felt empty to hear. Every time a reminder of what Y/N had been through came up, it brought such a hollowness to Matt’s chest.

No wonder she’d almost killed Smith that night. Matt would have put him in a coma himself if he knew. Would have broken all 206 bones in his body, one by one. Would have brought him closer to death than any other lowlife he’d ever beaten. Within an inch of his life was too good for him — He’d give him half an inch. A quarter. An eighth. For hurting Y/N, he’d make suffering an art.

And now Smith had Y/N believing that Steve was her only chance at a safe relationship. Not a good relationship, not a healthy or satisfying relationship, but a safe one. The goddamn bare fucking minimum.

And although Matt still thought that all of this was a terrible idea, that dating Steve was going to end badly when he didn’t know the real Y/N and she once planned to kill his best friend and his best friend was someone who would always be around and someone who hurt Y/N and who she hated in ways that were irreconcilable with Steve’s own feelings— Despite all of that, Matt could understand her wanting . . . some peace. Wanting someone she knew wasn’t going to hurt her. Wanting someone that maybe she could one day trust.

And although Matt didn’t think it was a good idea, he also knew that Y/N was healing from unspeakable acts of violence. Healing from so many horrible things that even he didn’t know about. 

And there were much, much worse ways she could cope than dating Captain America.

Hands on his hips, Matt finally sighed, long and slow. “Okay.”

You couldn’t stifle the small gasping sob that left your mouth. You wished you didn’t have to be sober for this. You hated feeling like this — like everything was so open and raw. Like you were one flash of traumatic memory away from crying at any moment.

You harshly rubbed the tears from your eyes and your face and regretted it the next second. “I know you can’t see it, but you ruined my makeup.” You tried to make your tone light, but your voice just sounded sad. “I can’t be late. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Matt’s jaw worked, but he didn’t say anything else other than, “Yeah.”

It twinged something hurtful in you. That part of you that cared too damn much about what Matt thought. “We’re okay, right?”

Matt’s hands left his hips and his expression softened.

She thought he was mad at her.

Maybe he was, a little. Mad, that is, but not at her, not really. He was just . . . frustrated. Because he was concerned. 

(Still he refused to acknowledge the ugly feeling sitting on his chest.

Refused to acknowledge why it was there.

And why it was making him feel so. . .

Angry. In a different kind of way.)

But hearing her ask if they were okay, like she didn’t know the answer. . . With all that she’d been through . . . maybe he needed to stow the anger for once. 

This was not about him.

“Yeah,” he replied, in a gentler tone than before. “We’re okay.”

Your eyes caught on the red bruise on his cheekbone, just under his glasses. You thought of how you asked for his help and he gave it without hesitation.

Without thinking, you reached up and touched his face, gently running your fingers over the bruise on his cheek. 

“Thank you for being there,” you said, your voice a little bit quieter than it was before.

His own hand reached out and cupped your face, his thumb catching a stray tear as it brushed over your cheek. “Of course.” 

When was the last time someone had brushed your tears away for you? You couldn’t remember.

Oh, but it was him, wasn’t it? Matt, a lifetime ago.

And now, here he was, a lifetime and too many horrors to count later. Still his hand wiping away your tears. Lingering longer than necessary. Thumb stroking over your cheek a second time.

Again, you were struck by the sensation that touch was different now that you were sober. Or maybe it was just that it had been too long since you were held gently. Carefully. By someone who didn’t want to break you.

Someone who doesn’t want to break you is waiting for you right now.

You slowly lowered your hand and Matt followed suit. “I have to—”

“Yeah.”

You fought through the strange discomfort you were suddenly feeling and asked, “You’re still going to be my date to Tony’s party, right?”

He gave you a small smile. “I did promise. And you held up your end of the deal.”

Right. Being sober. That deal felt like a thousand years ago, now. You’d almost forgotten that’s why you decided to do this. Get sober. Be sober.

Suffer through it to get . . . I don’t know. Better? Is it better?

Then Matt added, “I’m proud of you for not taking that drink.”

You closed your eyes. You could still see the glass of wine in front of you, the clear excuse you had to drink it. “I wanted to,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he said quietly back.

When you opened your eyes again, you didn’t see him but rather all that you had still not told him. All that he could not understand because you had not told him. And you felt the wall rising between you and him and you’d pulled so many of them down for him already but this one, this wall, you didn’t have the strength to take apart yet. 

There were too many handprints on the inside.

Matt knew she was wrestling with something. The ends to the sentences she could not finish. 

And after everything— 

After all that I—

He wanted to know. He wanted to know everything but he knew that she needed time. Time to sort through fifteen years of horrors he couldn’t even imagine.

Finally, she said, “So I’ll see you at Josie’s tomorrow?”

He gave her a gentle smile, even though he could feel the tightness in it. There was still so much left unsaid. Still so much about this whole situation with Steve Rogers and the Avengers that he disapproved of. And he didn’t know how to make her see that it would end messy. That she would hurt more than it was worth. “I’ll kick your ass in pool.”

And he could hear the hollowness in her voice as she replied, “You wish.”

Your date with Steve was fine. If he noticed you were in a mood, he didn’t say anything about it. After all, you'd just been through an ordeal on the mission; not being at 100% made sense from his perspective.

After, you went to your apartment, and you called Karen to come over.

For once, you just wanted to talk to someone other than Matt. Your argument with him had ended and you’d assured that things were okay between you two, but there was still so much . . . anger there. Anger you didn’t know what to do with. Matt was your best friend, your family — but you could tell he wasn’t getting it. And you didn’t know how to make him get it without. . .

Telling him everything. Everything he didn’t know about the Red Room. 

You just weren’t ready.

You weren’t ready for him to know that part yet.

When Karen showed up, you invited her in and sat on the bed of your studio apartment with a groan.

“Matt and I had an argument.”

She sat down next to you with a look that said she figured. “Mm. That’s why he’s been grumpy.”

Looks like you weren’t the only one who did a bad job at burying the anger. “He doesn’t like that I’m dating Steve Rogers.”

She hummed and said nothing more, like she was waiting for you to explain. 

“He thinks it’s a bad idea,” you continued, “because of the whole, y’know, lying to the Avengers about my entire identity thing, but— He just . . . he doesn’t understand. Steve is the first real good guy that I have ever met. That just doesn’t happen. It’s like a miracle, y’know?” You paused, taking a breath. “There was a guy we dealt with yesterday. Me and Matt. He was from my past. A . . . well, for lack of a better term, ex . He was a KGB agent.” Karen’s eyes grew wide, but she said nothing. “Which about sums up my dating history. And it ended. . .” 

You could still feel the high pressure, ice cold water pounding at your bare body, the torture you endured for attempting to defect.

“It ended,” you finished, letting Karen fill in the gaps for herself. “I can’t let myself trust someone like that again. I need Matt to understand that, I need—” You rubbed your eyes, feeling very very tired all of the sudden. “I need a fucking drink. I need a fucking Percocet.”

There was silence for what felt like a long time.

“Y’know, I had this boyfriend when I was nineteen.”

You took your hands from your face and looked at Karen when she spoke.

“I was in a really shitty place in my life,” she continued. “My mom was gone and the only thing we had left of her was this crappy diner that was going belly-up in a dead-end town that I couldn’t leave because it meant leaving her behind. So I was . . . making a lot of bad decisions back then. The guy I dated was a coke-dealer. My life then felt so fucking unlivable but when I was high, or when I was drunk, it was bearable.”

You didn’t just understand — you’d lived it for yourself.

She went on, “I was so far gone. And I was so angry. I was okay with destroying pieces of myself but I didn’t realize the way it was hurting the people around me. My brother. . .” her voice caught in her throat, like the emotion was finally catching up with her, but she pushed forward, “. . .he tried to help me. Tried to get me to stop with the drug dealing and the shitty boyfriend and so he burned the shitty boyfriend’s trailer and the shitty boyfriend tried to kill him. But it wasn’t the shitty boyfriend who killed him. It was me. Because I was driving drunk and coked out of my mind and I crashed the car with both of us in it.”

She took a moment and you let her, let her have all the silence she needed. All the time in the world. 

“I stopped with the drugs after that. Tried not to drink as much. Because I can’t ever take it back.” She scrubbed a stray tear from her cheek. “But shit. Sometimes I just want to go back. To being numb. To spending hours where I don’t have to think about . . . all of it.” She turned and looked at you. Really looked at you. “So I get it. I really get it.”

You held her eyes, knowing too goddamn intimately exactly what she was talking about. “I’m really sorry, Karen.”

She took a breath and wiped her nose. Then said, “But I also think there’s such a thing as over-correcting. Being too careful. I get wanting to go for the good guy. Hell, I think part of the reason I liked Matt was because he was good. He was a lawyer. He defended people who needed help. Maybe the blind thing made him seem harmless — that’s probably a bad thing to say, but. . . But I was wrong. I mean, Matt is good, but . . . it was complicated between us. He wasn’t exactly the person I thought he was, and— Ugh.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “This is not the point I’m trying to make. I’m not trying to say that all men are secretly bad, though I get feeling that way. What I’m trying to say is . . . maybe knowing that someone isn’t going to hurt you isn’t the only thing you want out of a relationship.”

You were quiet, letting her words sink in.

You could make it more than that.

If Steve Rogers was your only shot, your only shot to be with someone who believed you were good and kind and harmless, to be with someone safe, then you could make it more than that. You could make it work.

So instead you simply said, “You’re a good friend, Karen.”

She gave you a smile. Even dimmed, it was radiant as always. You took a moment to study her face, her eyes, her beautiful strawberry-blonde hair.

“. . .Are you sure you’re straight?”

The question seemed to catch her off guard and she laughed through her nose. “Unfortunately, yes.”

You laid back on the bed with a dramatic sigh. “This would be so much easier if you weren’t straight.”

Karen laughed again. “Why? Because you’d date me instead?”

“Yes, obviously.”

She breathed another light laugh through her nose and shook her head. There was silence for a moment, and you watched some gears turning behind Karen’s eyes. “Do you think that maybe Matt doesn’t want you dating Steve because he. . .” 

You lifted your body to rest on your elbows, raising your eyebrows at her and waiting for her to finish her sentence.

But she bailed on whatever she was going to say and shook her head instead. “Never mind.”

You sat up fully. “Because he what?”

Because maybe he’s jealous, was what Karen wanted to say. Because you two smile at each other like there’s no one else. Because it’s so painfully obvious even though clearly you two haven’t figured it out yet.

But she knew she couldn’t say that. It wasn’t her place to interfere in their relationship.

So instead, she landed on, “I just think Matt is worried about you.”

Y/N sighed, fortunately buying it. She rubbed her eyes. “Yeah. I know.” After a moment, she raised her head again. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

Karen smiled at her and nodded. “Yes, I would like that.”

Next Chapter

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